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Scanned  from  the  collections  of 
The  Library  of  Congress 


Packard  Campus 
for  Audio  Visual  Conservation 
www.loc.gov/avconservation 

Motion  Picture  and  Television  Reading  Room 
www.  loc.gov/rr/mopic 

Recorded  Sound  Reference  Center 
www.  loc.gov/rr/record 


VnA 


announces 


mazing  1 1  ew 


Lipstick 


Created  by  Popular  Demand 

for  a  lipstick  as  fine  as  her  nail  polish 


With  the  new 
wonder  ingredient 

LASTEEN 


and  a  new  case 
with  the  stunning 

"Color  Teller  Tip" 


Women  all  over  America  have  asked  Helen  Neushaefer 
to  create  a  lipstick  as  lastingly  lovely  as  her  nail  polish  .  .  .  one  that 
really  stays  on  .  .  .  not  too  moist .  .  .  not  too  dry,  but  just  right!  From  her 
cosmetic  chemists  has  come  this  amazing,  new  lipstick  .  .  .  containing 
LASTEEN,  to  give  her  lipstick  what  the  miracle  ingredient 
PLASTEEN  gives  her  nail  polish.  Now  available  at  chain 
store  cosmetic  counters  ...  in  five  beautiful  shades  that 
harmonize  with  Helen  Neushaefer  nail  polish. 


with  PLASTEEN 


Golden 
metal 
swivel 
case 


Distributed  by  A.  Sartorius  &  Co.,  Inc.,  80  Fifth  Ave.,  N.Y.  11,  N.Y. 


©C1B  108126 


.M354- 


GIRL:  And  that,  my  half-pint  pest,  is  about 
as  close  as  I  get  to  any  man  ^zywhere. 

CUPID:  Maybe  you  should  make  like  those 
stars,  Sugar.  They're  practically  cuddling 
your  moon-man.  But,  of  course,  they  sparkle. 

GIRL:  I  get  it.  All  but  one  teeny-weeny  point- 
just  how  do  I  put  sparkle  in  this  5-watt  smile  of 
mine,  Mr.  Smarty-Pantless? 

CUPID :  I'll  tell  you,  glum  one.  But  first  ...  see 
any  "pink"  on  your  tooth  brush  these  days? 

GIRL:  Uh-huh,  and  blue  skies  and  red  sails  in  the 
sunset  and  .  .  .  what's  my  tooth  brush's  color  scheme 
got  to  do  with  my  smile? 

CUPID:  Only  just  about  everything,  Miss  Ignorance  of 
1947.  That  "pink"  is  a  sign  to  see  your  dentist.  Quick. 
Let  him  decide  what's  the  matter.  May  be  simply  a  case  of 
today's  soft  foods  robbing  your  gums  of  exercise.  If  so, 
he  may  suggest  "the  helpful  stimulation  of  Ipana  and 
massage." 

GIRL:  S?nile  .  .  .  remember,  urchin? ...  it  was  my  smile  we 
were  yappity-yappiting  about.  Where'd  it  go? 

CUPID:  This  way:  A  sparkling  smile  depends  largely  on 
healthy  gums.  So-0-0,  if  your  dentist  advises 
massage— that's  for  you.  9  out  of  10  dentists 
do  recommend  gum  massage  . . .  regularly  or 

in  special  cases,  according  to  a  recent  nationwide 
survey.  And  this  same  survey  shows  they  prefer 
Ipana  Tooth  Paste  2  to  1  for  their  own  personal  use. 

HOW  TO  MASSAGE  YOUR  GUMS.  Gently  massage 
at  the  gum  line,  always  keeping  fingertip  in  contact 
with  the  tooth  surface.  It's  at  the  gum  line, 
•  where  teeth  and  gums  meet,  that  so  many  troubles 
start— where  gentle  massage  can  be  so  helpful. 
Between  regular  visits  to  your  dentist, 
help  him  guard  your  smile  of  beauty. 


7w  tow  Smile  of  $ezuiM 


Product  0]  Bristol-Myers 


orfo/sot?  fipr 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  particles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safely!" 


/7/ways  use 

COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM 

after  you  eat 
andiefore  every  date! 


DECEMBER.  1947 

modern  screen 

stories 

CROSSROADS  (Danny  Kaye)  by  Florabel  Muir  .  24 

THE  DAY  WAS  THANKSGIVING  .  .  .  (Bette  Davis)  by  Ida  Zeitlin  28 

TRY  AND  STOP  ME!  (Tyrone  Power)  by  Henry  King  30 

THEIR  FINEST  HOUR  (Cary  Grant)  by  Ed  Sullivan  32 

THAT  IMPORTED  FEELING  by  Deborah  Kerr  34 

GENTLEMAN'S  AGREEMENT  by  Darryl  Zanuck  36 

MINE,  ALL  MINE  (Kathryn  Grayson-Johnnie  Johnston)  by  Jane  Wilkie  38 

"I  WILL  BE  YOUR  SON!"  (Evelyn  Keyes)  by  Abigail  Putnam  42 

"TO  TEDDY,  WITH  LOVE"  by  Betty  Hutton  44 

UNFINISHED  BUSINESS  (Rita  Hay  worth- Victor  Mature)  by  Carl  Schroeder  46 

QUEEN  OF  THE  "MARY"  (Elizabeth  Taylor)  by  Christopher  Kane  48 

WHAT  MAKES  THE  SENATOR  RUN?  (William  Powell)  by  Cameron  Shipp  52 

"WHY  DON'T  YOU  TWO  GET  MARRIED?"  (Ann  Sheridan). ...by  Hedda  Hopper  54 

GREAT  EXPECTATIONS  (Shirley  Temple)  by  Dee  Lowrance  56 

WITH  THIS  RING  (Marie  McDonald)  by  George  Benjamin  58 

HELP  WANTED!  (Tom  Drake)  by  Cynthia  Miller  60 

features 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons  4 

EDITORIAL:  A  Turkey  Leg  to  Mr.  Zanuck  by  Moss  Hart  27 

departments 

REVIEWS  by  Virginia  Wilson  16 

FASHION  by  Constance  Bartel  69 

INFORMATION  DESK  by  Beverly  Linet  79 

BEAUTY:  "Be  a  Good-Looking  Sport!"  by  Carol  Carter  84 

FAN  CLUBS  ..'  «  by  Shirley  Frohlich  86 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  92 

COVER  PORTRAIT  OF  TYRONE  POWER  BY  NICKOLAS  MURAY 
DESIGNED  BY  LESTER  BEALL 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  research  editor 
CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 


HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 
GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 
BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 
DON  ORNITZ,  staff  photographer 
CARL  SCHROEDER,  editorial  consultant 
LAYNG  MARTINE,  promotion  director 
JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 


POSTMASTER'  Please  send  notice  on  Form  357,8  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form '3579  to  149  Madison  Avenue/New  York  16,  New  York 


Vol  36  No.  1,  December,  1947.  Copyright,  1947,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New 
York  Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen  N  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in 
U  S  A  and  Canada  $1.80  a  year,  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  bept.  18,  1930, 
at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for 
The  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  sem.-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  dU1//B. 


A*. 


acr0-  ~"'Ca/ 


»ss 


1"  9        I  jCree" 


M-G-Mermaids 
in  Aqua-colossal 
Water  Ballets  I 


Terrific 
Itine  Hits/ 

including: 
Un  PoquitodeAmor" 
"I  Love  to  Dance" 
"This  Time  for  Keeps* 


DAME  MAY  WHITTY   •    SHARON  McMANUS    •    Screen  Play  by  GLADYS  LEHMAN    .    Story  by  ERWIN  GELSEY  AND  LORRAINE  FIELDING 

Directed  by  RICHARD  THORPE  •  Produced  by  JOE  PASTERNAK  . 


A  METRO-GOLD WYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


Before  leaving  on  a  ten-week  flight  that  took  him  around  Africa,  Ty  Power 
gave  a  party  in  the  Champagne  Room  of  the  Mocambo.  Clark  Gable 
came  with  Dolly  O'Brien,  one  of  his  favorite  and  steady  companions. 


Richard  Greene  and  his  beautiful  actress  wife,  Patricia  Medina,  also 
bid  Ty  goodbye.  Although  movie  roles  await  him  in  England,  Richard's 
reading  play  scripts  like  mad  with  an  eye  towards  the  Broadway  stage. 


4 


Lana  Turner  had  a  wonderful  time  dancing  with  Ty,  but  a  few  days 
later  she  was  crying  at  the  airport  as  he  took  off  in  a  new  DC-3 
Douglas  Transport.  Lana's  going  to  join  him  in  Africa,  then  on  to  Paris. 


Van  and  Evie  Johnson  hated  to  budge  from  their  own  fireside  but  they 
did  it  for  Ty.  They  may  bid  for  Diosa  Costello's  beautiful  home  so 
they'll  have  enough  room  for  their  growing  family — expected  in  January. 


■  As  sad  as  any  separation  is,  particularly 
where  a  child  is  involved,  the  Danny  Kaye 
rift  is  beginning  to  assume  a  slightly  sophis- 
ticated Noel  Coward  slant. 

Instead  of  nursing  the  blues,  or  crawling 
into  a  shell.  Sylvia  has  bloomed  into  an 
outwardly  gay,  happy  charmer — and  when 
I  say  charmer,  I  mean  it.  She's  cut  her 
hair  short,  the  new  ballerina  styles  are  won- 
derful on  her,  and  she  looks  cuter  than 
peanuts.  And  that's  what  I  call  being  smart. 

Although  Danny  still  sees  attractive  Eve 
Arden,  his  chief  interest  since  he  and  Sylvia 
separated,  he  has  frequent  dinners  with  his 
wife. 

I  think  it's  pretty  cute  that  it  is  now  Sylvia 
who  thinks  any  reconciliation  should  wait  a 
spell  "until  Danny  knows  exactly  what  he 
wants  out  of  life" — in  her  own  words. 

Don't  tell  me  it  is  any  accident,  either. 


Adding  glitter  to  the  Power  party  were  Hedy  Lamarr  and  Mark  Stevens. 
Since  then  their  romance  has  hit  a  snag,  with  Hedy  giving  out 
big  sister  advice  and  sending  Mark  home  for  a  speedy  reconciliation. 


Newly-appointed  Paramount  chairman  of  the  Runyon  Cancer  Fund,  Bob 
Hope,  attended  the  party  in  unofficial  capacity  with  his  wife.  At  another 
Mocambo  affair,  he  quipped,  "Go  ahead,  folks,  Elliot's  paying  for  this." 


Louis  Jourdan  (above  next  to  June  Havoc)  is  called  the  French  Ty 
Power.  Told  by  D.  Selznick  to  stay  exactly  as  he  was,  Louis  later  re- 
marked. "I  know  I  shouldn't  change,  but  isn't  my  hair  getting  too  long?" 


For  a  change,  Doug  Fairbanks  Jr.  and  his  wife  attended  a  party 
that  wasn't  for  them.  Busy  now  as  Vice-President  of  the  American  Asso- 
ciation for  the  United  Nations,  he'll  moke  a  picture  soon  with  B.  Grable. 


that  Sylvia's  new  office  on  the  Warner  lot 
|  (where  she  is  working  on  his  new  song  and 
|  dance  routines)  is  very  glamorous  and  femi- 
j  nine.  There  are  bowls  of  fruit  and  flowers 
I  everywhere — with  added  floral  offerings  ar- 
i  riving  twice  weekly  from  Danny.  Nice  place 
i  to  work — AND  think  things  over. 

In   a  very  cheery  voice,  Sylvia  told  me, 

"Danny  and  I  haven't  hit  it  off  so  well  in 

years  as  we  have  since  we  parted." 

And  don't  believe  those  silly  stories  that 
I  Danny  didn't  want  Sylvia  to  continue  writing 

his  material. 

He  may  be  a  little  mixed  up  these  days — 
i  but  he  ain't  THAT  crazy. 


Wonder  if  I  was  in  on  the  start  of  a 
romance  between  Joan  Crawford  and  Tony 
■Martin?    We  won't  know  until  she  returns 


from  Honolulu — but  here's  what  happened 
the  night  before  she  left: 

Joan,  looking  like  a  dream  boat  in  a  stun- 
ning black  dress  with  tiered  sleeves,  came 
into  the  Mocambo  with  a  gent  I  didn't  recog- 
nize. But  before  you  could  say,  "What's 
this?"  Joan  and  her  escort  were  sitting  in 
Tony  Martin's  party. 

Suddenly,  Tony  was  on  the  bandstand, 
singing  a  farewell  song  right  into  Joanie's 
big  orbs,  "I'll  Be  Seeing  You  In  All  the  Old 
Familiar  Places."    Boy,  did  he  mean  it????? 

Then,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  breath- 
less onlookers,  Tony  held  out  his  hand  to 
Joan  and  she  joined  him  at  the  orchestra  to 
duet,  "Embraceable  You." 

The  lady  hasn't  done  anything  like  that 
since  the  good  old  days  when  she  used  to 
win  dancing  contests  and  put  on  exhibitions 
of  the  Charleston. 


The  Mark  Stevenses  have  made  up.  They 
are  going  to  give  their  marriage  another  try 
— which  is  the  wise,  sane  thing  to  do. 

But  whether  it  is  permanent  or  not,  I  don't 
know — and  frankly  neither  do  Mark  and 
Annelle. 

They  both  want  the  reconciliation  to  suc- 
ceed, but  there  are  many  obstacles  to  over- 
come. I  have  never  had  anyone  talk  to  me 
more  frankly  than  Annelle  did  and  it  would 
be  violating  her  confidence  to  repeat  what 
she  said.  But  I  can  say  that  she  was  hurt, 
and  deeply  hurt,  over  Mark's  constant  com- 
panionship with  Hedy  Lamarr  during  their 
separation. 

I  am  an  older,  and  wiser  woman  so  I  do 
not  feel  presumptuous  in  offering  this  advice. 
I  have  seen  many  marriages,   movie  and 
otherwise,  go  on  the  rocks  in  my  time.  I 
f  Continued  on  next  page) 


Bozo,  the  clown,  welcomes  Joan  Bennett,  her  daughter,  Steph- 
anie (right)  and  Lana  Turner's  daughter,  Cheryl,  to  the  Toy 
Menagerie.  Uncle  Bernie,  the  owner,  gave  a  children's  party. 


There  were  over  100  kids  at  the  toy  store  party  and  each  went 
home  with  a  gift.  Maureen  O'Sullivan  shows  Michael,  Pat- 
rick and  Maria  the  tree  that  gave  lemonade  when  squeezed. 


Another  of  Uncle  Bernie's  creations  was  a  lollipop  tree,  above 
Robert  John  Colonna's  head.  He  plucked  one  with  the  aid  of  Bozo 
and  gave  his  Dad  a  lick — also  fed  him  much  cake  and  ice-cream. 


An  electric  train  display  was  one  of  the  main  attractions.  Bozo 
shows  Christopher  the  fine  points  while  his  Mom,  Joan  Craw- 
ford, his  sister,  Christina  (right),  and  a  friend  watch  interestedly. 


have  also  seen  marriages  salvaged  and  the 
principals  go  to  many  added  years  of  hap- 
piness. 

So  I  say  to  Annelle — bury  the  past,  forget 
it  as  though  it  had  never  happened.  Don't 
nag.  Don't  be  constantly  prodding  and  prob- 
ing an  old  wound.  Men  are  funny  and  when 
they  say  "I  love  you — and  I'm  sorry"  they 
want  that  to  be  final. 

Mark  is  a  good  boy  and  I  think  he  was 
always  in  love  with  his  wife  and  she  with 
him.  So  let  them  keep  their  happiness  and 
guard  it. 

*        *  • 
Zounds!   Is  Annabella  miffed  over  all  the 


JEAN  PETERS  CESAR  ROMERO 

1  Antonio  Moreno  •  Thomas  Gomez  •  Alan  Mowbray 

Screen  Play  by  Lamar  Trotti 


Directed 


JENRY  KING  LAMAR  TROTTI 


\J0HN  SUTTON  LEE  J.COBB 

Lawrenci 

2o 


Barbara  Lawrence  •  George  Zucco  •  Roy  Roberts  •  Marc  Lawrence 

From  the  Novel  by  Samuel  Shellabarger 


A 

CENTURY-  FOX  MAGNIFICENT  EPIC! 


there'1 


in 


WITH 

JOHN  HOWARD 

ISOBEL  ELSOM 


Directed  by  RICHARD  WHORF 

Produced  by  JAMES  J.  GELLER  •  Screenplay  by  Philip  MacOonald 
From  a  Play  by  Frank  Vosper  •  Based  on  a  Story  by  Agatha  Christie 
AN  EAGLE  LION  FILMS  RELEASE 
mmmv.  nu, 


Jane  Russell  was  chief  bat-boy  at  the  charity 
ball  game  for  the  Runyon  Cancer  Fund.  She  also 
teaches  Sunday  School  at  a  Hollywood  church 


Frank  Sinatra  and  Andy  Russell  ran  through  an 
"Anything  You  Can  Do"  routine  at  the  Runyon 
Fund  game.  Frank's  the  Fund's  studio  chairman. 


talk  that  she  is  refusing  to  give  Tyrone 
Power  his  freedom? 

In  a  hot  little  letter  from  Paris,  Annabella 
wrote  me,  "I  am  hearing  from  all  sides  the 
rumors  that  I  am  refusing  to  divorce  Tyrone 
and  I  cannot  keep  silent  any  longer." 

She  goes  on  to  say  that  whenever  he  asks 
for  his  freedom  she  will  grant  it  and  that 
there  has  been  so  little  pressure  from  him 
for  a  divorce  that  "I  had  to  ask  him  several 
times  to  get  a  lawyer  of  his  own — as  I  had 
done  myself,  to  arrange  our  divorce.  Does 
that  seem  that  I  am  behaving  like  the  dog  in 
the  manger — as  I  am  being  made  out?" 

Nope,  I  can't  say  that  it  does. 

However,  I  think  that  Ty  will  ask  for  his 
freedom  when  he  sees  his  ex-wife  in  Paris. 
Else — how  come  that  Lana  Turner  is  keeping 


a  rendezvous  with  him  in  Casablanca  just 
about  the  time  you  read  this? 

*        *        *  * 

I'm  fcrazy  about  Rita  Hayworth.  She 
really  a  swell  girl.  It  was  wonderful  to  do 
her  first  interview  since  her  return  from 
Europe  on  my  air  show.  And  we  had  a  lot 
of  fun  talking  "girl  talk"  the  night  before 
the  broadcast,  at  my  home. 

Don't  get  excited  about  romance  rumors 
concerning  Rita.  She's  been  going  out  with 
a  different  beau  every  night  including  her 
old  flame,  Vic  Mature.  "But  there's  nothing 
serious  in  my  life,"  she  said.  "I'll  always 
like  Vic — he's  fun.   But  that's  all." 

What  completely  amazed  Rita  was  to  fin> 
her  daughter,  Rebecca,  who  didn't  kno 
how  to  talk  when  she  went  away,  chattin 


It  was  too  late  to  turn 
ji  back  now.  Tonight  held 
the  answer  to  Mary 
I  Hagen's  future.  And  if 
going  alone  to  meet  Tom 
Bates  let  loose  another 
floodtide  of  lies  and  ru- 
mors, she  was  prepared 
to  face  it.  Mary  didn't 
care  anymore. 

For  if  what  they  said 
was  true,  that  her  life 
was  ruined  even  before 
she'd  lived  it,  at  least 
she  would 
know  why. 
She  would 
know  that 
terrible  se- 
cret..  .  the 

Why  do  they  want  to  harm      .  r  .1 

a  girl  like  Mary  Hagen?  SlOryOIUie 

scandal  whose  ominous 
shadow  had  darkened 
her  days  and  turned 


Her  mind  was 
made  up.  She  was 
going  to  meet  Tom  Bates, 
the  man  who  had  made 
her  unworthy  of  love. 

THE  ONE  THING  MARY  HAGEN  NEVER  EXPECTED 
AWAITED  HER  THAT  NIGHT... THE  ONE  ROLE  YOU  WOULD 
WANT  SHIRLEY  TEMPLE  TO  HAVE  IS  ON  THE  SCREEN  NOW! 


with  RORY  CALHOUN 

PENNY  EDWARDS  •  LOIS  MAXWELL  •  HARRY  DAVENPORT 

Screen  Play  by  Charles  Hoffman  .  From  a  Novel  by  Edith  Roberts .  Music  by  Franz  Waxman 
Directed  by  PETER  GODFREY  •  Produced  by  ALEX  GOTTLEIB 


Mrs.  Bob  Hutton  (Cleatus  Caldwell)  wore  an  unusual  pearl 
choker  at  Harry  Richman's  Ciro  opening.  Bob,  signed  with 
WB  for  7  years,  is  feuding  with  leading  lady  Joyce  Reynolds. 


Frank  and  Nancy  Sinatra  came  to  the  opening,  danced  most  of  the 
evening.  They've  started  weekly  painting  lessons,  under  John  Vogel. 
Meanwhile,    Frank's    canvasses    are    decorating    his    friend's  homes. 


Vera-Ellen,  who's  been  dating  Farley  Granger,  and  Rory 
Calhoun,  who's  been  beauing  Rhonda  Fleming,  saw  the  Rich- 
man  show  together.  Rory's  bought  a  boat  with  Guy  Madison. 


and  gabbing  like  a  Magpie  now. 

"Maybe  she's  going  to  turn  out  like  her 
father,"  I  suggested,  recalling  "genius"  Orson 
Welles'  gift  for  gab  on  every  subject.  Cer- 
tainly Rebecca  doesn't  get  her  garrulousness 
from  her  beautiful  mother  who  is  a  very 
guiet  person. 

I  must  say  my  radio  producer  (male) 
was  upset  about  the  gown  Rita  was  wear- 
ing. It  was  straight  from  Paris  and  com- 
pletely new  with  a  small  hoop  around  her 
waist  to  make  the  skirt  stand  out. 

"Can  you  imagine  a  girl  with  a  figure  like 
that  wearing  a  hoop?"  whooped  my  radio 
friend,  very  depressed  about  the  whole  thing. 

*        *        *  _ 

Let's  go  to  a  couple  of  parties  that  were 
really  honeys! 

One  was  formal,  grand  and  elegant,  and 
the  other  was  slacks,  Mexican  food  and 
whoopie  and  I  had  the  time  of  my  life  at 
both. 

Swanky  plus  was  the  glamor  party  given 
by  Lana  Turner  and  Tyrone  Power  before 
Ty  took  off  for  Africa. 

The  setting  was  the  newly-decorated 
Champagne  Room,  adjoining  the  Mocambo 
and  believe  me  it  is  a  "setting"  guaranteed 
to  show  off  the  ladies  and  what  they  wore. 

The  room  is  in  black,  silver  and  crystal. 
The  tables,  gleaming  with  orchids  flown  in 
that  day  from  Honolulu,  looked  like  jewels. 


10 


A  MAN... trying  to  run  away 
from  his  past... 

A  WOMAN . . .  trying  to 
escape  her  future! 


1 


IRK  DOUGLAS  •  RHONDA  FLEMING  -  RICHARD  WEBB 

STEVE  BRODIE  •  VIRGINIA  HUSTON 
Produced  by  WARREN  DUFF  •  Directed  by  JACQUES  TOURNEUR 

Screen  Play  by  GEOFFREY  HOMES 


11 


When  it  comes  to  ties,  Glenn  Ford  finds  he  can't  be  exclusive.  Wears 
the  same  as  William  Keighley,  director  of  the  Lux  shows,  at  the 
broadcast-  of  Stolen  Life — Bette  Davis'  first  role  since  motherhood. 


"Take  it  off!"  they  cried  to  Esther  Williams — and  she  did  for  $5000,  at 
the  Runyon  Cancer  Fund  auction  on  Harold  Lloyd's  estate.  Harry 
Crocker  m.-c.'d  and  blushed  as  her  dress  went  home  with  L.  B.  Mayer. 


Charlie  Morrison,  ye  host  of  the  Mocambo, 
had  a  clever  idea.  Individual  brandy  snifters 
holding  single  gardenias  with  the  names 
"Lana  and  Ty"  enscrolled  on  the  glass  were 
a  part  of  the  decor.  If  I  hadn't  known  that 
it  wasn't  possible,  because  Ty  is  not  free, 
I  would  have  thought  this  an  engagement 
announcement. 

All  evening  long,  six  violinists  bowed 
their  way  among  the  tables  playing  the 
most  romantic  tunes.  Obviously,  Ty  and 
Lana  went 'all  out  to  make  this  a  beautiful 
affair. 

The  newest  twosome  of  the  evening  was 
Hedy  Lamarr  and  Mark  Stevens  making 
their  first  public  appearance  together.  Of 
course,  this  was  before  the  Stevens  made  up. 

You  couldn't  move  two  inches  without 
bumping  into  the  Gary  Coopers,  Clark 
Gable  ( still  romancing  socialite  Dolly 
O'Brien),  Cesar  Romero  and  practically  the 
entire  star  roster  of  both  20th  and  M-G-M. 

Early  the  next  morning,  Ty  left  and  Lana 
was  at  the  airport  to  kiss  him  goodbye. 
Don't  think  the  photographers  missed  that 
one.  She's  really  in  love  with  him — and  it's 
mutual. 

*  *  * 
On  the  other  hand — there's  nothing  like 
a  party  where  everyone  lets  his  or  her  hair 
down  and  has  real  fun  instead  of  being 
formal  and  all  dressed  up.  The  Walter 
Langs — maybe  you  remember  Mrs.  Lang  as 
Fieldsie.  Carole  Lombard's  secretary,  and 
Walter  is,  of  course,  the  well-known  direc- 
tor— had  a  Mexican  dinner  in  their  garden, 
and  oh,  what  a  fun  party  that  one  was. 


Once  a  year,  the  Langs  throw  this  party 
and  the  orchestra  is  furnished  by  the  guests 
— usually  the  same — Fred  MacMurray  tootin' 
the  saxophone,  Ann  Sothern  at  the  piano, 
Cesar  Romero  at  the  bass  fiddle  and  two 
or  three  others.  This  year's  vocalist  was 
new — Miss  Ann  Sheridan  in  the  flesh. 

Lana  Turner,  wearing  her  heart  on  her 
sleeve  since  Ty's  departure,  came  with  a 
girl  friend.  Lana  wore  tricky  slacks,  a  jet 
top  and  black  trousers  and  managed  to  look 
beautiful,  if  lonesome. 

Evie  Johnson,  in  a  peasant  skirt  and  blouse 
to  hide  her  figure  (she'll  be  a  mother  soon), 
had  a  million  laughs  with  Van  right  by  her 
side.  If  you  could  see  the  way  he  waits  on 
her  and  never  leaves  her,  you  would  know 
all  this  gossip  that  they  aren't  getting  on  is 
the  silliest  of  the  season. 

Zachary  Scott,  minus  mustache,  looked  odd 
to  me.  I  asked  if  there  had  been  a  battle 
over  shaving  his  mustache  for  his  new 
picture.  "Not  a  battle,"  he  laughed.  "The 
director  just  insisted." 

That  Mousie,  and  I  mean  Mrs.  William 
Powell,  is  the  cutest  thing  in  town  and  every- 
one is  crazy  about  her.  She  loves  parties 
and  hates  to  go  home.  Bill  was  to  be  my 
guest  on  the  radio  the  following  day,  so 
neither  he  nor  I  felt  we  could  stay  late. 
Everytime  Bill  started  to  leave,  Mousie  hid 
so  he  couldn't  find  her.  But  don't  think  he 
didn't  know  what  she  was  doing.  He's  on 
to  her. 

June  Havoc,  pretty  blonde  sister  of  Gypsy 
Rose  Lee,  came  with  Bill  Spier — and  I  miss 
my  guess  if  these  two  aren't  married  soon. 


At  five  o'clock  the  next  morning  the  party 
was  still  going  strong  with  most  of  the  guests 
in  the  kitchen  stirring  up  ham  'n'  eggs.  Now 
you  know  what  I  mean  when  I  say  it  was 
a  big  night!  . 

4c  *  * 

Dana  Andrews'  13-year-old  son,  David, 
worked  his  entire  summer  vacation  in  a 
camera  shop  in  North  Hollywood  because, 
as  he  told  his  old  man,  he  "wanted  to  earn 
his  own  money." 

Just  before  David  started  back  to  school, 
Dana  received  a  bill  for  the  camera  gadgets 
Dave  had  "charged"  during  his  chores. 

"The  amount,"  said  Dana,  grinning,  "was 
exactly  four  times  his  salary!" 

*  *  * 

This  kills  me: 

Several  weeks  ago,  the  Eagle-Lion  com- 
pany staged  a  big  premiere  at  the  Carthay 
Circle  for  Red  Stallion  and  every  animal 
and  bird  in  the  business  was  invited  to  be 
present  (complete  with  trainers)  and  show 
off  in  the  forecourt. 

When,  a  couple  of  days  before  the  event, 
no  acceptance  had  been  received  from 
Lassie,  an  Eagle-Lionite  called  M-G-M  to  see 
if  the  canine  would  be  present. 

"We  doubt  it,"  was  the  surprising  reply, 

"Why?" 

"Well,"  came  the  unexpected  answer 
"Lassie  is  a  STAR  and  those  others  are  jus! 
SUPPORTING  animals!" 

*  *  * 
Purely  Personal:    The  Brian  Donlevy  di 


12 


SHE  WALKED 
10  THE  ALTAR 
WITH  FOUR 


...ana  stiil 


COLOMBIA  PICTURES  presents 


imiiiMiBiwiil  wmwMW  i fin ri r ' 


with 


PERU  WARAM  SPRING  BYINGT0N  RON  RAND  ELL 


Screenplay  by  Norman  Panama  and  Melvin  Frank 


Directed  t»  D  ON  J  AMMAN  and  RUDOLPH  MATE  ■  A  DON  HARTMAN  PRODUCTION 


13 


0X 


Let  Nestle  Colorinse  give  your 
hair  sparkling,  natural-looking  color  and 
highlights.  Not  a  permanent  dye  or  a 
bleach,  Nestle  Colorinse  washes  out 
completely  with  shampooing.  Delicately 
scented,  easy  and  absolutely  safe  to  use. 

COLORINSE 


Alan  and  Sue  Ladd  (in  the  East  for  the  shooting 
of  The  Long,  Gray  Line  at  West  Point)  arrived 
in  New  York  on  Alan's  birthday — hence  the  cake. 


vorce  suit  is  a  disgrace.  The  mess  should  have 
been  settled  out  of  court.  It  has  hurt  Brian, 
his  wife,  Hollywood  and  most  tragic  of  all, 
their  beautiful  little  girl,  Judy.  What  kind 
of  "love"  is  it  that  drags  an  innocent  little 
girl  through  mud  in  a  fight  for  her  custody? 
.  .  .  Last  year,  every  producer  in  town  was 
trying  to  steal  Gregory  Peck  for  a  picture. 
This  year,  it's  Burt  Lancaster.  ...  I,  person- 
ally, get  more  mail  with  plugs  for  Larry 
Parks.  .  .  .  Ever  since  a  famous  psychiatrist 
said  that  women  with  freckles  are  more 
"passionate"  than  their  freckle-less  sisters, 
they  have  been  kidding  the  dirndls  off  cute 
little  Jeanne  Crain.  ...  I  won't  even  bat  an 
eyelash  with  surprise  if  Clark  Gable  marries 
rich,  blonde,  social  Dolly  O'Brien  when  she 
is  free.  Clark  always  liked  sophisticated 
women,  which  certainly  proves  that  opposites 
attract.  Clark  is  a  hunting  and  fishing  man, 
himself.  ...  Is  Ingrid  Bergman  losing  per- 
sonal contact  with  her  fans?  It  seems  to  me 
she  is  becoming  almost  a  "myth"  she  is  such 
a  recluse.  .  .  .  Humphrey  Bogart  would  like  to 
have  Lauren  Bacall  in  every  one  of  his  pic- 
tures but  he's  afraid  he'll  run  into  the  same 
thing  Cornel  Wilde  did  when  he  was  plug- 
ging Patricia  Knight's  career.  Sometimes 
husbandly  devotion  turns  sour  to  movie  pro- 
ducers. .  .  . 


Did  you  know  that  RKO's  new  star,  Jane 
Greer  suffered  partial  paralysis  of  the  face 


The  gal  with  the  monk's  hair-do  is  Valli, 
famous  Italian  import,  in  one  of  the  first 
scenes  from   Sinatra's   Miracle  of  the  Bells. 

when  she  was  ten  years  old  and  she  be- 
lieved she  would  always  be  disfigured? 

It's  an  amazing  story  she  tells. 

"I  was  so  miserable,  I  cried,  cried,  cried 
all  the  time,"  Jane  told  me.  "I  didn't  know 
it  then,  but  those  tears  saved  me. 

"Crying  contorts  the  muscles  and  this  con- 
stant 'exercise'  is  what  brought  about  my 
recovery." 

Do  you  wonder  that  Jane  is  a  firm  believer 
that  "Every  cloud  has  a  silver  lining"? 
*        *  * 

Ran  into  Judy  Garland  at  M-G-M.  She 
and  her  husband,  Vincente  Minnelli,  were  en- 
tering one  of  the  projection  rooms  to  see 
The  Pirate — and  they  were  holding  hands. 

It's  wonderful  to  say  that  Judy  looks  so 
well,  her  old  pert  self  again.  She  was  upset 
over  a  story  (not  mine)  that  her  doctor  had 
"forbidden"  Vince  to  direct  her  next  picture. 

"It's  not  that  we  are  having  any  trouble," 
Judy  told  me.  "It's  just  that  he  believes  a 
complete  change  of  faces  during  my  working 
hours  will  be  best  for  me." 

Let's  hope  Judy's  bad  luck  is  all  behind 
her.  I'll  always  think  of  her  as  just  a  little 
girl  and  little  girls  shouldn't  have  troubles. 

Next  month,  I'll  have  some  New  York  gos- 
sip for  you.  I'm  heading  East  for  my  annual 
jaunt,  and  people  seem  different,  new  and 
exciting  to  me  in  New  York.  I've  always 
said  people  behave  differently  on  vacations. 

Until  then,  so  long — good  luck  and  keep 
on  sending  those  interesting  letters. 


n  the  screen  in  echnicolorj 
all  America's  millions..^ 


the  play  a 
loves  be 


ELIZABETH  TAYLOR 


Edmund  Gwenn  °ZaSu  Pitts 
Scwm&ecyiy  T><mxiu  Ofc^s&uwx;  MICHAEL  CURTTZ 

Sfnmt  tAe.  otiyiMxdl  f*lauj  cfrom  OaCOA  Svtlutii  Stoat  &ASMUucfam, 

HOWARD  LINDSAY  &RUSSEL  CROUSE 


Robert  buckner 


15 


movie  renews 


BY  VIRGINIA  WILSON 


Bob,  an  all-night  disc  jockey,  is  about  to  marry 
Vera  Marsh,  when  he's  confronted  by  "General" 
Signe     Hasso    who    insists    he's     King    of  Barovia. 


2.  When  Bob  doesn't  show  up  at  church,.  Vera  and  her 
•brother,  Bill  Bendix,  pay  him  a  call.  Bill's  always 
suspected  Bob  wasn't  serious  about  marrying  his  sister. 


WHERE  THERE'S  LIFE 


3.  Bob's  life  is  threatened  by  the  treacherous  Barov- 
ians,  but  Bendix'  cops  eventually  save  him.  Unfortu- 
nately Bob  prefers  the  "General's"  kisses  to  Vera's  .  .  . 


I  suppose  that  title  was  bound  to  turn  up 
on  a  Hope  picture  sooner  or  later!  Anyway, 
this  is  top  grade  Hope,  and  if  you  want  to 
laugh  yourself  into  a  state  just  short  of  coma, 
go  and  see  it. 

Bob,  as  a  disc  jockey  named  Michael  Val- 
entine, tangles  with  some  characters  who 
want  to  make  him  king  of  a  little  Balkan 
country  called  Barovia.  It  seems  that  the 
present  king  has  just  been  shot  ("Fine  ad  for 
the  job,"  Bob  grumbles)  and  has  whispered 
on  what  is  practically  his  death-bed  that  he 
has  a  son  in  America.  A  son  called  Michael 
Valentine,  who  knows  nothing  about  Barovia, 
and,  in  fact,  thinks  he's  an  orphan. 

Michael  would  have  been  better  off  pro- 


ceeding on  that  orphan  theory  indefinitely. 
But  no,  he  lets  himself  be  kidnapped  by  a 
Prime  Minister  (George  Coulouris),  and  a 
General  Grimovitch.  You  will  understand  this 
better  when  I  tell  you  that  the  general  is  a 
well-stacked  blonde,  played  by  Signe  Hasso. 
They're  all  set  to  take  Mike  back  to  Barovia 
in  a  plane. 

There  are,  however,  a  couple  of  things 
in  the  way.  One,  is  a  secret  society  called 
the  Mordia  which  is  trying  to  kill  off  all 
possible  claimants  to  the  throne  of  Barovia. 
The  other  is  Mike's  fiancee.  Hazel  O'Brien 
(Vera  Marsh),  who  is  planning  to  marry 
Mike  the  next  day.  She  never  heard  of  Bar- 
ovia and  she  has  seven  brothers  who  are 


New  York  cops,  who  never  heard  of  it. 
either.  The  oldest  brother  is  Victor  (William 
Bendix)  and  he  never  liked  Mike  very  well. 
Always  figured  he  was  trying  to  get  out  of 
marrying  little  Hazel.  So,  when  all  of  a  sud- 
den Mike  disappears,  the  whole  city  police 
force  starts  looking  for  him,  and  it  isn't  to 
send  him  a  wedding  present,  either. 

Meanwhile,  Mike  is  being  spirited  from 
hiding  place  to  hiding  place,  with  the  Mor- 
dians  in  hot  pursuit.  Knives,  guns — they 
don't  care  what  they  use  on  the  poor  guy. 
And  if  he  goes  to  the  cops  he'll  have  Victor 
to  cope  with!  But,  of  course,  he  has  the 
General  on  his  side,  and  that  blonde  hasn'l 
commanded  an  Army  for  nothing! — Par. 


16 


This  Time  For  Keeps:  Durante  keeps  watch  over 
Esther    Williams,    in    love    with.   J.  Johnston. 

THIS  TIME  FOR  KEEPS 

Esther  Williams  is  back  in  the  water  again, 
and  a  fine  thing  for  all  concerned.  Even  if 
she  couidn'f  swim  like  a  precocious  duck, 
she  would  still  be  a  dreamy  sight  in  a  bath- 
ing suit.  Her  supporting  cast  includes  Johnnie 
Johnston,  Xavier  Cugat,  Dick  Simmons,  Dame 
May  Whitty  and  those  two  sterling  singer- 
comedians — Jimmy  Durante  and  Lauritz 
Melchior. 

Johnnie  as  Dick,  the  son  of  Metropolitan 
star  Hans  Harold  (Lauritz  Melchior),  finds, 
when  he  gets  out  of  the  Army,  that  his  father 
has  everything  planned  for  him.  But  Dick 
has  been  taking  orders  from  top  sergeants 
for  three  years,  and  he'd  like  to  make  a  few 
plans  of  his  own.  He  would  especially  like 
to  be  allowed  to  pick  out  his  own  girl,  but 
papa  has  a  debutante  named  Frances  v'Mary 
Stuart)  practically  ready  to  start  up  the 
church  aisle. 

Much  nearer  what  Dick  has  in  mind  is 
Nora  Cambaretti  (Esther  Williams),  star  of 
the  aguacade  which  has  New  York  happily 
waterlogged  at  the  moment.  However,  Nora 
already  has  a  beau,  Gordon  (Dick  Simmons), 
plus  a  highly  suspicious  guardian-watchdog 
named  Ferdi  (Jimmy  Durante). 

In  spite  of  these  handicaps,  Dick  does 
pretty  well."  Nora  has  no  idea  he's  the  son 
of  the  famous  Hans  Harold,  and  thinks  he's 
broke.  She  gets  him  a  job  with  Xavier 
Cugat's  band.  Nora  even  falls  in  love  with 
him  enough  to  take  him  up  to  Mackinack 
Island  where  her  grandmother  (Dame  May 
Whitty)  can  inspect  him. 

Meanwhile,  Pop  Harold  is  having  sixteen 
kinds  of  fits.  His  son  involved  with  a  show- 
girl!  (Pop  hasn't  ever  seen  the  aguacade 
and  is  a  little  confused.)  He  isn't  used  to 
having  his  plans  kicked  around  with  such 
gay  abandon,  so  while  Dick  is  away  being 
inspected  by  Grandma,  Pop  announces  his 
son's  engagement  to  the  debutante.  Naturally, 
when  Nora  reads  that  in  the  morning  papers, 
it's  going  to  take  more  than  a  little  swim  to 
cool  her  off! 

There  are  some  nice  arrangements  of 
Cugat's  music  in  this,  and  Durante,  as  al- 
ways, is  terrific! — M-G-M. 


The  tougher  they  are.. .the  harder  they  fall! 


TOLD  WITH 
BULLET  FORCE! 

The  shock-by-sho.k  story  of  hrs 
crimes,  his  bottles,  h,s         ■  «• 

JOAN  . 

ciuuVaN  '  BEL1TA  *  LORRIIJG 

M  AKIM  TAM I10M  He»nf  »       ^ ,nd 

tiisha  took.  ».*ags,isi2  M,  „„  n.  -  -~ «— ' 

-  g7n7lued  art  sts  production   


17 


GLADYS  SWARTHOUT  singing  the  great  finale 
of  Mignon.  Look  at  her  hands!  They're  strong 
—but  smooth  and  softly  feminine.  The  vigor- 
ous hands  of  an  eloquent  artiste. 


kd  GLADYS  SWARTHOUT 


And  the  cream  she  uses  is  PACQUINS,  the  choice  of  so  many  stars 

It's  amazing!  . . .  the  way  women  are  changing  to 
cream  for  hand  care.  To  PACQUINS  Hand  Cream 
But,  then,  it  isn't  really  so  amazing  when  you  see 
and  feel  what  Pacquins  does  for  hands. 


TONIGHT  give  your  hands  star  care. 
Cream  care.  Pacquins  care. 
Smooth  on  a  dab  of  this  snowy-white, 
quick-melting,  fresh-fragrant  cream. 
Ahh  . . .  feels  good!  Really  luxurious. 
What's  this?  What's  happened  to 
that  roughness,  dryness,  flakiness,  chap? 
Why,  your  skin  feels  smooth,  soft,  vel- 
vety as  the  fabled  gardenia  petal. 

And  look!  What's  milk  ...  or  a  pearl 
...  or  a  moonbeam  got  that  your  hands 
haven't?  Nothing! 


Try  Pacquins  tonight.  Just  a  1 2-second 
massage.  And  tomorrow  morning.  And 
every  night  and  morning.  Pacquins  isn't 
sticky  or  greasy.  Disappears  fast.  It's  a 
joy  to  use  —  as  well  as  to  have  used.  Try 
changing  to  cream ...  to  Pacquins . . .  now. 


ELIZABETH  WILKINSON, 
NURSE,  REPORTS  : 

"Pacquins  was  originally  for- 
mulated just  for  nurses  and 
doctors.  Nurses'  hands  take 
a  nasty  beating  —  30  to  40 
washings  and  scrubbings  a 
day.  We  must  have  this  kind 
of  hand  care." 


for  "dream"  hands— cream  your  hands  N°rcL^/ 


with 


O  HAND  CREAM 


AT  ANY  DRUG,  DEPARTMENT,  OR  TEN-CENT  STORE. 


That  Hagen  Girl:  S.  Temple  questions  R.  Reagan 
about    the    mystery    surrounding    her  birth. 

THAT  HAGEN  GIRL 

Gossip  is  an  ugly  thing.  When  we  whisper 
some  rumor  we've  heard,  it  may  be  as 
dangerous  as  the  sibilant  whisper  of  a  knife 
through  the  air.  That's  what  happens  in 
the  case  of  Mary  Hagen  (Shirley  Temple). 
Gossip,  just  gossip,  but  that's  enough. 

It  all  starts  with  what  may  or  may  not 
be  a  coincidence.  In  1930,  Grace  Gately, 
daughter  of  Jordan,  Ohio's,  richest  family, 
returns  to  her  home  town  after  a  long  trip. 
She  has  a  nurse  with  her  and  she  isn't  al- 
lowed to  see  anyone,  particularly  Tom  Bates 
(Ronald  Reagan)  whom  she's  gone  around 
with  for  two  years. 

Here's  the  coincidence.  On  the  same  train 
is  an  inconspicuous  little  seamstress,  Mrs. 
Minta  Hagen  (Dorothy  Petersen).  In  her 
arms  she  is  carrying  a  very  new  baby.  Now 
it  happens  that  no  one  in  Jordan  had  heard 
Minta  was  going  to  have  a  baby  when  she 
left  town  a  few  months  before  on  a  visit.  So 
the  whispers  start,  and  before  long,  everyone 
is  convinced  that  the  little  girl  is  really  the 
daughter  of  Grace  Gately  and  Tom  Bates. 

Seventeen  years  later,  when  Mary  Hagen 
is  a  senior  in  High  School,  the  town  is  still 
convinced  of  it.  Mary  is  a  very  pretty  girl 
(natch — it's  Shirley  Temple),  but  she  knows 
there's  .some  mystery  about  her  birth,  al- 
though she  has  no  idea  what  it  is.  She  and 
young  Ken  Freneau  (Rory  Calhoun)  are  in 
love  and  she  has  no  time  for  worrying  about 
mysteries. 

Then  Ken's  mother  decides  "that  Hagen 
girl"  isn't  fit  company  for  her  darling  boy. 
and  Mary  is  told  she  can't  have  the  lead  in 
the  High  School  play  because  all  of  a  sud- 
den she  "isn't  the  type." 

No  wonder  she  badgers  her  friend,  Sharon 
(Jean  Porter)  into  telling  her  the  story  of  the 
rumors.  No  wonder  she  goes  straight  to 
Tom  Bates  for  an  explanation.  But  that  visit 
has  consequences  which  even  the  busiest 
busybody  in  Jordan  could  not  have  foreseen. 

On  first  thought,  Shirley  Temple  and  Ron- 
ald Reagan  seem  a  slightly  incongruous 
team,  but  it  works  out  fine. — War. 

DAISY  KENYON 

Joan  Crawford  deserts  schizophrenia  and 
alcoholism,  temporarily  at  least,  to  portray  a 
reasonably  normal  career  girl.  Daisy  Ken- 
yon  is  an  illustrator  for  popular  magazines. 
She  is  clever,  sophisticated,  beautiful.  Un- 


Daisy  Kenyan:  Career-gal  Crawford  falls  for 
married    D.   Andrews,    later   weds    H.  Fonda. 

fortunately,  she  is  in  love  with  a  man  who 
is  married  and  has  a  couple  of  children, 
which  naturally  leads  to  complications. 

Dan  O'Mara  (Dana  Andrews)  is  a  very 
attractive  guy — so  much  so  that  you  can 
understand  why  Daisy  let  herself  get  in- 
volved in  this  unhappy  situation.  He  has 
become  as  much  a  part  of  her  life  as  her 
career  or  Mew  York.  She  couldn't,  she  tells 
herself,  give  up  any  of  them.  Besides,  Dan 
needs  her.  He  is  one  of  the  smartest  lawyers 
in  the  city,  but  he  brings  his  problems  to 
Daisy  because  just  talking  to  her  about  them 
helps.  He  wouldn't  think  of  discussing  busi- 
ness with  his  wife,  who  wouldn't  know  what 
he  was  talking  about,  anyway. 

Then  Daisy  meets  Peter  (Henry  Fonda). 
Peter  is  casual  where  Dan  is  dynamic,  laconic 
where  Dan  is  voluble.  He  isn't  an  easy 
man  to  get  to  know  well.  In  all  probability, 
if  he  hadn't  stood  Daisy  up  on  a  date,  she 
would  never  have  bothered  to  get  to  know 
him.  But  she  isn't  used  to  that  kind  of  thing. 
And  Dan  is  away.  And  when  she  does  get 
to  know  Peter,  she  knows,  too,  that  he  is 
much  more  her  sort  of  person  than  Dan.  So 
— with  Dan  still  away — they  get  married.  As 
suddenly  as  that. 

When  Dan  gets  back,  it  naturally  looks  to 
him  as  though  Daisy  had  been  trying  to 
escape  from  the  love  he  is  sure  she  still 
feels  for  him  by  leaping  into  a  crazy  mar- 
riage. When  he  meets  Peter — and  he  does — 
everyone  is  very  polite  and  on  the  surface  it 
looks  like  a  woman  and  her  husband  having 
a  guiet  drink  with  an  old  friend  of  the  family. 
But  you  don't  know  Dan  if  you  think  he's 
going  to  give  up  so  easily.  He  has  had  to 
fight  for  everything  he's  gotten  in  life,  and 
he  has  no  intention  of  stopping  now. 

I  think  you'll  find  Daisy  Kenyan  fairly 
absorbing.  However,  I  don't  advise  you  to 
adopt  its  code  of  morals. — 20th-Fox. 

LOVE  FROM  A  STRANGER 

You  read  in  the  newspapers  all  the  while 
about  naive  women  who  are  swept  off  their 
feet  by  romantic  strangers,  with  disastrous 
results.  Women,  apparently,  will  believe  any- 
thing if  it's  said  with  sufficient  charm,  and 
plenty  of  men  are  ready  to  trade  on  that 
gullibility. 

Of  course  a  girl  as  attractive  as  Cecily 
Harrington  (Sylvia  Sydney)  isn't  exactly  sur- 
prised when  a  handsome  stranger  falls  in 


Why  didn't 
somebody 
tell  me  - 

All  tissues 

aren't 
Kleenex  ? 


Not  on  your  life  they  aren't!  bellowed 
Uncle  Mayhew.  Fine  thing! — I'm  sneez- 
ing my  head  off  and  my  sister  brings  me 
plain  tissues.  If  you  think  all  tissues  are 
Kleenex,  I  wish  you  had  this  sniffle-sore 
nose!  It  says  there's  only  one  Kleenex! 


Buck  up.  Auntie  !  said  Teena.  Bend  an 
eye  at  the  real  McCoy  —  the  one  and 
only  Kleenex !  See  that  box,  how  different 
it  is  ?  How  it  gives  with  the  tissues  — 
one  at  a  time  ?  Neat  feat !  Only  Kleenex 
can  do  it!  What's  more  ,  .  . 


Bess,  you  alarm  me — snapped  Cousin 
Cynthia.  Surely  you  know  better  than  to 
confuse  Kleenex  with  other  tissues.  Very 
unfunny — when  I  depend  on  Kleenex  so. 
Listen.  My  skin  knows  there's  not  a  tissue 
on  earth  just  like  angel-soft  Kleenex! 


Hold  a  Kleenex  Tissue  up  to  a  light. 

See  any  lumps  or  weak  spots?  'Course 
not!  You  see  Kleenex  quality  smilin' 
through  —  always  the  same  —  so  you 
just  know  Kleenex  has  super  softness. 
And  are  those  tissues  rugged! 


Now  I  know. . .  There  is  only  one  KLEENEX 


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love  with  her.  After  all,  other  men  have 
been  in  love  with  her.  In  fact,  she's  engaged 
to  one,  Nigel  Lawrence  (John  Howard)  and 
very  dull  he  is,  too.  Admittedly,  this  new 
Manuel  Cortez  (John  Hodiak)  is  a  fascinat- 
ing change,  but  you'd  think  it  might  have  oc- 
curred to  her  that  her  recently  acquired  forty 
thousand  pounds  might  have  something  to  do 
with  it.  However,  he  keeps  telling  her  how  . 
beautiful  she  is,  and  Nigel  never  even  men- 
tioned that.  In  fact,  Nigel  would  go  away 
for  months  at  a  time  and  all  she  would  hear 
from  him  would  be  a  picture  postcard  not 
even  saying,  "Wish  you  were  here." 

There  are  a  couple  of  people  who  try  to 
hold  Cecily  down  to  earth  a  bit.  One  is  her 
friend.  Mavis  (Ann  Richards)  and  the  other 
is  Auntie  Loo-Loo  (Isabel  Elsom).  But  all 
their  arguments  can't  counter-act  what  she 
feels  when  Manuel  kisses  her.  So  she  mar- 
ries him  and  they  go  to  a  cottage  in  Devon- 
shire to  live  happily  ever  after. 

Only  it's  a  funny  thing.  No  one  knows 
where  they've  gone.  Cecily  thinks  Mavis 
knows,  but  actually,  Manuel  has  given  "her  a 
fake  address  in  Ireland.  And  Nigel  hasn't 
been  able  to  trace  their  whereabouts  at  all. 
Manuel  acquires  a  power  of  attorney  which 
means  that  if  anything  should  happen  to 
Cecily,  her  whole  fortune  would  go  immedi- 
ately to  him. 

Naturally,  something  is  going  to  happen  to 
Cecily,  unless  the  combined  efforts  of  Scot- 
land Yard,  Mavis  and  Nigel  can  prevent  it. 
The  race  is  too  close  for  comfort,  and  you'll 
watch  it  strictly  from  the  edge  of  your  seat. 
— Eagle-Lion 

UNCONQUERED 

This  is  a  whopping  big  De  Mille  epic  in 
Technicolor,  full  of  more  Indians  on  the 
warpath  than  you've  seen  since  you  had 
nightmares  at  the  age  of  eight.    It  also  has 


Gary  Cooper,  looking  even  more  noble  than 
usual,  Paulette  Goddard,  and  considerable 
excitement  in  "the  only  good  Injun  is  a  dead 
Injun"  tradition. 

Abby  Hale  (Paulette  Goddard)  is  sent  to 
the  colonies  in  1763,  as  a  bond  slave  to  be 
sold  at  auction.  On  the  voyage  over,  her 
red  hair  catches  the  eye  of  a  man  named 
Garth  (Howard  Da  Silva).  Garth  can  afford 
to  buy  himself  a  redhaired  bond  slave  if  the 
spirit  moves  him.-  He's  been  trading  powder 
and  guns  to  the  Indians,  which  is  a  remuner- 
ative business.  The  fact  that  the  guns  will 
inevitably  be  fired  against  white  settlers 
doesn't  bother  Garth  a  bit. 

But  it  does  bother  another  traveler  on  the 
ship.  Captain  Chris  Holden  (Gary  Cooper). 
Chris  is  well  aware  of  the  danger  implicit 
in  the  maneuvers  of  men  like  Garth,  and  he 
hates  him  so  much  that  when  Garth  tries  to 
buy  Abby,  Chris  overbids  him.  When  Chris 
gets  her,  he  sets  her  free,  which  is  quite  a 
shock  to  her  vanity.  Then  Garth  tells  her  the 
whole  thing  was  a  joke  and  that  Chris  didn't 
buy  her  at  all.  He  persuades  the  slave  dealer 
to  support  his  story,  and  Abby  goes  un- 
willingly with  Garth,  hating  Chris  for  the 
"joke." 

There  are  bigger  things  at  stake  now  than 
a  redhead's  heart.  The  wild  Allegheny 
country  is  hearing  rumors  of  Indian  war 
councils.  But  the  British  generals  of  His 
Majesty's  forces  in  America  know  singularly 
little  of  Indian  ways.  And  to  counteract  the 
influence  of  men  like  Chris  Holden  who  do 
know,  there  is  Garth  who  has  married  the 
daughter  of  a  great  Indian  chief  (Boris 
Karloff).  Surely  his  wife  (Katharine  De 
Mille)  tells  him  the  truth  when  she  says  the 
red  men  are  all  for  peace? 

But  Chris  doesn't  trust  Garth,  and  because 
he  doesn't,  there  is  still  a  British  flag  flying 
over  Fort  Pitt  when  every  other  outpost  has 
been  burned  to  the  ground. — Par. 


Unconquered:  P.  Goddard  is  sent  over  to  the  colonies  in  1763,  as  a  bond  slave.  H.  Da  Silva,  gun- 
runner, bids  for  her,  but  Cooper  overbids  and  sets  her  free,  leaving  her  prey  to  Da  Silva's  trickery. 


The  Unsuspected:  The  death  of  C.  Rains'  secre- 
tary involves  his  ward,  J.  Caulfield,  in  murder. 

THE  UNSUSPECTED 

The  most  quietly  diabolical  character 
you've  seen  in  some  time  is  on  exhibition 
in  The  Unsuspected.  He  is  a  delightful, 
soft-spoken  gentleman  who  will  make  your 
scalp  creep  in  seventeen  different  directions. 
He  is  the  kind  of  murderer  who  is  so  casual 
about  it  that  it  doesn't  seem  like  murder 
at  all. 

There  are  a  great  many  people  involved 
with  this  entertaining  murderer.  I'm  going 
to  tell  you  something  about  them,  and  in- 
clude him  in  the  list,  although  I  don't  think 
you're  going  to  have  much  trouble  guessing 
his  identity,  anyway. 

Here  are  the  people.  Stephen  Howard 
(Michael  North),  who  was  engaged  to  a 
girl  who  supposedly  committed  suicide,  and 
who  wants  to  investigate  her  death.  Althea 
Keane  (Audrey  Totter)  and  her  husband, 
Oliver  (Hurd  Hatfield),  who  drinks  too  much. 
Victor  Grandison  (Claude  Rains)  who  nar- 
rates murder  mysteries  on  the  radio.  A 
frightened  little  man  named  Press  (Jack  Lam- 
bert), and  a  sleek,  expensive  career  woman 
named  Jane  Moynihan  (Constance  Bennett). 

These  people  are  all  joined  by  one  link — 
murder.  Some  of  them  don't  know  it  and 
some  do.  The  ones  that  do  are  very  close 
to  death.  Stephen  Howard,  because  he 
doesn't  believe  the  suicide  story  about  his 
dead  fiancee,  is  a  definite  threat  to  the 
murderer.  Stephen  gets  acquainted  with  all 
these  people  by  claiming  to  be  the  husband 
of  Grandison's  adored  ward,  Matilda  (Joan 
Caulfield).  Actually,  he  has  never  met  her 
before,  but  he  had  heard  about  her  from 
his  fiancee,  who  was  Grandison's  secretary. 

The  clues  are  many  and  varied.  A  half- 
finished  letter,  a  vicious  argument  behind 
closed  doors,  a  record  that  should  never 
have  been  played.  When  death  finally 
threatens  Stephen,  it  comes  in  as  frightening 
a  form  as  you  can  possibly  imagine. 

There  are  eerie,  chilling  bits  here  and 
there  throughout  the  whole  picture.  They 
catch  at  your  nerves  like  a  whisper  in  the 
dark.  The  cast  is  beautifully  selected. — War. 

INTERMEZZO 

Some  years  ago,  a  foreign  picture  called 
Intermezzo  was  shown  in  the  United  States. 
A  very  bright  man  named  David  O.  Selznick 


en  yot*  cowe 
be  sure  fJtett  bags  full  of 

FELSNAPTHA  SOAP 


THE  GOLDEN  BAR  WITH  THE  CLEAN  NAPTHA  ODOR 


21 


Intermezzo:  Violinist  Leslie  Howard  falls  in  love  with  Bergman,  his  daughter,  Ann  Todd's,  piano 
teacher.    Ingrid  leaves  the  country.    Leslie  follows,  and  they  are  happy  together  for  a  while. 


Adverttsement 
*         ★         ★         *  * 

At  the  first 

blush  of 
Womanhood 


by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 


Many  mysterious  changes  take  place  in 
your  body  as  you  approach  womanhood. 
For  instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under 
your  arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type 
of  perspiration  you  have  never  known 
before.  This  is  closely  related  to  physical 
development  and  is  especially  evident  in 
young  women.  It  causes  an  unpleasant 
odor  on  both  your  person  and  your  clothes. 

No  need  for  alarm— There  is  nothing 
"wrong"  with  you.  It  is  just  another  sign 
you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a  girl.  It  is  also 
a  warning  that  now  you  miisr  select  a 
truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers  to  overcome  —  Underarm 
odor  is  a  real  handicap  at  this  age  when 
a  girl  wants  to  be  attractive,  and  the  new 
cream  deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially 
to  overcome  this  very  difficulty.  It  kills 
odor  instantly,  safely  and  surely,  then  by 
antiseptic  action  prevents  the  formation 
of  all  odor  for  many  hours  and  keeps  you 
safe.  Moreover,  it  protects  against  a  sec- 
ond danger— perspiration  stains.  The 
physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  of  the  teens  and  twenties  can 
cause  the  apocrine  glands  to  fairly  gush 
perspiration.  A  dance,  a  date,  an  embar- 
rassing remark  may  easily  make  you  per- 
spire and  offend  as  well  as  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  not  alike  —  Don't  take 
chances!  Rely  on  Arrid  which  stops 
underarm  perspiration  as  well  as  odor. 
No  other  deodorant  gives  you  the  same 
intimate  protection  as  Arrid's  exclusive 
formula.  That's  why  Arrid  is  so  popular 
with  girls  your  age.  They  buy  more  Arrid 
than  any  other  age  group.  More  nurses- 
more  men  and  women  everywhere  — use 
Arrid  than  any  other  deodorant. 

How  to  protect  yourself —You'll  find  the 
new  Arrid  a  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears  in  a  jiffy. 
Never  gritty  or  grainy.  The  American  In- 
stitute of  Laundering  has  awarded  Arrid 
its  Approval  Seal  — harmless  to  fabrics. 
Gentle,  antiseptic  Arrid  will  not  irritate 
skin.  No  other  deodorant  tested  stops 
perspiration  and  odor  so  completely  yet 
so  safely! 

Don't  be  half -safe  — During  this  "age  of 
courtship,"  don't  let  perspiration  prob- 
lems spoil  your  fun.  Don't  be  half -safe- 
be  Arrid-safe!  Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get 
Arrid  right  away,  only  39^  plus  tax  at 
your  favorite  drug  counter. 

*        ★        ★        ★  ★ 


took  one  quick  look  and  said,  "Get  me  that 
Swedish  girl  that  plays  opposite  Leslie  How- 
ard." Ingrid  Bergman  was  the  name  of  the 
Swedish  girl.  She  was  tall,  with  shining  hair 
and  deep  blue  eyes  and  a  radiant  face.  She 
has  since  acquired  considerable  fame  and  as 
Mr.  Selznick  is  still  a  bright  man  he  is  re- 
releasing  Intermezzo.  You'll  want  to  see  it 
whether  you  caught  it  on  the  first  round  or 
not. 

It's  a  love  story  about  a  violinist  named 


Halgar  (Leslie  Howard)  who  has  a  pleasant 
wife  (Edna  Best)  and  two  children  to  whom 
he  is  devoted  in  a  nice,  comfortable  sort  of 
way.  But  when  he  returns  from  a  concert 
tour,  he  finds  that  little  Ann  Marie  (Ann 
Todd),  his  daughter,  has  a  ilew  piano 
teacher.  Her  name  is  Anita  Hoffman  (Ingrid 
Bergman)  and  quite  suddenly  she  is  the  only 
thing  in  his  life  that  seems  really  important. 

You  don't  plan  these  things.  Halgar  didn't 
want  to  fall  in  love.    He  liked  his  pleasant, 


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QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  


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3,  in  order  of  preference  


•  If  any  of  the  stars  is  UNPOPULAR  WITH  YOU,  please  check  the  box  opposite  his 
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□  Ingrid  Bergman  □  Esther  Williams 

□  Larry.  Parks  □  Bing  Crosby 

□  Frank  Sinatra  □  Glenn  Ford 

□  Gai/  Russell  □  Bob  Mitchum 

□  Ann  Sheridan  □  Van  Johnson 

□  No  dislikes 

My  name  is   „•  

My  address  is  

City  Zone   State   I  am   years  old 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT..  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 


easy  existence,  and  after  all,  he  was  no 
young  college  student  to  say  all  for  love  and 
the  world  well  lost.  Yet,  in  a  little  while,  he 
finds  himself  saying  almost  exactly  that.  Be- 
cause Anita  couldn't  be  happy  long  with  this 
clandestine  relationship.  She  decides  to  leave 
the  country  and  solve  the  problem  that  way. 

Only,  the  problem  is  not  to  be  solved  so 
easily,  for  Halgar  follows  her.  She  works 
as  his  accompanist,  and  together  they  have  a 
triumphal  tour  of  all  Europe.  In  many  ways 
they  are  divinely  happy.  But  Halgar  misses 
his  little  daughter  terribly.  And  what  about 
the  scholarship  which  Anita  has  been  offered 
in  Paris  and  turned  down  because  of  Halgar? 
What  about  Halgar's  wife?  What  does  the 
future  hold  for  a  pair  of  lovers  who  have 
sacrificed  everything  and  everyone  else  to 
their  own  happiness? 

You'll  be  singing  the  hauntingly  lovely 
melody  Intermezzo  again. — Seiznick 

THE  EXILE 

A  completely  non-athletic  type,  myself,  I 
have  a  wonderful  time  watching  Douglas 
Fairbanks  leap  over  walls,  fight  duels  up 
and  down  staircases  and  otherwise  carry 
on  in  the  best  Fairbanks  tradition.  In  The 
Exile  he  also  makes  love  with  his  usual  deft- 
ness to  a  young  actress  named  Paula  Croset. 

The  exile  of  the  title  is  King  Charles  II 
(Doug  Fairbanks)  who  in  1660  is  living  in 
Holland.  He  can't  go  back  to  England  or 
Cromwell's  men  will  have  his  head  on  a 
pike  in  a  fast  thirty  seconds. 

Charles  lives  a  leisurely  if  not  kingly 
existence,  drinking  Dutch  ale  at  the  local 
pub  and  making  Engish  love  to  the  local 
wenches.  But  neither  he  nor  his  followers 
have  any  money,  which  complicates  their 
lives.  And  Cromwell,  tired  of  threats  of 
Royalist  uprisings,  sends  calm,  efficient  Col- 
onel Ingraham  (Henry  Daniell)  to  Holland 
to  dispose  of  Charles  permanently. 

About  this  time,  Charles  meets  a  Dutch 
girl  who  is  different  from  the  ones  with 
whom  he  has  been  spending  his  roistering 
evenings.  Katie  (Paula  Croset)  has  her  own 
farm  and  her  own  idea  of  what  is  proper. 
But  even  Katie  admits  Charles'  debonair 
charm  and  is  quite  happy  to  have  him  come 
and  help  her  run  her  obscure  little  farm. 
From  Charles'  point  of  view  it  makes  an  ideal 
hiding  place.  Even  the  brilliant  Colonel 
(Continued  on  page  112) 


At 


says  VIRGINIA  MAYO,  co-starring  in 
Samuel  Goldwyn's  Technicolor  Comedy 
"THE  SECRET  LIFE  OF  WALTER  M1TTY" 

"No  secret  about  a  lovely-to-look-at  complexion. 
Just  beauty-cleanse  the  way  I  do  with  Wood- 
bury Cold  Cream.  Whisks  off  even  the  heaviest 
movie  make-up."  Ginny  is  wise  to  Woodbury. 
It  contains  rich  oils.  It's  really  deep  cleansing. 
Smooth  it  on  quickly  .  .  .  skin  blooms  clean. 
Try  Woodbury  for  that  "Always-Fresh"  look. 


Excitement  in  the  air  —  enter  Virginia.  She 
says,  "First  after  work  comes  my  date  with 
Woodbury.  Its  rich  cleansing  smooths  my  studio 
dry  skin.  In  a  flash  skin's  fresh — oh, so  smooth." 
Woodbury's  four  special  softening  ingredients 
smooth  skin  —  but  surely.  Try  it,  and  see! 


The  Exile:  D.  Fairbanks,  exiled  king,  talks  over 
on  old  love  affair  with  Countess  M.  Montez. 


WOODBURY 
CREAMS 

FOR 
PROBLEM 
SKINS 


DRY  SKIN.  First,  cleanse  with  WOODBURY  COLD  CREAM.  Soften 
with  WOODBURY  Special  DRY  SKIN  CREAM  — rich  in  lanolin's 
beautifying  benefits.  Skin  looks  fresher,  younger! 
OILY  SKIN."  Cleanse  with  WOODBURY  Liquefying  CLEANSING 
CREAM.  It  melts  —  takes  off  surface  oils,  grime,  for  clearer  skin  I 


23 


crossroads 


Above,  before  the  split — Danny  and  Sylvia  with  George  Burns,  at  a  party  given  by 
Tony  Martin,  in  the  Beverly  Hills  Hotel.  The  Secret  Life  of  Walter  Mitty,  and 
A  Song  is  Bom,  wind  up  Danny's  Goldwyn  contract;  he  moves  to  Warners,  afterward. 


"We  played  a  game  of 

stay  away — "  That's  the  lament 

in  the  old  song. 

But  nobody  knows  if  the 

Kayes  have  come 

to  an  end,  or  a  new  beginning. 

BY  FLORABEL  MUIR 


That  thing's  a  tuba,  and  the  shot  might  be  a  publicity  gag.  It  seems  '  Danny 
had  just  finished  a  Decca  recording  called  "Tubby,  the  Tuba,"  concerning  a  forlorn 
tuba  who  wanted  to  star  in  a  symphony  orchestra.  It's  a  leading  juvenile  favorite. 


■  As  this  is  written,  the  mystery  of  what 
goes  on  between  Danny  Kaye,  the  screen 
and  radio  comedian,  and  his  talented 
wife,  Sylvia  Fine,  appears  to  be  hitting 
a  new  high. 

Whereas  only  a  couple  of  weeks  ago, 
it  looked  as  if  all  were  over  between 
them  for  good,  with  Danny  sulking  in  a 
hotel,  and  Sylvia  blithely  minding  her 
own  business,  they're  now  being  seen 
together  in  the  swank  night  spots  of 
Beverly  Hills  and  the  Strip.  So  unpre- 
dictable are  the  vagaries  of  love  in  Holly- 
wood that  it  would  take  a  more  reckless 
person  than  I  am  to  say  what  may  hap- 
pen next.  • 

The  whole  town  (and  Kaye's  pals 
especially)  cocks  a  questioning  eye  at 
lovely  Eve  Arden.  But  Eve  continues  to 
go  about  escorted  by  various  personable 
young  men,  totally  oblivious,  appar- 
ently, to  the  fact  that  she  is  the  storm 
center  of  the  Kaye  marital  tornado. 

It's  becoming  a  habit  in  Hollywood 
for  wedded  pairs  to  have  their  spats, 
live  apart,  but  continue  to  have  dates 
with  each  other.  They  try  so  hard,  it 
seems,  to  hold  on  to  wedded  happiness, 
.even  when  love  (Continued  on  page  109) 


Suck 
Tricks 


FOR 
ST.  NICK 


"Bring  me  the  'Scotch'  Tape,  Al,  he  wants  the 
pooch  wrapped  as  a  gift." 


MAKE  this  frivolous  looking 


ACCENT  a  package  with  this 


1 FIRST,  seal  wrapper  with  trans-  O 
parent  "Scotch"  Tape.  Then  L   package  with  colored  cello-   *l  and  fasten  to  package  for  un-    "t  simple  attractive  corner  treat- 
letter  names  on  in  color  with  phane  bound  firmly  at  the  top  with  usual  effects.  Try  Christmas  trees,   ment.  Attach  name  cards  with 


"Scotch"  Gift  Wrap  Tape. 


"Scotch"  Gift  Wrap  Tape 


Stars,  candles,  sailboats. 


'Scotch"  Tape  Christmas  Seals. 


FOR  an  attractive  decoration,    ^  MAKE  your  gift  wrapping     decorating.  It's  almost  invisible 
pattern  on  plain  paper  with  %t  hold  spruce  and  holly  twigs  or    f  easy  and  neat.  Seal  the  wrap-     and  sticks  at  a  touch  without 
multi-colored  strips  of  "Scotch"  miniature  bells  to  packages  with  ping  paper  firmly  with  transparent     moistening.  Extra  useful  when 


j   DESIGN  :>  n  unusuj  jII-mwi 


6 


Gift  Wrap  Tape. 


transparent  "Scotch"  Tape. 


"Scotch"  Cellulose  Tape  before     wrapping  odd-shaped  gifts. 


Scotch 

BRAND 

TAPE 


•UY  a  roll  of  each  "Scotch"  Gift 
Wrap  Tape  design  and  work  out 
clever  packages  for  your  gifts.  You'll 
want  "Scotch"  Tape  Christmas  Seals, 
too.  Choose  any  of  four  bright  colors 
—  each  dispenser  holds  108  seals 


in  seven  different  designs.  "Scotch" 
Gift  Wrap  Tape  10ff  per  roll.  "Scotch" 
Tape  Christmas  Seals  and  trans- 
parent "Scotch"  Cellulose  Tape  25^. 
At  all  drug,  department,  variety, 
stationery  and  hardware  stores. 


SEALS  WITHOUT  MOISTENING 

"SCOTCH"  Is  the  registered  trade-mark  lor  the  more  than  100  varieties  ol  adhesive  tapes 
made  in  U.S.A.  by  MINNESOTA  MINING  &  MFC.  CO.  Saint  Paul  6,  Minn. 

\wMr.ii nim»,i  THE  3M  company  mMMmy 
Also  makers  01  "3M"  Brand  abrasives,  adhesives,  and  a  wide  variety  ol  other  products 
lor  home  and  industry  '  _ 

©   1947  3M  CO 


by  Moss  Hart 


a 


turkey  leg 
to 

Mr.  Zanuck 


■  Last  Thanksgiving,  as  the  train  sped  swiftly  toward 
California,  I  sat  in  the  club  car  and  indulged  in  an  old  mental 
game  of  mine.   It  is  an«innocent  and  rather  foolish 
pastime,  and  consists  simply  of  remembering  just  where  I 
was  and  what  I  was  doing  the  previous  Thanksgiving,  and  then 
the  Thanksgiving  before  that  and  so  on  ad  infinitum 
for  as  long  as  I  can  go  back,  and  it  usually  comes  to  an  end  with 
me  singing  for  pennies  in  a  grubby  backyard,  getting  cold 
enough  and  hungry  enough  to  eat  an  entire  turkey  by  myself. 

I  play  the  same  game  with  Christmas  and  New  Year's,  and  while  it  is 
no  great  shakes  as  a  game,  it  does  wonders  in  helping  to  digest 
that  Holiday  Dinner.  The  Thanksgiving  Game  finished,  I  started  on  another 
game  of  my  own  making,  which  is  to  idly  speculate  just  what  a  stranger, 
preferably  from  another  planet,  and  knowing  nothing  what- 
ever about  our  country,  would  think  of  America.  This,  of  course,  is  an 
infinitely  more  subtle  game,  and  can  be  played  with  whatever 
materials  there  are  at  hand.  The  materials  at  hand  in  the  club  car  were  the 
magazines  lying  about,  and  it  was  my  fancy,  that  afternoon,  to  look  at  the  adver 
tisements  and  try  to  form  a  picture  of  this  country  and  its  inhabi- 
tants as  gauged  by  what  the  wily  advertisers  knew  about  us  and  our  needs. 

The  results  were  startling.  My  friend,  The  Man  From  Mars,  would  have 
come  to  the  inevitable  conclusion,  and  in  very  short  order,  too,  that 
we  were  a  nation  of  constipated  people,  with  bad  breath,  body  odor,  and  tooth 
decay.  Our  women  were  almost  always  bridesmaids,  never 
brides,  our  men  bald,  suffering  from  athlete's  (Continued  on  page  61) 


27 


28 


Bette  stood  at  the  inn  window 
alone  in  a  strange  country — trying  not  to  cry. 

Because  she  was  young  and  proud,  and  this 
was  the  taste  of  defeat. 

BY  IDA  ZEITLIN 


AM  ft  W 

t  C 


•  •  • 


■  The  time  was  eleven  years  ago.  The  place  was  Tudor  Close  Inn 
at  Rottingdean  on  the  English  coast,  60  or  70  miles  from  London. 
The  girl  was  Bette  Davis. 

She  stood  at  the  window  of  her  tiny  room,  and  you'd  have 
thought  she  was  enjoying  the  view,  lovely  even  in  late  autumn. 
But  you'd  have  been  wrong.  She  didn't  even  see  the  view.  Her 
eyes  were  turned  inward,  and  what 'she  saw  was  a  wall — high,  blank 
and  hopeless. 

She'd  fought,  and  been  licked.  All  her  dreams  since  she  was  old 
enough  for  dreaming  lay  toppled  in  rains.  It  seemed  one  of  those 
nightmare  things,  incredible  in  the  light  of  day.  She  was  broke, 
jobless,  desolated. 

The  room  was  cold.  Should  she  put  a  shilling  in  the  meter  and 
get  some  heat,  or  go  down  to  a  solitary  luncheon?  Neither  prospect 
offered  much  cheer.  Tudor  Close  was  a  lovely  inn,  but  for  good 
and  sufficient  reasons  she'd  taken  its  smallest  room,  and  with  her 
trunks  standing  packed,  she  could  just  about  thread  her  way  in 
and  out.  Downstairs  she'd  sit  with  her  dreary  thoughts  for  com- 
pany. No  chance  of  distraction.  The  British  were  a  sterling  race 
but,  like  the  Yankees  of  her  own  New  England,  far  from  social. 
You'd  have  to  stick  around  the  place  a  good  six  months  before 
they'd  say  hello. 

Well,  George  Arliss  was  coming  to  tea,  and  tomorrow  she'd  be 
on  the  boat  train  for  Southampton  and  home.  Tomorrow  was  the 
27th,  she'd  be  in  New  York  by —  Wait  a  minute.  Tomorrow  was 
Friday — the  last  Friday  in  the  month.  Then  today  was  the  last 
Thursday;  today  was  Thanksgiving! 

Imagine  forgetting!   But  there'd  been  (Continued  on  page  106) 


29 


rq  and  stop  me 


1 


It's  rare  that  one  man  knows  as 
much  about  another  as  Henry  King  knows 
about  Tyrone  Power.    Mr.  King 
directed  Ty's  first  starring  picture  back  in 
1936.  The  magnificent  Captain 

on)  Castile  brings  his  total  of  Power 
pictures  to  seven.  In  seeking  a  by- 
line suited  to  the  theme  of  our  current  cover, 
Ty's  director  was  the  obvious  choice. 
But  it  isn't  always  easy  to  pin  down  a  man  as 
busy  as  King.    His  remark  when 
asked  whether  he  would  discuss  Ty  was, 
therefore,  more  than  reassuring.  He 
said,  "Try  and  stop  me!" 


V 


Lloyds  of  London,  Tyrone's  first  picture,  made 
him  a  top  star,  and  also  marked  the  beginning 
of  the  friendship  with  his  director  Henry  King. 


Under  King's  direction,  Power  made  In  Old  Chicago, 
his  second  film,  with  Alice  Faye  and  the  late  Wilson 
Hummel.  Ty's  part  was  originally  intended  for  Gable. 


■  Tyrone  Power  sent  me  a  letter  from  Guam, 
along  toward  the  end  of  the  war.  "Looks  like 
this  scrap's  going  to  be  over  soon,"  he  wrote. 
"Have  you  read  'Captain  From  Castile'  yet?  My 
feelings  will  sure  be  hurt  if  that  isn't  my  first 
picture  when  I  get  out." 

Well,  it  wasn't  Tyrone  Power's  first  picture 
after  he  got  out.  Captain  From  Castile  wasn't 
/eady,  so  he  did  The  Razor's  Edge.  But  when 
Ty  once  gets  his  mind  on  anything,  he  never 
forgets  it.  I've  been  his  friend  and  director  for 
a  long  time,  and  I  know. 

I  was  off  in  Mexico  chasing  locations  in  my 
plane,  while  Ty  flew  away  on  his  Latin-American 
trip.  Before  he  left,  I  handed  him  the  Captain 
From  Castile  script,  (Continued  on  page  89) 


Chick  Chandler,  Jimmie  Flavin,  Ty 
and  King  chatting  between  scenes 
of   Alexander's   Ragtime  Band. 


Even  though  he  still  looked  boyish  off-screen,  Ty  handled 
Jesse  James  as  if  he'd  been  a  desperado  from  'way  back. 
By  this  time,  working  with  King  had  become  a  habit. 


The  fifth  Power-King  com- 
bination was  A  Yank  in  the 
R.A.F.,  with  Betty  Grable. 


Early  in  1942,  Ty  worked  on  one  of  his  most  popu- 
lar films,  The  Black  Swan.  Then  he  enlisted  as 
a  private  in  the  Marines,  and  became  a  lieutenant. 


Lucky  Seven  is  what  Ty  and  King  call  this  one.  It's 
Captain  From  Castile,  in  lavish  Technicolor.  Young  Jean 
Peters,  the  beauty  on  the  horse,  is  his  new  leading  lady. 


31 


by  ed  sullivan 


their 

finest  hour 

■  The  big,  lean  guy  with  the  Tom  Collins  lolled  back  in 
a  chair.  In  deference  to  the  sweltering  heat  that  panted 
up  from  the  streets  below  his  Sherry-Netherlands  suite, 
he  wore  nothing  but  a  bath  towel  around  his  body,  and 
thus  attired,  he  was  quoting  from  the  June  18th,  1940, 
speech  of  Winston  Churchill : 

"Let  us  therefore  brace  ourselves  to  our  duty,  and  so 
bear  ourselves  that  if  the  British  Commonwealth  and 
Empire  last  for  a  thousand  years,'  men  will  say:  'This 
was  their  finest  hour.'  " 

The  big,  lean  guy  was  Cary  Grant,  arid  he  was  saying 
that  his  trip  to  England  had  convinced  him  that,  seven 
years  after  Churchill  had  called  out  to  his  countrymen 
to  stand  firm,  the  English  still  were  living  "their  finest 
hour."  With  food  rations  reduced,  petrol  allowances 
abolished  and  the  program  of  austerity  stepped  up,  Eng- 
lishmen still  were  sweating  it  out,  still  taking  it  on  the 
chin  like  thoroughbreds.  "It's  amazing,"  said  Grant, 
"simply  amazing.  You've  got  to  tip  your  hat — and  your 
heart — to  the  pure  courage  of  a  nation  that  has  suffered, 
but  hasn't  whimpered." 

Grant  remembered  a  conversation  he  had  held  with  a 
taxicab  driver.  "How's  the  Attlee  government?"  Cary'd 
asked  him.  "Not  bad  at  all/'  answered  the  cabbie. 
"Things  are  bad,  of  course,  for  all  of  us,  but  the  school 
children  get  their  books  free,  (Continued  on  page  62) 


Little  food,  less 
fuel,  but  the  British  don't 
complain.  They  stand 
in  lines,  shun  black  markets; 
gratefully,  they  soak 
up  the  pale  winter  sun.  "These 
are  the  brave,"  says 
Cary  Grant,  "still  living 


They  met  her  at  the 
boat  with  two  Cadillacs  and 
gave  her  the  keys  to  America.  But 
Deborah  Kerr  was  lonely,  think- 
ing of  home,  dreaming 
of  dreary  London  mists  under 
a  bright  California  sky  .  .  . 


No  sooner  had .  Deb  stepped  off  the  boat  than  rumors  were 
running  about  a  Kerr-Sarson  feud.  But  they're  good  friends, 
even  though  Deb  borrowed  W.  Pidgeon  for  //  Winter  Comes. 


■  I'm  gaining  ground.  Yes  I  am. 
No  longer  do  I  ask  visitors  to  my 
home  if  they  would  "care  for  a  cup 
of  Pepsi  Cola?"  (Somehow  I  had 
got  the  impression  that  a  "coke"  to 
an  American  was  like  tea  to  an 
Englishman.) 

Nor  am  I  astonished  any  more 
if  some  girl  happens  to  admire  a 
dress  I  am  wearing  at  a  party,  and 
bursts  out,  "Oh,  where  did  you  get 
it  and  how  much  did  it  cost?"  Not 
at  all  astonished,  even  if  people 
don't  ask  that  sort  of  question,  ever, 
in  England.  I've  learned  to  reply, 
"Oh,  it's  just  a  little  thing  I  picked 
up — I  don't  remember  where  the 
shop  was  exactly."  (Do  I  want  her 
to  turn  up  in  the  very  same  num- 
ber? I  don't.) 

It  was  not  until  the  Atlantic  Ocean 
had  done  its  honor  best  to  toss  me 
clear  off  the  Queen  Elizabeth,  and 
we  had  finally  arrived  at  the  Metro- 
Goldwyn-Mayer  studios  in  Holly- 
wood— after  taking  in  New  York  in 
a  three-day  snatch  and  gulp — that 
I  first  had  that  "imported"  feeling 
creep  over  me.  I  was  sitting  in  the 
office  of  Mr.  Louis  B.  Mayer  and 
he  was  pressing  a  series  of  buzzers 
on  his  desk.  Every  time  he  pushed 
a  button,  another  executive  would 
come  in,  and  I  would  be  presented. 

I  began  to  feel  like  some  bit  of 
merchandise,  a  piece  of  porcelain, 
say,  that  the  company  had  imported 
from  abroad  at  great  cost  and  which 
was  now  being  closely  inspected  for 
possible  flaws.  After  all,  there  was 
a  bit  of  to-do  and  expense  getting 
me  there.  I  thought  of  the  various 
M-G-M  delegations  which  had  met 
us  at  every  boat  and  train  transfer 
point  en  route  and  treated  us  ex- 
actly as  if  we  had  signs  attached  to 
ourselves  reading:  Handle  With 
Care!  Use  No  Hooks! 

Sitting  there  in  Mr.  Mayer's 
office,  a  growing  nervousness  began 
to  overwhelm  me.  I  wanted  to  jump 
up  and  (while  making  for  the 
nearest  exit)  cry  out,  "No,  no, 
gentlemen!  {Continued  on  page  66) . 


34 


35 


( 


■  When  the  editors  of  modern  screen  asked  me  to 
write  about  this  picture  and  its  star,  I  accepted,  not 
only  because  I  am  enthusiastic  about  Gentleman's 
Agreement,  but  because  it  gives  me  an  opportunity 
to  answer  one  form  of  criticism  that  is  perennially 
leveled  at  Hollywood. 

That  criticism  is  that  Hollywood  fails  to  measure 
up  to  its  social  responsibilities.  Hollywood,  say  its 
critics,  is  interested  solely  in  making  money.  Those 
who  do  not  have  to  wrestle  with  the  actual  making 
of  pictures,  or  count  their  cost,  may  not  realize  how 
rarely  an  "idea"  picture  can  be  found  that  is  also 
one  people  will  want  to  see.  A  factor  known  as 
dramatic  interest  is  often  overlooked.  But  no  film, 
however  realistic  or  timely,  can  be  sure  of  an  audience 
without  it. 

"Gentleman's  Agreement,"  I  realized  as  soon  as  I 
had  read  it,  was  no  mere  plea  or  preachment.  If  it 
hadn't  been  dramatic,  frankly,  I  wouldn't  have  bought 
it. 

Take  the  picture,  Boomerang,  which  we  recently 
produced  at  Twentieth  Century-Fox.  It  contained  an 
indictment  of  injustice  in  the  United  States.  But  if 
Dana  Andrews  had  stood  up  in  the  courtroom  and 
made  a  long,  impassioned  plea  for  justice  while  holding 
his  wife's  hand,  nobody  in  the  movie  theaters  would 
have  stayed  to  hear  him.  The  dramatic  impact  of  the 
scene  is  what  held  them. 

During  the  war,  I  made  a  picture  based  on  the  life 
of  Woodrow  Wilson.  It  was  the  most  expensive  pic- 
ture I  had  ever  made.  It  was  carefully  produced, 
lavishly  mounted,  excellently  acted.  Technically,  I 
still  consider  it  my  finest  production.  But  Wilson 
was  a  "failure."  Not  because  it  failed  as  an  artistic 
achievement,  for  the  fact  (Continued  on  page  77) 


1.  Gregory  Peck,  free-lance  magazine  writer,  is 
assigned  by  Albert  Dekker  to  write  a  series  of  ar- 
ticles cn  anti-Semitism,  if  he  can  find   an  "angle." 


2.  That  night  he's  invited  to  Dekker's  home,  meets 
his  niece.  Dorothy  McGuire,  and  learns  she  suggested 
the  series.    At  once,  there's  a  spark  between  them. 

m 


3.  Greg  tells  his  mother  (Anne  Revere)  and  best 
friend  John  Garfield,  Jewish  vet,  about  his  "angle:" 
he'll    pose  as  a  Jew,   see   how   it  affects   his  life. 


widower,  is  queried  by  his  son  (Dean 
about   being    a   Jew.    He    explains  pa- 
is  evil,  un-American. 


4.  Greg, 
Stockwell 

tiently   that   religious  bigotry 


(6.  In  a  fashionable  night  club,  two  drunken  hood- 
lums make  slurring  remarks  about  Jews — directing 
their    attacks    at    Garfield    who's    still    in  uniform. 


7.  Greg,  the  "Jew,"  and  Dorothy  visit  Jane  Wyatt 
and  husband  in  exclusive  Darien,  Conn.,  where  other 
quests    were    "screened"    for    anti-Jewish  feelings. 


"YOU  HAD  THE  EYES 
AND  EARS  OF  MILLIONS."  THIS 
GENERATION'S  CHILDREN 
WILL  SAY  ONE  DAY.    "THEY  LOOKED 
TO  YOU  TO  MAKE  A 
BETTER  WORLD.    WHAT  DID  YOU  DO?" 

AND  HERE  IS 
DARRYL  ZANUCK'S  ANSWER. 


Now  Katie  was  waiting  in  the  rectory,  and 

she'd  never  looked  lovelier,  and  in  Johnnie's  head 
that  same  silly  song  again:  "Mine,  All  Mine  .  .  ." 


Kathy  and  secretary  Alice  Weil,  also  her  maid  of  honor, 
sewed  orange  blossoms  on  the  gray  veil.  The  gown  was 
copied  from  a  costume  "Kathryn  wore  in  The  Kissing  Bandit. 


■  In  the  small  room  at  the  back  of  the 
dimly  lighted  church,  Kathryn  stood 
clenching  and  unclenching  her  hands,  as 
the  organ  sailed  into  the  resounding  first 
chords  of  the  wedding  march.  She  opened 
the  door  a  crack,  and  looked  down  the 
aisle.  Johnnie  was  standing  in  front  of  the 
altar,  blond  and  handsome  in  his  tuxedo. 
Behind  Johnnie,  and  rigid  as  a  post,  stood 
Joe  Kirkwood,  best  man,  his  shirt  front 
bulging  where  the  studs  should  have  been: 
Both  were  staring  straight  ahead.  Kathryn 
suppressed  a  giggle.  • 

"That's  better."  Alice  Weil,  secretary 
on  usual  days  and  maid  of  honor  on  this 
particular  day,  patted  Kathryn  on  the 
shoulder  and  started  down  the  aisle.  Bob 
Armstrong,  M-G-M  publicist  who  was  to 
give  away  the  bride,  lifted  Kathryn's  hand 
and  put  it  through  his  arm. 
"Okay,"  he  said.  "Let's  go." 
Walking  to  the  altar,  Kathryn  felt  the 
whole  chapel  suffuse  into  a  misty  nowhere, 
and  the  only  thing  she  could  see  was 
Johnnie,  outlined  sharply  in  black  and 
white,  looking  at  her  as  though  he  had 
never  seen  her  before.  She  took  her  place 
by  his  side  and  smiled  at  him. 

The  minister  was  talking,  and  she 
listened.  She  had  wanted  a  wedding  with 
orange  blossoms  and  rice  and  a  wedding 


Johnnie  (in  This  Time  For  Keeps  and  Man  From  Texas) 
gave  Kathy  a  pair  of  coach  lamps  as  a  weddinq  gift.  Golf 
pro  Joe  Kirkwood  (see  pic  at  right)  was  groom's  best  man. 


38 


gown  and  only  a  handful  of  people  in  the 
church,  and  now  it  was  actually  happening 
just  that  way. 

Months  ago,  she  and  Johnnie  had  decided 
that  they  would  be  married  in  the  beautiful 
little  town  of  Carmel. 

Up  to  a  week  ago,  everything  had  been 
fine.  The  wedding  was  set  for  Thursday, 
August  21.  Johnnie  had  ordered  the  rings, 
and  the  wedding  gown  Kathryn  had  de- 
signed was  still  in  the  process  of  being  made. 
Maureen  O'Hara  was  to  be  matron  of 
honor,  Joe  Kirkwood  Jr.  best  man,  and  Alice 
and  Bob  and  the  families  of  the  bride  and 
groom  were  to  be  the  only  audience.  Then 
Johnnie's  parents  were  taken  ill  and  so  was 
Kathryn's  mother,  and  her  father  decided 
to  forfeit  the  wedding  in  favor  of  staying 
home  with  his  wife,  thus  leaving  the  wedding 
without  family  representation.  So  Bob  Arm- 
strong was  asked  to  give  the  bride  away, 
and  the  proceedings  continued  in  an  in- 
creasingly hectic  manner. 

Early  Tuesday  morning,  Alice  picked  up 
the  wedding  sandals  at  the  shoe  shop,  and 
then  phoned  Kathryn.  The  prospective 
bride  was  breathless. 

"Oh,  Alice!"  she  moaned.  "Everything's 
gone  wrong.  We  can't  get  the  church  for 
Thursday,  or  reservations  at  a  hotel  in 
Carmel.  And  to  top  everything,  the  minister 
is  ill.  Please  come  right  over!" 

At  Kathryn's  Santa  Monica  home,  every- 
thing was  confusion.  Johnnie  and  Alice 
stayed  on  the  phone  steadily  for  hours.  So 
did  Maureen  O'Hara.  At  three  o'clock,  the 
girls  left  Johnnie  still  glued  to  the  phone, 
and  raced  into  town  for  a  fitting  of  Kath- 
ryn's dress  and  a  dentist  appointment  after- 
ward at  five. 

Kathryn  stood  impatiently  while  pins 
were  put  in  and^taken  out  of  her  gown,  while 
Alice  sat  with  a  lap  full  of  notes,  phone 
numbers,  and  lists  of  things  to  do.  Suddenly 
she  stiffened. 

"Katie,"  she  said  in  a  horrified  voice, 
"isn't  there  'something  about  a  three-day 
wait?" 

Kathryn  gasped.  (Continued  on  page  101) 


Katie  and  Johnnie  applied  for  wedding  license  at  Monterey.  They'll  live 
in  Santa  Monica;  house  is  English  style,  with  a  pair  of  white  wrought- 
iron  gates.  One  gate  has  K  worked  in  it;  the  other  sports  initial  /. 


Dr.  Fillmore  Gray  didn't  scold  the  kids  when  they  were  an  hour  late  for 
wedding  rehearsal.  Later,  -he  noted  that  best  man  Joe  K.  was  more  nerv- 
ous than  the  groom.  "Weddings!"  Kirkwood  kept  muttering  painfully. 


Bob  Armstrong  kibitzed  the  pre-ceremony  gin  game.  Katie's  secretary- 
maid-of-honor  AJice  Weil  was  born  in  Vienna,  still  has  a  slight  accent 
which  fascinates   Katie.  "Talk  some  more,"  Grayson's  always  saying. 


40 


Dressing  was  gruesome.  Johnnie  struggled  with  suspenders,  wondered  what  he'd  forgotten.  "The 
ring,"  he  recited.  "The  flowers — what  if  the  flowers  don't  get  here?"  There  weren't  any  orange 
blossoms  in  Carmel,  so  blooms  were  flown  from  San  Francisco,  arrived  on  time,  despite  J.'s  fears. 


In  English,  he  could 
only  nod  his  head,  but  that  was 
enough  for  Evelyn.  Because 
it  was  Pablo's  dark-eyed 
smile  and  wide-open  heart 
that  spoke  to 
Senor  Huston's  lady. 

by  abigail  putnam 


Everybody  paints  in  the  Huston  home,  which  is  hung  with 
priceless  moderns.  Pablo  and  Evelyn  are  over-the-shoulder 
admirers,    as  John    does   a    portrait   of   his   new.  son. 


Collecting  masks,  writing  and  giving  dinner  parties 
are  some  of  the  family's  hobbies.  Pablo  learns  fast 
and  occasionally  beats  them  at  their  own  games. 


Pablo  loves  to  watch  Evelyn  work  in  The  Mating  of 
Millie.  She  was  chosen  as  the  No.  I  Star  of  Tomorrow, 
by  theater  operators  who  know  what  movie  fans  like. 


■  There's  a  new  man  in  the  life  of  Evelyn 
Keyes.  Drop  in  one  of  these  afternoons,  and 
you're  likely  to  find  him  in  the  pool.  Ask  him 
his  name,  and  he's  likely  to  tell  you:  "Pablo 
Albarran  Huston  Evelyn  Keyes." 

A  Mexican  boy  takes  his  mother's  name 
along  with  his  father's,  but  Pablo's  been  in 
the  States  some  two  months  now,  and  he 
knows  the  difference.  This  is  one  of  his  jokes. 


He  dies  laughing  over  it.  Look  beyond  the 
joke,  and  you'll  find  it's  also  a  statement  of 
fact  very  pleasant  to  the  soul  of  Pablo — the 
fact  that  he  now  has  a  mother  and  father. 

He  calls  them  Mommy  and  Poppy,  and 
divides  his  attentions  half  and  half  between 
them.  Having  kissed  Evelyn,  he'll  rush  over 
to  do  the  same  by  John,  and  vice  versa. 
Walter  Huston  is  (Continued  on  page  103) 


"to 
teddy, 

with  love" 


■  Our  Buttercup's  nine  months  old,  and  we're  going 
to  have  another  baby  in  April.  And  another  one  after 
that,  only  we  don't  mind  waiting  a  while  for  the  third. 
But  I  promised  Ted  we'd  have  the  first  two  close 
together.  For  companionship,  and  so  Buttercup  won't 
be  spoiled. 

I  hope  the  next  is  a  'boy.  That's  what  I  said  before, 
but  this  time  I  mean  it.  No  guy  could  be  goofier  over 
his  daughter  than  Ted  is,  but  we  have  our  girl  now 
and  show  me  the  man  who's  not  crazy  to  have  a  son. 

I  remember  the  day  we  dropped  in  at  a  friend's, 
and  Larry  Adler's  little  boy  was  there.  He  had  one  of 
those  gimmicks  you  drag  around  that  makes  music, 
only  it  wouldn't  work.  The  minute  he  spies  Ted,  over 
he  trots,  because  with  kids  my  husband  goes  the  Pied 
Piper  one  better,  he  doesn't  even  need  the  pipes. 

"This  is  supposed  to  play,"  little  Peter  says.  "Will 
you  fix  it  for  me?" 

I  left  them  together,  and  next  time  I  looked,  the 
kid  has  his  arms  wrapped  around  Ted's  long  legs,  and 
there  they  stand,  six-foot-two  and  no-bigger  'n-a- 
minute,  smiling  at  each  (Continued  on  page  91) 


Buttercup  (Lindsay  Diane)  Brisk! n  giving  mom  some  tips  on  care  and  feeding.  (That  milk  bottle's  just  a  container;  Buttercup  uses  a  glass.) 


by 


"beyt/fcy  She's  got  the  speech  all 

ready.    "Honey,"  she'll  say,  "here's 
UUuvUIl  a  son,  because  you  wanted  one  so  bad.  And 

me,  I  wanted  another  guy  like  you!" 


■  To  tell  the  honest,  unadulterated 
truth,  40,000  people  in  and  around 
Hollywood  get  married  and  35,000  get 
divorced.  It  happens  ever  year  like  the 
Fourth  of  July — only  the  fireworks  are 
more  spectacular. 

Now,  you  take  Rita  Hayworth  and 
Victor  Mature. 

They  get  married  and  divorced,  but 
not  to  and  from  each  other.  So,  to- 
gether they  are  not  a  statistic,  and  apart 
it  doesn't  seem  to  make  sense. 

Rita  is  just  about  as  wonderful  a 


Appearing  in  public  together  for  the  second  time,  Vic  Mature  and  Rita  endured  stares,  but  outstayed  friends  at  Ciro's. 


"THIS  IS  RITA."  SAID  THE  VOICE  ON  THE  PHONE.   AND  SO 

THE  STRANGE  LOVE  STORY  BEGAN  AGAIN— THE  STORY  OF 
VIC  AND  RITA.  WHO  DON'T  KNOW  HOW  TO  SAY  GOODBYE  ... 

By  Carl  Schroeder 


dream  girl  as  you'll  find  in  a  life's  living. 

She  could  drive  a  man  right  out  of 
his  mind. 

Vic  is  about  as  spectacular  a  guy  as 
there  is  alive  and  kicking.  He  could 
drive  a  woman  right  out  of  her  mind. 

I  think  Rita  and  Vic  have  cultivated 
a  special  sort  of  insanity  for  each  other, 
and  that  until  this  utterly  unforgivable 
expose  by  me,  a  depraved  writer,  the 
fact  has  passed  almost  unnoticed  in  the 
booby  hatch  that  is  Hollywood. 

As  for  me,  I've  known  them  from  the 


time  they  were  so  unknown  that  neither 
could  scare  up  a  group  of  autograph 
hounds  with  the  aid  of  a  brass  band. 

This  Mature  was  once  practically  en- 
gaged to  Rita  Hayworth.  Some  people 
thought  they  were  going  to  get  married. 
It  could  have  happened,  but  along  came 
the  war  and  a  good  many  thousands  of 
young  men  decided  to  wait  and  see  how 
things  played  out. 

It  was  while  Mature  was  still  a  Coast 
Guard  enlistee,  waiting  in  Boston  for  a 
cork  called  the  Storis  to  take  him  back 


and  forth  to  a  place  called  Murmansk 
and  other  spots  nobody  in  their  right 
minds  would  ever  go,  that  Rita  came 
to  see  him. 

They  said  goodbye,  Rita  and  Vic. 
And  what  they  said  to  each  other  I 
wouldn't  be  knowing.  Along  about  this 
time,  the  same  thing  happened  to  sev- 
eral hundred  thousand  other  guys  and 
girls.  Then  the  men  shoved  off,  thinking 
war  thoughts,  with  half  their  minds 
back  home. 

Of  course,  {Continued  on  page  107) 


SUCH  A  LITTLE  GIRL  AND 
SUCH  A  BIG  BOAT.    BUT  LIZ  TOOK  IT 
ALL  IN  STRIDE:  THE  STATE- 
ROOM  STUFFED   WITH   FLOWERS.  A 
VISIT  FROM  LADY  ASTOR, 
AND  A  SHIPBOARD  AFFAIR  WITH 
A  PAIN  IN  HER  NECK! 

By  Christopher  Kane 


■  It  began  so  excitingly.  Starting  for  England,  on 
the  Queen  Mary,  after  having  been  away  so  long. 
modern  screen  had  sent  a  photographer  named 
Bert  Parry  to  cover  the  whole  beautiful  trip,  and  the 
sun  was  shining,  and  the  water  smelled  good,  and 
the  feel  of  the  deck  under  her  feet  was  pure  bliss. 

There  were  a  million  kids  on  board.  How  they'd 
got  there,  she  didn't  know.  Some  officers  were  in- 
viting them  to  leave,  and  they  were  grinning,  and 
one  of  the  boys  spoke  straight  to  Liz.  "I'm  going 
to  stow  away." 

She  expected  him  to  turn  up  in  mid-ocean.  Or 
on  mid-ocean,  or  however  you  say  it. 

In  the  cabin,  there  were  flowers.  Some  from 
modern  screen.  She  sniffed  them  lovingly.  "Oh, 
Mother,  so  sweet — " 

And  then  she  sank  on  the  bed.  "I'm  tired — " 

"All  the  interviews  yesterday,"  Sara  Taylor  said. 
"They  were  enough  to  tire  anyone.  Out  on  the 
deck,  youll  relax." 

The  first  day,  she  relaxed.  She  hung  over  the 
rail,  she  lay  in  a  deck  chair,  she  ate  huge  meals. 


When  Elizabeth  and  Mrs.  Tayior  had  their  tickets  checked  at  the  pier,  MODERN  SCREEN  sent  Liz  talisman  roses — and  photographer  Bert  Parry, 
Liz  sighed,  "At  last,  I  believe  it!"  She'd  been  looking  forward  to  the  to  record  the  exciting  moments  of  her  Queen  Mary  voyage.  But  poor  Liz 
trip  all  the  time  she  was  acting  in  Life  With  Father  and  Cynthia.      was  put  to  bed  with  a  sore  neck  the  second  day  out — and  stayed  there! 


Visitors  aboard  ship  are  still  restricted,  but  that  didn't  keep  Eliza- 
beth's fans  away.  When  stewards  chased  them  from  the  deck,  they  cor- 
nered Liz  in  her  stateroom.    One  of  them  threatened  to  stow  away! 


And  the  next  day,  she  looked  worse. 
"My  neck  aches,"  she  said.  "And  my  ear." 

Mrs.  Taylor  called  the  doctor.  It  turned 
out  that  Elizabeth  had  some  gland  trouble; 
she'd  suffered  attacks  before.  "You'll  have 
to  stay  in  bed,"  the  doctor  said.  "All  the 
way  across." 

She  could  have  cried.  "I'd  been  count- 
ing the  days,"  she  said.  "And  my  head  is 
so  hot  now — " 

The  hours  seemed  endless.  Lady  Astor, 
who  was  also  a  passenger,  helped  out.  She'd 
come  down  and  tell  Elizabeth  stories.  She 
had  a  set  of  wax  false  teeth,  and  she'd  stick 
them  into  her  mouth  and  pretend  to  be  a 
cockney  flower  woman.  Very  undignified, 
but  funny. 

Elizabeth  made  a  vow.  "After  I  get 
home,  I'm  going  to  send  you  a  putty  nose! " 

When  the  boat  docked  in  London,  she 
had  a  fever  of  104,  and  she  went  directly 
from  the  boat  to  the  Dorchester  Hotel, 
and  to  bed. 

A  few  old  friends  came  to  call,  while  she 
was  sick.  There  was  a  woman,  a  Miss 
Lings — she  came  bearing  a  can  of  peaches. 
Peaches  are  solid  gold  in  England  today. 
"I  thought  the  child  might  like  them,"  she 
said.  "A  little  fruit  is  tempting  when 
you're  ill." 

Thirty-two  points  is  a  week's  rations  in 
England;  the  Taylors  found  out  later  that 
a  can  of  peaches  costs  23. 

People  there  seem  to  have  been  made 
more  selfless.  There's  such  devastation  in 
England ;  families  have  lost  so  much.  Once 
Liz  was  around  again,  she  and  Mrs.  Taylor 
visited  Elizabeth's  god-mother,  Mrs.  Wil- 
liam Cazelett.  Her  husband  had  been 
liaison  officer  between  the  British  and 
Polish  Governments;  he'd  crashed  with 
Sikorsky. 

That  night   (Continued  on  page  75) 


Liz  made  up  for  disappointments  like  this  ony  her  return  trip,  when  she 
danced  every  night,  and  wore  two  new  evening  gowns.  She  saved  prettiest 
gown  for  party  given  her  by  808  Harvard  freshmen,  after  the  trip! 


Dignified  Lady  Astd'r  helped  brighten  Liz's  bed-ridden  days  by  doing 
funny  impersonations,  with  the  aid  of  comic  props.  The  Taylors'  trunks, 
incidentally,    were    crammed    with    clothing    for    their    English  friends. 


Although  she  was  ill,  nothing  could  stop  .Elizabeth  from  patronizing 
the  Queen's  beauty  parlor.  She  was  thrilled  by  the  exotic  coiffeur  hair- 
dresser Claire  Thompson  created  for  the  first  "formal  night"  at  sea. 


Liz  never  gets  sea-sick,  so  although  her  neck  troubled  her,  she  could 
I  enjoy  her  meals.  Appalled  by  the  food  shortage  in  Britain,  Liz  has  been 
sending  cans  of  food  overseas  ever  since  she  returned  to  California. 


El'zabeth  was  completely  dressed  and  ready  to  disembark  when  the 
"Mary"  landed  at  Southampton,  Eng.  Immigration  Officer  Robert  Ash- 
ton  had  difficulty  checking  her  passport — she  asked  so  many  questions. 


51 


i 

senator 


The  makeup  crew  went  to  town  on  Bill  Powell  for  his  latest  In  a  top  hat  and  carefully  creased  suit.  B,  I  really  looks  fe^J^T 
character  pPart  in  The  Senator  Was  Indiscreet.  That  white-  Kaufman  (director)  and  Nunnally  Johnson  ^^n^^Jf^l°^ 
haired  dignity  can't  even  be  rumpled  by  Bill's  gay  wife,  Diana.      ten  to  one  of  his  zany  platforms-which  Bill  del.vers  w.th  straight  face. 


1 

george  s.  kauf  man, 
nunnally  johnson  and 
william  powell 


■  First  of  all,  I  was  sent  to  Chasen's  restaurant  to  see  George 
S.  Kaufman,  the  playwright,  and  Nunnally  Johnson,  the  pro- 
ducer. And  I  was  told  to  write  a  funny  story.  This  is  like  being 
.sent  to  Siberia,  and  being  told  to  take  a  handful  of  snow. 

The  funny  story  was  already  there.  It  didn't  need  me.  So  I 
decided  to  let  the  gentlemen  talk  for  themselves.  Mostly  about 
The  Senator  Was  Indiscreet — a  motion  picture  they  are  making, 
and  in  which  they  are  starring  William  Powell. 

I  think  I  will  line  up  their  talk  in  the  form  of  a  motion  picture 
script,  complete  with  fade-ins,  fade-outs,  close-ups,  dissolve-to's, 
and  pans.  This  is  very  authentic,  whether  you  like  it  or  not. 
It's  also  the  easiest  way  I  know  to  make  a  living.  So  we  fade 
}n  on:  (Continued  on  page  64) 


2 


■  "O'Toole  called  this  morning.  He 
sent  you  his  love,"  said  Ann  Sheridan, 
handing  me  my  Sunday  paper  at  the 
front  door.  • 

She  calls  Steve  "O'Toole"  sometimes. 

"You  send  that  guy  my  love  right 
back,  special  delivery!"  I  said.  . 

"Over  my  dead  body,"  grinned  Ann. 
"I'm  protecting  my  own  interests." 

I  might  as  well  say  right  now  that 
Ann  Sheridan's  my  favorite  type  of  gal. 
I  like  her.  She's  straight  from  her  slim 
shoulders,  level  out  of  her  brown  eyes. 
I'd  called  her  up  the  day  before.  "How 
about  Sunday  breakfast  with  a  very 
nosey  lady?  Object:  the  lowdown  on 
Ann  Sheridan  for  modern  screen." 

"The  lowdown's  easy,"  chuckled  Ann. 
"But  the  breakfast — I  don't  know — 


HEDDA  SHOOTS  A  DIRECT 


QUESTION  AT  STRAIGHT-TALKING 


ANNIE— AND  GETS  MODERN 


SCREEN'S  READERS  A 


SURPRISING  ANSWER  TO 


THE  SHERIDAN-HANNAGAN 


ROMANCE  RIDDLE 


Annie  plays  Gary  Cooper's  wife  in  Good  Sam,  her  best 
break  yet.  Because  her  home  studio  lent  her  to  Leo  Mc- 
Carey  for  it,  she'll  do  one  extra  on  her  WB  contract. 


I  what  time?"  That's  Annie,  I  smiled  to 
myself.  Pulling  no  punches.  Golly,  the 

|girl  thought  I  was  an  early  riser,  maybe, 
like  President  Truman.  On  Sunday  I'm 
not. 

"How's  noon?"  I  suggested. 

We  settled  on  one  o'clock.  Ann  wore 
■  beige  slacks,  a  corn  yellow  sport  shirt, 
i  her  own  red  hair  and  an  apologetic  look 
for  keeping  me  up  past  my  breakfast 
'  hour.  She  explained,  while  I  rustled  a 
j  silver  fizz  for  two,  toast,  eggs  and  coffee, 
I  that  the  daughter  of  her  business  man- 
I  ager  was  getting  married  that  day.  "I've 
I  got  to  see  that  that  wedding  goes  off 
|  right,"  grinned  Sheridan.  "Old  Aunt 
;  Annie,  you  know." 

I  I  knew.  Always  doing  something  for 
|  somebody  else.   That's  Steve  Hanna- 


gan's  style,  too.  That,  maybe,  is  just 
one  more  of  the  millions  of  reasons  that 
pair  add  up  and  make  an  even  number. 
I  thought  of  a  slip  of  paper,  a  memo- 
pad  page,  I  kept  upstairs  with  my  senti- 
mental treasures.  It  wasn't  much  to 
look  at.  In  fact,  all  it  said,  scribbled  in 
a  famous  hand  was,  "You're  a  liar!" 

The  man  who  wrote  that  was  one  of 
the  best  loved  newspaper  men  in  the 
world — Damon  Runyon.  He  scribbled 
it  at  a  table  at  the  Stork  Club  one  after- 
noon. He  couldn't  talk,  because  of  the 
cancer  that  was  later  to  kill  him.  He'd 
written  first,  "Why  didn't  we  ever  get 
together  when  I  was  in  Hollywood?" 

"Because,"  I  kidded  him,  ."you  were 
too  busy  with  the  big  boys  to  pay  any 
attention  to  poor  little  me."  That's 


when  he  indignantly  scribbled  the  sen- 
tence I'll  always  keep.  But  what  does 
that  have  to  do  with  Ann  Sheridan  and 
the  man  she  loves,  Steve  Hannagan? 

Well,  the  afternoon  that  Damon 
Runyon  wrote  that  was  Thanksgiving 
Day.  I'd  flown  into  New  York  from 
Hollywood  without  telling  a  soul.  But 
in  my  lonely  hotel  room,  I  weakened.  I 
wanted  to  see  somebody  and  Steve 
popped  into  my  mind.  Steve  is  like  a 
ton  of  sunshine.  He's  a  big,  good-look- 
ing Irishman,  in  his  iron-gray  forties, 
and  along  with  Ben  Sonnenberg,  he's  by 
way  of  being  just  about  the  best  big- 
time  press  agent  in  the  country.  He 
knows  everyone,  loves  everyone  and 
vice  versa.  Anyway,  I  called  Han- 
nagan. (Continued  on  page  98) 


When  in  New  York,  Ann  and  Steve  Hannagan  date  nightly  at  the  Stork  Club.  Recent 
rumors  that  the  pair  had  quarreled  and  Annie  was  carrying  a-  torch,  were  branded 
false  by  Hannagan.  Gossip  started  when  he  left  for  San  Francisco  on  business. 


Whether  it's  a  boy 
or  a  girl,  Shirley  and  John  are 
set:  the  baby'll  have  a 
blue  nursery,  pink  togs  and, 
one  day,  a  brilliant  ca- 
reer— making  mud  pies ! 

BY  DEE  LOWRANCE 


expectations 


■  The  morning  after  it  was  announced  that  Shirley 
Temple  Agar  was  expecting  a  child,  long  distance  paged 
Shirley  in  great  excitement.  "London,  England,  calling," 
the  operator  said. 

A  sheared,  British  accent  came  thinly  over  the  wires. 
It  identified  itself  as  representing  one  of  England's  largest 
newspapers  and  then  asked,  "Miss  Temple,  what  is  your 
baby  going  to  do?" 

"Going  to  do?"  Shirley  repeated. 
"Career  and  such,"  the  voice  went  on. 
"Oh,  I  guess  my  baby  will  just  have  the  career  of  a 
baby,"  Shirley  said. 


Shirley  "retired"  after  making  War  Party,  with  John.  She  won't 
be  idle,  though,  because  it  makes  her  morose.  She'll  stick  to  a 
busy  schedule  of  crocheting,  cooking  and  decorating  the  nursery. 


"Thank  you  so  much,"  said  London,  England,  and 
hung  up. 

Before  that  day  ended,  Shirley  had  received  a  phone 
call  from  China,  had  been  interviewed  by  correspondents 
from  Brazil,  Uruguay  and  CQsta  Rica,  and  had  been 
loaded  down  by  an  armful  of  telegrams.  Frenzy  reigned 
on  the  set  of  her  picture,  That  Hagen  Girl. 

The  next  day,  letters  started  coming,  along  with  little 
baby  shoes. 

"If  this  goes  on,"  Shirley  told  me,  "our  baby  will  be 
the  best-<booted  baby  in  forty-eight  states." 

She  was  talking  in  a  low  (Continued  on  page  96) 


57 


■  Some  diamond! 

It's  large.  Octagon  shape.  It's  the  purest 
blue-white  diamond  that  money  can  buy. 

The  man  who  gave  it  to  her  designed  it 
himself.  Also  the  wedding  band,  which  is 
a  complete  circle  of  baguette  diamonds,  with 
the  clasps  concealed  so  you  can't  see  the 
platinum — -just  the  diamonds.  The  rings 
show  a  lot  of  thought  on  the  part  of  a  highly 
successful  business  man  who  understands 
romance. 

And  Marie  McDonald  Karl  deserves 
them. 

I've  known  Marie  ever  since  she  came  to 
Hollywood  in  1941.  She  was  a  brunette  then, 
and  a  touch  famous  from  being  chosen  "Miss 
New  York  State"  a  couple  of  years  before. 
With  time  out  for  a  blonde  interlude,  she's 
a  brunette  now  and  several  touches  more 
famous  because  of  her  role  as  Meriam  in 
Guest  in  the  House,  and  her  Metro  contract 
which  led  up  to  the  role  opposite  Gene  Kelly 
in  Living  in  a  Big  Way. 

Marie  McDonald  is  beautiful.  She's  "The 
Body"  all  right. 

But  on  the  mental  and  spiritual  side,  she 
is  not  the  slightly  brassy,  half-dumb,  half- 
smart  character  she  portrays  on  celluloid. 

She  thinks. 

She  is  charming,  considerate  and  intelli- 
gent. 

She  proves  that  by  the  way  she  talks  about 
the  man  in  her  life.  "I  want  to  tell  you  about 
Harry  Karl,"  she  said.  "I  don't  want  to 
sound  drooly  and  sentimental,  even  though 
I  am  knee-deep  on  the  latter  point." 

So  Marie  told  me  about  Harry  Karl,  who 
is  six  feet,  one  inch  tall  and  the  successful 
owner  of  a  chain  of  200  shoe  stores  which 
bear  his  name. 

It's  always  (Continued  on  page  81) 


"Oh,  it's  just 

one  of  those  things," 

they  said  about 

Marie  McDonald  and 

Harry  Karl.  And  they 

were  right — it  was 

just  one  of  those  beautiful 

things — two  people  met, 

and  were  friends, 

and  fell  in  love  .  .  . 

BY  GEORGE  BENJAMIN 


Marie  and  Harry  were  married  in  the  Karl  home  in  West  Hollywood  on 
September  20.  Judge  Edward  Brand  (brother  of  Harry  Brand,  20th-Fox's 
Publicity  Head)  officiated.  At  right,  Marie's  best  friend,  Mary  Cunody. 


58 


A  family  portrait.  In  the  living  room,  the  bride  and  groom  posed  with 
their  parents — hers  on  the  left,  his  on  the  right.  Irwin  Meyers,  Harry's 
life-long  friend,  was  best  man  at  the  brief  and  simple  ceremony. 


Back  in  July, 
of  shoe  stores 
a   mink  coat 


shortly  after  "The   Body"  said  yes, 
is  worth  six  million  dollars,  gifted 
and   a    15-carat,   blue-white,  diamon 


Harry,  whose  chain 
his  bride-to-be  with 
d   engagement  ring. 


Marie's  just  finished  Living  In  A  Big  Way,  and  will  come  East  with 
Harry  for  a  wedding  trip.  Here  she  receives  best  wishes  from  Audrey 
Totter.  The   bride  wore  a  white  lace  gown,   carried  white  orchids. 


Linda  Darnell,  back  from  Europe,  and  her  husband,  Pev  Marley,  were 
among  the  few  professionals  at  the  small  reception  in  Mocambo's 
Champagne  Room.  The  party  mingled  with  one  given  by  Orson  Welles. 


Mom 


Help 
Wanted! 


Seen  at  the  Mocambo  are  Tom  and  Bev  Tyler  who've  been 
dating  steadily  since  their  roles  together  in  The  Begin- 
ning or  The  End.  Cass  Timberlane  is  Drake's  next  pic. 


Tom  Drake's  in  trouble! 

He's  q  home-loving  boy  who's  been 

living  in  hotels  and  eating 

blue-plate  specials;  he's  a  girl's 

dream  of  a  husband 

— still  looking  for  a  wife. 

By  JANE  WILKIE 


■  It  wasn't  that  he  needed  a  new  car.  It  was  just 
that  every  guy  on  the  lot  had  a  brand  new  job,  and 
it  seemed  to  Tom  Drake  that  his  name  had  'been  on 
the  list  for  a  1947  model  since  the  Paleolithic  Age. 
He  couldn't  complain,  of  course,  about  owning  a 
1940  Cadillac,  but  somehow  it  didn't  quite  stack  up 
against  the  sleek  new  numbers  that  lined  Metro's 
streets.  Van  and  Pete,  almost  everybody,  had  a  car 
that  was  longer  than  a  John  L.  Lewis  speech.  So 
Tom  took  his  Cadillac  down  to  a  body  shop. 

"Knock  off  the  running  boards,"  he  told  the  man. 
"And  make  the  hood  look  as  though  it  were  going 
somewhere  in  a  hurry.  And  the  back  as  though  it 
had  just  left  some  place."  He  paused  to  survey  the 
car.  "Then  maybe  you  could  make  the  windshield 
slant  a  little  more.  You  (Continued  on  page  88) 


!  A  TURKEY  LEG  TO  MR.  ZANUCK 

(Continued  from  page  27) 


foot,  with  an  unshaven  look  around  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon;  our  children,  a 
race  of  bloodthirsty  giants  due  to  the 

I    breakfast  food  they  ate. 

|       Out  of  this  grim  picture  only  two  things 

i    emerged  shining  and  rosy — old  age  and 

i  young  love.  In  the  insurance  advertise- 
ments, old  age  was  personified  by  a  charm- 
ingly dressed  man  and  woman  lolling  in 
deck  chairs  or  leaning  over  the  rail  of  a 
ship,  blissfully  retired  and  traveling  far 
and  wide  on  their  annuity  of  one  hundred 
dollars  a  month — a  neat  trick,  as  my  friend 
from  Mars  would  have  found  out  the  mo- 
ment he  entered  a  grocery  store.  Young 
Love,  of  course,  was  exemplified  in  the 
movie  advertisements  as  tender,  passion  - 

J  ate,  burning,  beautiful,  soul-searing,  and 
maddening,  and  if  The  Man  From  Mars, 

|  faced  with  this  nasty  choice,  had  sailed  off 
into  supersonic  space  in  alarm  and  horror, 
I  should  not  much  have  blamed  him. 

There  are  times  when  all  of  us  who 
deeply  love  our  country- are  intensely  irri- 
tated by  its  surface  manifestations,  and 
two  of  my  pet  abominations  are  advertise- 
ments and  some  of  the  movies  insultingly 
offered  as  adult  entertainment  which  also 
represent  us  to  the  rest  of  the  world. 

It  was  in  a  carry-over  of  this  mood  that 
my  wife  and  I  arrived  in  Palm  Springs  the 
next  morning  to  be  the  house-guests  of  the 

I  Darryl  Zanucks  for  a  month,  and  it  was  at 
;  dinner  that  evening  that  Mr.  Zanuck  men- 
tioned "Gentleman's  Agreement."  I  had 
never  heard  of  Laura  Hobson's  book,  which 
at  that  time  was  running  serially  in  Cos- 
mopolitan Magazine,  and  I  was  immedi- 
ately struck  by  its  basic  idea.  I  was  also 
I  impressed  by  the  thoughtfulness,  the  con- 
cern, and  the  courage  with  which  Mr. 
Zanuck  discussed  the  problem  of  anti- 
Semitism  in  America,  and  after  dinner  I 
asked  Zanuck  for  the  galley-proofs  of  the 
book.  I  read  it  that  night,  and  the  next 
morning  told  him  I  would  do  the  screen- 
play if  he  wanted  me  to;  thereby  turning 
what  was  to  be  a  winter  vacation  into  a 
stiff  writing  chore. 

As  I  write  these  lines  I  have  not  seen 
any  of  the  finished  picture,  but  good  or  bad, 
the  integrity  and  downright  nobility  of 
intent  with  which  Darryl  Zanuck  has  made 
a  motion  picture  of  "Gentleman's  Agree- 
ment" is  something  to  be  appropriately 
thankful  for  as  another  Thanksgiving  ap- 
proaches, and  my  Thanksgiving  Turkey 
Leg  Of  The  Year  is  hereby  given  to  Darryl 
Zanuck  for  good  citizenship. 

At  this  point,  I  would  also  like  to  rec- 
ommend to  you  Mr.  Zanuck's  very  fine 
article  about  Gentleman's  Agreement 
which  appears  in  this  issue  on  page  36, 
Perhaps,  if  my  friend  from  Mars  delays 
j  another  visit  long  enough,  he  may  not 
turn  around  and  go  back  quite  so  quickly. 


$5-BILLS  ON  FIRE! 

Our  pockets  are  burning  with  brand 
new  $5-bills.  And  we're  counting  on 
you  to  put  out  the  flames.  You  can  do 
it  with  a  pen!  Just  write  a  true,  amus- 
ing anecdote  about  a  movie  star.  Read 
our  I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN  boxes  and 
you'll  find  what  we  mean.  Every  anec- 
dote we  use  will  put  out  $5  worth  of 
flume.  Send  your  contribution  to  the 
"I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN"  Editor,  Modern 
Screen,  249  Madison  Ave.,  New  York 
16,  New  York.  Do  you  like  to  play  with 
fire?  This  is  one  time  you  won't  get 
burned! 


Clean- tasting!  Deliciously  different! 
Dentyne  Chewing  Gum  —  it's  keen 
chewing  gum! 

But  there's  more  to  Dentyne 
than  refreshing,  long-lasting  flavor! 
Dentyne's  firm,  chewy  texture  helps 
keep  teeth  sparkling,  too! 

Make  your  next  pack  of  chew- 
ing gum  Dentyne.  Enjoy  the  really 
satisfying  result  of  75  years  of  Adams 
know-how.  And  for  variety,  try  the 
other  delicious  Adams  quality  gums 
. . .  always  — 


Reg.  Trade  Marks 


which  wasn't  the  case  when  I  was  a  lad, 
and  each  day  at  school,  the  little  ones  get 
milk  to  build  up  their  bodies." 

Grant  leaned  forward:  "You  see,  Ed," 
he  told  me,  "the  people  derive  great 
pleasure  and  consolation  from  little  things 
and  so  they  bear  up  under  big  things." 

Long  ago,  Alfred,  Lord  Tennyson,  told  of 
the  great  courage  of  Britishers  in  poetry: 
''Forward,  the  Light  Brigade! 
Was  there  a  man  dismay' d? 
Not  tho'  the  soldier  knew 
Some  one  had  blunder'd. 
Theirs  not  to  make  reply, 
Theirs  not  to  reason  why, 
Theirs  but  to  do  and  die: 
Into  the  valley  of  Death 
Rode  the  six  hundred." 
"That's  it,"  said  Cary  Grant.  "England 
is  again  living  up  to  its  great  traditions. 
You  just  blink  your  eyes  at  the  stoic 
bravery  and  endurance  of  the  man  in  the 
street.  He  stands  in  line  patiently,  and 
with  a  minimum  of  griping;  he  knows  that 
if  the  government  imposes  tighter  con- 
trols it's  because  of  a  great  crisis,  and  at 
night,  when  he  is  able,  he  takes  his  family 
to  the  theater  and  laughs  at  Sid  Fields 
or  some  other  English  comic.  People  are 
hopeful  that  American  movies  won't  be 
barred,  but  they  understand,  too,  that  by 
cutting  down  imports,  England  will  save 
about  $837,000,000  in  one  year." 

Had  black  markets  sprung  up?  I  asked. 
"The  government  has  stamped  them 
out  relentlessly,"  Grant  said.  "That's  one 
reason  that  the  nation  is  pulling  together. 
They  know  that  nobody  is  profiteering, 
that  what  goes  for  one  goes  for  all.  There 


THEIR  FINEST  HOUR 

(Continued  from  page  33) 


may  be  one  or  two  spots  that  traffic  in 
food,  and  there  may  be  a  very  little  black- 
market  gas.  Britain  is  an  industrial  nation, 
and  the  people  get  a  tremendous  lift  from 
their  weekly  bicycle  or  motor  excursions 
into  the  countryside.  They  could  be  par- 
doned if  they  got  themselves  five  extra 
gallons  of  petrol  for  their  weekend  jaunts, 
because  that's  one  of  the  few  real  pleasures 
left  to  them.  Yet,  even  in  this,  you  are 
startled  at  the  scrupulous  honesty." 

Grant  said  the  weather  this  summer  had 
been  phenomenally  fine.  "In  England, 
when  I  was  a  kid,  the  whole  countryside 
around  Bristol  was  excited  when  the  sun 
came  out.  This  past  summer,  the  sun 
shone  almost  every  day.  It  was  a  great 
thing,  particularly  after  the  frightful 
winter,  one  of  the  worst  in  history.  You 
could  see  the  grown-ups  and  the  children 
just  soaking  up  the  warmth." 

While  Grant  was  in  England,  there  was 
a  delegation  of  American  fact-finders 
touring  the  country.  They  found  that 
British  rations  today  are  tighter  than 
they  were  before  the  war,  and  that  Eng- 
land, plagued  by  a  dollar  crisis  and  lack 
of  money  to  pay  for  imports,  faces  its 
worst  winter  food  problem  in  nine  years. 
Britons,  the  U.  S.  fact-finders  reported, 
live  on  a  dull  diet  that  supplies  about  2,800 
calories  a  day,  and  this  winter,  there  will 
be  less  canned  meat  and  fish,  less  dried 
fruits  and  less  citrus. 

The  American  investigators  had  a  typical 
London  meal:  a  roll  with  no  butter,  veal 
pie  with  very  little  veal,  potatoes  and 
spinach,  coffee  and  fig  pudding. 

Extra  meat  rations  are  allowed  to  miners. 


and  critics  of  the  Labor  Government  have 
used  this  against  Atlee,  pointing  out  that 
occasionally  miners  get  this  extra  allow- 
ance, even  when  they  are  not  at  work. 
By  and  large,  however,  despite  the  fact 
that  the  low  calory  content  leaves  the 
populace  without  pep  and  energy,  there 
is  very  little  irritability. 

"You  can  understand  now,  in  this  new 
crisis,  why  Englishmen  gravitated  to  the 
poetry  of  Rudyard  Kipling,"  Cary  Grant 
pointed  out.  "Kipling  might  have  been 
thinking  of  today  when  he  wrote: 
"If  you  can  force  your  heart  and 

nerve  and  sinew 
To  serve  your  turn  long  after  they 

are  gone, 
And  so  hold  on  when  there's  noth- 
ing in  you, 
Except  the  Will  which  says  to  them: 
'Hold  on!'" 
"That's  what's  taking  place  in  England, 
right  now,  Ed,"  Grant  continued.  "They're 
holding  on,  just  on  courage." 

gentlemen  prefer  blondes  .  .  . 

I  asked  him  what  had  been  a  standout, 
impression  of  his  trip.  "Elizabeth  Taylor," 
he  said.  "That  stunning  little  15-year-old 
is  going  to  be  one  of  the  great  glamor  girls 
of  the  movies,  mark  my  words.  Personally, 
I've  always  preferred  blondes,  but  this 
little  brunette  with  blue  eyes  had  every- 
one on  the  Queen  Elizabeth  turning  his 
head  for  a  second  look.  Unfortunately,  she 
was  taken  ill  the  second  day  out,  so  the 
ship  lost  some  of  its  decoration." 

Had  the  autograph  fans  lived  up  to  their 
reputation? 

"Good  Lord,  yes,"  he  exploded.  "If  you 
stay  in  your  cabin,  they  come  rapping  at 
the  door.  If  you  go  on  deck,  they  almost 
push  you  overboard.  Frankly,  I  don't 
understand  why  people  want  the  auto- 
graph of  somebody  who  doesn't  know 
them.  In  London,  the  professional  auto- 
graph hunters  are  just  as  rude  as  in  our 
country.  It  seems  to  be  an  international 
infection.  Being  a  movie  star  has  its  draw- 
backs, just  as  being  a  goldfish  in  a  bowl 
must  have  its  unhappy  points." 

The  purpose  of  Cary's  trip  to  London 
was  to  set  up  a  production  partnership 
deal  with  Alex  Korda. 

"Our  first  picture  will  be  filmed  at 
Monte  Carlo,"  he  told  me,  "so  if  you  want 
to  play  a  little  roulette,  Edward,  come 
along  with  us." 

I  told  him  I  couldn't  make  it,  but  to  bet 
fifty  francs  for  me  on  Number  29.  He  said 
he  would,  so  we  shall  see  what  we  shall 
see. 

At  that  point,  the  photographer  sug- 
gested that  Grant  get  dressed  for  the  pic- 
tures that  illustrate  this  piece.  That's  why 
you  don't  see  him  with  a  bath  towel  around 
his  middle. 

While  he  dressed,  I  asked  him  how  went 
the  drama  in  London.  "Dolores  Gray,  in 
Annie  Get  Your  Gun  is  the  toast  of  the 
city,"  he  said.  "Noel  Coward  and  I  had 
seen  the  show  in  New  York,  with  Ethel 
Merman,  so  we  were  anxious  to  catch 
Dolores  in  it.  She  plays  it  entirely  differ- 
ently from  Ethel,  and  yet  scores  just  as 
big.  London  really  has  gone  for  Dolores 
in  a  huge  way.  Don't  be  at  all  surprised 
if  British  movies  make  a  star  of  her." 

He  came  out  of  the  bedroom,  apologiz- 
ing for  his  sweat-stained  shirt.  "That's  all 
right,"  said  the  photographer.  "Just  put 
your  coat  on." 

Grant  did  so,  and  looked  at  the  photog- 
rapher in  surprise.  "Now  why  didn't  I 
think  of  that?"  he  asked.  "Don't  tell  me." 


Cary  stopped  briefly  in  N.  Y.,  saw  our  Ed  Sullivan,  rushed  home  for  Mr.  Blanding  Builds  His 
Dream  House.  In  England,  he  arranged  with  Alex  Korda  to  make  a  movie  soon  in  Monte  Carlo. 


WHAT  MAKES  THE  SENATOR  RUN? 

(Continued  from  page  52) 


KAUFMAN— The  only  time  I  ever  see 
pictures  is  between  train  stops  in  Chicago. 
Sometimes  I  go  to  a  movie  instead  of  call- 
ing on  my  uncle. 

REPORTER  (We  seldom  show  anything 
but  the  back  of  his  head  in  this  picture. 
That  goes  for  the  press  agent,  too.  Saves 
film.) — Mr.  Kaufman,  since  The  Senator 
Was  Indiscreet  is  the  first  motion  picture 
you  have  ever  directed,  would  you  mind 
telling  us  why  you  are  doing  it? 

KAUFMAN  (Looking  at  the  reporter 
sideways,  and  with  an  absolutely  dead 
pan) — I  had  three  flops  in  a  row  on 
Broadway.  What  else  could  I  do? 

JOHNSON— It's  all  right,  George.  We 
have  an  alibi  for  The  Senator  Was  Indis- 
creet. We  are  going  to  say  that  a  man 
from  Washington  forced  us  to  make  it. 

KAUFMAN— You  asked  what's  behind 
this  picture.  The  truth  is,  they  are  pro- 
ducing this  picture  because  they  want  to 
make  me  get  up  at  seven-thirty  every 
morning. 

JOHNSON  (Consolingly)— That's  not  so 
bad,  George.  There's  a  great  difference  in 
time  between  here  and  New  York.  From 
a  New  York  point  of  view,  you  are  only 
getting  up  at  eleven-thirty. 

KAUFMAN  (Ignoring  Johnson  and  at- 
tacking a  large  steak) — Some  people  like 
to  get  up  early.  Take  Max  Gordon.  He 
gets  up  so  early  that  by  nine-thirty  he's 
already  been  lonely  for  three  hours. 

REPORTER  (Eagerly,  looking  for  some- 
thing important) — Have  you  had  any 
trouble  with  the  picture? 

JOHNSON— Not  yet.  Here  we  are  with 
our  breasts  bared  to  receive  spears  on 
account  of  The  Senator  Was  Indiscreet. 
Now,  it'll  be  a  fine  thing  if  it  just  opens 
quietly,  and  runs  three  or  four  weeks, 
and  people  merely  say,  "William  Powell 
in  a  nice  little  comedy." 

PRESS  AGENT  (Eagerly  butting  into 
the  conversation  at  the  first  chance) — I 
can  fix  it  so  we  get  investigated  by  the 
Senate. 

KAUFMAN— Never  mind  that.  After 
this  picture  none  of  us  can  even  get  a 
passport. 

the  character  was  a  ferk  .  .  . 

REPORTER  (He  is  mystified,  and  at- 
taches great  importance  to  his  question) 
— How  did  you  get  William  Powell  to  play 

JOHNSON  (Grinning  widely)— He 
wanted  to  play  it.  I  told  him  the  character 
was  a  jerk.  I  warned  him.  I  warned  him 
good.  I  gave  him  the  script  to  read.  "Don't 
you  think  I  could  do  it?"  Powell  asked. 
I  told  him  sure,  but  did  he  want  to?  You 
have  a  nice  thing,  playing  thin  men,  I 
told  him.  Why  change?  But  Powell 
wanted  to  change  from  thin  men  to  sen- 
ators. He's  in  Peabody  and  the  Mermaid 
for  me,  too.  Plays  a  much  younger  man. 
You  know,  with  the  mermaid  in  the  bath- 
tub. So  he  won't  be  typed. 

KAUFMAN— Say,  I  was  amazed  by 
Powell's  range.  Plays  him  to  the  hilt.  He 
is  the  only  actor  I  ever  knew  who  admits 
he  always  wanted  to  be  an  actor.  You 
know,  all  actors  put  in  their  biographies 
that  they  became  actors  by  accident,  could 
have  become  lawyers  or  doctors  or  some- 
thing very  respectable.  Powell  admits  he 
started  out  to1  be  an  actor.  He  is  the  only 
one.  I 

JOHNSON-!-He's  great.  Particularly  for 
this  picture.  We  turn  all  the  lights  on  and 
tell  everybody  to  get  in  front  of  the  cam- 
era. If  anybody  doesn't  get  in  front,  it's 


his  own  fault.  Powell  never  misses, 
there  in  front. 


Right 


DISSOLVE  TO: 
WILLIAM  POWELL— Not  in  make-up, 
but  looking  very  dignified.  His  eyes  wan- 
der about  the  room.  Suddenly,  his  atten- 
tion is  transfixed  and  a  look  of  horror 
strikes  his  face. 

PAN  TO: 

BORIS"-  KARLOFF— Mr.  Karloff  is  eat- 
ing his  dinner,  a  nice  man  who  is  strictly 
minding  his  own  business.  But  he  looks 
exactly  like  Boris  Karloff. 

DISSOLVE  TO: 

Kaufman,  who  has  caught  Powell's 
glance  and  has  followed  it  to  Karloff. 

KAUFMAN— Ought  to  have  his  face 
boarded  up  for  the  summer. 

REPORTER— How  do  you  like  directing 
a  picture,  Mr.  Kaufman? 

JOHNSON  (Waving  to  a  party  just  ar- 
riving, trying  to  eat  and  talk  at  the  same 
time.) — George  is  trying  to  catch  up  with 
his  sleep  on  the  set.  For  the  first  two 
weeks,  he  thought  that  when  the  assistant 
director  yelled  "Quiet"  it  was  out  of  con- 
sideration for  his  nap. 

KAUFMAN— Everybody  thinks  the  as- 
sistant is  directing  the  picture. 

REPORTER— What  do  you  gentlemen 
do  for  fun  when  you're  not  working? 

JOHNSON  (Wearily)— Play  croquet  at 
my  place.  Kaufman  is  the  champion  of 
the  East.  I  am  just  the  ball  boy.  The 
other  day — 

DISSOLVE  TO: 

A  croquet  court.  Kaufman  dominates 
the  court  like  a  general,  planning  grand 
strategy  and  making  brilliant  shots.  John- 
son trudges  around  handing  people  things. 
Kaufman's  partner  finally  makes  a  dud 
shot,  and  Kaufman  loses  the  game. 

JOHNSON — Never  mind,  George.  Your 
partner  certainly  was  trying. 

KAUFMAN— Nunnally,  he  was  the  most 
trying  partner  I  ever  had. 

DISSOLVE  TO: 

Dave  Chasen's.  Kaufman,  Johnson  & 
Company. 

JOHNSON— As  I  was  saying,  George 
wrote  a  note  to  his  agent,  Leland  Hay- 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"See  Larry 


rry  Parks?" 


ward,  saying  he  might  just  possibly  con- 
sider a  Hollywood  offer,  if  it  was  the 
right  sort  of  thing.  Leland  called  me.  I 
called  George  on  the  telephone.  It  was  so 
fast  it  knocked  him  over  backwards. 

KAUFMAN— There  was  lots  of  long  dis- 
tance. Buy  telephone  stock. 

JOHNSON— Originally,  this  jerk  of  a 
senator  only  wanted  to  run  for  Vice- 
President  Kaufman  changed  that.  He 
made  the  senator  such  a  big  jerk  he 
wanted  to  run  for  President. 

KAUFMAN— We  worked  out  the  story 
idea  in  a  week,  then  Charlie  McArthur 
wrote  the  screenplay. 

CLOSE-UP: 

Kaufman  rises  slowly,  picks  up  the 
dinner  check,  and  faints. 

DISSOLVE' TO: 

The  Senator  Was  Indiscreet  set,  the  next 
morning.  The  scene  is  a  hotel  bedroom. 
William  Powell,  the  senator,  wearing  a 
carefully  rumpled  suit  and  a  mane  of  al- 
most white  hair,  waits  in  front  of  the  cam- 
era. Johnson  and  Kaufman  lounge  com- 
fortably, in  directorial  chairs  with  their 
names  on  them. 

JOHNSON  (Delivering  a  solemnly  con- 
sidered opinion) — He  looks  so  much  like 
a  senator  I  think  any  moment  he's  going 
to  filibuster. 

from  cradle  to  platform  .  .  . 

KAUFMAN— He  leaped  out  of  his  cradle 
accepting  a  nomination.  What  is  your 
platform  this  afternoon,  Senator? 

POWELL  (Starts  to  laugh,  catches  him- 
self, then  says  pompously) — My  dear  con- 
stituents, my  platform  is  this:  what  this 
country  needs  is  a  good  five  cents. 

JOHNSON— He  isn't  acting.  He  thinks 
he  is  a  senator. 

POWELL— I  shall  introduce  a  bill  to- 
day declaring  Nunnally  Johnson  and 
George  S.  Kaufman  null  and  void. 

KAUFMAN  (Slipping  even  lower  in  his 
chair  and  apparently  addressing  his  shoes) 
— There'll  be  no  opposition.  But  wait  until 
the  picture  is  released.  By  the  way,  Bill, 
standing  only  six  inches  from  the  camera 
is  possibly  too  close.  People  will  say 
you're  in  love. 

FADE  IN: 
A  wardrobe  man  hands  Powell  an  Indian 
head-dress.  Powell's  eyes  light  up  and  he 
places  it  carefully  on  his  head  and  strikes 
a  pose. 

DISSOLVE  TO: 

JOHNSON— This  gives  the  whole  plot 
away.  Any  politician  in  a  head-dress  is 
running  for  President. 

CLOSE  UP: 

Powell  is  rehearsing  his  lines  for  the 
scene.  He  uses  wide,  eloquent  gestures, 
then  looks  stern  and  noble  as  he  raises  his 
hand  in  an  Indian  salute. 

POWELL— All  hail— Great  White  Father 
— Mighty  Manitou! — send  greeting — from 
Washington — to  his  red  Brethren — Peace! 
FADE  IN: 

KAUFMAN  and  JOHNSON— (Chant- 
ing)— How,  how,  how! 

CLOSE  UP: 

POWELL— (Glaring  at  Kaufman  and 
Johnson) — Will  somebody  please  throw 
these  tourists  off  the  set?  Must  we  be  be- 
set daily  by  idle  persons  who  know  nothing 
about  Art? 

FADE  IN: 
(The  Press  Agent  comes  up  from  behind) 
PRESS  AGENT— It  would  be  an  awfully 
good  gag  if  we  announced  his  candidacy 
for  some  office,  say  for — 
CLOSE  UP: 
JOHNSON— Don't  be  silly.  You  want  to 


Iruin  us?  He  would  be  elected.  You  want 
Ito  do  that  to  your  country,  young  man? 
FADE  IN: 

I    The  assistant  director  takes  charge  at 
this  point  and  everybody  gets  to  work.  We 
see  Johnson  depart  for  his  office,  as  Powell 
takes  a  firm  stance  before  the  camera. 
DISSOLVE  TO: 

Nunnally  Johnson's  office.  Behind  his 
desk,  with  an  aged  Underwood  on  a  stand, 
Johnson  closely  resembles  a  working 
newspaperman.  We  pick  him  up  in  the 
middle  of  a  monologue,  as  if  he  had  inter- 
rupted a  conversation. 

JOHNSON— (Speaking  to  the  reporter 
and  the  press  agent.  We  know  they  are 
there  because  we  can  see  the  backs  of 
their  heads) —  His  eminence  as  a  play- 
wright and  stage  director  is  so  great  that 
new  actors  are  usually  afraid  of  him — at 
first.  But,  as  you  see,  he's  a  very  gentle 
person.  Except  with  obstreperous  players. 
Once  he  was  directing  a  very  tempera- 
mental actress  in  a  play. 

This  actress  kept  blowing  up  in  her 
lines,  arid  screaming  that  she  couldn't 
work  with  "these  constant  interruptions." 

Kaufman  walked  slowly  down  from  the 
rear  of  the  theater,  called  the  actress  over 
quietly,  and  said  to  her: 

"My  dear,  don't  you  know  what  those 
interruptions  are?" 

"No,"  she  said. 

"Those  interruptions,"  Kaufman  said, 
"are  other  actors  reading  their  lines."  (We 
see  the  backs  of  two  heads  wobbling  with 
laughter.  Johnson  continues) 

In  another  play — The  Dark  Tower,  it 
was — the  great  Mr.  Alexander  Woollcott 
was  being  very  officious.  This  annoyed  a 
younger  actor  so  much  that  he  waltzed 
on  stage  and  did  a  very  insulting  imitation 
of  Mr.  Woollcott,  who  was  horrified. 

Kaufman  came  down  stage  and  spoke  to 
this  young  actor. 

"You  have  affronted  Mr.  Woollcott  with 
a  grievous  insult,"  he  said  to  this  actor, 
"which  is  unforgivable — and  for  which  I 
award  you  a  gold  watch." 

rise  and  shine  .  .  . 

He  really  does  hate  to  get  up  in  the 
morning.  That's  his  New  York  stage  train- 
ing. Gene  Fowler,  Jr.,  our  associate  .pro- 
ducer, looks  out  for  technical  things  for 
George.  Kaufman  came  on  the  set  at  nine 
a.m.,  and  Fowler  chirped,  "Good  morn- 
ing." 

Kaufman  gave  him  a  dead  pan. 

"See  me  at  eleven,"  he  said. 

We  kid  Powell  in  this  picture,  of  course. 
But  Bill  has  tremendous  breadth  as  an 
actor.  We  didn't  know  whom  to  cast  at 
first.  I  talked  to  Orson  Welles,  who  liked 
the  part.  But  when  Orson  thought  it  over, 
he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  might 
interfere  with  his  political  career!  Powell's 
politics?  I  dunno.  Looks  like  a  Repub- 
lican to  me.  Kaufman  and  I  will  undoubt- 
edly be  read  out  of  both  parties  when  this 
is  released. 

Maybe  we  ought  to  change  the  title  of 
this  picture  to  Kauffman,  Powell,  and 
Johnson  Were  Indiscreet. 

DISSOLVE  TO: 

The  sound  stage.  Powell  stands  on.  a 
balcony  wearing  his  Indian  headdress  with 
a  bow  and  arrow  in  his  hands.  He  points 
the  arrow  toward  the  setting  sun. 
CLOSE  UP: 

Kaufman,  still  reclining  on  his  spine, 
raises  his  head  with  interest  as  Powell 
raises  his  arrow. 

KAUFMAN— That  shot  alone  is  worth 
300  delegates  at  the  Republican  National 
Convention.  Powell  is  ahead  of  Dewey 
already. 

FADE  OUT: 
As  William  Powell,  splendid  in  his  head- 
,  dress,  turns  solemnly  and  sticks  his  tongue 
out  at  George  S.  Kaufman. 


to  s«Pnsey0ui>r0gem2ed  to  C  S    arnari°n  **d 
And  «e  CarVa^  J***  ^  fr-dth£,0y  '5  ^  spicy 
■      for  rhat  mcomparahlf° ta  °es>  all 

VEIV*T-CREAJU  "  bJend' 

So  sm  M  GRAVY 

^uPsau  smooth  0nd  savory! 

teaspoon  salt  ,  tTP°°n  sa^ 

»*>T*  for  the  '•Velvet  Ble  A  n  C°°k,ng  S^ 


Prepared^  aT  ^  -bout  a  for 
'  uo«or  knows." 


°~  >,  -Sir-  *TSt5  S.J 

"Prom  Contented  Com-' 


IBS  wSiitii": 


THAT  IMPORTED  FEELING 

(Continued  from  page  34) 


I  know  I'm  not  what  you  counted  on. 
There's  been  a  slight  mistake,  I'm  sure. 
Ha,  ha!  The  only  person  I  might  possibly 
be  of  some  importance  to  is  my  husband, 
Tony — I  think.  If  you  don't  mind — he's 
waiting  just  out  in  the  hall — I'll  run  out 
to  him  and  we'll  sail  back  home.  Cheerio, 
and  thanks  so  much  for  the  boat  trip!" 

I  managed  to  restrain  myself  and  did 
my  best  to  be  elegant.  I  know  now  I 
needn't  have  worried,  and  that  I  mis- 
judged Mr.  Mayer  and  the  other  gentle- 
men. They  were  just  trying  to  be  friendly. 
All  the  same,  it's  a  good  thing  none  of 
them  uttered  so  much  as  a  slight  "Boo!" 
at  me.  I  would  have  run  out  screaming 
to  Tony! 

When  I  first  got  word  in  England  that 
I  was  to  sail  for  New  York,  all  my  friends 
said,  "Oh,  you  traitor!  Running  off  to 
America  to  stuff  yourself  with  steak  and 
bananas!  Why  couldn't  it  have  been  me?" 
Later  on,  when  our  ocean  crossing  proved 
so  rough,  I  wished  many  times  that  it  had 
been  they  instead — or  at  least  that  they 
hadn't  mentioned  steak. 

The  first  member  of  my  family  to  hear 
the  news  about  my  Hollywood  contract 
was  my  brother,  Teddy,  who  is  just 
twenty-one  but  right  in  the  old  English 
tradition.  When  I  told  him,  he  grunted, 
"H'm,"  and  stopped  there,  because  that's 
where  he  always  stops.  Right  after  he 
grunts,  "H'm!" 

bon  voyage  .  .  . 

So,  with  this  fervid  sentiment  ringing  in 
my  ears,  I  started  to  get  some  clothes  for 
the  voyage.  In  ration-ridden  England  that 
is  a  problem.  I  even  had  to  storm  the 
coupon-coffers  of  such  distant  ties  as  in- 
laws, cousins  and  a  great  aunt  of-  Tony's. 

By  the  time  I  was  ready  to  board  ship 
I  had  (besides  my  usual  "drabs")  two 
tailored  suits  and  two  cocktail  dresses. 
That  may  not  sound  like  much  to  some 
of  you,  but  after  eight  years  of  war  and 
post-war  austerity  living  in  England,  it 
was  a  lush  wardrobe  as  far  as  I  was  con- 
cerned! 

All  across  the  Atlantic,  Tony  and  I  made 
plans  on  how  we  would  spend  our  few 
days  in  New  York  before  getting  aboard 
the  train  for  California.  We  felt  a  bit  bad 
at  not  knowing  anyone  in  New  York  who 
might  meet  us  and  show  us  how  to  get 
about.  Simple  little  tots,  we  were! 

From  the  moment  our  boat  docked  in 
New  York — we  were  gathered  up  by  a  wel- 
come committee  from  M-G-M  who  not  only 
attended  to  such  matters  as  clearing  cus- 
toms and  getting  porters,  but  seemed,  to 
have  telepathic  insight  into  our  every 
wish.  I  don't  remember  now  how  many 
there  were  in  the  committee,  but  I  do 
recall  there  were  two  Cadillacs  to  tow  us 
about.  Wherever  we  went,  to  our  suite 
in  the  Waldorf,  to  the  theater  (and  best 
seats  for  any  show  we  named)  or  just 
sightseeing — we  went  in  two  Cadillacs. 

"Why  two  cars,  do  you  suppose,  Tony?" 
I  asked  one  night,  as  I  sat  with  him  in  one 
of  them  and  looked  back  at  the  other 
following  behind.  After  all,  Tony  should 
know  about  such  things.  As  an  RAF  pilot 
he  had  been  in  (or  over)  32  countries. 
"Is  it  the  American  way  of  playing  safe, 
in  case  one  car  has  motor  trouble?" 

"Not  at  all,"  he  replied,  with  the  air  of 
a  seasoned  traveler.  "The  second  car  is 
there  in  case  we  drop  anything.  It  will 
pick  it  up." 

New  York  was  exhilarating;  a  taller, 
faster-moving,  more  compact,  strange- 
66    sounding  London.  I  can't  wait  to  get  back 


to  it.  So  was  Chicago,  even  if  we  only  had 
three  hours  there  between  trains.  Most 
of  that  three  hours  was.  taken  up  with  a 
visit  to  the  Museum  of  Art  on  Michigan 
Boulevard,  and  when  we  stopped  in  front 
of  the  building,  Tony  had  a  hard  time  con- 
vincing me  that  the  two  great  stone  lions 
which  guard  the  entrance  weren't  another 
welcoming  touch  put  there  by  M-G-M  to 
•make  me  feel  I  was  back  in  London.  They 
did  look  just  like  the  British  lions  at  the 
foot  of  Nelson's  statue  in  Trafalgar  Square. 

And  then,  the  immensity  of  America, 
that  you  only  get  to  feel  after  you  leave 
Chicago.  The  endless  plains,  the  way  the 
mountains  suddenly  loom  up  to  crowd 
the  horizon  and  then  the  sudden  break  of 
the  whole  scene  into  sagebrush-studded 
desert!  I  just  couldn't  get  over  it! 

It  affected  Tony  as  well.  He  would  catch 
my  eye,  and  shrug  in  helplessness,  as 
much  as  to  say  this  country  is  too  utterly 
big,  too  majestic  to  joke  about  or  com- 
ment on  intelligently.  All  you  could  do 
was  sit  and  look  and  wonder. 

By  the  time  we  arrived  in  California  (to 
be  greeted  by  those  two  Cadillacs  again) 
and- were  swirled  off  to  our  hotel,  the  im- 
pressions of  the  trip  were  crowding  my 
mind  in  confusion. 

But  the  next  morning,  when  Tony  and  I, 
all  by  ourselves,  started  out  for  our  first 
call  on  the  studio — that  was  something  else 
again.  After  all  the  well-planned  organi- 
zation behind  our  trip,  the  reception  com- 
mittees, the  great  pains  the  studio  took  to 
bring  us  7,000  miles  to  its  gates — it  looked 
for  a  while,  that  morning,  as  if  those  gates 
would  not  open  to  us! 

"Who  did  you  say  you  were?"  asked 
the  policeman  at  the  entrance,  sternly. 

"Deborah  Kerr,"  I  said  weakly,  and  felt 
just  like  a  small  boy  caught  in  the  act  of 
sneaking  into  a  football  match. 

The  policeman  consulted  his  list.  "I 
don't  see  where  we  have  any  Deborah  Kerr 
working  here!"  he  declared,  accusingly. 

He  went  to  his  telephone  and  rang  up 
somebody.  He  got  nowhere  with  his  first 
call  so  he  made  another.  And  then  an- 
other. Each  time  he  had  to  explain  the 
whole  story  all  over  again,  and  each  time 
his  eyes  would  study  me  over  the  tele- 


June  Lockhart's  hintinq  not  too  subtly  that  she'd 
like  a  Philco  Radio-Phonoqraph  for  Xmas. 
June  recently  completed  Eagle-Lion's  T-Mcn. 


phone  and  I  felt  terribly  guilty.    Then,  jj 
finally,  somebody  gave  me  their  blessing 
(or  perhaps  just  tossed  a  coin  and  it  came!  ^ 
out  in  my  favor)  and  we  were  waved  in.    i  j 

The  feeling  of  being  a  new  pupil  at 
school  persisted  for  a  long  time  at  the 
studio;  you  know,  walking  around  with  a 
consciousness  of  being  in  strange  sur-i 
roundings,  peeking  around  corners  or 
through  open  doors,  hoping  to  see  one  of 
the  few  faces  you  knew  in  the  place — and 
feeling  so  utterly  grateful  when  you  do! 

It's  been  told  before,  but  I  think  it; 
bears  repeating — how  I  got  to  meet  Clark 
Gable,  with  whom  I  starred  in  my  first 
American  picture,  The  Hucksters.  I  was 
introduced  to  him  at  the  studio,  but  not  by 
any  of  its  officials;  instead,  by  my  own  hus- 
band! Imagine  Tony  not  ever  telling  me 
that  he  and  Clark  were  old  friends,  having 
worked  together  when  Clark  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  U.  S.  Army  Air  Force  in  Eng- 
land! 

We  were  in  Mr.  Mayer's  office  when 
Clark  strode  in.  I  took  a  quick  breath  and  j 
prepared  to  be  my  most  charming  self,  but , 
before  anyone  could  say  anything,  Clark ' 
seemed  to  be  making  straight  for  me,  with] 
his  hand  outstretched.  "Goodness!"  I 
thought.  "Isn't  he  going  to  wait  for  an  I 
introduction?" 

And  then  he  went  right  by  (leaving  me 
with  mouth  open)  and  was  shaking  hands 
with  Tony.  I  waited  like  a  good  little  girl 
until  they  were  through,  and  could  turn 
to  me. 

studio-fright  blues  .  .  . 

Of  course,  I  was  nervous  when  I  started  ( 
to  work  at  the  studio,  and  everyone  tried 
to  buck  me  up.    But  the  man  who  really 
did  the  job  was  a  great  giant  of  a  prop- 
hand  on  the  set  of  The  Hucksters.  He  was  | 
about  6'  4"  and  nearly  that  in  width,  and 
all  during  the  first  few  weeks  of  the  pic- 
ture, filled  me  with  dismay  because  of  a  , 
scowl- that  never  left  his  face.  I  was  cer- 
tain he  had  heard  the  English  were  very 
snooty,  and  no  matter  how  friendly  I  tried 
to  be,  he  just  wasn't  going  to  like  me. 
Then,  one  afternoon  at  four,  he  stopped  | 
at  a  chair  where  I  was  sitting. 

"You  drink  tea?" 

"Why,  yes,"  I  replied,  looking  up.  "In 
fact,  I've  been  brought  up  on — "  but  he 
was  gone,  and  my  words  hung  in  mid- 
air. I  had  never  had  anyone  do  anything  ; 
so  rude  to  me  before.  I  was  sitting  there, 
silently  boiling,  when  I  saw  him  re-appear. 
Held  by  the  tips  of  the  fingers  of  one  big 
ham  of  a  .hand  was  a  dainty  cup  and  sau- 
cer, from  which  arose  an  aroma  that 
struck  home  at  the  very  first  whiff.  It  was 
tea.  Delicious  tea! 

"H'yar!"  he  said,  or  something  that 
sounded  like  that.  And  he  stalked  away. 
But  he  was  back  the  next  afternoon,  and 
every  afternoon  at  four  thereafter,  all 
during  The  Hucksters,  and  If  Winter 
Comes,  my  picture  with  Walter  Pidgeon. 
That  prop  man  was  my  first  real  conquest 
in  America,  and  I  shall  always  be  grateful 
to  him  for  what  he  did  for  me.  It  wasn't  ; 
just  the  tea.  It  was  the  feeling  of  self- 
confidence  he  gave  me. 

It's  a  wonderful  country,  and  I'm  having 
a  wonderful  time.  I'm  almost  getting  over 
feeling  guilty  whenever  I  sit  down  to  a 
full  course  meal,  for  none  of  which  anyone 
had  to  queue  up  (as  we  do  in  England) 
and  from  which  nothing  is  missing  (as 
almost  everything  tasty  is  in  England  these 
days) . 

I'm  even  getting  used  to  the  personal 
advice  which  everyone  here  seems  to  dis-  I 


Miss  Nancy  du  Pont  goes  to  a  debutante  ball 


Young  social  leaders  like  Nancy  du  Pont  cherish  the  1-Minute  Mask  for  the 
quick,  date-time  beauty  lift  it  gives.  So  different  from  heavy,  old-style  masks 
the  1-Minute  Mask  feels  blissfully  cool  and  light  on  your  skin.  And  it  gives 
you  a  smoother,  brighter  face — not  in  twenty  minutes — but  in  one  minute! 


Nancy  peyton  du  pont  is 

the  popular  debutante  daughter  of 
the  Ernest  du  Ponts  of  Wilmington. 

"Before  I  go  out,"  she  says,  "I 
always  have  a  1-Minute  Mask.  You 
can't  live  out-of-doors  as  much  as  I 
do  without  the  cold  and  wind  rough- 
ening your  skin  a  bit,"  admits  the 
ardent  young  horsewoman.  "Then 
comes  the  evening,  and  I  want  my 


complexion  to  look  perfect.  That's 
the  moment  for  a  1-Minute  Mask! 
In  one  minute  it  smooths  my  skin 
back  to  a  soft  satin  finish.  My  make- 
up goes  on  evenly  and  stays  on!" 

Send  to  Pond's,  9-M,  Clinton, 
Conn.,  for  a  free  sample  of  Pond's 
Vanishing  Cream — enough  for  a  full 
1-Minute  Mask.  You'll  be  thrilled 
by  the  new  glamour  it  gives  you! 

A  LOVELY 


1.  Make  your  complexion  look  its  dateable  loveliest — with  a 
1-Minute  Mask.  Mask  your  whole  face  except  eyes,  with  a 
cool,  white  coat  of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream. 

2»  The  "keratolytic"  action  of  the  Cream  loosens  and  dissolves 
off  tiny  skin  chappings  and  weather  roughnesses.  After  one 
full  minute,  tissue  off — clean! 

3.  Your  skin  looks  radiant!  Clearer,  wide  awake,  more  velvety- 
smooth!  Give  yourself  a  1-Minute  Mask  with  Pond's 
Vanishing  Cream  whenever  you  want  to  look  your  best! 

FOUNDATION  CREAM,  TOO 


67 


Which  Twin  has  the 

(and  which  has  the  beauty  shop  permanent?  See  answer  below) 


See  how  easy  it  is  to  give  yourself  a  lovely 
TONI  Home  Permanent  for  your  date  tonight 


The  very  first  time  you  try  Toni,  you'll 
have  soft,  natural-looking  curls,  deep, 
smooth  waves— with  no  frizziness,  no 
dried-out  brittleness.  But,  before  you 
try  Toni,  you  will  want  to  know  — 

Will  Toni  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that 
will  take  a  permanent,  including  gray, 
dyed,  bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 
Must  I  be  handy  with  my  hands  ? 
Not  at  all!  If  you  can  roll  your  hair  up 
on   curlers    you   can   give   yourself  a 
smooth,  professional-looking  Toni  per- 
manent by  following  the  easy  directions. 
How  long  will  it  take  me? 
Waving  time  is  only  2  to  3  hours  — 
even  less  for  hair  that's  easy  to  wave. 
And  during  that  time  you're  free  to  do 
as  you  please. 

How  much  curl  will  I  have  with  Toni? 

You  can  have  just  the  amount  of  curl 
that  suits  you  best— from  a  wide,  loose 


wave  to  a  halo  of  ringlets.  Just  follow 
the  simple  directions  for  timing. 
How  long  will  my  Toni  wave  last? 

It's  guaranteed  to  last  just  as  long  as  a  $15 
beauty-shop  wave  or  your  money  back. 
How  much  do  I  save  with  Toni? 

The  Toni  Kit  with  re-usable  plastic 
curlers  costs  only  $2  .  .  .  with  handy 
fiber  curlers  only  $1.25.  The  Toni  Refill 
Kit.  complete  except  for  curlers  is  $1. 
(All  prices  plus  tax.  Prices  slightly 
higher  in  Canada.) 
Which  Twin  has  the  Toni  ? 
Bernadette,  on  the  left,  is  the  Toni  twin. 
The  Toni  Kit  is  on  sale  at  all  leading  drug, 
notions  or  cosmetic  counters. 


HOME  PERMANENT 

THE  CREME  COLD  WAVE 


pense  freely;  what  to  do  with  your  money, 
how  to  live,  where  to  live.  You  share  your| 
life  with  so  many  others  here  that  it  is 
filled  with  more  significance  than  before. 

"You  really  must  go  to  Palm  Springs  for 
weekends!   Everyone  does!" 

"You  must  get  your  hair  done  at 
Madame  Tugantwist,  you  simply  must!" 

"Oh,  don't  buy  a  house,  build!"  Or, 
"Don't  build  with  materials  so  high,  buy!" 
Or,  "Don't  build  or  buy,  rent!" 

Tony  and  I  were  looking  for  a  house, 
and  once  when  we  were  with  a  group  (of 
people  someone  mentioned  one  that  was 
for  sale.  "Oh,  no!"  countered  somebody 
else.    "That  house  is  too  old." 

I  picked  up  my  ears.  That  sounded 
interesting.  Maybe  it  was  one  of  those 
places  that  reached  back  to  the  Spanish 
era  in  California.  "How  old  is  it?"  I  asked 

"Oh,  dreadfully  old,"  I  was  told.  "Near 
ly  fifteen  years!" 

I  almost  collapsed.    The  last  home 
lived  in  was  in  Sussex,  England,  and  i 
dated  back  to  the  Sixteenth  Century! 

Yes,  I  love  California,  but  more  so  be- 
cause of  something  that  happened  th 
other  day.  We  have  our  house,  and  we're 
settled  in  it  now.  It  is  on  a  cliff,  and  our 
living  room  looks  right  out  at  the  Pacific, 
over  which  the  sun  hangs  all  afternoon. 
I'm  looking  forward  to  the  day  when  our 
baby,  which  is  scheduled  to  make  its  pre- 
miere in  December,  will  be  out  here  soak-1 
ing  up  the  sunshine. 

Because  the  house  has  sunshine,  and 
beautiful  flowers  and  a  rolling  lawn — just 
about  perfect.  Yet,  there  was  one  thing 
missing.  Neither  Tony  nor  I  could  put  our 
fingers  on  it  as  the  days  went  by.  Then, 
one  morning,  Tony  got  up  at  dawn  and 
went  out  to  look  at  the  ocean.  The 
next  moment  he  was  tearing  back. 

"Hurry!"  he  cried.  "Put  something  on 
and  come  with  me!  You'll  be  amazed!" 

I  grabbed  the  first  thing  handy  and  ran 
after  him.  We  burst  into  the  garden  and 
— sensation  of  sensations!  No  sun!  No 
brightness  pouring  down  from  the  sky 
interminably!  Instead,  mist!  Real,  gray, 
cold,  damp  mist!  Just  like  dear,  old, 
dank  and  dreary  London,  itself. 

We  just  looked  at  each  other  in  delight. 

"Ah!"  we  said,  and  breathed  in  deeply. 
"Ah!  Why,  this  California  is  wonderful. 
It  really  has  everything!" 


Beverly  Tyler  .  .  . 

M-G-M  actress  you  went  for  in  My 
Brother  Talks  to  Horses  and  The 
Beginning  or  the  End. 

We  caught  up  with  Beverly  back- 
stage at  New  York's  Capitol  Theater, 
where  she  brought  down  the  house  with 
her  singing — and  persuaded  her  to 
pose  in  this  arrow-sprinkled  date  dress. 
This  month's  fashion  theme  is  fit,  as 
you'll  see  on  the  following  pages — and 
Beverly  starts  us  off  by  demonstrating 
the  perfect  junior  figure.  (She's  a  size 
nine!) 

The  dress,  whose  twinkly  rhinestone 
arrows  will  go  straight  to  the  heart  of 
any  man  (could  they  miss?)  is  silky  for- 
tune crepe— -and- comes  in  your  choice 
of  royal,  fuchsia,  holly  red  or  black. 
Jr.  sizes  7-15. 

Dress  by  Babs  Jr.  About  $17.95. 

Hammered  metal  bracelets  (the  most 
sparkling  we've  ever  seen!)  are  by 
Coro.  $2  each. 

Siren  pumps  by  Kitty  Kelly.  $6.99 
To  find  out  where  to  buy  dress,  pumps 
and  bracelets,  please  turn  to  page  83. 


by  CONSTANCE  BARTEL 
Fashion  Editor 


I  WEAR  A 

TEEN  SIZE 


I  want  clothes  that 

are  as  young  as  I  am — but  I  want 

them  definitely  snazzy.  Like 

my  glitter  date  dress  with  bright 

colored  front  and  sparkling 

nailheads.  Rayon  crepe.  Black 

with  blue,  rose,  white  or  aqua.  7-15 

By  Teena  Paige       About  $10.95 


- 


f||MJJM'jn4^TWrpii|u,  n 


I  WEAR  A 
JUNIOR  SIZE 

I've  got  a  junior 
figure — so  I  love  this  ballet 
dress  cut  just  for  me.  I 
expect  thcrf  off-shoulder  neck- 
line to  wow  the  stags — 
and  I  like  the  way 
the  longer  skirt  shows  off 
my  ankle-strap  pumps.  Black 
rayon  faille.  9-15 
By  Fein  Juniors  About.$l4.95 


^'I'lMii'i'iMc 


^■S     For  where 

?  JZ  see 

Page  83 


71 


I  WEAR  A 
MISSES  SIZE 


A  size  twelve  fits  me 
perfectly — as  you  can  see  in 
this  wonderful  two-piece 
grey  wool  with  jersey  skirt, 
ribbed  sweater  top.  I 
think  it  looks  very  expensive 
— and  I  can  vary  it  like  mad 
with  jewelry,  scarves.  10-16. 
By  Curtis  Casuals    About  $14.95 


For  where 
to  buy 
see 
Page  83 


■f|MAf'l»inj,[WT5 


I  WEAR  A 

FIVE-FOOT-FIVE-AND 
UNDER  SIZE 

I'm  on  the  petite  side — 
definitely  not  tall.  So  I  want 
a  dress  that's  smart — but 
small  like  me.  Like  this  super 
rayon  grey  dress  with 
the  curving  buttons  to  make 
me  look  taller.  And  not 
a  stitch  of  alteration.  10-20. 
By  Leslie  Fay       About  $14.95 


73 


I  WEAR  A  FIVE-FOOT-FIVE- 
AND-UNDER  SIZE 

I  want  sophisticated  fashions — even 

if  I  am  a  half-pint  in  height.  Like  this  woman- 

of-the-world  number  with  long  moulded 

top — and  gold  embroidery  on  the  collar. 

Two-piece,  makes  me  look  tall.  10-18. 

Black,  brown,  green,  royal,  aqua,  peacock  crepe. 

By  Robert  Mattes         About  $22.95 


I'l'UPM  MTIWiW' 


Just  because  I'm  little  doesn't 

mean  I  want  little-girl  clothes.  Give  me 

grown-up  glamor — like  this  two-piece 

tissue  faille  with  draped  shoulders.  Slick 

background  for  accessories,  too.  Black, 

royal,  aqua,  purple,  brown.  10-20. 

By  Tween  Craft       About  $19.95 


QUEEN  OF  THE  MARY 

(Continued  jrom  page  50) 


back  in  the  hotel,  Elizabeth  turned  to  her 
mother.  "Somehow,  you  don't  get  the  feel- 
ing that  any  of  the  people  who  died  are 
really  gone.  I  mean,  the  way  the  families 
talk,  and  all  their  possessions  still  around, 
you  feel  as  if  they're  in  the  next  room." 

"I  know,"  her  mother  said.  "It's  strange." 

The  Taylors  had  taken  clothes  to  give 
away,  when  they  got  to  England.  Ration- 
ing is  strict.  In  eight  months,  one  person 
gets  32  clothing  coupons.  A  coat  takes 
20;  shoes  15.  But  somehow,  they  manage. 
They  look  so  well;  they're  so  proud;  you 
find  you  can't  offer  them  things. 

The  Taylors  crowded  their  three  weeks 
in  England.  They  went  down  to  Kent,  to 
the  old  house  that  had  belonged  to  Liz' 
god-father.  There  were  the  same  trees 
you  remembered,  the  same  pale  sky,  and 
you  felt  as  though  you'd  never  been  away. 

There  was  the  pet  shop  in  London,  across 
from  Selfridge's.  It  had  two  French  poo- 
dles, a  white  and  a  black,  and  to  choose 
between  them  would  break  your  heart. 
.  When  Elizabeth  was  sick,  she'd  kept  ask- 
ing for  a  poodle,  and  her  mother  had 
promised  her  the  dog,  if  she'd  drink  and 
eat  when  she  didn't  want  to  drink  and  eat. 

Elizabeth  yearned  over  the  white  poodle; 
her  mother  inclined  toward  the  black; 
naturally,  they  ended  up  with  both. 

On  the  return  trip,  those  dogs  got  pa- 
raded around  until  they  were  depressed. 

Cary  Grant  and  Frederick  Lonsdale 
were  on  the  boat  coming  back,  and  they 
started  writing  Liz  silly  fan  letters. 

"I'll  be  sitting  in  the  lounge,"  Lonsdale 
wrote  once,  "with  a  blue  flower  in  my  but- 
tonhole. Look  me  over  and  cough  three 
times  if  you  approve.  After  that  you'll  see 
a  man  leap." 

She  answered  him,  and  asked  who'd 
hand  him  his  crutches.  "Though  you're 
wonderfully  well  preserved." 

Coming  back  was  as  wonderful  .as  going 
over  had  been  painful.  Liz  dressed  for  din- 
ner three  times,  and  danced  every  night, 
and  got  moist-eyed  when  she  saw  the 
Statue  of  Liberty  looming  in  front  of  her. 

Partly  because  the  vacation  was  over, 
partly  because  the  Statue  of  Liberty  does 
that  to  everybody. 

"Next  time  I'm  going  on  the  slowest  boat 
there  is,"  she  said.  And  for  the  moment, 
she  really  meant  it. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


It 


Good  heavens,  no  wonder  my  packa.ges 
seemed  to  have  gotten  heavier  after 
I  caught  my  bus." 


Winter  White  with  Black 
or  Wine  Velveteen 

Hearts  will  beat  faster  as  you  go  by 
in  this  saucy  wool-like  dress  with  a 
back  zipper  way  down  to  your  hips! 
Dress-up  cap  sleeves!  Two  deep,  deep 
patch  pockets  with  heart-shaped  buttons! 
And  velveteen  where  it  looks  best  — 
on  the  sleeves,  the  belt,  'cross  your 
heart!  Window  Pane  Plaid  in  BLACK 
or  WINE  on  Winter  White. 

SIZES  9  to  17 


W/0 

U St*? 


My  Name. 


DIXIE  SHOPS  Dept.  24 

275  Seventh  Ave.,  New  York  1,  N.  Y. 
Please  send  me  on  approval  the  "SWEET- 
HEART" Dress.  I'll  pay  postman  $6.95 
plus  postage. 

Size-9  □    11  □    13  □    15  □    17  □ 

Indicate  1st  and  2nd  color  choice 

WINTER  WHITE  with  BLACK  □  WINE  □  City. 


SEND  NO  MONEY  I  YOURS  ON  APPROVAL 

Money  back  guaranteed  if  returned  in  10  days 


Print 


My  Address. 


.State. 


modern  screen  fashions 


76 


;58- 


For  where 
to  buy 

see 

Page  83 


I  WEAR  A 
A  HALF-SIZE 

I  want  a  fashion  with 
definite  oomph — proportioned 
especially  for  me.  Do  you 
wonder  that  I  snatched  at  this 
tissue  faille  with  gold, 
silver  and  colored  embroidery? 
See  the  draped  bow  at 
side  front — and  please  note 
how  slenderizing!  I4i/2-24i/2- 
By  Ladycraft       About  $22.95 


n'lgl'l'in^'l'IMSll'i'l'l^H'I'ia'I'I'l 


HUBBA! 
HUBBA! 


FLATTERY  PANTS 

Rogers'  seal-smooth  "lllustro"  rayon 
tricot  knit.  In  black,  white,  tearose. 
Medium  (as  shown)  or  longer  length. 
Regular  sizes  5,  6,  7,  1.00.  Extra,  8,  9, 
1.25.  Matching  bra,  1.15.  At  leading 
stores  everywhere.  A.  H.Rogers  &  Co., 
500  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


Wise  shoppers 
look  for  this 


The  mark  inlaid  at 
the  back  of  the  han- 
dle means;  two  blocks 
of  sterling  are  inlaid 
at  backs  of  bowls  and 
handles  of  most  used 
spoons  and  forks. 
This  finer  silverplate: 
Fifty-two  piece  set 
$68.50  with  chest 
(No  Federal  Tax). 


HOLMES  &  EDWARDS 
STERLING  INLAID0 
SILVERPLATE 


GENTLEMAN'S  AGREEMENT 

(Continued  from  -page  36) 


is  that  the  critics  praised  it.  But  it  failed 
to  carry  the  "idea"  where  it  was  designed 
to  carry  it — to  all  of  the  people.  Therefore, 
in  my  final  estimation,  Wilson  missed  the 
boat. 

I  do  not  think  Gentleman's  Agreement 
will  fail,  and  I  am  not  speaking  only  of 
box-office  returns.  There  must  be  stories 
which  come  to  grips  with  reality,  if  Hol- 
lywood is  to  continue  as  a  constructive 
influence. 

I  have  children  growing  up  and  I,  for 
one,  am  not  prepared  to  face  them  one 
day  and  hear  them  say,  "You  had  the 
eyes  and  ears  of  millions.  They  were  look- 
ing to  you  to  help  make  this  world  a 
better  place — and  what  did  you  do  with 
your  opportunity?" 

That's  a  question  that  I  will  be  proud 
to  answer  by  citing  Gentleman's  Agree- 
ment. This  picture  tells  of  an  idealistic, 
courageous  reporter  who  undertakes  an 
assignment  for  a  series  of  magazine  ar- 
ticles exposing  the  ugly  roots  of  anti- 
Semitism  in  America.  To  get  his  story 
he  poses  as  a  Jew,  although  a  Gentile, 
and  by  so  doing  discovers  that  his  whole 
life  is  changed.  The  affections  of  his  sweet- 
heart are  subtly  affected,  the  happiness 
of  his  small  son  by  a  previous  marriage, 
the  attitudes  of  his  friends;  he  even  un- 
covers a  hot-bed  of  prejudice  on  the  staff 
of  his  own  magazine. 

There  are  many  reasons  why  Gregory 
Peck  came  to  mind  at  once  as  I  read  the 
first  proofs  of  this  unusual  story. 

My  hero  had  to  be  far  from  the  pretty- 
boy  type.  He  had  to  be  manly,  with  sub- 
stance and  intellect  and  background.  He 
had  to  have  a  face  that  could  be  either 
Jewish  or  Gentile,  convincing  enough  by 
his  very  looks  to  be  able  to  say,  "I'm 
Jewish"  and  be  believed,  or  "I'm  not," 
and  still  be  believed.  I,  myself,  don't  be- 
lieve there  is  a  pronounced  Jewish  "type" 
in  the  world,  a  fact  which  I've  seen  proven 
time  and  again. 

Many  of  my  friends  and  associates  are 
of  Jewish  faith,  but  I  had  never  thought 
much  ab.out  anti-Semitism  until  I  went 
to  North  Africa  on  army  duty  during  the 
war.  Occasionally,  when  I  arrived  at  a 
new  post  I  noticed  a  standoffishness  among 
some  of  the  officers  with  whom  I  worked. 
Later,  they  would  come  up  to  me, 
wreathed  in  smiles,  shake  my  hand  and 
say,  "Why  didn't  you  tell  us  you  aren't 
Jewish?"  It  appalled  me.  I  couldn't  see 
what  difference  that  made,  first  of  all,  but 
what  struck  me  was — they  had  no  idea 
whether  I  looked  like  a  Jew  or  Gentile. 


CiMrifkt  1M7,  Til  litimtlMtl  Silver  tt.,  Milms  I  Mmrfc  IhlstM, 
I  Mil  Mm,  Cim.  StM  Ii  twu  k) :  In  T.  bin  Ci.,  IM..  °Im.  «.  S.  fat.  0« 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

A  number  of  years 
ago,  Judy  Garland 
made  a  personal 
appearance  in 
Kansas  City.  She 
was  just  16  then 
and  looked  darling 
in  a  taffeta  dress 
of  light  and  dark 
blue,  with  a  bor- 
der of  lace  at  the 
bottom  of  the 
skirt.  During  a  lull  between  songs,  a 
little  boy  of  about  five  said  loudly, 
"Mommy,  that  girl's  petticoat  is  hang- 
ing." Everybody  laughed,  including 
Judy  herself. 

Corinne  Staigg, 
Pleasant  Hill,  Missouri 


For 

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For  name  of  your  nearest  store  write: 

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77 


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Miniitfures 
are  sliown 
in  actual  size ' 


At  these  and  other  leading  stores  everywhere: 


Abraham  &  Straus  

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
Bamberger's. .Newark,  N.  J. 

Burdine's  Miami,  Fla. 

Famous-Bern. St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Filene's  Boston,  Mass. 

Hudson's. . . 


Lansburgh's  

Washington,  D.  C. 

Maison  Blanche  

New  Orleans,  La. 

Rich's  Atlanta,  6a. 

Weiboldls.... Chicago,  III. 
Detroit,  Mich. 


or  write.  PRECISION  MINIATURES 

5147  Brown  Ave.,  St.  Louis  15,  Mo.  (Dept.  MSD) 


78 


PRECISION  MINIATURES,  Dept.  MSD 
5147  Brown  Ave.,  St.  Louis  15,  Mo. 

Enclosed  is  M.O.  or  check  for  "Pixie- 

Platter  Bracelets,"  $1.20  ea.  (incfudes  fax;. 

Name  ' 


Address- 


City_ 


-State. 


(Please  print  clearly.)  Sorry,  No  C.O.D.'s. 


My  name  merely  sounded  as  if  it  might 
be  Jewish. 

Aside  from  the  ambiguity  of  his  features, 
the  chief  reason  Gregory  Peck  fitted  so 
ideally  into  the  part  of  "Phil  Green"  is 
that  he  exemplifies  sincerity,  utter  honesty 
and  integrity  in  his  acting  personality. 
No  man  could  play  the  star  of  Gentle- 
man's Agreement  without  such  qualities. 

The  first  time  I  ever  saw  Gregory  Peck 
was  in  a  Broadway  play.  Not  long  after- 
ward, I  trusted  him  with  the  role  of 
"Father  Chisholm"  in  The  Keys  of  the 
Kingdom,  the  inspirational  picture  to 
which  I  was  then  devoting  all  my  atten- 
tion. Like  Gentleman's  Agreement,  The 
Keys  of  the  Kingdom  was  an  idealistic 
story,  extolling  service  to  humanity.  Like 
the  hero  of  Gentleman's  Agreement  also, 
Father  Chisholm,  who  left  a  pleasant 
clerical  berth  in  Scotland  to  dedicate  his 
life  to  missionary  work  in  the  interior 
of  China,  had  to  be  played  with  the 
greatest  conviction  and  sincerity,  else  the 
picture  would  have  failed.  It  didn't  fail, 
either  as  a  picture  or  as  the  role  that 
launched  Gregory  Peck  as  a  star. 

no  tricks  of  the  trade  .  .  . 

Gregory  Peck  has  no  technical  acting 
tricks,  no  polished,  sure-fire  techniques 
with  which  great  names  of  stage  and 
screen  have  often  been  associated.  But 
his  very  lack  of  tricks  endows  him  with 
a  force  far  more  important.  In  every  part 
he  has  played,  he  has  been  entirely 
believable.  *  ( 

The  responsibility  he  feels  for  the  parts 
he  undertakes,  is  a  producer's  best  in- 
surance that  they  will  be  successful.  He 
will  turn  down  the  most  sought-after  part 
in  the  most  prized  production  of  the 
Hollywood  season — if  he  doesn't  think  he 
can  do  it  justice. 

I  remember  an  instance  where  he  was 
enthusiastic  about  a  story  I  had  bought. 
It  had  a  fine  part  for  an  actor,  and  I 
offered  it  to  him  but  he  turned  it  down. 
"It  hurts  me  more  than  it  does  you,"  he 
grinned,  "but  it  isn't  for  me."  He  may  have 
been  right — who  knows?  The  picture 
turned  out  to  be  a  successful  one.  The 
part  was  excellent  for  another  star.  In 


my  mind  it  was  excellent  for  Gregory 
Peck,  but  I  knew  him  too  well  to  try  to 
persuade  him,  and  I  gained  new  respect 
for  his  honesty. 

So  there  was  a  certain  amount  of  sus- 
pense for  me  as  to  whether  or  not  Gregory 
Peck  would  play  Gentleman's  Agree- 
ment. He  might,  for  some  reason,  con- 
clude that  he  wouldn't  fit. 

I  had  already  been  fortunate  in  secur- 
ing Moss  Hart,  the  celebrated  Broadway 
dramatist,  to  write  the  screenplay.  Hart 
was  challenged  by  this  same  story,  and 
agreed  to  write  a  Hollywood  scenario  of 
something  not  his  own,  for  the  first  time  in 
his  career.  It  meant,  I  knew,  giving  up  a 
vacation  and  abandoning  plans  for  a 
Broadway  play.  I  had  also  secured  Elia 
Kazan,  the  director  who  did  such  masterly 
jobs  with  A  Tree  Grows  in  Brooklyn  and 
Boomerang.  Kazan  was  'enthusiastic 
about  directing  Gentleman's  Agreement. 
I  sounded  out  both  of  them  on  Gregory 
Peck  for  the  starring  role,  and  they  agreed 
that  he  was  an  ideal  choice. 

backstage  story  .  .  . 

After  returning  from  Sun  Valley,  I  took 
the  proofs  of  "Gentleman's  Agreement"  to 
the  theater  where  I  was  scheduled  to 
receive  an  award  for  The  Razor's  Edge. 
I  knew  Gregory  Peck  was  on  the  same 
program,  accepting  an  award  for  his  per- 
formance in  The  Yearling.  Backstage, 
after  the  show  was  over,  I  handed  him 
the  galleys.  "Read  these,"  I  suggested, 
"and  let  me  know  what  you  think  about 
the  story." 

If  Peck  thought  himself  right  to  play 
the  part,  he  would  take  it.  I  figured 
he  would,  and  I  was  right.  He  had  been 
calling,  my  secretary  informed  me,  all 
morning.  He  called  again.  He  had  stayed 
up  all  night — just  as  I  had  on  the  train — 
to  finish  the  story.  "I've  never  been  so 
excited  about  any  role  in  my  life,"  he 
told  me.  "It's  an  honor  to  be  considered, 
and  I  can't  wait  to  do  it." 

So  he  is  doing  it — and  with  that  atti- 
tude, knowing  Gregory  Peck,  I  don't  think 
I'm  too  rash  in  predicting  he'll  make 
another  bid  for  an  Academy  Award  next 
year.    You'll  see  for  yourself! 


The  gentlemen  behind  Gentleman's  Agreement :  Moss  Hart,  who  wrote  the  screenplay,  Gregory 
Peck,  the  star;  director  Elia  Kazan,  and  Darryl  F.  Zanuclc,  producer  of  Laura  Hobson's  novel.' 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

RICHARD  WID- 
MARK  makes  a 
sensational  debut 
as  Tommy  in  Kiss 
of  Death.  Dick  was 
born  in  Minne- 
sota on  December 
26,  1915.  He  is  5' 
11"  tall,  weighs 
160  lbs.,  and  has 
blue  eyes  and 
blond  hair.  He  is 
married  to  Jean  Hazelwood,  and  has 
one  child.  Appeared  on  Broadway  in 
Kiss  and  Tell,  Kiss  Them  For  Me,  and 
Trio.  Can  be  reached  at  Fox,  Beverly 
Hills,  California.  No  fan  club. 

DAVID  FARRAR 
was  born  in  Eng- 
land some  30-odd 
years  ago.  He  is 
over  6'  tall,  has 
dark  hair  and  blue 
eyes  and  is  mar- 
ried. He  used  to 
be  a  newspaper- 
man, but  left  that 
job  ten  years  ago 
for  the  theater. 
He  is  currently  being  seen  in  Frieda, 
and  Black  Narcissus.  Write  to  him 
c/o  The  Archers,  J.  Arthur  Rank  Pro- 
ductions, London,  England. 

I  MONA  FREE- 
MAN, who  played 
Iris  in  Mother 
Wore  Tights,  was 
born  in  New  York 
City  in  1926.  She 
is  5'  3",  110  lbs., 
and  has,  blue  eyes 
and  blond  hair. 
She  is  .married  to 
Pat  Nearny.  Can 
be  reached  at  20th 
Century-Fox,  Beverly  Hills,  California. 

G.  Smith,  Wash.,  D.  C:  That  was  Dort 
Clark  as  the  blond  detective  in  the  car 
in  Kiss  of  Death.  And  Robert  Arthur 
was  Mona  Freeman's  beau  in  Mother 
Wore  Tights.  Write  to  them  both  at 
Fox,  Beverly  Hills,  California. 

Gloria  H.,  Ft.  Worth,  Texas:  The  Lon 
McCallister  Club  is  headed  by  Lenore 
Becker,  1902  N.  36  St.,  Milwaukee  8, 
Wise.  Tina  Zulli  is  president  oi  the 
Victor  Damone  Club.  Write  her  at  535 
E.  187  St.,  Bronx  58,  N.  Y.  The  Kim 
Hunter  Club  is  run  by  Lilyan  Miller  oi 
2575  Richton-101,  Detroit  6,  Mich. 
Larry  Hampe,  1569  S.  Carey  Ave.,  Po- 
mona, Calif.,  is  head  of  the  Lizabeth 
Scott  Club.  Kitty  Petrillo,  president  of 
the  John  Lund  Club,  can  be  reached  at 
275  Whitney  St.,  Rochester  6,  N.  Y. 

Signing  off  now.  Be  back  next  month. 
Keep  sending  those  questions  and  self- 
addressed,  stamped  envelopes  to  Bev- 
erly Linet,  Information  Desk,  MOD- 
ERN SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue, 
New  York  16,  N.  Y. 

SPECIAL  OFFER 

SUPER-STAR  INFORMATION 
CHART— 1946-'47  (10c)— A  new  edi- 
tion of  the  chart  that's  a  32-page  pocket 
encyclopedia  of  fascinating  data  on  all 
your  favorite  stars.  100  additional 
names  never  before  listed!  Please  send 
10c  in  coin  to  Service  Dept.,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y. 


—  O  ~ ■  3 

—  r\  — 


3"  3    —    O      — • 


O  3  a 


o  —  — 


—r        —  /n  — .  « 


O  O 


<  — 


mil  fwou)  m  k(j(it-  tiih.  Ju^kt 

J  AN  IS  PAIGE 

Right  from  the  start,  "The  Silver  Service  of  the  Stars" 
gives  your  table  the  right  Hollywood  setting. 
More  pieces  . . .  more  beauty  . . .  more  quality— extra  weight 
and  an  extra  overlay  of  pure  silver  at  wear  point. 
See  your  jeweler.  Choose  your  pattern  in  the  service 
that  gives  you  MORE  FOR  YOUR  "SILVER"  DOLLAR. 
Complete  services  start  at  $34.75.  Or,  you  may  start 

with  5-piece  Place  Settings  at  $4.50.  (No  Federal  Tax 


JANIS  PAIGE 

Starring  in 
WALLFLOWER 

A  Warner  Bros.  Proc 


#R0GERS# 


s/flverplaf  e 
ONE/DA  LTD. 
/i  Iversmif  hs 


BY 

MAXINE 
FIRESTONE 


modern 
screen 
shops 
for  you 


A  tie  for  just  us  girls.  Made  of  sequin- 
spangled  rayon  print.  Attaches  to  the  neck 
of  your  blouse  with  an  adjustable  band. 
Think  your  guy  will  want  to  borrow  it?  $1.98. 
A  Herlyn  Creation,  167  Madison  Ave.,  N.  Y. 


What  fun  to  show  off  your  favorite  photo 
while  powdering  your  nose!  This  photo-com- 
pact is  made  of  genuine  leather.  24K  gold- 
plated  frame.  Red,  black  or  brown.  $2.95. 
From  Crown  Craft  Products,  246  5th  Ave.,N.Y.  I. 


This  rayon  scarf  is  a  doodler's  delight.  Use 
a  ballpoint  pen,  pencil  or  crayon  to  fill 
in  the  pennant  and  score-board.  Plenty  of 
room  left  for  wise-cracks  of  the  gang.  By 
.  Grotta.   About   $1.98.    Bloomingdale's,    N.  Y. 


WITH  THIS  RING 

(Continued  from  page  58) 


amazing  the  way  romances  start.  They'll 
blossom  out  of  some  trivial  incident,  such 
as  Marie  and  the  time  a  year  ago  when 
she  was  in  desperate  need  of  bubble  gum. 

"I've  just  got  to  get  my  hands  on  some 
bubble  gum,"  she  told  producer  Ralph 
Friede.  "I  promised  Pan  Berman's  chil- 
dren and  they'll  never  forgive  me  if  I  let 
them  down." 

"That's  easy,"  Friede  told  her.  "I  know 
a  fellow — and  it  just  happens  that  he'd 
sort  of  like  to  meet  you." 

He  sort  of  did. 

When  Harry  Karl  brought  the  bubble 
gum  around,  he  began  to  court  Marie. 

Their  friendship  was  the  quiet,  sensible 
kind  that  is  pretty  rare  in  Hollywood. 
So  rare  that  when  news  of  Marie's  im- 
pending marriage  was  announced,  people 
kept  saying,  "Oh,  it's  just  one  of  those 
things.    They  won't  really  do  it." 

They  won't  really? 

But  friends,  they  already  have. 

They  were  married  at  Harry's  family's 
home,  in  West  Hollywood,  at  6  p.m.  of  a 
bright  September  day. 

The  best  man  was  Irwin  Myers,  Harry's 
oldest  friend.  The  matron  of  honor  was 
Mary  Cunody,  Marie's  closest  pal. 

But  you  couldn't  see  anybody  else  for 
the  dazzle  that  was  Marie.  She  wore  a 
ballerina-length  lace  gown,  lilies  of  the 
valley  in  her  soft  brown  hair,  and  her 
bridal  bouquet  was  white  orchids  and 
lilies  of  the  valley. 

It  was  a  small,  simple  ceremony.  Marie's 
father  gave  her  away,  and  nobody  cried, 
and  nobody  pitched  any  shoes,  and  after- 
ward, there  was  a  little,  informal  recep- 
tion in  Mocambo's  Champagne  Room.  A 
few  friends  came;  mostly  non-professional 
friends,  and  there  wasn't  any  cake,  but 
nobody  seemed  to  miss  one. 

It  was  right;  it  was  quite  perfect. 

"And  later,  we'll  take  a  trip  East," 
Harry  said. 

So  you  thought  they  wouldn't  get  mar- 
ried?   You  were  wrong! 

lost  and  found  .  .  . 

Marie  first  put  on  her  engagement  ring 
July  ninth,  her  birthday.  She  was  sit- 
ting with  friends  at  Mocambo,  when  she 
noticed  that  her  gold  compact  was  missing. 
She  excused  herself,  and  went  to  the 
ladies'  room  to  look  for  it.  She  returned, 
dejected,  only  to  find  the  missing  com- 
pact on  the  table  cloth  in  front  of  her. 

Inside  was  the  diamond. 

Not  long  ago,  Marie  went  to  see  a  doc- 
tor. "I  don't  know  what's  the  matter 
with  me,"  she  told  the  eminent  medical 
authority.  "I  must  be  losing  my  pep.  I 
feel  listless,  and  it  bothers  me." 

The  doctor  suggested  vitamin  pills. 

The  next  day,  Marie's  guest  house 
burned  down.  She  lost  her  wedding 
dress  and  a  prized  scrap  book.  She  had 
to  scurry  around  seeing  insurance  men, 
getting  a  new  wardrobe  and  preparing  for 
a  new  picture.  A  couple  of  her  relatives 
went  to  the  hospital. 

"So  what  happened?  I  forgot  to  take 
the  pills.  My  pep  came  back.  It's  when 
I  stop  doing  things  that  I  get  tired." 

She  must  be  right.  This  year,  Marie 
did  a  picture  that  took  nine  months  to 
shoot.  She's  gone  to  Mexico,  made  per- 
sonal appearances,  and  been  a  bride. 

"It's  nothing,  really.  You  should  get 
to  know  Harry  better.  The  man  hasn't 
had  a  summer  vacation  since  he  went  into 
business,  and  before  that  he  studied  law 
— got  his  degree  when  he  was  twenty." 

Listen  to  Marie  talking  about  Harry 
Karl  and  you   (Continued  on  page  85) 


AW**™ 


TERRY  TEENERS 
462  7th  Avenue,  New  York  18,  N.  Y. 
Gentlemen:  Send  MAJORETTE  on  approval  at 
$5.95,  plus  postage.  I  may  return  dress  for  re- 
fund within  fen  days  if  not  completely  satisfied. 

QUAN   1st  COLOR  CHOICE. . .   

SIZE  2nd  COLOR  CHOICE  

NAME  

ADDRESS   ;  

CITY   ZONE  STATE  


INITIAL  PENDANT 

(with  Ribbon) 
Sealed  for  Life 

$1. 

COLORS .  Red,  blue, 
black,  pearl.  Specify 
color  and  initial. 


ENGRAVED 
RELIGIOUS  PENDANT  ^ 
(with  Ribbon) 

$1.00 


If  sterling  silver  chain  desired,  add  $1.00 
If  all  three  ordered  at  one  time. . .  $2.50 
Prices  include  tax . , .  Sorry  No  C.O.D.'s 


WIL-N0R  PRODUCTS  CO.,  DEPT.  M 

3  0  0  2  N.  Sth  STREET,  PHILA.  33,  PA. 


NOW-STRICTLY  FOR  THE  COKE  CROWD 


fron 


To»V 


STARRING  YOUR 
SING  KING  


Monroe    with  aut°graphed  portrait 

REPRODUCED  IN  FULL  COLOR 


SINATRA 

If  your  choice  is  "Thg  Voice,"  youH  rejoice  at  the  way  our  fashi 
V   y  artists  have  captured  the  rapture  of  Frankie's  true  personality! 

"^XANDY  RUSSELL  TONY  MARTIN 


$198 

■  Pott 

■  Paid 


From  the  blue  of  his  eyes 
to  the  brown  of  his  hair 
everything's  therel  Yes, 
hurry  and  hustle — get  this 
Polo  that's  terrifically,  spe- 
cifically Andy  Russelll 

ANKIE  LAINE 

Here's  the  sweet,  shy  guy 
i'/who  puts  romance  in 
,  rhythm — you'll  strike  the 

right  note,  too,  wearing  his 
Polo  that's  a  starring  solo! 


You'll  put  your  heart  in 
wearing  the  handsome  Mr. 
Martin.  Here's  the  slick 
trick  to  make  your  hero 
click  with  all  the  guys  and 
gals  who  go  for  "Tony"! 


VAUGHN 


Leader  man  of  the  band 
that's  grand  . . .  he's  the  lad 
with  the  band  of  appeal 
that  really  sings/  Join  the 
chorus  . .  .  wear  V.  Monroe 
wherever  you  go! 


MONROE 


VIC  DAMONE 


Vibrant  is  the  word  for  Vic 
. . .  and  we've  caught  all 
the  smooth-as-satin,  Latin 
charm  of  this  youngest  of 
the  music  makers! 


Be  a  real  fan  of  your  dream  man!  Show  your  colors 
by  wearing  his  face  close  to  your  heart.  What  a 
thrill  for  a  Jill!  And  pet,  don't  fret  about  laundering 
. . .  Juke  Box  Polos  are  washable  wonders  . .  .  made 
of  genuine  Durene  cotton  jersey.  Won't  fade,  won't 
run — the  colors  are  as  true  as  your  affections.  The 
artwork  on  these  sharp  shirts  is  taken  from  life  and 
include  the  stars'  own  autograph. 


CLIP  THIS  COUPON  AND  MAIL  TODAY 


Juke  Box  Fashions-1 657  Evergreen  Ave.,  Chicago  22,  III.  Dept.JB-19 

Please  send  me  Juke  Box  Polos  indicated  below  at  SI. 98 

each.  If  not  delighted  I  may  return  in  5  days  for  refund. 
Q  Frank  Sinatra  Q  Andy  Russell  fj  Frankie  Laine  □  Vic  Damone 
□Tony  Martin  fj Vaughn  Monroe   □Small  □Medium  □Large 
□  I  am  enclosing  S  Ship  post  paid 


CHECK  ONE 


□  Ship  C.O.D.  I'll  pay  postman  $_ 


_  plus  postage 


Attention,  Fan  Club  Presidents! 

Don't  let  rival  clubs  outshine  yours!  Get  your  fellow  members 
to  do  right  by  your  Sing  King.  Show  your  loyalty . . .  make  it 
unanimous.  Order  a  Juke  Box  Polo  for  every  member.  Take  ad- 
vantage of  the  SPECIAL-TO-FAN-CLUBS-PURCHASE-PLAN. 

6  Juke  Box  Polos,  for  only  $10 

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Club  Stationery  and  signed  by  a  Club  Officer. 


Address— 
jjC|ty__ 


H 


JcMtiab^  fab/wen  &ection> 


FULL  SIZE 
BOLT  CUT 


4  lbs. 

approx. 

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TO  4  YARD  LENGTHS  cut  from  new  bolts  of  dress  goods;  fast  colors.  Prints, 
percales,  ginghams.  Do  not  confuse  this  offer  with  other  so-called  "remnant"  bundles 
which  include  small  scraps,  odds-and-ends  pieces.  MONEY-BACK  GUARANTEE:  if 
you  are  not  satisfied,  return  your  bundle  and  we  shall  immediately  refund  your  money 
plus  postage.  ORDER  WITH  CONFIDENCE  from  the  largest  supplier  of  remnants 


and  quilt  pieces  in  America.  Join 


LARGE  SIZE 
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82 


Fine  quality  pieces  that  are  a  little  too  small 
to  fit  in  our  full-size  Remnant  bundle  .  . . 
hundreds  of  uses.  4  lbs.,  approx.  20  yds. 


H.THI.H 
*1 


tens  of  thousands  of  satisfied  customers.  We 
ship  C.  O.  D.  SEND  NO  MONEY. 


69 

PLUS  POSTAGE 


THE  SEWING  CIRCLE 

Dept.  204,BOX  505,  ST.  LOUIS  3,  MO. 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 

Dear  You: 

The  big  point  of  this  month's  fashions 
is  size.  Your  size.  Perfect  fit — a  little 
item  you  simply  can't  do  without  in  your 
campaign  to  be  the  best  dressed  gal  in 
town. 

New  ready-to-wear  used  to  be  far  from 
ready.  You  know  what  we  mean.  You'd 
go  into  a  store — all  aglow  with  the 
hope  of  finding  the  perfect  dress  for 
a  big  date.  And,  by  golly,  there  it 
was — your  color,  your  style,  your  price. 
What  luck.  You  tried  it  on.  Misery!  The 
sleeves  either  hit  you  half  way  up  the 
wrists,  or  came  down  over  your  hands 
like  gloves.  The  hem  was  much  too  long 
— or  much  too  short.  The  blouse  bil- 
lowed or  spanned.  The  waistline  simply 
ignored  your  own  and  went  its  own  way, 
either  too  high  or  too  low.  And  there 
you  were — out  on  a  limb — with  no  time 
for  alterations,  and  no  yen  to  pay  the 
extra  cost  for  them  either. 

That's  the  way  it.  was — but  it  isn't  any 
more.  The  designers  have  caught  on  to 
the  fact  that  you  and  I  are  not  neces- 
sarily the  same  size  and  shape.  And 
today  they  are  cutting  five  separate  and 
distinct  size  ranges,  one  of  which  is  for 
you. 

What  will  you  have — a  miss's  size,  five- 
foot-five-and-under,  junior,  teen,  or  half 
size?  We  show  them  all  in  this  issue. 
Misses'  sizes  are  for  you  who  are  not 
hefty  and  not  thin — but  just  right,  and 
who,  although  not  beanpole  tall,  are  not 
half  pints  either. 

Five-foot-five-and-under  sizes  are  for 
you  who  are  half  pints — but  whose  bust, 
hip  and  waist  measurements  are  like  your 
friends  who  wear  misses'  sizes.  You've  got 
a  figure — but  in  height  you  only  come 
up  to  your  boy  friend's  top  vest  burton. 
The  junior  sizes  are  for  the  ^oung  junior 
figure,  higher  waisted,  higher  bosomed, 
and  smaller  waisted. 

Teen  sizes  are  aimed  at  you  lucky  young 
things  of  sixteen  or  so — who  certainly 
don't  want  kiddish  things,  but  who  are 
still  growing. 

And  half  sizes  are  for  the  opposite  of 
featherweights — for  the  more  generous 
figure  which  men  have  in  mind  when  they 
say — "I  like  a  woman  to  look  like  a 
woman." 

We  show  all  five  size  ranges  in  this  issue 
— and  one  of  them  is  for  you!  Hie  your- 
self to  your  favorite  store  and  find  out! 
P.S. — Prices,  as  always — kind  to  your 
budget. 

Connie  Bartel 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY 
MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

(Prices  may  vary  throughout  the  country) 

Babs  Junior  dress  with  rhinestone  arrows 
worn  by  Beverly  Tyler  in  the  full  color 
photograph  (Page  69) 

Altoona,  Pa.— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 
Boston,  Mass. — Jays,  Inc. 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. — J.  W.  Robinson  Co. 
Minneapolis,  Minn. — The  Young-Quin- 
lan  Co. 

New  Orleans,  La. — D.  H.  Holmes  Co.,  Ltd. 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Arnold  Constable 
Suede  platform  ankle  strap  pumps  worn  by 
Beverly  Tyler  in  the  full  color  photograph 
(Page  69)  $6.99 

At  all  Kitty  Kelly  stores  in: 
Chicago  Philadelphia 
New  York  Washington,  D.  C. 

Teena  Paige  two-tone  silver  nailhead  dress 
(Page  70) 

Altoona,  Pa— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 
San  Antonio,  Texas— The  Wolff  &  Marx 
Co. 

Trenton,  N.  J— S.  P.  Dunham  &  Co. 
Coro  hammered  metal  necklace  and  brace- 
let shown  with  dress  (Page  70)  $2  each 

New  York,  N.  Y. — John  Wanamaker  Co. 
Fein  Juniors  off-shoulder  ballet  dress 
(Page  71) 

Altoona,  Pa.— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 

Boston,  Mass.— Conrad's 

Chicago,  111.— The  Fair 

New  York,  N.  Y.— McCreery's 

Philadelphia,  Pa.— The  Blum  Store 

Curtis  Casuals  two-piece  ribbed  sweater 

top  dress  (Page  72) 
Altoona,  Pa.— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Gimbels 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Lit  Brothers 
Richmond,  Va. — Thalhimer's 
St.  Louis,  Mo. — Famous-Barr  Co. 

Leslie  Fay  button-and-bow  dress  (Page  73) 
Altoona,  Pa.— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 
Boston,  Mass. — Filene's 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Abraham  &  Straus 
Chicago,  111. — Mandel  Brothers 
Cincinnati,  Ohio — Rollman  &  Sons  Co. 
Cleveland,  Ohio— The  Halle  Bros.  Co. 
New  York,  N.  Y.— Saks -34th 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Lit  Brothers 
Pittsburgh,  Pa. — Frank  &  Seder 
Richmond,  Va. — Thalhimer's 
Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Lothrop 

Robert  Mattes  two-piece  long  torso  dress 

(Page  74) 

Altoona,  Pa.— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 

Boston,  Mass.— R.  H.  White's 

Chicago,  111.— Wieboldt's 

Evanston,  111. — Wieboldt's 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Emily  Shop,  Fifth 
Avenue 

Oak  Park,  111.— Wieboldt's 

Philadelphia,  Pa. — Lit  Brothers 
Tween  Craft  two-piece  draped  shoulder 
dress  (Page  74) 

Altoona,  Pa.— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 

Boston,  Mass. — Filene's 

Los  Angeles,  Calif. — J.  W.  Robinson  Co. 

New  York,  N.  Y. — John  Wanamaker  Co. 
Ladycraft  all-over  embroidered  dress 
(Page  76) 

Altoona,  Pa.— The  William  F.  Gable  Co. 
Atlanta,  Ga. — Davison,  Paxon  Co. 
Augusta,  Ga. — Davison,  Paxon  Co. 
Baltimore,  Md. — Hutzler  Bros.  Co. 
Columbia,  S.  C. — Davison,  Paxon  Co. 
Detroit,  Mich.— Crowley,  Milner  Co. 
Macon,  Ga. — Davison,  Paxon  Co. 
Newark,  N.  J. — L.  Bamberger  &  Co. 
New  York,  N.  Y.— Lord  &  Taylor 
Washington,  D.  C. — Joseph  R.  Harris  Co. 


If  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed  write: 
Fashion  Editor,  Modern  Screen,  149 
Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


The  Lift  that  never  lets  you  down 


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lift feature  that  makes 
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*" Perma-lift"  and   "Hickory"  are  trade- 
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Write  for  Free  Booklet  on  corset  and 
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Wear  Your  LUCKY 


Fine  stones,  cut 
for  dazzling  bril- 
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for  sparkle — in  a 
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January — Gornet 
February —  Amethyst 
March — Aquamarine 
April— White  Sapphire 
May — Emerald 
June — Alexandrite 
July — Ruby 
August — Peridot 
September — Sapphire 
October — Rose  Zircon 
November— Topaz 
December— Zircon 


Hint  for  it  broadly!  Wear 
it  with  pride!  Be  the 
envy  of  your  crowd.  - 


'Simvlaled 


Measure 


SEND  NO  MONEY 


Goldcraft,  Box  417,  Birmingham  1,  A!a. 
Please  send  me  Birthstone  Ring  as  advertised. 
Birth  month  Ring  size  


Ring  Size 


Get  a  ring  of  right  size  and 
put  flat  on  a  piece  of  paper. 
With  a  sharp  pointed  pencil, 
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I  agree  to  pay  Goldcraft  the  sum  of  $1 
weekly  until  balance  is  paid  in  full. 


Name_ 


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_State_ 


TEETH  should  show 
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NEVER  in  your  15* 
HAIR-DO 


Teeth  never  show 
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4.  No  razor  stubble. 
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be  a  good  N  sport 


Outdoor  exercise 
helps  give  you  pink  cheeks 
and  a  clear  complexion, 
but  do  protect  your 
skin  from  windburn  and 

excessive  drying 

By  CAROL  CARTER 
BEAUTY  EDITOR 


Jane  Greer,   RKO   star,   out  hunting   for  beauty! 


■  You  know  what  they  say,  "It's  an  ill  wind  that  blows  nobody  any  good."  Well,  that 
nippy,  early-winter  wind  that  tosses  dead  leaves  and  the  first  snow  flurries  in  its  path 
can  give  you  a  wonderful  beauty  treatment !  Pale,  languid  beauty  passed  on  with  poor 
Camille.  Today's  beauty  has  to  have  a  complexion  that  radiates  health,  a  springy 
step,  shining  eyes  and  a  firm,  young  body. 

Regular  outdoor  exercise  with  the  necessary  deep  breathing  will  give  you  all  these. 
(Did  you  know,  too,  that  a  quickened  circulation  is  a  regular  little  furnace  for  burning 
up  excess  fat?)  Of  course,  you're  going  to  football  games — when  you  cheer  for  your 
team,  bring  that  yell  up  from  the  bottom  of  your  lungs !  Go  bicycling  or  hiking  and 
remember  to  hold  yourself  tall  while  you're  doing  so.  Go  hunting  as  Jane  Greer  does. 
If  you're  the  type  who  puts  fingers  in  both  ears  when  a  gun  goes  off,  hunt  for  interest- 
ing spots  to  photograph  or  gather  unusual  looking  weeds  or  branches  to  paint  for  win- 
ter bouquets,  or  make  a  hobby  of  nature  study.  Later  on,  when  it  really  gets  cold, 
take  yourself  ice-skating,  skiing  or  toboganning. 

But  remember,  you  have  to  look  pretty  while  you're  doing  all  these  things — especially 
if  there  are  young  men  around.  Wear  enough  heavy  clothes  so  your  poor  nose  and  lips 
won't  get  blue  and  pathetic.  A  careful  application  of  foundation  cream  and  powder 
protects  your  face  from  the  drying  effects  of  cold  air.  Do  a  careful  job  of  lip  makeup 
before  going  out,  both  to  make  you  attractive  and  keep  from  getting  chapped  lips. 
(It's  very,  very  bad  to  lick  your  lips  when  you're  outdoors  in  the  winter!) 

Just  as  you  protect  yourself  from  the  weather  by  wearing  clothes,  so  you  must 
shield  your  skin  by  a  chap-preventive  application  of  cream  or  lotion  on  hands,  wrists 
and  legs.  At  night,  before  going  to  bed,  pet  your  face  by  giving  it  a  soothing  film  of 
rich  lubricating  cream.  And,  since  you  simply  can't  overdo  the  use  of  hand  lotion, 
don't  let  your  exercised,  luxuriously-fatigued  body  sink  on  its  downy  couch  without 
insuring  soft  white  hands  for  the  morrow. 


(Continued  from  page  81)  have  a  better 
than  television  picture  of  what  she's  like. 

"I  think  we  have  a  companionship  that 
is  very  important  to  our  marriage.  Harry 
is  a  baseball  and  football  fan.  I'm  not. 
I  go  to  a  game,  sit  there  and  do  cross- 
word puzzles.  It's  not  an  affectation.  I 
just  don't  care  for  either  sport.  But  I  like 
to  be  with  Harry,  and  he  doesn't  call  me 
a  dope  for  not  learning  the  rules  and  pre- 
tending to  be  excited  when  I'm  not. 

"Next  spring  I'm  going  to  bother  Harry 
until  he  takes  a  real  vacation.  He  wants 
to  go  hunting.  He  never  had  time  for  it 
when  he  was  young.  I  love  to  ride  and 
shoot,  and  that  will  get  us  off  to  a  flying 
honeymoon — the  kind  we  can't  have  right 
now  because  of  business. 

"Another  thing.  Harry  refuses  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  my  career.  He  doesn't 
make  an  issue  of  it — just  says  that  it's  my 
affair,  and  if  it  makes  me  happy,  that's 
fine.  While  I  was  on  a  personal  appear- 
ance tour,  he  flew  in  for  a  couple  of 
weekends.  I've  never  seen  him  really 
riled,  except  once.  That  was  when  an 
agent  asked  him  to  get  me  to  do  some- 
thing I'd  already  turned  down.  It  was 
wonderful,  the  quiet  way  he  told  the 
character  off." 

standing  room  only  .  .  . 

About  those  personal  appearances:  Marie 
should  feel  pretty  good. 

Two  celebrities  preceded  her  for  a  week 
at  the  Oriental  Theater  in  Chicago.  .  To- 
gether they  did  $37,000  at  the  box  office. 
Marie's  first  week  rang  up  the  cash  reg- 
ister for  a  neat  $60,000,  and  her  second 
week  was  a  sparkling  $78,000.  With  Perry 
Como  just  across  the  street  for  competition. 

I  was  remarking  on  this,  as  I  reached 
for  a  cigarette. 

"That  makes  four  you've  had  this  noon," 
Marie  said,  "and  three  cups  of  coffee. 
You  just  can't  do  it,  that's  all.  Listen, 
before  I  grew  up  and  knew  better,  I 
thought  I  was  a  busy  person.  I  smoked 
all  the  time.  Drank  quarts  of  coffee. 

"Then  one  day  I  got  out  of  bed  and  fell 
flat  on  my  face.  I  was  scared  to  death. 
Thought  I  had  heart  trouble,  but  do  you 
know  that  you  can  get  a  false  angina  that 
way?  Don't  get  the  idea  I'm  making  a 
case  against  the  cigarette  and  coffee  peo- 
ple, but  just  drop  a  word  to  the  rest  of 
the  young  people  that  easy  does  it." 

People  who  meet  Marie  are  continually 
being  surprised.  They  expect  her  to  loll 
around  being  elegantly  beautiful.  She 
doesn't  loll,  she  isn't  elegant,  and  she's 
downright  interesting  as  a  person. 

There's  a  famous  actress  who  could  take 
a  tip  from  Marie.  The  woman  always 
gazes  over  people's  shoulders  as  she  talks. 
Never  looks  anyone  directly  in  the  eyes. 
Marie  does,  and  her  gray-green,  smoky 
eyes  are  wonderful. 

Marie  has  courage,  too.  A  studio  worker 
told  me  that  during  the  shooting  of  one 
of  her  pictures  she  kept  telling  the  pro- 
ducer her  character  had  no  motivation. 

"See  here,  my  friend,"  she  declared — 
and  not  at  the  top  of  her  voice —  "why 
don't  we  just  take  my  part  out  of  the 
picture  altogether?  The  girl  just  doesn't 
mean  anything  to  the  story." 

The  producer  smiled  gently.  He  was 
charmed  that  such  a  pretty  girl  should 
worry  so  much  about  technical  matters. 
The  part  didn't  change,  but  almost  to  the 
last  day,  Marie  was  still  attempting  to 
accomplish  the  impossible. 

At  length,  the  reviews  came  out.  One 
said:  "Miss  McDonald  gives  a  capable 
performance  in  a  role  which  is  completely 
lacking  in  motivation." 

Marie  clipped  out  the  review,  circled 
the  single  sentence  in  red,  and  marched 
straight  into  the  producer's  office.  He  still 
has  the  clipping,  (Continued  on  page  87) 


Day  after  glorious  day  we  hiked.  Your  hand  always  there  to  help  me.  "I  love  touching 
your  hand,"  you  said.  "It  feels  so  soft  in  mine."  Of  course!  Her  hands  are  Jergens-soft. 

At  divine  Lake  Louise 
WW  came  my  way 


My  last  evening  —  "I  can't  say  Good-bye,"  you  whispered.  "Your  soft  hands  have  such  a 
hold  on  my  heart". .  .Keep  the  heart-holding  charm  in  your  hands  by  using  Jergens  Lotion. 

Your  hands  can  be  even  dearer  now  Jergens  Lotion  are  such  able  skin- 

—  smoother,  softer  than  ever.  Thanks  softeners  that  many  doctors  use  them, 

to  recent  research,  Jergens  Lotion  is  Still  104  to  $1.00  (plus  tax).  And 

now  better  than  ever.  Protects  even  no  oiliness;  no  stickiness. 

longer,  too.  Hollywood  Stars  use  Jergens 

Why  — two  ingredients  in  today's     Lotion,  7  to  1. 

For  the  Softest,  Adorable  Hands,  use 

JERGENS  LOTION 


FREE: 

"Try  it"  size 
of  today's  even  finer 
Jergens  Lotion. 
Mail  coupon  now 


Box  27,  Cincinnati  14,  Ohio.  (Please  send  gift  bottle.) 


265 


Name- 


Address  - 


City- 


■  State - 


(Paste  on  peony  postcard,  if  you  wish)  (Sorry,  offer  good  in  U.S.A.  only) 


Save  time,  work  and 
money  at  your  local 
'Launderette"  Store! 


'Launderette"  is  a  trade- 
mark of  Telecoin  Cor- 
poration, 12  East  44th 
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the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 


GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


Stars  are  pretty  human  characters,  as  all 
fan  clubbers  have  come  to  realize,  and  in  a 
given  situation  will  react  pretty  much  the 
same  way  you  or  I  would.  So  it's  only 
natural  that  they  get  a  bit  flustered  when 
asked  what  they  think  of  fan  clubs,  and 
blurt  out  their  sincere  feelings  with  some- 
thing like,  "Wonderful,"  "Swell,"  or  even 
"Love  my  club!"  Dick  Travis,  who's  one  of 
the  nicest  actors  we  know,  said  it  a  little 
more  articulately  in  an  interview  in  the 
Arthur  Kennedy  Journal.  We  were  so  im- 
pressed with  his  honesty  and  forthrightness 
that  we'd  like  to  quote  his  answer. 

tribute  from  travis  .  .  . 

When  asked,  "What  do  you  like  best  about 
fan  clubs?"  Dick  replied: 

"That  their  whole  purpose  is  to  help 
others — and  I  firmly  believe  that  they  really 
help.  Taking  my  own  case  as  an  example 
(why  I  even  have  a  fan  club  I'll  never 
know,  but  I  doubt  if  there's  ever  been  a 
better  one  or  a  more  loyal  one):  besides  all 
the  promoting  and  plugging  it  has  done  for 
me  at  the  studios,  etc.,  it  has,  through  the 
constant  support  and  inspiration  of  the  mem- 
bers, kept  my  own  hopes  alive  when  things 
were  pretty  rough  indeed!  Since  I  got  out 
of  the  Army,  this  business  of  motion  pictures 
has  been  in  a  pretty  sad  state,  and  it  doesn't 
look  too  good  for  another  year.  I  have  been 
the  most  unrewarding  honorary  a  fan  club 
could  have,  yet  they  go  right  ahead  with 
an  unbelievable  attitude  of  faith  and  belief. 
How  could  anything  be  better  than  that?" 

What  do  you  think,  fans?  Isn't  Dick's  little 
tribute  to  you  clubbers  a  real  tribute  to 
himself,  too?  How  many  stars  would  speak 
that  frankly? 

But  Dick  isn't  the  only  player  who's  put 
his  feeling  into  words.  One  of  the  nicest 
things  about  our  (Continued  on  page  iJO) 


6TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 

Fourth  Lap:  (the  following  results  are  based  on 
journals,  reports,  other  data  received  at  our  offices 
between  August  16  and  September  15).  Individual 
Prizes:  Each  winner  in  THIS  IS  MY  BEST  Contest 
receives  a  generous  gift  package  of  FABERGE's 
Perfume  and  Cologne.  Best  editors  are  each 
awarded  a  special  assortment  of  POND's  beauty 
preparations.  Winning  artist  gets  a  handsome 
TAN  GEE  Trip  Kit  for  travel.  First  prize  winner, 
CANDID  CAMERA  CONTEST,  receives  a  year's 
subscription  to  SCREEN  ROMANCES,  a  year's  sub- 
scription to  SCREEN  ALBUM,  and  4  DELL  Mysteries. 
Other  Candid  Camera  winners,  a  neat  package  of 
4  Dell  Mysteries.  (Suitable  prizes  always  substi- 
tuted for  male  winners.) 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners.  Margaret 
Sedlar,  "Juvenile  Delinquents,"  John  Garfield  Jour- 
nal; Pat  Harris,  "Evil  Bobby  Soxer,"  Soliloquy 
(Sinatra;  Ling);  Geo.  C.  Maarsh,  "Your  Editor  in 
Korea,"  Kirby  Grant  Journal;  Robert  Waste,  "Fan 
Club  Convention,"  Joan  Crawford  Club  News; 
Virginia  Keegan,  "That  Pair  Again,"  Bingang; 
Albert  Sankey,  Letter,  Jane's  Journal  (Wyman). 
Candid  Camera  Contest:  First  prize,  Florine  Bloom, 
Danny  Scholl  C.  Others:  Nelda  Clough,  Chas. 
Korvin  C.  Ellen  Sachs,  Johnny  Coy  C.  Woodrow 
Carti,  Glenn  Vernon  C.  (McCarthy).  Martha  Kay, 
Shirley  Temple  C.  David  Caldwell,  (Alan)  Ladd's 
Legionnaires.  Best  Journals:  1.  (tied)  John  Gar- 
held  Journal,  Autry's  Aces.  2.  (tied)  Morgan 
Memos,  Joan  Crawford  Club  News,  Sleepy  Hol- 
low Echoes.  3.  (tied)  Kirby  Grant  Journal,  The 
Fog  Horn  (Sinatra;  McMullen).  Best  Editors:  1. 
Ruth  Ness,  Bingang.  2.  Mary  Ruth  Bond,  Musi- 
cal Notes  Journal.  3.  Lori  Rossi,  Larry's  Log 
(Parks).  Best  Covers:  1.  Autry's  Aces.  2.  (tied) 
Haymes  Herald,  Crawford  News,  (Diana)  Lynn's 
Lingo.  3.  (tied)  Atomic  Atcher  (Bob),  Soliloquy, 
Jan's  Journal  (Clayton),  Fog  Horn,  Great  Scott 
(Lizabeth).  Best  Original  Artist:  Lynn  Fenty,  Jan's 
Journal.  Most  Worthwhile  Activities:  1.  Bill  Boyd 
C.  (music  and  books  contributed  to  orphanage, 
stamps  collected  for  vets'  hospital,  assistance  to 
talented  disabled  members,  shut-ins).  2.  Ginger 
Rogers  C.  (food  packages  sent  regularly  to  Dutch 
and  British  members).  3.  (tied)  Kate  Smith  C. 
(adopted  three  families  in  Athens,  Greece)  and 
Conn.  Kernels  C.  (hired  ambulance  to  take  shut- 
in  member  to  club's  annual  picnic).  Greatest  Per- 
centage Increase  in  Membership:  1.  Bill  Boyd  C. 
2.  Sleepy  Hollow  C.  3.  Teddy  Walters  C.  Best 
Correspondents:  1.  Janie  Hamilton,  Bill  Boyd  C. 
2.  Marion  Hesse,  Ginger  Rogers  C.  3.  Pat  Mitchell, 
Sinatra  C.  (Ling). 

Leading  Clubs  thus  far:  League  One:  Gene 
Autry  Friendship  C,  1100;  Bill  Boyd  C,  1000;  Bing- 
ang 750;  J.  Garfield  C,  700.  League  Two:  Joan 
Crawford  O,  1550;  Diana  Lynn  C,  Jeanette  Mac- 
Donald  C.  (Riley),  950;  Sleepy  Hollow  C,  900; 
Bob  Crosby  C,  850;  Shirley  Temple  C,  800.  League 
Three:  Sinatra  C.  (Ling),  1050;  Jo  Cotten  C,  Sin- 
atra C.  (McMullen),  850;  Charles  Korvin  C,  800; 
Kirby  Grant  C,  Dan  Duryea  C,  (Grant),  700. 


Johnny  Long,  club  prexy  Gloria  Goodey,  and  Pat  Long,  at  a  Signature  recording  session.  Glo,  sec- 
retary for  a  Brooklyn  coffee  concern,  has  been  following  the  fortunes  of  the  Long  band  for  6  years. 


J^onnhuea  Jrom  page  85)  and  he's  really 
a  bug  on  motivation. 

The  other  day  I  went  over  to  the  Metro 
commissary  to  have  lunch  with  Marie. 
Frank  Sinatra  dropped  by  to  say  that  his 
bowling  team,  comprised  of  the  waitresses, 
had  been  beaten  the  night  before  by 
Lana  Turner  and  Clark  Gable's  team. 

"I'd  better  call  a  meeting,"  Frank  said. 

Katy  Hepburn  moved  in,  and  sat  down 
a  few  tables  away.  Bob  Taylor  was  there. 
So  were  Greer  Garson  and  Clark  Gable. 

Visitors  stared  at  the  big  stars. 

They  stared  just  as  much  at  Marie. 

It's  obvious  that  Marie  is  in  the  big 
star  classification. 

"My  guardian  angel's  been  wonderful 
this  year,"  she  says.  "What  with  whisper- 
ing to  Harry  to  pop  the  question,  and  the 
good  breaks  I'm  beginning  to  get — and 
being  here  at  all  after  the  day  I  died  for 
a  few  hours.  I'm  pretty  sure,  knock  on 
wood,  that  everything'll  be  all  right." 

The  day  she  "died"  was  really  something. 

It  was  last  summer  at  the  beach.  Marie 
decided  to  go  for  a  dip,  while  her  friends 
were  playing  volley  ball. 

She  ran  to  the  edge  of  the  ocean,  dove 
through  a  big  breaker,  and  started  to 
swim.  When  she  looked  up,  she  noticed 
big  S  marks  of  foam — a  rip  tide. 

The  next  wave  was  a  beauty. 

"I  felt  like  I'd  fallen  into  a  cement 
mixer.  When  I  came  up,  I  yelled,  but 
in  another  .second  I  was  hit  again.  I  had 
two  odd  thoughts — darn  it,  why  do  I  have 
to  go  when  I'm  still  so  young,  and  gee, 
it's  going  to  hurt  my  family." 

Marie  came  up  once  more.  She'd  swal- 
lowed what  seemed  like  quarts  of  water. 
She  couldn't  yell,  but  in  the  split  second 
that  her  head  showed  above  the  wave, 
producer  Ben  Bogeaus  spied  her.  He  saw 
her  go  under,  and  he  ran.  She'd  been 
swept  underneath  a  huge  bed  of  kelp. 

Ben,  an  expert  swimmer,  was  lucky  to 
find  her — luckier  to  get  her  through  the 
treacherous  rip  tide.  Moments  later,  she 
was  on  the  beach,  but  it  was  nearly  an 
hour  before  she  showed  signs  of  life. 

Marie  doesn't  drink,  but  nobody  was 
thinking  about  that.  Someone  poured  a 
tumbler  full  of  brandy  down  her  throat. 

"There  I'd  been  a  little  while  before,  pa- 
thetic and  pretty  thoroughly  drowned. 
Now  there  I  was  again,  thoroughly  tipsy 
for  the  first  and  only  time,  and  thinking 
life  was  wonderful.  Life,  when  you  think 
about  it,  is  wonderful,  isn't  it?" 

But  Mrs.  Harry  Karl  isn't  waiting  for 
your  answer  to  that  one.  She's  got  her  own. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

One  afternoon  in 
Hollywood  a 
group  of  us  girls 
spotted  Red  Skel- 
ton  making  for 
one  of  the  finer 
eating  establish- 
ments near  the 
NBC  studios. 
Armed  with  our 
pens  and  auto- 
graph books,  we 
caught  up  to  him  and  announced  our 
intentions.  As  Red  graciously  made 
with  the  "scribbles,"  a  sudden  gust  of 
wind  swept  around  the  corner  and 
removed  his  hat.  It  began  tumbling 
down  the  sidewalk,  giving  all  of  us  a 
merry  chase.  One  of  my  friends  made 
a  lunge  and  came  back  to  present  Red 
with  his  headpiece.  Red  expressed  his 
thanks  and  added,  "I  was  beginning  to 
worry  about  getting  it  back  .  .  .  what 
else  could  I  have  used  to  take  up 
collections    on   tonight's  show?" 

Beth  Day 

Fort  Worth,  Texas 


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87 


HELP  WANTED— By  Jane  Wilkie 

(Continued  from  page  60) 


know — give  it  the  business." 

"Gotcha,"  said  the  man. 

When  the  phone  call  came,  at  last,  that 
his  automobile  was  ready,  he  raced  to 
Beverly  Hills  and  tore  into  the  shop.  There 
was  his  car.  Somehow,  it  had  managed  to 
come  out  looking  like  a  Hupmobile  that 
was  trying  too  hard. 

Tom's  life  is  like  that,  as  full  of  twists 
as  a  pretzel.  In  the  last  year,  the  gremlins 
assigned  to  snafu  Drake  have  been  con- 
centrating on  depriving  him  of  a  roof  over 
his  head  and  a  pillow  under  same.  Almost 
anybody  likes  a  home,  but  Tom  likes  a 
home  in  particular.  Not  one  of  the  shine  - 
by-night  boys,  he's  the  type  that  appre- 
ciates a  favorite  chair,  a  reading  lamp,  and 
the  peace  of  mind  that  goes  with  belonging 
somewhere. 

There  was  a  house — it  seems  ages  ago  to 
Tom  now — in  Beverly  Hills.  But  twenty- 
seven  persons,  during  the  space  of  a  year, 
shared  that  house  with  Tom.  They  were 
all  victims  of  the  housing  shortage,  and 
Tom  isn't  a  guy  to  say  "no"  when  a  friend 
needs  a  stopping  place.  So  life,  there,  was 
like  living  in  front  of  a  turnstile  in  a  Times 
Square  subway  station. 

When  his  lease  expired,  there  was  no 
answer  save  a  hotel.  His  suitcase  was 
never  completely  unpacked,  and  he  ate 
so  many  restaurant  meals  that  he  began 
to  dream  of  being  chased  by  swarms  of 
evil-looking  ulcers  who  wore  menus  for 
hats. 

In  between  hotels,  he  stayed  with  friends. 
But  a  man  can  wear  out  his  welcome,  so 
the  visits  were  never  too  long.  His  main 
problem,  because  he  rose  so  early  for 
work,  was  to  leave  places  without  disturb- 
ing the  other  occupants.  He  grew  so  used 
to  tiptoeing  that  he  found  himself .  pussy- 
footing even  in  his  subsequent  hotel  rooms. 

a  room  of  his  own  .  .  . 

In  most  of  the  homes  he  had  a  room  to 
himself,  but  one  friend  necessarily  had  to 
stow  him  in  the  dining-room  on  a  daybed. 
This  was  fine  with  Tom,  except  that  every 
member  of  the  family  was  an  inveterate 
ice-box  raider.  In  bed  early,  Tom  would 
be  awakened  by  one  or  all  of  them  tip- 
toeing through  the  room  to  reach  the 
kitchen.  His  only  solution  was  to  worry 
them  out  of  the  habit. 

"You  eat  too  much,"  he  told  them. 
"You're  all  beginning  to  look  puffy." 

The  name  of  Tom  Drake  had  been  rest- 
ing peacefully  and  unmolested  on  the  lists 
"of  many  realtors  for  months,  but  finally, 
after  the  sixth  hotel  and  the  fifth  visit  as  a 
guest,  he  was  offered  an  apartment.  Im- 
mediately, he  moved  in  his  clothes  and  his 
radio.  This  radio  is  his  particular  pet,  a 
big  modern  model  finished  in  bleached 
wood. 

The  first  time  he  went  to  the  apartment 
after  the  moving,  the  radio  was  missing. 
He  found  it  in  the  closet.  He  moved  it  out 
into  the  living-room  again.  The  next  time 
he  came  home  the  radio  was  in  the  closet 
again.  It  dawned  on  him  that  the  landlady, 
who  had  meticulously  furnished  the  apart- 
ment in  Early  American  style,  was  dis- 
pleased by  the  lines  of  the  instrument. 
Consequently,  the  radio  commuted  daily 
between  the  closet  and  the  living-room 
until,  eventually,  Tom  gave  up  in  disgust 
and  moved  himself,  and  the  radio  out.  He 
stopped  a  while  with  one  more  friend,  and 
then  came  his  windfall,  an  apartment  that 
included  not  only  the  use  of  a  swimming 
pool,  but  a  decor  that  enhanced  his  radio! 

The  first  day  in,  Tom  went  shopping. 
Drake  shopping  tours,  Christmas  or  other- 


wise, are  always  conducted  within  the 
space  of  one  day. 

His  trouble  is  remembering  everything. 
It  will  occur  to  him,  one  morning,  that  he 
should  have  a  suit  pressed,  and  that  he 
needs  a  triple  socket  for  the  outlet  in  the 
bedroom;  and  that  his  moccasins  need  new 
heel  lifts.  His  shirts  are-  ready  at  the 
laundry,  he  needs  some  new  socks  and 
should  buy  a  birthday  gift  for  one  of  his 
nieces. 

Under  a  like  set  of  circumstances,  the 
average  person  would  make  a  shopping  list 
and  get  on  his  horse.  Not  Drake.  When  he 
makes  a  list,  he  either  forgets  to  take  it 
with  him,  or  he  remembers  and  then  loses 
it.  Anyone  can  see  that  what  Tom  needs 
most  to  simplify  his  life  and  liquidate  his 
gremlins,  is  a  wife. 

At  any  rate,  this  particular  shopping  day 
was  a  whiz.  He  remembered  everything. 
During  his  home-hopping  days,  he  had  lost 
several  suits,  so  this  was  remedied  by  a 
fitting  at  the  tailor's,  a  chore  which  Tom 
loathes.  The  suits  ordered,  he  made  a  bee- 
line  for  the  ashtray  department  of  a  big 
department  store.  Dinky  ashtrays  are 
Tom's  pet  hate,  and  at  the  end  of  a  suc- 
cessful day,  he  returned  to  his  apartment 
laden  with  an  assortment  of  ash  trays  so 
big  that  they  could  be  used  as  fruit  bowls, 
turkey  platters  or  bird  baths. 

His  next  thought  was  of  his  stomach.  The 
apartment  furnished  daily  maid  service, 
but  the  fact  remained  that  he  longed  for 
home -cooked  meals.  He  employed  an  ex- 
cellent cook,  a  woman  named  Fanny,  whose 
hours  are  supposed  to  be  from  three  o'clock 
every  afternoon  until  after  she  has  cooked 
dinner  and  washed  the  dishes.  Fanny,  how- 
ever, has  taken  a  motherly  interest  in  Tom, 
and  eleven  p.m.  often  finds  her  hovering 
over  him,  trying  to  talk  him  into  a  mid- 
night snack. 

It  is  small  wonder  that  she  is  captivated. 
One  day  she  brought  her  collection  of 
photographs  of  movie  stars,  all  autographed 
to  her,  and  proudly  displayed  them  to  Tom. 

"I'd  certainly  like  a  picture  of  you,"  she 
said. 

"Tell  you  what,"  said  Tom.  "I'll  auto- 
graph one  for  you  if  you'll  give  me  one  of 
yourself." 


it's  june 

in  january 

especially 

when  that 

heart-warming 

gal  named  . 

allyson  is  on 

the  cover  of 

modern  screen 

on  sale 

december  9 

And  the  next  time  Fanny  went  into  " 
Tom's  bedroom,  she  found  her  picture, 
elegantly  framed,  on  his  bureau.  It  stood 
smack  in  the  center  of  an  array  of  movie 
and  stage  stars,  and  Fanny  was  all  but 
overcome  with  emotion. 

In  the  past  year,  his  career  has  kept 
Tom  on  a  merry-go-round  and  given  him 
few  days  of  rest.  With  the  completion  of 
The  Beginning  or  the  End,  he  went  to 
Washington,  D.  C,  to  be  present  at  the 
world  premiere.  The  most  exciting  thing 
that  happened  to  him  was  riding  in  a  cab 
down  Pennsylvania  Avenue  and  being 
chased  by  eight  bobby-soxers,  all  clutch- 
ing cameras,  and  missing  death  from 
wnizzing  automobiles  by  a  matter  of  inches 
and  seconds. 

Back  in  Hollywood,  he  went  to  work  in 
I'll  Be  Yours  with  Deanna  Durbin,  and 
then  had  a  brief  vacation.  Free  at  last  of 
the  rigorous  working  hours,  he  went  to  the 
fights  and  the  races  and  dated  June  Hutton 
and  Beverly  Tyler.  Just  about  the  time 
he  was  remembering  what  it  was  like  to 
have  fun,  he  took  Bev  to  Venice  Pier,  the 
Coney  Island  of  California. 

Their  first  stop  was  the  baseball-and- 
milk  bottle  booth.  The  first  round  of  base- 
balls toppled  every  bottle.  Beverly  was 
properly  impressed,  and  Tom  handed  her 
the  three-cent  prize,  and  asked  for  an- 
other quarter's  worth  of  balls.  These  he 
heaved  with  such  force  that  a  stabbing 
pain  ran  down  his  arm. 

carnival  casualty  .  .  . 

It  wasn't  until  he  and  Bev  were  hurtling 
around  the  curves  of  a  roller  coaster  that 
he  realized  something  was  definitely 
wrong.  It  turned  out  that  he  had  ripped 
a  cartilage  in  his  right  arm.  To  top  it  off, 
he  overdid  a  samba  that  same  night  and 
something  snapped  in  his  back. 

Feeling  the  worse  for  wear  the  next 
morning,  he  learned  he  was  to  do  Alias  a 
Gentleman  with  Wallace  Beery,  starting 
immediately. 

"Send  over  two  pairs  of  your  shoes,"  the 
studio  told  him. 

"What  for?"  Tom  wanted  to  know. 

"They  have  to  be  built  up,  for  the  fight 
scenes." 

"Fight  scenes?"  said  Tom,  running  his 
left  hand  over  his  sore  arm.  He  spent  the 
day  shadow-boxing,  developing  a  system 
whereby  he  jabbed  only  with  his  left,  and 
managed  to  make  his  right  arm  look 
effective  while  hardly  moving  it. 

One  morning,  later,  he  found  the  shoes 
in  his  dressing-room,  with  heels  approxi- 
mately three  inches  high.  Reaching  an 
exact  six  feet  in  height,  Tom  is  taller  than 
average,  and  it  suddenly  struck  him  as 
strange  that  they  would  want  him  to  ap- 
pear taller.  He  called  the  wardrobe  de- 
partment. 

"Hey,"  he  said.  "What's  with  my  shoes? 
Isn't  six  feet  tall  enough?" 

"Six  feet!"  the  man  gasped.  "Are  you 
six  feet?" 

"On  the  button,"  said  Tom.  "I  don't  ex- 
actly throw  barbells  around  before  break- 
fast, but  I  ought  to  be  a  big  enough  guy 
for  the  part." 

They  checked  the  records,  and  it  turned 
out  that  Tom's  stand-in  should  have  been 
the  victim.  So  Tom  sent  his  shoes  back  to 
have  the  lifts  removed. 

It's  all  too  true  that  Mr.  Drake  doesn't 
tangle  with  exercise  in  the  mornings.  In 
fact,  he  tangles  with  nothing  save  break- 
fast, and  that,  in  sort  of  a  half-conscious 
manner.  In  school,  years  ago,  he  had  a 
roommate  who  used  to  wake  up  briskly 


on  the  stroke  of  six,  bound  out  of  bed, 
beat  his  chest  and  boom  a  few  arias,  all 
the  while  jumping  about  the  room  as 
though  he  were  on  a  pogo  stick.  The 
entire  ritual  was  so  repugnant  to  Tom  that 
it  colored  the  rest  of  his  life. 

On  the  set,  Tom  is  in  the  habit  of  snatch- 
ing naps  whenever  possible,  a  fact  which 
Wallace  Beery  discovered  with  great  in- 
terest. Beery  waited  one  day  until  he  was 
sure  that  Tom  was  in  the  arms  of  Mor- 
pheus, then  stuffed  a  smoking  rag  under 
the  door  of  Tom's  dressing  room.  In  less 
than  a  moment,  Tom  flung  the  door  open, 
a  handkerchief  over  his  face,  wearing  an 
expression  of  horror.  He  had  been  certain, 
naturally,  that  all  of  Metro -Gold  wyn- 
Mayer  was  going  up  in  flames. 

Over  and  above  the  daily  horseplay  on 
the  set,  Tom  and  Beery  have  great  regard 
for  each  other.  Beery,  for  his  part,  has 
been  most  helpful  to  Tom  who,  in  turn,  is 
an  avid  and  eager  listener.  He  is  capti- 
vated by  Beery's  ability  to  ad  lib  a  scene. 

He  noticed  one  day  that  Beery,  instead  of 
lugging  around  the  heavy  and  spineless 
script,  tore  out  the  pages  containing  the 
dialogue  for  the  day. 

"Now,  that,"  Tom  told  himself,  "is  a 
great  idea.  No  reason  why  I  can't  learn 
from  Beery." 

So  that  night,  after  studying  his  dialogue 
for  the  next  day,  Tom  carefully  tore  the 
pages  from  the  script  and  put  them  on  the 
table  by  the  front  door  so  that  he  wouldn't 
forget  to  take  them  along.  But  he  forgot. 

Like  we  said,  he  needs  a  wife.  When  you 
think  of  the  thousands  of  girls  who'd  be 
more  than  happy  to  hand  Tom  a  shopping 
list  as  he  went  out  the  front  door,  it's  a 
pity  he  doesn't  meet  one  he'd  like  to  latch 
onto. 


TRY  AND  STOP  ME 

(Continued  from  page  31) 


finished  at  last.  He  called  me  long-distance 
from  Rio. 

He  wanted  to  know  what  locations  I'd 
found,  and  when  did  he  start. 

In  Mexico,  Ty  surprised  me  with  sev- 
eral unsuspected  talents.  He  organized  a 
baseball  team  from  the  location  crew  and 
cast,  and  played  Mexican  ball  teams  twice, 
in  Morelia,  and  again  in  Uruapan,  charg- 
ing admission,  and  turning  over  the  box- 
office  receipts  to  a  Mexican  hospital.  He 
holds  down  a  fast  first-base, 
i  At  Acapulco,  Ty  disappeared  one  morn- 
ing when  he  didn't  have  a  call,  returning 
that  night  with  an  impressive  swordfish 
he'd  caught  in  the  bay.  I  didn't  know  he 
knew  a  fish  from  a  fan  letter  until  then. 
He  played  a  perfect  host  at  a  New  Year's 
party  for  our  whole  gang,  too,  and  though 
several  years  had  passed  since  he'd  been 
in  Mexico  City,  he  knew  and  could  call 
by  name  all  the  Mexicans  he'd  met  before. 

That's  my  boy,  that  Power.  When  you 
direct  a  star  in  seven  pictures,  you  get  to 
know  him  pretty  well.  By  now,  I  should 
know  enough  about  Ty  to  send  him  to 
jail — only  I  don't  know  anything  bad. 

Ty  first  came  into  my  office  back  in  1936 
when  I  was  preparing  Lloyd's  of  London. 
He  was  after  a  job,  and  he  had  two  big 
strikes  against  him.  The  job  was  practi- 
cally filled  in  my  mind,  for  one;  for  two,  it 
was  practically  filled  in  the  mind  of  my 
studio  boss,  Darryl  Zanuck. 

Nevertheless,  I  was  impressed  by  Ty's 
bright,  alert  personality,  clean-cut,  hand- 
some face,  by  his  intelligence  and  am- 
bition. He  had  little  acting  to  his  credit 
— only  one  minor  picture  part.  He  didn't 
have  a  name.  But  I  thought  he  had  some- 
thing people  everywhere  would  respond  to. 
"  I  must  have  been  rooting  for  Tyrone 


Soapinjf  dulls  hair. 
Halo  glorifies  it! 


Yes,  even  finest  soaps 
and  soap  shampoos  hide  the 
natural  lustre  of  your  hair 
with  dulling  soap  film 


•  HaTo  contains  no  soap.  Made  with  a  new  patented 
ingredient  it  cannot  leave  dulling  soap  film!  •  Halo  reveals  the 

true  natural  beauty  of  your  hair  the  very  first  time  you 
use  it,  leaves  it  sMmmering  with  glorious  highlights.  •  Needs 
no  lemon  or  vinegar  after-rinse.  Halo  rinses  away, 
quickly  and  completely!  •  Makes  oceans  of  rich,  fragrant 
lather,  even  in  hardest  water.  Leaves  hair  sweet,  clean, 
naturally  radiant!  •  Carries  away  unsightly  loose  dandruff  like 
magic!  •  Lets  hair  dry  soft  and  manageable,  easy  to  curl! 
•  Buy  Halo  at  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


Reveals  the  Hidden  Beaut  q  of  Your  Hair! 


Power  to  get  that  part  all  the  time.  I  had 
him  come  to  my  office  two  days,  with  his 
makeup,  wig  and  costume.  I  coached  and 
rehearsed  him  and  I  didn't  know  why  I 
did.  But  when  I  ran  off  the  test  before 
Zanuck  and  his  board,  they  said,  "No."  I 
said,  "Yes."  Darryl  Zanuck  said,  "Why?" 

"Because,"  I  remember  answering  auto- 
matically, "I'll  stake  my  reputation  that 
this  young  man  has  more  promise  than  any 
young  man  in  Hollywood.  If  he's  as  good 
in  the  picture  as  he  is  in  the  test,  you'll 
have  a  new  star — and  a  big  one." 

"Put  him  in  the  part,"  said  Zanuck. 
"Henry's  right."  And  I  was.  I  wish  I 
could  always  be  as  right  about  things  as 
I've  been  about  Tyrone  Power. 

Many  are  called  but  few  are  chosen  in 
Hollywood.  The  way  Ty  fastened  on  to 
that  break  like  a  young  bulldog,  proved 
right  away  that  he  had  what  it  takes  to 
come  through  in  the  toughest  race  in  the 
world.  From  the  very  beginning,  he's 
concentrated  all  his  energies  and  talents 
on  the  job.  He  did  that  first  time.  After 
two  weeks  of  work  I  got  a  call  from  Darryl 
Zanuck. 

"I've  set  aside  $75,000  extra  on  Lloyd's 
budget,"  he  said,  "to  invest  in  Tyrone 
Power.  I've  watched  his  rushes  and  he's 
the  greatest  star  bet  I've  ever  had.  I  don't 
want  you  to  hurry  any  scene  he  does;  I 
want  to  be  doubly  sure  he  clicks." 

I  concentrated  on  Ty,  and  he  clicked. 
Lloyd's  of  London  spoke  for  itself — and 
Tyrone  Power,  too — in  a  loud  voice.  I 
discovered  at  once  that  Ty,  like  myself, 
loved  to  work.  One  night  after  a  stretch 
of  14-hour  days — all  with  Ty  in  his  uncom- 
fortable costume,  under  the  biggest  strain 
of  his  life,  I  suggested  a  trying,  thankless 
job  most  actors  would  have  balked  at. 

A  big,  good-looking  Englishman  had 
strolled  on  the  set  that  day,  sightseeing. 
He  said,  casually,  he  was  an  actor,  but  he 
had  nothing  to  prove  it — no  credits,  not 
even  a  professional  photograph.  There  was 
a  part  coming  up  in  the  picture  that  he 
seemed  to  me  to  walk  right  into.  "Like  to 
make  a  screen  test  for  me?"  I  suggested. 

"Oh,  yes,  by  Jove!  Like  to  very  much," 
he  agreed.  Time  was  rushing.  "All  right, 
tonight,"  I  told  him. 

I  told  Tyrone  about  it.  "All  his  part, 
practically,  is  with  you."  I  explained.  "I 
think  you  ought  to  do  the  test  with  him." 
Ty  was  about  ready  to  drop  in  his  socks 
then,  but  he  didn't  hesitate  a  minute. 
"Thanks,"  he  said,  "I'd  like  to." 

We  did  the  test  that  night  with  Ty  and 
the  dark  horse.  He  came  through  and  got 
the  part.  He's  done  pretty  well,  too,  ever 
since.   His  name  was  George  Sanders. 

the  tender  desperado  .  .  . 

The  thing  I've  always  admired  about 
Tyrone  is  that  he's  met  a  challenge  in 
almost  every  picture.-  In  Old  Chicago  was 
his  second  picture,  and  he  took  over  a 
star  part  planned  for  the  then  current  king 
of  Hollywood,  Clark  Gable.  In  Jesse 
James,  Ty  played  the  classic  desperado  of 
U.S.  history,  even  though  he  was  still  very 
young  and  tender.  I  was  surprised,  myself, 
at  how  menacing  Ty's  good  looks  could 
become  when  he  went  to  work  on  them. 

Ty  was  up  for  a  pirate  part  in  The  Black 
Swan  and  again  I  had  a  complex  about  his 
unholy  good  looks.  Musing  on  this  prob- 
lem, I  took  a  photograph  of  Ty  and  doodled 
on  a  mandarin  pirate  moustache,  curving 
wickedly  down  around  Ty's  handsome  chin. 
I  showed  it  to  him  the  next  day.  "Here," 
I  said,  half-joking,  "grow  one  of  these  and 
that's  all  the  makeup  you'll  need." 

A  couple  of  weeks  later,  Ty  walked  into 
my  office.  He  had  my  identical  dreamed- 
up  Oriental  moustache,  exactly  as  I'd 
drawn  it,  as  black  as  my  ink,  and  curving 
like  a  couple  of  scimitars.  He  looked 
>0    pretty  mean.    In  fact,  when  I  trotted  him 


over  to  Darryl  Zanuck,  he  was  so  shocked 
he  said,  "What  are  you  doing  to  Ty,  any- 
way? In  that  get-up,  you'll  ruin  him  with 
the  women!" 

Well,  The  Black  Swan  turned  into  the 
most  popular  picture  Ty  ever  made.  It's 
still  packing  them  in,  six  years  later.  We 
found  it  running  in  Mexico,  while  there 
making  Captain  From  Castile  and  Ty  ran 
across  it  going  great  guns  in  Uruguay  on 
his  recent  South  American  air  tour. 

The  most  outstanding  and  valuable 
asset  of  Tyrone  Power  as  a  screen  star 
and  a  person,  in  my  opinion,  is  adapta- 
bility. He  had  to  speak  a  few  lines  of 
French  in  Lloyd's  of  London,  I  remember. 
It  wasn't  much,  and  the  validity  of  his 
accent  wasn't  an  important  item  to  Ameri- 
can audiences.  Besides,  he  was  playing  an 
Englishman,  not  a  Frenchman.  We  hired 
the  best  French  language  teacher  in  Holly- 
wood, Georges  Jomier,  to  coach  Ty,  who 
knew  no  French  at  all.  In  a  few  days 
Georges  announced,  to  my  surprise,  that 
Ty  was  ready  for  the  French  language 
scenes.  "And  On-ree,"  he  assured  me,  "Ty 
ees  playing  thees  with  a  Frenchman's 
accent."  He  was,  too.  Nor  did  he  stop 
there.    Intrigued,  he  kept  up  his  studies 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

When  Danny  Kaye 

was  in  Boston  a 

large  group  of  girls 

went  to  see  him 

atihetheater.  They 

got    there  when 

the  doors  opened. 

You    guessed  it! 

They    stayed  all 

day.  At  one  of  the 

performances  a 

girl  yelled  out  in 

a    worshiping    manner,  "You're 

cra-a-zy!"  and  Danny  answered,  "You 

paid  to  get  in  and  I'm  crazy,  huh?" 
Diane  Nagle 
Auburndale,  Mass. 


on  the  side,  and  today  he  speaks  very  good 
French. 

Ty  is  always  surprising  me  with  his 
capabilities.  I  had  a  very  dangerous  horse- 
back ride  coming  up  in  Captain  From  Cas- 
tile on  location  in  Mexico.  I  knew  Ty  could 
ride  a  horse,  but  I  had  a  double  on  hand 
for  this  scene.  Night  before  the  scheduled 
shooting,  my  rough  rider  fell  seriously  ill. 
I  was  chasing  around  trying  to  scare  up 
another,  and  happened  to  mention  my  jam 
to  Ty. 

"Why  can't  I  do  it  myself?"  he  asked. 
"You  don't  think  I'm  going  to  be  stupid 
enough  to  get  myself  hurt,  do  you?" 

I  discovered  next  day  that  he  was  a 
damned  fine  horseman.  No  professional 
trick  rider  could  have  done  more  expertly. 

Next  to  directing  pictures,  the  love  of 
my  life  is  aviation.  I've  been  flying  since 
1918,  and  for  many  years  I  have  been 
chasing  down  remote  picture  locations  in 
my  airplane.  I  flew  all  over  Mexico,  find- 
ing outdoor  sets  for  Captain  From  Castile, 
while  Ty,  as  I  mentioned  in  the  beginning, 
was  scooting  around  South  America  for 
his  second  hemispheric  good-will  hop.  I 
can  say  without  laying  it  on  a  bit,  that  Ty 
is  one  of  the  safest,  sanest  and  all-around 
best  pilots  I've  ever  flown  with.  His  Ma- 
rine Corps  training  didn't  hurt  any,  of 
course.  The  same  adaptable  capacity 
which  made  him  a  great  star  has  made 
him  a  very  fine  pilot.  I  was  pretty  much 
mixed  up  in  the  start  of  that  flying  career 
of  Ty's,  too.  So  I  know  what  I'm  talking 
about.  He  made  his  first  cross-country 
plane  hop  with  me  in  my  Waco. 

Ty  had  been  up  a  time  or  two,  riding 
with   me   on   my   location   chasing  air- 


junkets,  but  he'd  never  had  his  hands  on 
the  controls  until  we  took  off  for  Missouri 
on  our  Ozark  mountain  location  for  Jesse 
James.  I'm  afraid  I'd  pounded  Ty's  ear  at 
great  lengths  on  the  joys  of  flying  and  its 
usefulness — not  always,  I  suspect,  to  the 
studio's  joy  and  comfort.  There  was  a 
rule  back  then  that  no  star  or  director — 
that  was  me — could  fly.  I  flouted  it  for 
years  because  I  believed  the  airplane  had 
a  real  and  important  purpose  in  our  way 
of  life.  I  liked  Ty  and  wanted  him  to 
share  my  enthusiasm.  I  knew  he'd  get 
the  fever. 

they  fly  by  waco  .  .  . 

We  were  starting  out  for  the  Ozark 
mountains.  "What  would  you  rather  do, 
Ty,"  I  asked  him,  "ride  the  train  or  fly 
back  in  the  Waco  with  me?" 

"The  Waco,"  Ty  replied,  "of  course."  He 
looked  at  me  and  we  grinned  at  each  other 
guiltily.  I  think  our  studio  had  given  up 
on  me  by  then.  But  Ty  was  starting  a  new 
star  worry  problem  and  I'm  afraid  I  was 
an  accomplice.  The  studio  manager 
summed  it  up  when  he  sighed  at  the  news, 
"Well,  I  guess  we'd  better  warm  up  a 
new  star  and  director  for  Jesse  James.  It 
wasn't  quite  that  bad,  though. 

By  the  time  we  made  A  Yank  in  the 
RAF,  Ty  had  his  own  plane.  We  had  a 
mock-up  Spitfire  on  that  set,  fixed  to  roll 
and  loop,  and  poor  Ty  spent  so  many  hours 
spinning  dizzily  on  that  prop  that  he 
finally  grinned,  "When  I  get  through  this 
one,  I'll  have  enough  hours  for  my  wings!" 

He  didn't  win  his  wings  that  way,  but 
the  hard  way,  through  Marine  training 
later  on. 

I've  been  trying  to  think,  before  I  wind 
up  this  impression  of  Tyrone  Power,  if 
there's  anything  halfway  bad  I  can  tell  on 
him — just  to  make  him  human.  The  closest 
I  can  come  is  to  report  that  he  sometimes 
falls  for  a  popular  jingle  and  drives  most 
of  us  on  the  set  wild  with  it  until  he's  had 
his  fill.  We  had  to  steal  his  record  of 
"Open  the  Door,  Richard,"  after  he'd  played 
it  at  least  fifty  times  a  day. 

Tyrone  likes  life  and  he  knows  how  to 
live.  He's  interested  in  people,  and  he 
does  the  things  people  write  about  and 
long  to  do.  He's  ambitious  but  he's  real. 
He  keeps  himself  in  fine  physical  and 
mental  trim. 

He's  not  conceited,  and  never  has  been. 
If  anything,  Ty  is  supremely  grateful  for 
the  good  fortune  he's  had.  I  asked  him, 
right  after  I'd  shown  him  the  finished 
print  of  Captain  From  Castile,  "Are  you 
happy  about  it,  Ty?"  It's  by  long  odds 
the  toughest  picture  I've  ever  made,  the 
toughest  for  Ty,  too. 

"Henry,"  he  assured  me,  "I  was  never 
so  pleased  in  my  life.  But  it's  beyond  me 
in  its  bigness." 

Ty  was  flattering  me,  maybe,  about  the 
picture  I'd  made,  but  I  don't  have  to  flatter 
him.  It's  a  pleasure  to  confess  that  the 
most  enjoyable  moments  I've  had  in  Holly- 
wood are  taking  that  natural  charm  he 
has,  ploughing  it  into  a  character,  and 
watching  it  come  to  life  on  the  screen. 

I  can  express  my  opinion  of  Ty  best, 
perhaps,  in  the  same  words  I  used  to  in- 
troduce him  not  long  ago.  The  Airport 
Commission  of  Los  Angeles  asked  me  to 
make  a  speech,  once,  about  why  that  great 
city  should  have  a  municipal  airport.  They 
asked  me  to  bring  an  influential  studio 
star  with  me  to  lend  it  emphasis.  "Okay, 
I'll  bring  one,"  I  agreed.  The  one  I 
thought  of  first  for  that  occasion  was  Ty. 

After  my  speech,  I  introduced  him.  "I 
want  you  to  meet  Tyrone  Power,"  I  said. 
I  hadn't  prepared  an  introduction,  so  I 
said  next  what  came  naturally  to  my  lips. 
"I  hope  my  own  boys  will  grow  up  to  be 
like  him."  That  was  sincere  then  and  it 
still  is. 


"TO  TED  WITH  LOVE" 

(Continued  from  page  44) 


other  with  the   lovelight  in  their  eyes. 

On  the  way  home  Teddy  was  still  in  a 
dream.  "Wouldn't  it  be  wonderful  to  have 
a  son?" 

"Honey,  here's  news  for  you.  Sometimes 
you  get  two  daughters  in  a  row — " 

"I'll  buy  that,  too.  But  there's  always 
the  chance  she  might  decide  to  be  a  boy — " 

What  about  your  career,  people  used 
to  say,  when  I'd  talk  about  wanting  an- 
other child  right  away.  Peachy,  I'd  tell 
them,  but  my  home  and  my  marriage  have 
come  to  be  twice  as  important.  They'd 
look  at  me  cross-eyed,  and  I  can't  say  I 
blame  them.  That  line's  pulled  so  often 
around  here  and  then,  six  months  later, 
zip!  goes  another  marriage.  But  the  lovely 
part  is,  I  don't  have  to  prove  it  to  any- 
one. Ted  knows  it's  true,  I  know  it's  true, 
and  the  rest  doesn't  matter. 

I  didn't  always  feel  this  way.  It  was 
something  I  had^  to  learn,  but  I  learned 
it  good,  and  my  husband  taught  me.  In 
Dream  Girl — that's  a  plug,  which  is  the 
least  I  can  do  for  Paramount — they  tell 
me  you  see  a  new  Betty  Hutton,  so  new 
you  could  sit  through  a  scene  or  two  and 
not  know  her.  Well,  that's  how  it  is  with 
me,  Betty  Hutton  Briskin.  Looking  back 
at  the  girl  I  used  to  be,  she's  like  some- 
body else.  I  was  getting  tough.  There 
was  something  inside  of  me  getting  bitter 
and  hard.  Whatever  the  thing  was,  it  was 
making  me  sick. 

"What's  wrong  with  you,  Betty?"  Mother 
used  to  say.  "You  act  like  you  can't  stand 
yourself." 

hard  to  please  .  .  . 

No  kid  could  have  been  more  career- 
crazy  than  I  was,  and  the  career  was 
healthy,  so  I  should've  been  riding  high. 
Instead,  I  was  tied  into  so  many  knots 
they  could  have  used  me  for  a  fishnet. 
For  one  thing,  I  was  always  frightened. 
If  the  last  picture  was  good,  maybe  the 
next  wouldn't  be.  If  I  crossed  the  lot  and 
somebody  didn't  say  hello,  I'd  go  home 
and  brood.  If  people  were  nice,  that  didn't 
suit  me,  either.  They  don't  give  a  darn 
about  you,  I'd  say,  they're  only  nice  be- 
cause you're  doing  okay.  All  I  trusted 
was  the  career,  so  I  hung  on  to  that  with 
hot  little  hands  and  knew  if  I  lost  it,  I'd 
lose  my  mind.  But  having  it  didn't  make 
me  happy. 

Then  I  met  Ted  and  we  fell  in  love  and 
married.  On  the  surface  we  were  nothing 
alike.  I  was  the  whirlwind,  he  was  the 
quiet  one.  Yet  with  all  his  quietness,  he'd 
stick  to  what  he  believed  and  come  out  on 
top. 

For  instance,  the  first  day  I  worked  after 
we  were  married,  he  said:  "I'll  drive  you 
to  the  studio." 

Well,  I  kicked.  Not  that  I  didn't  want 
his  company,  but  he  was  busy  getting  his 
camera  plant  started,  and  the  whole  thing 
struck  me  as  silly.  Here  I'd  been  on  my 
own  more  or  less  from  the  age  of  12,  and 
now  all  of  a  sudden  I  had  to  be  driven  to 
work!  For  what? 

He  told  me.  "Look,  Betty,  you're  away 
from  me  all  these  hours  in  a  different 
world.  I  don't  have  to  punch  a  timeclock. 
That  makes  us  lucky..  It  gives  us  more 
chance  to  be  together  and  talk.  It  helps 
make  our  marriage  stronger." 

To  me  this  was  a  new  angle.  One  rea- 
son I  was  so  mixed  up,  I  never  took 
time  to  sort  out  what  I  thought,  just  let 
my  feelings  run  away  with  me.  Teddy's  life 
had  been  simpler,  he  was  like  the  guy  in 
the  play,  he  knew  what  he  wanted 
and  his  bean    (Continued  on  page  93) 


There's  no 
trick  to  it  •  .  . 


RC 

tastes  best!" 

says 

ELYSE  KNOX 

featured  in 
ALLIED  ARTISTS' 
"BLACK  GOLD" 


Y  2 

ELYSE  TAKING  THE  FAMOUS  TASTE-TEST 


The  taste-test  proved  it! i 

says  Elyse.  "I  tried  leading 
colas  in  paper  cups — found 
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Try  it.  Say,  "RC  for  me!" 
That's  the  quick  way  to  get  a 
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glasses  in  each  big  bottle! 


91 


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*  *  Highly  Recommended 

*  Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 


POPULAR 

A  FELLOW  NEEDS  A  GIRL — **Frank    Sinatra    (Columbia),    *Perry    Como  (Victor); 
*Gordon  McRae  (Capitol) 

Dick  Rodgers  and  Oscar  Hammerstein  (the  second,  of  course)  turned  out  some 
can't-missers  for  the  Broadway  musical  Allegro.  Companion  tune  is  SO  FAR,  disced 
by  Sinatra,  Como  and  Margaret  Whiting. 

BOULEVARD  OF  MEMORIES — *  Billy  Eckstine  (M-G-M);  Woody  Herman  (Columbia); 
Ray  Dorey  (Majestic) 

By  the  time  you  read  this,  Woody  Herman  will  be  a  bandleader  again,  (after  a 
year's  absence),  instead  of  a  rather  lonesome-sounding  singer,  as  on  his"  recent 
records.  Woody's  new  Columbia  album,  Eight  Shades  of  Blue,  is  full  of  good 
songs  with  the  azure  word  in  the  title— Am  I,  Under  a  Blanket  of,  Between  the 
Devil  and  the  Deep,  and  /  Gotta  Right  To  Sing  The.  How  blue  can  you  get? 

DON'T  YOU  LOVE  ME  ANY  MORE? — *Buddy  Clark  (Columbia);  Jack  Smith  (Capitol); 
Freddy  Martin  (Victor) 

Buddy  Clark  is  Columbia's  white-haired  boy  at  the  moment,  getting  the  top  songs 
and  doing  justice  to  them.  His  Freedom  Train  is  actually  superior  to  Bing's. 
HOW  LUCKY  YOU  ARE— *Elliot  Lawrence   (Columbia);  *Anita  Ellis  (Mercury);  Phil 
Brito  (Musicraft);  Andrews  Sisters  (Decca) 

A  good  waltz,  if  waltz  you  will.  Anita  Ellis,  charming  brunette  from  the  Red 
Skelton  radio  show,  is  coming  along  nicely  on  wax. 

PEGGY  O'NEIL— Harmonicats  ( Vitacoustic) ;  Polka  Dots  (Musicraft) 

Harmonicas  happen  to  be  anathema  to  me,  and  if  that  sounds  like  a  sneeze,  so 
much  the  better.  Whether  it's  Peg  0'  My  Heart,  Peggy  O'Neil,  Harmonicats 
or  Polka  Dots,  you're  welcome,  stranger. 

STARS  WILL  REMEMBER — *  Frank  Sinatra  (Columbia);  Vaughn  Monroe  (Victor);  Guy 
Lombardo  (Decca);  Skitch  Henderson  (Capitol) 

HOT  JAZZ 

GENE  AMMONS—  *Red  Top  (Mercury) 

ALLEN  EAGER—  *Donald  Jay  (Savoy) 

DIZZY  GILLESPIE— **Oopapada  (Victor) 

Above  three  are  all  bebop  items.  Caution:  do  not  touch  unless  willing  to  be 
converted,  open-minded  and  open-eared.  Ammons,  son  of  boogie-woogie  piano 
pioneer,  Albert  Ammons,  and  Eager,  2 1 -year-old  jazz  veteran,  both  play  great 
tenor  sax  in  the  modern  idiom.  Dizzy's  new  big  band  makes  a  remarkable  debut 
here,  with  satirical  vocals  and  a  weird,  wonderful  arrangement.  There's  also  a 
good  new  Bebop  Album  on  Keynote. 

MEL  HENKE—  *ln  A  Mist  (Vitacoustic) 

Unique.  Chicago  pianist  Henke  plays  the  late  Bix  Beiderbecke's  immortal  piece 
with  an  eerie  vocal  background  hummed  by  the  Honeydreamers. 
MARY  ANN  McCALL—  *Money  is  Honey  (Columbia) 

Former  Woody  Herman  and  Charlie  Barnet  singer  makes  her  solo  record  bow 
with  two  blues  sides  (reverse  is  slower,  On  Time,)  with  Woody's  arranger,  Ralph 
Burns,  leading  a  nice  accompanying  unit.  The  gal  really  sings  the  blues. 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

BODY  AND  SOUL— Title  Song:  *Lee  Wiley-Eric  Siday  (Victor);  *Sarah  Vaughan  (Musi- 
craft); *Tex  Beneke  (Victor)  and  about  99  other  versions. 

DEEP  VALLEY— Title  Song:  *Tommy  Dorsey  (Victor) 

EMPEROR  WALTZ— I  Kiss  Your  Hand  Madame:  Bing  Crosby  (Decca);  *Buddy  Clark 
(Columbia).  Emperor  Waltz:  *Bing  Crosby  (Decca);  Skitch  Henderson  (Capitol) 

FUN  AND  FANCY  FREE— Title  Song:  *Phil  Harris  (Victor);  Gene  Krupa  (Columbia); 

Phil  Brito  (Musicraft).  Say  It  With  a  Slap:  Modernaires  (Columbia);  Louis  Prima 

(Victor).  Lazy  Country  Side:  Dinah  Shore  (Columbia). 
IF  YOU  KNEW  SUSIE— My  How  The  Time  Goes  By:  *Hal  Mclntyre  (M-G-M);  Vaughn 

Monroe  (Victor) 

SUMMER  HOLIDAY— Stanley  Steamer:  *Jo  Stafford  (Capitol);  *Georgia  Gibbs  (Majes- 
tic); Dinah  Shore  (Columbia);  Tony  Martin  (Victor) 


(Continued  from  page  91)  worked  straight. 

"If  you'll  only  remember  that  movies 
are  a  business,"  he'd  say.  "Tough  and 
cold  like  any  business.  Don't  expect  them 
to  love  you  for  yourself,  alone.  As  long 
as  you're  making  money,  they'll  all  say 
hello.  Why  should  it  hurt  you?  In  their 
place,  you'd  do  the  same.  So  would  I. 
We  none  of  us  have  time  for  people  who 
drop  out  of  our  world." 

"But  I'd  always  be  in  your  world,  huh? 
If  I  flopped  tomorrow,  if  I  never  made 
another  picture?" 

"When  you  love  someone,  Betty,  that 
person  is  your  world — " 

So  I  got  to  know  what  my  husband  was 
really  like,  and  the  better  I  knew  him, 
the  better  I  loved  him.  Loving's  altogether 
different  from  falling  in  love.  It's  got 
nothing  to  do  with  charm  or  good  looks. 
It's  all  mixed  up  with  trust  and  respect 
and  liking,  and  the  best  of  it  is  how  close 
it  brings  you  together. 

I  began  to  see  that  no  matter  how  differ- 
ent we  were  on  top,  down  deep  I  wanted 
the  same  things  he  did,  the  things  that 
lasted.  And  why  I'd  been  frightened  was 
because  I  didn't  have  them.  I'm  more  of 
an  introvert  than  anyone  will  know  except 
Teddy,  but  I'm  not  frightened  now.  With 
him  you  can't  be.  He's  so  at  peace  with 
the  world.  I  don't  think  he's  ever  hurt 
anyone  or  done  a  mean  thing  that  he 
knows  is  mean.  I  have.  But  I  must  be 
improving.  Even  my  mother  says,  "You're 
a  nicer  girl,  since  you  married  Ted,  than 
you've  ever  been."  And  coming  from  my 
mother,  who's  partial  to  me,  that's  quite  a 
statement. 

dear  little  buttercup  .  .  . 

Well,  then  Buttercup  arrives  on  the 
scene,  and  if  I  hadn't  been  sold  before, 
she'd  have  sold  me.  Here  was  this  little 
thing  with  no  axe  to  grind — wanting  noth- 
ing from  me  but  my  hands  and  my  love. 
That's  the  biggest  thrill  of  all— that  she 
needs  me.  You  can  have  the  most  won- 
derful nurse  in  the  world,  and  we  have, 
but  still  the  baby  needs  me.  All  the  books 
say  so,  but  you  can  tell  it  without  the 
books;  there's  some  feeling  of  security 
children  get  from  the  mother  that  they 
don't  from  anyone  else. 

Up  until  Buttercup  was  four-and-a-half 
months  old,  I  took  care  of  her.  I  fed  her 
and  bathed  her,  the  nurse  just  watched 
and  helped.  I  wanted  her  to  feel  who  her 
mother  was.  When  I  started  working  in 
Dream  Girl,  Teddy'd  bring  her  down  to  the 
studio  twice  a  week  and  she'd  eat  lunch 
in  my  dressing-room.  If  she  was  sleep- 
ing when  I  got  home,  I'd  go  in  and  kiss 
her  on  her  little  cheek,  and  I  know  she 
knew  I  was  there. 

Once  she  got  sick — broke  out  in  spots 
and  couldn't  keep  her  food  down.  It  was 
just  before  the  4th  of  July  weekend.  Our 
doctor  was  out  of  town,  and  it  took  a  while 
to  get  hold  of  somebody  else.  While  he 
was  on  his  way,  Buttercup  let  out  a  scream 
like  something  hurt  her.  Talk  about  knives 
through  your  heart!  Teddy  went  white 
and  he  got  right  on  the  phone  and  called 
Chicago.  That's  his  home  town.  He  started 
out  wanting  to  be  a  doctor,  so  he  has  lots 
of  doctor  friends  in  Chicago. 

"Who's  the  best  baby  doctor  out  here?" 
he  asked,  and  I  stood  waiting  with  a  pen- 
cil to  take  it  down.  When  he  said  the 
name,  we  both  did  a  cave-in.  It  was  the 
name  of  the  man  who  was  on  his  way  up. 

Well,  he  was  wonderful — went  over  her 
from  stem  to  stern,  called  it  something  or 
other  that  wasn't  serious,  and  said  she'd 
pull  out  of  it  in  a  couple  of  days.  But  you 
can't  keep  calling  the  doctor  every  five 
minutes,  especially  at  night,  and  that  night 
was  gruesome.  She'd  sleep  for  a  while  and 
you'd  start  breathing  again,  then  she'd 
wake  up  with  that  awful  scream.  All  that 


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Pass  that  Peace  Pipe  and  The  Best 
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"The  Student  Prince"  Album  —  Al  Goodman 
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"New  Orleans  Jazz"— Irving  Fazola  and  his 
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Freddy  Martin  and  his  Orch.:  Hora  Staccato 
and  On  the  Santa  Claus  Express.  20-2476,  600. 

Tony  Martin:  The  Christmas  Song  (Merry 
Christmas  to  You)  and  Begin  the  Beguine.  With 
Earle  Hagen  and  his  Orch.  Record  20-2478,  600. 

Swing  and  Sway  with  Sammy  Kaye:  Hand 
in  Hand  and  Santa  Claus  for  President.  RCA 
Victor  Record  20-2482,  600. 


Charlie  Spivak  and  his  Orchestra:  Tennessee 

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Prices  are  suggested  list  prices,  exclusive  of  taxes. 

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rca  Victor  r&oros 


'HIS  MASTER'S  VOICE* 


1.  Rounded  Ends 

Insertion  is  easy  with  Fibs  tampons  .  . . 
because  Fibs  have  gently  rounded  ends. 
You'll  see,  when  you  switch  to  Fibs 
and  find  at  last  —  a  tampon  that's  easy 
to  use! 


2.  "Quilted"  Comfort 

You  scarcely  know  you're  wearing  Fibs, 
because  "quilting"  makes  (his  tampon 
really  comfortable.  You  see,  quilting 
keeps  Fibs  from  fluffing  up  to  an  uncom- 
fortable size  .  .  •  which  could  cause 
pressure,  irritation  or  difficult  removal. 
Remember  the  tampon  that's  quilted 
for  your  comfort :  Fibs.  , 

3.  "Quilted"  Safety 

Quilting  adds  to  your  peace  of  mind — 
because  it  helps  prevent  cotton  particles 
from  clinging  to  delicate  internal  tis- 
sues—a Fibs  safeguard  women  always 
appreciate.  Only  Fibs  are  quilted  for 
your  safety.  So  next  month,  switch  to 
Fibs  for  internal  sanitary  protection. 


*T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


kept  us  sane  was  she  didn't  run  any  fever. 

Finally,  I  couldn't  stand  it.  "Okay,"  I 
thought,  "nobody  knows  what  to  do, 
Mommy's  taking  over.  What  would  1  like 
if  my  stomach  were  upset,  I'd  like  some 
hot  tea — " 

We  gave  her  hot  tea,  and  she  kept  it 
down.  I  sponged  her  and  changed  her 
sheets  and  did  all  the  things  you'd  do  for 
a  grownup  who's  ill.  She  liked  my  arms. 
If  I'd  leave  the  room,  she'd  cry.  Only  time 
I  left  was  when  I'd  feel  a  bawling  fit  com- 
ing on,  then  I'd  hand  her  to  the  nurse 
and  go  out  and  bawl  on  Ted's  shoulder. 

In  the  morning,  I  said:  "Bet  she'd  like 
some  milk  toast.  With  a  little  salt  on  it." 

"Honey,  you  sure  you're  all  right?"  That 
was  Ted. 

But  the  milk  toast  stayed  down,  and  the 
doctor  said,  "Mrs.  Briskin,  you're  not  a 
bad  doctor,  yourself."  Which  is  one  of  the 
sweetest  compliments  I  ever  got. 

three's  a  family  .  . . 

That  night,  Teddy  and  I  stood  looking 
down  at  the  baby.  She  was  so  skinny  you 
could  feel  her  ribs — golly,  what  two  days' 
sickness  can  do  to  a  kid! — but  she  was 
sleeping  easy,  and  the  worst  was  over. 
Teddy  put  his  arm  around  me,  quiet  and 
strong,  and  all  of  a  sudden  it  came  over 
me  what  they  meant  about  husband  and 
wife  being  one,  because  in  those  two  days 
there  wasn't  a  thought  or  a  fear  we  hadn't 
shared.  Standing  there  with  my  husband's 
arm  around  me  and  our  baby  getting  bet- 
ter, I  felt  so  peaceful  and  thankful  and 
happy,  like  coming  home  out  of  a  storm  or 
something.  Here  we  were,  the  three  of 
us,  a  family,  loving  each  other,  and  what- 
ever happened  in  a  studio  couldn't  touch 
that. 

Now  don't  get  me  wrong.  I'm  not  run- 
ning down  my  career.  Far  from  it.  To 
me  it's  the  most  wonderful  glamorous  life 
there  is,  plus  an  education  you  could  never 
get  out  of  books.  In  fact,  if  Buttercup 
wanted  to  be  an  actress,  nothing  would 
please  me  more. 

Of  course  there'd  be  no  urging  on  my 
part.  She'd  have  to  want  it  the  way  I  did. 
Something  has  to  drive  you  inside,  or  it's 
no  good.  I  put  on  my  first  performance  at 
the  age  of  seven.  Nobody  asked  me,  nobody 
even  wanted  me  to.  If  I'd  been  a  million- 
aire's daughter,  I'd've  still  been  in  show 
business.  I  left  $1000  a  week  in  vaudeville 
for  $50  a  week  in  stock,  because  I  couldn't 
stand  not  to  learn  every  angle  of  my  trade. 

What's  more,  she'd  have  to  do  it  the 
hard  way,  go  barnstorming,  learn  what  a 
great  thing  it  is  to  lift  yourself  by  your 
bootstraps  and  know  when  you  get  there 


you've  done  it  all  yourself.  Then  it  means 
something.  Then,  her  first  night  on  Broad- 
way, ready  to  go  out,  she'll  be  scared  stiff 
and  shaking,  with  pinwheels  and  rockets 
going  off  in  her  head,  but  feeling  that! 
marvelous  sense  of  aliveness  down  to  her 
toes  that  nothing  else  on  God's  earth  can 
give  her.  And  I'll  be  out  front  like  my 
own  mother  was,  with  the  goosebumps  a 
mile  high — only  Mom  was  alone,  and  I'll 
be  clutching  hands  with  a  distinguished- 
looking  gent  named  Briskin,  who'll  be 
trying  to  look  cool  and  collected  while  hir 
vest  buttons  pop — 

That's  how  it'll  be,  maybe.  And  maybe 
not.  Right  now  the  young  lady  takes  after 
her  father.  Likes  to  figure  things  out. 
Slips  the  strap  off  her  chair  and  puts  it 
back  again.  Wants  to  take  light  bulbs 
apart.  Chances  are  we'll  have  a  lady  Edi- 
son on  our  hands  instead  of  a  Duse.  Better 
chance  that  she'll  just  get  married. 

But  you  see  how  it  is  with  me.  I  still 
get  steamed  up,  thinking  back  to  my  own 
first  night.  Heck,  I  get  steamed  up  think- 
ing back  to  my  last  preview.  But  it's  not 
the  same  as  at  first.  I've  had  it  all.  To 
make  it  now  what  it  was  to  me  then  would 
be  neurotic.  There's  a  fierceness  when  you 
start.  Hang  on  to  that,  and  you  lose  every- 
thing else.  Your  career  means  excitement. 
Your  home  means  warmth  and  love.  Comes 
a  time  when  excitement  isn't  enough — 

first  things  first  ... 

To  prove  it,  there's  a  deal  on  for  me  to 
do  Born  Yesterday,  and  I'm  wild  for  th? 
part,  who  wouldn't  be?  But  Buttercup's 
brother  comes  first,  and  now  that  we  know 
he's  on  his  way,  Born  Yesterday'll  have  to 
wait,  or  go  to  somebody  else.  We're  going 
to  have  our  babies  when  we  want  them, 
not  when  the  shooting  schedule  permits. 
Then,  when  I  start  making  baddies,  which'll 
finally  happen,  I'll  have  something  else 
very  solid  under  my  feet. 

We  live  so  normally  now.  Nobody  tries 
to  impress  anybody.  The  other  night  Ted 
brought  two  fellows  home  from  the  plant. 
They'd  been  working  late,  and  we  fixed 
them  a  bite.  A  friend  of  mine  was  there. 

"You  know  what?"  I  said.  "In  the  old 
days  I'd  have  taken  you  quietly  aside  and 
explained  who  these  kids  were,  for  fear 
you  might  think  they  didn't  hold  their 
coffee  cups  fancy  enough  to  associate  with 
a  Hutton — " 

"And  now?" 

"Now  you  can  like  'em  or  not,  I  don't 
give  a  hoot." 

Whatever  was  making  me  bitter  is  gone. 
I've  learned  that  the  world  doesn't  owe 
you  happiness.  Sometimes  it  slips  through 


STATEMENT    OF    THE    OWNERSHIP,    MANAGEMENT,    CIRCULATION,    ETC..    REQUIRED    BY  THE 
ACTS  OF  CONGRESS  OF  AUGUST  24,  1912,  AND  MARCH  3.  1933 
Of  MODERN  SCREEN,  published  monthly  at  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  for  October  1,  1947. 
State  of  New  York  1 
County  of  New  York  j  ss- 

Before  me,  a  Notary  Public  in  and  for  the  State  and  county  aforesaid,  personally  appeared  Helen  Meyer, 
who,  having  been  duly  sworn  according  to  law,  deposes  and  says  that  she  Is  the  Business  Manager  of  the 
MODERN  SCREEN  and  that  the  following  is,  to  the  best  of  her  knowledge  and  belief,  a  true  state- 
ment of  the  ownership,  management  (and  if  a  daily  .paper,  the  circulation),  etc.,  of  the  aforesaid  publication 
for  the  date  shown  in  the  above  caption,  required  by  the  Act  of  August  24,  1912,  as  amended  by  the  Act 
of  March  3,  1933,  embodied  in  section  537.  Postal  LaWs  and  Regulations,  printed  on  the  reverse  of  this 
form,  to  wit: 

1.  That  the  names  and .  addresses  of  the  publisher,  editor,  managing  editor,  and  business  managers  are: 
Publisher,  George  T.  Delacorte,  Jr.,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  Editor,  Albert  P.  Delacorte,  149 
Madison  Avenue.  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  Managing  Editor,  none.  Business  Manager.  Helen  Meyer.  149  Madi- 
son Avenue.  New  York  16.  N.  Y. 

2.  That  the  owner  is:  (If  owned  by  a  corporation,  its  name  and  address  must  be  stated  and  also  im- 
mediately thereunder  the  names  and  addresses  of  stockholders  owning  or  holding  one  per  cent  or  more 
of  total  amount  of  stock.  If  not  owned  by  a  corporation,  the  names  and  addresses  of  the  individual  owners 
must  be  given.  If  owned  by  a  firm,  company,  or  other  unincorporated  concern,  its  name  and  address  as 
well  as  those  of  each  individual  member,  must  be  given.) 

Dell  Publishing  Company,  Inc..  149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16.  N.  Y.:  George  T.  Delacorte,  Jr.,  149 
Madison  Avenue.  New  York  16,  N.  Y.:  Margarita  Delacorte.  149  Madison  Avenue.  New  York  16.  N.  Y. 

3  That  the  known  bondholders,  mortgagees,  and  other  security  holders  owning  or  holding  1  per  cent 
or  more  of  total  amount  of  bonds,  mortgages,  or  other  securities  are:  (If  there  are  none,  so  state.)  None. 

4.  That  the  two  paragraphs  next  above,  giving  the  names  of  the  owners,  stockholders,  and  security 
holders,  if  any,  contain  not  only  the  list  of  stockholders  and  security  holders  as  they  appear  upon  the  books 
of  the  company  but  also,  in  cases  where  the  stockholder  or  security  holder  appears  upon  the  books  of  the 
company  as  trustee  or  in  any  other  fiduciary  relation,  the  name  of  the  person  or  corporation  for  whom 
such  trustee  is  acting,  is  given;  also  that  the  said  two  paragraphs  contain  statements  embracing  affiant's 
full  knowledge  and  belief  as  to  the  circumstances  and  conditions  under  which  stockholders  and  security 
holders  who  do  not  appear  upon  the  books  of  the  company  as  trustees,  hold  stock  and  securities  in  a  capacity 
other  than  that  of  a  bona  fide  owner;  and  this  affiant  has  no  reason  to  believe  that  any  other  person, 
association,  or  corporation  has  any  Interest  direct  or  indirect  in  the  said  stock,  bonds,  or  other  securities 
than  as  so  stated  by  her. 

(Signed)  HELEN  MEYER.  Business  Manager. 
Sworn  to  and  subscribed  before  me  this  3rd  day  of  September.  1947. 

(SEAL)  JEANNETTE  SMITH  GREEN.  (My  Commission  expires  March  30,  1948.) 


your  hands  because  you  don't  recognize 
it,  or  take  it  for  granted.  Sometimes  it 
comes  when  you're  looking  the  other  way. 
All  I  can  say  is  I'm  thankful  I  found  mine 
and  latched  on  to  it,  because  life  would 
have  been  empty  without  it.  As  a  kid,  you 
read  fairytales  and  think  every  girl's-  en- 
titled to  live  happily  ever  after.  Then  you 
quit  being  a  kid  and  find  out  different. 
But  if  ever  a  Prince  Charming  rode  in  on 
a  white  horse,  my  husband's  it.  He  loves 
me  and  that  baby  and  his  home  like  you 
read  about  in  books.  It  even  scares  me. 
What  did  I  ever  do  to  deserve  all  this? 

One  of  our  favorite  games  is  trying  to 
remember  what  we  talked  about  B.B.— 
Before  Buttercup.  Our  evenings  might 
seem  monotonous  to  other  people,  but 
we  think  they're  divine.  After  the  baby's 
asleep,  the  nurse  comes  in  and  tells  us 
what  she  did  all  day,  in  great  detail.  All 
through  dinner  we  discuss  what  the  nurse 
told  us,  in  great  detail.  Then  we  go  ride 
our  bikes  for  a  while.  Then  we  come  back 
and,  if  there's  a  moon,  you'll  see  us  pacing 
and  measuring  out  front. 

"The  window  ought  to  be  here,  Teddy, 
they'd  have  a  better  view." 

"Sure,  except  they'd  be  looking  in,  not 
out.  Wait  a  minute,  honey,  till  I  get  you 
turned  around — " 

That's  for  the  nursery  we're  planning 
to  build,  big  enough  for  three  kids. 

say  it  over  and  over  again  .  .  . 

When  we're  in  bed,  it  starts  from  scratch. 
"Did  I  tell  you  Grandma  said  she's  the 
prettiest  grandchild?" 

Ted's  folks  have  all  been  out  here  ex- 
cept his  grandmother,  who's  too  old  to 
travel.  So  last  August  we  took  the  baby  to 
Chicago  for  a  week.  If  I've  told  him  once, 
I've  told  him  fifty-nine  times  that  Grand- 
ma said  Buttercup  was  the  prettiest  grand- 
child. But  he's  just  as  tickled  as  he  was 
the  first  time. 

"Bet  she  tells  that  to  all  the  mothers — " 

"Why  not?  She's  smart.  Wasn't  it  won- 
derful the  baby  took  her  first  steps  there?" 

"I  had  all  I  could  do  to  keep  Dad  from 
phoning  the  papers." 

"See  that?  Lucky  we're  having  another 
one  right  away.  The  child  would  be 
ruined." 

And  so  on  into  the  night. 

When  the  nurse  is  off  Sundays,  we  take 
care  of  Buttercup  together.  If  it's  warm, 
we  whip  her  into  the  swimming-pool. 
Then  I  dress  her  up  pretty  in  a  pinafore 
and  poke  bonnet,  and  parade  her  round 
the  neighborhood  in  her  Taylor  Tot,  and 
she  waves  at  the  trees  because  she  thinks 
they're  waving  at  her.  Meantime,  Ted's 
taking  pictures.  He  looks  terrible.  All 
the  things  I  used  to  couldn't  stand.  If  a 
guy  wasn't  shaved,  I  wouldn't  speak  to 
him.  I'd  have  no  part  of  anyone  who 
smoked  a  pipe.  Now  here  he  is,  the  man 
I  love.  Old,  beaten-up  clothes.  No  shave. 
Forever  with  the  pipe. 

Often,  we'll  be  sitting  home  of  an  eve- 
ning, and  I'll  look  at  him  and  some  little 
scene'll  flash  through  my  head — Ted  rock- 
ing the  baby  to  sleep  or  just  walking 
around  with  that  silly  pipe  in  his  mouth — ■ 
and  it'll  come  over  me  in  a  rush  how  good 
and  how  wonderful  and  how  sweet  he  is, 
and  I'll  go  running  to  him  and  kiss  him. 

He'll  be  pleased,  but  puzzled.  "What  the 
Sam  Hill  happened  to  you?" 

I'll  grab  him  and  throttle  him.  "Oh 
Teddy,  I  love  you  so — " 

"Do  you,  honey?  That's  good." 

I  let  it  go  at  that.  Why  involve  him  in 
explanations?  He  might  get  mixed  up, 
and  I  don't  want  him  mixed  up.  I  like  him 
the  way  he  is.  Not  perfect.  But  as  darn 
close  to  it  as  you'd  want  a  man  to  come. 
I  have  a  special  prayer  now.  Please,  God, 
send  us  a  son.  Teddy  wants  one,  and  I'd 
like  another  guy  like  the  guy  I've  got. 


BORDERLINE  ANEMIA' 

can  steal  away  a  woman's  beauty! 


Thousands  who  are  tired  and  pale  may  find  renewed  energy- 
restore  healthy  good  looks — with  Ironized  Yeast  Tablets 


Beauty  fades  when  a  woman's  face 
grows  pale  —  when  her  freshness 
is  failing  —  when  her  energy  runs  low. 
Yes,  and  these  signs  often  come  from  a 
blood  condition.  If  you  have  them,  you 
may'  have  a  Borderline  Anemia,  due 
to  ferro-nutritional  blood  deficiency. 

The  red  cells  in  your  blood  may  be 
below  par  in  color  and  size.  They  may 
be  weakened  to  the  point  where  they 
can't  transmit  full  energy  to  your  body. 
Results  of  medical  surveys  show  that 
up  to  68%  of  the  women  examined— 
many  men  and  children  —  drag  along 
with  this  Borderline  Anemia. 

How  Ironized  Yeast  Tablets 
Build  Up  Your  Blood  and  Vigor 

So,  if  your  blush  of  health  is  vanishing 
—if  your  energy's  running  low  and  this 
common  blood  condition  is  to  blame- 
take  Ironized  Yeast  Tablets.  They  are 
formulated  to  help  build  up  faded  red 
blood  cells  to  healthy  color  and  size 
—to  help  you  reclaim  your  usual  vigor 
and  looks.  Continuing  tiredness  and 
pallor  may  be  due  to  other  conditions 


—so  consult  your  doctor  regularly.  But 
in  this  Borderline  Anemia,  take  Iron- 
ized Yeast  Tablets  to  start  your  en- 
ergy shifting  back  into  "high"— to  help 
restore  your  natural  color!  Take  them 
to  enjoy  life  again!  Ask  your  druggist 
for  the  big,  new  economy  size. 

^Resulting  from  lerro-nutritional  blood  deficiency. 


BORDERLINE  ANEMIA 

why  it  can  make  you 
TIRED  •  PALE  •  LISTLESS 


Energy-Building  Blood.  This 
is  a  microscopic  view  of 
blood  rich  in  energy  ele- 
ments. Here  are  big, 
plentiful  red  cells  that 
release  energy  to  every 
muscle,  limb,  tissue. 

Borderline  Anemia.  Many 
have  blood  like  this; 
never  know  it.  Cells  are 
puny,  faded.  Blood  like 
this  can't  release  the 
energy  you  need  to  feel 
and  look  your  best. 


Ironized  Yeast 


TABLETS 


95 


I 


□ 


irS  SHEER  BEAUTY 

•  Brunch  Coat  of  rich  lus- 
|  trous  washable  rayon  crepe 
\        thickly  quilted  and  softly 

lined  for  intimate  warmth. 

•  Sweetheart  pocket  and 
self-lined  quilted  belt. 

1         •  Tailored  matching  pa- 
'     ,      '        jamas  in  the  same  delight- 
ful print. 

If|j|        3-WAY  WEARABILITY 

|  tf.'I^L  The  coat  for  any-hour  use 
.  .  .  The  pajamas  for  bliss- 
ful sleeping  .  .  .  The  com- 
plete set  for  comfortable  lounge  wear. 
SOLD  NATIONALLY  AT  $25.  At 
this  lower  price  truly  a  most  sensible  Gift 
.  . '.  for  you,  or  for  your  gift  list  favorite. 


NATIONAL  MAIL  ORDER  CORP. 


Z\333  N.  Michigan,  Chicago  1,  Dept.  118 

Please  send  me  STARLET'S  LOUNGE  SET  at  19.95 
plus  postage  .  .  .  Satisfaction  Guaranteed. 
Circle  Size  and  Color:  12  14  16  18 
Backgrounds  of:  Romance  White— Demure  Pink- 
Dream  Blue— Enticing  Black  (Ch«ck  second  choice). 
SAVE  30c  C.O.D.  charges  by  mailing  check  or 
money  order  for  amount  plus  15  postage.  In 
III.  add  2%  sales  tax. 


96 


Name  

Address  . 

City  


WONDERFUL  VALUES 


GREAT  EXPECTATIONS 

(Continued  from  page  56) 


voice,  as  she  opened  her  front  door,  and 
led  the  way  down  winding  stone  steps  to 
the  lower  floor  of  the  Agar  home. 

"Jack's  asleep,"  she  said,  once  we  were 
downstairs  in  the  room  which  had  always 
housed  her  huge  doll  collection.  Not  long 
ago,  Shirley  redecorated,  covering  the  glass 
show-cases  with  floral  panels  that  slide 
back  to  reveal  shelves  of  costumed  dolls. 
Shirley's  interior  decoration  teacher  at 
Westlake  always  insisted  Shirley  could 
have  been  a  top  decorator,  if  she  hadn't 
liked  acting  so  much. 

Now,  Shirley  closed  the  last  panel  and 
settled  down  on  a  carmine  love-seat.  "I'm 
so  sorry  about  the  hushing  and  tiptoeing," 
she  said,  "but  poor  Jack  hasn't  been  well. 
They've  got  him  full  of  penicillin  and  sulfa 
because  of  an  ear  infection.  This  was  the 
last  day  of  the  picture  for  us  both,  and 
he's  worn  out." 

Shirley,  herself,  seemed  anything  but 
worn  out.  There  was  a  new,  bright  light 
in  her  eyes.  "I'm  being  very  careful  to 
carry  out  all  the  doctor's  orders,"  she  said. 
"Last  spring,  our  own  family  doctor  died, 
but  he  had  told  me  when  I  got  married 
whom  he  wanted  me  to  have  when  I  had 
a  baby.  And  that  man  is  my  doctor  now." 

good  news  ... 

"Jack  and  I,"  Shirley  went  on,  "both 
work  for  .  David  O.  Selznick,  and  when  we 
told  him  our  news,  he  felt  it  would  be 
best  if  the  studio  sent  out  a  simple  an- 
nouncement. So,  that's  what  was  done. 
That  evening,  at  dinner,  the  telephone 
rang.  When  I  answered  it,  a  man's  voice 
told  me  he  was  from  an  evening  paper. 
'Mrs.  Agar,'  he  said,  most  apologetically, 
'I  really  don't  know  where  to  begin.  But 
a  man  who  says  he's  from  Selznick's  just 
told  me  you  were  going  to  have  a  baby.' 
He  sounded  as  if  he  were  all  braced  for 
me  to  deny  it.  'Well,  I  am,'  I  said.  There 
was  a  long  silence.  Then  he  said,  weakly, 
'Oh,  thank  you!'  and  the  line  went  dead." 

Shirley  leaned  back  and  laughed.  "Our 
baby's  going  to  be  born  in  January,  a 
slightly  belated  Christmas  present,  you 
might  say.  And  what  better  present  could 
we  get?" 

The  most  constant  question  asked  of  the 
Agars  is  whether  they  want  a  boy  or  a  girl. 
"We  don't  care,"  Shirley  says,  "as  long 
as  it's  healthy.  If  it's  a  boy,  he'll  haye  his 
father's  name — John  George  Agar.  And 
the  wonderful  part  about  that  name  is  that 
it  includes  my  father's  name — George — 
and  both  my  brothers' — John  and  George. 

"We  haven't  picked  out  a  name  for  a 
girl.  It  won't  be  Shirley,  because  we  want 
a  one-syllable  name  to  go  with  Agar. 

"What  makes  it  special  fun  for  me  is 
that  my  brother  Jack's  wife,  Miriam — we 
call  her  Mims — is  expecting  her  second 
child  just  about  two  weeks  before  me. 
They've  got  a  little  boy  already,  four  years 
old,  so  Mims  is  a  great  help  to  me.  We 
spend  hours  together,  comparing  notes, 
and  right  now,  Mother's  crocheting  af- 
ghans  for  us.  My  afghan  will  be  pink,  be- 
cause I'm  having  almost  everything  pink 
for  the  baby.  I  think  blue  sometimes  makes 
babies  look  wan. 

"Then,  too,  blue  is  the  predominating 
color  in  the  nursery,  so  pink  will  contrast 
well  with  it." 

When  Shirley  rearranged  the  house,  be- 
fore getting  married,  a  guest  room  was 
built  on,  close  to  the  Agar's  own  bedroom. 
"We  called  it  a  guest  room,"  Shirley  grins, 
"but  I  had  my  own  ideas — hopes,  perhaps, 
is  a  better  word.  So  I  put  in  blue  and  white 
striped  wallpaper,  and  had  rosebuds  on 


the  .ceiling.  There's  a  blue  rug  and  ruffly 
white  curtains,  and  it  will  be  the  prettiest 
kind  of  a  background  for  a  crib." 

Shirley  has  started  some  knitting  for  the 
baby,  but,  because  of  the  picture  work  in 
which  she  has  been  involved  these  past 
few  months,  it  has  not  progressed  far. 

"Only  now  I'm  going  to  have  a  lot  of  time 
on  my  hands,"  she  said.  "And  the  knitting 
will  get  done.  I'm  not  going  to  try  any 
sewing.  But,  with  Mother,  and  Jack's 
mother  helping,  I  won't  need  to  worry 
about  the  baby  being  well  covered. 

"I  hope  it  will  arrive  before  Jack's 
birthday,  the  31st  of  January.  He'll  be 
twenty-seven  then,  and  I'd  like  it  to  be 
born  while  he's  twenty-six.  Of  course, 
there's  a  chance  I  might  make  it  a  double 
birthday,  and  have  it  right  on  the  31st. 
But  if  I  don't,  there  are  plenty  of  other 
family  birthdays  I  might  hit  in  January — 
my  sister-in-law,  Joyce,  was  born  in  Jan- 
uary, and  so  was  my  brother  George. 

"I'm  going  back  to  acting,  afterward," 
Shirley  hastens  to  say.  "My  ambition  is  to 
be  a  character  woman  when  I'm  fifty. 

"However,  without  work  to  keep  me 
busy  these  next  months,  I'm  making  plans 
to  fill  my  time.  I  know  myself  well  enough 
to  know  I  have  to  be  occupied;  I  don't 
want  to  get  self-centered  and  miserable." 

She  plans  to  return  to  the  cooking  school 
she  attended  just  after  she  was  married, 
too.  The  past  few  months,  the  Agars  have 
had  a  cook — a  necessity  when  Shirley  is 
working — and  Shirley  doesn't  intend  to  re- 
place her  in  the  kitchen.  What  she  wants 
is  to  take  some  advanced  courses  in  the 
.sort  of  exotic  dishes  that  one  can  prepare 
before  guests.  Crepe-suzettes,  shish- 
kebab;  dishes  that  are  fun  to  make. 

"Golf  is  forbidden,  naturally,"  Shirley 
said.  "I  suppose  I  could  go  on  with  the 
piano,  but  I  never  liked  practicing." 

Everyone  wants  to  know  if  Shirley  is 
going  to  let  the  baby  play  with  the  dolls 
she,  Shirley,  has  received  from  all  over 
the  world  since  she  first  became  a  star. 

"I  think,"  she  says,  "that  babies  like  to 
have  one  favorite  doll.  Then  it  can  be  a 
friend.  If  they  have  a  lot  of  dolls,  none  of 
them  is  important.  Besides,  most  of  these 


MODERN  SCREEN 


They  want  to  know  if  they  can  lick  the  pans." 


dolls  are  too  perfect — collector's  items. 
They're  hot  the  sort  you  take  to  bed  with 
you,  cry  over  when  you're  unhappy,  or  that 
help  you  when  you  make  mud -pies." 

Probably,  as  much  has  been  written  about 
Shirley  as  about  any  living  personality. 
She  doesn't  seek  publicity,  but  she  appre- 
ciates what  it  means  to  an  actor.  "Provided, 
you  don't  let  it  throw  you.  That  was  one 
of  the  hardest  lessons  for  Jack. 

"At  first,  he  used  to  get  so  mad."  She 
looked  impish  as  she  recalled  the  earlier 
days.  "Especially  when  lies  were  printed. 
He'd  want  to  go  out  and  get  them  retracted." 

Next  to  her  approaching  motherhood, 
Shirley  is  most  enthralled  by  Jack's  acting 
career.  They  had  just  that  day  completed 
making  War  Party,  his  first  picture,  in 
which  they  play  opposite  each  other. 

"Jack  has  a  wonderful  part  in  it,"  she 
said,  proudly.  "He's  lucky  because  it  is 
not  the  sort  of  part  which  carries  the  whole 
weight  of  the  picture.  He  plays  a  young 
second-lieutenant,  just  out  of  West  Point 
and  I  play  the  daughter  of  an  older  West 
Pointer,  a  colonel  (Henry  Fonda). 

"John  Ford  directed,  and  it  has  his  stamp 
on  it — a  great  deal  of  action,  and  little  talk. 

young  man  on  a  horse  .  .  . 

"In  War  Party,  Jack  had  to  ride  a  great 
deal.  He  hadn't  been  on  horseback  for 
seven  years  but  it  came  back  to  him  easily. 
He  loved  every  minute  of  the  shooting. 
He's  got  one  of  those  interested  minds.  He 
wants  to  know  how  everything  works. 
Before  we  were  through,  he  knew  all  about 
the  cameraman's  work,  the  dimmer  ma- 
chine, the  mike,  makeup— Everything.  By 
the  end  of  the  first  day,  it  seemed  he  knew 
every  member  of  the  crew  by  name!" 

Shirley  has  always  been  impressed  by 
her  husband's  memory  for  names.  She, 
herself,  suffers  from  forgetfulness  along  this 
line,  and  she's  come  to  depend  on  his  help. 

"Besides,"  she  explained,  "it's  really 
easier  for  him.  He  meets  them  fresh,  and 
the  impression  lasts.  With  me,  people  keep 
coming  up  and  saying,  'Remember  me?' 
and  ten  to  one  I  haven't  seen  them  since  I 
was  six  years  old." 

The  word  around  the  studio  where  War 
Party  was  made  is  encouraging  about 
Jack's  career.  Merian  Cooper,  the  pro- 
ducer, has  told  everyone  that  Jack  Agar 
shows  every  sign  of  becoming  a  star. 

And  Shirley's  mother,  reporting  one  such 
conversation  with  Cooper,  added,  "Jack's 
sincere  and  so  direct  as  a  person,  and  he 
comes  across  on  the  screen  the  same  way." 

War  Party  is  Shirley's  first  costume  pic- 
ture since  she  made  Bluebird,  and  she  en- 
joyed getting  back  into  costumes  again. 

"But,"  and  once  more  that  ready  smile 
was  back,  "those  long,  dragging  skirts  do 
get  so  filthy.  I  only  hope  the  new  fashions 
stop  long  before  they  touch  the  ankles!" 

Any  current  report  on  the  Agars  should 
include  word  on  the  newest  addition  to 
the  family  group,  Shirley's  parakeet.  It  is 
named  "April"  because  it  was  Jack's  birth- 
day present  to  her  this  year.  The  parakeet, 
it  appears,  is  a  violent  individualist,  and 
has  resolutely  refused  to  learn  any  of  the 
words  that  Shirley  tried  to  teach  it. 

"He  mutters  to  himself,"  Shirley  said, 
"and  it  sounds  almost  intelligible.  But  he 
certainly  has  blighted  the  life  of  the  canary. 
Whenever  the  poor  canary  opens  his  mouth 
to  sing,  April  steps  in  with  a  song  of  his 
own,  a  parody  of  the  canary's  voice.  And 
lately  it's  got  really  bad.  The  canary  is 
so  discouraged,  he  doesn't  even  try  to  sing 
any  more.  He  just  sits  and  sulks,  and 
sends  black,  non-canary  looks  at  April.  But 
April's  not  down-hearted — he's  chipper." 

April  is  not  alone  in  being  chipper. 
Everyone  around  the  Agar  home  is  feeling 
gay  and,  as  Shirley  notes,  "Since  our  an- 
nouncement, the  whole  family,  in-laws  and 
all,  have  never  looked  better!" 


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WHY  DON'T  YOU  TWO  GET  MARRIED? 

(Continued  from  page  55) 


"It's  me,"  I  said.  "I'm  in  town  and, 
darn  it,  I'm  lonely." 

He  didn't  think  a  second.  It  just  came 
out.  "You're  having  turkey  dinner  with 
'Chuck'  and  me,  and  I've  got  another  cus- 
tomer you'll  like.  Be  ready  in  a  half -hour." 

I  was  ready. 

It  was  a  swell  feast,  and  Damon  and  I 
left  with  the  memory  of  one  of  the  best 
Thanksgivings  we'd  ever  spent.  It  wasn't 
until  it  was  almost  over  that  Annie  made 
a  slip.  "Two  turkeys  is  one  too  many,"  she 
gasped.  "I  feel  like  the  'Chubby  Sheridan' 
I  was  when  I  first  came  to  Hollywood." 
Steve  looked  dismayed,  but  the  secret  was 
out.  You  see,  they'd  already  had  one 
Thanksgiving  dinner  when  I  called,  but  it 
didn't  take  a  split  second  for  Steve  and 
Ann  to  face  another  one  to  make  me  and 
Damon  Runyon  happy. 

Well,  that's  the  way  that  pair  figures, 
straight  from  their  big  Irish  hearts.  I  know 
how  happy  Ann  has  been  ever  since  she 
and  Steve  discovered  each  other.  She  told 
me  their  story.  Steve  had  been  lonely 
before,  too — if  you  can  imagine  a  man  like 
Steve  Hannagan  lonely.  His  close  friends 
know  the  story  of  his  break-up  with  his 
pretty  ex-wife  model,  Susan  Crandall; 
they  knew  Steve  needed  companionship 
with  the  right  girl.  Somebody  said, 
"There's  one  girl  you'll  be  crazy  about, 
Steve.  She  lives  in  Hollywood  and  her 
name's  Ann  Sheridan." 

Steve  knew  who  she  was  of  course;  he'd 
seen  her  pictures,  but  that  was  all.  On  his 
flying  trips  West  he'd  never  met  her,  but 
that  didn't  stop  his  friends.  They  kept  up 
the  cupid  campaign  from  both  ends,  need- 
ling Steve  about  Ann,  telling  Ann  about 
Steve.  They  never  changed  the  rave  record. 
Then  Ann  took  a  trip  to  New  York.  How 
Steve  Hannagan  knew  she  was  arriving  and 
where  she  stopped,  I  don't  know. 

At  any  rate,  no  sooner  had  Ann  un- 
packed her  bags  at  the  Hotel  Gotham  than 
the  bellboy  rapped.  He  handed  her  an  old 
fashioned  nosegay.  A  bouquet  crammed 
with  sweetheart  roses,  forget-me-nots, 
violets — the  kind  of  a  posy  package  a  16- 
year-old  girl  dreams  about.  Ann  was  no 
teen-ager,  but  she  liked  it,  too.  And  she 
liked  the  way  the  note  on  it  read — frank, 
aggressive  and  right  to  the  point: 

"After  all  the  build-up,"  Steve  had 
scribbled,  "what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?  Call  Plaza  Such-and-Such 
Number.    Steve  Hannagan." 

beginning  of  the  beginning  .  .  . 

So  Ann  called. 

They  had  a  date  that  night  and  they've 
had  one  every  night  since — whenever 
they've  both  been  in  the  same  town. 

I  don't  think  it's  taking  one  thing  away 
from  Ann,  to  say  that  her  friendship  with 
Steve  has  improved  her,  both  as  a  woman 
and  a  star. 

Ann's  a  two-fisted  fighter  by  nature;  her 
red  hair's  out  of  no  bottle.  She's  proved 
that  time  and  again.  For  instance,  she  holds 
the  long-distance  star  suspension  hold-out 
record  in  Hollywood — eighteen  months 
saying  "No"  to  her  bosses,  the  Warner 
Brothers.  She  risked  a  risky  year-and-a- 
half  off  the  screen  from  one  picture  to  the 
next,  for  the  stubborn  Irish  courage  of  her 
convictions. 

The  carrot  top  from  Texas  put  up  quite 
a  scrap.  But  you'd  be  surprised  how  a  pair 
of  broad  shoulders  and  a  keen  mind  like 
Steve's  backing  you  up  can  help. 

Ann  Sheridan's  not  the  type  to  look  back 
on  the  mistakes  of  her  life  with  self-pity, 
but  she  is  the  type  frankly  to  admit  them. 


1 


That  Sunday  morning  in  my  kitchen,  I  | 
learned  a  lot  about  her  I  hadn't  known. 

"I  was  a  chubby,  impossible  brat,  fresh 
from  Texas  when  I  first  saw  Hollywood," 
Ann  told  me.  "I  was  seventeen  and  I  didn't 
know  beans  with  the  bag  open.  You 
know  how  I  got  thin?  By  wearing  corsets. 
I  laced  them  in  so  tight  to  look  slim  on  the 
screen  that  I  could  barely  breathe,  let  alone 
eat.  When  you're  squeezed  up  like  that 
there  isn't  room  for  food!" 

Ann  didn't  yearn  to  be  a  great  actress 
overnight;  she  didn't  mind  playing  the  un- 
ending run  of  "wise  dames." 

the  unexpected  .  .  . 

But  she  did  burn  when  she  walked  into 
a  banquet  at  the  Town  House  in  Los  An- 
geles and  found  that  an  enterprising  studio 
press  agent  had  labeled  her  "The  Oomph 
Girl,"  without  even  letting  her  know. 

And  even  then  Ann  didn't  suspect  how 
Oomph  was  to  fasten  on  to  her,  make  her 
miserable  personally,  wreck  what  chances 
she  had  for  real  acting  jobs,  and  brew 
trouble  between  her  and  her  bosses. 

Ann  had  a  lot  of  early  bad  luck.  Her 
career  limped  along  for  years,  and  even 
after  she'd  battled  and  won  the  right  to 
make  King's  Row  and  proved  herself  a  val- 
uable star,  back  again  she  dropped  to 
things  like  The  Doughgirls.  Along  the  way, 
her  temper  flared  several  times  and  she 
drew  strikes  and  suspensions,  winding  up 
with  that  18  months  of  saying  "No"  be- 
tween The  Doughgirls  and  Nora  Prentiss. 
Ann  might  still  be  out  on  strike  or  back  to 
the  factory  formulas,  if  during  that  18- 
month  holdout  she  hadn't  met  Steve. 

Before  Ann  ran  into  Steve,  she'd  had  as 
bad  luck  with  romance  as  she'd  had  with 
pictures. 

Annie's  first  marital  mistake  was  Ed- 
ward Norris.  Eddie's  a  swell  guy,  a  fine 
flyer  and  a  darned  good  actor,  but  theirs 
was  puppy  love,  not  deep  or  well-founded. 
They  parted  friends,  sadder  but  wiser, 
after  two  years. 

During  the  war,  Eddie,  strangely  enough, 
instructed  at  the  same  flying  field  where 
Ann  Sheridan's  second  ill-fated  mate 
served  in  the  same  capacity.  George  Brent, 
I  mean.  That  was  strictly  a  set  romance  at 
Warners  which  started  on  One  Way  Pas- 
sage and  it  was  too  bad  it  did — for  Ann 
Sheridan,  that  is.  I  like  George,  but  he's 
a  moody  man,  a  black  Irishman,  whom 
nobody  has  been  able  to  live  with  happily. 

George  totes  a  possessive,  lord-and-mas- 
ter  complex  that  just  couldn't  work  with  a 
girl  like  Ann  Sheridan.  He  wanted  a 
minute-by-minute  account  of  every  hour 
of  her  day  when  she  wasn't  with  him.  In 
a  busy  town  like  Hollywood,  there  has  to 
be  mutual  trust;  or  it's  disaster. 

Annie  told  me  a  story — funny  story  I 
was  about  to  say — only  it  wasn't,  really. 
Before  George  came  into  her  life,  another 
beau  of  Ann's  presented  her  with  a  beau- 
tiful bracelet  and  she  loved  it.  When 
Ann  became  Mrs.  George  Brent,  and 
moved  into  his  Toluca  Lake  House,  he 
picked  on  that  bracelet  to  vent  his  jealous 
tizzies.  Finally,  one  day,  Ann  got  so  sick 
of  George's  unreasonable  envy  of  an  old 
love  token  that  when  he  made  his  usual 
fuss,  she  flung  open  the  window  and  hurled 
the  bracelet  out  into  Toluca  Lake.  That 
made  him  happy — for  a  few  minutes — but 
the  funny  part  was,  as  Annie  told  me — 

"I  expected  to  remember  where  I'd 
tossed  it,  then  dive  in  and  pick  it  up  later 
on.  But  darn  it,  I  forgot  where  I'd  thrown 
it!  I'm  still  diving  for  that  bracelet!" 

So  there  was  no  real  love  in  Ann  Sher- 


idan's  private  life  and  nothing  in  her 
career  much  except  the  Oomph  that 
nauseated  her,  until  she  .discovered  Steve. 

Ann  was  on  her  second  "strike" — the 
long  18  month  one — and  her  second  trip  to 
New  York  when  she  and  Steve  got  together. 
Steve  knew  just  what  to  do  about  the  girl 
he  fell  for.  He  hired  Thurman  Arnold,  the 
Washington  trust-buster,  for  Ann's  attor- 
ney, and  they  came  to  Hollywood. 

With  expert  legal  advice  and  power  be- 
hind her  at  last,  Ann  got  a  new  contract 
with  a  script-approval  clause.  She  came 
back  with  a  good  part  in  Nora  Prentiss, 
followed  up  with  The  Unfaithful.  Ann  won 
some  respect,  at  last,  from  her  bosses.  She 
had  a  real  man  behind  her  to  demand  it. 
When  the  biggest  chance  of  her  screen 
career  came  up,  Ann  could  grab  it. 

I'm  talking  about  Good  Sam,  in  which 
Ann  will  co-star  with  Gary  Cooper  for  Leo 
McCarey.  Somebody  else  cinched  Good 
Sam  for  Annie — Jean  Arthur.  Jean  was 
Leo's  first  choice  for  the  role;  but  she  had 
other  contracts  that  interfered. 

"I'll  tell  you  who'd  be  better  than  I," 
said  Jean  sincerely,  "Ann  Sheridan." 

Leo  leaped  on  that  casting  hint,  and  the 
deal  with  Warners  was  made. 

I'll  eat  my  hats  .  .  . 

I  never  saw  an  actress  so  enthused  about 
doing  a  picture  as  Ann  Sheridan  is  about 
Good  Sam.  If,  afterward,  she  isn't  right 
up  in  Ingrid  Bergman's  league,  I'm  set  to 
munch  some  of  those  hats  Annie  and  Steve 
are  always  sending  me  from  Lily  Dache's. 

I  couldn't  work  up  a  weak  worry  wart  if 
I  tried,  about  that  rosy  picture  of  top  star 
success  changing  Annie  Sheridan,  herself, 
one  smidgin.  Her  best  friends  are  her 
hairdresser  and  wardrobe  girl.  She's  stick- 
ing right  in  the  same  modest  ranchhouse 
she's  had  for  years  in  the  San  Fernando 
Valley.  She's  fixed  it  up  cozily,  Mexican 
style,  but  she  never  has  tossed  her  money 
around  and  still  doesn't. 

For  years  Ann  wanted  a  swimming  pool, 
and  the  other  day  she  got  a  contractor's 
bid.  "Twenty-five  thousand  dollars!"  Annie 
told  me  indignantly.  "Did  I  use  Up  all  my 
old  Mexican  cuss  words  at  that!" 

What  she  told  that  contractor  was,  "I  can 
still  walk  down  the  street  and  swim  at 
Ray's.  No  thanks."  Ray  is  Ray  Hendorf, 
her  cameraman,  and  another  long-time  pal. 

There's  one  way  Ann  Sheridan  has 
changed  since  she  fell  in  love  with  Steve 
Hannagan.  It's  trite — but  she's  blossomed. 
She's  been  sharpened  up,  polished  in  every 
way  by  the  life  Steve  introduced  her  to. 
Annie  used  to  be  quiet  and  uncommunica- 
tive. After  a  picture,  she  always  ducked 
out  for  Mexico,  where  she  felt  at  home, 
being  a  Texas  border  girl  and  speaking 
Spanish  like  a  native.  She  used  to  live  in 
cotton  dresses,  peon  skirts,  slacks  and  sport 
clothes.  Today  she's  as  smartly  a  dressed 
girl  as  ever  tripped  down  Fifth  Avenue. 

She's  met  all  the  big  newspaper  men; 
Steve's  friends — Walter  Winchell,  Len 
Lyons,  Sherman  Billingsley,  Morton  Dow- 
ney— are  hers,  too.  Her  home  away  from 
home  is  the  Stork  Club  and  Twenty-One. 
She's  dropped  her  shyness  for  a  poise  that's 
very  becoming. 

Ann  sat  at  my  table  not  long  ago  at  a 
Newspaper  Publishers  convention.  One  of 
the  publishers'  wives  had  an  autograph 
book  and  asked  Annie  for  her  signature. 
"Oh,  good,"  smiled  Ann,  "here,  let  me  get 
you  some  more."  So  up  she  hopped  and 
toured  the  big  room  to  the  rest  of  the 
Hollywood  celebrities,  collecting  auto- 
graphs for  the  happy  lady.  Ann  Sheridan 
could  never  have  done  that  in  the  years 
before  she  met  Steve.  I  wouldn't  say  she's 
caught  Steve's  expansive,  friendly  person- 
ality, exactly.  I  think  it  was  always  there. 
But  Steve  brought  it  out  in  Ann.  She  can 
match  him  now,  story  for  story,  and  when 


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that  pair  gather  at  my  house  with  Babe 
Blum,  Jack  Benny's  sister-in-law,  and 
Ann's  best  friend,  and  a  party  of  others, 
she  keeps  us  in  stitches. 

When  Steve's  in  town,  they're  at  all  the 
Hollywood  parties  and  one  of  the  most 
swarmed  about  pairs  there.  When  Steve's 
out  of  town,  Annie  walks  alone.  He's  not 
only  her  best  but  her  only  boy  friend. 

Ann  and  Steve  necessarily  carry  on  a 
long-distance  romance.  There's  a  busy 
wire  from  Hollywood  to  wherever  Steve 
happens  to  be.  Last  summer,  Ann  visited 
Steve's  country  place  near  New  Milford, 
Connecticut,  up  on  Candlewood  Lake, 
where  Steve  likes  to  get  away  to  fish  and 
boat.  I'd  heard  that  Annie  busied  herself 
painting  green  shamrocks  on  the  trees, 
barn  door,  and  even  the  rocks  around 
Steve's  place,  but  she  assures  me  that  was 
a  gross  fabrication. 

"I  kept  busy  painting  them  out,"  ex- 
plained Annie.  "Steve's  former  wife  put 
them  there,"  she  laughed. 

I  knew  I  could  ask  Annie  the  biggest 
question  I  had  back  in  my  mind  and  get 
an  honest  answer.  So  before  she  bustled 
off  to  run  her  friend's  daughter's  wedding, 
I  asked  her  what  about  her  own. 

"Why  don't  you  and  Steve  Hannagan  get 
married?"  I  said,  just  like  that.  I  knew 
they  were  thoroughly  in  love,  had  been  for 
five  years  or  more.  I  knew  they  were  both 
legally  free.  I  knew,  too,  that  Ann,  raised 
a  hard-shelled  Baptist  in  Texas,  had 
switched  to  the  Catholic  faith,  Steve's  re- 
ligion— although  she'd  done  that  before  she 
ever  heard  of  Hannagan.  There  were  no 
real  barriers  that  I  could  see  to  a  perfect 
match.  But  I  felt  Ann  would  tell  me 
straight.   She  did. 

"Why  marry,"  Annie -asked  me  back, 
"and  spoil  a  perfect  friendship?"  Her 
brown  eyes  were  serious,  her  smile  pleas- 
ant but  firm.  "Maybe  it's  something  I  can't 
explain,"  she  said,  "but  I've  had  two  tries 
at  marriage  and  two  unhappy  experiences. 
Maybe  marriage  isn't  for  me.  Why  try 
again  and  risk  spoiling  the  best  friend- 
ship I've  ever  known?" 

I'm  not  Dorothy  Dix.  I  haven't  an  an- 
swer to  that — except  maybe  the  old  stand- 
by that  "the  third  time's  the  charm."  But 
too  many  emotions,  feelings,  intricate  per- 
sonality makeups  figure  in — and  you  can 
add  the  complications  of  two  careers.  I'm 
only  sure  about  one  thing  when  I  look  at 
Ann  Sheridan  and  Steve  Hannagan.  That 
is  that  I  like  'em.  I  wish  them  the  most  of 
the  best,  always.  I  think  they'll  have  it, 
too.    In  fact,  I  think  they  already  have. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

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started  talking  to 
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standing  near  me. 
During  the  con- 
versation I  learned 
that  she  was  a 
chorus  girl.  After 
waiting  for  quite 
some  time  without 
seeing  the  movie  star,  I  decided  to  go 
home,  but  not  without  an  autograph. 
I  asked  the  chorus  girl  for  her  auto- 
graph, remarking  that  some  day  she, 
too,  might  be  famous.  Laughing,  she 
signed  her  name.  When  I  got  home  I 
showed  the  autograph  to  my  mother 
and  she  asked,  "Who  is  Jan  Peters?" 
It  was  only  a  year  and  a  half  later 
that  I  discovered  who  she  was  .  .  . 
none  other  than  June  Allyson! 

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MINE,  ALL  MINE 

(Continued  from  page  38) 


"Our  physical!" 

Frantically,  she  phoned  Johnnie.  "Ask 
your  dentist,"  he  suggested.  "He'll  know 
where  to  send  us." 

The  dentist  did.  He  made  an  appoint- 
ment for  them  right  away  with  a  doctor 
friend  of  his. 

"But  how  about  my  teeth?"  said  Kath- 
ryn.  "I  can't  get  married  before  my  teeth 
have  been  cleaned!" 

"You  relax,"  said  the  dentist.  "I'll  wait 
for  you  in  my  office  until  you've  had  your 
test." 

All  that  accomplished,  the  future  bride 
slept  soundly  on  Tuesday  night.  On 
Wednesday,  Sidney  Guilaroff  made  magic 
with  her  hair  and  when  she  returned 
home  Johnnie  was  there,  looking  smug. 

"I  have  two  rooms  at  the  Rancho  Los 
Laureles  Lodge,"  he  said.  ""And  a  Dr. 
Gray  will  perform  the  ceremony  on  Friday 
at  the  Church  of  the  Wayfarer." 

Two  rooms  instead  of  three  meant  that 
Alice  couldn't  go  along,  but  she  received 
the  news  resignedly.  Cecil,  Kathryn's 
maid,  took  some  calming  down,  though. 

"How  can  you  go  off,  Miss  Grayson,  and 
be  married  without  me?"  she  cried. 

Kathryn  sighed.  "I'm  beginning  to 
wonder  how  I  can  go  off  and  get  married 
at  all."  That  night,  she  went  for  her  final 
fitting,  and  arrived  home  afterward  to  find 
the  house  jammed  with  -family  and  friends, 
gathered  for  the  combined  bachelor  party. 

At  midnight,  the  phone  rang.  It  was 
Maureen  O'Hara  with  bad  news.  Her 
brother-in-law  had  met  with  a  fatal  acci- 
dent in  Mississippi  that  night,  and  Will 
was  to  fly  East  the  next  morning. 

"I  don't  know  if  I  can  make  the  wed- 
ding," she  told  Kathryn.  "I  may  go  East, 
myself,  and  won't  know  until  tomorrow 
some  time." 

Thursday  morning,  Alice  showed  up 
laden  with  huge  boxes  containing  the 
wedding  gown.  She  also  brought  with  her 
a  scantily  packed  suitcase,  because  if 
Maureen  couldn't  attend,  Alice  would  have 
to  stand  for  Kathryn. 

At  noon,  Maureen  called  to  tell  them 
she  was  flying  to  Mississippi. 

Cecil  watched  enviously,  as  Alice  got 
ready,  this  time  really  to  go  along. 

"I  don't  know  how  Miss  Grayson  is 
going  to  get  married  without  me,"  she 
wailed. 

the  take-off  ... 

At  three  o'clock  they  were  off,  Kathryn 
and  Johnnie  in  the  front  seat  and  Alice 
and  the  luggage  in  back,  and  until  ten 
o'clock  when  they  arrived  at  Carmel,  the 
front  seat  contingent  sang  lustily,  and 
beautifully. 

"You  might  think,"  Alice  said,  "that  you 
two  were  happy  about  this  whole  thing." 

At  the  Rancho  Los  Laureles,  a  former 
hunting  lodge  in  the  Carmel  Valley,  the 
trio  piled  out,  registered,  and  tottered  in 
exhaustion  to  their  rooms. 

The  wedding  day  dawned  clear  and 
bright.  Johnnie  was  up  early,  attending  to 
details,  and  arranging  for  an  additional 
room,  which  meant  Joe  Kirkwood,  when 
be  arrived  that  day,  would  find  himself 
accommodated  for  the  night.  Kathryn 
slept  until  almost  noon,  and  after  putting 
up  her  hair,  joined  Johnnie  on  the  lawn 
for  a  game  of  croquet. 

A  guest  of  the  ranch  looked  on  won- 
deringly.  "How  can  you  play  croquet  on 
your  wedding  day?" 

Kathryn  shrugged.  "Might  as  well.  We 
have  to  wait  for  our  best  man  to  arrive 
anyway,  and  the  friend  who's  to  give  me 


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A. 

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A. 

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WHY  DOES  HE  PULL  AWAY 
FROM  HER  TOUCH? 


If  her  husband  avoids  her  "love  pats". . .  caresses . . .  the  answer 
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102 


away  at  the  ceremony." 

"But  aren't  you  nervous?"  the  woman 
persisted. 

Kathryn  smiled  grandly.  "I've  never 
been  nervous  in  my  life,"  she  said. 

Bob  Armstrong  arrived  in  time  to  join 
them  for  lunch,  a  casual  affair  except  for 
a  hungry  cat  with  a  table-hopping  com- 
plex. When  Joe  arrived,  he  and  Johnny 
headed  straight  for  the  ping-pong  table. 
Alice  was  beginning  to  have  butterflies. 
She  consulted  her  notes. 

"It  says  here,"  she  commented,  "that 
you  are  due  in  town  for  a  rehearsal  with 
the  minister  at  4  o'clock.  And  it  is  now  3. 
And  you  have  to  go  to  Monterey  for  your 
license.  Small  matters,  but  I  thought  I'd 
mention  them." 

Even  that  wouldn't  have  started  them, 
but  Joe  remembered  that  he  had  left  his 
tuxedo  at  the  airport.  Would  Johnnie  be 
good  enough  to  pick  it  up?" 

"You  and  your  two  heads,"  said  Johnnie. 

So  the  four  of  them,  plus  a  few  friends 
Joe  had  brought  along,  piled  into  John- 
nie's new  car  and  maneuvered  the  curving 
valley  road  at  sixty  miles  an  hour.  Kath- 
ryn and  Alice  shut  their  eyes,  as  they  took 
a  hairpin  curve  at  50.  Then  Kathryn 
spoke.  "If  I  ever  divorce  you,  Johnnie 
Johnston,  it  will  be  because  of  your  driv- 
ing," she  said.  "You're  not  flying  a  jet, 
you  know."  She  gripped  the  dashboard 
as  they  swung  around  another  turn. 
"Who's  the  beneficiary  in  your  insurance?" 

"All  taken  care  of,  my  girl.  Westwood's 
Cat  Hospital." 

"What  I  want  to  know,"  Bob  said,  "is 
why  you  are  marrying  this  character, 
Katie." 

"He  plays  a  good  golf  game.  He  can 
teach  me." 

"Then  you  should  have  married  me," 
said  Joe,  who's  a  golf  pro. 

"She  preferred  quality  to  quantity,"  said 
Johnnie. 

The  banter  helped  ease  their  nerves, 
and  they  went  first  to  Monterey  to  pick  up 
their  license. 

"I've  done  everything  to  discourage 
her."  Johnnie  told  the  clerk,  as  he  kissed 
Kathryn  lightly  on  the  forehead.  Then: 
"Mine,  mine,  mine!"  he  said  dramatically. 

"Oh,  brother!"  said  Katie. 

waiting  at  the  church  .  .  . 

Came  the  trip  to  the  airport,  and  then 
arrival  at  the  church,  one  hour  late  for 
rehearsal.  Dr.  Gray  was  a  young  man 
endowed  with  patience,  however.  He  ex- 
plained the  wedding  procedure  and  they 
went  through  it  perfectly. 

They  picked  up-  the  flowers  at  a  local 
shop,  and  drove  back  to  the  ranch.  It 
was  inevitable  then  that  Johnnie  and  Joe 
should  plunge  into  a  game  of  gin  rummy, 
a  pastime  in  which  they've  indulged  for 
years,  and  in  which  Johnnie  has  beaten 
Joe  only  once.  Doggedly,  he  suggests 
another  game  at  every  opportunity. 

"Fool,"  said  Joe,  as  they  flopped  on  the 
bed  and  Johnnie  dealt  the  cards  grimly. 

Kathryn  looked  dismally  at  Alice.  "Shall 
we  engage  in  a  game  of  whist?" 

"Let's  be  sensible,"  said  Alice.  "Make 
it  gin  rummy." 

At  seven,  Johnnie  ordered  a  bucket  of 
champagne,  and  Alice  drank  hers  be- 
tween glances  at  her  watch. 

"I  apologize  for  seeming  like  a  bore," 
she  said,  "but  it's  7:30,  the  wedding's  set 
for  nine,  and  we  haven't  had  dinner  or 
dressed.  It  takes  a  half-hour  to  get  into 
town.    And  Katie  takes  an  hour  to  dress." 

Katie  took  more  than  an  hour.  When 
she  stepped  out  of  her  shower  and  looked 
at  her  face  in  the  mirror,  she  gasped. 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?"  she  said. 

"My  face  is  red  as  a  beet." 

"It  just  might  be  nerves,"  said  Alice. 

"I  have  never — ■" 


"I  know,"  Alice  interrupted.  "You've 
never  been  nervous  in  your  life." 

When  Kathryn  tried  to  put  on  her  veil 
before  her  dress,  she  realized  the  awful 
truth.  She  was  nervous.  She  fell  apartj 
"Alice,  where  are  my  shoes?  Oh,  dear, 
Alice,  pin  me.  What's  the  matter  with  my 
hair?  It  won't  go  right.  Oh,  dear.  Alice,, 
zip  me.    Oh,  dear." 

Johnnie  was  no  help.  Already  dressed,1! 
he  stood  outside  the  window  and  heckledj 

"Hurry  up,  funnyface." 

"Be  quiet!"  screamed  Alice,  vainly 
struggling  with  the  zipper  in  the  bodice.! 
"Katie,  please — take  a  deep  breath." 

"I  can't.    I  keep  panting.    Oh,  dear." 

Johnnie  gave  up  and  went  over  to  Joe's 
room.  Joe  had  lost  a  shirt  stud  and,  in 
bending  down  to  look  for  it,  had  popped, 
again  and  lost  another.  He  was  com-, 
pletely  undone.  Johnnie  tried  to  fix  Joe's; 
tie. 

"If  you'll  keep  your  arms  out  of  the 
way,  you  idiot,  I'll  be  able  to  accomplish 
something." 

The  wedding  party  left  for  the  church,; 
again  just  one  hour  late,  in  two  separate, 
cars.  Adhering  rigidly  to  convention, 
Katie  had  insisted  that  Johnnie  be  kepti 
from  seeing  her  wedding  dress  until  the; 
last  moment.  It  was  worth  the  final  effect, 
for  her  satin  gown  was  beautiful.  Similar! 
to  a  dress  she  wore  in  The  Kissing  Bandit.\ 
it  had  an  exquisite  veil  of  French  lace 
draped  from  a  headpiece  sprinkled  with 
orange  blossoms.  The  veil  hung  down  her 
back,  and  then  looped  over  the  front  of 
the  skirt,  where  it  was  pinned  with  a 
small  bouquet  of  orange  blossoms. 

Dr.  Gray  was  ready  and  waiting  for 
them  at  the  church,  and  the  wedding  went 
off  nicely — unless,  of  course,  anyone  con- 
centrated on  Joe,  who  was  literally  para- 
lyzed. 

Afterward,  outside  the  church,  Johnnie 
had  to  wipe  the  tears  from  Katie's  eyes,  j 

They  drove  to  the  Del  Monte  Lodge, 
where,  replete  with  champagne  and  wed- 
ding cake,  the  reception  in  the  Indian 
Room  took  place. 

They  sat  in  a  circle  before  the  fireplace, 
relaxed  and  happy,  and  talked  over  the 
wedding  and  future  plans. 

"Of  course,"  Kathryn  said,  "  I  wasn't 
nervous." 

Johnnie  looked  at  her  for  a  long  mo- 
ment. "My  dear  Mrs.  Johnston.  I  hesi- 
tate to  contradict  you,  but  when  Dr.  Gray  ! 
had -finished,  and  it  was  time  for  me  to! 
kiss  you,  you  turned  around  and  started 
to  run  toward  the  back  of  the  church.  I 
had  to  grab  your  arm  and  pull  you  back." 

"I  did?  Really?"  She  looked  back 
at  him.  "That  was  very  silly  of  me,  Mr. 
Johnston.  I  won't '  give  you  any  further 
trouble." 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Tony  Martin  was 
appearing  at  the 
Chicago  Theater. 
My  sister  and  I 
decided  to  go  into 
toion  just  to  catch 
a  glimpse  of  him. 
No  sxich  luck.  The 
following  day  we 
sau)  a  newspaper 
photo  of  Tony 
Martin  walking 
doion  State  and  Madison  Streets.  He 
went  unrecognized.  To  our  great  sur- 
prise we  saw  ourselves  pictured  near 
him.  This,  after  we  had  searched  all 
afternoon  in  vain  for  a  peek  at  our 
idol! 

Anna  Voltatorni 
Chicago  Heights,  Illinois 


"I  WILL  BE  YOUR  SON!" 

(Continued  from  page  42) 


Grandfather.    Grandfather's  teaching  him 
j  baseball,  and  for  hours  on  end  they'll  stand 
there,  so  many  feet  apart,  the  small  boy 
and  the  tall  silver-haired  man,  pitching  the 
j  ball  back  and  forth. 

I     Language  still  forms  a  barrier  between 
j  Pablo  and  his  parents.  But  they  do  well 
j  enough,   considering  that  Buenas  tardes 
was  all  the  Spanish  John  and  Evelyn  knew 
J  when  they  got  to  Mexico,  and  all  the 
English  Pablo  knew  was  nothing.  They 
use  a  lot  of  pantomime.    Pablo  panto- 
mimes, anyway,  whatever  the  language. 
Un  momento,  por  favore,  or  "When  mo- 
ment, eef  you  please — "  his  forefinger  cuts 
the  same  vivid  little  arc,  and  either  way 
you  stop  and  look  and  listen. 

Mornings,  he  studies  English  with  a 
tutor.  Evenings,  he  pops  new  words  at 
appropriate  moments.  For  instance,  the 
dessert  comes  on.  "Ah,  wahnderrful," 
says  Pablo,  pulling  his  mouth  into  gravity 
while  his  eyes  dance.  Sometimes  he  gets 
mixed  up.  Stretching  himself  on  the  floor, 
he'll  announce:  "Me  crrazy!"  They  have  to 
resort  to  the  dictionary  to  clear  up  the 
radical  difference  between  crazy  and  lazy. 

But  it  won't  be  long  now.  He's  already 
talking  in  sentences:  "I  go  frand's  house." 
His  teacher  reports  that,  once  the  language 
is  licked,  he'll  be  able  to  enter  school  in 
his  own  age-class. 

hidden  treasure  ... 

So  far  as  Evelyn's  concerned,  you  can 
call  Pablo  the  Treasure  of  the  Sierra 
Madre.  The  Hustons  discovered  him  in 
Michoacan,  where  John  was  making  the 
picture  of  the  same  name  with  his 
father  and  Humphrey  Bogart.  Evelyn  and 
Lauren  Bacall  went  along  to  be  with  their 
husbands.  They  stayed  at  San  Jose  de 
Purua,  a  health  resort  set  in  the  midst  of 
gorgeous  tropical  country.  The  girls  found 
loafing  more  attractive  than  the  hot  loca- 
tion sets,  but  every  once  in  a  while  they'd 
say,  "Coax  us,"  and  go  along  with  their 
working  men.  On  one  such  occasion,  in 
the  nearby  village  of  Jungapeo,  Pablo 
made  his  first  appearance. 

This  was  dramatized  by  a  burro,  who 
got  bored  sticking  around  and  wandered 
off  on  business  of  his  own.  When  they 
tried  to  nab  him,  he  went  flying  up  the 
mountainside,  with  what  looked  like  a 
pint-sized  Mercury  in  pursuit — up  and 
up  till  boy  and  beast  seemed  to  vanish. 
Ten  minutes  later  they  were  back,  the 
burro  no  more  doleful  than  usual,  the  boy 
beaming.  John  hired  him  on  the  spot  as 
general  handyman. 

This  seemed  delightful  to  Pablo,  but 
also  natural.  Half  the  village  was  working 
for  the  Americans,  why  not  Pablo?  In  a 
community  where  four-year-olds  look 
after  babies  or  bring  in  a  dozen  donkeys, 
and  no  nonsense  about  it;  you're  a  man  at 
twelve. 

Everyone  fell  for  Pablo.  His  laughter 
was  so  infectious,  his  eyes  so  alive  with 
interest  in  all  that  went  on,  and  yet,  he 
had  a  poise  and  breeding  that  never  al- 
lowed him  to  push  himself.  Once  he'd 
brought  your  chair  or  your  cool  drink, 
he'd  slip  back  to  the  sidelines. 

One  Sunday,  the  village  gave  a  fiesta 
for  the  Americans — with  a  barbecue  sand- 
wiched between  an  afternoon  rodeo  and 
dancing  at  night.  Pablo  was  there.  Eve- 
lyn's eyes  kept  following  him.  "John,  I've 
got  to  find  out  about  that  child — " 

John  went  for  an  interpreter.  They 
found  out  among  other  things  that  Pablo 
was  an  orphan.  He  didn't  put  it  that 
way.    In  Spanish,  it  was  the  phrase  a 


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bachelor  might  use,  or  an  old  man  who'd 
outlived  his  family.  "I  walk  alone,"  said 
Pablo.  There  was  no  self-pity  in  it,  only 
simplicity  and  a  touch  of  honest  pride. 

"Twelve,"  observed  Evelyn  later,  "and 
he  walks  alone."  She  and  John  had 
talked  of  adopting  children.  "If  we  really 
want  to,  there's  the  kid  to  adopt — " 

"I  wish  we  could,"  said  John,  and  there 
they  dropped  it,  not  being  the  kind  to 
lament  over  impossibilities. 

Next  thing,  Evelyn's  back  in  Hollywood 
to  start  The  Mating  of  Millie  for  Columbia, 
leaving  the  others  at  work  in  Michoacan. 
Then  comes  word  from  John  that  the  pic- 
ture's finished,  and  they've  started  home. 
Then  a  call  from  Mexico  City. 

"I'm  going  to  be  two  days  late — " 

"Oh,  John!  It's  been  two  weeks 
already — ■" 

"I  know,  but  this  is  very  important — " 

"Can't  you  tell  me?" 

"No,  it's  a  big  surprise — " 

Two  days  later,  Evelyn  met  the  plane. 
She  saw  John  first,  he  was  bigger.  Be- 
side him  walked  a  small  figure,  face  half- 
hidden  under  a  large  sombrero.  The 
sombrero  was  John's.  He'd  clapped  it  on 
Pablo's  head,  partly  in  fun,  partly  to  get 
rid  of  it.  For  a  moment  Evelyn  stared  un- 
believing. Then  the  hat  and  the  legs 
below  it  came  catapulting  toward  her. 
What  did  she  do?  What  would  any 
mother  do? 

"I  grabbed  him,"  says  Evelyn,  "and  I 
gobbled  him  up — " 

As  it  turned  out,  the  impossible  had 
proved  quite  simple. 

One  rainy  night  after  she'd  left,  John 
sat  talking  to  the  Mexican  censor  on  the 
picture,  a  man  of  heart  and  learning,  head 
of  the  Michoacan  Museum.  Sunk  in  a 
chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  room,  Pablo 
devoured  B.  Traven's  Treasure  of  the  Sier- 
ra Madre  in  Spanish. 

"Be  nice  to  adopt  a  kid  like  that,"  said 
John. 

the  way  opens  .  .  . 

The  censor's  eyes  went  to  the  boy  and- 
back.  "Michoacan,"  he  said,  "is  the  one 
Mexican  state  where  an  orphan's  guard- 
ianship reverts  to  the  local  government.  If 
you  mean  what  you  say,  it  might  be  ar- 
ranged." 

"Let's  arrange  it  then." 

They  called  Pablo  over.  "Here  is  a 
matter  which  concerns  you,"  the  censor 
explained.  "This  gentleman  and  his  wife 
wish  to  take  you  as  their  child.  It  means 
leaving  Jungapeo  and  Mexico.  It  means 
going  to  the  States,  and  a.  whole  new  kind 
of  life.  It  is  something  for  you  to  consider 
and  decide — " 

Pablo  considered.  Never  having  stepped 
beyond  the  confines  of  his  small  village, 
the  States  meant  little  to  him.  The  lady 
and  gentleman  seemed  to  mean  a  good 
deal. 

"These  people  are  willing  to  be  my 
parents?"  Obviously,  walking  alone  was 
fine  if  you  had  to.  Parents,  on  the  other 
hand,  were  a  gift  from  above.  "I  will  be 
their  son?" 

"You  will  be  their  son." 

The  big  eyes  looked  steadily  into  John's 
for  a  moment.  "Yes,"  said  Pablo.  "I 
should  like  that  very  much." 

Everyone  liked  it.  Cutting  red  tape,  the 
local  authorities  got  their  part  done  in 
two  days.  The  censor  flew  to  Mexico  City 
to  help  with  details.  Before  John  left, 
Pablo  was  ward  of  the  Hustons  by  Mexican 
law. 

If  all  this  seems  sudden,  if  you're 
wondering  how  John  could  be  sure  that 
Evelyn  really  wanted  the  boy,  it's  be- 
cause you  don't  know  the  Hustons.  They 
live  spontaneously.  Three  weeks  after 
their  first  meeting,  they  were  married. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

During  the  time 
of  the  War  Bond 
Drives,  one  of  the 
biggest  shows  ever 
held  in  Dallas  took 
place  in  the  Cotton 
Bowl,  and  there 
was  an  audience  of 
several  thousand 
people.  While  we 
were  waiting  to  go 
on,  Ginny  Simms 

amazed  me  by  pacing  back  and  forth, 
saying  nervously,  "Oh,  I  just  know 
I'll  do  something  wrong!  And  in  front 
of  all  those  people!"  Her  first  job  was 
to  lead  the  audience  in  "God  Bless 
America."  She  started  ofj  too  high 
and  my  heart  sank  as  I  heard  her 
miss  a  still  higher  note.  But  Ginny 
laughed,  joked  about  it,  and  started 
over  again.  She  handled  the  whole 
situation  so  smoothly  that  no  one 
guessed  she  was  scared  to  death. 
Thanks,  Ginny,  for  the  lesson  in  poise 
you  taught  me. 

Margaret  McDaniel, 
Waco,  Texas 


Indecision  irks  them;  they  take  what 
seems  good  in  life  where  they  find  it. 
When  Evelyn  said,  "There's  the  kid  to 
adopt,"  John  knew  she  wasn't  just  tossing 
words  around.  Both  recognize  quality 
when  they  see  it — 

'In  which  connection,  Evelyn  tells  a 
story  that  has  nothing,  yet  everything,  to 
do  with  Pablo. 

One  day,  she  went  location-hunting 
with  John.  Driving  ahead  of  the  rest,  they 
stopped  at  a  place  whose  magnificent  trees 
shaded  an  adobe  hut,  ideal  for  the  scene 
John  had  in  mind.  Out  stepped  an  old 
man  in  serape  and  sombrero,  with  the 
face  of  a  patriarch. 

"Buenas  tardes,"  they  chorused. 

"Buenas  tardes,"  he  answered,  and  stood 
smiling  down  at  them,  since  it  was  clear 
they  had  no  more  Spanish  to  offer.  The 
others  came  up.  It  was  explained  to  the 
old  man  that  these  strangers  wished  to 
photograph  his  land  for  its  beauty,  and 
would  be  glad  to  pay  for  the  privilege.  He 
mounted  his  doorstep,  and,  with  a  courte- 
ous gesture  that  took  them  all  in,  made  a 
little  speech. 

"I  am  poor,  therefore  money  is  important 
to  me.  But  other  things  are  more  im- 
portant. I  see  my  land  with  eyes  different 
from  yours.  That  you  who  have  traveled 
so  widely  should  find  it  beautiful,  does 
me  great  honor.  The  land  is  at  your 
service." 

For  graciousness  and  dignity  you 
couldn't  beat  it. 

"That  man  was  no  kin  of  Pablo's," 
Evelyn  says,  "but  he  might  have  been. 
They  come  of  the  same  stock.  Pablo  was 
the  son  of  people  like  that." 

On  the  way  home,  Pablo's  poise  was 
shaken  only  once.  Naturally,  he  was  all 
eyes  and  ears  and  attention.  The  plane, 
the  crowds,  the  shower-bath  he'd  have 
turned  on  and  off  all  day  if  John  hadn't 
pulled  him  out,  the  shoes  that  cost 
pesos!  These  were  all  wonders,  but  un- 
derstandable. He  kept  his  composure.  The 
only  thing  that  threw  him  was  the  hotel 
elevator. 

They  crowd  into  this  small  little  room 
with  many  others.  A  strange  performance. 
But  it  seems  all  right  with  his  father,  so 
it's  all  right  with  him.  The  door  closes — 
and  opens  on  a  whole  new  change  of 
scenery.  Also  peculiar.  They  go  to  their 
room,  wash  up,  and  come  out  again. 
Leading   Pablo   to   the    stairhead,  John 


points  down.  "Oh!"  squeals  Pablo,  reel- 
ing back  with  a  grand  gesture  as  the  truth 
hits  him.  In  that  small  little  room,  crowd- 
ed with  many  people,  they've  been  borne 
to  this  great  height.  When  the  small  little 
room  returns,  he  takes  an  enormous  stride 
over  the  crack  and  squats  promptly  in  a 
corner.  Father  or  no  father,  this  is  some- 
thing he  doesn't  trust. 

At  no  other  point  was  his  equilibrium 
upset.  When  they  took  him  home  from 
the  airport,  there  was  no  tearing  around 
to  touch  this  or  admire  that.  His  feeling 
seemed  to  be:  "This  is  your  house,  you've 
brought  me  here.  When  you  want  me  to 
see  it,  you'll  show  it  to  me."  That  first 
night  at  dinner,  faced  with  an  array  of 
silver,  he  watched  without  embarrass- 
ment, to  see  what  John  and  Evelyn  would 
do  and  followed  suit.  This  was  how  they 
ate  in  America.  Being  the  son  of  Amer- 
icans, he  would  now  eat  this  way. 

It  was  a  rule  he  seemed  to  adopt  from 
the  start.  The  week  he  arrived,  Evelyn 
couldn't  bear  him  out  of  her  sight,  and 
took  him  along  to  the  studio  where  seven 
different  kids  were  testing  with  her  for 
the  part  of  Tommy.  At  the  end  of  the 
scene,  each  kid  had  to  plant  kisses  all 
over  her  face.  Having  watched  it  seven 
times,  Pablo  must  have  reached  the  con- 
clusion that  this  was  how  children  kissed 
mothers  in  America.  He's  been  kissing 
Evelyn  that  way  ever  since.  She  hopes 
he'll  never  find  out  that  American  12-year- 
olds  consider  it  sissy  to  kiss  their  mothers 
at  all. 

To  Pablo,  John  and  Evelyn  are  as 
truly  his  parents  as  if  they'd  been  his 
parents  from  his  birth.  Their  home,  their 
friends  are  his.  It's  something  beautiful 
that's  happened  to  him,  he's  thankful  for  it, 
he  loves  them  dearly,  as  they  do  him,  and 
that's  that.  They're  all  relaxed  about  it. 
If  you're  bent  on  rubbing  the  Hustons  the 
wrong  way,  call  them  benefactors.  They'll 
tell  you  the  benefaction's  on  the  other  foot. 
They  know  what  the  coming  of  Pablo  has 
meant  to  them.  Whether  they've  done 
right  by  him  remains  to  be  seen. 

"How  can  you  tell?"  demands  Evelyn. 
"He  was  happy  down  there — the  best  ad- 
justed human  I've  ever  met.  It  must  have 
been  pretty  exciting  Saturday  nights, 
hanging  around  the  cantinas,  with  the 
dancing  and  music  and  even  the  brawls, 
and  no  mother  to  say  don't  go.  Maybe 
life's  dull  for  him  here.    So  he's  got  a 


"  'I  wanna  drink  of  water  I  wanna  drink  of  water' 
Do  you  suppose  I'll  get  any  sleep  this  winter?" 


bed,  and  he's  supposed  to  be  in  it  by  nine 
o'clock.  Where's  the  fun  in  that?  If 
John  said,  'Come  on,  let's  sleep  on  the 
lawn  tonight,  or  over  there  on  the  moun- 
tain across  the  way,'  I'm  sure  that  would 
make  perfect,  good  sense  to  Pablo.  He's 
a  child  of  nature.  We  Americans  are  full 
of  complexes  and  self-consciousness.  How 
do  I  know  we've  done  him  any  favor?" 

Meantime,  Pablo's  not  kicking.  Maybe 
the  comforts  don't  matter,  but  the  love 
does,  and  being  part  of  a  family.  While 
Mommy  and  Poppy  work,  he  keeps  his 
end  up  by  tending  the  lawn  after  lunch. 
He  still  finds  it  diverting  that  what  Mom- 
my and  Poppy  do  should  be  called  work. 
To  him,  the  studio  is  a  large  playground. 
People  sit  around.  Then  they  walk  into 
a  make-believe  room  and  chatter.  That's 
work?  Work  is  with  muscles  and  with 
callouses  on  your  hands.  Meantime,  he 
does  enjoy  the  few  movies  he's  seen. 
These  he  attends  with  three  friends. 
Manuel,  who  speaks  Spanish,  acts  as  in- 
terpreter. The  Hustons  have  it  in  mind 
to  adopt  a  brother  for  Pablo — -an  Amer- 
ican near  his  own  age. 

"I  envy  him,"  sighs  Evelyn,  "growing 
up  with  Pablo." 

Toward  Mommy,  Pablo  assumes  certain 
masculine  responsibilities.  Like  making 
her  rest  when  she's  tired.  Or  getting  up 
to  see  her  off  when  she  has  an  early  call. 
It's  also  his  job  to  pass  on  her  clothes. 
She'll  be  dressing  to  go  out,  with  Pablo 
watching  as  she  adds  the  finishing  touches. 

"Vairy  good,"  he'll  comment  on  a  new 
hairdo  or  dress,  and  sometimes,  "No — no 
good."  His  vocabulary  doesn't  run  to 
explaining  why  it's  no  good,  but  the  judg- 
ment's always  made  with  serene  finality. 

his  mother's  keeper  .  .  . 

About  smoking,  he  hasn't  quite  made 
up  his  mind.  Today  he'll  let  it  go,  tomor- 
row he'll  take  issue  with  it.  As  Mommy 
picks  up  a  cigarette,  she'll  find  the  finger 
wagging  to  and  fro.  "Okay  for  Poppy,  no 
good  for  Mommy." 

"You're  perfectly  right,"  she'll  agree, 
and  drop  it  back  in  the  box. 

This  pleases  him  no  end.  On  the  other 
hand,  he'd  dp  as  much  for  her.  His  single- 
minded  idea  is  to  give  them  pleasure.  For 
instance,  he  draws,  and  very  well,  too. 
Each  night  when  John  came  home,  Pablo 
would  have  a  drawing  to  show  him.  At 
first,  to  encourage  him,  John's  praise  was 
unreserved.  Then  he  grew  critical,  point- 
ed out  flaws.  Next  night,  no  drawing. 
Poppy  had  the  devil's  own  time,  explain- 
ing that  criticism  wasn't  active  loathing. 

Within  these  few  weeks,  Pablo's  grown 
to  be  more  of  a  kid.  Like  any  kid,  he 
loves  to  play  jokes.  Late  one  morning, 
Evelyn  found  him  in  bed. 

"What  goes  on  here?  You  should  have 
been  up  long  ago — "  She  pulled  off  the 
covers,  under  which  lay  Pablo,  fully 
dressed.  This  he  considered  the  rib  of 
the  ages. 

Like  any  kid,  he  hates  to  go  to  bed. 
"Jost  leetle  beet  more,"  he  pleads.  "Jost 
wahn  more  pool."  And  like  any  kid,  he 
can  be  a  pest.  This  doesn't  bother  his 
folks.  They  enjoy  seeing  the  years  drop 
off.  One  day  he  was  being  a  pest  as  they 
sat  round  the  swimming-pool,  teasing, 
monopolizing  the  conversation. 

"That  kid  needs  squelching,"  said  John, 
like  any  father.  He  picked  his  son  up, 
hauled  him  struggling  to  the  end  of  the 
diving-board,  and  dumped  him  in.  Though 
he  swims  well,  Pablo  had  never  jumped. 
Now  he  clambered  out  and,  without  a 
word  to  anyone,  ran  up  the  diving-board 
and  jumped,  himself. 

Then  his  face  appeared  at  the  pool's 
edge,  radiant  with  the  grin  which  had 
first  enchanted  them  both. 

"Good  boy  now?"  inquired  Pablo,  who 
no  longer  walks  alone. 


The  Ideal  Way  to  Reduce 

LOSE  FAT 

Lose  Pounds 
Lose  Inches 


MOOj 


IWI6MS1 


REDUCE 

In  the  Privacy  of  Your  Home 

WONDER  BATH 

Helps  you  to  relax  while  reducing.  LOSE 
WEIGHT  with  this  new,  easy,  pleasant, 
harmless  method.  No  more  tiring  exer- 
cises, no  more  laxatives 
or  drugs.  No  starvation 
diets.  You  just  take  a 
r  warm,  soothing,  comfort- 
ing WONDER  BATH, 
just  rest  and  relax  for 
15  minutes  this  healthful, 
pleasant  way.  By  follow- 
ing the  WONDER  BATH 
method,  you  will  be 
amazed  and  delighted  at  mimj- 
the  way  your  fat  and 
bulges  just  seem  to  melt 
away.  If  you  are  normally 
overweight  you  can  easily 
lose  pounds  and  inches. 
The  more  you  use  the 
WONDER  BATH  meth- 
od, the  more  weight  you 
lose.  This  is  the  easy, 
pleasant,  harmless  way 
used  by  the  most  expen- 
sive and  exclusive  Reduc- 
ing Salons.  This  is  the 
way  many  New  York  and 
Hollywood  stage,  screen 
and  radio  people  help  to 
keep  their  figures  slim, 
lovely  and  glamorous. 
You  may  now  say  good- 
bye to  your  heavy  waistline  and  hips 
and  those  unnecessary,  unsightly  bulges 
at  a  trifling  cost. 

The  WONDER  BATH  method  is  an 
amazing  new  way  to  reduce  super- 
fluous fatty  tissues  on  most  all  parts 
of  the  body. 

Fnpp  A  large  size  jar  of  Special  Formula 
fl  t  t  WONDER  Body  Cream  and  "FIG- 
URE BEAUTY"  will  be  included  absolutely  FREE 
with  your  order  for  WONDER  BATH.  To  achieve 
best  results,  this  Special  Formula  Body  Cream  should 
be  used  after  each  WONDER  BATH. 

10-DAY  NO-RISK  TRIAL 

Use  the  WONDER  BATH  method  for  10  days  at  our 
expense.  If  you  are  not  truly  delighted  with  your  loss 
of  weight,  if  you  don't  look  and  feel  better — return 
the  remaining  contents  and  your  money  will  be  re- 
funded in  full. 

ACADEMY  VITA  PRODUCTS  CO.,  Dept.  DM-12 
Academy  Building,  Newark  2,  N.  J. 
Please  send  me  postpaid.  60-day  supply  of  WONDER 
BATH  and  Free  Special  Formula  WONDER  Body 
Cream  with  "FIGURE  BEAUTY."  I  enclose  $5.00 
cash,  check  or  money  order.  If  I  am  not  100%  de- 
lighted, I  may  return  the  remaining  contents  within 
10  days  and  my  money  will  be  promptly  refunded. 


«AlVflJ 


NAME  

ADDRESS  

CITY  STATE  

C.O.D.  Orders.  Send  SI. 00  deposit.  Pay  postman 
balance  of  $4.00  plus  postage  and  C.O.D.  charges. 
Same  Money-Back  Guarantee. 


105 


THE  DAY  WAS  THANKSGIVING 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


so  much  else  crowding  in,  and  nothing  to 
remind  her  of  her  own  American  holiday. 
In  England  they  had  no  Thanksgiving. 
Naturally.  No  Pilgrim  Fathers,  no  Ply- 
mouth Rock,  no  Thanksgiving.  But  across 
the  sea  there'd  be  snow  in  New  Hamp- 
shire maybe,  and  if  not  snow,  then  that 
beautiful  zing!  in  the  air,  and  you'd  take 
a  walk  for  the  simple  pleasure  of  breath- 
ing it,  and  scuffing  the  leaves  underfoot, 
and  watching  clouds  scud  high  through  the 
blue  overhead.  Then  back  to  the  fire  roar- 
ing and  the  turkey  roasting  and  the  family 
gathered  round. 

Twisting,  she  flung  herself  face  down  on 
the  bed,  and  let  the  storm  of  misery  tear 
through  her. 

This  was  the  climax  of  what  had  started 
months  back. 

Over  a  period  of  time,  Bette  and '  her 
bosses  had  differed  on  the  subject  of  pic- 
tures. Who  was  right  and  who  wrong  is 
no  concern  of  this  story.  Let's  play  it 
cagey,  and  say  there  was  much  to  be  said 
on  both  sides. 

So  we  arrive  at  a  picture  called  The 
Man  with  the  Black  Hat,  which  nobody 
mentions  now,  and  we  touch  on  it  briefly 
only  because  of  its  part  in  advancing  the 
plot.  Against  every  instinct,  Bette  made 
it,  dusted  her  hands  off  and  decided  the 
next  one  would  have  to  be  good,  or  the 
law  of  averages  was  certainly  going  to  the 
dogs. 

Up  comes  the  next  one.  "This,"  said 
our  forthright  heroine,  "is  the  most  dia- 
bolically boring  script  I  have  ever  read." 

"It  is  nevertheless  the  script  of  your  next 
picture." 

So  Bette  walked  off  the  lot. 

two  irresistible  objects 

Now  there's  nothing  phenomenal  in  that. 
Stars  walk  off  lots  every  Monday  and 
Thursday,  and  after  a  while  somebody 
makes  an  overture  and  the  star  comes 
back,  and  everything's  divine  again.  Only 
this  time  nobody  made  an  overture.  Firm 
in  the  right  as  God  gave  them  to  see  the 
right,  the  parties  of  both  parts  stuck  to 
their  guns.  Allowed  to  stay  off  the  screen 
for  months,  Bette's  position  grew  ridicu- 
lous. An  actress  who  wasn't  permitted  to 
act.  Not  to  mention  a  bank  account  bat- 
tered by  the  law  of  diminishing  returns. 

At  this  juncture,  a  producer  named  Top- 
litz  rushed  in  where  others  feared  to 
tread.  Would  Miss  Davis  make  a  picture 
in  England?  Miss  Davis  would  adore 
making  a  picture  in  England,  but  she  was, 
after  all,  under  contract  to  Warner 
Brothers. 

The  contract  was  studied  under  a  lens. 
The  consensus  of  opinion  was  that  in 
England  it  wouldn't  be  binding. 

"But  if  I'm  injuncted,'''  said  Bette,  "are 
you  willing  to  fight  it  in  the  English 
courts?" 

"If  you're  injuncted,"  Toplitz  agreed, 
"we'll  fight  it." 

Well  and  good.  Bette  packed.  But 
every  time  she  caught  sight  of  a  man  with 
papers,  she'd  duck.  On  the  advice  of  ex- 
perts, she  flew  to  Vancouver,  trained  across 
Canada,  sailed  from  a  Canadian  port.  By 
the  time  she  set  foot  on  English  soil,  men 
with  papers  had  lost  a  certain  sinister 
quality. 

Till  a  courteous  voice  at  her  elbow  said, 
"Miss  Davis?"  And  a  courteous  man  with 
a  paper  handed  it  to  her. 

Recovering  from  the  shock,  Bette's 
106  spirits  rose  to  the  challenge.    She'd  have 


had  the  thing  to  fight  sooner  or  later. 
Okay,  gentlemen,  let's  get  it  over  with. 

The  law  was  in  no  hurry.  First,  you 
waited  for  the  preliminary  hearing.  Then 
for  the  judge's  decision  as  to  whether  the 
case  was  worthy  of  trial.  It  was.  Then 
you  engaged  counsel.  Then  you  fooled 
around  two  months  more  till  the  case 
came  up. 

During  these  months  she  discovered  the 
little  inn  at  Rottingdean,  where  living  cost 
so  much  less  than  in  London.  Loneliness 
was  better  than  crowds  who  stared,  and 
newspaper  people  who  asked  questions 
you  wouldn't  have  answered,  even  if  your 
counsel  hadn't  warned  you  to  keep  quiet. 
Not  till  the  evening  before  the  trial  did  a 
slim,  gray-suited  figure  slip  into  a  London 
hotel  and  sign  the  register. 

"I  want  a  back  room,"  she  said,  "away 
from  the  street." 

That  sounded  nice  and  elegant,  as  if  one 
couldn't  endure  the  noise  of  traffic.  It 
was  nobody's  business  that  one  couldn't 
afford  a  front  room. 

The  trial  lasted  four  days.  Now,  even  in 
England,  where  journalism  is  supposed  to 
be  less  flamboyant  than  ours,  any  movie 
star  makes  news,  and  a  battling  movie 
star  is  good  for  headlines.  But  the  quiet 
girl  in  the  courtroom  proved  disappointing. 
The  press  craved  drama. 

All  Bette  wanted  at  the  end  of  the  day 
was  to  make  that  back  room,  and  stay 
there.  All  the  newshounds  wanted  was 
news.  Morning  and  evening  they  waylaid 
her.  First  they  were  baffled,  then  they 
grew  desperate.  Failing  everything  else, 
they  picked  on  her  clotheSi  Ah  Holly- 
wood, ah  luxury,  ah  purple  and  fine  linen 
— ought  to  be  color  there.  But  Bette  wore 
the  same  gray  suit  with  a  change  of 
blouses. 

"How  about  another  outfit  tomorrow, 
Miss  Davis?" 

"Sorry,  this  is  the  only  suit  I  brought 
along." 

From  this,  some  enterprising  scribbler — 
probably  a  husband — whipped  up  a  feature 
story,  slanted  at  wives.  "Bette  Davis,"  he 
chided,  "wears  the  same  suit  in  court 
every  day.    Who  are  you  to  want  more?" 

She  couldn't  get  back  to  Rottingdean 
fast  enough.  There  she  waited  again,  but 
with  a  difference.  Now  everything  hung 
on  the  judgment  of  one  man.    A  kindly 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Hollywood  Boule- 
vard was  crowded 
with  cars  and  pe- 
destrians, and  my 
family  and  I  added 
to  the  confusion 
by  trying  to  make 
a  left-hand  turn 
in  our  ancient 
jalopy.  We  were 
right  in  the  mid- 
dle of  a  beautiful 
jam  and  traffic  was  being  held  up  in 
both  directions.  Suddenly,  a  tall  man 
stepped  out  into  the  road  and,  like  a 
very  good-natured  policeman,  held 
the  pedestrians  back  and  cleared  the 
way  for  us.  He  then  bowed  deeply  to 
us,  and  with  a  flourish  of  his  arm, 
motioned  us  through.  As  we  gratefully 
completed  the  turn,  we  recognized 
our  benefactor.  It  was  the  screen's 
beloved  "butler,"  Arthur  Treacher. 
Pat  Adams 

Los  Angeles,  California 


man — that  was  clear  from  his  manner.  But 
kindliness  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  law. 

At  first,  things  had  seemed  to  be  going 
her  way.  Then  some  legal  twist  had  sent 
them  in  the  other  direction.  Now,  where 
the  balance  would  fall  was  anyone's  guess. 

Don't  think,  she  cried  to  herself,  try  not 
to  think  of  anything,  put  your  mind  to 
sleep.  But  you  couldn't  keep  the  surge  of 
agonizing  suspense  from  rising  every  so 
often  to  suffocate  you. 

Toplitz  phoned  the  day  before  the  ver- 
dict was  to  be  read.  "Don't  you  want  to 
come  up  to  London  to  hear  it?" 

"That,"  said  Bette,  "is  the  last  thing  in 
the  world  I  want." 

"Very  well,  then,  I'll  phone  you.  Keep 
your  chin  up." 

Good  old  Toplitz,  good  old  England, 
keep  your  chin  up.  How  did  you  keep 
your  chin  up  when  you  were  a  mass  of 
quivering  nerves?  How  would  she  ever 
get  through  this  night? 

People  are  tougher  than  they  give  them- 
selves credit  for.  She  got  through  the 
night  and  some  hours  of  the  following  day, 
and  across  the  room  to  the  'phone  when 
Toplitz  called. 

"I'm  sorry,  the  verdict's  against  us." 

At  first,  the  blow  had  been  cushioned. 
Before  she'd  really  taken  it  in,  Toplitz  had 
added:  "But  I  think  we  can  still  make  the 
picture.  I'm  coming  right  down  to  talk  it 
over  with  you." 

She  hung  on  to  that.  If  they  could  still 
make  the  picture,  if  she  could  work,  if  she 
could  go  on  fighting,  then  there  was  hope. 
Toplitz  must  know  what  he  was  talking 
about.  She  watched  the  hands  of  the 
clock  crawl  round,  she  stood  at  the  window, 
mentally  pushing  his  car  along  the  London 
road,  she  flew  down  to  meet  him  when  at 
last  he  turned  into  the  drive. 

one  more  chance  .  .  . 

His  plan  was  simple.  They'd  make  the 
picture  in  Italy.  There  wasn't  a  thing 
anyone  could  do  to  stop  them.  He'd  gone 
over  and  through  it  and  criss-cross,  hunt- 
ing for  loopholes.  It  looked  air-tight.  It 
looked  as  if  they'd  be  strictly  legal  in  Italy.  | 

For  a  day  that  had  started  so  black,  it 
wound  up  all  right.  That  evening  a  cable 
came  from  Ruthie.  On  hearing  news  of 
the  verdict,  Bette's  mother  had  packed  bag 
and  baggage  into  a  car,  reserved  space  on 
the  next  steamer,  was  even  now  tearing 
cross-country  and  would  shortly  be  with 
her  daughter,  car  and  all.  Ruthie  to  the 
rescue,  bless  her,  as  she'd  dashed  to  the 
rescue  on  so  many  other  occasions. 

Then  the  crusher  fell.  A  cable  from  the 
releasing  company  in  the  States.  Terse 
and  unanswerable.  Wherever  it  was  made, 
they  wouldn't  touch  a  Davis  picture. 

"We're  licked,"  said  Toplitz.  "We're 
licked  100  per  cent,  and  we  might  as  well 
face  it." 

At  a  dock  on  the  New  York  waterfront, 
they  were  lowering  a  dusty  car  into  the 
ship's  hold  as  one  of  the  passengers  raced 
to  the  purser's  office. 

"I'm  sorry,  you'll  have  to  get  my  car  j 
ashore.    I'm  not  sailing." 

Her  hand  clutched  a  cable.  "Have  to 
come  home,"  it  read.  "Leaving  Friday, 
the  27th.    Wait  for  me  there.  Bette." 

She  lifted  her  head  from  the  pillow. 
Well,  now  she  was  really  through  with 
tears,  if  only  because  there  couldn't  be  an 
ounce  of  moisture  left  in  her.  Come  on, 
do  something  useful.  What,  for  instance? 
All  but  the  last-minute  stuff  was  packed. 


She  must  look  a  sight.  This  the  mirror 
confirmed.  Better  start  making  herself 
presentable  before  her  guest  arrived. 
Wringing  out  a  towel,  she  lay  down  again 
with  the  damp  coolness  over  her  eyes. 

Think  of  something  pleasant.  All  you've 
got  to  be  thankful  for  today — health,  fam- 
ily, friends.  Think  of.  your  friend,  George 
Arliss. 

"I'd  like  to  come  down  to  see  you  on 
Thursday,"  he'd  written.  It  was  so  gra- 
cious of  him,  to  make  the  long  trip  from 
London.  But  he'd  always  been  kindness 
itself.  Since  that  faraway  day  in  Holly- 
wood. 

She'd  been  ready  to  return  to  New  York, 
convinced  that  she  and  the  movies  could 
never  mean  a  thing  to  each  other.  Then 
the  phone,  and  a  voice  saying,  "This  is 
George  Arliss,"  and  the  incredible  wonder 
dawning  that  it  was  George  Arliss,  and  he 
wanted  her  for  a  picture  called  The  Man 
Who  Played  God. 

That  was  the  beginning,  that  was  the 
picture  she'd  clicked  in.  And  this  was 
the  end.    Her  head  moved  wearily. 

Mr.  Arliss  had  pome  and  gone.  They'd 
had  their  tea  in  a  corner  of  the  rambly 
living-room,  and  you  wouldn't  have  known 
Bette  for  the  same  girl.  Outwardly  noth- 
ing had  changed,  yet  the  whole  world 
looked  different. 

"He's  coming,"  Bette  had  thought,  "to 
cheer  me  up." 

That  was  part  of  it  maybe,  but  not  the 
principal  part.  He  came  because  he  was 
a  man  of  •  imagination,  and  knew  she'd  be 
desperate  and  guessed  what  form  her  des- 
peration would  take.  Because  he  was  old 
and  seasoned,  because  she  was  young  and 
proud  and  mutinous.  Because  the  years 
had  taught  him  a  lesson  he  wanted  to 
pass  on. 

"There  are  just  two  things  you  can  do," 
he  told  her.  "Continue  your  rebellion  or 
take  your  medicine.  In  the  first  case, 
you'll  go  off  somewhere  and  hide.  That's 
a  child's  trick.  You're  grown  up,  my  dear." 

"You  don't  mean  go  back  and  give  up? 
Oh,  I  couldn't  do  that!" 

"What's  to  prevent?  All  it  requires  is 
courage,"  he  observed  blandly,  "and  you've 
plenty  of  that." 

"Not  enough,  I'm  afraid.  They  could 
put  me  through  purgatory." 

"I  don't  think  they  will.    But  whatever 


they  put  you  through,  you  must  accept  it. 
Because,  either  you  work  in  California,  or 
you  never  work  in  this  industry  again. 
One  road  or  the  other,  you've  got  to 
choose." 

She  heaved  a  miserable  sigh.  "That's 
the  trouble.    I  can't  face  either." 

"Face  one,  and  you'll  find  half  the 
trouble's  gone.  You've  carried  the  fight 
to  the  last  gasp  and  you've  lost.  Maybe 
the  fighting  was  important,  but  the  out- 
come isn't.  All  your  thinking  is  poisoned 
by  the  notion  that  there's  something 
shameful  about  defeat.  Win  or  lose,  noth- 
ing matters  but  the  spirit  in  which  you 
take  one  or  the  other.  Kipling  said  it  this 
way:  'If  you  can  meet  with  triumph  or 
disaster,  and  treat  those  two  impostors 
just  the  same — '  Impostors,  because  they 
have  no  value  in  themselves,  only  in  what 
they  do  to  you.  If  you  refuse  to  let  defeat 
make  you  bitter,  it's  powerless  against 
you.  Rise  above  it,  and  you'll  be  a  bigger 
person  than  if  you  were  going  back  at  the 
head  of  a  parade." 

Long  before  tea  was  over,  the  blinders 
had  dropped  off  Bette's  eyes.  George  Ar- 
liss pierced  the  confusion  of  her  mind  with 
light,  re-established  her  values  and  gave 
her  a  measure  of  peace. 

His  judgment  proved  sound  on  all 
scores.  Once  she  knew  what  she  had  to 
do,  half  the  load  was  lifted.  And  to  run 
ahead  of  the  story  a  little,  he  was  right 
about  the  studio,  too.  They  were  wonder- 
ful. The  ordeal  by  humiliation  never  took 
place  except  in  Bette's  mind.  The  trial  was 
never  mentioned.  Mr.  Warner  greeted  her, 
said  "Let's  forget  it,"  and  put  her  into  a 
memorable  picture  called  Marked  Woman. 
From  then  on,  Bette's  star  zoomed  upward. 

None  of  which  Bette  could  foresee  that 
day.  But  bidding  her  old  friend  goodbye, 
she  held  his  hand  between  hers.  "This  is 
Thanksgiving  Day  in  my  country,  Mr. 
Arliss.  You'll  never  know  how  much  I 
have  to  thank  you  for." 

That  night  she  was  ravenous,  causing 
the  waitress  who'd  watched  her  pick  at  her 
food  for  weeks,  to  beam.  "I'm  glad  you 
enjoyed  your  dinner,  Miss  Davis." 

"I  did  indeed."  A  funny  little  smile  came 
over  her  face.  "But  I'll  tell  you  a  secret. 
You  think  that  was  beef  and  Yorkshire 
pudding  you  gave  me?  It  wasn't  at_  all. 
It  was  turkey  and  cranberry  sauce  and  the 
most  delicious  mince  pie  I  ever  tasted." 


UNFINISHED  BUSINESS 

(Continued  from  page  47) 


it  had  to  happen.  Sometimes  the  girls  fell 
in  love  with  someone  else.  This  was  tem- 
porarily rough  on  the  guys.  When  the 
news  came,  they  were  lower  than  barnacles 
on  the  bottom  of  a  transport  tub.  And 
when  the  minor  tragedy  occurred  on  board 
the  Storis,  some  two  hundred  shipmates 
tried  to  take  the  curse  off  the  lad's  suffering 
by  singing,  "I  wonder  who's  kissing  her 
now?" 

One  day  came  news  that  Rita  Hayworth 
was  about  to  wed  Orson  Welles. 

Everybody  but  Mature  took  a  deep 
breath  and  let  go  with  the  song.  It  echoed 
all  over  the  North  Atlantic.  For  seven 
days,  Mature  walked  the  rolling  decks  like 
a  blind  man.  Then  he  announced  that 
he  was  a  well  man.  And  he  was,  except 
for  the  small  furies  that  disappeared  into 
his  subconscious. 

Later,  when  a  city  editor  got  him  on 
the  telephone  and  asked  how  he  felt  about 
Orson  Welles  marrying  "his"  girl,  Vic 
snapped  quite  cheerfully,  "Well,  I  guess 
the  best  way  to  a  woman's  heart  is  to  saw 
her  in  half."  This  flippery  made  all  the 
headlines.  So  did  Rita's  marriage. 


But  why  go  into  all  that? 

What  has  been  happening  recently  is  like 
watching  two  people  try  to  live  twice.  It's 
a  good  trick  if  you  can  do  it.  The  reunion 
began  with  a  telephone  call,  the  day  Rita 
Hayworth  arrived  back  in  Hollywood  from 
her  European  trip.  The  time  was  around 
midnight.  Vic  was  studying  his  script  of 
Ballad,  of  Furnace  Creek. 

When  the  phone  rang,  he  yanked  the  re- 
ceiver up  and  said,  "Yeah?" 

A  voice  replied,  "This  is  Rita." 

And  a  half  hour  later  two  people  were 
sitting  in  a  parked  convertible  on  the  Pa- 
cific Palisades,  but  it  wasn't  so  romantic. 
Or  was  it?  After  all,  they  don't  build  glove 
compartments  in  cars  large  enough  to  hold 
reporters. 

This  actress  and  this  actor  had  a  lot  to 
talk  about,  so  it  was  around  dawn  by  the 
time  he  took  her  to  her  Brentwood  home. 
Then  he  went  back  to  his  house  which  is 
four  and  eight-tenths  miles  away  measured 
with  a  speedometer,  but  on  the  other  side 
of  the  world  under  certain  circumstances. 

It's  a  funny  thing  about  Hollywood.  A 
romance  is  pot  a  romance  until  you  take 


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a  girl  out  in  public  and  expose  yourselves 
to  that  flash  bulb  tan.  I  could  have  scooped 
Louella  Parsons  at  the  time,  because  I  was 
having  a  drink  with  the  actor  when  the 
phone  rang,  and  Rita  said  she  would  like 
to  be  picked  up  from  a  business  confer- 
ence. I  went  along,  like  a  fifth  wheel. 

As  Vic  eased  his  cream-colored  convert- 
ible down  Sunset  Boulevard,  I  suggested 
we  stop  in  somewhere  for  a  cup  of  coffee 
or  whatever. 

Rita  said,  "That's  a  good  idea — where'll 
we  go?" 

"Let's  go  to  a  nice  quiet  place,"  I  said. 
"Let's  go  to  Mocambo." 

I  felt  that  the  best  was  none  too  good  for 
these  friends  of  mine,  and  besides,  maybe 
Gus  Gale  and  Bob  Beerman  would  be 
around  to  take  some  romantic  pictures.  I'm 
scoop-happy. 

Rita  is  a  very  bright  "girl.  She  said  she 
didn't  want  to  go  to  Mocambo.  So  they 
wound  up  on  their  first  date  in  the  polo 
lounge  of  the  Beverly  Hills  Hotel.  A  couple 
of  nights  later,  it  was  Ciro's.  I  tried  to  pay 
close  attention  to  them  like  I  knew  the 
boss  editor  would  like  me  to,  but  I  had 
a  beautiful  blonde  problem  of  my  own. 
(Reporters  got  to  live,  too.) 

Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  Rita  asked  me  to 
dance.  Rita's  very  sweet,  but  she  knows  I 
dance  like  a  tired  banker.  I  excused  my- 
self from  the  celestial  blonde,  and  was 
about  to  take  Rita  in  my  arms,  when  the 
music  stopped,  so  I  never  did  get  to  hear 
what  she  wanted  to  say. 

I  didn't  have  to  hear.  I  got  the  general 
idea. 

Vic  was  giving  her  several  brands  of 
merry  old  hell  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way.  If 
I  didn't  know  better,  I'd  have  thought  he 
was  being  a  sadistic  so-and-so.  Anyway, 
Rita  was  saved  by  the  bell  because  Harry 
Richman  got  up  in  the  spotlight  and  sang 
a  lot  of  wonderful  songs.  Afterwards,  Rita 
and  Vic  danced  together  for  awhile. 

When  they  came  back  I  said,  diplomati- 
cally, "How  can  you  stand  to  dance  with 
the  guy?   All  he  knows  is  the  Charleston." 

friendly  enemies  .  .  . 

Rita  said  that  was  a  lie.  She  said  that 
Mature  was  a  very  good  dancer,  indeed. 
Then  eight  photographers  came  up,  and 
the  two  of  them  posed  like  they  were 
strangers  and  wanted  to  stay  that  way. 
Only  it  wasn't  so,  and  I  can  prove  it. 

That  afternoon,  Vic  had  spent  three 
hours  playing  with  Rita's  little  girl,  Re- 
becca. 

Rebecca  calls  Vic  "Man." 
He  calls  her  "Peeks"  because  she  always 
does. 

It's  darned  near  a  romance. 

The  other  night,  several  of  us  went  to 
a  party.  The  emotional  content  of  the  eve- 
ning was  so  normal  and  like  old  times 
that  I  couldn't  stand  it.  I  went  out  and 
jumped  into  the  swimming  pool,  putting 
on  a  pair  of  trunks  first,  of  course.  I  talked 
with  the  spectacular  blonde  some  more. 
She  had  stars  in  her  eyes,  and  was  enjoy- 
ing a  vicarious  thrill  from  what  was 
going  on. 

"Those  two  are  so  perfect  together.  Isn't 
it  wonderful  that  they  can  forget  every- 
thing that  happened  before  and  pick  up 
where  they  left  off?" 

I  don't  know.    Is  it? 

I  remember  when  I  lived  in  a  mausoleum 
of  a  house  in  Beverly  Hills  during  war 
time.  Vic  moved  in  with  my  family  while 
he  was  on  leave.  Somehow,  they  couldn't 
understand  his  habit  of  forgetting  his  key 
at  night,  and  putting  his  fist  through 
French  window  panes  so  he  could  get  in. 
He  broke  about  eight  windows  that  way, 
and  gave  other  indications  of  violent  feel- 
ing, including  almost  marrying  a  couple 
of  girls  on  the  rebound. 

Some  people  might  say  he  was  carrying 


a  torch,  but  it  wasn't  that  so  much.  He'd 
just  misplaced  his  incentive.  Let's  put  it 
this  way.  Consciously,  Vic  and  Rita  were 
definitely  through  with  each  other,  but  in 
their  subconscious  minds  the  pulsations 
had  merely  gone  into  a  coma.  Anyway, 
it  makes  a  nice  plot. 

And  it  could  happen,  you  know.  Even 
if  you  read  in  a  gossip  column  that  Rita 
and  Vic  didn't  resume  their  romance  after 
all.  It  could  simply  be  that  more  living 
is  prescribed  before  that  wrong  chapter 
can  be  torn  completely  out  of  their  book. 

It  seems  to  be  pretty  well  established 
now  that  Mature  is  a  solid  actor  with  an 
important  future.  Kiss  of  Death  did  that, 
just  as  My  Gal  Sal  was  a  turning  point  for 
both  Rita  and  Vic.  Both  of  these  people 
have  grown  up  considerably  on  the  screen. 
There's  some  talk  of  putting  Rita  into 
Carmen.  My  suspicion  is  that  she  would 
be  exceedingly  unhappy  if  Vic  were  to  be 
ruled  out  as  her  leading  man  in  that  one, 
whether  for  personal  or  business  reasons. 

That's  the  trouble.  Life  has  its  fly-in- 
the -ointment  department.  Vic  has  been 
more  than  casually  interested  in  a  girl  who 
is  not  in  the  movie  business.  He  doesn't 
want  to  do  an  adagio  dance  into  the  wrong 
person's  life,  and  neither  does  Rita.  The 
bright  boys  like  myself  who  interpret 
Hollywood  lives  would  like  to  see  Rita 
grab  a  six  week  Las  Vegas  or  Reno  divorce 
and  then  marry  Vic.  Would  be  a  whale  of 
a  good  story. 

But  if  they  go  for  it,  I'll  be  surprised. 

As  I  write  this,  Mature  is  still  whipping 
up  an  occasional  rough  attitude  during 
which  he  gives  Rita  what-for.  He  has  to 
get  it  all  off  his  chest.  Rita  mostly  sort  of 
takes  it  on  the  chin.  Enjoys  it  a  little,  too, 
I  think. 

It's  like  she  feels  she  has  it  coming  to 
her,  and  in  the  process  her  mistake,  if  it 
was  one,  will  be  completely  erased. 

And  since  neither  one  of  them  will  prob- 
ably ever  speak  to  me  again,  after  the  go- 
ing over  I've  given  this  situation,  I  might 
as  well  say  a  couple  more  things: 

When  Vic  was  hung  up  in  a  conference 
with  his  agent,  he  asked  me  to  please  call 
Halchester's  and  have  them  send  Rita  a 
dozen  gardenias.  I  took  the  risk  of  over- 
egging  the  pudding.  "Make  it  two  dozen," 
I  said.  After  all,  it  was  the  first  time  he'd 
sent  her  flowers  in  more  than  four  years. 

Also,  that  weird  sound  that  howls 
through  West  Los  Angeles  every  now  and 
then  these  days  is  not  a  new  type  of  fire 
siren.  It's  Mature  calling  Rita  on  the 
phone  in  a  pet  way  that  seems  to  make 
sense  to  both  of  them. 

"Sweeeeeeeeeeeeetie!"  he  hollers. 
"S  WEEEEEEEEEETIE! " 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

This  past  summer, 
Oscar  Levant, 
whom  I  have  al- 
ways admired  and 
wanted  to  know 
personally,  ap- 
peared as  guest- 
soloist  with  the 
Louisville  Phil- 
harmonic. Mr.  Le- 
vant's program  was 
entirely  Gershwin 
and  he  played  many  encores.  Finally, 
he  asked  for  requests.  Encouraged  by 
his  informal  manner,  I  was  the  first 
to  call  out.  "Embraceable  You"  I 
shouted.  He  paused  a  moment  and 
then,  bowing  with  great  dignity',  he 
said,  "Why,  thank  you."  Then  he 
played  "Embraceable  You" — at  my 
command. 

Evelyn  Rae  Windhorst, 
Louisville,  Ky. 


CROSSROADS 

(Continued  from  page  24) 


seems  to  have  flown  out  the  window. 

Sometimes  it  works,  too,  as  in  the  case 
of  Cornel  Wilde  and  Patricia  Knight,  who 
sailed  off  together  for  Honolulu  and  a 
new  honeymoon  after  a  trial  separation 
during  which  they  had  a  lot  of  dates  to- 
gether. June  Haver  and  Jimmy  Zito  tried 
the  same  thing,  but  the  results  weren't 
I  so  happy  with  them,  since  June  finally 
filed  for  divorce. 

Danny  and  Sylvia  are  making  a  des- 
perate effort  to  see  eye  to  eye,  and  get 
their  matrimonial  bark  back  on  an  even 
keel.  I  saw  them  just  the  other  night  at 
Romanoff's,  dining  together,  toasting  one 
another  in  champagne,  and  having  a  lot 
of  laughs,  in  very  evident  enjoyment. 

But  when  the  evening  was  over,  Sylvia 
went  back  to  the  family  mansion  alone, 
and  Danny  retired  to  the  solitude  of  his 
hotel  room. 

The  only  utterance  he  has  made  is  this: 
"We're  just  having  a  trial  separation,  and 
doing  our  best  to  adjust  our  differences 
without  a  final  and  permanent  break." 

Everyone  knows  Danny's  fanatical  de- 
votion to  baby  Dena,  and  maybe  this  will 
be  the  tie  that  holds  them  together. 

Sylvia  says  nothing  at  all,  but  goes 
rather  bleakly  about  the  business  of  boss- 
ing production  on  Danny's  next  picture. 
This  is  to  be  the  first  under  his  new 
contract  at  Warner  Brothers  and,  as  has 
always  been  the  case,  Sylvia  has  a  lot  to 
say  about  the  conditions  under  which  he 
will  work.  She  moved  into  very  flossy 
new  quarters  at  the  studio  in  mid-Sep- 
tember, and  plunged  into  the  vast  mass 
of  detail  "with  her  customary  practiced 
skill.  But  not  a  word  from  her  for  pub- 
lication to  anybody. 

She  has  maintained  throughout  her  or- 
deal a  calm  and  dignity  which  must  be 
described  as  admirable,  and  if  her  heart 
is  sad,  she  betrays  no  sign.  At  night,  she 
leaves  her  round  of  tasks  to  go  home  and 
be  a  mother  to  Dena. 

One  fact  seems  to  stand  out  in  the 
current  strained  situation,  and  that  is 
that  the  old-time  gay  companionship  of 
Danny  and  Sylvia  that  marked  the  days 
before  he  struck  pay  dirt  as  a  Samuel 
Goldwyn  star  is  no  more. 

Some  of  their  closest  mutual  friends 


have  assured  me  that  they  were  seeing 
too  much  of  each  other,  both  at  work 
and  at  home.  Sylvia  was  omnipresent 
in  every  phase  of  Danny's  life,  and  hers 
was  the  decisive  voice  in  every  question 
that  arose  affecting  his  career. 

At  times,  she  was  almost  shrewish 
with  the  press  and  with  the  crews  work- 
ing on  his  films.  He  sometimes  reflected 
her  mood,  and  got  the  reputation  of 
being  hard  to  work  with.  For  no  ap- 
parent reason,  he  would  duck  interviews 
set  up  for  him  with  important  column- 
ists. Goldwyn's  publicity  experts  tore 
their  hair  over  the  problem  of  maintain- 
ing favorable  public  relations  for  their 
star  who  can  exert  such  irresistible  charm 
when  he  wants  to  turn  it  on. 

Then,  all  of  a  sudden,  everything 
changed.  Danny  welcomed  the  press,  he 
had  a  fund  of  funny  jokes  to  tell,  and  he 
never  seemed  depressed.  This  new  mood 
came  to  be  noticed  first  during  the  mak- 
ing of  The  Kid  From  Brooklyn,  in  which 
blonde,  sophisticated  Eve  Arden  had  an 
important  role. 

Soon  persons  close  to  the  picture  were 
talking.  Danny  and  Eve  had  such  a  lot 
to  tell  each  other  that  they  wouldn't  find 
time  between  scenes,  so  they  took  to  going 
out  together  evenings.  This  left  Sylvia 
very  much  to  herself,  and  naturally,  she 
didn't  like  it.  What  wife  and  mother 
would?  Buzz,  buzz,  buzz  went  Holly- 
wood's gossip-mongers. 

Eve  went  quietly  about  shedding  her 
mate,  Ned  Bergen,  agent,  via  Las  Vegas. 
The  buzzing  shot  up  in  tempo.  Some  of 
this  gossip  must  have  reached  the  ears 
of  Sylvia,  because  she  made  some  very 
sharp  and  pointed  remarks  to  Danny, 
which  resulted  in  his  moving  out.  The 
separation  was  announced  with  due  for- 
mality and  reserve,  but  there  was  point- 
edly no  mention  of  an  impending  divorce. 

I  cannot  remember  during  a  long  term 
of  observation  of  the  Hollywood  scene  any 
other  wife  who  has  been  so  inextricably 
identified  with  her  husband's  career  and 
success  as  Sylvia. 

She's  an  exacting  task-mistress,  and 
she's  driven  herself  at  top  speed.  At  the 
studio,  long  hours  every  day,  she  was  in 
on    every    conference    involving  stories, 


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"Find  the  proud  father,"  is  the  appropriate  title  for  this  picture,  as  Danny  Kaye  shows  off  pictures 
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Kami  

City  State  Age  


songs,  publicity,  and  every  angle  of  pro- 
duction.  Her  say-so  carried  heavy  weight. 

The  first  break  in  this  rule  came  with 
the  making  of  A  Song  Is  Born,  Danny's 
current  and  final  starring  picture  for 
Goldwyn.  Sylvia's  absence  at  the  start  of 
this  picture  was  so  conspicuous  that  it 
started  tongues  wagging  anew.  When 
she  did  go  to  the  studio,  she  stayed  away 
from  the  sound  stages  where  her  husband 
was  working.  The  long  consultations  and 
conversations  between  husband  and  wife 
were  no  more. 

Sometimes  Danny  betrayed  uncertainty 
in  how  to  play  a  scene,  or  put  over  a  bit 
of  business  before  the  camera.  He  seemed 
conscious  that  something  was  missing,  be- 
cause he  was  accustomed  to  the  presence 
of  a  friendly  critic  to  point  out  his  mis- 
takes and  give  him  a  hand  when  his  work 
was  wonderful. 

Could  it  be  that  Sylvia,  one  of  the 
smartest  gals  in  the  business,  was  playing 
a  smart  game  in  staying  away,  and  letting 
Danny  do  the  best  he  could  on  his  own? 

You  can't  help  recalling  an  almost  paral- 
lel case.  That  of  Red  Skelton  and  his 
ex-wife,  Edna,  now  Mrs.  Frank  Borzage. 
Junior,  as  Edna  calls  Red,  took  another 
wife,  but  Edna  still  manages  him.    He  lets 


her  decide  what's  best  for  him,  and  it's  an > 
arrangement  that  seems  to  work. 

The  question  Hollywood  is  asking  now  5 
is:  will  Sylvia  Fine  take  a  leaf  out  of 
Edna's  book,  and  will  she  be  content  to  j 
assume  the  role  of  guide  and  friend,  while  |! 
abdicating  that  of  wife  and  sweetheart? 
Or  is  that  the  way  Danny  wants  things' 
to  be? 

No  matter  what  happens,  it's  certain 1 
Sylvia  will  figure  very  importantly  in  his'j 
life  at  least  for  the  next  seven  years,  thf 
term  of  the  Warner  contract  that  estab- 
lishes her  as  associate  producer  on  all  hi: 
pictures.    Sylvia  has  a  great  deal  of  quie 
pride.    There  will  be  no  plush  carpet  lak 
out  for  Danny  unless  and  until  he  defi- 
nitely makes  up  his  mind  that  Sylvia  is' 
the  only  girl  in  his  life. 

A  baby,  and  especially  a  baby  like  little1 
Deria,  whom  Danny  loves  to  rave  about," 
can  make  a  lot  of  difference  in  the  life 
of  a  sentimental  gentleman  of  comedy. 

And  one  wonders  if  perhaps  there  mayi 
have  been  a  note  of  prophetic  irony  in: 
the  song  that  Danny  warbled  tenderly  to  i 
Eve  Arden  when  they  were  appearing, 
together  in  Let's  Face  It  on  Broadway; 
in  1943.  The  title  of  the  song  was  "Let's  , 
Not  Talk  About  Love." 


- 


THE  FANS 

(Continued  from  page  86) 


job  is  listening  to  the  fine  things  your  stars 
say  about  YOU!  And  we  think  we're  vio- 
lating no  confidence  in  letting  you  in  on 
some  of  their  comments: 
FRANCES  LANGFORD:  "I  am  fully  aware  of 
the  wonderful  work  that  fan  clubs  are 
doing  and  I  want  to  tell  my  fans  that  their 
interest  in  me  and  my  career  is  very  heart- 
ening. I  wish  to  thank  them  for  this  and 
for  their  loyalty  .  .  .  Sometimes  we  get 
blinded  by  our  success  and  it  is  through 
suggestions  by  our  loyal  fans,  writing  to 
us  from  time  to  time,  and  letting  us  know 
what  they  think  of  our  radio  shows  and 
pictures,  that  keep  us  on  our  toes." 
JOHNNY  COY:  "I  always  compare  a  solid 
well-organized  fan  club  with  the  cheering 
section  of  a  football  squad  or  baseball 
team — every  player  wants  to  know  that  he 
has  friends  rooting  for  him  in  the  grand- 
stands. I  hope  the  fans  realize  that  their 
interest  and  enthusiasm  are  greatly  appre- 
ciated." 

JOHNNY  LONG:  "People  don't  stop  to  con- 
sider the  constructive  work  lots  of  the 
clubs  do.  They  provide  a  healthy  social 
outlet  for  naturally  sociable  youngsters, 
who  might  otherwise  spend  their  time  .  .  . 
in  a  not  too  choice  environment  .  .  .  Most 
clubs  publish  periodicals  .  .  .  they  send  out 
members  to  report  on  the  movies,  radio 
shows  and  personal  appearances  of  the 
star.  Many  develop  a  publicity  or  repor- 
torial  sense  that  might  prove  useful  later 
on  .  .  .  Club  members  are  passing  through 
an  important,  formative  time  of  their  life. 
It's  a  time  when  they  develop  lasting  opin- 
ions and  ideas.  That's  why  I  think  it's  im- 
portant that  they  learn  how  to  get  along 
with  each  other,  regardless  of  any  little 
differences  in  physical  makeup  or  family 
background." 

CHARLES  KORVIN:  "Response  to  one's  per- 
formance on  the  stage  is  one  of  the 
most  rewarding  things  an  actor  can  ask 
for,  and  this  is  where  fans  enter  in  a  most 
important  way.  Through  their  letters  of 
appreciation,  of  encouragement,  and  even 
of  criticism,  does  a  movie  actor  get  his 
reward  for  his  work.  Without  that,  one 
would  be  working  in  a  vacuum  .  .  .  Some 
people  think  I  am  crazy  because  I  spend 
so  much  time  reading  all  my  fan  mail.  I 
was  told  after  my  first  year  here  that  I  will 


 1 

not  do  it  very  long.  However,  I  have  been1 
doing  it  and  intend  to  do  it,  as  the  letters' 
are  to  me  what  the  faces  down  in  the  audi- 
ence are  to  the  actor  on  the  stage.  They 
are  the  applause  after  the  final  curtain  is  ] 
down." 

HINTS  FOR  JOURNAL  EDITORS:  *  Every  club' 
paper  should  have  a  title  page,  which  lists, 
the  official  name  and  address  of  your  club,1! 
the  full  names  of  your  star  and  clubl 
officers,  journal  editors,  staff  contributors,1 
artists,  etc.,  date  of  publication,  honoraries,; 
affiliations,  etc.  All  work  that  appears  in" 
your  journal,  (articles,  poems,  art  work; 
etc.)  whether  original  or  reprinted  from 
another  source,  must  be  credited  with! 
the  author's  or  artist's  name.  Although1 
a  paper  should  be  as  friendly  as  the' 
spirit  of  the  club,  remember  your  journal 
is  not  a  closed  corporation  for  members? 
only.  Would  a  non-clubber  who  chanced" 
upon  your  journal  be  confused  by  af 
mass  of  "I's"  when  you  mean  editorial; 
"we's?"  Do  you  use  first  names  only  in 
recounting  a  meeting  or  event,  forgetting 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Not  long  ago, 
Johnnie  Johnston 
was  appearing  at 
the  RKO  Theater 
here  in  Boston. 
While  he  was  on 
stage  with  Jan 
Murray,  the  come- 
dian, a  few  boys 
in  one  of  the  boxes 
began  to  throw 
pennies  down  onto 

the  stage  to  attract  their  attention. 
Jan  Murray  asked  them  to  stop  be- 
cause a  roller-skating  act  was  next 
and  the  skaters  might  trip.  Then 
Johnnie  said,  "You're  right,  Jan.  And 
boys,  don't  do  it  again  .  .  .  you  re- 
member the  name  of  the  animal  that 
throws  a  scent!"  That  got  a  bigger 
hand  than  any  of  the  other  jokes  that 
were  told. 

Diane  Kennedy, 
Burlington,  Mass. 


Harry  Lewis,- Marilyn  Maxwell,  Nelson  Eddy  and 
Janis  Paige  at  the  L.A.  Fan  Club  Convention. 

that  new  members  may  not  be  familiar 
with  all  your  club  officers  or  regulars? 
When  editing  a  journal,  be  objective.  Try 
to  imagine  that  a  stranger  from  Mars  (or, 
at  least,  a  non-clubber),  is  going  to  read 
your  journal  over  somebody  else's  shoul- 
der. If  the  stuff  you  put  in  it  is  going  to 
confuse  him,  make  him  feel  like  a  rank 
outsider,  he's  not  going  to  want  to  join  your 
club.  (Say,  how  do  you  collect  dues  from 
Mars,  anyway?)  Miscellaneous:  No  mush- 
stuff  about  your  star,  please.  It's  embar- 
rassing to  everybody.  No  pages  filled  with 
corny  jokes,  either.  A  joke  that's  really 
funny  makes  a  good  filler,  but  when  our 
editorial  staff  reads  a  whole  page  devoted 
to  sad  little  egg-layers,  it  starts  thinking, 
"What's  the  matter?  Don't  the  clubbers 
have  anything  to  say  about  their  star, 
movies,  books,  records,  or  any  of  the  mil- 
lion-and-a-half subjects  that  should  inter- 
est them?" 

CLUB  BANTER 
Parties:  We  don't  want  to  steal  Louella's 
thunder,  but  we  certainly  have  a  batch  of 
fine  parties  to  cover  this  month:  First, 
there  was  the  picnic  the  Bobby  Beers 
Clubbers  held  at  Jackson  Park  in  Chicago. 
Bob  was  there,  along  with  several  members 
of  the  Lawrence  Welk  Ork,  who  served  as 
guest  ant-shooers  .  .  .  Dixie  Jean  Gibbs' 
Jack  Smith  Club  attended  a  super  beach 
party  at  Dixie  Jean's  home  which  was 
loads  of  fun  .  .  .  and  the  Esther  Williams 
group,  headed  by  Jane  Griffis,  reports  the 
spectacular  success  of  their  first  lawn 
party  .  .  .  Helen  Gerald  hostessed  a  theater 
party  for  her  boosters  .  .  .  the  new  Bedford 
chapter  of  the  Fultonites  put  on  what  is 
perhaps  the  first  "double  feature"  party 
on  record  when  they  attended  a  perform- 
ance of  two  of  Joan's  pics,  Michigan  Kid 
and  Buck  Privates  Come  Home  on  the 
same  bill  .  .  .  way  over  in  England,  Betty 
McKeown's  Perry  Como  Conclave  threw 
a  bang  up  swimming  party  to  discuss  new 
ideas  (they  were  not  all  wet)  .  .  .  and  back 
in  New  York,  the  Martin-eeks  put  over  a 
little  shindig  with  the  aid  of  cokes  and  ice 
cream,  at  Ted's  music  store  .  .  .  the  Milton 
Berle  clubbers  were  pretty  excited  about 
Milton's  appearance  at  the  Roxy  and 
bought  him  "a  little  something"  to  present 
to  him  at  the  dinner  he's  planning  for  his 
club  ...  the  Glenn  Miller  Memorial  Club- 
bers were  looking  forward  to  Tex  Bene'ke's 
appearance  at  the  Moonlight  Gardens  in 
Cincinnati  and  planned  to  swoop  down  on 
him  for  a  gay  evening  .  .  .  and  some  local 
lucky  Charles  Korvin<-ites  had  a  mad  con- 
fab with  their  honorary  when  he  stopped  in 
New  York  on  his  way  to  Europe.  Meetings: 
A  brand  new  Gene  Autry  Columbia  film  in 
Cine  Color  may  be  previewed  at  the  Autry 
convention  in  New  York  .  .  .  Jordine  Skoff 
held  a  meeting  in  her  home  for  local  mem- 
bers of  her  Johnny  Desmond  Club  when  he 
was  appearing  in  person  in  Buffalo,  and 
a  sure  enough,  Johnny  was  there!  .  .  .  Jack 


Smith  attended  a  special  meeting  of  Bar- 
bara Stoney's  club  in  his  honor  in  Carmel, 
Calif.  .  .  .  British  Frank  Sinatra  Club  hopes 
to  be  700  strong  at  their  London  Conven- 
tion in  December  .  .  .  Como's  Cream  City 
Club,  headed  by  Margaret  Staley,  held  a 
meeting  to  start  work  on  their  first  journal. 
Cancer:  The  Frank  Keys,  Frank  and  Nancy 
Club,  Nancy's  Pop  Club  and  Our  Boy 
Swoonatra  Club  pitched  in  with  a  Detroit 
department  store  to  stage  a  Teen  Town 
party  for  the  benefit  of  the  Damon  Run- 
yon  Memorial  Fund  for  Cancer  Research 
.  .  .  Bev  Bush's  Melody  of  Sinatra  Club 
attaches  Cancer  Prevention  seals  to  all  cor- 
respondence .  .  .  Peggy  Kress'  Sinatra- 
Ettes  have'  donated  $25  to  the  Cancer  Fund 
.  .  .  Danny  Scholl  Clubbers  have  raised  $15 
for  the  same  cause  .  .  .  Arthur  Kennedy 
clubbers,  $7  .  .  .  Betty  Schwarz's  Lanny 
Ross  Club,  $3,  and  others  who  are  busy 
fighting  cancer  with  cash  are  the  Interna- 
tional Teddy  Walters  club  and  the  John 
Tyer  club  (the  latter  donated  $25)   .  .  . 
Publicity:  Loretta  Verbin,  prexy  of  Jack 
Carson's  club  has  already  appeared  on  two 
San  Francisco  radio  programs,  and  hopes 
to  appear  with  Jack  on  another  when  he 
hits  her  town  for  personal  appearances. 
Also,  the  management  of  the  theater  where 
Jack  is  to  appear  has  invited  all  Carson 
Bay  City  Clubbers  to  a  special  radio  party 
.  .  .  Betty  Norris,  publicity  director  of  King 
James    Court    (Mason,    Fitzmorris)  has 
posted  a  sign  in  her  local  theater  lobby, 
announcing  a  contest  on  "Why  I'd  like  to 
join  James'  club,"  and  James  himself  has 
contributed  autographed  pics  as  prizes  .  .  . 
Dorothy  Reisser's  James  Melton  Club  is 
going  to  have  special  folders  printed  about 
her  club  and  distributed  in  music  stores 
.  .  .  Anne  Anderson,  Jack  Smith  prexy,  is 
trying  to  interest  her  local  record  shop 
owner  in  her  plan  to  insert  little  slips  in 
the  jackets  of  Jack's  records,  with  the 
legend,  "If  you  like  Jack  Smith's  record- 
ing of — ,  why  not  join  his  club?"  .  .  .  the 
Wild  over  Wilde  fan  club  rated  a  plug  in 
the  Chicago  Times  .  .  .  Jack  Owens  Swoon- 
sters  snagged  a  feature  story  in  the  New 
Bedford  Times  .  .  .  Myrla  McDougall  of  the 
Sarnia,  Ontario,  chapter  of  the  Gene  Autry 
Club,  has  gotten  her  local  theater  manager 
so  enthusiastic  about  Gene's  club,  he's  in- 
augurating a  Gene  Autry  Friendship  Club 
Day  every  Saturday  that  Gene's  pictures 
are  booked  at  his  theater.  Miscellaneous: 
Teddy  Walters  Club  prexy,  Gloria  Hoyle, 
was  Teddy's  guest  at  his  Phila.  home,  met 
his  83-year-old  grandmother  .  .  .  Ginger 
Bagnall  asks  will  we  please  announce  that 
Alice  Frost  (Pamela  on  the  "Mr.  and  Mrs. 
North"  program)  is  looking  for  a  new  fan 
club  prexy  for  her  club,  which  already 
numbers  150.    If  interested,  please  write  a 
letter,  stating  your  qualifications,  to  Ginger, 
at  12  Lafayette  Ave.,  Summit,  N.  J.  .  .  . 
Willard  Parker  Club  sponsoring  free  mem- 
bership to  first  person  from  each  state, 
Hawaii  and  Alaska  who  writes  in  to  us. 
*       *  * 

IMPORTANT  ANNOUNCEMENT:  Here's 
the  good  news  you've  all  been  waiting  for! 
The  new  revised  Fan  Club  Chart,  with  the 
very  latest  list  of  approved  and  promising 
fan  clubs,  will  be  ready  on  or  about  No7 
vember  15.  Over  350  clubs,  prexies'  names 
and  addresses,  names  of  journals,  interest- 
ing facts,  etc.  The  most  comprehensive  list 
of  fan  clubs  published  anywhere!  Also, 
tells  you  what  to  do  about  joining  a  fan 
club,  how  to  make  inquiries,  when  to  send 
dues,  what  you  can  expect  from  a  well- 
run  club,  etc.  For  your  copy  of  Modern 
Screen's  Exclusive  Fan  Club  Chart,  send 
10c  and  a  4x9  inch,-  3c  stamped  self- 
addressed  envelope  to:  Service  Dept., 
Modern  Screen,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  16.  Note:  Do  not  address  your  request 
to  Fan  Club  Dept.,  but  to  SERVICE 
DEPT.! 


Reducing  Specialist  Says: 


"Thanks  to  thi- 
Spot  Reducer  1 
lost  four  inches 
around  the  hips 
and  three  inches 
around  the  waist- 
line. It's  amaz- 
ing." Mary  Mar- 
tin, Long  Island 
City.  N.  Y. 


LOSE 
WEIGHT 

where  it 
shows  most 

REDUCE 

most  any  part  of 
the  body  with 


SPOT  REDUCER 

Like  a  magic  wand,  the  "Spot  Reducer"  obeys 
your  every  wish.  Most  any  part  of  your  body 
where  it  is  loose  and  flabby,  wherever  you 
have  extra  weight  and  inches,  the  "Spot  Re- 
ducer" can  aid  you  in  acquiring  a  youthful, 
slender  and  graceful  figure.  The  beauty  of 
this  scientifically  designed 
Reducer  is  that  the  method 
is  so  simple  and  easy,  the  re- 
sults quick,  sure  and  harm- 
less. No  exercises  or  starva- 
tion diets.  No  steambaths, 
drugs  or  laxatives. 

Thousands  have  lost  weight 
this  way — in  hips,  abdomen, 
legs,  arms,  neck,  buttocks, 
etc.  The  same  method  used 
by  many  stage,  screen  and 
radio  personalities  and  lead- 
ing reducing  salons.  The 
"Spot  Reducer"  can  be  used 
in  your  spare  time,  in  the 
privacy  of  your  own  room. 
It  breaks  down  fatty  tissues, 
tones  the  muscles  and  flesh, 
and  the  increased,  awak- 
ened blood  circulation  car- 
ries away  waste  fat.  Two 
weeks  after  using  the  "Spot 
Reducer,"  look  in  the  mirror 
and  see  a  more  glamorous, 
better,  firmer,  slimmer  fig- 
ure that  will  delight  you. 
You  have  nothing  to  lose 
but  weight  for  the  "Spot 
Reducer"  is  sold  on  a 


Miss  Nancy 
Mace,  Bronx, 
N.  Y.,  says:  "I 
went  from  size  16 
dress  to  a  size  12 
with  the  use  of 
the  Spot  Beducer. 
I  am  glad  I  used 
It." 


MONEY-BACK  GUARANTEE 
with  a  10-DAY  FREE  TRIAL! 


If  the  "Spot  Reducer" 
doesn't  do  the  wonders 
tor  you  as  it  has  for 
others,  if  you  don't 
lose  weight  and  inches 
where  you  want  to 
lose  it  most,  if  you're 
not  100%  delighted 
with  the  results,  your 
money  will  be  re- 
turned at  once. 


Marie  Hammel,  New 
York.  N.  Y.,  says: 
"I  used  to  wear  a 
size  20  dress,  now  I 
wear  size  14,  thanks 
to  the  Spot  Beducer. 
It  was  fun  and  I  en- 
joyed it." 


MAIL  COUPON  NOW! 


The  "Spot  Beducer"  Co.,  Dept.  DM-4, 
871  Broad  St.,  Newark,  New  Jersey. 

Send  me  at  once,  for  $2  cash,  check  or 
money  order,  the  "Spot  Reducer"  and 
your  famous  Special  Formula  Body  Mas- 
sage Cream,  postpaid.  If  I  am  not  100% 
satisfied,  my  money  will  be  refunded. 


Name- 


Address- 
City  


HI 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  23) 


Ingraham  would  never  think  of  looking  for 
His  Royal  Majesty  at  work  as  a  farmhand. 

But  all  of  a  sudden,  Katie's  little  farm  be- 
comes considerably  less  obscure.  There 
arrives  a  mincing,  prancing  character  who 
calls  himself  Pinner  (Robert  Coote)  but  in- 
sinuates he  is  really  King  Charles.  On  his 
heels  arrives  a  luscious,  scented  creature 
direct  from  the  French  court.  A  countess, 
no  less,  she  (Maria  Montez)  is  thoroughly 
familiar  with  the  real  Charles,  from  a  past 
love  affair.  Then  Ingraham  arrives.  All 
of  this  explodes  on  poor  Katie's  farm,  in  a 
sizzle  of  racing  horses,  clashing  swords  and 
general  melee.     Such  fun. — Univ.Jnf. 

OUT  OF  THE  PAST 

You'd  be  surprised  how  snarled  up  a 
guy's  life  can  get  when  the  girl  he's  in  love 
with  commits  a  mur,der.  Of  course,  the  life 
of  Jeff  Bailey  (Robert  Mitchum)  was  snarled 
even  before  that.  In  fact  he  was  bucketed 
straight  into  trouble  from  the  moment  he 
met  racketeer  Whit  Sterling  (Kirk  Douglas). 

Jeff  is  a  private  detective  and  Whit  has  a 
job  for  him.  It  sounds  all  right — just  go  to 
Mexico  and  find  a  girl  named  Kathie  Moffatt 
(Jane  Greer).  It  seems  Kathie  has  walked 
off  with  340,000  of  Whit's  money. 

That,  really,  is  what  crosses  things  up. 
Because  when  Jeff  finds  Kathie,  he  doesn't 
want  to  take  her  back  to  Whit  who  is  still 
in  love  with  her  in  spite  of  what  she  did. 
No,  Jeff  wants  her  himself,  so  badly,  that 
he's  willing  to  toss  over  the  whole  job, 
and  also  take  a  chance  on  Whit's  putting 
a  bullet  in  him  as  a  reminder  of  what  private 
detectives  are  not  supposed  to  do. 


The  Last  Roundup:  Ralph  Morgan  tries  to  stir 
water  supply  to  Mesa  City.  Autry  opposes  him, 

Quite  a  girl,  this  Kathie.  They  hide  out 
in  San  Francisco  for  awhile,  but  an  old 
partner  of  Jeff's  finds  them  and  starts  a 
little  plain  and  fancy  blackmail.  So  Kathie 
shoots  him.  She  leaves  Jeff  to  explain  the 
body  to  any  curious  people,  such  as  the 
police,  and  goes  back  to  Whit.  Jeff  was  fun 
for  awhile  but  he's  run  out  of  money. 

Jeff  gets  out  of  that  particular  jam,  but 
later  Whit  maneuvers  •  him  into  a  position 
where  he  seems  to  be  responsible  for  still 
another  murder.  Frankly,  if  I  needed  a  de- 
tective, this  Jeff  Bailey  is  the  last  guy  I'd 
hire.  He  doesn't  seem  to  know  which  way 
is  up.  And  even  Robert  Mitchum  can't  make 
him  very  convincing. — RKO. 


Out  of  the  Past:  Private  detective  Bob  Mitchum  goes  to  Mexico  to  find  Jane  Greer  and  $40,000 
112    that  isn't  hers.   He  falls  for  her,  but  she  loves  his  money  and  involves  him  in  blackmail,  murder. 


up  trouble  among  the  Indians  and  to  cut  off  the 
but  is  accused  of  killing  his  own  pal,  Russ  Vincent. 

THE  LAST  ROUND-UP 

Gene  Autry  has  moved  over  to  Columbia 
and  Columbia  has  rewarded  him  by  giving 
him  a  good,  fast  Western  for  his  first  pic- 
ture. There's  plenty  of  shooting  and  a 
stampede  or  two  and  all  the  other  ingredients, 
including  Gene's  horse.  Champion. 

The  locale  is  a  little  western  valley  near 
Mesa  City.  Everyone's  been  living  in  peace 
and  comfort,  minding  their  own  business. 
Then,  with  complete  unexpectedness,  comes 
the  news  that  an  aqueduct  bordering  the  In- 
dian reservation  will  leave  the  whole  valley 
as  dry  as  a  buffalo  nickel.  Mesa  City  needs  a 
bigger  water  supply  and  the  aqueduct  is  the> 
only  way  they  can  get  it.  But  what  about 
the  Indians  who  live  in  the  valley? 

There  is  one  man  whom  everyone  trusts 
to  try  and  work  out  a  deal  for  them.  This 
man  is  Gene  Autry.  But  what  Gene  doesn't  ', 
know  is  that  there  are  two  men  right  in  the 
valley  who  are  doing  their  best  to  mess 
things  up.  If  Charlie  Mason  (Ralph  Mor- 
gan) and  his  son,  Matt  (Mark  Daniels) 
can  grab  off  the  land  for  themselves,  they 
don't  care  what  trickery  it  takes  to  do  it. 

Their  first  move  is  to  start  a  stampede 
among  Gene's  cattle  just  when  he's  ready  to 
address  a  town  meeting.  They  don't  want 
him  explaining  things  to  the  people.  The 
less  everyone  knows,  the  better  off  the 
Masons  will  be.  Besides,  young  Matt  doesn't  ■ 
like  the  way  pretty  Carol  Taylor  (Jean 
Heather)  has  been  looking  at  Gene  lately,  so 
he  has  a  personal  grudge. 

The  Indians  have  always  been  especially 
friendly  toward  Gene,  but  the  Masons  fix 
that,  too.  They  cause  a  fight  where  several 
tribesmen  are  killed  and  make  it  look  as  if 
Gene  was  to  blame.  Even  Gene's  best  friend, 
an  educated  Indian  named  Jeff  (Russ  Vin- 
cent) won't  trust  him  any  more.  It  looks 
for  awhile  as  if  the  Mason  clan  will  win  oul. 
but  then  the  riding  and  shooting  really 
starts,  and  no  one  is  as  good  at  either  as 
Gene. — Col. 


3S 


Your  Skin's^ofter! 
You're  Lovelier  with  just 

One  Cake  of  Camay !  ■ 


MEET  THE  MILLARS 


MRS.  HUDSON  C.  MILLAR,  JR. 
^       the  former  Barbara  Jean  Carpenter 
of  East  Orange,  N.  J. 
bridal  portrait 


There's  sorceiy  in  a  lovely  skin— a  soft,  clear  complexion 

holds  hearts  in  its  spell!  That's  true— and  you  can  win  a 
smoother,  lovelier  skin  with  just  one  cake  of  Camay. 
Just  give  up  careless  cleansing— go  on  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet. 
Follow  directions  on  the  wrapper— and  watch  your  beauty  grow! 


The  Millars  honeymooned  in  Bermuda.  Neighbors  all 
their  lives,  they'd  only  met  a  few  years  ago.  She's 
gorgeous!  She  says:  "My  first  cake  of  Camay  brought 
a  softer,  clearer  look  to  my  skin." 


Bride  and  groom  share  a  love  of  sailing. 
Both  can  set  a  spinnaker  or  tie  a  clove 
hitch.  Expert,  too,  in  complexion  care- 
Barbara  helps  guard  the  loveliness  of  her 
skin  with  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet. 


Here's  to  Romance -win  a  Smoother  Skin 
with  just  One  Cake  of  Camay! 


Your  complexion  is  the  measure  of  your 
beauty!  You're  lovely  when  your. skin  is  soft 

and  clear.  Yes,  and  you  can  win  a 
softer,  clearer,  more  appealing  complexion  with 
just  one  cake  of  Camay— if  you'll  give  up 
careless  cleansing— go  on  the  Camay 
Mild-Soap  Diet.  Follow  the  easy  directions 
on  the  Camay  wrapper.  Use  Camay  and 
Camay  alone— and  watch  your  beauty  grow!. 


MRS.  EDWARD-GORDON  HOOKER 

the  former  Morion  Therese  Butter  of  Charlottesville,  Va. 
bridal  portrait  painted  I 


c  O 


Edward  took  Marian  to  lots  of  football 
games  at  the  Yale  Bowl.  Lovely  Marian 
is  devoted  to  Camay— her  very  first  cake 
worked  wonders  for  her  skin. 


Groom  taught  bride  deep-sea  fishing  off 
the  Florida  coast.  Bride  caught  all  the 
fish!  Lucky  about  her  complexion,  too 
—Marian's  going  to  stay  on  the  Camay 
Mild-Soap  Diet! 


RUTH  WARRICK 
MARTHA  STEWART 
PEGGY  ANN  GARNER 
CONNIE  MARSHALL 

NICHOLAS  JOY  .  ART  BAKER 
Produced  and  Directed  by  OTTO 


CENTURY- FOX 
ROMANTIC  HIT! 


Screen  Play  by  David  Hertz -Based  on  the  Novel  by  Elizabeth  Janeway 


Colgate's  New 
Deodorant 

Safe  for  Skin! 
Safe  for  Clothes! 


Only  VETO,  No  Other  Deodorant, 

Contains  Exclusive  New 
Safety  Ingredient-DURATEX 

To  guard  your  loveliness,  protect  your 
charm — use  VETO!  Colgate's  amazing 
new  antiseptic  deodorant  checks  perspira- 
tion, stops  odor,  yet  is  doubly  safe!  Safe 
for  any  normal  skin!  Safe  for  clothes! 
Only  Veto  contains  Duratex,  exclusive 
new  safety  ingredient — it's  different  from 
any  deodorant  you've  used  before.  Use 
Colgate's  Veto  regularly  to  check  perspi- 
ration, stop  underarm  odor  safely.  10fS 
and  larger  sizes.  Drug,  cosmetic  counters. 


JANUARY.  1948 


£to|by  register '  N(3 


APPROVED  SAFE  FOR  FABRICS 
Better  Fabrics  Bureau 

STAYS  MOIST  IN  JAR.!  NEVER  GRITTY  OR.  GRAINY ! 


modern  screen 


stories 

DOUBLE  IN  HEARTS  (June  Haver-Mark  Stevens)  by  Florabel  Muir 

THE  LITTLE  CRIB  (Teresa  Wright)  by  Howard  Sharpe 

A  CHRISTMAS  SHE'LL  NEVER  FORGET  (Ingrid  Bergman)  by  Abigail  Putnam 

OUR  TOWN   „  by  Mayor  William  O'Dwyer 

THE  WINNER!  (Larry  Parks)  by  Kirtley  Baskette 

PEACE  ON  EARTH  (M.  O'Hara-L.  Jourdan-V.  Lindfors-R.  Montalban) 

by  Ida  Zeitlin 

MODERN  SCREEN  GOES  TO  TIMBERLINE  (Bob  Hutton-Cleatus  Caldwell) 

by  Lauren  Tracy 

IF  I  WERE  QUEEN  by  Dorothy  Kilgallen 

IS  IT  TRUE  WHAT  THEY  SAY  ABOUT  JUNIE?  (June  Allyson)  .  .by  Louis  Pollock 

MISS  PERFECTION  (Claudette  Colbert)  by  Hedda  Hopper 

THE  "BRAT"  GETS  MARRIED!  (Jane  Withers)  by  Beverly  Linet 

"PARDON  MY  FRENCH"  (Dennis  Morgan)  by  Mary  Morris 

ALOHA,  JOAN!  (Joan  Crawford)  by  Leslie  Towners 

PHILADELPHIA  IDYLL  (Roy  Rogers-Dale  Evans)  

ANNIVERSARY  STORY   by  Jeanne  Crain 

POMONA  AND  THE  QUEEN  (Bob  Taylor-Barbara  Stanwyck)  by  Helen  Ferguson 


features 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "The  Bishop's  Wife"  

EDITORIAL:  For  a  Happier  New  Year  by  Albert  P.  Delacorte 


16 

24 
26 
28 
30 

32 

34 
38 
40 
42 
44 
43 
SO 
52 
56 


60 


14 
25 


departments 


REVIEWS   ....by  Virginia  Wilson  18 

FASHION   by  Constance  Bartel  63 

BEAUTY:  "Scents  of  Beauty"  by  Carol  Carter  72 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  74 

FAN  CLUBS   by  Shirley  Frohlxch  77 

INFORMATION  DESK   *  by  Beverly  Linet  80 

COVER  PORTRAIT  OF  JUNE  ALLYSON  BY  NICKOLAS  MURAY 
DESIGNED  BY  LESTER  BEALL 

MISS  ALLYSON'S  DRESS  DESIGNED  BY  TINA  LESER  OF  EDWARD  FORMAN  CO. 


ALBERT  P.  DEIACCRM    Executive  Editor 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  research  editor 
CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 


HENRY  P    MALMGREEN,  Editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 
GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 
BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 
DON  ORNITZ,  staff  photographer 
BERT  PARRY,  n.  y.  staff  photographer 
CARL  SCHROEDER,  editorial  consultant 
JEAN  KLNKEAD,  contributing  editor 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice/on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  149  Macron  Avenue,  New.  York  16,  New  York 

Vol.  36,  No.  2,  January,  1948.  Copyright,  1947,  the  Dell  Publishins  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New 
York.  Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in 
U.  S.  A.  and  Canada  $1.80  a  yearj  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930, 
at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for 
the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


3 


Lana  Turner  and  Keenan  Wynn  came  as  Tartars  to  the  Press  Photogra-  There  were  over  200  guests  at  $12.50  per  plate — the  largest  turnout  to 
phers'  annual  costume  ball,  held  at  Ciro's.  |_ana  will  meet  Ty  in  N.  Y.  on  date.  Only  professional  photogs  and  actors  attended.  Scantily-dressed 
his  return  from  Africa,  while  Annabella  may  be  getting  a  divorce  in  Paris.      Indians  Paul  Brinkman  and  wife  Jeanne  Crain  gave  cameras  an  eyeful. 


An  old-time  lifeguard,  complete  with  brush  moustache,  was  "John  Hodiak.  No  one  would  ever  suspect  that  Bowery  bum  Bob  Hope  had  been  offered 
Seems  as  if  he  saved  Ann  Baxter  from  life  in  a  harem.  That's  her — a  $40,000  for  a  week's  engagement  at  the  Capitol  Theater.  Walter  Winchell 
be-jewelled  dancer  from  the  Orient,  with  a  gown  sheer  as  Salome's  veils.      carries  his  costume  on  his  hat — a  press  card,   labeling  him  as  writer. 


I  The  words  are  the  same,  "Happy  New 
Year!" 

But,  back  of  this  cheerful  greeting  to  1948 
is  the  deep  prayer  from  all  of  us  that  this 
CAN  and  WILL  be,  a  happy  new  year. 

These  are  restless  and  desperate  times,  af- 
fecting men  and  women  with  a  feeling  of 
bewilderment  and  futility — and  the  men  and 
women  of  Hollywood  are  no  exception. 

1947  has  been  one  of  movietown's  most 
disastrous  years  where  the  home  and  mar- 
riage are  concerned.  True,  the  divorce 
rate  was  up  all  over  the  country — but  as 
usual,  Hollywood  stars  were  in  the  spotlight. 
One  encouraging  thing,  however,  is  that  many 
stars  who  "rifted,"  for  a  variety  of  reasons, 
eventually  saw  their  errors  and  kissed  and 


louella  parsons' 


As  soon  as  they  got  word  of  the  ball,  the  ladies  ransacked  their  studio  Once  a  year,  and  this  was  it,  the  stars  let  down  their  hair  in  public, 
wardrobes.  Elizabeth  Taylor  and  Janet  Leigh  found  lovely  Spanish  gowns.  Betty  Hutton  and  husband  Ted  Briskin  were  slinky  adagio  dancers.  Betty 
Janet's  husband  Stanley  Reams  (left)  and  Tommy  Breen  followed  suit.       is  on  maternity  leave  from  Paramount — expecting  her  2nd  child  in  April. 


A  couple"  out  of  the  1 890's  are  Bob  Mitchum  and  his  wife,  Dorothy.  Life  Kathryn  Grayson  and  Johnnie  Johnston  may  look  as  if  they're  at  the 
was  rough  and  ready  in  those  days.  Even  now,  it  can  be  tough,  especially  height  of  feathery  fashion.  But  Kate's  gown  is  just  a  pair  of  panties  in 
for  Bob,  who's  just  lost  all  his  savings,  $68,000,  in  a  bad  investment.      the  back,  and  Johnnie's  well-pressed  trousers  are  really  snappy  shorts. 


made  up  before  the  year  was  out. 

Right  after  the  war,  the  experts  blamed 
"war  nerves"  for  the  crash  of  many  homes 
in  and  out  of  Hollywood.  Now,  what  shall 
we  call  it?  "Lack  of  security"  nerves?  "Rest- 
less" nerves?     "Desperation"  nerves? 

Yes,  I  see  these  intangible  hazards  of  our 
times  as  the  direct  causes  of  many  of  Holly- 
wood's marriage  battles  and  divorces  during 
1947.  Whether  they  are  conscious  of  it  or 
not,  too  many  people  and  too  many  stars  are 
saying,  "Who  knows  what  will  happen?  Life 
is  insecure.  I'll  take  my  happiness  where  I 
find  it." 

"Happiness?"  Where  a  home,  a  wife,  a 
husband  are  concerned?  Often,  where  little 
children  were  concerned? 


Of  all  the  marriage  operations  that  came 
under  my  microscope  last  year,  Mark  Stevens 
was  the  most  honest  patient.  In  trying  to 
analyze  why  he  had  walked  out  on  his  pretty 
little  Southern  wife,  Annelle,  and  their  baby, 
for  three  months  of  "freedom,"  he  told  me: 

"I  was  confused,  Louella.  I  was  a  fool. 
All  I  can  say  is  that  I  was  all  mixed  up.  I 
wasn't  'sent'  back  to  my  wife.  I  returned 
because  I  realized  how  much  she  and  my 
home  and  my  baby  meant  to  me." 

Mark  got  the  socking  of  his  life  from  some 
of  the  press  for  saying  this.  It  was  considered 
"ungallant"  to  Hedy  Lamarr,  the  beauty 
with  whom  he  had  spent  so  much  time  dur- 
ing his  separation,  particularly  after  Hedy 
had  said  that  she  sent  him  home  because 


she  didn't  want  to  cause  anyone  unhappiness. 

Let's  look  at  it  this  way:  If  Hedy  had  her 
pride  to  save,  so  did  Mrs.  Mark  Stevens.  It 
hurts  way  down  deep  to  reconcile  under  the 
impression  that  a  husband  has  been  sent 
home  as  one  would  return  a  pup  who  has 
strayed  from  the  home  and  hearth. 

I'm  not  saying  that  Hedy  was  to  blame  in 
saying  what  she  did.  She  did  not  separate 
the  Stevenses.  Mark's  nerves  and  bad  health 
worked  the  first  wedge  between  them.  Hedy, 
too,  was  going  through  a  miserable  period  of 
unhappiness  following  her  separation  from 
John  Loder,  at  the  time  she  met  Mark.  They 
were  two  unhappy  people  who  ignited  a 
spark  when  both  were  at  low  ebb. 

The  Loders  are  another  case  in  point  of 


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At  the  first 

blush  of 
Womanhood 


goo^> 


louella  parsoifs'M 


Sid  Grauman,  who  first  asked  stars  to  put  their  foot-prints  in  cement, 
has  inaugurated  a  "Hollywood  Hall  of  Fame"  at  his  Egyptian  Theater.  Red 
Skelton,  Mag  O'Brien  and  Van  Johnson  were  among  first  to  be  so  honored! 


Many  mysterious  changes  take  place  in 
your  body  as  you  approach  womanhood. 
.  For  instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under 
your  arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type 
of  perspiration  you  have  never  known 
before.  This  is  closely  related  to  physical 
development  and  is  especially  evident  in 
young  women.  It  causes  an  unpleasant 
odor  on  both  your  person  and  your  clothes. 

No  need  for  alarm— There  is  nothing 
"wrong"  with  you.  It  is  just  another  sign 
you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a  girl.  It  is  also 
a  warning  that  now  you  must  select  a 
truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers  to  overcome  —  Underarm 
odor  is  a  real  handicap  at  this  age  when 
a  girl  wants  to  be  attractive,  and  the  new 
cream  deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially 
to  overcome  this  very  difficulty.  It  kills 
odor  instantly,  safely  and  surely,  then  by 
antiseptic  action  prevents  the  formation 
of  all  odor  for  many  hours  and  keeps  you 
safe.  Moreover,  it  protects  against  a  sec- 
ond danger— perspiration  stains.  The 
physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  of  the  teens  and  twenties  can 
cause  the  apocrine  glands  to  fairly  gush 
perspiration.  A  dance,  a  date,  an  embar- 
rassing remark  may  easily  make  you  per- 
spire and  offend  as  well  as  ruin  a  dress. 

Ail  deodorants  not  alike  —  Don't  take 
chances!  Rely  on  Arrid  which  stops 
underarm  perspiration  as  well  as  odor. 
No  other  deodorant  gives  you  the  same 
intimate  protection  as  Arrid's  exclusive 
formula.  That's  why  Arrid  is  so  popular 
with  girls  your  age.  They  buy  more  Arrid 
than  any  other  age  group.  More  nurses- 
more  men  and  women  everywhere— use 
Arrid  than  any  other  deodorant. 

How  to  protect  yourself —You'll  find  the 
new  Arrid  a  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears  in  a  jiffy. 
Never  gritty  or  grainy.  The  American  In- 
stitute of  Laundering  has  awarded  Arrid 
its  Approval  Seal— harmless  to  fabrics. 
Gentle,  antiseptic  Arrid  will  not  irritate 
skin.  No  other  deodorant  tested  stops 
perspiration  and  odor  so  completely  yet 
so  safely! 

Don't  be  half -safe  —  During  this  "age  of 
courtship,"  don't  let  perspiration  prob- 
lems spoil  your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe— 
be  Arrid-safe!  Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get 
Arrid  right  away,  only  39<£  plus  tax  at 
your  favorite  drug  counter. 

★        ★        ★        ★  ★ 


frayed  "nerves"  wrecking  a  marriage  where 
three  children  were  involved.  Hedy  was 
almost  at  the  point  of  a  nervous  breakdown 
just  before  their  separation. 

I  talked  with  her  at  that  time  and  I  shall 
never  forget  the  mixed-up  things  she  told  me, 
although  she  did  not  realize  it. 

She  said  that  if  John  could  only  work  and 
keep  busy,  their  problems  might  not  have 
come  about.  (He  made  four  pictures  last 
year  and  was  East  for  a  show  for  over  two 
months.)  She  said  he  couldn't  do  little  things 
around  the  house.  (How  many  men  can?) 
She  said  he  resented  her  career.  (And  he  is 
an  actor!) 

I  was  surprised  that  she  seemed  to  miss 
what,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  was  the  REAL 
source  of  their  trouble  in  a  maze  of  imaginary 
ills.  Loder  has  a  tendency  to  be  exacting 
and  critical  and  it  is  difficult  for  Beauty  with 
a  capital  B  to  live  with  that.  In  spite  of 
their  two  children  and  a  little  boy  Hedy 
adopted,  I  do  not  believe  this  marriage  could 
be  saved  under  any  circumstances.  Fire  and 
cold  water  never  mix. 

Ah,  but  I  can  and  do  shake  a  finger  at  the 
Danny  Kayes,  who  have  not  definitely  parted 
at  this  writing,  but  they  have  openly  sepa- 


rated for  no  good  reason  that  they,  or  anyone 
else,  has  yet  given. 

I  know  that  Danny  says  he  and  Sylvia 
decided  they  would  be  "happier  apart." 

I  know  that  Sylvia  backs  him  up,  at  least 
in  insisting  that  they  have  never  been  as 
friendly  in  years  as  they  have  been  since  he 
moved  out  of  the  house. 

But  here  are  two  young  people  who  strug- 
gled up  the  ladder  of  success  side  by  side, 
joy  by  joy — and  now  heartache  by  heartache. 
Danny  is  the  first  to  say  that  Sylvia's  routines 
for  his  numbers  are  largely  responsible  for 
where  he  is  today.  They  are  still  working 
together  on  his  new  contract  at  Warners. 
They  still  dine  together.  Danny  is  frequently 
at  the  house  to  see  the  baby. 

Where  two  people  have  loved  so  deeply 
and  accomplished  so  much — it  is  sheer  trag- 
edy if  they  don't  adjust  the  differences  they 
are  going  through.  There  is  no  greater  hap- 
piness in  the  world  than  understanding  and 
companionship.  Perhaps  these  twin  virtues 
give  a  slow,  steady  glow  but  they  burn  longer 
than  any  other  light  in  the  world,  including 
the  grandes  passions  of  life.  And  there's  no 
sadder  illumination  than  a  torch  burning  after 
it  is  too  late  to  recapture  what  has  been  lost. 


with  a  giant  musical  cast  and 


ARLENE  DAHL'ANDREA  KING* ALAN  HALE* GEORGE  TOBIAS-GEORGE  O'BRIEN-BEN  BLUE-SARA  ALLGOOD 

HA\/lh   DIITI  CD       Screen  Play  by  Peter  Milne  .Based I  upon  a  Book  by  Rita  Olcott  Will  I  AM  lAf-HR^ 

Directed  by  UMV  I  U   DU  I  LLK  *   Musical  Numbers  Orchestrated  and  Conducted  by  Ray  Heindorf  *   Produced  by  II  I  LLInlYI  JnUUUO 


0J 


■r 


GoO^> 


G"'flYr 


louella  parsofts' 


When  Virginia  Mayo  and  Michael  O'Shea  spent  part  of  their  honeymoon  in 
Phila.  (at  Sam  Goldwyn's  request),  Ginny  was  interviewed  by  local  school 
paper  editors,  and  queried,  on  long  skirts,  how  to  get  into  the  movies. 


Joan  Carroll  and  Ingrid  Bergman  did  Bells  of  St.  Mary's  {or  Screen  Guild 
radio  show,  for  which  stars  donate  their  services  to  Motion  Picture  Relief 
Fund.     Ingrid's  daughter  Pia  now  wears  same  short  hair-do  as  her  mom. 


Wives  who  love  will  wait  for  men — but  not 
forever. 

I  hope  that  the  Kayes  go  back  together 
again  just  as  Susan  Hayward  and  Jess  Barker 
did  after  their  short  rift,  and  the  Mickey 
Rooneys,  and  Linda  Darnell  and  Pev  Marley 
and  even  the  temperamental  Cornel  Wildes. 
The  latter  two.  at  least,  are  trying  to  hold  on 
through  storm  and  strife. 

The  divorce  scandal  of  1947  is  the  Brian 
Donlevys',  battling  through  mud  and  mire  and 
property  settlements  to  obtain  the  custody  of 
innocent  little  four-year-old  Judy,  their  daugh- 
ter.   It's  sickening — the  whole  thing. 

If  you  don't  know  the  details,  you  must 
have  been  behind  an  iron  curtain  of  your 
own.  I  won't  repeat  the  charges  and  coun- 
■  ter-charges. 

But  the  mud  from  this  mess  has  tarred  all 
Hollywood.  People  write  me,  "I  suspected 
things  like  this  were  going  on  in  movie  mar- 
riages. This  just  happens  to  have  come  out 
in  the  open." 

How  unfair  and  unjust  for  people  like  the 
Donlevys,  who  have  had  so  much  good  from 
this  industry  in  material  and  artistic  things, 
not  to  have  felt  a  greater  responsibility  to  the 
hand  that  fed  them  fame  and  fortune  before 
they  started  slinging  their  divorce  darts. 

The  Donlevy  case  is  no  more  "typical"  of 
Hollywood  than  the  many  marriages  and 
divorces  of  Tommy  Manville  are  "typical"  of 
the  manufacturing  industry. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  must  say  that  the 
divorce  of  Rita  Hayworth  and  Orson  Welles 
IS  a  typical  Hollywood  divorce.  Too  much 
"genius"  under  one  roof  made  it  impossible 
for  Rita  to  live  with  him. 

I've  been  accused  of  "having  it  in"  for 
Welles  and,  meeting  the  accusation  head  on — 
I  have.  I  think  there  is  very  little  he  wouldn't 
sacrifice  to  advance  his  career  as  an  actor- 
director-producer  big  shot.  Once,  he  terrified 
an  entire  nation  with  a  sensational  broadcast 
that  sounded  like  Men  from  Mars  were  de- 
scending on  our  defenceless  heads.  Many 


Verneva  Jo  Burgay,  beauty  contest  victor,  who  won  the  title,  "Vickey 
Bobbie  Girl,"  visited  Ken  Murray,  producer  of  Bill  and  Coo,  and  actress 
Joan  Hunsaker,  during  her  two  weeks'  prize  trip  to  the  movie  capital. 


of  the  stories  he  has  produced  have  had 
barbed  implications,  causing  heartaches  to 
others. 

But  we  are  asked  to  accept  all  this  under 
the  guise  of  "Genius"  interpretations.  Well, 
I  can't  take  that  for  an  explanation.  And 
neither  could  Rita.  I  believe  the  entire 
trouble  between  them  was  his  career  which 
came  above  everything  else,  including  his 
wife  and  daughter. 

Greer  Garson's  career  was  too  big  for  her 
marriage,  too,  but  with  what  a  difference. 
Greer  never  flaunted  the  fact  that  she  is  a 
great  star  in  her  home.  To  the  contrary,  she 
made  a  valiant  effort  to  be  modest  and  unas- 
suming in  her  private  life  role  of  Mrs.  Richard 
Ney. 

Richard,  and  I  like  him  very  much,  was 
the  first  to  say  after  he  asked  for  his  release 
from  M-G-M,  "I  want  to  freelance  because  I  do 
not  want  to  trade  on  my  wife's  name  and 
standing  at  her  home  studio." 

And,  when  he  went  out  on  his  own,  after 
returning  from  service  in  the  Navy,  he  did 
very  well.  He  received  interesting  assign- 
ments in  good  pictures  because  he  IS  a  good 
actor.    But  he  is  not  a  star. 

If  there  is  a  bitter  pill  that  it  is  hard  for 
any  man  to  swallow  in  a  marriage  it  is  the 
uncomfortable  feeling  of  not  leading,  of  not 
being  the  strongest  in  the  union.  Although 
neither  Greer  nor  Richard  could  help  it,  and 
I  know  she  has  deep  affection  for  him  and 
he  will  always  adore  and  respect  her — they 
couldn't  get  over  the  hurdle  that  her  career 
had  outdistanced  his. 

The  most  heedless  divorce  was  that  of 
June  Haver  and  Jimmy  Zito  because  it  was 
the  most  heedless  marriage.  When,  when, 
WHEN  will  these  young  girls  stop  to  think 
and  to  realize  what  marriage  means  before 
they  plunge  into  a  union  that  can  wreck  their 
entire  life? 

I  don't  think  June,  who  is  22,  was  even 
blinded  by  infatuation.  She  just  wanted  to 
get  married  and  admits  it.  Did  it  matter  that 
the  man  she  selected  hadn't  been  part  of  her 
world  or  of  her  life  for  many  years?  Did 
she  stop  to  think  whether  or  not  they  were 
companionable?  Apparently  not. 

She  had  a  bitter  and  unhappy  awakening 
in  less  than  three  months  of  marriage.  She 
discovered  too  late  that  she  didn't  know 
Jimmy  at  all,  that  he  wasn't  the  man  she  had 
idealized  for  so  many  years.  She  has  cried 
tears  of  desperation  for  her  mistake  and  she 
may  have  ruined  her  life.  I  say  this  because 
if  she  is  unable  to  get  a  religious  annulment, 
she  may  never  be  able  to  marry  again. 

What  a  price  to  pay  for  a  moment  of  reck- 
less decision!  I  feel  like  saying  to  all  girls 
who  want  to  get  married  for  surface  reasons 
— because  you  want  to  get  away  from  home, 
or  because  you  want  children,  or  because 
some  man  has  the  money  to  support  you — 
think  long  and  hard  before  you  make  that 
"forever"  vow! 

The  divorces  that  hurt  the  most  are  those 
that  parted  fine  people  who  have  been  mar- 


Is  Peter  Lind  Hayes 
Unfair  about  Wmien? 


ARLEEN  WHELAN  AND  PETER  LIND  HAYES  CO-STARRING 
IN  "THE  SENATOR  WAS  INDISCREET",  A  UNIVERSAL-INTERNATIONAL  PICTURE 

Arleen Whelan  says: 

"Peter  Lind  Hayes  judges  a  woman  by  her  hands. 
Velvety  smooth  hands-or  she  doesn't  rate. 
Unfair?  Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  It's  easy  to  use 
Jergens  Lotion  and  have  just  darling  hands. 
Oh,  yes-I  use  Jergens."  Jergens  Lotion  is,  7  to  1, 
the  hand  care  the  Stars  use. 

See  your  own  hands  become  even  smoother,  softer 
( like  the  Stars'  hands ) .  Thanks  to  recent  research, 
Jergens  Lotion  is  even  finer  today  —  protects  longer, 
too.  In  Jergens  —  the  same  2  ingredients  many 
doctors  use  for  skin-beautifying.  Still  104  to 
$1.00  (plus  tax).  No  oiliness;  no  stickiness. 

Used  by  more  women  than 
Any  Other  Hand  Care  in  the  World 


Unfair! 


For  the  Softest,  Adorable  Hands,  use  Jergens  Lotion 


FREE 

"TRY-IT"  BOTTLE  of 
this  hand  care  the 
Stars  use.  Simply 
mail  coupon  — 


Mail  to:  Box  27,  Cincinnati  14,  Ohio.  (Paste  on  penny  postcard 
if  you  wish.)  |6  A 

Name  i  


Address- 
City  


-btate- 


( Please  print  plainly  —  Sorry,  offer  good  in  U.S.  A.  only) 


n     A  eA* 


GOOD 


parsons' 


Vanessa  Brown  decorates  Michael 
Leavitt  (105  years  old)  at  a  bene- 
fit for   Jewish    Home   for  Aged. 


Dining  at  Slapsy's  are  pert-hatted  Gloria  DeHaven  and  John  Payne.  They're 
not  expecting  another  baby  as  was  reported.  Recently,  in  fact,  the  Paynes 
returned  from  a  bear-hunting  trip  with  signs  of  more  marriage  trouble. 


L  — *  L-r-    «...  —  j 

A  while  ago,  Ava  Gardner  said  she  was  going  to  skip  men  for 
her  career.  Since  then,  she's  been  out  with  almost  every  unat- 
tached male  in  town.  Here,  with  Pete  Lawford  at  Ice  Follies. 


ried  many  years.  There  were  too  many  of 
them:  The  Jesse  Laskys,  who  have  been  mar- 
ried 30  years.  The  Edward  Arnolds  who 
have  been  together  over  22  years.  The  David 
Selznicks,  over  15  years.  And  the  latest, 
Margaret  Sullavan  and  Leland  Hayward. 
breaking  up  after  11  years. 

Believe  me,  there  are  many  heartaches  in 
the  breaking  up  of  these  homes.  Certainly, 
in  these  cases,  the  marriages  had  been  tested 
and  founded  on  strong  ground. 

Why,  then,  did  they  part? 

I  believe  that  puts  us  right  back  where  we 
started  from  in  the  beginning  of  this  discus- 
sion. These  restless,  desperate  times  have 
cast  their  shadows  deep  into  the  homes  of 
the  nation  and  of  Hollywood. 

$        $  $ 

Now  that  I  have  all  that  off  my  chest — 
let's  look  around  at  more  cheerful  events  of 
Hollywood  this  past  month. 

Merle  Oberon  gave  the  most  delightful 
dinner  party  in  a  long  time.  Maybe  it's  a 
hangover  from  her  days  of  being  Lady  Korda. 
but  Merle  lives  in  great  luxury.  Her  home 
in  Bel  Air  is  adorned  with  the  most  beautiful 
and  valuable  paintings  and  her  china,  linens 
and  silver  service  are  just  out  of  this  world. 

Even  when  she  is  entertaining  twenty  or 
thirty,  it's  usually  a  formal  "sit  down"  din- 
ner when  Merle  entertains,  and  this  occasion 
was  no  exception. 

Paulette  Goddard,  just  back  from  Paris, 
was  a  sensation  when  she  walked  in  wear- 
ing the  latest  thing  in  padded  hips — a  black 
velvet  skirt  with  a  stiff  crinoline  under-flounce 
that  made  it  seem  to  stand  by  itself.  Her 
bodice  was  white  and  she  wore  her  hair 
long,  shoulder-length.  I  noticed  during  the 
evening,  she  borrowed  a  heavy  hairpin  from 
Joan  Crawford  because  she  said  her  hair  felt 
uncomfortable.  Leave  it  to  Paulette  to  do  the 
unusual — dress  to  the  teeth  and  then  swoop 
her  hair  up  on  top  of  her  head  with  a  single 
hair-pin! 

Mrs.  Gary  Cooper  was  wearing  one  of 
those  new  tight  corsets. 

"Gary  will  have  to  get  me  out  of  this 
dress,"  she  said,  "it's  that  skin  tight."  Hocky 
said  she  was  having  a  heck  of  a  time  breath- 
ing— but  the  pale  blue  dress  was  certainly 
becoming.  (Well,  I  can't  see  myself  getting 
into  one  of  those  corsets  if  every  woman  in 
the  world  wears  them.  I  remember  my  mother 
having  the  whole  family  lacing  her  into 
tight  stays  too  well  and  too  uncomfortably!) 

Our  hostess  was  gowned  by  Orry  Kelly 
who  does  those  luscious  things  for  the 
screen — I  mean  gowns  like  Joan  Fontaine 
wore  in  Ivy.  It  was  filmy  and  delicate,  in 
at  the  waist,  but  not  flared  like  Paulette's 
or  corseted  like  Mrs.  Cooper's.  Virginia  Zan- 
uck  looked  chic  plus  comfortable  in  a  dress 
that  conformed  to  the  styles  as  we  know 
them  in'  America. 

Joan  Crawford,  the  clothes  horse,  compro- 
mised in  her  gown.  She  made  a  concession 
to  the  new  styles  with  a  lace  ruffle  around 
her  hips,   but   it  was  transparent   so  you 


BURT 

LANCASTER 


And 


LIZABETH 

SCOTT 

HAL  WALLIS 


Production 


WENDELL  COREY 
KIRK  DOUGLAS 
KRISTINE  MILLER 


And 


'What  a  fall  guy  I  am  .  .  , 
thinking  just  because  you're 
good  to  look  at  —  you'd  be 
good  all  the  way  through!" 


George  Rigaud  •  Marc  Lawrence 
Mike  Mazurki  •  Mickey  Knox 

Directed  by  Byron  Haskin  *  Screenplay  by 

Charles  Schnee  •  Adaptation  by  Robert  Smith 
and  John  Bright  •  Based  upon  an  original 
play  "Beggars  Are  Coming  to  Town"  by 
Theodore  Reeves  •  Produced  on  the  Stage  by 
Oscar  Serlin  •  A  Paramount  Picture 


11 


louella  parsons' 


It's  a  surprise  for  Bill  Bendix  when  he  hits  the  right 
note.  At  a  benefit  show  for  Variety  Girl,  Colonna, 
Dot  Lamour,  Hope  and  Ladd  join  him  in  a  mellow  quintet. 


Diana  Lynn  and  Bob  Neal  stop  to  chat  at 
Somerset  House.  Diana  got  a  diamond  bracelet 
on  her  21st  birthday,  but  set  no  wedding  date. 


This  man  and  his  ice-cream  pop  won't  be 
parted.  It's  Jimmy  Durante  and  Danny  Thomas 
at    the    recent    Variety    Girl    benefit  show. 


Maybe  Marshall  Thompson's  camera-shy,  but 
he'd  like  to  speak  publicly  to  students  about 
their  civic  roles.    Here,  with    Faye  Marlowe. 


could  still  see  what  wonderfully  slender  lines 
she  really  has.    Smart  girl! 

*        *  * 
Bette  Davis  thinks  nicknames  are  important, 
so  she  has  endowed  her  daughter,  Barbara 
Davis  Sherry,  with  a  nickname  of  which  she 
approves. 

It's  "BeeDee"  and  if  you  look  closely,  those 
are  the  baby's  first  two  initials — B.  D. 

Close-Up  of  Bogey — Mr.  Humphrey  Bogart 
to  you:  He  not  only  calls  Lauren  Bacall 
"Baby,"  he  calls  most  women  he  likes 
"Baby".  .  .  .  He  doesn't  go  in  for  social  dis- 
tinctions on  a  set.  Half  the  time  a  prop  boy 
or  an  electrician  can  be  found  dozing  in  a 
chair  labeled  "Mr.  Bogart"  while  he  sits  on 
a  plug  box  or  anything  else  handy.  ...  He 
hates  to  go  out  socially — but  once  he  accepts 
an  invitation,  he's  the  first  guest  to  arrive  and 
usually  the  last  to  leave.  .  .  .  He  loves  to 
get  a  rise  out  of  people,  prodding  them  about 
their  political  beliefs  particularly.  ...  He 


doesn't  smile  much,  but  he  has  a  roaring 
laugh  when  something  strikes  him  funny.  .  .  . 
He's  never  made  a  "best-dressed  man"  list. 
.  .  .  He  doesn't  like  fussy,  frilly  clothes  on 
women  but  he  thinks  all  femmes  should  have 
a  very  feminine  boudoir.  .  .  .  He  likes  the 
new  dark  stocking  colors.  .  .  .  When  he  dies 
and  goes  to  heaven  he  hopes  it  will  be  on  a 
boat.  It  wouldn't  be  heaven  without  one.  .  .  . 
He  likes  highly  seasoned  foods,  and  anything 
labeled  "good  for  him"  he  swears  gives  him 
a  stomach  ache.  .  .  .  He  wakes  up  in  a  good 
humor  but  wants  a  cup  of  coffee  before  in- 
dulging in  much  conversation.  .  .  .  He  con- 
siders himself  something  of  a  mug,  but  his 
several  wives  have  all  been  very  glamorous 
women.  He  keeps  his  male  friends  forever. 
Add  it  all  up — and  this  is  the  one  and  only 
Bogey. 

*        *  * 
I  wonder  if  the  next  big  romance  in  Jimmy 
Stewart's    life    will    be    Margaret  Sullavan, 
now  that  she  is  free? 


There  are  friends  who  will  tell  you  that 
the  spark  Jimmy  once  felt  for  Maggie  has 
never  really  gone  out,  although  he  has  re- 
mained in  the  background  as  the  good  family 
friend  through  three  of  her  marriages  to 
other  men. 

A  girl  who  was  once  crazy  about  Jimmy, 
herself,  told  me;  "I  don't  think  he  realizes 
it  consciously.  But  I  think  Margaret  is  and 
always  will  be  the  real  love  of  Jimmy's  life; 
no  matter  how  many  girls  he  takes  out,  she's 
in  his  mind. 

*        *  * 

Well,  that's  all  for  this  month. 

We're  all  starting  on  a  new  year  with  new 
opportunities,  and  believe  that  I  mean  it  from 
the  bottom  of  my  heart  when  I  wish  you 
health,  happiness  and  peace  of  mind  for  this 
coming  year. 

One  old  habit  I  want  to  keep  is  your  let- 
ters coming  in.  I  wonder  what  the  new  year 
will  bring  us  to  talk  about.  Not  all  these 
divorces  in  Hollywood — I  hope! 


►VENTURE  CALLS 
..AND  BEAUTY  BECKONS! 


COLUMBIA  PICTURES  pnsenls 


GEORGE  MACREADY  •  EDGAR  BUCHANAN 
RAY  COLLINS  •  MARC  PLAT! 


dorothy  kilgallen  selects  "the  bishop's  wife" 


■  As  a  normal  member  of  the 
female  population,  I  always 
have  considered  Cary  Grant 
"divine"  in  the  colloquial 
sense  of  the  word,  but  I  must 
confess  it  never  occurred  to 
me  that  he  would  make  a 
splendid  angel. 

It  did  occur  to  the  astute 
Samuel  Goldwyn,  however, 
and  the  result  is  The  Bishop's 
Wife — as  tender,  humorous, 
intelligent  and  heart-warming 
a  picture  as  you  may  hope  to 
see  in  many  a  Hollywood 
moon. 

In  fact,  only  my  morbid 
familiarity  with  the  workings 
of  editors'  minds  restrains 
me  from  just  writing  "The 
Bishop's  Wife  is  a  wonderful 
picture"  one  hundred  times 
and  letting  it  go  at  that.  For 
there,  in  seven  words,  is  the 
literal  truth  about  a  film  that 
not  only  delights  but  inspires, 
and  cannot  fail  to  remind  mil- 
lions of  people  in  this  tired 
age  that  the  Golden  Rule  as 
a  way  of  life  is  dated,  perhaps, 
but  infinitely  desirable. 

In  (Continued  on  page  85) 


!  '4 


Cory  Grant,  Sara  Haden,  Loretta  Young,  David  Niven  and  Karolyn  Grimes  head  the  cast. 


14 


WHAT  AN  IDEA  FOR  A  PICTURE ! 


who  brought  you  "The  Best  Years  of  Our  Lives" 
and  "The  Secret  Life  of  Walter  Mitty",  now  presents  a  heart-warming  comedy  -  "The  Bishop's  Wife." 


. .  the  bishop's  wife— thought  the  ideas  were  good! 


J? 


the  bishop  who  had  some  ideas  of  his  own. 


...  a  comedy  that  will  leave  every  wife 
smiling  and  thinking . . .  every  husband  smiling  and  wondering . . .  and  every  sweetheart?  C  if?*) 


with  MONTY  WOOLLEY 


JAMES  GLEASON  •  GLADYS  COOPER  •  ELSA  LANCHESTER  and  THE  MITCHELL  BOYCHOIR 

Directed  by  HENRY  KOSTER     Robert  E.  Sherwood  fc  Leonardo  Bercovici       Robert  Natbaa       Released  through  RKO-RADIO  PICTURES,  lac 


15 


■  Sitting  in  a  movie  theater  enjoying  / 
Wonder  Who's  Kissing  Her  Now,  you'd 
bet  the  two  stars,  June  Haver  and  Mark 
Stevens,  were  two  of  the  favorite  children 
of  the  goddess  of  good  luck.  You'd  risk 
a  buck  that  the  two  of  them  were  up  to 
their  neck  in  heaven-sent  happiness. 

Well,  you'd  lose,  on  both  counts.  But 
— if  you  bet  you  could  name  the  most 
miserably  confused  boy  and  girl  in  the 
world,  and  your  choice  fell  on  this  same 
pair,  you'd  win,  hands  down. 

A  strange  parallel  runs  disconcertingly 
through  the  tangled  careers  of  these  two. 
Both  were  married  in  the  month  of  March, 
after  highly  romantic  courtships.  Mark 
Stevens  became  the  husband  of  lovely 
Annelle  Hayes  on  March  13,  1945.  She 
was  a  beauty  from  Dallas,  Texas,  with  a 
definite  acting  talent  of  her  own,  and  she 
gave  up  a  career  bright  with  promise  to 
marry  Mark  and  become  the  mother  of 
little  Mark,  Jr.,  born  in  November,  1946. 

June  Haver  eloped  to  Las  Vegas  with 
Jimmy  Zito,  talented  band  musician,  on 
March  2,  1947. 

One  thing  is  a  certain  cinch — if  June  or 
Mark  had  been  {Continued  on  page  85) 


THE  MARRIAGES  OF  JUNE  HAVER 
AND  MARK  STEVENS  RUN  A  GAMUT  OF 

COINCIDENCE.     HERE'S    THE  LATEST 
CHAPTER — PLUS  A  STARTLING 

CONFESSION  BY  JIMMY  ZITO! 


by  FEorabel  Myir 

Special  Modern  Screen  Reporter 


Jimmy  was  present  at  June's  pre-wedding  party  for  Jane  Withers 
and  Bill  Moss.  It  was  the  last  time  the  two  were  together  be- 
fore June  filed  for  divorce.  Now  she  wants  to  adopt  a  baby! 


Mark  has  admitted  he's  sorry  for  humiliation  caused  his  wife; 
took  Annelle  to  N.  Y.  on  a  second  honeymoon.  Mark,  Jr.,  cele- 
brated his  first  birthday  by  cutting  hand,  requiring  10  stitches. 


killers  trapped 
the  way  it  hurts  most  — 
through  their  women! 

SEE  hammering  fists 
of  vengeance  batter  a 
man  to  death ! 

SEE  a  squealer  get 
his. ..scalding  death  with 
live  steam! 


OF 
THE 

TREASURE'S 
TOUGH 


WATCH  FOR  IT! 

Coming  Soon  To  Your 
Favorite  Theatre. 


starring 

DENNIS  O'KEEFE 

Marv  MEADE   •   Alfred  RYDER   •   Wally  FORD 
June  LOCK  HART  ■  Charles  McGRAW 

Produced  by  AUBREY  SCHENCK  •  Directed  by  ANTHONY  MANN 
Writted  by  John  C.  Higgins  >  Suggested  by  a  Story  by  Virgm.a  Kellogg 

A  Reliance  Picture  •  An  Eagle  Lion  Films  Release 


17 


Despite  her  many  affairs,  the  one  true  love  in  Amber's  life  is  Lord 
Carlton  (Cornel  Wilde).  Defying  her  husband,  the  Duke,  she  nurses 
him  through  the  Black  Plague,  aided  by  Mrs.  Spong  (M.  Wycherley). 


Amber's  career  reaches  its  climax  when  she  becomes  mistress  of  the 
King  (G.  Sanders).  She  is  jealous  of  Carlton's  wife  (Jane  Doll)  and 
tries   to   impress    her.    Soon    after,    the    decline    of   Amber  begins. 


by  Virginia  Wilson 


Realizing  that  her  son  Bruce  would  lead  her  sort  of  life 
if  she  kept  him,  Amber  gives  him  up  to  his  father,  Lord 
Carlton.    Then    her   husband   dies   in   the   Great  Fire. 


FOREVER  AMBER 

The  version  of  Forever  Amber  presented 
for  you  on  the  screen  is  somewhat  sterilized, 
naturally,  but  I  think  you're  going  to  like 
it.  There's  Linda  Darnell  as  an  "amber  blonde." 
(And  why  aren't  there  more  of  those  around? 
Pretty!)  There's  George  Sanders  playing 
King  Charles  II  in  the  best  bit  of  acting  he's 
ever  done.  There  is  also  Cornel  Wilde  as 
Lord  Carlton,  the  one  true  love  of  Amber's 
life.  I  consider  Cornel  definitely  miscast  in 
this  role,  but  I'm  probably  a  minority  of  one 
on  that  point.  Richard  Greene  has  humor 
and  charm  as  Almsbury,  and  Richard  Haydn 
does  an  effective  bit  as  Amber's  husband. 

You  will  see  some  particularly  resplendent 
Technicolor,  and  gorgeous  costumes.  You 
want  plot,  too?     Okay.    Here  it  is. 


Amber  St.  Clare  starts  as  a  village  wench, 
when  she  meets  Lord  Carlton  and  Alms- 
bury  as  they're  passing  through  her  town. 
With  no  encouragement,  she  follows  them 
to  London.  Before  long  she  is  pregnant. 
Carlton  has  gone  off  to  sea,  and  she  has 
managed  to  get  herself  robbed  of  the  money 
he  left. 

She  comes  close  to  bearing  Carlton's  son 
in  Debtor's  Prison  but  by  a  combination  of 
luck  and  beauty,  finds  a  new  protector  to 
get  her  out.  He  is  a  highwayman  who  is 
soon  caught  and  hung,  but  by  then.  Amber 
has  met  Captain  Morgan  (Glenn  Langan). 
She  is  kept  by  him  for  some  time,  but  like 
all  fashionable  courtesans,  goes  on  the  stage. 
And  because  of  it  meets  Carlton  again. 


This  has  the  unfortunate  effect  of  getting 
Captain  Morgan  killed  in  a  duel,  and  send- 
ing Carlton  off  in  disgust.  Even  Amber  is 
somewhat  chastened  and  hastily  marries  a 
Duke.  He  is  at  least  eighty  and  shouldn't 
give  her  any  trouble.  In  any  case,  that's  the 
way  she  figures  it. 

Unfortunately,  he  turns  out  to  be  unex- 
pectedly narrow  minded  about  her  nursing 
Carlton  through  the  Black  Plague.  It  was 
just  as  well  the  old  man  was  killed  in  the 
Great  Fire  of  London,  or  he  might  even  have 
prevented  her  from  becoming  the  King's 
mistress! 

Eventually,  of  course,  Amber's  sins  find  her 
out.  But,  in  the  meantime,  you've  bad  a  fairly 
exciting  evening! — 20fh-Fox 


The  Swordsman:  Larry  Parks  and  Ellen  Drew, 
offspring  of  feuding  Scotch  clans,  fall  in  love. 


THE  SWORDSMAN 

It  seems  there  used  to  be  "a-feudin'  and 
a-fussin  and  a-fightin'  "  even  back  in  1700, 
in  Scotland.  A  Highland  Fling  version  of 
the  Hatfield-McCoy  feud  is  on  exhibit  in 
Technicolor.  Larry  Parks  does  some  of  the 
fanciest  dueling  seen  in  years,  as  young 
Alexander  MacArden. 

The  MacArdens  hate  the  Glowans  and  the 
Glowans  kill  a  MacArden  on  sight.  But 
young  Alex,  just  back  after  ten  years  in  the 
comparative  civilization  of  Oxford,  can  see 
no  reason  why  he  shouldn't  fall  in  love  with 
beautiful  Barbara  Glowan.  He  does,  how- 
ever, have  discretion  enough  to  tell  her  his 
name  is  Donald  Fraser.  On  this  basis,  he  is 
invited  to  the  annual  festival  at  MacArden 
Castle. 

The  idea  amuses  his  father  who  allows 
him  to  go,  hoping  he  will  win  the  javelin- 
throwing  contest — the  big  event  of  the  year. 
Alex  does  win  it,  too,  from  young  Murdock 
(Mark  Piatt),  the  only  one  of  the  Glowan 
clan,  except  Barbara,  who  seems  half-way 
human. 

Robert  Glowan  (George  Macready) 
guesses  Alex's  identity  and  when  Alex  leaves 
starts  after  him  to  kill  him.  He  doesn't  get 
Alex  but  does  succeed  in  murdering  an  old 
family  servant  of  the  MacArden  clan.  He 
also,  in  a  completely  treacherous  move  to 
foment  the  feud,  kills  his  own  brother,  Mur- 
doch, blaming  it  on  Alex. 

Barbara,  on  her  way  to  a  stolen  meeting 
with  Alex,  hears  that  news.  In  her  first 
horror,  she.  gives  Robert  a  clue  to  where 
Alex  is  waiting.  He  is  captured  there  and 
taken  off  to  Glowan  Castle  as  a  prisoner. 

Barbara  offers  herself  as  hostage  to  the 
head  of  the  MacArden  clan,  to  prove  her 
love  for  Alex.  But  she  soon  finds  it  will 
take  more  than  this  to  stop  the  fighting  be- 
tween the  clans.  Even  after  Alex  is  free 
again,  the  feud  goes  on  in  blood  and  anger 
and  death.  It  is  through  a  discovery  of 
Barbara's  that,  at  last,  peace  comes  to  the 
Highlands. — Col. 

GOOD  NEWS 

A  Broadway  musical  of  some  years  ago 
has  been  hypoed  into  what  looks  like  a 


Are  you  in  the  know  ? 


To  a  clever  hostess,  what's  a  good 
mixer? 

□  Cement 

□  Circus  party 

□  Co/a  and  Hamburgers 

When  it's  your  turn  to  entertain,  be  differ- 
ent! Pin  up  home-made  circus  posters  .  •  . 


have  your  guests  come  dressed  like  a  Big 
Top  troupe.  It's  a  mixer  that  can't  miss! 
And  don't  you  miss  the  fun— even  if  your 
calendar  says  "Killjoy  is  here"!  Whatever 
your  costume,  those  fiat  pressed  ends  of 
Kotex  prevent  telltale  outlines.  And  what 
with  that  exclusive  safety  center  giving  you 
extra  protection —  you'll  be  gay  as  a  calliope! 


If  you're  chatter-shy,  which  date  is 
wisest? 

□  Dancing 
O  Dinner 

□  An  active  sporf 

Maybe  you're  no  whiz  at  small  talk.  Sug- 
gest some  active  sport  you  shine  at  — and 
conversation  will  take  care  of  itself.  You're 
confident,  too  (on  "those"  days)  with  the 
comfort  of  new  Kotex.  For  there's  never 
been  a  napkin  like  this  new  Kotex!  With 
downy  softness  that  holds  its  shape.  Made  to 
stay  soft  while  you  wear  it.  And  you  can 
bend  as  freely  as  you  please,  for  your  Kotex 
Sanitary  Belt  doesn't  bind:  it's  adjustable, 
all-elastic! 


She'll  cut  more  ice  with  him  if 
she  — 

□  Grooms  those  gams 
D  Goes  in  for  hockey 

□  Plays  oh-so-helpless 

On  a  skate  date,  can  your  pegs  take  a 
close-up?  Are  they  fuzzless  .  .  .  shapely? 
To  slim  them,  do  this  at  home,  twice  daily: 
Lying  on  left  side,  raise  right  leg  as  high 
as  possible,  touching  ankle  with  right  hand. 
Repeat  ten  times  with  each  leg.  Helps 
whittle  'em  down  to  glamour-size.  On  prob- 
lem days,  the  proper  size  of  napkin  aids 
your  self-assurance.  Choose  from  the  3 
sizes  of  Kotex  .  .  .  there's  one  that's  perfect 
for  your  own  special  needs! 


More  wo/net?  c/?oose  /(OTEX  * 
■f/ian  a//  other  san/fary  naflhhs 

Kotex  comes  in  3  sizes:  Regular,  Junior,  Super 


*T.  M  .  REG.  U.  S.  PAT.  OPf. 


19 


"I  Can't 
Chance  Travel 
Stomach' — 
That's  Why 
I  Carry  TU MS!" 

Says  MORTON  DOWNEY 
Singing  Star  of  Radio, 
Stage  and  Screen 


Good   News:  J.  Allyson,   P.   Lawford,  Joan   McCracken  and   Mel  Torme  in  a  campus  musical. 


"1  travel  a  lot  and  my  throat  couldn't  hit 
a  high  note  if  I  ever  let  acid  indigestion 
bother  me,"  says  Morton.  "So  I  carry 
Turns.  They  always  bring  me  sweet  relief 
jiffy-quick!" 

Whenever,  wherever  acid  indigestion 
pops  up,  put  it  down  fast  with  Tunis. 
One  or  two  tasty  Turns  not  only  neu- 
tralize excess  acid  almost  instantly — 
Tunis  also  coat  the  stomach  with  pro- 
tective medication,  so  relief  is  more 
prolonged.  Turns  settle  fluttery,  sour 
stomach.  Chase  heartburn,  gas  and  that 
bloated  feeling.  And  when  excess  acid 
keeps  you  awake,  don't  count  sheep — 
count  on  Turns!  No  soda  in  Turns — 
nothing  to  overalkalize  and  irritate 
your  delicate  stomach.  So  never  over- 
alkalize — always  neutralize  excess  acid- 
ity with  Turns.  Nothing  surer,  nothing 
faster!  Get  Turns  today—  genuine  Turns 
for  the  tummy! 

10^ 

Handy  Roll 


3-roll  package,  a 
quarter — everywhere 


TUMS  ARE  ANTACID— not  a  laxative.  For  a 
laxative,  use  mild,  dependable,  all-vegetable  Mt 
(Nature's  Remedy).  Caution:  Take  only  as  di- 
rected. Get  a  25c  box  today. 


screen  hit.  June  Allyson  and  Peter  Lawford 
play  the  leads.  Joan  McCracken  is  wonder- 
ful as  June's  best  friend  and  Ray  McDonald, 
Mel  Torme  and  Robert  Strickland  are  all  part 
of  the  general  laugh-bait. 

The  picture  and  its  hit  song  are  both 
called  Good  News.  There  are  other  songs 
like  "Lucky  Day"  and  "Varsity  Drag"  which 
will  probably  have  you  humming  them  the 
way  people  did  back  in  the  twenties. 

The  plot  is  fairly  predictable  but  no  one 
expects^  surprises  in  a  musical.  It  concerns 
Tommy  Marlowe  (Peter  Lawford),  Tait  Col- 
lege's football  hero.  Tommy  is  dynamite 
on  the  gridiron  and  TNT  in  a  sorority  house. 
He's  also  about  as  pleased  with  himself 
as  any  one  guy  can  be. 

He  has  never  even  noticed  Connie  Lane 
(June  Allyson),  who  is  working  her  way 
through  college,  in  the  school  library.  But 
after  all,  football  heroes  don't  spend  much 
time  in  libraries. 

The  glamor  girl  of  the  campus  is  Pat 
McClellan  (Patricia  Marshall),  who  is  con- 
cerned with  two  things — her  own  beauty 
and  her  search  for  a  millionaire  husband. 
Tommy  can't  understand  why  she  doesn't 
swoon  at  the  sight  of  him  the  way  the  rest 
of  the  girls  do.  It's  because  Pat  has  dis- 
covered that  Peter  Van  Dyne  III  (Robert 
Strickland)  has  a  large  fortune  tucked  away 
in  the  family  vault. 

Tommy's  ego  is  so  wounded  by  all  this 
that  he  actually  strays  into  the  college 
library  one  day,  where  he  meets  Connie. 
He  persuades  her  to  tutor  him  in  French 
so  he  can  impress  Pat,  who  is  fond  of  toss- 
ing French  phrases  about  like  confetti.  He 
likes  Connie  enough,  so  he  even  asks  her 
to  go  to  the  Prom  with  him.  She  accepts 
ecstatically,  but  then  Babe  (Joan  McCracken), 
strictly  as  a  gag,  tells  Pat  that  Tommy  is 
heir  to  a  pickle  fortune.  Things  are  tough 
for  awhile  but  in  the  end  it's  all  "good 
news." — M-G-M 


THE  MAN  FROM  TEXAS 

In  a  small  Texas  church,  in  1880,  a  man 
and  his  wife  are  getting  married.  I  know — 
that  sounds  crazy,  but  please  keep  reading. 
You  see,  the  El  Paso  Kid  (James  Craig),  a 
bank  robber  of  some  note,  and  his  wife.  Zee 
(Lynn  Bari),  were  actually  married  eight 
years  before  by  a  Justice  of  the  Peace.  They 
have  a  couple  of  children  to  prove  it.  But 
Zee  has  always  wanted  a  church  wedding  and 
now  she's  going  to  have  it — or  know  the  rea- 
son why! 

However,  the  ceremony  is  interrupted  some- 
what abruptly  by  the  arrival  of  the  sheriff. 
The  Kid  and  his  best  man,  Billy  (Johnny 
Johnston),  take  off  in  a  hurry.  The  Kid  knows 
how  Zee  is  going  to  feel  about  it  and  before 
he  goes  home  he  tells  Billy  he  has  decided 
to  become  an  honest  man.  He  will  open  a 
little  business  and  keep  Zee  and  the  children 
happy  and  unworried. 

Next  day  he  walks  into  the  office  of  the 
local  bank  president,  known  as  Pop  (Harry 
Davenport),  to  ask  for  a  five-hundred-dollar 
loan.  Pop,  not  unnaturally,  when  he  sees  the 
Kid,  thinks  he's  about  to  be  robbed.  He  is  re- 
lieved when  the  Kid  only  asks  for  five  hun- 
dred. The  former  robber  asks  him  not  to  tell 
anyone  about  the  transaction  but  Pop  runs 
to  the  sheriff  immediately  and  pours  out  the 
whole  story. 

"In  spite  of  the  difficulties  in  the  situation, 
the  Kid  does  manage  to  start  a  business  in 
another  town  and  everything  is  going  fine. 
Then  some  of  the  members  of  his  old  gang 
show  up.  The  Kid  decides  to  pull  one  last 
robbery  to  get  some  capital  for  his  business, 
in  spite  of  Zee's  protests.  This  will  be  the 
last  time,  he  promises. 

He  robs  a  stagecoach  which  turns  out  to  be 
empty.  At  the  next  stop  he  robs  a  bank  col- 
lector which  he  considers  practically  legal. 
Things  get  more  and  more  complicated,  and 
Zee  leaves  him.  But  eventually  it  all  straight- 
ens out,  so  don't  worry. — Eagle-Lion 


The  Fugitive:  Dolores  Del  Rio  aids  Henry  Fonda, 
a    priest    fleein'g    from    anti-religious  rillers. 

THE  FUGITIVE 

I  don't  know  just  how  much  symbolism  is 
intended  in  The  Fugitive,  but  it  seems  to  be 
quite  a  lot.  At  any  rate,  it's  the  story  of  a 
young  priest  (he  is  never  called  by  name), 
played  by  Henry  Fonda.  The  priest  is  pur- 
sued throughout  the  picture  by  the  anti- 
religious  government  of  the  small  Central 
American  country  in  which  he  lives. 

He  is  deeply  loved  by  all  the  people  of 
the  country  except  one  half-breed  (J.  Carroll 
Naish)  who  wants  to  betray  him  and  get 
the  reward  offered  by  the  government.  He  is 
never  called  anything  but  "the  Mestizo"  which 
is,  apparently.  Central  American  for  half- 
breed. 

There's  a  girl  among  the  priest's  parish- 
ioners, named  Maria  (I'm  glad  somebody  in 
this  picture  has  a  name).  Maria  is  a  sweet 
girl  but  a  little  too  obliging  in  her  relations 
to  men.  The  priest  chides  her,  but  when  she 
has  an  illegitimate  child,  he  baptizes  it,  and 
forgives  her. 

Later,  when  the  police  are  hot  on  his  trail, 
Maria  saves  his  life.  She  hides  him,  and  uses 
such  effective  delaying  tactics  on  the  police- 
man in  charge  that  the  priest  gets  completely 
away. 

However,  the  Mestizo  finds  his  new  hiding 
place,  and  decides  this  is  a  good  chance  to 
get  the  reward.  He  knows  the  priest  will  never 
refuse  a  request  for  the  last  rites  of  the 
church.  So  he  tells  the  Father  that  an  Ameri- 
can (Ward  Bond),  who  is  wanted  by  the  police 
for  a  bank  robbery,  is  lying  near  death  in 
the  mountains.  Now  the  priest  is  an  intelli- 
gent man.  He  realizes  that  the  Mestizo  will 
probably  betray  him.  Even  so,  he  won't  take 
the  one  chance  in  a  hundred  that  would  mean 
letting  a  man  go  without  the  aid  and  com- 
fort of  the  church.  So  he  goes. — RKO 

MAM  ABOUT  TOWN 

The  old  Chevalier  charm  comes  through 
on  all  cylinders  in  Man  About  Town.  From 
the  moment  he  steps  out  with  his  top  hat  and 
cane  to  sing  the  GI  favorite,  "Place  Pigalle," 
he  once  more  captivates  you  with  his  warmth 
and  humor. 

The  picture  itself  is  told  in  French,  but 
don't  let  that  worry  you.  Chevalier,  besides 
playing  the  lead,  is  right  there  with  a  run- 
ning commentary.  He  twists  long  French 
sentences  into  short  American  slang  phrases, 
takes  a  few  liberties  with  the  plot  and  leaves 


REMEMBER  "I  MARRIED  AN  ANGEL"? 

Who  could  forget!  Zorina  danced  like  an  angel 
.  .  .  her  Pacquins-cherished  hands  an  ode  to  en- 
chantment! Soft,  exquisite  hands  of  cameo  per- 
fection. "Any  follower  of  the  Ballet  knows  how 
eloquent  a  part  the  hands  play  in  expressing  the 
mood,"  declares  the  fabulous  Zorina.  "So  I  must 
keep  my  hands  groomed  for  their  roles.  J  groom 
them,  of  course,  with  Pacquins!" 


VEMZ0R1M  says 

:M  cream  Vmr 


CREAM^ew /umdt 


PACQUINS  hand  cream  is  preferred 
by  the  enchanting  Ballerina,  Zorina 


And  Pacquins  is  the  hand  cream  pre- 
ferred by  more  women  than  any  other 
hand  cream  in  the  world! 

But ...  try  Pacquins  and  see  for  your- 
self! Try  a  12-second  massage  with  snowy- 
white,  quick-vanishing  Pacquins  tonight 
. . .  and  tomorrow  morning.  You'll  be  en- 
chanted! Never  sticky  or  greasy,  Pacquins 


for  (dream  hands  -  cream  your  hands 

&      HAND  CREAM 

AT  ANY  DRUG,  DEPARTMENT,  OR  TEN-CENT  STORE. 


will  smooth  your  hands  to  a  creamy  loveli- 
ness...a  wonderful  new  beauty!  It  is  proved 
protection  against  work  and  weather. 


CATHERINE  HART,  R.  N., 

says:  "Nurses  and  doctors 
scrub  their  hands  30  to  40 
times  a  day.  It  takes  a  cream 
like  Pacquins  to  protect  out 
hands.  And  Pacquins  was 
originally  formulated  for  us. ' ' 


21 


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you  completely  happy,  as  you  should  be. 

The  story  takes  place  in  1906  in  the  early 
days  of  French  motion  pictures.  Chevalier 
plays  Emile,  a  more-than-middle-aged  film 
director.  As  such,  and  as  a  perennial  man 
about  town,  he  still  meets  a  great  many  pretty 
girls,  and  Emile  is  not  the  man  to  pass  them 
up. 

The  leading  man  he  uses  in  his  films, 
whose  name  is  Jacques  (Francois  Perrier), 
doesn't  seem  to  the  experienced  Emile  to 
know  half  enough  about  love.  So  he  gives 
him  a  few  lessons  in  the  delicate  art  of 
picking  up  pretty  girls  and  showing  them 
his  etchings.  Then  Jacques  goes  off  for  a 
month's  military  service. 

Right  then,  the  heroine  of  this  slight  but 
diverting  story  appears.  She  is  the  daughter 
of  an  old  flame  of  Emile's.  Now  that  her 
mother  is  dead  and  her  father  off  on  a  tour, 
she  has  come  to  Paris. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  Paris?"  the 
astonished  Emile  inquires. 

"Just  that  it's  a  good  place  to  be  an  actress, 
which  is  my  ambition." 

Emile   shudders  in   horror.      This  lovely 


young  girl  (Madeline  Marcelle  Derrien)  must 
not  be  exposed  to  the  wolves  of  Paris. 

So  he  takes  the  pretty  Madeline  to  live 
with  him,  discreetly  chaperoned  by  an  old 
servant.  And  of  course  he  falls  in  love  with 
her.  It  never  occurs  to  him  that  Jacques 
will  soon  return,  and  begin  to  apply  the  prin- 
ciples   Emile    has    taught    him! — RKO 

PIRATES  OF  MONTEREY 

Pirates  Of  Monterey  has  beautiful  Tech- 
nicolor, beautiful  Maria  Montez,  and  a  plot 
of  which  I  was  able  to  make  neither  head 
nor  tail.  Maybe  you'll  be  luckier.  Anyway, 
it's  all  about  a  Spanish  Royalist  uprising  in 
California.  This  was  1840  and  California 
was  owned  by  Mexico.  Hollywood  wasn't 
even  a  twinkle  in  Cecil  B.  de  Mille's  eye. 

A  young  American'  named  Kent  (Rod 
Cameron)  is  on  the  Mexican  side  against 
the  Royalists,  and  is  leading  a  donkey  cara- 
van loaded  with  new  guns  to  Monterey. 
The  trip  would  have  been  considerably  less 
eventful  if  he  hadn't  encountered  a  luscious 
dish  in  a  run-away  carriage.  The  dish,  one 
Margarita  (Maria  Montez),  and  her  duenna. 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

Here  we  are  again  with  an  offer  of  500  free  three-months  subscriptions  to  MODERN 
SCREEN.  And  the  way  to  get  them  is  as  easy  as  ever,  because  all  we'd  like  to 
know  is  how  the  stars  rate  with  you.  Just  answer  the  questionnaire  below.  If  you're 
among  the  first.  500  to  mail  it  back  to  us,  you'll  get  the  February,  March  and  April 
issues  free.  Simple?  You  bet! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  January  issue?  WRITE  THE 
NUMBERS  I,  2  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES. 


The  Little  Crib  (Teresa  Wright)  □ 
Double  In  Hearts  (June  Haver- 
Mark  Stevens)    □ 

A  Xmas  She'll  Never  Forget 

( Ingrid  Bergman  )   □ 

Our  Town  by  Mayor  Wm.  O'Dwyer  □ 

The  Winner!  (Larry  Parks)  □ 

Is  It  True  What  They  Say  About 
Junie?  (June  Ally  son)  O 

If  I  Were  Queen  by  Dorothy 

Kilgallen  □ 

Modern  Screen  Goes  To  Timberline 
(Bob  Hutton-Cleatus  Caldwell)  □ 

Miss  Perfection  (Claudette 

Colbert)   □ 


Peace  On  Earth  (Louis  Jourdan- 
Maureen  O'Hara-Viveca  Lind- 
fors-Ricardo  Montalban)   □ 

The  "Brat"  Gets  Married!  (Jane 
Withers)   


□ 

Pomona  And  The  Queen  (Robert 
Taylor-Barbara  Stanwyck)  ....  □ 


Aloha,  Joan!  (Joan  Crawford) 


□ 


Philadelphia  Idyll  (Roy  Rogers- 
Dale  Evans)   □ 

Anniversary  Story  (Jeanne  Crain)  □ 

Pardon  My  French!  (Dennis 

Morgan)   □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  Q 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about 
3,  in  order  of  preference  


future  issues:  List  them,  I,  2, 


What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference    


My  name  is  .  . 
My  address  is. 

City  


Zone . 


State . 


I  am   years  old 


ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 


Clopay 

■,;:Rre.  U.  S.  Pat.  OH. 


stow  away  on  Kent's  caravan  and  when  he 
finds  them,  Margarita  talks  him  into  taking 
them  to  Santa  Barbara.  After  all,  it's  hard 
to  say  no  to  a  girl  who  looks  like  Margarita. 

However,  the  caravan  is  ambushed  and 
Kent,  disillusioned,  decides  Margarita  is  a 
Royalist  spying  on  him,  and  that  she  has 
caused  the  ambush.  He  gets  rid  of  her  in 
a  hurry  and  goes  on  with  his  guns  to  Mon- 
terey. And  who  does  he  meet  at  the  Gov- 
ernor's Mansion?  Margarita,  who  is,  it 
seems,  engaged  to  an  old  pal  of  Kent's — 
Carlos  (Philip  Reed). 

That  night,  Margarita  drops  her  handker- 
chief and  Kent  finds  it.  On  it  is  the  Royalist 
crest!  That's  dandy.  Here  is  a  leader  in 
the  opposition  movement  cozily  ensconced  in 
the  Governor's  house,  probably  sending  word 
to  her  friends  right  this  minute  that  the 
garrison  has  only  a  hundred  men  instead  of 
the  five  hundred  that  it  needs  to  defend  it. 

Carlos  is  shot  and  wounded  by  a  prowler 
around  the  arsenal.  That  keeps  him  in  bed 
for  the  next  few  days,  which  gives  Kent  and 
Margarita  a  chance  to  find  out  they  are  in 
love.  Kent  then  saddles  his  horse  and  rides 
nobly  off  into  the  night.  But  if  you  think  it 
ends  like  that,  you're  crazy.  Why,  you 
haven't  even  gotten  to  the  pirates  of  Mon- 
terey yet! — I7niv. 

TYCOON 

High  up  in  the  Andes  Mountains  there  are 
two  struggles  going  on.  One  is  between 
man  and  the  forces  of  nature.  The  other  is 
between  two  men — Johnny  Munroe  (John 
Wayne),  who  is  digging  a  tunnel  through  the 
mountains,  and  Frederick  Alexander  (Sir 
Cedric  Hardwicke),  the  local  tycoon  who 
has  given  the  contract  to  Johnny. 

Alexander  expects  eireryone,  including 
Johnny,  to  jump  when  he  cracks  the  whip. 
But  Johnny  just  isn't  the  jumping  type.  He 
has  contracted  to  finish  the  tunnel  by  a 


certain  time  for  a  certain  amount  of  money 
and  has  every  intention  of  doing  it.  Then 
he  finds  it  impossible,  because  he  can't  drill 
farther  through  the  soft  rock  without  a  con- 
crete re-enforcement  to  protect  his  men. 

"That's  your  problem,"  Alexander  tells 
him.  "I'm  not  giving  you  a  cent  more  for 
this  job." 

Johnny,  of  course,  is  raging.  What  kind  of 
guy  is  this,  if  men's  lives  mean  nothing  to 
him? 

Johnny  is  to  learn  in  an  even  more  per- 
sonal way  just  how  rock-hearted  Alexander 
can  be.  Because  Johnny  falls  in  love  one 
day — bang!  just  like  that.  And  the  girl  is 
Maura  (Laraine  Day),  Alexander's  daughter. 

The  tycoon  promptly  forbids  her  to  see 
Johnny  and  Maura  just  promptly  starts  to 
meet  him  secretly.  Eventually,  they  marry, 
and  Maura  comes  to  live  at  the  camp.  Pop 
(James  Gleason),  Johnny's  partner,  does  his 
best  to  keep  things  going  but  that  camp  just 
isn't  a  pleasant  place  to  be.  The  men 
know  they're  risking  their  lives  each  day, 
and  they  know  Maura's  father  is  responsible 
for  it.  A  final  rockfall  defeats  Johnny's  plans 
completely.  The  tunnel  can't  go  through 
now  in  time,  no  matter  what  anyone  does. 

Maura  goes  home  in  an  effort  to  help 
him,  an  effort  which  Johnny  completely 
misunderstands.  His  struggle  to  save  both 
his  marriage  and  his  construction  project 
makes  quite  a  story.  There  is  plenty  of  ex- 
citement in  Tycoon. — RKO 

MY  WILD  IRISH  ROSE 

If  there  had  been  juke  boxes  back  in  1910 
or  thereabouts,  every  tune  on  them  would 
have  been  sung  by  Chauncey  Olcott.  He 
was  the  Dream  Man  of  the  Gibson  Girl, 
the  Danny  Boy  of  Mother  Machree.  He  was 
the  sentimentalist  of  the  generation,  and 
that's  quite  an  achievement. 

Chauncey  (Dennis  (Continued  on  page  81) 


Tycoon:  Laraine  Day  comforts  husband  J.  Wayne,  knowing  her  Dad,  the  tycoon,  is  his  ene 


my. 


TO  COMBAT  BAD  BREATH,  I  RECOMMEND 
COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM!  FOR  SCIENTIFIC 
TESTS  PROVE  THAT  IN  7  OUT  OF  10  CASES. 
COLGATE'S  INSTANTLY  STOPS  BAD  BREATH 
THAT  ORIGINATES  IN  THE  MOUTH ! 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  particles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safely!" 


LATER-Thanks  to  Colgate  Dental  Cream 


Always  use 
DENTAL  CREAM 
offer  you  eat  and  before 
every  date 


23 


'She's  so-o-o-big,"  says  Mrs.  Busch  about  Mary,  born  Sept.  12.     Teresa's  with  her  constantly,  before  leaving  for  London  to  make  Secrets. 


Teresa  entered  the  nursery 

with  the  new  baby  in  her  arms, 

and  suddenly,  she  felt 

so  happy.  Because  Niven,  who'd  wanted 

a  boy,  had  painted  the  crib — for  Mary. 

by  HOWARD  SHARPE 


■  Mr.  Sebastian,  owner  and  proprietor  of 
the  Valley-Vue  Hardware  (Everything  For 
The  House  and  Garden)  glanced  out  the 
window,  and  turned  with  a  sigh  to  his  clerk. 

"Better  get  out  the  samples,  Joe.  Here 
she  comes  again." 

As  he  spoke,  the  door  opened  and  in  came 
a  young  woman  with  the  smug  smile  and 
clumsy  costume  that  are  the  symbols  every- 
where of  approaching  motherhood. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Sebastian,"  she  said, 
or  rather  sang. 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Busch."  Mr.  Se- 
bastian observed  the  proprieties.  He  would 
never  think  of  calling  a  customer — even  a 
famous  film  star  like  Teresa  Wright — by 
anything  but  her  married  name.  "Joe  has 
the  samples  ready  for  you."  And  he  solicit- 
ously brought  forth  a  stool. 

Teresa  waved  it  away. 

"I  won't  need  it,"  she  said.  "I've  already 
decided  the  color  I  want.  It  came  to  me 
this  morning  while  (Continued  on  page  93) 


24 


for  a 


ppier  ne 

/ 


■  Americans  are  changing.  We  are  becoming  international 
in  our  thinking,  with  the  shift  most  noticeable,  perhaps,  dur- 
ing the  year  which  has  just  ended.  Even  those  of  us  who  do 
not  care  to  dwell  on  this  cannot  escape  the  fact.  It  is  brought 
right  into  our  homes  by  many  things.  By  the  size  and  price 
and  availability  of  the  loaf  of  bread  we  buy.  By  every  second 
word  of  our  leaders.  Or  by  every  other  story  in  our  papers. 

We  two  billion  people  in  this  world  are  discovering  that 
we  are  closer  to  each  other  than  we  had  supposed.  We  are 
close  enough  to  have  fought  a  global  war.  Fortunately,  we 
are  also  close  enough  so  that  we  can  turn  around  and  kelp 
each  other  when  help  is  needed.  And  we-know  now  that  it 
must  come  to  this  ...  or  else! 

But  when?  How?  For  at  least  ope  important  reason  there 
can  be  no  quick  answer.  This  reason  is.  that  we  just  do  not 
know  each  other  well  enough.  It  takes  time^to^MHPknow 
your  neighbor.  It  takes  time  to  understand  even  the  person 
who  lives  on  the  other  end  of  town.  It  takes  longer  to  get 
to  know  the  fellow  who  lives  at  the  other  end  of  our  country 
...  or  of  our  world.  We  can't,  all  two  billion  of  us,  mingle 
in  one  big  get-together. 

We  are  strangers.  Only  the  motion  picture,  throwing  a 
live,  human  image  on  the  screen,  can  introduce  Americans 
to  other  Americans  .  .  .  and  to  the  world. 

Only  the  motion  picture  can  touch  the  hearts  of  us  two 
billion  people.  Only  the  motion  picture,  speaking  the  uni- 
versal language  of  entertainment,  can  sell  us  Americans  to 
the  world  and  the  wOrld  to  us. 

Not  that  all  pictures  are  equally  effective.  Like  anything 
else,  pictures  can  work  for  good  or  for  evil.  Thank  God, 
therefore,  that  your  industry  recognizes  its  staggering  re- 
sponsibility and  its  vital  role  in  current  history. 

Those  of  us  who  were  watching  observed  a  growing  force 
added  to  the  screen  in  1947  ...  a  (Continued  on  page  83) 


25 


"£fo  /uwe  t/t.  tt  Aet&, "  /Ae  men  /c/</  Sn^id^ 
"M'b  /i/ce  coming  Acme  .  . 


■  Four  years  ago,  Ingrid  Bergman  spent  Christmas  in 
Alaska,  and  discovered  all  over  again  the  meaning  of  the  day. 

It  was  her  husband's  idea  that  she  should  go.  She'd  just 
finished  For  Whom  the  Bell  Tolls.  The  thought  of  a  USO 
tour  had  been  long  in  her  mind.  But  she  was  no  Crosby  or 
Hope  or  Danny  Kaye.  What  could  she.  do  to  entertain? 

Day  after  day  at  the  hospital,  Dr.  Lindstrom's  contacts 
were  among  the  sick.  The  soldier's  problem,  he  felt,  was  not 
too  different  from  the  patient's. 

"He  is  lonely,  he  is  far  from  home.  It's  enough  that  some- 
one should  walk  in  from  outside  and  say  how  are  you. 
Especially  now  with  the  holidays  coming." 

So  she  talked  to  David  Selznick,  to  whom  she  was  then 
under  contract.  Would  he  find  out  whether  the  USO  could 
send  her  some  place  where  there  hadn't  been  much  enter- 
tainment? 

Nothing  simpler,  chortled  the  USO,  hauling  out  its  maps. 
They'd  be  enchanted  to  send  Miss  Bergman  to  Alaska,  where 
the  boys  had  seen  precious  little  entertainment.  Miss  Berg- 
man, they  hoped,  had  nothing  {Continued  on  page  94) 


A 

XMAS 
SHE'LL 
NEVER 
FORGET 


■  I  was  in  a  conference  at  City- 
Hall,  when  one  of  my  staff  came  into 
the  room,  and  whispered  in  my  ear: 

"Mr.  Mayor,  California  is  on 
the  phone,  asking  that  we  do  some- 
thing immediately.   Barry  Fitzger- 
ald is  on  Rivington  Street,  having 
trouble  with  the  Fire  Department." 

The  conference  involved  topics  of 
great  gravity  to  the  City  of  New  York,  but 
the  thought  of  little  Barry  Fitzgerald 
having  trouble  with  the  New  York 
Fire  Department  down  on  Rivington 
Street,  on  our  East  Side,  caused 
me  to  grin. 

So  I  took  the  California  call.  Mark 
Hellinger,  producer  of  Naked  City  was 
on  the  Coast  end.  "I'm  dread- 
fully sorry  to  bother  you,  Mr.  Mayor," 
apologized  Hellinger,  <;but  unless 
we  can  get  an  o.k.  from  the  Fire  De-  ■ 
partment,  the  time  wasted  will  cost 
us  about  $15,000." 

Well,   we  straightened   that  out 
quickly  for  Hellinger,  Barry  Fitz- 
gerald, Don  Taylor  and  the 
rest  of  the  company,  because,  as  Mayor, 
I'm  very  anxious  for  Hollywood  to  realize 
New  York  offers  advantages  in  making 
pictures  that  can't  be  matched 
by  any  other  city.  Additionally,  when 
motion  pictures  whose  plots  are  laid 
in  New  York  are  filmed  on  the 
sidewalks  of  New  York,  they  acquire 
artistic  integrity. 

Of  course,  there  are  things  that 
occur  beyond  the  official  scope  of  New 
"York  {Continued  on  page  60) 


Jpy  mayor  williamjtfwyi 

told  to  Ed  Sullivan 


* 


For  Mark  Hellinger's  Naked  City,  producer  Jules 
Dassin  and  cameraman  William  Daniels  set  up  their 
camera  high  atop  New  York's  Williamsburg  Bridge. 


Old  swimmin'  hole,  Manhattan  style.  These  kids  en- 
joy a  cool  shower  in  a  sweltering  East  Side  street. 
Another  "on  the  spot"  scene  from  the  picture. 


For  a  sky-line  shot,  the  Naked  City  crew  works 
atop  an  unfinished  building  on  Park  Ave.  and  57 
St.    California  can't  beat  this,  say  N.  Y.  officials. 


The  camera's  sharp  eye  captures  two  citizens  of 
"Our  Town"  in  the  heart  of  colorful  Rivington  St. 
There's  actor  Don  Tavlor  in  the  background. 


Remember  the  Dead  End  kids?  Here's  the  real 
thingl  For  movie's  sake,  these  boys,  swimming  in  the 
East  River,  find  body  of  small-time  thief  floating  by. 


Both  Mayor  O'Dwyer  and  film  critics  agree  that 
movies  like  Naked  City,  Kiss  of  Death,  etc., 
filmed  on  actual  sites,   have  "artistic  integrity." 


29 


You  voted  him 


Larry  and  Betty  visited  Charley  Foy's  nightly  to  watch  Sammy  Wolf 
impersonate  Parks  as  Jolson.  Although  not  on  suspension,  Larry's 
refusing    his    salary    until    his    dispute    with    Columbia    is  settled. 


■  His  name  was  Malicious,  and  he 
was  only  a  horse— but  what  a  horse! 
He'd  amble  leisurely  out  the  starting 
gate  at  Santa  Anita,  this  nag,  with 
the  shout,  "They're  Off!"  and  rock 
along  most  of  the  race  in  the  ruck, 
eating  dust — until  they  rounded  the 
turn  into  the  homestretch. 

Then  came  the  grandstand  roar 
horse-happy  Hollywood  still  remem- 
bers with  an  affectionate  thrill:  "Here 
comes  Malicious!" 

And  on  he  came,  that  dependable, 
dead-game  pony,  .pounding  past  a 
flashy  field  to  breeze  under  the  wire 
at  the  finish — the  winner! 

Excuse  our  comparing  Larry  Parks, 
Modern  Screen's  Man  of  the  Year, 
with  a  hustling  Hollywood  horse  of 
times  gone  by.  By  now,  Malicious  is 
out  nibbling  clover  .in  his  ripe  old  age. 
And  Larry  Parks — well — Larry  has 
just  come  from  behind  to  win  Modern 
Screen's  famous  1947  star  sweep- 
stakes. He's  our  all-out,  all-time  Popu- 
larity Poll  {Continued  on  page  76) 


M.  S.'s  Man  of  the  Year — 
but  we're  not  surprised, 
because  Larry  Parks  has 
won  everything  he's 
gone  after,  since  he  was 
a  9-year-old,  yearning  over 
a  shiny  train  in  a  bright 
store  window. 

By  KIRTLEY  BASKETTE 


31 


Good  will  to  men.  Once  a  year  we 
say  it,  sing  it,  feel  it.  A  Child  born  1,947 
years  ago  left  a  message  to  illumine  the  world. 
It  was  very  simple.  Love  one  another,  He  said.  By 
and  large,  we're  making  a  shabby  job  of  it, 
as  this  generation  can  testify,  to  its  sorrow.  We  divide 
the  earth  into  chunks  with  lines  around  them, 
and  regard  the  other  fellow  suspiciously  because  his 
language  or  color  or  creed  differs  from  ours.   Then  comes 
Christmas  to  dissolve  the  lines  and  create  the  feeling  of 
brotherhood  for  a  while.  Peace  on  earth,  we  sing  in  warring 
Jerusalem,  in  hungry  Europe,  in  America — most  of  us  with  a 
deep  yearning  to  make  it  come  true,  if  only  we  knew  how. 

Maybe  some  day  we'll  succeed.  Meantime  Christmas,  with  its 
hope  and  tradition,  goes  on.  Here  in  Hollywood, 
Santa  Claus  Lane  is  aglow,  and  the  trees  on  our  lawns  are 
strung  with  colored  bulbs.   That's  our  special  touch.  But 
Hollywood's  also  a  cross-section  of  the  world.  Many 
who  now  celebrate  here  grew  up  in  other  lands,  bring- 
ing along  their  memories  of  Christmas  at  home — 
memories  gay  and  festive,  yet  solemn,  and  touched 
with  nameless  beauty. 

All  over,  the  spirit  is  the  same,  uniting 
the  peoples  of  the  earth.  But  the  customs  vary. 
By  courtesy  of  some  of  our  friends  and 
yours  in  (Continued  on  page  79) 


Both  avid  skiers,  Bob  and  Cleatus  hurried  into  their  outfits 
and  headed  for  the  practice  slopes.  Bob's  the  expert  of 
the  family — did  a  gelandesprung  (opp.  page)  for  the  photog. 


The  Huttons  are  normally  finicky  eaters,  but  the  altitude 
and  the  exercise  did  things  to  their  appetites.  They  tore 
into  the  hot  platters  of  food  served  smorgasbord  fashion. 


In  the  evening,  music  was  provided  by  Eric  Lundberg  and  his 
accordion.  Schottisches,  hombos  and  Swedish  waltzes  were 
popular.  Here,  Bob  and  Cleatus  toss  off  a  neat  schottische. 


■  For  Californians  who  get  tired 
of  changeless  skies  and  pink  and 
blue  Christmases,  there's  a  haven 
in  Oregon  called  Mount  Hood.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  you  don't  have  to 
be  a  Californian.  From  all  over 
the  country,  skiers  come  to  frolic 
in  luxurious  surroundings.  For  Tim- 
berline  Lodge,  on  Hood's  south 
slope,  is  lavish. 

It  was  built  by  WPA  workers 
during  the  depression.  It's  of  stone, 
and  timber,  and  the  walls  of  the 
first  story  are  heavy  native  boulders. 
Inside,  there  are  lounges,  lobbys, 
beamed  ceilings,  natural  wood  pan- 
eling, hand-made  draperies,  and  an 
air  of  carefully  planned  and  ex- 
pensive quaintness. 

Outside,  there  are  mountains,  and 
snow.  Four  trails  start  at  Timber- 
line;  one  (West  Log)  for  beginners, 
two  (Alpine  and  Cascade)  for  fair 
skiers,  and  one  (Blossom)  for  ex- 
perts. A  mile-long  chair  lift  carries 
you  7,000  feet  to  Silcox  Hut.  If 
you're  manly,  you  can  use  a  good 
rope  tow,  instead.  Two  of  these 
rope  tows  are  available. 

Because  of  so  many  slopes  and 
elevations  and  kinds  of  snow  con- 
ditions (from  the  dry  powdery  stuff 
up  near  the  top,  to  the  softer  sticky 
snow  on  the  lower  levels)  Mount 
Hood's  a  magnificent  testing  ground 
for  ski  clothes. 

The  White  Stag  people,  manu- 
facturers of  such  clothes,  have  used 
the  mountain  for  twenty  years,  put- 
ting their  various  articles  through 
grueling  tests,  before  they  market 
them. 

White  Stag  thought  a  young 
Hollywood  couple  like  Bob  Hutton 
and  Cleatus  Caldwell  might  enjoy 
a  Timberline  vacation,  and  do  some 
testing  for  White  Stag  at  the  same 
time.  Particularly  since  the  Hut- 
tons  are  both  highly  enthusiastic 
skiers. 

The  Huttons  thought  so,  too,  and 
Modern  Screen,  which  took  you 
to  Palm  Springs  for  a  season  in  the 
sun,  followed  the  Huttons  to  Tim- 
berline to  bring  you  a  season  in  the 
snow.  (More  pictures  on  next  page.) 


modern  screen  goes  to 

timberline 


Hansel,  a  nine-months-old  St.  Bernard  puppy — 140  lbs.  without  the  keg,  was 
their  constant  companion.  Followed  them  to  the  ski  trail  and  met  them  on 
their  return.  Cleatus  thought  the  biscuits  in   Bob's  pockets  did  the  trick. 


36 


Cleatus  (in  Susie  Steps  Out)  poses  with  her  favorite  escort,  who's  just  finished 
Wallflower.  Bob  likes  to  act  silly,  and  Cleatus  loves  it.  He  wanted  to  kiss  her 
on  skis  to  test  which  made  his  head  whrrl  faster — Cleatus,  or  the  altitude. 


Ski  clothes  were  provided  by  the  White  Stag  Co.  Cleatus 
wore  a  warm  poncho  that  slipped  over  her  head  and  belted 
around  the  waist — would  come  in  handy  on  overnight  ski  trips. 


8.500  feet  high,  with  Mt.  Jetterson  in  the  background,  Bob  and  Outside,  snowdritts  almost  buried  Timberline  Lodge,  but  the  lounging 
Cleatus  took  time  out  to  breathe.  The  mountain  sun,  reflected  by  rooms  were  kept  cozy  by  well-stocked  fireplaces.  Bob  even  prepared  a 
the  snow,  gave  Bob  a  burn.  He  had  to  apply  tannic  acid  for  relief.       hot  buttered  rum  for  Cleatus,  plunged  a  searing  poker  into  the  mixture. 


Q 


■  Some  girls,  like  Cinderella,  spend  their 
happiest  hours  yearning  for  a  fairy  god- 
mother to  happen  by  and  furnish  them 
with  Special  Upholstered  Dream  Number 
Seven,  complete  with  beautiful  prince. 
Others  more  practical  like  to  lie  in  the 
sun  and  ponder  the  possibility  of  a  wizard 
godfather — fat  and  fifty,  perhaps,  but 
waving  a  pen  that  writes  under  swimming 
pools — who  some  day  will  appear  with  an 
ermine  coat  and  a  contract  marked 
"Hollywood  Star." 

Personally,  *I  combine  my  romantic 
bubbles.  My  secret  wish,  on  rainy  after- 
noons, is  to  have  someone  cry,  "Abaca- 
dabra!  Zanuck!"  over  my  everyday  rags 
and  turn  me  into  the  Queen  of  Holly- 
wood, equipped  with  suitable  magic 
powers,  for  24  hours. 

What  fun  I  would  have!  What  punish- 
ments I  would  level;  what  rewards  be- 
stow! 

I  can  see  it  now. 

Sitting  on  my  golden  throne  in  my  air- 
conditioned,  candle-lit  marble  palace, 
with  Jose  Iturbi  playing  softly  on  the 
Steinway  in  the  corner,  I  would  idly  re- 
view the  events  of  the  year,  summon 
culprits  and  heroes,  and  with  happy  high- 
handedness fix  everything  around  to  suit 
myself. 

It  would  be  a  busy  day.  I'd  have  Don 
Loper  whip  up  a  set  of  coronation  robes 
for  me  (they'd  have  the  New  Look,  no 
doubt,  but  I'll  bet  my  bottom  sceptre 
they'd  have  the  same  old  astronomical 
price  tags)  and  have  James  Wong  Howe 
take  my  portrait  in  Technicolor,  to  record 
the  royal  flush  for  a  poker-faced  posterity. 
I'd  make  Jimmy  Durante  and  Bob  Hope 
my  court  jesters,  and  instead  of  Ladies  in 
Waiting,  I'd  have  Gentlemen  in  Ditto: 
namely,  Gary  Cooper,  John  Garfield, 
Cary  Grant  and  Gene  Kelly. 

Then  I'd  dress  Gregory  Peck  in  a 
silver  suit  of  medieval  haberdashery  and 
put  him  out  in  the  hall  just  to  make  the 
other  girls  jealous. 

I'd  never  allow  Errol  Flynn,  Lawrence 
Tierney  or  Charlie  Chaplin  to  be  pre- 
sented in  court.  They  must  all  be  so 
bored  with  that  routine  by  now!  But  I'd 
have  a  choir  of  platinum  trumpets  sing 
out  a  royal  welcome  to  such  bright  new 
Hollywood  recruits  as  Coleen  Gray,  Rich- 
ard Basehart,  Arthur  Kennedy,  Geraldine 
Brooks   and    (Continued  on  page  73) 


■  "Lou,"  they  said,  "it's  like  this." 

And  then  they  told  me  what  it  was  like.  "There's 
this  June  Allyson,"  they  said.  "Nice  kid.  Very  up- 
setting." 

'  I  nodded  solemnly.  I'm  not  one  to  get  upset  about 
nice  kids,  but  who  argues  with  editors? 

"Her  sex  appeal  isn't  wrapped  like  Turner's,"  they 
said.  "She  can't  strip  your  nerves  like  Davis.  Berg- 
man's face  is  more  beautiful.  But  for  four  years,  we've 
been  polling  our  readers,  and  our  readers  have  been 
yelling  'Allyson'!  Howcome?" 

"Howcome?"  I  parroted. 

They  said  that  that  was  what  I  was  supposed  to  find 
out.  Clinically.  They  said  they  had  it  figured  it  must 
be  personality.   The  only  thing  was,  whose? 

Did  the  personality  that  emerged  from  the  pages 
of  Modern  Screen  month  after  month  actually  belong 
to  June  Allyson?  Was  she  truly  a  creature  composed 
of  two-thirds  whimsy,  and  the  other  third  dedicated 
to  the  idea  that  wrinkling  one's  nose  was  irresistible? 

Or  was  this  personality  a  hoax,  a  creation  of  Modern 
Screen,  destined  to  wrinkle  its  nose  down  the  years, 
while  the  real  Allyson  marched  off  in  six  other  direc- 
tions, ignoring  her  fictional  alter  ego? 

A  lot  of  caustic  readers  had  questioned  the  Allyson 
of  the  stories,  already.  "Nyah,"  they  sneered.  "There 
ain't  no  Santy  Claus.  There  ain't  no  fairies.  And  there 
ain't  any  sich  a  person  as  (Continued  on  page  87) 


by 

hedda  hopper 


miss 


"The  smartest, 
canniest,  smoothest  18-carat 
acting  lady  in  the  business." 
That's  what  Hedda  calls 
Colbert — the  gal  with  a 
king-sized  brain,  a  Mi'das 
touch  and  a  knack  for  calling 
her  own  shots! 


perfection 


■  The  last  time  Claudette  Colbert  saw  Paris,  she 

went  with  her  husband,  Dr.  Joel  Pressman,  to  visit  a  world  famous  Frenah 
ear,  nose  and  throat  specialist.  That's  Joel's  specialty,  too,  but  Joel 
was  shy  about  his  French  and  Claudette  had  the  trans- 
lator's job. 

Claudette  stood  by  as  Joel  interviewed  the  great  man.  "Attendez," 
he  said  at  last,  disappearing  injto  his  office.  He  returned 
with  a  plate  bearing  a  pickled  human  head,  sawed  neatly  in  two  to  reveal 
the  passages.  This  he  handed  to  Claudette  with  a  "S'U  vous  plait,"  and  while  he  and 
Joel  peered  at  the  grisly  object,  she  translated  their  medical  jabberings 
as  best  she  could.  That  is,  until  she  felt  her  knees  begin  to  sag. 

A  nurse  caught  her  and  the  pickled  head  as  both  of  them  started  toward 
the  floor. 

To  my  knowledge,  that's  the  only  time  in  her  life  that  Claudette  Colbert  ever 
came  near  losing  a  head. 

I've  known  her  a  good  twenty  years,  and  I  think  she  is  just  about 
the  smartest,  canniest  and  smoothest  18-carat  acting  lady  I've  seen  cross  the 
Hollywood  pike. 

Claudette  knows  her  own  mind  better  than  any  star  I've  ever  met.  She 
added  herself  up  long,  long  ago  and  came  out  with  the  right  answers — in  every 
little  thing. 

A  few  years  ago,  I  did  a  picture  with  her.  Our  parts  called  for  swanky 
get-ups,  and  one  day  Claudette  and  I  decided  to  (Continued  on  page  91) 


42 


t 


Jane  was  kept  busy  attending  showers  in  her  honor — all  nine 
of  them.  Here,-  it's  a  linen  one  at  June  Haver's  house. 
Audrey  Totter   supervises   cutting    of  the    ice-cream  cake. 


Bridesmaid  June  Haver  wore  pale  blue  satin  and  carried  a 
tiny  muff  of  baby  orchids.  Jane's  old  friend,  Jackie  Cooper, 
was  one  of  ten  ushers.  Lon  McCallister  (left)  came  as  guest. 


It  looked  for  a  while  as  if  Diana  Lynn  would  be  ill  for  the 
wedding,  but  she  rallied  in  time  and  came  with  her  steady, 
Bob  Neal.    Afterwards,  she  almost  caught  bridal  bouquet. 


Jane  made  sure  Bill  wouldn't  forget  the  ring — went  with 
him  to  choose  it.  They  kept  the  destination  of  their  honey- 
moon secret,  said  they'd  build  a  house  in  Westwood  later. 


They  were  married  on  September  20,  at  the  1st  Congrega- 
tional Church  of  Los  Angeles  by  Dr.  Louis  Evans.  Jane  de- 
signed her  own  eggshell  satin  gown — had  a  4'/2-yard  train. 


They  stood 

together  in  the  garden 

as  the  night  moved 

softly  through  music 

and  dancing — 

Jane  and  Bill — listening 

to  the  laughter  of  their  guests, 

the  tinkling  glasses, 

hearing  only  the  song 

in  their  hearts  .  .  . 

By  BEVERLY  LINET 


the 

"brat'gets 
married 


I  vhmHBHhHHHBHHBHHB 

Setting  up  house  is  easy,  if  you're  as  popular  as  Jane.  Two 
rooms  of  her  playhouse  held  the  gifts.  Shirley  Temple  sent 
a  set  of  little  pitchers  with  half-dollars  forming  the  bases. 


■  It  had  always  been  a  pretty  church,  but  today  it  was 
so  beautiful  you  caught  your  breath.  If  you  had  any 
breath,  and  she  didn't  have. 

She  moved  slowly  down  the  aisle,  leaning  against  her 
father,  with  the  organ  sounding  in  her  ears,  and  the  smell 
of  flowers  almost  suffocating,  and  through  a  haze,  she 
could  see  pale,  tall  candles  burning  softly. 

The  rest,  it  was  hard  to  remember  in  any  sequence. 
Bill  at  the  altar,  the  minister  speaking,  Dennis  Day's 
voice  from  the  choir  loft,  and  finally  the  music  again, 
the  rush  from  the  church  .  .  . 

She  was  twenty-one  years  old,  and  this  was  her  wed- 
ding day,  this  September  20th,  but  if  you  stopped  to 
think  about  it,  you  found  yourself  not  believing.  She'd 
met  Bill  in  1946,  and  they'd  dated  a  few  times,  but  what 
did  that  prove?  You  date  lots  of  men,  and  he  dates  lots 
of  girls,  and  when  do  you  know  it's  love? 

He  knew  first,  as  a  matter  of  fact.  By  Christmas,  '46, 
he  knew. 

"I'm  really  a  wonderful  fellow,"  he  told  her.  "I'm 
going  to  produce  movies — " 

She  laughed.  "But  there's  another  boy.  He  wants  to 


the 
"brat"  gets 
married 


give  me  an  engagement  ring — " 

"Give  you  two  rings,"  Bill  said.  "A 
rolling  Moss  gathers  some  stones — " 

Then  they  got  serious.  "Give  me 
two  weeks,"  she  said.  "By  then,  I'll 
have  it  figured  out." 

The  next  day,  she  called  him.  "I 
have  it  figured  out  already.  It's  you — " 

Over  the  phone,  you  could  almost 
see  him  grin. 

He  never  gave  her  a  conventional 
engagement  ring;  he  gave  her  a  sap- 
phire heart  surrounded  by  21  pearls. 

In  July,  they  came  to  New  York  and 
cornered  the  linen  market.  They 
bought  nearly  everything  they  saw, 
and  then  went  home  to  plan  the  wed- 
ding. 

The  plans  almost  got  away  from 
them.  Not  that  they'd  told  themselves 
it  was  going  to  be  a  "quiet,  simple 
ceremony;"  they  knew  too  many  peo- 
ple who'd  be  insulted,  but  somehow 
they  hadn't  figured  on  the  huge  affair 
they  ended  up  with. 

They'd  check,  and  check  again,  and 
still  it  came  out  nine  bridesmaids. 
"Nine,"  Jane  gasped.   "Bill— nine!" 

Bill  smiled  dazedly.  "  'At's  fine, 
honey.  All  sweet,  pretty  girls — " 

If  you've  got  nine  bridesmaids,  you 
need  the  rest  of  the  trimmings.  So 
there  was  a  matron  of  honor,-  and  then 
Bill's  sister  to  be  maid  of  honor,  and 
of  course  a  best  man  and  a  couple  of 
flower  girls. 

From  time  to  time,  Jane  and  Bill 
would  sigh.  "If  we  get  any  more  at- 
tendants, well  have  to  find  a  bigger 
church.  This  one  only  holds  twenty- 
five  hundred  people!" 

There  were  nine  showers  for  Jane, 
and  she  got  (Continued  on  page  87) 


There  were  about  800  guests  at  the  reception  in  Jane's  garden.  She  and  Bill 
were  on  the  receiving  line  for  nearly  three  hours,  but  came  through  smiling. 
Here,  the  Stuart  Erwins  give  congrats  and  advice  before  signing  guest  book. 


Jane  met  Bill  at  the  Mocambo  where  she  was  celebrating  the  completion  of 
Faces  in  the  Fog  with  Eric  Sinclair.  Her  marital  career  comes  first  now,  though. 
She  won't  work  for  several  years,  then  may  go  into  movie  production  with  Bill. 


4? 


Dennis  Morgan  felt  like 
an  intruder  in  this  land 
of  delicate  colors  and  battered 
splendor — until  he  discovered 
you  don't  have  to 
know  a  language 
to  understand  people. 

by  MARY  MORRIS 


In  a  Montmartre  curio  shop,  Dennis  bought  "ca- 
deaux"  (gifts)  for  his  kids.  He  went  daffy  over 
these   masks   but  decided   they'd   frighten  Kristin. 


PARDON  Ml 
FRENCH 


■  "Get  down  the  French  dii 
tionary,"  Dennis  Morgan  should 
roaring  through  the  front  door, 
on  an  evening  in  June,  1947.  "If  we 
like  this  script,"  he  said,  tossing  a 
3-pound  document  into  Lillian's  lap,  "your  stay- 
at-home  husband  will  travel  this 
summer  to  Paris,  France!" 

Secretly,  Dennis  hoped  he'd  hate 
the  story.  He  and  Lillian  and  the  three  chil 
dren  had  been  looking  forward  to  a 
summer  of  family  fun. 

But  the  script,  To  The  Victor, 
turned  out  to  be  an  exciting 
story,  full  of  punch  (an  authentic  picture  of 
life  in  post-war  France)  and  the  role 
"such  a  departure  from  my  usual  assignments' 
(no  singing)  that  Dennis  said  yes. 
Lillian  agreed.  The  following  week  was 
spent  filling  out  forms  down  at  Los 
Angeles  City  Hall  and  at  the  French  con- 
sulate (Continued  on  page  83) 


Dennis  and  Viveca  Lindfors,  at  Croney,  France, 
ride  in  a  typical  Normandy  cart  for  a  scene 
from   To   The  Victor,  story  of  post-war  France. 


Dennis  chats  with  a  Paris  shopkeeper,  as  Bob  Burks  (hands  raised)  lines  up  his  camera  and  director  Delmer  Daves  (seated)  smiles  his  approval. 


To  obtain  authentic  backgrounds,  Dennis,  Viveca,  Burks  and  Daves  were  flown 
to  France  to  photograph  scenes  on  the  Normandy  beachheads,  the  surround- 
ing countryside,  and  Paris.  Above,  a  love  scene  in  the  village  of  Treviers. 


Interior  shots  like  this  were  made  on  the  sound  stage  at  Warners, 
where  Dennis  now  ranks  as  top  money-maker.  According  to  the 
Treasury  Dept.,  he  paid  the  highest  tax  of  any  star  at  his  studio! 


49 


"CHEER  UP,"  THEO 
SAID,  "IT'S  YOUR  VACATION." 

AND  JOAN  SMILED 
WEAKLY,  BECAUSE  SHE 
WAS  SEASICK  AND  LONELY 
AND  ON  HER  WAY 
TO  HONOLULU,  WHILE  THE 
KIDS  WERE 
WAITING  AT  HOME  .  .  . 

By  Leslie  Towners 


■  It  was  something  to  sustain  her 
through  the  long,  involved  pro- 
duction of  Daisy  Kenyon.  When- 
ever the  lights  seemed  too  hot,  or 
her  temper  too  uncertain,  she 
could  think  of  it.  Hawaii.  Long, 
cool  nights,  and  palm  trees,  and 
stars.  Long,  golden  days,  and  clean 
sand,  and  water  stretching  to  the 
other  end  of  the  world. 

Then,  in  the  middle  of  pack- 
ing, she  weakened.  "I  don't  know, 
Theo — "  Theo  Larsen,  her  friend 
and  secretary,  slammed  the  catch 
shut  on  a  small  suitcase,  and 
turned  to  glare.  "You  may  not 
know,  but  I  do.  You're  worn  out, 
and  you're  going." 

"Three  weeks,"  Joan  said  mis- 
erably. "And  the  kids  not  coming." 

The  kids,  Christopher  and 
Christina,  had  already  ensconced 
themselves  in  the  car,  and  were 
waiting  for  their  mother,  their 
mother's  luggage,  and  the  chance 
to  drive  to  the  dock  and  see  the 
Matsonia. 

The  Matsonia,  a  troop  transport 
during  the  war,  is  now  converted 
into  a  glamor  boat,  and  it's  the 
only  luxury  ship  which  makes  the 
trip  to  Honolulu. 

It  im-  {Continued  on  page  89) 


50 


Eh 

B 


it  \ 


After  completing  Daisy  Kenyoil,  Joan  sailed  on  the  Matsonia  for  a  When  they  arrived  in  Honolulu,  Joan  and  secretary 
Honolulu  vacation.  Christina  and  Christopher  came  to  her  stateroom  to  Thee  Larsen  were  welcomed  by  the  Mayor  and  15,000 
say  goodbye — but  lonely  Joan  returned  two  days  later  on  same  boat!      others.    Hawaiians   decked    them   with    traditional  leis. 


Wherever  she  went,  Joan  was  followed  by  fans — even  when  she  dipped  in  It  was  to  have  been  a  rest,  but  Joan  brought  along  30 
the  surf  at  Waikiki  Beach.  She  stayed  at  the  Royal  Hawaiian  Hotel  and  scripts,  12  books  and  100  balls  of  knitting  wool — also 
was  entertained  by  a  hula  troupe  and  the  Royal  Hawaiian  Serenaders.      found  time  for  some  tennis  and  fun  in  on  outrigger  canoe. 


51 


"George  Washington  sat  here," 

Roy  Rogers  said,  as  they  sank  into  the  pew. 

And  Dale  Evans  smiled,  thinking 

she  would  never  forget  Philadelphia,  or 

this  very  breathless  moment — this  moment 

when  her  feet  stopped  hurting. 


Philadelphia 


On  Chestnut  St.,  Roy  and  Dale  visited  the  most  historic  spot  in  America — 
Independence  Hall.  The  table  on  which  the  Declaration  was  signed  is  exhibited 
with  a  group  of  portraits  and  relics.  Here,  they  look  up  into  the  Liberty  Bell. 


Next  stop  was  The  Betsy  Ross  House.  Flag  is  a  replica  of  the  original  Old 
Glory  supposed  to  have  been  made  by  Betsy  in  1777.  A  visit  to  the  oldest  zoo 
in  America  followed  (below).  Zoo  has  over  2,000  birds,  reptiles  and  mammals. 


■  "I  will  not  be  in  Westerns,"  she  had  said 
with  simple  dignity. 

She  figured  they'd  listen  closely.  Repub- 
lic had  signed  her  for  high-budget  musicals, 
and  she  was  planning  to  do  wonders  for 
them. 

They  listened  closely  all  right,  and  then 
they  put  her  in  Westerns,  and  she  said 
nothing  further.  You  can  talk  big,  but  you 
have  to  know  when  to  stop,  and  her  job 
was  important  to  her. 

She  came  from  Texas,  but  she  couldn't 
ride,  at  the  time.  That's  one  thing  West- 
erns have  done  for  her.  She's  made  twenty- 
four  Roy  Rogers  pictures,  and  now  she 
rides  like  Paul  Revere. 

Dale  was  the  only  female  in  the  Rogers 
troupe — you  know  the  set-up:  Roy,  the 
Sons  of  the  Pioneers,  Gabby  Hayes.  She 
also  had  a  face  that  started  strangers  spill- 
ing their  tales  of  woe  to  her.  She  became 
everybody's  confidante. 

The  troupe  could  be  on  location,  and 
there  could  be  a  perfectly  adequate  seam- 
stress along,  but  if  one  of  the  guys  needed 
a  snap  in  his  shirt,  he'd  get  Dale  to  sew 
it  on. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  a  lot  of  friend- 
ships. Dale  got  to  know  the  wives  of  all 
the  boys;  if  a  birthday  or  anniversary  was 
coming  up,  she'd  help  with  shopping.  Roy's 
kids  were  crazy  about  her;  she  was 
adopted  aunt  to  twenty  children. 

When  Roy's  wife  died,  last  November, 
Dale  was  one  of  the  people  who  stood  by, 
took  the  two  older  children,  Cheryl  and 
Linda,  off  his  hands  some  Saturday  after- 
noons, was  a  quiet,  understanding  com- 
panion on  the  set. 

He  was  grateful,  and  the  friendship 
deepened. 

This  year,  they've  had  some  nice  times 
together.  Recently,  Roy  had  his  own  rodeo 
on  tour,  and  the  first  city  they  played  was 
Philadelphia. 

Dale  was  excited  about  the  prospect. 
"I've  never  been  there,"  she  said.  "There's 
so  much  to  see — " 

There  was  so  much  to  see,  and  no  time 
to  see  it  in. 

There  were  performances,  and  autograph 
fans,  and  more  performances. 

"I'll  show  you  the  city,"  Roy  kept  say- 
ing, and  then,  miraculously,  a  free  day 
came  along,  and  they  decided  that  this 
was  it.    (Continued  on  following  page) 


S3 


By  the  time  they'd  finished  their  tour,  Dale's  feet  were  crying  for  help, 
but  she  considered  the  agony  worthwhile.  Here,  Dale  and  Roy  pause 
before  the  Washington  Monument,  near  the  Philadelphia  Free  Library. 


It  was  reported  by  Louella  Parsons  last  Oct.  19,  that  Roy  and 
Dale  would  wed  on  Jan.  I.  Meanwhile,  they  enjoy  each  other's 
company  over  ice-cream,  beside  the  Delaware  River  Bridge. 


Philadelphia 
idyll 


All  the  kids  come  down  from  the  upper  seats  and  crowd  the  wire  fence  when  their 
idol  comes  slowly  around  the  arena  on  Trigger.  Roy  has  three  kids  of  his  own — 
has  bought  342  acres  atop  a  mountain  so  they  can  grow  up  in  the  open  spaces. 


54 


At  the  hotel  where  the  troupe  was 
staying,  Roy  advised  Dale  to  eat  a 
good  breakfast,  and  then  they  em- 
barked on  a  tour,  with  juvenile 
screechers  following  them  from  mu- 
seums to  bridges  to  statues. 

Occasionally,  Dale  would  make 
small  noises  about  "My  feet." 

"You  asked  for  it,"  Roy  teased. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  afternoon, 
they  came  to  Christ  Church,  and 
they  went  in  and  sat  down  in  the 
pew  where  George  Washington  had 
always  sat,  and  gazed  around  them. 

The  church  was  cool ;  it  was  good 
not  to  talk,  and  when  they  came  out 
again,  all  the  children  seemed  to 
have  disappeared,  and  even  their 
tiredness  was  rather  pleasant. 

"I  could  sleep  for  a  week,"  Dale 
said. 

"Till  tomorrow!"  said  her  boss. 
"The  show  goes  on!" 

And  they  both  laughed,  walking 
through  the  dusk  to  the  hotel. 


Roy  was  the  first  cowboy  to  use  a  plastic  saddle.  Here,  he  shows  a  custom-made 
one  of  red,  white  and  blue  to  Tim  Spencer  and  others  of  the  Sons  of  the  Pioneers. 
His  new  interest  is  the   raising   of   palomino  ponies — has   28   brood  mares. 


Sally  Hockett  (right)  and  her  friends  from  Wilmington,  Dela- 
ware, came  all  the  way  to  Philly  to  see  the  rodeo,  and  get 
permission  to  start  a  Roy  Rogers  Fan  Club  of  their  own. 


The  cowgirl  skirts  are  longer,  too,  and  Roy  doesn't  seem  very  happy  about 
it  as  he  measures  the  change.  It's  a  woman's  world,  after  all,  Dale  admits. 
She's  just  finished  The  Trespasser.  Roy's  latest  is  The  Gay  Ranchero. 


Lois  of  things  happened  to  Jeanne  Crain  in  1947.  First,  almost  8  lbs.  of 
red-haired  Jr.,  a  new  home,  and  work  on  Chicken  Every  Sunday  with  Dan 
Dailey  (below).  Off-screen,  husband  Paul   (opp.  page)  carves  the  bird. 


It  was  twelve  o'clock 
and  everywhere 
the  New  Year's  bells 
were  ringing, 
but  for  Jeanne  and  Paul 
there  was  no  end 
and  no  beginning — 
only  this  wonderful  now, 
when  time 
stood  still  .  .  . 


56 


■  I  was  dancing  the  rhumba  with  my 
husband,  Paul,  last  New  Year's  Eve 
when  the  lights  went  out. 

The  orchestra  broke  into  "Auld  Lang 
Syne"  and  the  room  broke  into  New 
Year's  din.  "Come  on,"  said  Paul.  I 
took  his  hand  and  we  slipped  outside, 
closing  the  noise  behind  us.  We  wanted 
to  be  alone,  because  that  New  Year's 


Eve  meant  more  to  us  than  just  1946 
going  out  and  1947  coming  in.  It  was 
our  first  wedding  anniversary.  The  first 
wonderful  year  of  our  married  life  was 
over,  the  second  just  beginning. 

On  the  terrace  by  ourselves,  we 
watched  the  city  lights  twinkle,  heard  the 
whistles  hoot  in  the  distance,  the  far- 
away pops  of  pistols  and  firecrackers. 


There  wasn't  much  moon,  but  moon 
enough,  and  time  was  standing  still  for 
us.  Through  the  dark,  I  could  see  Paul's 
white  smile. 

"Happy  New  Year,"  he  said. 

And  I  said,  "Let  it  be  another  wonder- 
ful year,  just  like  the  last  one!" 

If  I  sound  slightly  sentimental  about 
New  Year's  (Continued  on  page  89) 


'Praise-agent,"  Barbara  and  Bob  scoff  at  Helen  Ferguson  when  she  gets  enthusiastic  about  her  two  famous  clients.  They're  really  shy,  says  Helen. 


BY 

HELEN 
FERGUSON 


■  "Hey,  you!"  the  usher  barked. 
"Where  d'ya  think  you're  goin'?" 

I  was  slipping  into  an  empty  seat  be- 
side Robert  Taylor  and  Barbara  Stan- 
wyck in  a  Broadway  theater,  when  a 
hand  roughly  grabbed  my  arm  and 
turned  me  around. 

We  hadn't  been  able  to  get  these  seats 
together,  for  the  play.  But  during  inter- 
mission, Bob  had  said  the  one  next  to 
them  was  empty.  "Sit  here  with  us, 
Helen,"  he  suggested.  And  that's  what 
I  was  starting  to  do. 

"Lemme  see  ya  stubs,  lemme  see  ya 
stubs!"  As  I  fumbled  in- my  purse  quite 
automatically,  I  felt  hackles  rise  all 


58 


THE    TAYLORS'    "PRAISE-AGENT"    TELLS    ALL!  HOW 

BARBARA  ADMITS  TO  40,  WON'T  DYE  HER  GRAYING  HAIRS. 
AND  SHRUGS  OFF  HER  GOOD  DEEDS.  CLAIMING  "I'M  JUST 
MY  WAY  PAST  ST.  PETER." 


Bob,  who'll  be  in  High  Wall  next,  was  surprised 
when  newspapers  quoted  his  testimony  before  Un- 
American  Activities  Comm.,  wished   he'd  said  morel 


The  Taylors  (dining  above,  with  friend  Robert  Short,  at  the  Crillon)  have  bought  land 
in  Bucks  County,  Pa.,  and  started  proceedings  to  adopt  twins.  On  the  ,B,  F.'s  Daughter 
set,    Babs    has   the    reputation    of   always   being    punctual,    letter-perfect   in    her  lines. 


around  me.  Bob  was  up  first,  his  chin 
out,  his  shoulders  back.  "What's  it  to 
you,  bud?"  he  gritted.  I  heard  another 
seat  slam  back.  That  was  Barbara  com- 
ing up  just  as  mad.  Bob  backing  me 
up,  Barbara  backing  him  up. 

The  usher  retreated.  "Sorry,  Mister 
Taylor.  I  thought  it  was  maybe  a  fan 
botherin'  ya." 

"No  fan,"  Bob  snapped,  "and  any- 
way, I  like  fans,  see?  And  we  can  take 
care  of  ourselves  with  fans  or  anybody 
else." 

"Right,"  seconded  Barbara,  right  out 
loud. 

I  laughed.  I  was  there,  in  my  capacity 


as  a  publicist,  to  "protect"  Bob  and 
Barbara — and  here  they  were  protecting 
me!  I'd  come  to  New  York  and  got  them 
involved  in  a  schedule  of  Manhattan 
interviews  and  press  appointments  when 
they  returned  from  their  European  trip 
last  spring,  but,  as  usual  with  the  Tay- 
lors, it  was  hard  to  tell  just  who  was 
handling  whom.  Bob  had  rustled  the 
theater  tickets,  filled  my  room  with 
flowers,  grabbed  the  dinner  checks.  He'd 
even  given  me  an  osteopathic  treatment 
one  hot  day  when  I'd  collapsed  in  their 
suite! 

I  should  have  known  what  to  expect 
after  eight  years.  It's  impossible  to  re- 


gard "The  Queen,"  as  she's  most  fre- 
quently called,  and  "Pomona,"  as  she 
calls  him,  only  as  clients.  Not  since  a 
couple  of  days  I'll  always  remember. 

I'd  been  handling  Barbara's  publicity 
for  about  three  years.  Neither  Bob  nor 
Barbara  is  demonstrative  on  easy 
acquaintance;  our  relationship  all  that 
time  was  strictly  business. 

One  day  we  were  shooting  a  home 
layout,  and  while  Barbara  was  busy 
making  up  in  her  dressing-room,  I 
chatted  with  her  maid  and  hair-dresser 
about  my  recent  trip  to  the  East.  Just 
making  conversation,  I  happened  to 
mention  an   {Continued  on  page  61) 


59 


Dentyne  -pavtoftAe  rfwt 


Always  right  there  with  what  it 
takes  for  enjoyment— Dentyne 
Chewing  Gum,  it's  keen  chewing 
gum!  That  refreshingly  different, 
long-lasting  flavor  really  satisfies. 

And  Dentyne's  special  plus  is  its 
pleasantly  firm  chewiness  that  helps 
keep  teeth  sparkling  white! 

Chew  Dentyne  and  smile.  Try  the 
other  Adams  quality  gums  too  — 
they're  all  delightful.  Always  — 


6tu/  aam  6y  Acfamd 


60 


Reg.  Trade  Marks 


OUR  TOWN 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


City.  For  Naked  City,  Producer  Hellinger 
shot  one  scene  in  the  Park  Avenue  apart- 
ment of  restauranteur  Toots  Shor.  One  of 
the  grips,  forgetting  that  he  wasn't  in  the 
Universal  Studio,  drove  a  nail  into  the 
living-room  wall.  To  smooth  the  natural 
reaction  of  Mrs.  Shor,  I  understand  that 
Hellinger  had  to  buy  a  painting  to  cover 
up  the  havoc  caused  by  the  nail! 

We  have  gone  all  out  in  New  York  to 
cooperate  with  Hollywood,  and  bring  a 
greater  percentage  of  motion  picture  busi- 
ness to  this  city.  In  the  first  place,  labor 
relations  in  New  York's  motion  picture 
area  are  not  subject  to  jurisdictional  dis- 
pute. All  affected  labor  unions  have  agreed 
to  refrain  from  such  disputes  for  the  next 
five  years,  and  to  permit  the  Mayor  to 
arbitrate,  with  his  decision  binding. 

Judge  Edward  C.  Maguire,  my  Director 
of  the  Division  of  Labor  Relations,  has 
done  a  magnificent  job  of  streamlining  city 
rules  in  order  to  help  Hollywood  units. 
He  and  the  Corporation  Counsel's  office 
have  done  this  without  sacrificing  the 
safety  or  welfare  of  the  7,800,000  residents 
of  our  city.  It  wasn't  an  easy  task. 

For  a  deeper  appreciation  of  the  job 
which  had  to  be  done,  let  me  point  out 
how  many  city  departments  were  involved. 
There  was  the  Mayor's  office,  the  five 
offices  of  Borough  Presidents,  the  Police 
Department,  the  Fire  Department,  the  De- 
partment of  Parks,  Department  of  Marine 
and  Aviation,  the  Department  of  Water 
Supply,  Gas  and  Electricity,  the  Depart- 
ment of  Housing  and  Buildings,  the  De- 
partment of  Public  Works,  the  Port  of 
New  York  Authority  and  even  the  Society 
for  the  Prevention  of  Crueky  to  Chil- 
dren. This  last  organization  has  an  active 
interest  if  a  child  under  16  years  of  age 
is  engaged  to  make  a  picture,  but  in  the 
case  of  Margaret  O'Brien,  I  can  assure 
you  she'd  have  the  written  consent  of  the 
Mayor!  I'm  one  of  her  fans. 

Last  winter,  to  illustrate  the  complex- 
ities which  had  to  be  cleared  away,  the 
Portrait  of  Jenny  company  secured  a  Dept. 
of  Parks  permit  to  shoot  an  ice-skating 
scene  on  a  Central  Park  lake.  When  the 
company  arrived  at  the  lake,  a  thaw  had 


MODERN  SCREEN 


told  you  to  bring  her  right  back!" 


set  in.  No  ice.  So  the  director  decided  he'd 
take  another  scene  which  had  to  be  shot 
on  the  Park  Mall.  Only  for  that,  he  needed 
another  permit.  Several  hours  and  much 
money  were  wasted,  pending  the  trip 
downtown  and  the  issuance  of  the  second 
permit.  This  no  longer  can  happen,  thanks 
to  Judge  Maguire. 

New  York  is  a  city  of  enormous  vehicle 
and  pedestrian  traffic.  To  shut  off  a  street, 
or  part  of  a  street,  is  an  involved  oper- 
ation. You  just  can't  set  up  cameras  and 
tell  your  actors  to  start  emoting.  The 
Police  Department  and  its  Traffic  Bureau 
have  licked  this  problem. 

Once  the  Hollywood  companies  become 
more  aware  of  our  problems,  and  eliminate 
last-minute  planning,  they  will  find  their 
pilgrimage  to  our  city  easy  and  satis- 
factory. 

Furthermore,  private  investors  in  New 
York  are  prepared  to  construct  motion 
picture  studios  which  might  be  rented  by 
movie  companies. 

In  other  words,  Hollywood  need  not 
make  any  capital  investments  in  New 
York  City!  I  know  of  no  fairer  proposition 
than  that. 

Henry  Hathaway,  one  of  the  fine  direc- 
tors, who  has  filmed  such  pictures  in  New 
York  as  Kiss  of  Death,  and  The  House  on 
92nd  Street,  is  enthusiastic  about  the  city's 
advantages.  Its  skyline,  its  skyscrapers,  its 
great  bridges,  the  exciting  panorama  of 
Broadway — and  also  a  vast,  untapped  res- 
ervoir of  acting  talent.  Mr.  Hathaway  says 
that  no  other  city  in  the  world  can  offer 
so  much  to  Hollywood. 

New  York  offers  something  else,  too, 
it  seems  to  me.  , 

The  staccato  pace  of  Manhattan  is  a 
blood  tonic  and  a  nerve  tonic  to  any  artist, 
a  challenge  to  his  creative  ability.  Some 
performers  who  have  never  given  great 
performances  in  the  studios  of  Holly- 
wood have  risen  to  artistic  heights  in  this 
exciting,  cosmopolitan  setting. 

As  Mayor  of  the  City  of  New  York,  I 
say  to  Hollywood:  "Come  east;  come  to 
New  York— where  a  hearty  welcome 
awaits  you." 


POMONA  AND  THE  QUEEN 

{Continued  from  page  59) 


amethyst  ring  I'd  seen  in  New  York  and 
had  wanted  to  buy.  I  had  no  idea  that 
Barbara  could  hear  me.  I  forgot  all 
about  it. 

Shortly  after,  I  flew  again  to  New  York. 
A  cryptic  wire  awaited  me  at  The  Essex 
House.  "If  the  man  from  Trabert  and 
Hoeffer's  comes  to  see  you,"  it  read,  "don't 
throw  him  out.  Barbara."  I  was  puzzled 
—until  the  man  from  that  jewelry  shop 
did  come,  and  with  him  a  44-carat  ame- 
thyst ring,  the  most  beautiful  I'd  ever 
seen! 

That  was  a  pretty  dizzy  day  for  me. 
You  see,  it  wasn't  only  the  exquisite  gift 
that  threw  me — I  knew  Barbara's  generous 
habit  of  presenting  golden  gifts  to  those 
within  her  small  circle  of  close  friends, 
and  my  ring  meant  admission  to  that 
circle!    I  was  proud  to  bursting! 

The  other  day  I  won't  ever  forget  was 
the  one  before  Bob  left  for  Corpus  Christi 
for  boot  camp.  Every  photographer  in 
town  was  at  the  house  to  get  the  only 
pictures  Bob  and  Barbara  had  made  to- 
gether since  their  marriage.  When  the  last 
one  had  gone,  and  Barbara  went  upstairs, 
I  said  goodbye  to  Bob.  "God  goes  with 
you,"  I  finished,  and  we  shook  hands, 
hard. 

"You  take  care  of  the  Queen,"  he  said, 
unsmilingly.  I  knew  I'd  been  given  a 
trust,  and  I  knew  I'd  been  admitted  to 
Bob's  close  circle,  too. 


H  ERE'S  fudge  so  delicately 
smooth  and  creamy  that  it 
simply  melts  away!  Carnation 
Velvet  Fudge  .  .  .  made  with 
a  milk  that's  heat-refined  and  homogenized  toi»/>mmoothness 
for  the  same  velvet  blend  in  candy  that  it  brings  to  all  milk-rich 
dishes.  Definitely  .  .  .  the  fudge  recipe  you've  always  dreamed 
of  finding! 


CARNATION  VELVET  FUDGE 

3  cups  sugar 

2  tablespoons  corn  syrup 

3  1-oz.  squares  bitter  chocolate, 

shaved 


WITH  VARIATIONS 

Vs  teaspoon  salt 

1  cup  Carnation  Milk,  undiluted 
3  tablespoons  butter 
1  cup  nutmeats,  chopped 

Mix  all  ingredients  except  butter  and  nuts.  Boil  until  syrup  reaches  238°  F. 
or  until  a  soft  ball  is  formed  when  a  small  amount  is  dropped  in  cold  water. 
Remove  from  heat,  add  butter.  Cool  until  lukewarm.  Beat  until  creamy, 
add  nuts,  and  pour  into  buttered  pan.  Cut  into  squares. 

Velvet  Kisses — Instead  of  pouring  into  pan,  drop  from  tea- 
spoon onto  waxed  paper  to  fotm  kisses. 

Velvet  Nuggets — Continue  beating  till  fudge  loses 
its  gloss.  Mold  into  small  balls  and  roll  in  natural 
or  tinted  coconut. 

Velvet  Roll — Continue  beating  till  fudge  loses  its 
gloss.  Form  into  a  long  roll.  Roll  in  chopped 
tinted  nutmeats.  Wrap  in  waxed  paper  and  chill. 
Cut  in  thin  slices  to  serve. 

WRITE  for  the  "Velvet  Blend  Book"  of  exciting  new 
recipes  —  to  Carnation  Company,  Dept.  X-l,  Milwaukee  2, 
Wisconsin. 


"From  Contented  Cows" 


©  CARNATION  CO. 


SHOES 


62 


Bd  by  PETERS  SHOE  CO.  SAINT  LOUIS  3 


It's  not  easy  to  write  what  I  feel  about 
Bob  Taylor  and  Barbara  Stanwyck.  They 
are  allergic  to  praise.  They  usually  muffle 
me  with  a  wisecrack — and  both  are  trig- 
ger-quick in  that  department. 

One  summer  Sunday  just  after  they 
were  married,  I  got  a  request  for  Barbara 
to  do  a  free  broadcast  for  The  Children's 
Society.  Barbara's  evenings  and  Sundays 
are  reserved  for  Bob,  but  I  knew  how  she 
loved  kids,  so  I  called  her.  "Sure,"  she 
answered.  The  day  turned  out  to  be  a 
scorcher — hottest  of  the  year.  But  Miss 
S.  drove  all  the  way  from  the  Northridge 
ranch  to  Los  Angeles  and,  after  one  run- 
through  rehearsal,  went  on  the  air  and 
put  her  audience  in  tears.  Afterwards, 
I  ventured,  "You  are  really  wonderful, 
Barbara,  to  do  this."  She  gave  me  an 
oblique  look. 

"Wonderful,  hell,"  she  grinned,  "I'm 
just  bribing  my  way  past  St.  Peter!" 

Bob  and  Barbara  are  both  really  shy. 
Each  has  a  distracting  habit  of  scuttling 
off  when  you  aim  a  camera  at  the  other. 
They  never  take  it  for  granted  that  you 
want  them  both  in  publicity  pictures.  Bob 
and  Barbara  figure  their  acting  careers  as 
separate  deals  entirely. 

I  was  put  straight .  early  in  our  asso- 
ciation when  I  called  the  house.  I  recog- 
nized Bob's  voice  when  the  phone  was 
answered.  "Is  Mrs.  Taylor  in?"  I  asked. 
"Miss  Stanwyck  is  in  the  shower,"  he 
said.  "This  is  Bob  Taylor.  May  I  help 
you?" 

I  never  forgot  it. 

on  with  the  show  .  .  . 

Barbara,  of  course,  came  to  Hollywood 
from  "show  business."  She  lives  by  its 
creed:  the  show  must  go  on. 

In  one  of  the  first  pictures  she  ever 
made  in  Hollywood,  she  and  her  leading 
man  had  to  ride  horseback.  The  man 
drew  too  fiery  a  nag  and  refused  to  risk 
it.  "We'll  switch,"  offered  Barbara,  "I'll 
ride  him."  She  did,  and  was  thrown  and 
trampled  upon.  She  got  up,  insisted  upon 
remounting  and  finishing  the  day's  work. 
She  worked  all  that  day  on  pure  guts. 
When  the  whistle  blew,  she  collapsed. 
The  doctors  couldn't  believe  she'd  been 
able  to  walk  after  that  fall.  "I  had  to," 
she  said  simply,  "I  was  too  scared  to 
give  up." 

The  only  time  Barbara  ever  actually 
held  up  a  production  was  on  The  Other 
Love.  She  had  a  beaut  of  a  cold,  and  an 
outdoor  swimming  scene.  November  can 
be  nippy  in  Hollywood.  She  swam  all 
day,  stayed  wet.  She  had  fever  and  flu 
that  night  and  it  was  ten  days  before  she 
could  wobble  again.  She  went  to  work 
and  insisted  she  was  okay.  But  it  took 
three  months  to  shake  a  nasty  cough. 
But  do  I  mention  it?  I  do  not.  "Lay  off 
my  aches  and  pains,"  warns  Barbara. 

Barbara  and  Bob  would  both  shrivel  me 
in  scorn  if  I  tried  to  gild  the  basic  facts 
of  their  lives.  Barbara's  forty.  She's 
always  cracking  about  it.  She  has  no 
terror  of  the  several  silver  threads  which 
have  multiplied  in  her  dark  red  hair.  One 
day  at  a  party,  a  certain  sharp-tongued 
lady  spied  them  and  cooed,  "I  think  your 
new  blonde  hair's  so  attractive,  Barbara." 

"Blonde,  my  eye!"  snorted  Miss  Stan- 
wyck. "That's  gray."  She  asked  Bob 
pronto,  "Does  it  bother  you?" 

"Hell,  no,"  he  came  back.    "I  love  it." 

"Then  that's  how  it  stays,"  she  said.  And 
that's  how  it  is. 

My  favorite  example  of  the  Queen's 
back-of-me-hand  approach  to  vanity  took 
place  when  she  made  Remember  The 
Night  with  Director  Mitchell  Leisen. 
Mitch  is  meticulous  about  feminine 
glamor  and  in  one  scene  Barbara  wore  a 
very  chic  hat.  Before  she  stepped  into 
the  scene,  the  wardrobe  girl  brought  the 
chapeau  over  and  put  it  on  her  head. 


Stany  strode  straight  to  her  place  before 
the  camera.  "Okay,"  she  said,  "let's  get 
started." 

"My  God,  Barbara!"  gasped  Mitch, 
"aren't  you  going  to  look  at  yourself  in  a 
mirror?" 

"What  for?"  asked  Stanwyck.  "The 
front's  in  front  and  the  back's  in  back. 
What  else  can  you  manage  to  do  with  a 
hat?" 

Barbara's  just  as  frank  and  unpreten- 
tious about  any  less  opulent  chapter  of 
her  own  life.  In  London,  she  had  her 
first  personal  ovation.  British  lords  and 
ladies,  government  dignitaries  and  titled 
bigwigs  saluted  her  at  the  world  pre- 
miere of  The  Other  Love. 

I  said,  "Weren't  you  thrilled?  Wasn't 
it  exciting?"  Her  eyes  grew  large,  remem- 
bering. "I  looked  over  that  audience," 
she  said,  "and  all  I  could  think  of  was, 
'Well,  kid,  you've  certainly  come  a  hell- 
uva long  way  from  Brooklyn!'  " 

Barbara  was  Ruby  Stevens,  a  Brooklyn 
girl  who  rose  from  poverty  to  make  a 
name  for  herself.  She's  proud  of  it.  She 
met  and  bruised  against  a  hostile  world 
plenty,  but  she  fought  her  way  up— tele- 
phone operator,  salesgirl,  chorus  girl — to 
earn  recognition. 

She  hasn't  forgotten.  She  doesn't  in- 
tend to  forget. 

One  day  I  noticed  a  new  painting  hang- 
ing in  Barbara's  bedroom.  It  was  a  semi- 
nude  by  Paul  Clemens,  a  girl  slumped  in 
a  chair,  her  feet  resting  wearily  on  an- 
other chair,  her  arms  hanging  heavily  at 
her  sides.  A  dancer  in  her  dressing- 
room  after  an  exhausting  performance. 
"Nice,"  I  said.  "How  did  you  happen  to 
buy  it?" 

"Because,"  said  the  Queen  simply,  "my 
feet  have  ached  that  much!" 

Because  she  knows  what  it's  like  to 
have-not,  Barbara's  heart  has  a  habit  of 
melting  like  butter.  She  packed  eight 
pairs  of  shoes   {Continued  on  page  71) 


Marie  McDonald  .  .  . 

M-G-M  star  now  playing  the  roman- 
tic lead  opposite  Gene  Kelly  in 
Living  in  a  Big  Way.  It's  her  first 
starring  role  and  Marie  dances  with 
Gene  in  it — who  could  ask  for  any- 
thing morel 

Marie  came  to  New  York  for  her 
honeymoon  and  was  sweet  enough  to 
take  time  out  to  pose  for  us.  Wasn't 
that  the  nicest  thing  I  She's  so-oo  in 
love  .  .  .  and  all  we  can  say  is  that 
we  think  her  husband  is  an  awfully 
lucky  guyl  Marie  was  so  pleased  at  the 
way  she  looked  in  this  dress  that  she 
ordered  it  for  her  own  wardrobe. 

THE  DRESS  is  made  of  elegant  rayon 
faille.  That's  why  it  falls  into  those 
nice  graceful  folds.  The  bodice  is 
strapless  and  that  petal-shaped  neck- 
line is  unbelievably  flattering.  The 
skirt  is  yards  and  yards  wide — and 
the  shirred  lampshade  effect  makes  it 
look  even  wider.  It  couldn't  be  more 
romantic  looking — and  you  couldn't 
feel  prettier  wearing  it. 

It  comes  in  other  colors  just  as  hea- 
venly as  the  green  we  photographed: 
rose,  gold,  black,  American  beauty, 
and  two  shades  of  blue.  Sizes  9  to  15 
and  10  to  16. 

By  Kalman-Herbert  About  $25 

To  find  out  where  to  buy  this  dress  turn 
to  page  71. 


Be  the  belle  of  the  ball 
in  this  elegant  gown.  Show  off 
just  enough  of  you  in  a 
sweetheart  neckline  and  cap  sleeves. 
Whirl  while  you  waltz  in  an  ex- 
travagantly full  pannier  skirt.   Made  of 
Celanese  rayon  moire.  Royal, 
green,  topaz,  blue,  peacock. 
Sizes  9-15.  10-16. 

By  David  Klein  $25 

For  where  to  buy 
see  page  7 1 . 


modern  screen  fashions 


modern  screen  fashions 


When  the  stag  line  asks 
"Who's  the  girl  in  the  plaid 
dress?" — be  sure  it's  you. 
Strapless  to  show  your  pretty 
shoulders — bustled  to  give 
you  an  impudent  look. 
Rayon  taffeta  in  multicolored  plaid. 
Sizes  9  to  15. 

By  Bon  Ray  About  $30. 

For  where  to  buy  see  page  7 1 . 


Look  as  beautiful  as  the 

wrappings  on  his  package  when  you 

thank  him  for  his  gift.  This 

divine  dress  is  made  of  the  two  most 

out-of-this-world  fabrics — 

brocade  top,  velvet  skirt.  Cap  sleeves 

and  velvet  edged  double  peplum. 

Two-piece.  Black  skirt  with  white,  pink  or 

blue  brocade  top.  Sizes  9-15. 

Claudia  Young  Original  .  .  .  $19.95. 

For  where  to  buy  see  page  7  I . 


66 


modern  screen  fashions 


<JWt 


1)' 


2 


Look  like  the  angel  at 
the  top  of  the  tree  in  your  off- 
shoulder  dress.  That 
oh-so-feminine 
boat-shaped 
neckline  is  velvet 
trimmed.   Full  princess 
skirt  for  sheer  flattery 
to  any  figure.   Black  rayon 
faille.  Sizes  9-15,  10-16. 
By  Marie  Phillips  .  .  .  $14.95. 
For  where  to  buy  see  page  7  I . 


modern  screen  fashions 


Be  the  center  of  attraction 
in  this  two-piece 
party  dress.  See  the  three 
rows  of  brass  buttons?  Well, 
they  also  light  up  the 
BACK  of  that  flirty  peplum,  so  you 
shine  from  every  angle!  Short  sleeves. 
Tiny  round  collar.  Cut- 
away peplum.   Rayon  bengaline. 
Black  and  navy.  Sizes  7-15. 
By  Doris  Dodson  ...  $10.95. 
For  where  to  buy  see  page  7 1 . 


arrow  captures  young 

proportions*  ...  in  the 
contoured*  copa  bra 
contour  cups  A,  B,  C,  in  varying 
lengths  for  every  figure  type. 
AT  BETTER  STORES  EVERYWHERE 

ARROW  BRASSIERE  COMPANY 

230  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York.  N.  Y. 


The  two  blocks  of  ster- 
ling inlaid  at  back  of 
bowls  and  handles  of 
most  used  spoons  and 
forks.  They  make  this 
silverplate  stay  lovelier 
longer.  Fifty-two  piece 
set  $68.50  with  chest. 
(No  Federal  Tax.) 


Cipyriiht  1948,  Till  littirnatloitil  Silver  Co.,  Holmes  (  Edwards  Division. 
Miridio,  Conn.-  Sold  In  Canada  by:  Too  I.  Eaton  Co.,  Ltd.  °Ro|.  U.  S.  Pat.  Oil. 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 

Dear  You: 

We're  writing  this  from  the  de-luxe 
cabin  of  a  chartered  Matson  DC-4  Sky- 
master — high  above  the  Atlantic.  We've 
just  left  Paris,  we're  homeward  bound 
from  the  most  spectacular  fashion  trip 
we've  ever  been  on — and  we're  still 
whirling! 

Our  hosts  are  The  Manufacturers  and 
Wholesalers  Association  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, who  flew  two  planes  of  models, 
designers,  fashion  writers  and  a  huge 
collection  of  wonderful  San  Francisco 
clothes  to  France — to  put  on  the  best- 
attended  fashion  show  Paris  has  ever 
seen. 

Where  shall  we  begin?  The  cocktail 
party  Schiaparelli  threw  for  us?  The 
dinner  given  by  French  government  offi- 
cials? The  day  we  lunched  at  Maxim's — 
and  so  did  the  Duchess  of  Windsor? 
Help!  We'd  need  a  book,  telephone 
size,  to  describe  to  you  the  elegance, 
swank  and  general  luxury  of  the  trip. 
The  fact  that  the  San  Francisco  associa- 
tion had  a  plane  full  of  fresh  flowers 
flown  over  for  the  fashion  show-  will  just 
give  you  a  hint. 

However,  there's  one  thing  we've  just 
got  to  get  in — and  that  is,  be  glad 
you're  an  American  girl!  You  ought  to 
see  your  French  sisters.  Pretty,  alert, 
full  of  that  certain  something — but  with 
nothing  to  wear!  The  French  girl  dresses 
in  clumsy  ill-fitting  shoes,  poorly  made 
jackets  and  skirts  and  whatever  other 
scraps  she  can  get  together.  She  just 
can't  get  decent  clothes  at  working  girl 
prices.  There  aren't  any. 

Sure — Christian  Dior  and  the  rest  of 
the  famous  French  designers  make  beau- 
tiful clothes  to  order  .  .  .  and  they're  all 
yours,  if  you  have  $400  and  up  to  spend. 
But  the  average  French  girl — who  hasn't 
$400?  Can  she  walk  into  a  store,  as  we 
can,  and  find  a  smart  dress  that  fits — at 
a  working  girl's  price?  Never!  That's 
why  the  San  Francisco  clothes  amazed 
Paris.  The  French  had  never  seen 
clothes  which  looked  so  smart — were  so 
well  made — of  such  good  fabrics, — at 
prices  beginning  at  $15.  They  couldn't 
believe  that  an  average  working  girl 
anywhere  in  the  U.  S.  could  buy  such 
clothes — right  out  of  her  salary  check. 

But  the  French  know  now.   And  of 
course  you  and  I  have  always  known. 
Cheering  for  American  fashion, 

Connie  Bartel 


(Jamfius  Q 


.  .  .  from  your  tiny  white  bengallne 
collar  to  the  tip  of  your  gracefully  flared 

trou5er-pleated  skirtl  Heavy  gilt  buttons 
trail  off-side  and  the  wide  belt  sports  o 

real-looking  "watch  chain."  Rayon  serge 
flannel.  Blush  rose,  powder  blue,  aqua. 
Teen  10,  12,  14,  16.  Only  $g 


462  7th  AVENUE 
HEW  YORK  18.  N.  Y 


TERRY  TEENERS,  INC. 

462  7th  Ave.,  New  York  18.  N.  Y. 

Gentlemen:  Send  CAMPUS  QUEEN  on  approval  at 
$5.95,  plus  postage.  1  may  return  dress  for  refund 
within  ten  days  if  not  completely  satisfied. 

QUAN  1st  COLOR  CHOICE 

SIZE  2nd  COLOR  CHOICE 

NAME...:  

ADDRESS.. 

CITY  ZONE  STATE.. 


See  the  clothes  you  asked 

for  in  February 
MODERN  SCREEN  Fashions 

TIRED  EYES  LOVE 

EYE-GENE 


Tired,  Dull  one  minute  . . .  Rested.  Cleared  the  next! 

SAFE  RELIEF  NOW  IN  SECONDS! 

That's  how  fast  just  two  drops  of  safe,  gentle 
EYE-GENE  act  to  relieve  your  eyes  tired  from  glare, 

wind,  smoke  or  overwork.  You  feel   

its  soothing  effect  in  seconds!  Use  /tf!^*' 'W'^^s. 
EYE-GENE  every  day.  Its  (fo^HowekeeW  / 
harmless.  Economical,  too.  25<l,  \»„  Vi*/ 
60c,  $lbottlesat  Druggists.  Try  it!  ^^2222*-^ 


modern  screen  fashions 


Twinkle  as  brightly 
as  the  ornaments  on  the 
tree  in  this  Gibson 
Girl  dress.  Multicolored 
plaid  taffeta  bodice 
has  the  most  voluminous 
sleeves  in  town.  Spar- 
kling jewel-tone  buttons 
add  color.  Black  Labtex 
crepe  skirt  has  a  deep 
midriff  to  minimize 
waist.  Teen  Sizes  8-16. 
Teentimer  OHriginal  $10.95. 
For  where  to  buy 
see  page  71. 


Your  Shoes 
are  Showing  I 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY 
MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

(Prices  on  merchandise  may  vary  through- 
out country) 

Kalman-Herbert  rayon  faille  strapless  eve- 
ning gown  worn  by  Marie  McDonald  in  the 
full  color  photograph  (Page  63) 

Atlanta,     Ga. — Davison,     Paxon  Co., 

Budget  Shop,  Third  Floor 
Cincinnati,  Ohio — The  John  Shillito  Co. 
Dallas,  Texas — Neiman-Marcus 
New  York,  N.  Y— Lord  &  Taylor 
Salt  Lake  City,  Utah — Auerbach's,  Better 

Dresses,  Second  Floor 
St.  Louis,  Mo.— Stix,  Baer  &  Fuller,  Col- 

legienne  Shop,  Third  Floor' 
Tulsa,  Okla. — Seidenbach's 

David  Klein  Celanese  rayon  moire  sweet- 
heart neckline  evening  gown   (Page  64) 

Boston,  Mass. — R.  H.  Stearns  Co.,  Fourth 
Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Dewees,  Cosmopolitan 
Court,  Fourth  Floor 

Bon  Ray  rayon  taffeta  off-shoulder,  ballet 
length  evening  gown  (page  65) 

Boston,  Mass.— C.    Crawford  Hollidge 
Ltd.,  Junior  Miss  Dept.,  Fourth  Floor 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. — Bullock's 

Claudia  Young  Original  two-piece  brocade 
and  velvet  dress  (Page  66) 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Hearn's  Little  Figure 

Shop,  Second  Floor 
Washington,  D.  C. — Lansburgh's  . 

Marie  Phillips  rayon  faille  off- shoulder, 
princess  style  dress  (Page  67) 

Chicago,   111—  Wieboldt's,   Dress  Dept., 
Second  Floor 

Evanston,  111.— Wieboldt's,  Dress  Dept. 
Second  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Saks-34th,  Inexpen- 
sive Dresses,  Fifth  Floor 

Oak  Park,  111.— Wieboldt's,  Dress  Dept., 
Second  Floor 

Doris  Dodson  two-piece  rdyon  bengaline 
peplum  dress  with  brass  buttons  (Page  68) 

Atlanta,  Ga.— J.  P.  Allen  &  Co.,  Junior 
Shopp,  Second  Floor 

Chicago,  111.— Mandel  Brothers,  Fourth 
Floor 

I     New  York,  N.  Y.— Oppenheim  Collins, 
Half  Pint  Shop,  Second  Floor 
St.  Louis,  Mo.— Stix,  Baer  &  Fuller,  Doris 
Dodson  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

j     Washington,  D.  C— Frank  R.  Jelleff,  Inc., 
Economy  Juniors,  Fourth  Floor 

j  Teentimer  OHriginal  taffeta  and  crepe 
|  Gibson  Girl  dress  (Page  70) 

Mankato,  Minn.— George  E.  Brett  Co., 

Teen  Age  Shop,  Second  Floor 
Milwaukee,   Wis.— Gimbels,   Hi  School 

Sub  Deb  Dept.,  Third  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y.— Gimbels,  Hi  School 

Shop,  Fifth  Floor 
Pittsburgh,  Pa.— Gimbels,    Hi  School 
Shop,  Fourth  Floor 


i 


If  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed  write: 
Fashion  Editor,  Modern  Screen,  149 
Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


(Continued  from  page  62)  in  her  bags  for 
wear  in  Europe;  she  came  back  with  one, 
scuffed  and  beaten.  She'd  given  the  rest 
away  the  first  week  in  England. 

Barbara  never  tries  to  duck  a  "knew- 
her-when"  moment.  The  honor  she's 
probably  most  sentimental  about  is  a 
bronze  plaque  with  her  name  on  it  in 
Erasmus  Hall  High  School  in  Brooklyn. 
Erasmus  was  Ruby  Stevens'  idea  of  heaven 
at  one  stage  in  her  struggling  girlhood. 
She  never  got  there;  she  had  to  go  to 
work  after  the  eighth  grade.  But  even 
though  it's  an  error,  she's  still  proud  of  it. 
For  years  she  explained  carefully  that 
she  did  not  rate  it.  The  name  remained. 
So  she  relaxed,  and  enjoys  the  irony  of 
that  plaque,  which  lists  the  names  of 
famous  Erasmus  graduates. 

The  only  person  I  ever  saw  Barbara 
embrace  in  public  was  a  waiter  at  the 
Stork  Club.  .  Reason:  he  was  an  old  pal 
and  benefactor.  The  Queen  is  reticent, 
as  I  said.  When  I  met  Barbara  and  Bob 
in  New  York  after  their  European  jaunt, 
we  took  in  the  Stork  one  night.  The  first 
thing  Barbara  said  when  we  walked  in 
was,  "Where's  Spooner?" 

I  knew  about  Jack  Spooner.  He  used 
to  be  the  head-waiter  at  Billy  LaHiff's 
Tavern.  When  Ruby  Stevens,  and  Mae 
Clarke  and  Wanda  Mansfield,  were  strug- 
gling, often-out-of-jobs  chorus  girls 
tackling  the  Big  Street,  they  got  meals 
on  the  cuff  at  Billy  LaHiff's.  Now, 
Spooner  worked  at  the  Stork.  And  in  he 
came,  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

Barbara  leaned  far  across  our  table, 
threw  her  arms  around  him  and  planted 
a  big  kiss. 

"Well,  Stinky,"  cried  Jack.  "So  you've 
been  to  Europe — see  the  King  and  Queen?" 

"Not  me,"  cracked  Barbara  happily. 
"When  they  heard  I  was  coming,  they 
ducked  out  to  Africa!"  Everyone  in  the 
place  was  smiling,  sharing  the  delight  of 
their  reunion,  laughing  at  the  insults  the 
two  exchanged  so  gaily. 

shy  beneath  the  skin  .  .  . 

Ordinarily,  both  Bob  and  Barbara  are 
crisp  and  taciturn  on  the  surface.  It 
takes  a  long  time  before  they  let  you 
discover  the  sentiment  under  that  pro- 
tective crust.  When  Bob  calls  me,  he  still 
identifies  himself:  "Helen,  Bob  Taylor." 
First  time  I  ever  met  Bob,  I  drove  into 
their  ranch  in  the  valley.  Halfway  up 
the  drive,  a  man  leaped  upon  my  running- 
board,  poked  his  handsome  head  in  the 
window  and  said,  "Helen,  Bob  Taylor." 
Just  like  that.  I  almost  ran  into  the  rose 
bushes.  When  I  call  Barbara  and  she 
answers  "Yep — "  crisply,  I  make  my 
business  short  and  snappy.  But  when  she 
says  "hello"  soft  and  easy,  it's  pretty  sure 
she'll  talk  for  maybe  a  couple  of  hours. 
The  only  subject  she  won't  mention  is  her 
own  generosity. 

I  remember  one  day  my  doorbell  rang. 
I  opened  it  and  there  was  Barbara,  her 
arms  sagging  with  a  half-dozen  beautiful 
gowns.  She  looked  as  if  she'd  been  caught 
raiding  a  bank  vault,  and  glared  as  she 
thrust  the  dresses  at  me.  "Dammit,"  she 
complained,  "what  are  you  doing  at  home? 
Here — take  these."  She  whirled  and  ran 
back  to  her  car.  But  pinned  on  the  gowns 
was  a  typically  Stanwyck  note  explaining 
that  she  couldn't  use  the  party  frocks,  and 
she  hoped  maybe  I  could. 

She's  that  way  with  all  her  friends — and 
Bob.  When  the  Taylors  were  abroad,  Bob, 
who's  gun  and  plane  happy,  took  in  the 
continental  shooting  matches  in  Belgium. 
A  certain  hand-made  weapon  won  the 
Grand  Prix,  which  means  it  was  at  least 
close  to  the  finest  gun  in  the  world.  He 
wanted  it.  Barbara  squawked.  "You've 
got  enough  guns.  Take  it  easy."  But  of 
course,  the  next  day  she  personally 
tracked  down  the  gunsmith  who'd  fash- 


don't  miss 

"The 
Shirtwaist 
Girls" 

in  february 
modern  screen 
fashions 

★  ★**★*★★★★★★****  7j 


rah  Kerr,  M-G-M  star,  loves  a  flower  fragrance. 


scents 
of 

beauty 


Perfume  can 
evoke  the  romantic 
mood,  but  use 
it  with 
imagination 
for  its 

magic  effect. 

BY  CAROL  CARTER, 
BEAUTY  EDITOR 


■  If  you're  susceptible  to  perfume — and  who  isn't? — you  have  your 
favorite,  which  you  can  only  describe  with  a  blissful  sigh  of  ecstasy! 
It's  strictly  a  luxury,  but  heady  magic  at  creating  a  mood  of  enchant- 
ment. Since  it  serves  no  other  purpose  but  to  delight  your  senses,  choose 
your  perfume  carefully  and  only  after  you've  had  a  sample  dab  on  your 
skin  for  a  few  minutes  or  longer.  If  your  dream  perfume  is  too  utterly 
expensive,  possibly  it's  to  be  found  in  a  toilet  water  which  is  a  weaker 
concentration  of  the  same  perfume  oils  and  consequently  budget-priced. 
In  any  case,  don't  compromise!  A  scent  which  does  nothing  for  you 
emotionally  is  just  so  much  barber  water! 

Perfume  is  most  effective  when  worn  on  the  skin  rather  than  clothing. 
Use  it  with  imagination  and  delicacy.  The  woman  who  knows  how  to 
use  perfume  distributes  light  little  dabs  of  it  here  and  there  over  her 
person  rather  than  a  lot  on  one  spot.  Touch  the  stopper  to  your  eye- 
brows, the  tips  of  your  ears,  the  curve  of  your  throat  and  .  in  the  bend 
of  your  elbows.  Your  hundred  strokes  a  day  with  a  hair  brush  will  be 
a  pleasure  if  you  put  a  smidge  of  perfume  on  your  brush. 

There's  one  caution  in  the  use  of  perfume  and  that  goes  for  all  scents. 
Don't  put  too  much  on.  Let  it  be  elusive,  like  fragrance  from  a  lovely 
flower  which  seems  to  come  and  go,  but  is  never  overpowering.  Remem- 
ber there  is  such  a  thing  as  "olfactory  fatigue,"  which  simply  means 
your  sense  of  smell  stops  to  rest  itself  ever  so  often.  Take  it  for  granted 
your  perfume  is  still  there  and  don't  put  on  a  supplementary  application. 

Along  with  this  caution,  a  second  suggestion:  don't  permit  a  con- 
fusion of  perfume.  If  you  like  to  dust  a  scented  powder  on  your  body 
after  your  bath,  use  a  toilet  water  on  your  handkerchief  and  apply  per- 
fume behind  your  ears,  let  them  be  similar  in  character. 

Keep  perfume  sealed  as  tightly  as  possible  for  evaporation  of  alcohol 
may  change  the  scent. 


ioned  the  Grand  Prix  shooter.  Bob  went 
out  of  this  world  when  she  gave  it  to  him. 

Barbara's  even  shyer  of  planes  than  she 
is  of  shooting  irons.  If  there's  one  thing 
that  turns  her  green,  it's  flying.  Bob's  a 
real  flyer,  and  when  he  got  his  twin- 
engined  Beechcraft,  he  begged  "Missy,"  as 
he  calls  her  sometimes,  and  as  he  named 
the  plane,  to  let  him  take  her  for  a  ride. 

"It's  a  long  way  down,"  vetoed  Barbara, 
"and  I've  already  seen  the  view." 

Until,  one  morning,  Barbara  pulled  an- 
other switch.  She  softly  remarked,  "I'm 
flying  with  you  today."  She  and  Bob 
hopped  off  to  Palm  Springs  for  lunch,  and 
Bob  walked  on  air  for  three  weeks  there- 
after. You  could  tell  he  was  dreaming 
maybe  the  Taylors  would  fly  to  Europe — 
maybe,  come  to  think  of  it,  around  the 
world.  The  Queen  cautioned  him,  after 
her  fashion.  "Don't  dream  it  up  too  big, 
Bob.  I  left  my  stomach  on  that  mountain 
bush  near  Palm  Springs." 

Bob  Taylor  and  Barbara  Stanwyck  both 
wear  wedding  rings.  They're  sufficient 
unto  one  another.  They  haven't  a  wide 
circle  of  Hollywood  friends;  they  come 
close  to  being  a  closed  corporation.  That's 
why  I  appreciate  having  been  admitted 
so  many  times  to  their  thoughts.  The 
other  night  they  were  outlining  plans  for 
another  trip  abroad  at  some  later  day. 
Barbara  said  suddenly,  "Say,  what  about 
Helen  going  along?" 

"She'd  be  a  swell  dame  for  a  trip  like 
that,"  Bob  exclaimed.   I  was  thrilled. 

two  of  a  kind  .  .  . 

Neither  Bob  nor  Barbara  likes  big 
Hollywood  parties.  Each  can  order  a  meal 
for  the  other  without  changing  an  item — 
shrimp  cocktail,  rare  steak,  baked  potato, 
green  salad  and  coffee.  Plenty  of  coffee. 
Both  love  horses  but  both  gave  up  horse 
ranches  when  they  analyzed  the  cost 
sheets.  When  Bob  joined  the  Navy,  Bar- 
bara followed  him  to  his  stations  like  any 
war  wife,  between  jobs.  When  pictures 
kept  her  in  Hollywood,  she  walked  strictly 
alone.  They  share  a  consuming  interest 
in  their  jobs  and  the  industry.  They  see 
every  movie  Hollywood  turns  out,  at 
their  regular  Saturday  night  screenings. 
It  annoys  Bob  that  Barbara's  been  nom- 
inated for  Academy  Awards  three  times 
and  hasn't  an  Oscar  yet.  It  doesn't  annoy 
The  Queen.  "I  just  feel  like  one  of 
Crosby's  horses,"  she  says. 

I  couldn't  tell  you  who  has  the  most 
devastating  sense  of  humor  because  it's 
a  tie.  They  both  like  to  howl  on  Saturday 
night,  but  it's  a  mild  form  of  howling. 
Just  dinner^— at  La  Rue  most  often — and 
the  screening  of  two  pictures  at  the  studio. 
Bob  likes  a  Scotch  highball;  if  Barbara 
drinks  at  all,  it  is  champagne.  Both  like 
to  sit  on  the  floor.  They  prefer  to  eat 
buffet  style,  and  they  agreed  that  the  first 
installation  in  the  house  they're  planning 
will  be  a  tennis  court.  They  adore  a  tiny 
French  poodle,  named  the  inevitable 
"Missy."  Barbara  likes  Bob's  moustache, 
and  when  she  snipped  her  hair  short  the 
other  day  for  B.  F.'s  Daughter,  he  raved 
about  it. 

The  Taylors  share,  too,  what  they  con- 
sider the  greatest  compliment  ever  paid 
them.  It  didn't  happen  in  Hollywood  but 
in  Paris,  where  Bob  and  Barbara  went 
before  the  London  premiere.  They'd  just 
left  the  Arc  de  Triomphe,  when  a  couple 
of  American  sailors  trotted  past,  did  a  de- 
layed "take"  and  stared  back  at  those  two 
famous  faces. 

"Hey,"  one  said.   "You  Bob  Taylor?" 

"That's  right,"  smiled  Bob. 

"You  Barbara  Stanwyck?" 

"Uh,  huh,"  grinned  Barbara. 

The  gob  whirled  toward  his  mate  down 
the  street  and  cupped  his  hands. 

"Hey,  Steve!"  he  yelled  as  loud  as  he 
could.    "Americans!  Americans!" 


IF  I  WERE  QUEEN 

(Continued  from  page  39) 


Richard  Widmark. 

I  would  award  a  winged  Oscar  to 
Howard  Hughes  for  the  best  performance 
of  the  year  by  an  amateur.  His  appearance 
in  the  newsreels  of  the  Senate  investiga- 
tion definitely  put  him  in  the  class  with 
Clark,  Gary,  Errol  and  the  rest  of  the 
he-man  idols,  complete  with  indifference 
to  klieg  lights  and  a  terrific  sense  of  the 
dramatic. 

I  would  exile  Red  Skelton  to  Lower 
Slobbovia. 

David  O.  Selznick  definitely  won  the 
how-bloody-can-you-get  competition  for 
that  all-but-endless  last  scene  in  Duel 
In  The  Sun — the  one  in  which  Jennifer 
Jones  and  Gregory  Peck  crawled  around 
in  a  mess  of  highly  artificial  Technicolor 
gore.  I'd  call  him  to  the  white  velvet 
carpet  in  front  of  my  18-karat  throne  and 
toss  him  his  just  reward:  a  stalk  of  fresh 
Icwa  corn  and  a  crate  of  tomato  catsup. 

I'd  toss  half  a  dozen  of  Hollywood's  best 
scribes  into  a  custom-built  dungeon 
equipped  with  plush-padded  cells,  built-in 
typewriters  and  hot  -  and  -  cold  -  running 
inspiration — and  I'd  keep  them  there  for 
a  year  and  a  day,  or  as  long  as  it  took 
them  to  turn  out  a  really  good  script  for 
that  long-suffering  lass,  Deanna  Durbin. 

And  I'd  prove  conclusively  that  I'm  a 
ruler  who  loves  her  subjects — her  short 
subjects,  that  is.  I'd  make  Bugs  Bunny 
a  baron,  and  Donald  Duck  a  duke. 

I  would  appoint  make-up  men — Max 
Factor,  Jack  Dawn  and  the  Westmore 
Brothers — to  work  on  statesmen  and  presi- 
dential candidates  before  they  faced  the 
newsreel  cameras.  President  Truman  could 
use  a  little  treatment  around  the  eyebrows, 
and  Tom  Dewey's  mustache  could  stand 
re-styling.  And  if  Robert  Taylor,  Dana  An- 
drews and  the  other  dream  boys  submit 
to  pancake,  why  should  Stassen  balk? 

command  performance  .  .  . 

I'd  command  Olivia  DeHavilland  and 
Joan  Fontaine  to  fight  out  their  feud  to  a 
finish  by  co-starring  in  a  picture  with  two 
equally  important  feminine  roles.  The 
critics  could  then  decide  who  scored  the 
Thespian  knockout. 

I'd  give  Abbott  and  Costello  a  sentence 
of  fifty  years  in  an  old  vaudeville  house 
haunted  by  Joe  Miller  jokes,  because 
they're  baaad  boys — and  I  do  mean  baaad 
— on  the  screen. 

I'd  tax  the  more  taxing  movie  plots 
right  out  of  existence.  "A  royal  raspberry!" 
I'd  cry,  to  bogus  biographies  of  composers, 
as  much  like  the  truth  as  Spike  Jones  is 
like  Beethoven;  to  saccharine  sagas  about 
a  child  and  a  dog  and/or  horse  that 
Understands  him  (or  the  parents  that 
don't) ;  and  to  the  super-tough  detective 
thrillers  in  which  the  private  eye  is  a 
public  eyesore  who  tracks  down  more 
blondes  than  clues. 

I'd  toss  a  crate  full  of  diamond-studded 
Oscars  into  the  laps  of  the  forgotten  men 
and  matrons  of  Hollywood,  the  character 
actors.  They  don't  have  stars  on  their 
doors  or  bobby-soxers  under  their  beds, 
but  they're  as  necessary  to  Hollywood  as 
applause.  I'm  talking  about  artists  like 
Henry  Daniell,  Samuel  Hinds,  Beulah 
Bondi,  Frank  Faylen,  Elizabeth  Patterson, 
Eduardo  Ciannelli,  George  Zucco,  Una 
O'Connor,  Douglas  Dumbrille,  and  many, 
many  more  in  their  unsung  but  indis- 
pensable class. 

I'd  assign  Cecil  B.  DeMille  to  produce 
an  intimate,  one  set,  six  character  comedy 
— just  for  the  royal  fun  of  it. 

And  for  the  sake  of  the  subjects  of  my 


Such  deep  luxurious  waves.  So  soft,  so  nat- 
ural-looking. You'll  say  your  Toni  Home 
Permanent  is  every  bit  as  lovely  as  an  ex- 
pensive salon  wave.  But  before  trying  Toni, 
you'll  want  the  answers  to  these  questions: 

Will  TONI  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that  will 
take  a  permanent,  including  gray,  dyed, 
bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 

Can  I  do  it  myself? 

Sure.  Every  day  thousands  of  women  give 
themselves  Toni  Home  Permanents.  It's  easy 
as  rolling  your  hair  up  on  curlers. 

Will  TONI  save  me  time? 

Definitely.  The  actual  waving  time  is  only 
2  to  3  hours.  And  during  that  time  you  are 
free  to  do  whatever  you  want. 

How  long  will  my  TONI  wave  last? 

Your  Toni  wave  is  guaranteed  to  last  just 
as  long  as  a  $15  beauty  shop  permanent— or 
your  money  back. 

Why  is  TONI  a  creme? 

Because  Toni  Creme  Waving  Lotion  waves 
the  hair  gently— leaves  it  soft  as  silk  with  no 
frizziness,  no  dried-out  brittleness  even  on 
the  first  day. 

How  much  will  I  save  with  TONI? 

The  Toni  Home  Permanent  Kit  with  reusable 
plastic  curlers  costs  only  $2  .  .  .  with  handy 


fiber  curlers  only  $1.25.  The  Toni  Refill  Kit 
complete  except  for  curlers  is  just  $1.  (All 
prices  plus  tax.  Prices  slightly  higher  in 
Canada). 

Which  is  the  TONI  Twin? 

Lovely  Jewel  Bubnick  of  Miami  Beach,  says, 
"My  sister  had  an  expensive  beauty  shop 
wave.  I  gave  myself  a  Toni  permanent— at 
home.  And  even  our  dates  couldn't  tell  our 
permanents  apart."  (Jewel,  the  twin  with  the 
Toni  is  on  the  left). 

Ask  for  Toni  today.  On  sale  at  all  d*ug, 
notions  or  cosmetic  counters. 


73 


By  LEONARD  FEATHER 


*  *  Highly  Recommended 

*  Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 


POPULAR 

CHRISTMAS  RECORDS — Your  best  bet  is  the  perennial  "Merry  Christmas"  album  by 
Bing  Crosby  (Decca),  aided  by  the  Ken  Darby  singers,  the  Andrews  Sisters,  John 
Scott  Trotter,  et  al.  Johnny  Mercer  and  the  Pied  Pipers  manage  to  infuse  the 
seasonal  cheer  pretty  well  (considering  the  sides  were  probably  recorded  in  blazing 
summer)  on  their  Jingle  Bells  and  Santa  Clans  is  Coming  to  Town  (Capitol). 
Decca  has  reissued  the  Woody  Herman  treatments  of  these  two  tunes. 

For  the  toddling  brother  or  sister  there  are  such  novelties  as  Santa  Clans  For 
President  by  Sammy  Kaye  and  On  The  Santa  Claus  Express  by  Freddy  Martin 
(both  Victor).  Signature  has  a  good  album  of  all  the  best  Xmas  songs,  with 
Monica  Lewis,  Ray  Bloch,  Johnny  Long.  To  top  it  off,  there  are  innumerable  versions 
of  White  Christmas,  the  best  by  Frankie  (Columbia),  others  by  Eddy  Howard 
(Majestic),  Jo  Stafford  (Capitol). 

But  I'm  sorry,  I'll  just  take  The  Christmas  Song,  written  by  Mel  Torme  and 
sung  by  King  Cole  (Capitol).  After  you've  heard  this  one.  there  just  aren't 
any  other  Christmas  records. 

Merry  Christmas! 

I  HAVE  BUT  ONE  HEART — **Frank  Sinatra  &  Pied  Pipers  (Columbia);  *Tex  Beneke 
(Victor);  *Phil  Brito  (Musicraft);  Carmen  Cavallaro  (Decca);  Vic  Damone 
( Mercury). 

A  ninety-year-old  Italian  folk  song,  which  Phil  Brito  does  in  the  original  language 
under  the  original  title,  O  Marenariello.  Frankie  S.  plays  it  safe  by  singing  it  in 
both  languages,  and  good. 

I'M  WAITING  FOR  SHIPS  THAT  NEVER  COME  IN—  *Buddy  Clark  (Columbia);  Bing 
Crosby  (Decca) 

A  hit  of  1920  (through  the  lusty  larynxes  of  Sophie  Tucker,-  Belle  Baker  and  Ted 
Lewis),  and  now  a  big  revival. 

IT  HAPPENED  IN  HAWAII— *Jimmy  Dorsey  (Decca);  Kay  Kyser  (Columbia);  Hal 
Mclntyre  (M-G-M) 

Publisher  had  to  stop  working  on  this  one — he  made  the  mistake  of  publishing  it 
late  in  1941.  Now  the  above  records,  withdrawn  after  Pearl  Harbor,  have  been 
reissued,  and  the  publisher's  back  at  his  desk. 

PAPA  WON'T  YOU  DANCE  WITH  ME— *Doris  Day  (Columbia);  Three  Suns  (Victor); 
Guy  Lombardo  (Decca);  Skitch  Henderson  (Capitol) 

One  of  a  promising  pair  from  the  Broadway  show  High  Button  Shoes.  The  mate 
is  /  Still  Get  Jealous,  done  best  by  "Gordon  McRae  (Capitol)  and  Harry  James 
(Columbia ) . 

HOT  JAZZ 

LOUIS  ARMSTRONG  &  JACK  TEAGARDEN—  **Fifty  Fifty  Blues  (Victor) 

CHARLIE  BARNET— *East  Side,  West  Side  (Apollo) 

LOUIS  JORDAN—  **Early  in  the  Morning  (Decca) 

BILLY  TAYLOR— *Flight  of  the  Be-Bop  (HRS) 

LUCKY  THOMPSON— **Just  One  More  Chance  (Victor) 

First  side  has  some  great  singing,  and  playing,  by  both  Jack  and  Louis.  Barnet's 
Bunny  Briggs  burlesques  be-bop  vocally.  Louis  Jordan  does  a  vocal  blues  with 
rumba  accompaniment — it's  novel  and  delightful.  Lucky  Thompson's  tenor  sax  solo 
of  Just  One  More  Chance  is  the  greatest  record  of  its  kind  since  Coleman 
Hawkins'  Body  and  Soul  in  1939.  Look  out  for  Lucky. 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

GOLDEN  EARRINGS— Title  Song:  Dinah  Shore  (Columbia);  *Peggy  Lee  (Capitol);  Jack 
Fina  (M-G-M) 

THIS  TIME  FOR  KEEPS— Un  Poquito  de  Amor:  *Xavier  Cugat  (Columbia);  *Desi 
Arnaz  (Victor);  Noro  Morales  (Majestic).  I  Love  To  Dance:  *Desi  Arnai  (Victor) 

VARIETY  GIRL— Harmony:  *Johnny  Mercer  &  King  Cole  (Capitol).  Tired:  **Pearl  Bailey 
(Columbia) 

WHEN  A  GIRL'S  BEAUTIFUL — I'm  Sorry  I  Didn't  Say  I'm  Sorry:  *Mills  Brothers  (Decca); 
Tony  Pastor  (Columbia);  Phil  Brito  (Musicraft) 


realm,  I'd  order  the  royal  economists  to  do 
something  about  making  box-office  admis- 
sions more  economical! 

I'd  canvass  the  old  carnivals,  and  buy  a 
gold-plated,  rhinestone-studded  Love 
Meter  for  Lana  Turner.  If  anyone  West 
of  the  Hudson  needs  one,  she  does.  But 
my  gift  to  Jimmy  Stewart  would  be  a 
giant  bottle  of  vitamin  tablets.  After  all, 
if  he's  going  to  blow  away  in  the  next 
studio  windstorm,  he  ought  to  have  enough 
energy  to  yell  for  help! 

To  Maria  Montez,  who  is  rumored  by 
many  not  to  exist,  I  would  furnish  abso- 
lute proof  of  birth  and  affidavits  testify- 
ing that  she  has  been  seen  in  the  flesh 
(some  flesh!),  pinched,  and  fingerprinted. 
I  would  confiscate  Rosalind  Russell's  soap 
box,  take  the  wood  and  make  a  paddle, 
take  the  paddle  and  row  Roz  from  the 
soup  into  acting  again.  I'd  round  up  every 
Howard  Hughes  press  agent  who  wrote 
copy  for  The  Outlaw  and  assign  them  to 
enforced  study  at  the  Harvard  Library  for 
a  period  of  one  year. 

I  would  summon  Bette  Davis,  an  actress 
of  quality,  and  have  a  heart-to-heart  talk 
with  her  about  her  career.  I  would  explain 
that  I  knew  she  refused  to  bleach  her  hair 
and  cap  her  teeth  in  the  very  beginning, 
and  I  admire  her  for  it;  but  I  would  scold 
her  for  abusing  her  independence  by 
making  up  her  mouth  so  that  she  looked 
like  a  mammy  singer  in  white  face,  and 
doing  her  eye-lashes  and  lids  in  a  manner 
best  described  as  ugh-y.  I  would  suggest 
for  her  case  a  strong-minded  story  editor 
who  could  demonstrate  to  her  that  her 
emoting  in  vehicles  like  A  Stolen  Life  and 
Deception  resembled  nothing  so  much  as 
an  Agnes  DeMille  staging  of  a  Baby  Ruth 
bar.  If  she  refused  to  comply  with  my 
suggestions,  I  would  sentence  her  to  act 
forever  with  her  hands  tied  behind  her 
back. 

from  riches  to  Adrian  rags  .  .  . 

For  Joan  Crawford,  I  would  have  my 
fanciest  engra  ers  concoct  a  citation  nam- 
ing her  the  Classic  Embodiment  of  the 
Movie  Queen — from  rags  to  riches  to 
Adrian  rags  to  comeback,  and  all  well 
done. 

And  for  Harry  Cohn  of  Columbia  pic- 
tures I  would  order  the  court's  best  em- 
broiderers to  whip  up  a  sampler,  suitable 
for  framing,  bearing  the  words  of  the 
late  Jimmy  Walker,  to  wit:  "Never  quarrel 
with  newspapermen.  They  go  to  press  too 
often." 

I  would  explain  to  Dane  Clark  that  he 
can  act  convincingly  and  thrill  the  girls 
to  pieces  without  that  correspondence 
school  strong  man  act.  Shoulders  inflated 
like  Superman's  don't  make  an  Atlas  out 
of  Shorty. 

And  I'd  warn  Lionel  Barrymore  that  if 
he  doesn't  stop  masticating  words  and 
lowering  like  a  daddy  cow,  he'll  be  that 
odd  creature  waiting  at  the  end  of  Night- 
mare Alley — the  Geek. 

I'd  give  Betty  Hutton  a  sedative  before 
every  picture,  if  I  were  Queen.  I'd  never 
allow  Clark  Gable  to  take  a  desk  job  in  a 
film.  And  any  writer  delivering  the  line 
of  dialogue  that  goes  "Just  stand  there  and 
let  me  look  at  you,"  would  be  sentenced 
to  a  year  of  watching  old  pictures.  I'd 
make  it  compulsory  for  all  theaters  to 
have  comfortable,  heavily-padded  seats. 

I'd  restrict  Edward  Everett  Horton  and 
Jack  Oakie  and  Jack  Carson  to  one 
"double-take"  per  movie.  I'd  permit  Alan 
Hale  no  more  than  one  political  ward- 
heeler  role  each  season,  and  I'd  take 
Franklyn  Pangborn  out  of  the  inevitable 
hotel  lobby.  I'd  make  Alan  Ladd  show 
fear  just  once.  If  one  more  director  cast 
Alexis  Smith  as  the  "inspiration"  for  one 
more  great  man  (as  she  was  for  Mark 
Twain,  George  Gershwin  and  Cole  Porter) 


GV>)e  *CA  Victor  record  aibums- 


PERRY  COMO  album— 

"MERRy  CHRISTMAS  MUSIC" 

Perry  sings  Jingle  Bells;  Silent  Night; 
Winter  Wonderland;  O  Come,  A//  Ye 
Faithful;  That  Christmas  Feeling; 
I'll  Be  Home  for  Christmas;  others. 
P-161,  $3.40. 


-DENNIS  DAY  album - 

BELOVED  IRISH  SONGS ! 

Dennis  sings  When  Irish  Eyes 
Are  Smiling,  Mother  Machree, 
By  the  Light  of  the  Silvery 
Moon,  A  Little  Bit  of  Heaven, 
others.  Ask  for  "My  Wild  Irish 
Rose,"  P-191,  $3.40. 


SPIKE  JONES  album 

—  FUN  FOR  THE  KIDDIES! 


Here  are  Spike's  side-splitting  ver- 
sions of  Old  MacDonald  Had  a 
Form,  Our  Hour,  Hawaiian  War 
Chant  and  Chloe.  Nonbreakable 
records— twice  as  many  plays!  Get 
"Nonsense  Music  for  Children," 
Y-359,  $2.25. 


1  would  not  only  scream  at  the  top  of  my 
royal  lungs  but  I  would  order  him  be- 
headed without  trial. 

I  would  film  The  Life  Of  Johnny  Meyer 
with  Mickey  Rooney  in  the  title  role. 

As  one  of  my  very  first  moves,  I  would 
command  a  major  studio  to  cast  Greg 
Bautzer  as  a  leading  man.  He's  captivated 
so  many  Hollywood  stars,  I  think  his 
charm  should  have  a  wider  circulation. 

I- would  be  harsh  with  Metro-Goldwyn- 
Mayer,  which  once  had  the  greatest 
"stable"  in  Hollywood,  but  recently  has 
amassed  a  record  of  bad  pictures  and 
spectacular  mishandling  of  stars.  As  ex- 
amples, I  would  cite  Joan  Crawford  (her 
career  was  wrecked  with  bad  M-G-M 
scripts,  then  they  let  her  go  and  she 
zoomed  back  into  the  Academy  Award 
class  with  her  first  picture  for  a  rival 
studio),  and  Greer  Garson  and  Van  John- 
si  n  (they  slid  from  two  of  the  greatest 
box  office  attractions  of  screen  history  to 
virtual  oblivion  on  the  axle  grease  of  poor 
vehicles).  As  a  punishment  for  his  sins  of 
bad  star-handling,  I  would  sentence  Louis 
B.  Mayer  to  be  locked  in  his  private  pro- 
jection room  and  forced  to  view — without 
blinders,  earmuffs  or  even  popcorn  to 
solace  him — Romance  Of  Rosy  Ridge, 
Adventure  and  Desire  Me. 

I'd  make  a  Betty  Grable  out  of  Marilyn 
Maxwell.  And  I'd  also  wave  my  magic 
wand  over  Susan  Hayward  and  make  her 
a  star  because  she's  got  so  much  of  what 
it  takes. 

I'd  put  John  Carradine  on  a  French 
pastry  and  whipped  cream  diet,  and  I'd 
invent  unpleasant  incidents  arouud  Mar- 
garet O'Brien  until  she  had  a  great  big 
tantrum.  (There  must  be  at  least  ONE 
unsweet  bone  in  that  hardworking  little 
body!)  Then,  to  delight  the  Nelson  Eddy 
fans,  I'd  produce  an  operetta  version  of 
The  Great  Stone  Face,  and  type  cast. 

give  the  dogs  to  Mason  .  .  . 

Because  of  his  almost  embarrassing 
addiction  to  cats,  I'd  write  James  Mason's 
next  film  around  a  dog  kennel.  And  I'd 
strike  a  special  ruby-studded  medal  for 
any  producer  who  showed  a  movie  secre- 
tary typing,  instead  of  modeling  a  brassiere. 

My  Courtier  In  Charge  of  Starlets' 
Contracts  would  insert  clauses  forbid- 
ding the  pretties  to  date  George  Raft  until 
he  got  his  divorce,  if  ever.  And  I  would 
proclaim  a  national  holiday  on  the  day 
of  days  when  a  non-fictionized,  accurate 
biography — of  anyone  at  all! — was  re- 
corded on  film  and  sound  track. 

I  would  film  The  Life  And  Loves  of 
Keenan  Wynn  with  the  real  life  lasses 
playing  their  original  roles,  and  tell  the 
Johnston  office  to  get  lost  while  it  was 
being  made.  The  phrase  "You  mean—?" 
would  be  rationed,  and  any  film  company 
wishing  to  use  it  would  have  to  get  stamps. 
All  interviewers  of  Vic  Mature  would  be 
supplied  with  copies  of  his  previous  state- 
ments to  the  press. 

My  royal  advice  to  Shirley  Temple 
would  be  to  steer  clear  of  dimpled  darling, 
ingenue  roles  and  try  for  smaller  but 
meatier  parts  in  strong  pictures.  I'd  never 
let  Eddie  Cantor  mention  his  daughters 
again.  Doesn't  he  know  it  gives  the  women 
of  the  world  an  inferiority  complex?  I'd 
hire  the  best  available  comedy  writers  to 
concoct  better  scripts  for  sweepstakes  win- 
ners in  the  newsreels.  And  I'd  cast  Sidney 
Greenstreet  in  a  gentle  grandfatherly  role. 

I'd  give  screen  credit  to  all  padding 
and  toupees  used  in  pictures. 

I'd  make  Oscars  practical  instead  of 
ornamental.  In  other  words,  my  prize  for 
the  best  actor  of  the  year  would  be  the 
role  he  wants  most  to  play — not  just  a 
streamlined  little  doorstop  of  a  statue. 

And  I'd  banish  double  features  from 
my  kingdom  forever! 


"Glenn  Miller  Masterpieces,"  Vol.  II.  Eight 
sides  by  the  original  Miller  band.  P-189,  $3.40. 
"The  Three  Suns  Present  .  .  ."  P-185,  $3.40. 
"Year  'Round  Favorites"  album  with  Sammy 
Kaye  and  his  Orchestra.  Ask  for  P-184,  $3.40. 
"Prom  Date"— College  songs  by  Tex  Beneke 
and  The  Miller  Orchestra.  Album  P-183,  $3.40. 
"Tuxedo  Junction"— Erskine  Hawkins  and  his 
Orchestra.  RCA  Victor  Album  P-181,  $3.40. 
"Concertos  for  Dancing"— Freddy  Martin  and 
his  Orchestra.  RCA  Victor  Album  P-169,  $3.40. 
"Getting  Sentimental  with  Tommy  Dorsey 
and  his  Orchestra."  Album  P-80,  $3.40. 


"Suite  'n  Swing"  Album  —  with  Henri  Rene 
and  his  Orchestra.  Album  P-190,  $3.40. 
Suggested  list  prices,  exclusive  of  taxes. 

.  .  .  plus  RCA  Victor  quality!  Two  "ex- 
clusives"— Victor's  billion-record  skill  and  RCA's 
electronic  wizardry — make  music  sound  so  true 
to  life  on  RCA  Victor  Records! 

What!  They  have  no  phonograph?  Give 
them  a  new  Victrola  radio-phonograph  for 
Christmas!  "Victrola"— T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 

Hear  Bob  Merrill  on  the  RCA  Victor  Program. 
Sundays,  2  p.m.,  EST,  over  the  NBC  Network. 
Radio  Corporation  of  America. 


\flCTo*  RECORDS 


-HIS  MASTER'S  VOICE" 


THE  WINNER! — By  Kirtley  Baskette 

(Continued  from  page  30) 


Winner,  with  a  record  rush  of  ballots 
that's  never  been  matched  in  Modern 
Screen's  long  life! 

Last  January,  Frank  Sinatra  had  just 
nosed  out  Van  Johnson  in  a  photo  finish 
for  Modern  Screen's  '46  floral  horseshoe 
—and  they  both  started  the  '47  handicap 
breathing  easy  and  far  out  in  front.  Larry 
Parks?  A  pleasant-looking  guy  with 
prospects  in  the  up-coming  screen  story 
of  Al  Jolson's  life — but  the  other  fellows 
weren't  worrying  about  him. 

And  then,  over  200,000  of  you  canny  bal- 
loteers  picked  him  out  of  a  field  of  glamor 
guys.  Because  Larry  stepped  forward 
with  the  most  amazing  acting  job  a  brand 
new  star  has  turned  in  since  Edison  in- 
vented the  flicker  machine!  The  Jolson 
Story  didn't  win  Larry  his  Academy 
Award — it  missed  by  inches — but  it  won 
him  Modern  Screen's  coveted  Poll  palm 
of  the  year. 

So  meet  the  champ — Larry  Parks! 

Away  back  in  September,  '46,  our 
Hollywood  seer,  Hedda  Hopper,  warned 
"Watch  Larry  Parks!"  in  our  own  pages. 
Hedda  said  Parks  was  terrific.  Came 
summer,  and  a  blizzard  of  white  rave 
notes  turned  June  into  January,  right  in 
our  own  editorial  offices.  Like  Malicious, 
Larry  started  slow,  and  wound  up  flying. 
It's  what  he's  been  doing  all  his  life. 

One  fall  day  in  1937,  Larry  Parks  turned 
the  back  of  his  thin  summer  suit  against 
a  biting  wind  that  slashed  across  42nd 
Street  and  Broadway  in  New  York.  He 
shouldn't  have  been  there  by  reasonable 
rights.  He  should  have  been  right  back 
at  the  University  of  Illinois,  starting  med- 
ical school;  he  had  a  scholarship  that 
guaranteed  the  education.  Inside  his  coat 
pocket  were  letters  from  his  parents.  "We'll 
be  heartsick  if  you  throw  your  future 
away,"  they  wrote. 

Larry  shivered,  and  felt  wet  on  his  neck. 
Snow.  Already  the  sky  was  gray. 

All  summer  long,  wherever  Larry  had 
stepped,  a  dozen  other  young,  eager,  en- 
ergetic guys  and  gals  had  swept  along 
with  him,  hounding  producers,  tracking 
down  every  threadbare  clue  to  an  acting 
chance,  boxing  him  in.  How  many  got 
their  breaks,  he  never  knew.  All  he  knew 
was  he  hadn't.  He  turned  up  his  coat  col- 
lar and  started  off  on  the  rounds  again. 

It  wasn't  until  noon  that  it  dawned  on 
Larry  Parks  that  something  was  queer. 
The  familiar  faces  he'd  seen  all  summer 
— they  weren't  around  today. 

fair-weather  barrymores  .  .  . 

He  stopped  short  on  the  sidewalk, 
snapped  his  fingers  and  grinned.  "Gone 
with  the  snow,"  he  told  himself,  "just  like 
the  birds.  Gone  home  and  given  up — oh 
boy!"  He  was  wobbly  from  living  off 
noodles  and  bean  sprouts  at  the  Chinese 
restaurant  up  the  street  where  you  got 
dinner  for  25  cents.  He  was  frowsy  and 
pale  from  the  airless  $2.50-a-week  room  on 
Tenth  Avenue.  The  seat  of  his  pants  was 
mirror-slick.  But  what  had  scared  out  his 
sunshine  rivals,  Larry  knew,  was  his  open- 
ing. Now  was  the  time  to  hit  'em  again. 

He  headed  straight  for  the  Group  The- 
ater. He'd  been  there  the  day  before, 
and  the  day  before  that.  It  was  what 
he  wanted  most — like  everybody  else — to 
squeeze  inside  the  exclusive  group.  All 
summer  he'd  been  turned  down  by  them, 
but  this  time  he  wasn't  lost  in  a  crowd. 
Later  that  afternoon  he  got  the  wire, 
"Please  come  see  us."  It  was  John  Gar- 
field and  the  Group  Theater  that  started 
Larry  Parks  to  Hollywood  later  on. 

Larry  has  been  a  tough  character  to 


discourage  on  any  project  since  he  was 
nipping  along  in  knee-pants. 

Last  year,  after  his  mother  passed  on, 
Larry  had  the  Parks  family  possessions 
shipped  out  from  his  home  town,  Joliet, 
Illinois.  He  went  down  to  the  storage 
place  to  look  through  them  one  day,  and 
came  home  lugging  a  package.  He  sat 
down  on  the  floor  and  spent  the  whole 
evening  unpacking  and  setting  up  the  first 
major  prize  he  ever  won — his  electric 
train. 

Larry  spotted  that  train,  bright  and 
shiny,  racing  around  a  track  in  a  depart- 
ment store  window  when  he  was  nine 
years  old.  It  was  $34.50 — with  cars,  track, 
switches,  transformer  and  signals — and 
that's  how  Larry  wanted  it.  But  it  might 
as  well  have  been  $34,000.  That  was  three 
weeks  before  Christmas,  and  Larry  knew 
his  dad  couldn't  afford  a  present  like 
that.  He  told  about  the  train  at  dinner 
that  night;  he  couldn't  help  hinting. 

Dad  Parks  looked  at  his  wife  and  then 
looked  away.  "Larry,"  he  said,  "tell  you 
what.  If  you'll  earn  half  the  price,  Santa 
Claus  might  dig  up  the  rest." 

Larry  had  $2.35  in  his  nickel  bank,  he 
remembers,  and  that  left  exactly  $14.65  he 
had  to  rustle- — in  three  short  weeks.  It 
was  an  appalling  sum;  in  his  entire  young 
life  he'd  never  earned  that  much.  Some- 
times he  got  ten  cents  on  Saturdays  for 
helping  around  the  yard,  and  sometimes 
he  didn't.  It  was  winter  and  there  weren't 
any  neighbors'  lawns  to  mow.  The  corner 
grocery  store  had  a  delivery  boy.  He 
tried  the  newspaper;  the  routes  were  all 
taken.  After  school,  Larry  chased  around 
desperately  on  the  trail  of  jobs.  He  col- 
lected a  quarter  here,  carrying  out  ashes; 
he  scraped  snow  off  some  sidewalks  and 
earned  some  more.  But  the  last  week 
came,  and  he  had  exactly  $5.15. 

Any  kid  but  Larry  Parks  might  have 
settled  for  a  pair  of  skates  or  a  catcher's 
mitt.  Larry  Parks  tackled  the  very  treas- 
ure house  where  his  dream  train  buzzed 
around  the  window.  He  went  inside  and 
told  the  department  store  manager  about 
the  project.  The  boss  gave  Larry  a  job 
dropping  packages  at  doors  and  what's 
more,  he  said  he'd  sell  him  the  train 
wholesale.  Christmas  Eve,  Larry  panted 
in  with  the  money,  and  his  dad's  to  match. 
Christmas  morning,  his  train  was  racing 
around  his  own  tree  at  home. 

Larry  was  13  when  he  entered  Joliet 
High  and  for  a  peewee,  he  had  gigantic 
ambitions.  He  weighed  exactly  90  pounds, 
but  he  wanted  to  make  the  football  team 
and  win  a  scholarship  to  the  University 
of  Illinois.    He  wanted  to  be  a  doctor. 


$5  WORTH  OF  GREETINGS 

Maybe  your  stockings  will  be  bulging 
at  Christmas  time,  but  probably,  your 
pockets  will  be  empty.  We  know.  We 
have  pockets,  too — but  right  now,  ours 
are  full  of  crisp  $5  bills.  And  they're 
yours  for  the  writing!  What  happened 
when  you  saw  that  famous  star?  We 
know  you  got  an  autograph,  but  we'd 
like  to  hear  more  than  that.  Read  our 
I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN  boxes  and  you'll' 
see  that  we  want  true,  amusing  <md 
unusual  anecdotes.  A  long  order,  but 
we'll  foot  the  $5  bill  for  every  one  we 
use.  Send  your  contribution  to  the  "I 
Saw  It  Happen,"  Editor,  Modern  Screen, 
149  Madison  Av.e.,  New  York  16,  New 
York.  Would  you  like  to  fill  your 
pockets?  Maybe  we  can  help. 


But  when  Larry  had  just  barely  started 
high  school,  he  was  hit  by  a  blighting 
disease.  Bell's  palsy.  It  twisted  the  left 
side  of  his  face  out  of  shape.  It's  a  fairly 
rare  affliction  and  tragic.  The  nerves  of 
your  face  pull  up  and  twist. 

That  was  bad  enough,  but  almost  at  the 
same  time  paralysis  struck  his  right  leg 
and  it  withered  away  to  half  the  size  of 
his  left. 

Larry  took  all  kinds  of  violent  treat- 
ments, including  dangerous  strychnine. 
He  had  to  start  a  campaign  of  rest  and 
then  arduous  exercise — harnesses,  weights, 
baths  and  heat  therapy,  to  bring  his  para- 
lyzed leg  back  to  life  again.  He  still 
works  out  with  a  weight  harness  three 
times  a  week,  and  you  can  still  see  where 
his  right  leg  is  smaller  than  his  left — but 
he  can  use  it  as  well  as  the  next  fellow 
now.  The  left  side  of  his  face,  too,  isn't 
his  "good  side" — even  for  a  camera.  For 
a  long  time  an  eyelid  would  droop,  when- 
ever he  got  too  tired. 

two  strikes  .  .  . 

It  would  be  hard  to  imagine  a  tougher 
handicap  for  a  14-year-old.  He  missed 
months  of  school,  he  couldn't  try  out  for 
the  sports  he  was  dying  to  prove  his  tiny 
body  in.  By  the  time  he  was  grad- 
uated from  Joliet  High,  he  had  conquered 
his  twitching  face,  was  walking  normally 
on  his  stricken  leg.  Not  only  that,  but 
he'd  actually  made  end  on  the  lightweight 
football  squad!  He  was  active  in  student 
affairs,  and  even  though  his  grades  had 
suffered  during  his  bedridden  days,  he 
went  after  that  scholarship  with  every- 
thing he  had.  All  the  budding  brains 
around  his  Illinois  district  were  after  the 
same  thing,  but  17-year-old  Larry  won. 

Larry  hit  the  campus  at  Illinois  U.  just 
a  freshman  lost  among  fifteen  or  twenty 
thousand  milling  students.  Being  Larry 
Parks,  he  had  to  do  something  about  that. 
Besides,  he  had  to  earn  cakes,  coffee  and 
coke  money,  because  his  scholarship  pro- 
vided for  the  future  in  medical  school, 
but  there  was  pre-med  and  his  B.S.  to 
tackle  first.  He  made  a  good  fraternity, 
S.A.E.,  took  a  job  slinging  hash  at  the 
Kappa  Sig  house.  On  the  side,  he  earned 
his  board  juggling  house  finances  for  the 
Sig  Alph  brothers.  As  if  that  weren't 
enough — with  his  tough  study  schedule — 
Parks  went  all  out  for  the  campus  theater 
workshop.  "  * 

Around  Urbana,  where  Illinois  U.  sits, 
they  still  call  Larry's  four-year  era,  '33 
to  '37,  "The  Golden  Age  of  Talent."  It 
happened  that  Larry  bumped  up  against 
a  rare  flock  of  kids  spilling  dramatic  geni- 
us all  over  the  campus.  Dozens  of  that 
crew  have  made  good  all  over  the  land 
and  in  Hollywood,  too.  The  competition 
was  terrific,  but  before  he  helped  himself 
to  a  sheepskin,  Larry  Parks  had  the  the- 
ater situation  at  I.U.  all  sewed  up.  He 
was  running  the  show. 

What  he  went  after,  he  usually  got.  In 
fact,  the  only  time  Larry  got  rocked  back 
on  his  heels  during  those  college  days 
was  when  he  tangled  with  sweet  romance 
— and  a  red-headed  woman. 

Her  name  was  Mildred  and  she  was  a 
gal  who  got  around  everywhere,  and  left 
sweet  smiles  and  a  come-on  as  souvenirs. 
Larry  started  reading  blank  pages  in  his 
study  texts,  forgot  to  show  up  at  Work- 
shop rehearsals,  spilled  soup  down  an 
indignant  Kappa  Sig's  neck  one  night  at 
dinner  and  almost  got  his  block  knocked 
off.    He  had  it  bad. 

There  was  a  certain  campus  Big  Time 
Operator  who  had  the  same  idea  about 


the  fans 

MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


FROHLICH 


Mildred.  This  BTO,  moreover,  held  a 
handful  of  collegiate  aces.    He  played  on 

i|  the  varsity^  for  one,  and  was  always  tear- 
ing off  for  long  Frank  Merriwell  runs  at 

j    the  big  games,  to  Larry's  disgust. 

He  had  a  profile  like  Peck,  and  a  red  con- 
vertible. Larry's  love-sickness  made  him 
ignore  that  superman  competition,  and 
Mildred  was  not  one  to  discourage  any- 
body. She  let  Larry  moon  around  and 
think  he  was  head  man,  right  up  to  her 
sorority  formal. 

Larry  was  snoozing  happily  in  his  bunk 
one  night  before  the  big  dance.  He  was 
dreaming  of  waltzing  Mildred  to  the  for- 
mal.   His  roommate  came  in  late,  shook 

I    his  bunk  and  woke  him  up. 

"Hey,"  he  said,  grinning  wickedly. 
"I've  got  news  for  you,  Romeo.  Guess 
who's  just  broken  out  with  a  pin!"  Larry 
didn't  have  to  guess.  He  rolled  over 
and  rammed  his  head  in  the  pillow.  "She 
had  fat  legs,  anyway,"  he  sighed.  But 

I    he  didn't  trust  a  woman  for  years  after. 
The  most  rugged  heat  Larry  Parks  ever 
ran — and  the  one  he  looks  back  on  with 
the  most  pride  even  today — took  place 
one  summer  in  his  home  town  of  Joliet, 

:  at  the  Goose  Lake  brickyard.  Larry 
worked  every  college  vacation  because  he 
had  to  scrape  up  a  stake  to  start  school 
with  in  the  fall.  One  summer  his  dad 
knew  the  boss  of  that  fire-brick  factory 
well  enough  to  land  Larry  a  job. 

no  gold  brick-laying  ..." 

He  was  19  at  the  time,  and  not  too 
J    husky  for  his  years.   The  men  he  worked 
I    with  were  full-grown  laborers  with  broad 
I    backs    and    seasoned    muscles.  They 
worked  in  teams  of  four,  moving  brick 
from  the  kiln  to  the  sheds  and  boxcars. 
The  three  regulars  weren't  one  bit  amused 
at  having  a  college  punk  shoved  into  their 
circle  by  the  boss's  friend.    The  Goose 
Lake  Yard  paid  off  by  piece  work — so 
much  for  shifting  each  1,000  bricks — and 
j    the  four-man  team  drew  their  pay  as  a 
unit.   The  job  wasn't  a  vacation  interlude 
j    for  the  brick -heavers;  it  was  their  bread 
and  butter.   If  this  kid  slowed  them  down, 
-they'd  have  less  to  eat  at  home. 

Larry  still  aches,  remembering  that 
summer.  His  crew  hardly  spoke  to  him, 
they  scorched  him  with  dark  looks,  and 
they  set  out  to  work  him  to  death  so  he'd 
yell  "uncle"  and  quit. 

They  had  the  know-how  and  the 
strength  to  hoist  600  pounds  of  firebrick 
aboard  the  rubber -wheeled  barrows  and 
scoot  them  along.  To  Larry,  until  he 
learned,  it  was  like  hoisting  the  city  hall. 
They  were  used  to  the  white-hot  kilns 
where  the  bricks  glowed  incandescent 
with  heat  and  where,  if  the  fan  went  out, 
you'd  fry  like  a  piece  of  bacon  in  a  few 
sizzling  seconds.  But  Larry  clamped  his 
jaws  and  sweated,  choked  and  grunted 
until  his  muscles  almost  snapped.  At 
night  he  went  to  bed  almost  crying  from 
fatigue  and  he  dreaded  each  -dawn. 
But  he  wouldn't  quit,  and  after  a  month 
j  he  was  brick-tough  himself,  broken  in  and 
handy.  So  handy  in  fact  that  he  ended 
up  pals  with  his  team  and  their  four-man 
gang  made  more  money  than  any  crew 
in  the  yard.  He  got  a  job  there  the  next 
summer,  too,  welcomed  that  time  as  a 
heaver  who'd  proved  himself. 

There's  never  been  a  sign  of  the  white 
feather  in  Larry's  makeup.  If  he  hadn't 
been  built  to  stick  things  out,  we  wouldn't 
be  hailing,  him  now  as  Modern  Screen's 
Man  of  the  Year.  Because  he  had  to  pitch 
!  plenty  to  stay  in  the  Hollywood  ball  game, 
even  after  he'd  won  himself  a  lucky  pass 
into  the  park. 

That  was  after  Larry's  Broadway  in- 
vasion, a  fling  at  summer  stock,  and  grad- 
uation from  Illinois.  You  see,  he  got 
sidetracked  from  that  medical  career  by 
all  those  college  dramatics  and  the  min- 


Hi,  fans!  Know  what  this  is?  It's  our  first 
cnniversary!  Although,  actually,  we're  more 
than  four  years  old,  this  marks  the  beginning 
of  the  second  year  that  The  Fans  has  ap- 
peared in  Modern  Screen.  And,  even  in  our 
cautious  opinion,  it's  been  the  greatest  year 
fan  clubs  have  ever  known.  We're  not  saying 
this  idly,  just  because  we're  feeling  festive 
and  in  a  celebrating  mood.  We're  looking 
af  the  record.  Never  have  fan  clubs  received 
so  much  publicity  in  newspapers  and  maga- 
zines and  on  the  radio.  And  for  the  most 
part,  this  publicity  has  been  on  the  favorable, 
praiseworthy  side.  The  public  has  at  last 
become  aware  that  our  clubs  are  a  construc- 
tive force  for  the  advancement  of  many  worth- 
while community  and  world-wide  projects. 
People  aren't  dismissing  fan  club  activities  as 
"silly"  and  "infantile"  anymore;  they're  as- 
tounded at  the  charitable  and  humane  work 
you  clubbers  are  doing.  Also,  they've  dis- 
covered at  the  Fan  Club  Convention  last  luly 
that  when  several  hundred  clubbers  get  to- 
gether, they  behave  no  worse  than  any  other 
group  of  Americans — and  certainly  much  bet- 
ter than  most.  That's  why  Modern  Screen  and 
its  whole  staff  are  still  solidly  on  your  side. 
That's  why  Modern  Screen  remains  the 
ONLY  movie  magazine  that's  supported  fan 
clubs  100  per  cent! 

Now,  we  want  to  say  a  little  about  us.  We 
haven't  accomplished  nearly  all  the  things 
we've  wanted  to  do  in  this  short  year;  we 
haven't  done  justice  in  this  small  space  to 
all  your  wonderful  clubs.  And,  of  course,  we 
haven't  enough  Trophy  Cups  to  offer  to  all  the 
good  clubs  in  MSFCA.  Journals  improve 
steadily  with  each  issue.  The  sloppy,  make- 
shift kind  are  almost  out  of  existence. 

In  the  coming  year,  we're  going  to  try  to 
be  as  fair  and  square  to  all  clubs  as  is 
humanly  possible.  But  you  must  help.  If 
you  want  publicity,  don't  just  write  and  tell 
us  you're  having  a  membership  drive  or  a 
contest.  Membership  drives  and  contests  go 
on  all  the  time  in  fan  clubs.  It's  the  unusual, 
constructive  kind  of  info  we're  looking  for; 
the  kind  that  will  make  other  clubs  want  to 
follow  suit;  the  kind  that  will  make  new 
readers  want  to  join  your  club.  Be  explicit 
in  your  correspondent's  reports.  Give  us  all 
the  important  details. 

And  here's  a  final  word:  if  you  have  any 
suggestions,  send  them  along.  We're  anxious 
to  have  your  ideas!  And  if  you  have  any 
complaints,  tell  them  to  our  face.  Don't 
whisper  about  us  behind  our  back.  We're 
not  Nora  Prentiss!  We're  at  your  service; 
the  MSFCA  is  your  organization,  so  tell  us 
what  you  want.  Here's  hoping  the  next  year 
in  fan  clubs  will  be  bigger  and  better  than 
the  last! 

Entered  our  Writing  Contest  yet?  The 
deadline  is  December  31,  1947.  All  you 
have  to  do  is  write  a  300  to  400-word  article 
about  any  MSFCA  honorary.  But  remember, 
don't  write  it  as  a  fan  clubber,  but  as  you 
would   if    you    were   a    professional  movie 


magazine  writer.  It  must  be  objective,  show 
originality  of  style  and  have  a  well-organ- 
izej  theme,  but  the  material  need  not  be 
original.  Read  the  short  biogs  that  appear 
in  SCREEN  ALBUM  to  get  the  right  slant. 
You'll  see  what  we  mean.  Submit  entries  to 
Writing  Contest  Editor,  MSFCA,  149  Madison 
Avenue,  N.  Y.  C.  16.  (See  November  MS  for 
complete  rules.)  Winning  articles  will  be 
published  in  The  Fans. 

*        *  * 

The  new,  enlarged  MODERN  SCREEN 
Fan  Club  Chart  is  the  only  complete 
compilation  of  established  and  up-and- 
coming  fan  clubs  available  anywhere! 
Over  350  clubs  to  choose  from.  Find  out 
where  to  write  for  an  application  to  each 
club  you  wish  to  join;  how  much  it  costs; 
what  you  can  expect  for  your  annual 
dues;  which  stars  have  MSFCA  official 
fan  clubs.  Send  10c  in  coin,  plus  a  self- 
addressed,  stamped  (3c)  envelope  (size 
4x9  in.)  to  Service  Dept.,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  C.  16. 

6TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 
Fifth  Lap:  (the  following  results  are  based  on 
journals,  reports,  other  data  received  at  our  offices 
between  September  16  and  October  10).  Individual 
Prizes:  Each  winner  in  THIS  IS  MY  BEST  Contest 
receives  a  generous  gift  package  of  FABERGE's 
Perfume  and  Cologne.  Best  editors  are  each 
awarded  a  special  assortment  of  POND's  beauty- 
preparations.  Winning  artist  gets  a  handsome 
TANGEE  Trip  Kit  for  travel.  First  prize  winner, 
CANDID  CAMERA  CONTEST,  receives  a  year's 
subscription  to  FRONT  PAGE  DETECTIVE,  a  year's 
subscription  to  SCREEN  ALBUM,  and  4  Dell  Mys- 
leries.  Other  Candid  Camera  winners,  a  neat 
package  of  4  Dell  Mysteries.  (Suitable  prizes  al- 
ways substituted  for  male  winners.) 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners:  Zelda  Fried- 
man, "Sticky  Business,"  En-Tyer-ly  Yours  (John 
Tyers).  Jean  Crocker,  "Those  Fabulous  People," 
Pete  Karson  Album.  Donna  Dawson,  "Miracle" 
(poem),  Bette  (Davis);  Iris  Perry,  "A  Rising  Star" 
(poem).  Fans  Fancies  (Sinatra,  Pacillo):  Rose 
Baylog,  "My  U.S.O.  Tour,"  Kelly  Club  News; 
Estelle  Eigenmacht,  "Muddled  Musings,"  Kelly 
Club  News.  Candid  Camera  Winners:  First  prize, 
Lee  Dyer,  Rand  Brooks  C.  Others:  Pat  Turiano, 
Jacks  and  Jills  for  Jo  (Stafford).  Margaret  Hummel, 
Jack  Berch  C.  LaHamer  Bramlett,  June  Allyson  C. 
Eleanor  Hein,  Rise  Stevens  C.  Ron  DeArmond,  Four 
Star  C.  Best  Journals:  League  1,  none  qualified  2. 
(tied)  Bette,  (Gene)  Kelly  Club  News,  Ginger's 
(Rogers)  Gems.  3.  Merchant  ot  Menace  (Dan 
Duryea,  Maben).  Best  Editors:  League  1,  none 
qualified  2.  Peggy  Pearl,  Handsome  (Alan)  Ladd. 
3.  Joel  Pacillio,  Fan's  Fancies  (Frank).  Best  Cov- 
ers: League  1,  none  qualified.  2.  (tied)  (Jack)  Car- 
son's Collections,  Handsome  Ladd,  Kelly  Club 
News,  Spotlighting  Allan  (Jones). -3.  Two  Grand 
(Whittemore  and  Lowe).  Best  Original  Artist: 
Addie  Gushin,  John  Tyers  C.  Most  Worth- 
while Activities:  1.  Dennis  Morgan  C.,  for  con- 
tributing records  to  four  Teen  Canteens  in  Denver. 

2.  Bette  Davis  C  for  contributions  to  Greenwich 
House  Camp  Fund,  enabling  two  children  to  enjoy 
3-week  camp  vacation.  3.  Racing  With  The  Moon 
C.  (Vaughn  Monroe),  for  contributing  to  support 
of  3-month-old  foundling,  being  cared  for  at  local 
hospital.  Best  Correspondents:  1.  Berenice  Olson, 
Gene  Autry  C.    2.  Nell  Ambrose,  Club  Friendship. 

3.  Beverly  Bush,  Melody  of  Sinatra  C.  Greatest 
Percentage  Increase  in  Membership:  1.  Dennis 
Morgan  C.  2.  Alan  Ladd  C.  (Pearl).  3  Como's 
Cream  City  C.  (Staley). 

Leading  Clubs  so  far:  League  I:  Gene  Autry  C, 
1150;  Dennis  Morgan  C,  1100;  Bill  Boyd  C,  1000; 
Bingang  (Ness),  750.  League  2:  Joan  Crawford 
C,  1550;  Bette  Davis  C,  1300;  Alan  Ladd  C. 
(Pearl),  Gene  Kelly  C,  1050.  League  3:  Sinatra 
(Ling),  1050;  Dan  Duryea  C.  (Maben).  1000-  Joe 
Cotten  C,  Sinatra  (McMullen),  850. 


ute  he  slipped  out  of  his  cap  and  gown  at 
Commencement,  he  sat  down  and  wrote 
fifty  letters  to  summer  stock  companies 
he'd  read  about  in  Theatre  Arts  Monthly. 
The  law  of  averages  fixed  him  up.  He  got 
twenty  answers  and  seven  offers.  He 
picked  the  Manhattan  Players  at  Lake 
Whalom,  Mass.,  on  the  straw-hat  circuit, 
then  buffeted  Broadway  in  the  fall.  That's 
when  he  outlasted  the  fair  weather  boys 
and  girls  and  got  that  last  minute  job 
with  the  Group  Theater.  John  Garfield, 
who'd  traveled  on  to  Hollywood  after  stage 
fame  in  the  Group's  Golden  Boy,  soon  had 
a  job  for  Larry  in  movieland. 

It  was  to  play  Johnny's  brother  in  a 
picture  called  Mama  Ravioli  at  Warners. 
Larry  hustled  out  to  Hollywood  on  a  bus, 
ready  and  set  to  go.  Old  eight-ball  Parks, 
they  call  him.  He  was  in  Hollywood  with 
an  acting  job  one  Saturday  night.  By  Mon- 
day morning  the  picture  was  cancelled, 
the  job  gone,  and  he  was  broke. 

Once  he'd  skinned  knuckles  enough 
rapping  on  studio  gates,  he  started  beating 
his  brains  out  about  the  business  of  eating. 

minstrel-man  parks  ... 

He's  told  before  about  the  house  he  and 
two  old  Illinois  U.  pals  hammered  to- 
gether. They  parlayed  a  $400  loan  into  a 
$4,000  house,  sold  it  and  cleaned  up  enough 
to  coast  along  on  for  months.  But  I'm  not 
sure  he's  ever  revealed  the  Hollywood 
variety  career  of  Larry  Parks  and  Co., 
songs,  dances  and  snappy  patter. 

"We  swiped  blackouts,  skits  and  sketches 
from  anywhere,"  Larry  confessed.  "No 
show  was  safe.  And  sometimes  we  made 
up  a  killer-diller  of  our  own." 

Larry  and  his  boys  (a  lot  of  other  hungry 
hopefuls)  were  ready  day  and  night  to 
fling  a  show — anywhere.  They  operated 
all  over  Southern  California — Kiwanis 
banquets,  sales  conventions,  and  firemen's 
balls.  Once  they  whipped  together  a 
complete  musical  show  in  three  days,  and 
they  got  $200  for  that.  Another  time  they 
ad  libbed  a  show  off  the  back  end  of  a 
truck  and  collected  $5  for  the  whole  act, 
split  four  ways.  It  wasn't  elegant  or  a  road 
to  riches  but  it  kept  Larry  alive. 

Most  everyone  knows  by  now  that  Larry 
Parks  first  slipped  into  Columbia  with  a 
pinch  hit  reading  of  Robert  Montgomery's 
part  in  Here  Comes  Mr.  Jordan.  They 
weren't  testing  Larry  really,  but  Barry 
Fitzgerald  for  a  key  part.  Columbia's  head 
caster,  Max  Arnow,  needed  someone  to 
make  the  test  with  Barry.  He  called  Larry 
and  asked  if  he'd  like  to  fill  in  the  test — 
no  promises  made. 

Larry  stepped  inside  the  lot  that  morn- 
ing when  the  gates  opened.  Minute  he  saw 
the  set  where  the  test  was  scheduled,  he 
raced  back  home  and  snatched  his  room- 
mate's dark  blue  suit.  He'd  spotted  the 
white  marble  set,  and  his  brain  clicked. 
Barry  Fitzgerald  showed  up  in  a  light 
suit  and  faded  into  the  white  background 
when  the  film  was  printed.  Larry  stuck 
out  like  a  sore  thumb  and  loomed  twice  as 
tall  and  impressive  as  he  really  was. 
_  Barry  Fitzgerald  didn't  get  the  job  in 
Here  Comes  Mr.  Jordan,  but  Larry  Parks 
got  a  contract  at  Columbia.  He  had  to 
laugh,  later,  when  the  studio  big  shots 
looked  him  over  in  the  flesh.  "We 
thought  you  were  bigger,"  they  muttered. 

Whether  that  let-down  did  it  or  not, 
Larry  Parks  found  a  stock  contract  was  no 
pass  to  fame.  He  had  to  chug  along  un- 
honored  and  unsung  for  several  years. 

He  made  thirty  pictures.  He  played 
waiters,  chauffeurs,  mashers,  bums.  He 
filled  in  in  mob  scenes,  he  did  dangerous 
stunts  because  he  was  cheaper  than  a 
Hollywood  stunt  man.  He  wallowed  in 
Western  shoot-em-ups,  Blondie  serials, 
gangland  chillers.  When  he  did  see  a 
little  light,  as  in  Counter-attack,  it  got 
78     snuffed  out,  pronto. 


Larry  struggled  through  that  picture 
for  weeks,  with  high  hopes.  He  was  Paul 
Muni's  friend  in  a  war  story,  and  he  had 
a  hero's  part.  Most  of  his  role  was  played 
in  a  swamp— a  studio  water  tank — and  if 
you've  ever  seen  one  of  those  torture  tubs, 
you'll  know  it  was  no  picnic.  It  was  cold 
and  dirty  and  Larry  stayed  there,  sopping 
wet,  day  in  and  out,  giving  everything 
he  had. 

He  hustled  eagerly  down  Hollywood 
Boulevard  the  night  of  the  preview.  On 
the  marquee  of  the  Pantages  the  banners 
read:  Counter-attack  with  Paul  Muni, 
Marguerite  Chapman  and  Larry  Parks.  He 
could  hardly  believe  it.  "This  is  it,"  he 
said  to  himself,  glowing. 

But  you'd  have  needed  a  torch  to  find 
him  in  that  picture.  His  part,  he  soon 
realized  with  a  sinking  heart,  had  been 
scrapped.  What  few  feet  remained  saw 
him  wandering  around  in  dim  light  be- 
tween the  swamp  and  a  bombed  out  cellar 
and  you  couldn't  tell  whether  that  hazy 
character  was  Larry  Parks  or  the  Shadow. 

He  stalked  home  to  his  room  and  wrote 
a  girl  named  Betty  Garrett,  back  East. 
He  told  her  the  punctured  payoff,  as  he'd 
told  her  his  hopes.  "Never  mind,"  he 
scribbled,  "I  can  out-wait  'em." 

Betty  knew  Larry  would  crash  through 
someday.  She  knew  him  pretty  well  by 
then;  she  was  his  bride. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

I  was  sitting  in  the 
lobby  of  a  large 
Washington  hotel, 
when  a  hungry- 
looking  cowboy 
wandered  up  and 
down  the  floor, 
eyeing  the  swanky 
dining  room.  He 
seemed  hesitant 
about  going  in. 
Finally,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper,  he  asked  his  friend, 
"Do  you  think  they  sell  sandwiches  in 
there?"  I  started  to  chuckle  when 
someone  near  me  said,  "Gosh,  that's 
Gene  Autry!" 

Mary  Joyce 
Washington,  D.  C. 


They'd  met  in  New  York  and  again  in 
Hollywood,  at  the  Actor's  Lab,  and  Larry 
knew  what  he  wanted. 

Two  careers  kept  Betty  and  Larry  Parks 
apart  all  during  the  toughest  stretch  of 
Larry's  career,  the  eight  month  marathon 
to  his  long-delayed  fame  in  The  Jolson 
Story.  Betty  was  starring  in  Call  Me 
Mister  on  Broadway,  and  a  3,000-mile- 
away  wife  was  just  one  more  misery 
Larry  had  to  bear  in  that  most  important 
year  in  his  life.  Most  of  the  others  you've 
read  about: 

How  Larry — who  wasn't  a  real  singer — 
had  to  mimic  perfectly  one  of  the  greatest 
of  them  all,  Al  Jolson.  How  he  started 
the  picture  stone  cold,  with  no  chance 
to  prepare,  being  cast  at  the  last  minute. 
How  he  put  across  twenty  dynamic  Jolson 
numbers,  all  different,  and  matched  every 
Jolson  quiver  and  mugg  to  the  flicker  of  an 
eyelash.  He  slaved  14  hours  at  a  stretch, 
day  and  night,  through  those  eight  months 
until  he  almost  lost  his  mind,  till  the  old 
facial  palsy  threatened  to  come  on  again. 
It  wasn't  made  easier  by  the  knowledge 
that  his  mother,  who  lived  with  him,  had 
cancer,  was  getting  steadily  worse  and 
would  die,  perhaps  before  she  could  see 
the  success  he  was  striving  for.  But  maybe 
that  helped  him  last  out  the  race. 

Because  when  he  thought  he  couldn't 
stand  the  strain  another  minute:  when  he 


was  ready  to  explode,  he  thought  of  his 
mother. 

At  home  she  was  pretending  not  to 
know  what  was  wrong  with  her.  "If  my 
mother  can  be  as  calm  and  cheerful  as 
she  is,  I  can  certainly  take  my  troubles 
without  any  kicks,"  he  figured.  So  he 
didn't  let  up  for  a  minute,  and  his  mother 
lived  to  see  her  boy  come  through.  The 
Jolson  Story  and  Larry  Parks  are  big, 
bright  events  in  Hollywood's  spangled 
history.  It  will  be  a  long  time  before  a 
player  and  picture  miss  an  Academy  Oscar 
by  as  little  as  Larry  Parks  and  The  Jolson 
Story  did. 

All  that  is  a  year  gone  by  for  Larry 
Parks,  and  he  isn't  looking  back.  But  he's 
still  hustling  along  the  hard  way,  running 
an  obstacle  race.  It  seems  to  be  his  destiny. 

He  hasn't  been  able  to  clinch  the  big- 
gest break  of  his  life  as  most  screen  star 
sensations  do,  because  practically  every 
minute  since  The  Jolson  Story  he's  been 
feudin'  and  a-fightin'  with  Columbia  and 
his  boss,  Harry  Cohn.  Larry  hasn't  stepped 
on  a  movie  set,  at  this  writing,  for  nine 
long  months. 

What  makes  him  fret  about  the  whole 
knotty  business  is  that  most  people  think 
his  sudden  fame  has  made  him  hard  to 
handle.  He'd  like  to  clear  that  up. 

Larry's  battle  with  his  studio  has  noth- 
ing to  do  with  money.  What  he's  wrangling 
about  concerns  a  contract  signed  before, 
not  after  The  Jolson  Story.  It  boils  down 
to  this:  Larry  says  he  has  a  year  more  to 
go  on  his  contract.  Columbia  says  he  has 
five.  He's  up  for  a  suit  for  "declaratory 
relief."  That's  lawyer  language,  but  it 
means  a  verdict  to  clear  up  Larry's  studio 
future.  If  he  wins,  he'll  go  right  back  to 
work  for  another  year,  and  then  call  his 
own  shots.  If  he  loses,  he'll  be  Mister 
Columbia  for  five  more  terms.  Larry's 
betting  he's  right  and,  like  we've  been 
saying,  the  boy  has  a  habit  of  winning. 

But  win  or  lose,  Larry  Parks  will  always 
find  something  around  Hollywood  to  go 
after  and  get.  Battle's  the  breath  of  his 
life — even  if  it's  only  with  himself.  While 
he's  been  idle,  Larry  licked  a  complex 
he'd  been  lugging  around  ever  since  The 
Jolson  Story. 

gentleman  in  the  dark  .  .  . 

It  wasn't  all  because  he  played  "the 
silent  Jolson"  in  his  big  hit,  didn't  sing  a 
recorded  note,  and  everyone  knew  it,  that 
Larry  found  himself  saddled  with  a  very 
real  psychosis.  What  built  up  the  fixation 
was  Larry's  natural  love  for  singing,  and 
his  flop  feeling  in  public  when  he  couldn't, 
because  he  didn't  know  how  to  do  it 
right. 

He'd  travel  around  with  Betty  to  the 
GI  hospitals  and  Betty  would  whip  right 
into  a  number  that  scattered  sunshine  all 
over  the  place,  while  Larry,  who  had  a 
good  baritone,  couldn't  even  think  of  using 
it  without  being  terrified. 

Betty  understood.  She  brought  Sy  Mil- 
ler, her  voice  coach,  over  to  the  house  and 
they  ganged  up  to  coax  Larry  into  a  song 
or  two.  Sy  told  him  the  truth — that  he 
had  a  good  voice,  could  train  it  and  learn 
to  sell  a  song  like  the  best  of  them.  Larry 
snapped  at  the  chance. 

He's  been  taking  voice  lessons  all-out 
and  faithfully,  three  times  a  week  for  the 
past  six  months.  His  last  set  of  recordings 
were  so  good  they  banished  his  bugaboo. 
Right  now,  Larry  and  Betty  are  working 
out  a  family  singing  act  which  they'll  per- 
form iri  public  the  next  time  they're  asked. 

The  song  they  plan  to  sing  is  from 
Annie  Get  Your  Gun.  It's  called  "I  Can 
Do  Anything  Better  Than  You,"  and  while 
Larry's  too  modest  a  guy  to  believe  it,  the 
song's  a  pretty  good  theme  for  him.  He 
can  do  almost  anything  better  than  almost 
anybody.  Could  be  that's  why  he's  Mod- 
ern' Screen's  Man  of  the  Year. 


PEACE  ON  EARTH 

(Continued  from  page  32) 


the  movie  colony,  Modern  Screen's  going  to 
fly  you  across  the  boundary  lines  to  Christ- 
mases  far  away  and  not  too  long  ago  .  .  . 

Louis  Jourdan  and  his  brother  Robert, 
in  Marseilles  (Pierre,  the  youngest,  hadn't 
been  born  yet)  always  knew  exactly  how 
their  letters  reached  Le  Pere  Noel. 

First,  they  were  very  accurately  ad- 
dressed to  Le  Pere  Noel,  Le  Paradis,  Route 
du  Ciel.  Second,  you  hung  them  on  the 
telegraph  pole  nearest  your  apartment 
house.  Next  time  you  looked,  they  were 
gone,  so  naturally  they'd  been  whisked  by 
wire  to  the  sky.  Third,  you  got  an  answer, 
thus: 

"My  dear  Louis: 

I  have  received  your  amiable  let- 
ter. If  you  are  an  obedient  boy,  and 
try  to  do  your  school  work  a  little 
better,  then  for  this  year  you  will 
have  what  you  wish.  I  will  visit  you, 
as  last  year,  at  12  o'clock.  I  will  come 
by  the  chimney.  Do  not  forget  to  put 
your  shoes  by  the  fireplace. 

Bien  a  vous — Le  Pere  Noel" 

So,  to  two  very  obedient  boys  who'd 
tried  for  at  least  a  week  to  do  their  school 
work  better,  came  Christmas  Eve  and 
The  Tree,  and  the  bite  of  supper  to  stay 
them  till  after  midnight,  and  the  smaller 
gifts  grouped  round  their  shoes  on  the 
hearth — by  whom,  they  never  asked.  But 
this  was  only  the  overture.  The  curtain 
itself  wouldn't  rise  till  12. 

For  the  Jourdan  children,  it  was  their 
young-hearted  mother  who  played  Pere 
Noel.  At  11  or  so,  she  would  say:  "Now  I 
must  go  to  Father's  office  for  a  while.  If 
I  miss  Le  Pere  Noel,  please  make  my  ex- 
cuses." The  boys  never  questioned  that, 
either.  Father  was  in  the  hotel  business, 
and  often  had  to  go  out  at  night.  Tonight, 
Mother  went  instead;  it  was  very  simple. 

clock  watchers  .  .  . 

After  she  left,  they  glued  their  eyes  to 
the  clock,  as  the  hands  crawled  around, 
their  ears  straining  for  the  peal  of  the 
bell  he  carried.  At  the  crack  of  midnight, 
just  in  time  to  keep  them  from  suffocat- 
ing— kling,  klang!  Louis  ran  to  the  door. 
He  entered — white-robed,  white-hooded, 
white -bearded,  pack  on  back.  What  child 
could  have  dreamed  that  this  large  and 
venerable  ancient  was  his  masquerading 
mother? 

His  voice  rumbled  explanations.  "I'm 
getting  old  and  tired.  I  have  many  chil- 
dren to  see.  Therefore  I  come  by  the  ele- 
vator instead  of  the  chimney.  It's  quicker. 
Also  a  little  cleaner.  Have  you  been  good 
children?" 

"Yes,  Papa  Noel,"  quavered  the  boys. 

His  presence  was  awe-compelling.  As 
Louis  explains  it  today:  "He  had  a  kind 
of  super -power  over  you.  He  was  human 
yes,  but  a  human  who  has  always  been 
there  and  will  always  be  there  and  knows 
more  than  any  other  human  in  the  world. 
When  he  says  something,  it  shakes  you." 

The  gifts  were  distributed.  "I  would 
like  you  to  sing  my  song,"  said  Le  Pere 
Noel.  The  boys  drew  close  together,  and 
to  their  father  they  suddenly  looked  very 
small.  "Begin.  Mon  beau  sapin — " 

"Mon  beau  sapin,  roi  de  foret — "  and 
so  on  to  the  end. 

"Good.  Now  I  must  go.  I  am  busy.  Do 
not  forget  me — " 

They  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks.  "Au 
'voir,  Papa  Noel.    Merci,  Papa  Noel." 

Then  he  was  gone,  and  the  solemnity 
with  him,  and .  all  of  a  sudden  you  felt 


LITTLE  LULU 


Little  Lulu  says... Compare  tissues— compare  boxes— and 
you'll  see  why  Kleenex*  is  America's  favorite  tissue.  You 
pull  just  one  double  tissue  at  a  time— up  pops  another! 


©  International  Cellucotton  Products  Co. 


*T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Ofl. 


It* 


Figure 


the  Dream 

'  WITH  ELASTIC  EDGE  INNER  POCKETS 
CIRCULAR  STITCHING  AROUND  EACH 

CUP™,ND,V,DUALBEAUTy. 


bra 


SIZES  32  to  36,  A  CUP 

SIZES  32  to  40,  B  C  D  CUP 
t^DREAM  FIGURE*  GIRDLE 
SIZES  25  to  34 


orm 


•Reg.U.S.Pat.Off. 

BR/l§SIERE§  OI   HOLLY  WOOD 

860  SOUTH  LOS  ANGELES  ST.,  LOS  ANGELES  14 


Bev  and  Rory  Calhoun  at  Withers  reception. 


very  gay  and  relaxed,  and  Mother  came 
home  and  you  opened  your  gifts  and  the 
Christmas  feast  was  served — turkey  and 
champagne  and  la  buche  de  Noel — pastry 
in  the  shape  of  a  Yule  log.  And  next  day 
Mother  and  Father  went  to  mass  with  you 
at  your  school  and  all  together,  parents 
and  children,  you  sang: 

"II  est  ne  le  Bon  Enfant — 
Chantons-nous  son  avenement — " 

Christmas  for  Maureen  O'Hara  began 
early.  One  advantage  of  being  an  Irish 
girl  in  Dublin  is  that  you  start  chopping 
suet  and  preparing  the  other  ingredients 
for  the  pudding,  way  back  in  September. 

"For  Christmas,"  Maureen  says,  eyeing 
Bronwyn,  her  only  child,  a  little  wist- 
fully, /'you  need  a  large  family." 

The  O 'Haras  were  a  large  family,  four 
girls  and  two  boys.  With  Mother  and 
Dad  and  two  in  help,  that  made  ten  around 
the  kitchen  table,  chopping  suet.  You 
bought  it  in  a  lump,  and  chopped  on  a 
wooden  board  with  a  long  knife.  Every 
night  you  got  a  little  done,  and  wrapped 
it  up  tenderly  in  cheesecloth  till  the  fol- 
lowing night.  You  also  chopped  candypeel, 
and  grated  bread  crumbs.  Storemade 
breadcrumbs?  Perish  the  thought!  You'd 
have  grated  your  fingers  raw  before  giv- 
ing up  one  of  those  lovely,  laughing  ses- 
sions round  the  kitchen  table. 

Then  came  the  mixing,  on  a  Saturday 
night,  with  all  your  relatives  there.  While 
Grandfather  lived,  he  mixed  the  pudding. 
Straight  and  tall,  he  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  table,  and  that  was  the  first  time 
Maureen  couldn't  catch  her  breath. 

"My  memory  of  Christmas  is  being  so 
breathless  with  wonder,  I  never  could  get 
enough  air  into  my  lungs." 

the  stirring  moment  .  .  . 

On  Mixing  Night,  the  high  moment 
came  with  your  stir.  Because  once  the 
pudding  was  well  and  truly  mixed,  every- 
one got  a  stir,  starting  with  the  elders 
and  on  down  in  order  of  age.  The  stir 
itself  was  exciting  enough  but,  more  ex- 
citing, you  could  take  a  wish  with  it,  and 
the  wish  was  bound  to  come  true  unless 
you  told  it  to  someone — which  you'd  rath- 
er die  than  do. 

Next  day,  the  pudding  was  cooked  for 
five  or  six  hours,  then  tied  into  a  pudding 
cloth  like  a  ball  and  hung  behind  the 
kitchen  door.  Every  time  Maureen  passed 
it,  she'd  give  it  a  loving  pat  for  hanging 
there  so  sweetly  to  remind  her  that 
Christmas  was  on  its  way.  .  .  . 

For  Anders,  Margarita  and  their  little 
sister  Viveca  Lindfors,  the  holidays  start- 
ed with  Lucia  Day.  In  Sweden,  the  days 
begin  growing  longer  on  December  13th, 
which  is  called  Lucia  Day,  the  Day  of 
Light. 

lucid,  queen  of  light  .  .  . 

At  home,  Mother  was  Queen  of  Light, 
and  served  you  breakfast  in  bed,  which 
gave  that  day  a  special  color  to  begin 
with.  But  the  real  glory  was  Mother  as 
Lucia.  You  weren't  supposed  to  wake 
till  she  came  in.  But  from  sheer  excite- 
ment and  not  wanting  to  miss  the  first 
glimpse  of  her,  you  did.  Snuggled  under 
the  covers,  you'd  watch  for  the  door  to 
open  and  there  she'd  stand — her  long 
white  gown  belted  in  red,  on  her  head 
the  Lucia  crown  of  lingenberries  and 
lighted  candles,  in  her  hands  a  tray  with 
hot  chocolate  and  saffranskusan,  the  spe- 
cial cake  of  the  day.  On  account  of  the 
candles,  she  had  to  walk  very  slowly,  so 
you  had  plenty  of  time  to  rub  your  eyes 
and  pretend  you'd  just  awakened.  Not 
that  Mother  was  ever  deceived. 

From  that  moment  on  you  had  the 
Christmas  feeling.  At  school,  one  of  the 
girls  was  Lucia,  and  there'd  be  a  party 


with  coffee  and  saffranskusan.  And  at 
night,  the  torchlight  procession.  Always 
you  hoped  for  snow,  and  almost  always 
you  got  it.  Under  falling  snow,  Stock- 
holm looks  like  a  fairytale,  and  especially 
with  the  trees  and  windows  a-glitter,  and 
the  sleighbells  ringing,  and  the  Queen  of 
Light  riding  in  a  huge  sleigh  with  Gam- 
melfar,  the  old  Christmas  Man.  The 
Queen,  chosen  by  contest,  was  always 
blonde  and  beautiful. 

"But  never,"  smiles  Viveca,  "so  beauti- 
ful as  Mother.  .  . '." 

nine  nights  of  song  .  .  . 

Three  evenings  later,  in  Torreon,  Mex- 
ico, Ricardo  Montalban  would  be  setting 
out  with  a  bunch  of  his  friends  for  the 
first  posada.  Posada  means  inn,  or  shel- 
ter. For  nine  nights,  Mary  and  Joseph 
sought  shelter  vainly  before  finding  it  in 
the  Manger.  So,  on  each  of  the  nine 
evenings  before  Christmas,  Ricardo  and 
the  others  would  gather  in  the  patio  of 
friend  or  neighbor,  and  lift  hopeful  young 
voices  in  the  posada  song: 

"Weary  pilgrims,  we  come  to  your 
door — 

Shelter  from  darkness  we  beg  and 
implore — " 

"No,  no,  no,"  came  the  hard-hearted 
answer.  But  these  were  children  in  Mex- 
ico, not  Mary  and  Joseph  on  the  road  to 
Bethlehem.  So,  after  a  few  more  carols, 
and  a  little  more  imploring,  the  door 
would  be  opened  into  a  house  in  dark- 
ness. You'd  be  led  inside  by  the  hostess, 
a  blindfold  tied  over  your  eyes,  a  stick 
placed  in  your  hand.  By  a  rope  from 
the  center  of  the  room  hung  the  pinata— 
an  earthenware  jar  filled  with  candies  and 
little  toys,  and  dressed  in  bright  paper  to 
look  like  a  rooster  or  peacock  or  a  huge 
flower.  The  trick  was  to 'break  the  pinata 
with  your  stick.  Each  child  got  three 
whacks,  but  whoever  held  the  rope  would 
try  to  maneuver  the  pinata  out  of  reach. 
In  the  end,  of  course,  somebody  hit  it. 
You'd  hear  the  crack,  snatch  off  your 
blindfold,  up  went  the  lights  and  off  you'd 
go  scrambling  for  anything  you  could 
grab. 

Ricardo  was  born  in  Mexico  of  Spanish 
parents.  So  he  had  the  benefit  of  both 
Mexican  and  Spanish  tradition.  The  po- 
sada was  Mexican.  So  was  the  letter  he 
wrote  to  El  Nino  Dios,  explaining  what 
he  would  like  for  Christmas.  This  pre- 
cious paper  he  entrusted  to  Mama,  while 
across  the  ocean  Maureen's  note  to  Santa 
went  up  the  flue  of  the  fireplace.  Among 
them,  the  O'Hara  kids  had  it  figured  out 
that  Santa  sailed  around  with  a  garden- 
stick,  jabbing  letters  out  of  chimneys. 

And  on  Christmas  Eve,  the  night  Louis 
Jourdan  was  visited  by  Le  Pere  Noel,  Vi- 
veca Lindfors  received  her  presents,  too. 
In  the  Lindfors  family,  a  huge  laundry 
basket  was  placed  under  the  piano  on 
Lucia  Day,  and  into  this  everyone  dropped 
packages.  Day  by  day,  the  bright  pile 
mounted  and,  when  no  one  was  around, 
the  children  would  pick  things  up  and 
shake  them  and  try  to  guess  what  was 
inside. 

It  happened  that  Mother's  birthday  fell 
on  the  23rd,  so  they  always  had  the  tree 
finished  by  then,  and  the  children  always 
helped.  Instead  of  our  colored  balls  and 
tinsel,  they  used  glittery  cotton  and  scar- 
let apples  and  animals  made  of  ginger- 
bread— and  right  in  the  middle  of  the  tree, 
where  he  could  watch  the  proceedings 
comfortably,  sat  Gammelfar,  the  Christ- 
mas Man.  From  year  to  year,  the  same 
old  Gammelfar,  without  whom  Christmas 
would  have  been  unthinkable.  He  was 
so  important  that  when  Mother  married, 
Grandmother  gave  her  a  Gammelfar  ex- 
actly like  the  one  she'd  had  from  her 
(Continued  on  page  82) 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

A  week  in  Hollywood,  again,  and 
this  time  to  cover  JANE  WITHERS' 
wedding.  Events  began  with  a  bang 
when  DICK  CLAYTON  rushed  me 
to  a  preview,  and  then  to  a  party 
at  SHEILA  and  KATHLEEN 
O'MALLEY'S,  where  I  rediscovered 
BILL  and  BOBBY  MAUCH.  Then 
came  a  series  of  lunch  dates  with 
GLENN  LANGAN,  RICHARD 
WALSH,  DAN  DURYEA,  and  JOAN 
LORRING,  who  invited  me  to  the 
set  of  Big  Sam,  and  introduced  me 
to  GARY  COOPER  and  ANN  SHER- 
IDAN. Wandered  over  to  the  Por- 
trait of  Jennie  set  and  watched 
JOSEPH  COTTEN,  and  JENNIFER 
JONES,  at  work.  Met  ROSS  HUN- 
TER who  took  me  driving,  and  got 
back  just  in  time  for  my  dinner  date 
with  BOB  ARTHUR.  Friday  was 
wonderful.  Dinner  with  DICK 
CLAYTON,  DIANA  LYNN,  and 
BOB  NEAL,  followed  by  Jane's 
wedding  rehearsal,  where  I  met  and 
chatted  with  lovely  JUNE  HAVER. 
Then  left  the  gang,  and  went  with 
handsome,  blond,  RKO  actor  MIKE 
STEELE  to  Ciro's,  where  we  danced 
alongside  of  LANA  TURNER  and 
PETER  LAWFORD.  Saturday  was 
devoted  to  the  wedding,  which  I  at- 
tended with  ANN  BLYTH,  LON 
McCALLISTER,  JUDY  CLARK  and 
RORY  CALHOUN.  Rory  drove  me 
to  the  reception,  and  there  it  was 
a  series  of  reunions  with,  and  intro- 
ductions to  BUDDY  PEPPER,  DON 
DEFORE,  SCOTTY  BECKETT, 
MARSHALL  THOMPSON,  JOHN 
DALL,  CESAR  ROMERO,  BOB 
HUTTON,  AUDREY  TOTTER  and 
many  others.  Our  crowd  then  went 
to  the  Mocambo,  where  I  had  a 
chance  to  see  and  meet  GAIL  RUS- 
SELL, LOREN  TINDALL,  CARY 
GRANT,  DICK  POWELL,  JUNE 
ALLYSON,  PHILLIP  REED,  and 
DAVID  ROSE  who  gave  me  a 
beautiful  lei  of  gardenias.  Sunday 
consisted  of  breakfast  at  the  McCAL- 
LISTERS',  GAIL  RUSSELL'S  birth- 
day brunch,  and  my  wonderful 
farewell  party  at  the  O'MALLEYS', 
with  40  of  the  young  Hollywood 
crowd  dropping  in  to  say  goodbye.  It 
was  all  such  fun,  and  I  managed  to 
gather  loads  of  info  for  you,  so  if 
there's  something  you  want  to  know, 
write  to  Beverly  Linet,  Information 
Desk,  Modern  Screen,  149  Madison 
Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y.  and 
enclose  a  self-addressed  stamped 
envelope. 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

{Continued  from  page  23) 


My  Wild  Irish  Rose:  Singer  Dennis  Morgan  falls 
in  and  out  of  love  with  Rose   (Arlene  Dahl). 

Morgan)  begins  with  a  tugboat  in  Buffalo,  New 
York.  He  has  an  understanding  mother  (Sarah 
Allgood)  who  gives  him  her  blessing  when 
he  decides  to  go  on  the  stage,  although  she 
has  no  particular  faith  in  his  singing  ability. 
He  tries  Broadway,  but  Broadway  regards  him 
with  a  cold  and  fishy  eye  so  he  goes  back  up- 
state. He  starts  working  in  a  small  hotel  bar 
for  Nick  Popolis  (George  Tobias),  who  is 
the  proprietor. 

It  -  certainly  isn't  the  stage,  but  there  is 
a  very  pretty  girl  around  named  Rose  Dono- 
van (Arlene  Dahl).  She  almost  makes  up 
for  the  lack  of  an  audience.  Chauncey  and 
the  bellboy.  Hopper  (Ben  Blue),  manage  to 
contact  the  Haverley  Minstrel  show  which 
has  just  come  to  town,  and  by  some  extra- 
curricular activity  actually  get  Chauncey  a 
job  singing  with  them  in  black-face.  It  looks 
as  though  Chauncey  is  on  his  way  to  a  suc- 
cessful career  on  Broadway — at  last! 

When  the  show  goes  to  New  York,  Rose, 
who  lives  there,  brings  her  wealthy  father  to 
see  the  show.  He  is  definitely  not  impressed. 
Anyway,  he  wants  Rose  to  marry  Terry 
O'Rourke  (Don  McGuire)  and  no  more  non- 
sense about  minstrels.  Terry,  in  fact,  sends 
some  of  his  "boys"  around  to  beat  up 
Chauncey.  They'd  no  idea  he  had  been 
taught  to  fight  by  William  Muldoon,  the  Iron 
Duke,  himself. 

But  the  fight  causes  Chauncey  to  lose  his 
job.  It  isn't  until  he  meets  Lillian  Russell, 
the  famous  beauty,  that  his  luck  begins  to 
turn.  Before  you  can  sing  "Polly  Wolly 
Doodle"  (which  he  does),  he  is  Miss  Rus- 
sell's leading  man.  Even  then  "My  Wild 
Irish  Rose"  remains  his  favorite  tune.  If 
he  loses  Rose  for  a  little  while,  it's  his  own 
fault. 

For  a  highly  colorful  finale,  there  is  a  pro- 
duction number  called  "The  Puck  Fair." — War. 

ADVENTURES  OF  CASANOVA 

Casanova  (Arturo  De  Cordova)  in  this 
latest  version  of   (Continued  on  page  96) 


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81 


(Continued  from  page  80) 
Mother,  and  now  Viveca  has  one,  too,  who 
wHl  sit  on  her  Christmas  tree  this  year 
in  California. 

After  breakfast  on  the  24th,  the  whole 
family  went  together  to  deliver  gifts  to 
relatives,  who  treated  you  to  a  sweet  hot 
drink  called  glogg.  The  best  things  about 
glogg  were  the  almonds  and  raisins  in  it. 
To  a  Swedish  child,  Christmas  means 
almonds  and  raisins.  They  may  turn  up 
through  the  year  as  well,  but  it's  not  the 
same.    They  belong  to  Christmas. 

At  four,  you  sat  down  at  home  to  Christ- 
mas dinner. 

"Nobody,"  says  Viveca,  "goes  away  to 
somebody  else.  You  stay  with  your 
family.  It's  always  the  worst  day  for 
bachelors." 

Dinner  was  served  in  the  kitchen,  a 
custom  handed  down  from  other  times 
t  when,  for  this  one  day,  master  and  servant 
sat  on  equal  terms.  In  modern  Sweden, 
there's  no  such  sharp  sense  of  division, 
but  the  custom  remains.  The  family  and 
those  who  work  for  the  family  eat  to- 
gether in  the  kitchen.  There's  a  big 
smorgasbord,  and  ham  baked  with  prunes 
and  a  very  thin  hard  bread  that  comes 
from  the  north,  and  a  special  fish  called 
luthsk,  which  Grandmother  cooked.  Not 
to  hurt  Grandmother's  feelings,  Viveca 
always  took  some  on  her  plate  and  waited 
for  Anders  to  sneak  it  off.  She  thought 
it  tasted  awful.    He  was  crazy  for  it. 

Before  coffee  and  cookies,  a  rice  pud- 
ding was  served  with  one  almond  hidden 
in  it,  and  whoever  got  the  almond  would 
be  married  before  the  end  of  next  year. 
Viveca  got  it  at  the  age  of  eight. 

"I  don't  wish  to  be  married.  I  think  I 
am  not  old  enough." 

"I  agree  with  you,"  said  Father. 

"Still  I  would  like  to  eat  the  almond — " 

Mother  saved  the  day  by  exchanging 
it  for  another,  that  had  no  nonsense 
about  it. 

Afterward,  you  trooped  into  the  living- 
room,  and  Father  pulled  the  great  basket 
out  from  under  the  piano  and  read  aloud 
the  little  verse  he'd  written  for  each  gift, 
before  handing  it  out.  And  once  the  pack- 
ages were  opened  and  exclaimed  over, 
you  all  joined  hands  in  a  circle  to  dance 
and  sing  round  the  Christmas  tree. 

By  then  you  were  pretty  tired,  but  even 
if  you  hadn't  been,  it  was  time  for  bed. 
Because  next  morning  you'd  be  going  to 
church  at  five.  Of  all  the  Christmas  won- 
ders, that  morning  remains  with  Viveca 
as  the  most  wondrous. 

a  white  Christmas  .  .  . 

Getting  up  in  the  hushed  darkness. 
The  sleigh  waiting  outside,  and  the  bells 
tinkling  as  the  horses  tossed  their  heads. 
The  torch  Father  gave  you,  warning  you 
to  hold  it  carefully.  Driving  across  the 
white  snow  through  the  clean  air,  looking 
up  at  the  stars  that  had  shone  on  Beth- 
lehem. All  the  other  sleighs  going  in  the 
same  direction,  torches  aflame,  bells  ring- 
ing, and  the  way  the  sound  of  the  bells 
seemed  to  heighten  the  stillness  of  the 
air. 

In  front  of  the  church,  before  going  in, 
you  thrust  your  torch  deep  into  a  snow- 
bank. Viveca  always  turned  at  the  door 
for  a  last  look.  It  was  so  beautiful. 
Torches  burning  quietly  in  the  quiet  snow 
for  the  birthday  of  Jesus. 

What  Ricardo  remembers  best  is  the 
sense  of  warmth  and  intimacy,  the  feel- 
ing of  how  dearly  he  loved  everyone,  and 
how  they  loved  him  on  Christmas  Eve. 
How  gay  they  were  at  table  with  turkey 
and  roasted  chestnuts  and  dried  fruits  and 
the  Christmas  candy  from  Spain  which  is 
called  turron,  and  wines  of  all  colors. 
How  still  gayer  after  dinner,  with  their 
2     songs  and  stories.    How  Father,  more  or 


less  stern  as  a  rule,  was  so  jovial.  How 
Ricardo  danced  with  his  mother. 

Since  his  brother  and  sister  were  so 
much  older,  Ricardo  was  like  an  only 
child.  It  was  to  him  alone  that  Mother 
at  last  said:  "Come.  El  Nino  wishes  to 
see  children  in  bed  when  they  should  be 
in  bed." 

The  grownups  wouldn't  go  to  bed  for 
hours.  They'd  stay  up  till  3  in  order  to 
attend  Rooster's  Mass,  the  Mass  of  the 
Cockcrow.  So  Ricardo  bade  them  good- 
night and  placed  his  shoes  on  the  sill  out- 
side his  bedroom  window,  and  tried  like 
mad  to  go  to  sleep  very  quickly,  in  case 
El  Nino  Dios  should  find  him  awake  and 
be  angry. 

In  the  morning  he'd  open  his  eyes  on  a 
bright  package  lying  on  the  pillow  beside 
him.  Another  at  the  foot  of  the  bed.  Two 
under  the  chair.  You  never  knew  where 
they'd  be,  or  how  many.  And  always,  in 
the  shoes,  some  extra  gifts  that  you  hadn't 
even  asked  the  good  Nino  Dios  for. 

After  church,  you'd  visit  your  friends, 
and  carry  with  you  the  thing  you  were 
proudest  of.  Nor  was  that  the  end  of 
Christmas  for  Ricardo.  His  parents  had 
brought  from  Spain  the  custom  of  cele- 


DO  YOU  CARE? 

Christmas  dinner  this  year  may  once 
again  be  a  gala  affair  at  your  home — 
as  it  should  be.  But  throughout  the 
world  there  will  be  too  many,  too 
sick  and  too  hungry  to  enjoy  the  true 
spirit  of  Xmas — UNLESS  YOU  HELP 
THEM.  You  can  feed  a  whole  family 
in  Europe  for  a  month,  or  keep  a  baby 
alive  and  warm,  or  bring  happiness  to 
an  orphanage.  You  can  do  this  through 
the  CARE  Christmas  Plan.  First,  de- 
cide whom  you'd  like  to  help.  Per- 
haps you  have  friends  or  relatives  in 
Europe.  Perhaps  you  only  know  that 
you'd  like  to  help  someone — a  nurse, 
a  child  in  Greece,  a  widow.  Whoever 
it  may  be,  talk  it  over  with  your  fam- 
ily and  friends.  Ten  dollars  will  pro- 
vide 22  pounds  of  food  or  a  carton 
of  warm  clothing.  A  postal  card  or  a 
phone  call  to  CARE  (Cooperative  for 
American  Remittances  to  Europe)  50 
Broad  Street,  New  York  4,  N.  Y.,  will 
get  you  more  complete  information. 
Make  your  own  Christmas  a  merrier 
one  by  giving  someone  else  your 
CARE! 


brating  also  the  Day  of  the  Wise  Men, 
which  fell  on  January  6th.  The  gifts  of  the 
Wise  Men  were  as  splendid  as  Christmas 
gifts,  and  Ricardo  was  grateful  to  them 
and  loved  them. 

"But  not  so  well  as  El  Nino,"  he  told  his 
mother  once.  "He  was  small  like  me." 

As  torches  in  the  snow  held  pure  en- 
chantment for  Viveca,  so  did  the  carolers 
for  Maureen.  Night  after  night,  six  chil- 
dren hung  from  the  windows  of  the 
O'Hara  house,  wrapped  up  against  the 
cold  by  parental  order.  The  carolers  were 
coming.  Clear  and  sweet,  you  first  heard 
the  faint  chime  of  the  bells  they  rang  as 
they  walked.  Then  closer  and  closer,  till 
you  could  hear  the  voices,  and  a't  last 
they  rounded  the  corner — crimson  caps 
and  scarves  and  mittens,  lanterns  held 
aloft  at  the  end  of  a  stick,  for  all  the 
world  like  some  picture  in  a  Christmas 
card. 

"O  Little  Star  of  Bethlehem,"  they  sang, 
and  "Once  Upon  a  Midnight  Clear,"  and  the 
children  ran  down  to  give  them  money  to 
buy  gifts  for  children  who  might  other- 
wise have  none. 

By  Christmas  Eve,  the  house  was  beau- 
tiful with  holly  and  serpentine.  A  sprig 


of  mistletoe  hung  in  the  hallway.  If  a 
young  man  kissed  you  under  the  mistle- 
toe, he  had  to  give  yrpu  a  pair  of  gloves, 
so  you'd  find  the  girls  sort  of  hanging 
around.  Not  that  kisses  were  much  of  a 
treat  at  their  age,  but  gloves  were  always 
nice. 

Like  Ricardo,  they  were  sent  to  bed 
early,  since  the  big  day  with  the  Irish  is 
the  25th.  The  children  slept  two  in  a  room, 
Maureen  with  Margot.  From'  the  foot  of 
each  bed  hung  two  long,  black  stockings. 
Charlie  and  Jimmy,  youngest  of  the  brood, 
wore  socks  and  said  it  wasn't  fair  and 
tried  to  get  away  with  hanging  their 
pillowcases. 

"Greedy  children  get  nothing,"  said 
Daddy,  but  he  did  let  them  borrow  stock- 
ings from  their  sisters. 

All  the  bedrooms  had  fireplaces.  Unlike 
Ricardo,  Maureen  tried  like  mad  to  stay 
awake  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  Santa.  She 
never  succeeded.  But  if  she  had,  she'd  have 
seen  him.  Daddy  was  taking  no  chances. 
When  he  tiptoed  in  to  leave  the  gifts  in  the 
fireplace,  he  was  in  full  Santa  Claus  re- 
galia, in  case  one  of  his  darlings  should 
wake  up. 

come  all  ye  cousins  .  .  . 

At  5:30  or  6,  the  squealing  and  chatter- 
ing started,  continued  through  break- 
fast and  till  they  left  for  church.  Dinner 
was  at  three.  With  uncles  and  aunts, 
there  were  sixteen  round  the  O'Hara 
Christmas  table.  First,  you  pulled  the 
cracker  at  your  plate,  and  stuck  the  paper 
hat  on  your  head,  and  laid  the  whistle 
aside  for  later.  Then  you  polished  off  the 
Christmas  bird  with  accessories,  and  the 
pig's  head,  cooked  and  covered  in  choco- 
late icing.  Then  the  table  was  cleared,  and 
Mother  disappeared  kitchenward. 

Maureen  knew  exactly  what  Mother 
was  doing  in  the  kitchen.  There  sat  the 
pudding  on  a  platter  with  holly  all  around, 
and  the  very  best  bit  of  holly  that  came 
into  the  house  stuck  on  top.  Now  Mother 
was  pouring  brandy  all  over  it.  Now  she 
was  striking  a  match,  setting  fire  to  it. 
Now  the  lights  were  turned  out  and  a 
hush  descended. 

Enter  Mother,  bearing  the  pudding  all 
aflame,  signal  for  pandemonium.  Pound- 
ing and  stamping  and  whistles  blowing 
and  hugging  one  another  and  crying, 
"Merry  Christmas — oh,  merry,  merry 
•Christmas."  And  suddenly,  the  tears  run- 
ning down  Maureen's  face. 

"What  are  you  crying  for,  silly?"  de- 
manded Charlie. 

"Because  it's  Christmas,  silly,"  sniffled 
Maureen. 

"And  a  very  good  reason,  too."  Daddy, 
who  never  missed  much,  was  smiling  at 
her  from  the  head  of  the  table.  "Now  let's 
all  have  our  pudding." 

"In  Ireland,"  says  Maureen,  "you  say 
Merry  Christmas  to  every  stranger  on  the 
street.  Because  at  Christmas  time  nobody's 
a  stranger — " 

"It's  like  a  fresh  new  world,"  says 
Ricardo.  "As  if  for  the  first  time  you  all 
really  knew  each  other — " 

"You  send  clothes  and  food  to  people 
who  don't  have  them,"  Viveca  says.  "No- 
body has  to  be  hungry  at  Christmastime. 
Everyone  has  to  be  kind  to  everyone  else. 
It's  the  day  Jesus  was  born — " 

And  Louis  Jourdan  says:  "When  I  think 
of  Christmas,  I  don't  see  any  more  Le 
Pere  Noel,  but  my  mother  and  father. 
Especially  my  father,  who  died  two  years 
ago.  It's  the  day  you  forget  little  details 
against  each  other,  and  draw  closer  to- 
gether. Not  only  with  your  family,  but 
with  all  human  beings.  It's  the  day  for 
bringing  human  beings  together.  What  a 
pity  it  shouldn't  be  this  way  also  to- 
morrow— " 

What  a  pity  indeed!  For  not  till  it  is, 
will  peace  come  to  our  earth. 


FOR  A  HAPPIER  NEW  YEAR 

(Continued  from  page  25) 


force  that  worked  through  entertainment 
— but  beyond  it.  Pictures  like  Best  Years 
and  Gentleman's  Agreement  showed  us 
Americans  as  we  are.  Human — imperfect 
— but  trying  always  to  fashion  a  better 
America  in  accordance  with  the  simple 
moralities  of  life.  Such  .pictures  carry 
the  torch  of  international  understanding. 
They  have  belie vability.  They  stimulate 
an  inner  feeling  that  all  of  us  in  the 
world  are  alike.  They  nourish  the  in- 
stincts of  love  and  friendship  and  sym- 
pathy on  which  our  survival  is  based. 

The  recognition  of  this  truth  has  guided 
you  strongly  in  your  work  in  the  imme- 
diate past.  We  are  proud  of  you.  Proud 
because  you  proved  to  all  the  world  that 
in  the  midst  of  your  search  for  entertain- 
ment, you  in  Hollywood  have  stopped  a 


little  and  thought  and  struck  at  the  forces 
of  disunity^ 

We  trust  you  will  continue  fighting, 
guided  by  the  same  high  principles,  in 
the  critical  time  ahead.  Certainly  you 
will  not  achieve  what  you  are  after  with 
every  picture,  every  attempt.  No  one 
does;  neither  a  mother  in  her  every  effort 
to  teach  her  child;  nor  a  diplomat  in  his 
every  effort  to  chart  a  nation's  course. 
You,  as  they,  are  subject  to  failure,  occa- 
sionally privileged  to  triumph.  You  are 
criticized  when  you  fail.  You  criticize 
yourselves.  You  ask  for  no  praise  when 
you  succeed.  The  good  is  there — for  the 
world  and  for  you,  because  you  are  in 
the  world. 

May  your  efforts  to  make  ours  a  better 
world  prevail  in  1948! 


PARDON  MY  FRENCH 

(Continued  from  page  48) 


— a  passport  and  a  French  visa  being  re- 
quired. Six  days  later,  Dennis  was  on 
the  train  to  New  York,  his  luggage  filled 
with  soap,  cigarettes  and  books  on  how 
to  learn  French  in  a  hurry. 

Director  Delmer  Daves  and  leading  lady 
Viveca  Lindfors — the  new  Swedish  star — 
were  already  in  Paris.  The  idea  was  to 
shoot  all  exteriors  (about  one-third  of 
the  movie)  in  France,  and  finish  off  the 
interiors,  duplications  of  actual  rooms  in 
French  buildings,  on  stage  16,  Burbank, 
California. 

In  New  York,  Dennis  caught  a  TWA 
plane.  First  stop,  Newfoundland;  second 
stop,  Ireland;  third  stop,  Paris.  When  the 
plane  let  down  at  the  Paris  airport,  Dennis 
was  still  a  "one-word-French-speaker," 
despite  the  books  in  his  luggage.  (As  a 
singer,  he  had  learned  to  pronounce  the 
language  with  authority,  but  that  was  the 
end  of  it.)  Five  minutes  on  French  soil, 
and  the  Hollywood  star  found  himself  en- 
circled by  reporters  from  the  Parisian 
dailies.  They  fired  away  and  he  listened 
hard,  but  this  man  who  can  sing  the 
whole  of  Manon  and  Faust  in  French 
couldn't  make  out  what  they  were  asking. 
"Je  suis  very  dumb  about  French,"  he 
was  telling  them,  when  a  representative 
of  the  Warner  Brothers'  Paris  office  came 
to  the  rescue. 

They  went  directly  to  the  hotel,  the 
George  V,  which  had  housed  Nazi  officers 
during  the  occupation,  and  now  is  filled 
mainly  with  American  travelers  and  a 
very  few  Parisians.  The  hotel  prices  are 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  normally  well-off 
Frenchman.  Dennis  describes  the  hotel 
as  "modern  and  swanky"  but  with  certain 
odd  features — his  room  was  two  floors 
above  the  elevator's  last  stop.  There  was 
no  soap  in  the  bathrooms  because  there 
is  virtually  no  soap  in  France.  The  only 
other  inconvenience  at  the  George  V  was 
the  four-day  dry  period. 

Dennis  had  come  back  to  the  hotel, 
weary  and  wilted,  after  a  day  of  shooting 
in  the  Paris  streets.  The  heat,  105  de- 
grees with  lots  of  humidity,  had  broken 
all  records  since  the  inception  of  the  Paris 
weather  bureau.  Dennis  threw  off  his 
clothes,  got  into  the  shower,  turned  on 
the  spray.    No  water. 

He  called  the  hotel  desk:  "What's  up?" 

A  main  had  broken.  Repairs  might  take 
several  days  because  of  material  short- 
ages. They  were  sorry.  Dennis  paced 
the  floor  for  a  few  minutes.    Then  he 


called  the  porter.  A  short  time  later,  a 
hot  and  grimy  Delmer  Daves  strode  in 
and  found  Morgan  relaxing  in  a  tub  of 
six  gallons  of  bottled  water.  A  happy 
bath,  even  if  it  did  cost  Warner  Brothers 
eight  dollars.  Daves  trotted  right  back 
to  his  room  and  did  likewise. 

With  this  exception,  the  life  of  a  foreign 
traveler  in  Paris  was  exceptionally  com- 
fortable, though  expensive.  In  the  top 
restaurants,  meals  were  true  to  the  many- 
course  French  tradition.  And  the  wine 
was  divine.  Back  in  Hollywood;  Dennis 
had  heard  about  European  food  shortages. 
"They've  had  a  hard  winter;  the  papers 
say  more  than  half  the  wheat  crop  of 
France  was  ruined,"  he  told  his  boss,  Jack 
Warner.  "Won't  we  be  unwelcome,  extra 
mouths  to  feed?" 

Warner  said  no,  and  explained  that  be- 
fore the  war,  American  tourists  had  spent 
a  lot  of  money  in  France,  and  were  a 
large  factor  in  her  trade  balance.  France 
was  now  desperately  short  of  dollars  with 
which  to  buy  food,  fuel  and  raw  materials 
in  this  country,  and  for  this  reason  was 
actually  anxious  for  tourists. 

So  Dennis  ate  his  first  French  meal  with 
a  clear  conscience.  It  was  a  fabulous 
meal  at  a  fabulous  price — 3,000  francs 
($25). 

"That's  a  typical  price  for  a  first-class 
restaurant  meal  these  days,"  says  Dennis. 
"The  ordinary  Parisian  can't  afford  such 
prices  since  an  average  salary  runs  about 
8,000  francs  a  week.  There  is  practically 
no  meat  for  sale  in  Paris  except  on  the 
black  market.  We  saw  several  horse  meat 
stores,  and  people  queued  up  in  front  of 
them. 

The  bread,  people  complained,  was 
worse  than  during  the  war — it  had  been 
taken  off  eoupons,  was  back  on  again. 
Butter  was  rationed  and  wine  had  just 
been  taken  off  in  an  effort  to  keep  people's 
minds  off  the  poor  bread. 

Gas  is  rationed,  even  to  taxis.  Drivers 
work  until  their  ration  is  exhausted. 
There  were  20,000  taxis  in  Paris  before  the 
war;  now  there  are  8,000.  As  a  conse- 
quence, the  drivers  are  apt  to  demand 
more  than  their  meter  reads.  One  night, 
coming  home  from  riding  roller  coasters 
with  Viveca  in  a  Coney  Island  sort  of 
spot  in  Montmartre,  Dennis  was  charged 
three  times  what  the  meter  registered. 
The  actor  paid  up  but  as  he  walked  toward 
the  hotel,  the  driver  came  running  after 
him  with  his  hand  out.    "Service,  mon- 


Reducing  Specialist  Says: 


-~~<**mm.    

'  'Thanks  to  the 
Spot  Reducer  I 
lost  four  inches 
around  the  hips 
and  three  inches 
around  the  waist- 
line. It's  amaz- 
ing." Mary  Mar- 
tin, Long  Island 
City,  N.  Y. 


LOSE 
WEIGHT 

where  it 
shows  most 

REDUCE 

most  any  part  of 
the  body  with 


SPOT  REDUCER 

Like  a  magic  wand,  the  "Spot  Reducer" 
obeys  your  every  wish.  Most  any  part  of  your 
body  where  it  is  loose  and  flabby,  wherever 
you  have  extra  weight  and  inches,  the  "Spot 
Reducer"  can  aid  you  in  acquiring  a  youth- 
ful, slender  and  graceful  figure,  "file  beauty 
of  this  scientifically  de- 
signed Reducer  is  that  the 
method  is  so  simple  and 
easy,  the  results  quick,  sure 
and  harmless.  No  exercises 
or  starvation  diets.  No 
steambaths,  drugs  or  laxa- 
tives. 

Thousands  have  lost  weight 
this  way — in  hips,  abdomen, 
legs,  arms,  neck,  buttocks, 
etc.  The  same  method  used 
by  many  stage  screen  and 
radio  personalities  and  lead- 
ing reducing  salons.  The 
"Spot  Reducer"  can  be  used 
in  your  spare  time,  in  the 
privacy  of  your  own  room. 
It  breaks  down  fatty  tis- 
sues, tones  the  muscles  and 
flesh,  and  the  increased, 
awakened  blood  circulation 
carries  away  waste  fat.  Two 
weeks  after  using  the  "Spot 
Reducer,"  look  in  the  mir- 
ror and  see  a  more  glamor- 
ous, better,  firmer,  slimmer 
figure  that  will  delight  you. 
You  have  nothing  to  lose 
but  weight  for  the  "Spot 
Reducer"  is  sold  on  a 


Miss  Nancy  Mace, 
Bronx,  N.Y.,  says : 
"I  went  from  size 
16  dress  to  a  size 
12  with  the  use 
of  the  Spot  Re- 
ducer. I  am  glad 
I  used  it." 


MONEY-BACK  GUARANTEE 
with  a  10-DAY  FREE  TRIAL! 


If  the  "Spot  Reducer" 
doesn't  do  the  wonders 
for  you  as  it  has  for 
others,  if  you  don't 
lose  weight  and  inches 
where  you  want  to 
lose  it  most,  if  you're 
not  100%  delighted 
with  the  results,  your 
money  will  be  re- 
turned at  once. 


Marie  Hammel,  New 
York,  N.  Y.,  says: 
"I  used  to  wear  a 
size  20  dress,  now  I 
wear  size  14,  thanks 
to  the  Spot  Reducer. 
It  was  fun  and  I  en- 
joyed it." 


MAIL  COUPON  NOW! 


The  "Spot  Reducer"  Co.,  Dept.  M-l,  - 
871  Broad  St.,  Newark,  New  Jersey. 

Send  me  at  onee,  for  $2  cash,  check  or 
money  order,  the  "Spot  Reducer"  and 
your  famous  Special  Formula  Bodv  Mas- 
sage Cream,  postpaid.  If  I  am  not  100% 
satisfied,  my  money  will  be  refunded. 


Name. . . 
Address 


•    City   State. 


*  S3 


sieur,  service!  S'il  vous  plait." 

All  he  wanted  now  was  a  tip! 

Dennis  found  Paris  beautiful,  but  not 
gay.  "You  see  that  she  has  been  through 
something."  The  people  are  tired,  wor- 
ried about  their  second-rate  position 
among  nations.  "There  is  not  much  hap- 
piness," says  Dennis.  On  the  streets  he 
saw  little  of  the  much-publicized  extreme 
styles  invented  by  the  Paris  couturieres. 
He's  not  the  sort  of  fellow  who'd  be  caught 
dead  at  a  fashion  show  or  even  shopping 
for  female  apparel  (his  coming-home 
present  for  Lillian  was  perfume)  and  the 
only  glimpses  he  had  of  long  dresses  was 
in  fancy  restaurants  and  hotels.  Only 
the  inflation-money  class,  and  Americans, 
can  afford  "the  new  look." 

American  in  paris  .  .  . 

In  his  time  off,  Dennis  was  a  typical 
tourist,  although  the  heat  was  awful,  the 
streets  almost  deserted.  He  bought  flow- 
ers for  his  French  friends  from  the  outdoor 
stalls  in  the  Place  de  la  Madeleine,  looked 
over  the  little  bookshops  along  the  quay 
by  the  Seine.  They  were  selling  "Forever 
Amber"  there,  as  "L'Ambre,"  for  the  out- 
rageous price  of  1,000  francs  ($8). 

In  the  burning  sun,  "a  Van  Gogh  sun," 
he  walked  through  the  Bois  de  Boulogne, 
down  the  Champs  Elysees,  stood  in  the 
Place  de  la  Concorde,  strolled  on  under 
the  great  chestnut  trees  in  the  Jardin  des 
Tuileries.  The  dahlias  were  out,  and  there 
were  geraniums  and  yellow  fuchsias. 
Everywhere,  the  colors  were  wonderful; 
delicate,  warm  colors — reds,  blues,  whites 
and  blacks — old,  black  stone  walls  around 
white  houses,  like  the  paintings  of  Utrillo. 

In  the  rain  one  day,  Dennis  went  to 
the  He  de  St.  Louis — a  little  island  in  the 
Seine — to  admire  the  Cathedral  of  Notre 
Dame.  "It  was  so  exciting,  at  last,  to  see 
what  I'd  read  about.  To  look  up  at  the 
gargoyles,  for  instance,  and  suddenly  dis- 
cover they  were  there  for  more  than  just 
decoration — they  stretched  out  from  the 
towers  spitting  rain-water." 

He  was  awed  by  this  church,  and  by  the 
many  other  examples  of  Gothic  and 
Renaissance  architecture.  "To  think  that 
men  could  build  such  terrific  edifices  with- 
out machines  or  even  the  help  of  steel!" 

The  first  day's  shooting  on  Dennis'  pic- 
ture took  place  in  the  Place  des  Vosges, 
"and  old,  old  square — pink  brickwork 
and  pale  blue  shutters — built  before 
1600."  Dennis  and  Viveca  spent  most  of 
the  day  getting  in  and  out  of  a  taxicab 
in  front  of  the  palace  of  Cardinal  Riche- 
lieu, and  great  crowds  gathered  to  watch. 

Dennis  spent  a  great  many  evenings 
with  members  of  the  French  crew  that 
worked  on  the  picture.  A  good  feeling 
developed,  despite  their  difficulties  with 
language,  between  the  visiting  Americans 
and  the  Frenchmen — most  of  the  fun  tak- 
ing the  form  of  not  too  hilarious  practical 
jokes  which  were  more  easily  understood 
than  conversation.  But  Dennis  was  often 
homesick,  and  apparently  there  wasn't 
anything  more  welcome  than  the  sight 
of  another  American  in  Paris. 

He  saw  Marlene  Dietrich,  Merle  Oberon, 
a  few  Los  Angeles  businessmen;  he  and 
Paul  Lukas  (who  was  in  Europe  to  work 
on  another  American  movie)  played  some 
doubles  with  Marcel  Bernard,  the  present 
tennis  champion  of  France,  and  Toto 
Brugnon,  one  of  the  four  great  all-time 
French  players.  They  played  in  the  Bois 
at  the  Racing  Club  de  France  on  those 
beautiful,  brick-red  en-tout-cas  courts, 
surrounded  by  clumps  of  green  trees. 
Dennis  was  paired  with  Bernard,  but  they 
lost.    "I  was  nervous,  to  put  it  mildly." 

One  night  at  the  Cafe  de  Flore,  meeting 
place  of  the  literary  world,  he  caught  a 
glimpse  of  the  most  famous  post-war 
Frenchman,  Jean-Paul  Sartre,  playwright, 
84     magazine    editor    and    founder    of  the 


philosophy  called  Existentialism.  Their 
slogan:  L'Etre  et  le  neant  (Being  and 
nothing).    Too  deep  for  Dennis,  he  says. 

It  was  not  the  season  for  theater  or 
opera,  but  he  heard  a  little  story  about 
one  great  French  soprano,  and  it  made 
him  wish  especially  that  he  might  hear 
her  sing.  The  time  was  during  the  occu- 
pation. After  a  performance  of  the  opera, 
a  Nazi  officer  presented  himself  at  the 
singer's  dressing  room  to  pay  his  compli- 
ments. When  the  Nazi  heiled  Hitler  in 
greeting,  the  opera  star  took  a  long  wait, 
then  made  the  sign  of  the  cross! 

How  a  citizen  behaved  toward  the 
cupiers  is  still  a  matter  of  burning  im- 
portance, Dennis  found.  Those  who  took 
the  easy  way  and  accepted  favors  have 
not  only  been  politically  purged,  they 
have  been  purged  artistically  as  well. 

Dennis  saw  a  good  many  people  living 
in  houses  pockmarked  by  shells  and  rifle 
fire,  and  he  saw  railroad  tracks  with  white 
patches  in  them  everywhere — temporary 
patches  made  after  the  fighting  was  over. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"What  do  you  expect  for  a  dime?" 


The  French  underground  had  been  tre- 
mendously successful  in  sabotaging  the 
railroads,  but  then,  after  the  war,  they  had 
to  suffer  the  awful  problems  of  having 
almost  no  transportation  system  at  all. 

It  was  virtually  impossible,  for  a  long 
while,  to  get  food  distributed  evenly,  hence 
the  days  in  1944  and  '45  when  people  were 
reported  to  be  burning  butter  to  light 
their  houses  in  Normandy,  while  in  Paris, 
butter  was  selling  on  the  black  market 
at  fantastic  prices.  Since  then,  a  mirac- 
ulous job  has  been  done  on  the  railroads 
which  are  running  almost  normally  again. 

Like  all  good  tourists,  Dennis  devoted 
one  evening  to  the  Folies  Bergere,  a  lavish 
spectacle  with  low  comedy,  torrid  dances 
and  beautiful  girls  clad  only  in  plastic  fig 
leaves.  Dennis  found  the  show  less  sizzling 
than  its  reputation.  He  was  more  impressed 
by  the  set  designs  than  by  the  numbers 
and  the  music. 

His  favorite  nite  spot  was  the  Mon- 
seigneur.  The  place  seats  about  75  cus- 
tomers, who  are  richly  entertained  by  an 
orchestra  of  38  ambulant  strings — the 
players  wandering  among  the  tables. 

Most  impressive  part  of  the  trip,  how- 
ever, was  the  period  of  living  in  a  small 
town  in  Normandy,  and  shooting  on  Omaha 


Beach,  scene  of  the  1944  invasion.  "One 
of  the  great  sights  of  my  life,"  Dennis 
says.  "It  gave  me  a  funny  feeling  inside." 
Terrible  reminders  of  the  war  are  still 
there  on  the  beach — mangled  landing  craft  i 
and  German  gun  installations. 

"When  you  look  over  the  tremendous 
number  of  gun  installations,  made  of  five- 
foot-thick  concrete  walls  and  reinforced 
by  pieces  of  iron,  you  wonder  how  our 
men  ever,  ever  got  through.  Only  a  direct  | 
hit  or  a  grenade  could  knock  them  out.  The 
great  guns  criss-crossing  the  beach,  hold- 
ing everything  under  their  cover.  In  be- 
tween, machine  gun  nests."  Yet  our  men 
came  in  and  went  right  up  that  hill! 
Makes  you  feel  like  you're  in  church,  a 
sacrilege  if  you  don't  remove  your  hat." 

Just  a  few  hundred  yards  from  the 
beach,  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill,  he 
visited  a  small,  well-kept  cemetery.  The 
hastily  constructed  sign  stands  there  as  i 
it  was  originally  written:  "First  Ameri- 
can cematary  in  France,  World  War  II." 

Twelve  miles  in  from  the  coast,  in  the 
town  of  Treviers,  Frenchmen  like  to  point 
out  a  small  church,  partially  destroyed  by 
American  shells.  The  clock  on  the  steeple 
is  intact  but  stopped — the  hands  standing 
at  6:30  (6:30  a.m.,  June  6,  1944).  In  the 
courtyard,  a  bronze  statue  of  a  French 
soldier,  monument  to  Frenchmen  killed  in 
World  War  I,  still  stands. 

peace  conies  to  omaha  beach  .  . . 

Today,  people  swim  among  the  landing 
wrecks  on  Omaha  Beach,  and  the  children 
play  happily  in  the  sand-filled  pillboxes. 
The  American  tag  has  taken  hold,  the 
locals  still  call  the  spot  Omaha  Beach. 
There  are  even  streets  in  Normandy 
named  for  GIs.  When  the  troupe  from 
Hollywood  set  up  cameras  and  began 
shooting,  crowds  gathered  and  friendships 
were  made  despite  the  language  barrier.  j 
Dennis  met  some  of  the  F.F.I,  resistance 
fighters,  and  gained  a  notion  of  their  part 
in  the  invasion.  Their  code  phrase,  mean- 
ing the  invasion  at  last  is  about  to  start, 
was  "Nancy  a  le  torticolis."  It  means, 
"Nancy  has  a  stiff  neck." 

Dennis  talked  with  a  young  resistance 
fighter  who  had  been  caught  by  the  Ger- 
mans and  taken  off  to  a  concentration 
camp.  He  told  of  men  being  made  to 
stand  in  the  snow  with  no  shoes,  and  how 
they  worked  carrying  stones  and  of 
being  made  to  put  one  finger  on  the  floor 
and  crawl  round  and  round  with  the  fin- 
ger held  in  one  place,  pretending  they 
were  gramophones.  The  man,  Dennis  no- 
ticed, couldn't  move  one  of  his  feet. 

When  they  returned  to  Paris,  Dennis 
was  more  homesick  than  ever.  Every 
glance  at  the  photos  of  his  family,  which 
he'd  stuck  under  the  glass  on  his  bureau 
at  the  George  V,  made  it  worse.  Suddenly, 
one  day,  he  turned  to  the  phone  and  put 
in  a  call  for  home.  He  could  hardly  wait 
for  the  wonderful  American  sounds  of  his 
children.  "Hi  Dad,"  they'd  probably  say. 
"What's  cookin'?"  The  wait  was  long. 
Finally  he  got  through  to  them.  His  daugh- 
ter, Kristin  (aged  10),  came  on  first. 

"Bonjour  Papa,"  he  heard,  "comment  ca 
va?  Le  chien  est  tombe  dans  la  piscine, 
et  moi,  je  l'ai  sauve." 

"Piscine,  what's  piscine?     You  worry 
me,"  he  said. 

"Oh  Daddy,"  she  said,  "how  could  you 
be  so  ignorant?  Everybody  knows  that's 
the  swimming  pool.  Now  listen!  Reviens 
a  la  maison  bientot — et  apportes-nous 
beaucoup  des  cadeaux." 

A  few  hours  later,  he  was  remember- 
ing all  this  with  a  smile.  Maybe,  he 
thought,  he'd  better  find  out  about  cadeaux, 
so  he  searched  around  in  his  luggage  for 
one  of  those  books — and  it's  a  good  thing 
he  did,  too,  because  he  learned  he  had 
some  shopping  to  do  before  he  caught  that 
plane  for  home. 


DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS  "THE  BISHOP'S  WIFE" 


(Continued  from  page  14) 


the  simple  story,  adapted  with  taste 
and  economy  by  Robert  E.  Sherwood 
and  Leonardo  Bercovici  from  Robert 
Nathan's  novel,  Gary  Grant  plays  Dudley, 
an  unorthodox  but  captivating  angel  who 
appears  in  a  set  of  brilliantly  tailored 
mufti  on  the  streets  of  an  American  city 
and  performs  deeds  of  helpfulness  and 
charity  ranging  from  the  merely  Boy 
Scout  to  the  truly  miraculous. 

His  great  good  deed  is  accomplished 
when  he  responds  to  the  prayer  of  an 
earnest  but  temporarily  over-worldly 
young  bishop  (played  by  David  Niven) 
and  after  irritating  him  considerably, 
brings  him  back  to  the  realization  that 
Heaven  is  served  in  slums  as  well  as  in 
great  cathedrals,  and  that  comforting  the 
poor  often  is  more  rewarding  than  im- 
pressing the  rich.  Dudley  is  assisted  in 
this  reformation  by  the  bishop's  wife 
(Loretta  Young),  a  creature  so  kind,  un- 
selfish and  genuinely  virtuous  that  she 
makes  an  admirable  aide  for  an  angel. 

It  is  a  long  time  since  a  movie  has 
dared  to  exhibit  such  a  faultless  heroine; 
she  could  easily  have  turned  into  a 
caricature  of  Pollyanna  or  an  annoyance 


to  every  other  female  in  the  audience.  But 
Loretta  Young  plays  the  part  with  feel- 
ing, sincerity  and  a  commendable  lack 
of  glamor  in  the  false-eyelashes  sense  of 
the  word,  with  the  result  that  it  comes  off 
beautifully. 

The  entire  cast  is  fine — David  Niven, 
who  is  properly  harassed  but  charming, 
Monty  Woolley  who  is  a  joy,  the  ever- 
competent  Gladys  Cooper  and  the  always 
satisfying  James  Gleason. 

And  that  Car>  Grant!  He  is  not  only 
more  attractive-looking  than  ever  before, 
if  possible,  but  he  is  guilty  of  some  of  the 
most  brilliant  acting  of  the  year  in  The 
Bishop's  Wife  (such  timing!  such  a  sure 
sense  of  comedy!)  and  I  hereby  sentence 
1-im  to  an  Academy  Award. 

I  have  no  complaints  about  my  own 
guardian  angel,  whom  I  have  never  seen. 
Qjite  the  contrary — he  has  been  remark- 
ably efficient  in  getting  me  across  streets, 
keeping  airplanes  containing  me  in  the 
air,  and  getting  me  out  of  various  types 
of  hot  water.  But  if  he  looks  like  Dudley, 
I  certainly  wish  he'd  materialize.  And  if 
L-  hovers  over  me  while  I  sleep,  I  go  to 
bed  with  makeup  on — starting  tonight! 


DOUBLE  IN  HEARTS 

(Continued  from  page  16) 


able  to  read  their  stars,  they  certainly 
would  have  shunned  the  month  of  March 
for  marital  ventures.  It  was  certainly  an- 
other odd  coincidence  that  spurred  them 
to  tell  the  world  that  they  were  both 
washed  up  with  the  effort  to  find  wedded 
bliss  on  the  very  same  day — June  16,  1947 
— and  just  about  an  hour  apart. 

Strangely,  June  and  Mark  have  never 
been  in- the  least  interested  in  each  other. 
They  have  starred  together,  but  they  have 
little  if  anything  in  common,  run  with 
entirely  different  crowds,  and  see  very 
little,  indeed,  of  one  another  away  from 
the  studio. 

But  isn't  it  an  irony  to  watch  them  in 
20th  Century-Fox's  musical  portraying  the 
life  of  Joe  Howard,  the  songwriter — won- 
dering "Who's  Kissing  Her  Now" — and  to 
realize  that  Mark  and  June  were  battling 
their  own  heartbreak  at  the  very  moment 
they  were  making  those  ardent  scenes. 

Shall  we  put  it  down  as  another  coin- 
cidence that  another  songwriter  like  Joe 
Howard  is  pouring  his  heart  out  in  an- 
other torch  ditty?  A  23-year-old  lad 
named  Jimmy  Zito  sits  in  his  lonely  room 
writing  a  song  which  he  has  already  titled 
"Junie,"  turning  his  heartbreak  into  a 
melody  about  the  girl  he  loved  and  mar- 
ried, but  couldn't  keep. 

They  had  one  of  those  story-book  love 
stories,  June  and  Jimmy.  It  all  started 
with  what  our  elders  call  "puppy  love," 
in  the  summer  of  1941.  Jimmy  was  blow- 
ing the  trumpet  in  Ted  Fio-Rito's  band. 
A  cute  little  blonde  from  Rock  Island,  111., 
chock  full  of  talent,  and  as  pretty  as  a 
Watteau  painting,  walked  into  a  rehearsal 
session  for  a  tryout  as  vocalist.  Ted  took 
one  look  at  her,  and  June  got  the  job. 
Her  first  salary  was  $75  a  week.  Jimmy 
Zito,  then  just  turned  seventeen,  took  one 
look  at  her  and  fell  in  love.  She  was 
fifteen,  and  her  smile  even  then  was  an 
angel's.  Jimmy  was  earning  $125  a  week, 
and  though  he  was  helping  to  support  his 
mother,  he  began  planning  a  little  cot- 
tage for  two. 

But  the  path  of  true  love  was  never 
smooth  for  June  and  Jimmy.    Ted  Fio- 


Rito  brought  his  band  to  California.  Not 
only  did  June  come  along;  her  father  and 
mother  and  two  sisters  also  pulled  up 
stakes  for  the  land  of  sunshine.  Her 
career  as  a  band  singer  hit  a  snag  as  soon 
as  they  arrived.  She  was  under  age — 
much  too  young  for  the  California  law  to 
let  her  be  a  thrush  in  night  clubs  where 
liquor  was  served. 

Jimmy  traveled  around  the  State  with 
the  band  while  June  stayed  behind  in 
Beverly  Hills  concentrating  and  studying 
very  hard  with  the  idea  of  carving  out 
a  career  for  herself  in  the  movies.  Both 
youngsters  had  their  eye  on  the  ball. 
Jimmy  was  a  precocious  kid  to  be  tooting 
his  horn  with  an  important  name  band. 
He  was  up  where  the  competition  is 
scorching  hot,  and  he  didn't  get  there  by 
fooling  around.  He  had  marvelous  talent, 
but  talent  alone  isn't  enough.  You've  got 
to  have  a  "hard  lip"  to  play  the  trumpet, 
and  that  means  long,  grueling  hours  of 
work  and  practice. 

Then  came  the  time  when  he  was  strug- 
gling to  get  his  own  band  established — 
and  there  again,  the  competition  is  hotter 
than  the  inside  of  a  jet  motor.  Never- 
theless, he  found  time  to  phone  June 
regularly. 

What  I'm  going  to  tell  you  now  never 
has  been  told  before  for  publication.  It's 
the  real,  inside  lowdown  on  what  went 
on  between  Jimmy  and  June. 

I  found  Jimmy  Zito  at  Immig  Manor, 
a  popular  de  luxe  resort  hotel  at  San 
Diego,  where  his  band  was  playing  a  long 
engagement. 

"I  called  June  an  awful  lot  on  the 
phone,"  he  told  me.  "Why?  Well,  I  just 
couldn't  resist  it,  that's  all.  Say,  during 
all  the  years  we  were  separated  after  we 
met  in  1941,  I  talked  to  her  so  many 
times  that  even  the  telephone  company 
must  have  lost  track.  I've  always  loved 
June,  always  wanted  her,  and  I've  never 
stopped  for  a  minute.  Even  if  I  go  to 
South  America,  which  I'm  seriously  con- 
sidering, I  know  I'd  never  forget  her. 
She's  under  my  skin  for  the  rest  of  my 
life." 


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No,  one,  through  all  those  years,  ever 
suspected  that  Jimmy  was  carrying  a 
sizzling  torch,  or  that  June  was  the  least 
bit  serious  about  him.  I  remember  when 
she  was  dating  Victor  Mature,  and  there 
was  much  talk  of  an  impending  elope- 
ment to  Las  Vegas  with  the  volcanic  Vic. 

June's  mother  quickly  nipped  that  ro- 
mance in  the  bud.  Next,  June  and  young, 
personable  Dr.  John  Duzik,  a  Wyoming 
youth  who  set  up  as  a  dentist  in  Holly- 
wood, dated  steady.  But  during  all  this 
time,  June  would  hurry  home  to  listen 
fcr  the  tinkle  of  the  bell  that  told  her 
Jimmy  was  on  the  phone. 

There  was  one  time  when  June  called 
Jimmy.  She  got  him  on  the  phone  in  Chi- 
cago. 

"I'm  so  tired  of  all  this  playing  around," 
she  told  him.  "I  want  to  belong  to  you, 
Jimmy.  Let's  announce  our  engagement!" 

"What  she  said  made  sweeter  music 
than  any  I  ever  heard  from  a  band," 
Jimmy  said  to  me.  "I  rushed  right  out 
and  invested  $4,000  in  an  engagement 
ring,  and  in  nothing  flat,  I'm  flying  to 
Hollywood  with  the  ring  snugly  tucked 
away  in  my  trumpet.  And  I  slipped  it 
on  her  finger — oh,  happy  day. 

"But  my  dreams  blew  up  three  days 
later.  June  handed  me  back  the  ring  and 
said  she  guessed  it  was  all  a  mistake, 
maybe  we  shouldn't  be  engaged  after  all. 
She  said  it  was  a  big,  expensive  diamond, 
and  she  shouldn't  have  accepted  it  in  the 
first  place.  Well,  so  what?  I  sold  the  ring 
for  less  than  half  of  what  it  had  cost  me, 
and  believe  me,  I  was  a  disillusioned  guy. 

"That's  when  I  suddenly  realized  June 
was  away  up  in  boxcar  figures  when  it 
came  to  her  paycheck.  I  heard  she  was 
drawing  around  $2,500  a  week,  and  it's  a 
lucky  hot  lip  boy  who  gets  that  much  in 
ten  weeks.  So  I  took  myself  and  my 
trumpet  right  out  of  her  life.  But  she 
wouldn't  let  us  stay  out.  Soon  she  began 
calling  on  the  phone  again — and  so  did  I. 

"I  came  out  to  Hollywood  in  January, 
1946,  with  Tommy  Dorsey.  I  had  to  loaf 
around  because  I  didn't  belong  to  the 
union  here  and  had  to  get  that  straight- 
ened out.  I  didn't  call  June  at  all. 

"One  day,  I  was  in  Beverly  Hills  play- 
ing baseball  with  a  bunch  of  boys  in  a 
park.  I  looked  up,  and  there  was  June 
walking  toward  me.  I  don't  know  how 
she  found  me,  but  it  started  over  again. 

one  big  happy  family  .  .  . 

"Oh,  those  wonderful  weeks  that  fol- 
lowed! Her  family  liked  me,  or  at  least 
they  acted  as  if  they  did.  When  we  de- 
cided to  go  to  Las  Vegas  and  get  married, 
they  all  went  along.  While  June  and  I 
were  honeymooning  in  Santa  Barbara,  we 
never  had  a  cross  word.  But  after  we 
came  back,  and  I  went  to  work  at  the 
Meadowbrook  Club,  and  she  was  going  to 
•the  studio  every  day  to  play  in  Sciidda 
Hoo,  Scudda  Hay,  it  seemed  we  were  both 
so  tired  all  the  time  we  began  getting  on 
each  other's  nerves. 

"Then,  too,  we  were  living  with  her 
mother.  After  the  first  few  weeks,  I  began 
to  feel  more  and  more  like  an  intruder. 

"Instead  of  turning  to  me,  her  husband, 
for  advice,  June  turned  to  her  mother. 
Then  there  was  a  whispering  campaign 
started  against  me.  I  couldn't  put  my 
finger  on  it,  but  so  many  things  were  said 
about  me  that  June  must  have  known  in 
her  heart  they  weren't  true.  After  all,  let's 
face  it,  we  weren't  strangers.  We'd  known 
each  other  pretty  well  for  six  years. 

"I  had  to  go  to  Salt  Lake,  and  June  said 
she  would  join  me  there  as  soon  as  her 
picture  was  finished.  I  had  a  sinking 
feeling  that  she  wouldn't.  I  believe  that 
if  we  had  gone  to  live  by  ourselves  in  our 
own  apartment  from  the  very  beginning, 
we  never  would  have  separated. 

"She  called  me  in  Salt  Lake  the  day 


after  her  twenty-first  birthday  to  break 
the  news  that  she  wanted  a  divorce.  It 
knocked  me  silly.  I  chartered  a  plane 
and  flew  to  Hollywood.  It  cost  me  $600, 
and  all  I  got  out  of  it  was  three  minutes 
of  very  cold  and  formal  conversation.  I 
found  it  impossible  to  see  her  alone,  so 
I  gave  up  and  returned  to  Salt  Lake  after 
telling  her  I  would  sign  any  papers  that 
were  needed  for  a  quick  divorce.  She 
sent  me  the  papers,  and  I  went  through 
with  signing  them,  but  she  didn't  file  them. 
And  then,  the  first  thing  I  know,  she's 
calling  me  again,  and  I'm  calling  her. 

"When  the  band  went  to  Seattle,  she 
joined  us  there,  and  toured  a  lot  of  small 
towns  in  Washington  and  Oregon,  even 
singing  with  the  band,  like  in  the  old 
days.  We  were  in  love — listen,  I  mean  in 
love — and  so,  so  happy.  We  came  back 
to  Hollywood  again,  and  she  wanted  me 
to  live  in  her  house,  like  before,  but  I 
refused.  I  told  her  we  had  to  get  a  place 
of  our  own.  I  went  to  live  with  friends 
and  she  went  back  to  her  mother. 

"One  weekend,  she  left  her  mother  in 
Catalina,  and  picked  me  up  early  in  the 
morning.  We  went  to  her  house  and 
made  plans  to  take  an  apartment.  We 
found  a  little  place,  a  motel  called  Carl's, 


expecting  .  . . 

shirley 

temple 

on  our 

february 

cover 

modern 

screen 

on  sale 

january  9 

at  the  beach.  Her  mother  thought  that 
wasn't  good  enough  for  June.  We  moved 
then  to  Sunset  Towers,  a  swanky  place 
on  the  Strip. 

"That  ran  into  a  lot  of  money.  I  found 
I  couldn't  keep  up  my  end.  After  all,  I 
was  just  getting  my  band  together,  and 
it  takes  a  long  time  and  a  tough  battle 
to  get  in  the  black  these  days.  We  finally 
found  an  apartment  that  I  thought  was 
just  right,  and  signed  the  lease.  But  it 
was  too  good  to  be  true.  Her  mother 
said  she  thought  it  was  silly  for  June  to 
live  cooped  up  in  a  little  apartment  when 
she  had  such  a  lovely  home.  She  said 
she  would  go  east  to  visit  friends,  and  we 
could  have  the  house  all  to  ourselves. 
Yeah,  we  bought  that  idea,  too. 

"Her  mother  didn't  leave  town.  We 
saw  her  every  day  just  the  same  as 
always.  June  arranged  a  reconciliation 
party  with  a  few  friends  of  mine  and  hers. 
Everything  was  going  fine  until,  toward 
midnight,  who  should  show  up  on  the 
scene  but  her  lawyer? 

"I  daresay  I  made  myself  heard  after 
our  guests  had  departed,  and  there  we 
were,  breaking  our  hearts  all  over  again. 
I  packed  my  things  and  left,  and  the  very 
next  day  she  filed  her  divorce  complaint. 
But  listen — I'm  not  going  to  let  her  get 
that  divorce  so  easily.  I'm  fighting  it,  and 
I'm  fighting  because  I  know  I  love  her,  and 
I  think  she  loves  me.  If  we  could  just  be 
left  alone  until  we  could  get  over  the  ad- 


justment time,  I  think  we'd  make  it." 

Thus  Jimmy  Zito  baring  his  heart  for 
the  first  time.  The  boy  has  taken  a  lot 
on  the  chin.  I'm  not  saying  who's  right 
or  who's  wrong  in  this  regrettable  crack- 
up,  but  this  I  do  know — gossip  has  been  j 
cruel  and  merciless  to  that  boy.  He's 
been  writing  songs  to  take  up  the  slack 
of  his  lonely  life.  There  is  one  he  has 
finished  called  "Jamie,"  the  name  he  and  I 
Junie  had  picked  out  for  their  first  baby. 

June,  too,  is  trying  to  forget.    She  an-  1 
nounced  recently  that  she  intends  to  adopt 
a  baby  from  The  Cradle  in  Evanston,  111. 
Her  religion  will  not  permit  remarriage, 
if  the  divorce  goes  through. 

"Why  does  she  want  to  adopt  a  baby 
when  we  can  have  one  of  our  own?" 
Jimmy  wonders  impatiently. 

the  brighter  side  .  .  . 

We  wouldn't  know.    On  the  other  hand, 
it's  pleasant  to  report  that  the  affairs  of  i 
Mark  and  Annelle  Stevens  show  every 
sign  of  being  on  the  mend. 

Last  authoritative  word  I  had  was  that 
there  were  still  a  few  kinks  to  be  ironed 
out  in  their  financial  arrangements.  Mark 
assures  me  that  everything's  wonderful. 
When  he  decided  to  go  back  home,  it  was 
almost  embarrassing  to  hear  the  things  he 
was  saying  about  what  a  fool  he'd  been, 
but  no  one  can  say  either  that  he  didn't 
earn  his  self-abasement,  or  that  it  didn't  j 
go  all  the  way.  The  boy  was  practically 
abject,  marveling  that  he  could  have  been 
such  an  idiot  as  to  have  left  his  wife. 

He  went  around  town  beating  his  breast 
like  a  town  crier,  calling  attention  to  the 
nonsense  he'd  been  guilty  of.  He  even 
went  on  Louella  Parsons'  air  show  and 
told  all  who  would  listen  that  he'd  made 
a  fool  of  himself,  but  it  was  all  over,  and 
from  here  on  in,  he  intended  to  fly  right. 

There's  no  denying  that  through  the 
ordeal,  he's  had  a  very  level-headed  little 
girl  at  the  helm  of  his  marital  bark,  and 
a  very  understanding  one,  too.  A  woman 
does  not  easily  forgive  and  forget  when 
a  man's  peccadillos  have  been  so  prom- 
inently in  the  public  eye.  Those  romantic  I 
days  at  Lake  Tahoe  when  Mark  and  Hedy 
Lamarr  were  discovering  each  other  were 
idyllic  enough,  but  not  to  a  bride. 

I've  learned  that  one  of  the  difficult 
issues  in  the  Stevens  family  concerned 
finances.  Mark  seemed  to  take  the  attitude 
that  the  heavy  coin  he  was  being  paid  by 
20th  Century-Fox  was  only  stage  money,  | 
to  be  tossed  down  the  drain.  Annelle  has 
a  very  lively  sense  of  thrift.  She  looks 
to  the  future — especially  to  their  son's  : 
future.  The  reiterated  talk  about  fru- 
gality eventually  gave  Mark  a  severe  pain 
in  the  neck.  He'd  worked  long  and  hard 
to  win  his  place  in  the  cinematic  sun, 
and  he  wanted  to  relax  and  enjoy  it. 

He  worked  very  hard  in  /  Wonder 
Who's  Kissing  Her  Now.  Then  with  little 
rest,  he  went  right  into  The  Snake  Pit 
with  Olivia  De  Havilland,  an  exacting  j 
chore.  Maybe  we  can't  blame  him  too 
much  for  suddenly  spinning  off  as  part 
of  a  romantic  tandem  with  the  beauteous 
Hedy.  She  didn't  lecture  him  about  thrift 
and  economy,  though  she  does  know  some- 
thing about  a  buck  herself. 

Perhaps  Annelle  realizes  all  these  things 
by  now.  Perhaps  she  knows  she  didn't 
speak  idle  words  when  she  took  her  mar- 
riage vows.  There  are  a  lot  of  reasons 
for  taking  a  wandering  husband  back,  and 
doubtless  she  knows  'em  all.  Anyway, 
when  I  talked  with  them,  they  were  plan- 
ning their  trip  to  New  York,  a  sort  of 
second  honeymoon. 

But  don't  ask  me  to  gaze  into  a  crystal 
ball  and  predict  the  future  of  Annelle 
and  Mark,  or  of  June  and  Jimmy.  It 
takes  a  superman  or  superwoman  to  battle 
all  the  marital  hazards  of  Hollywood  and 
lick  'em. 


THE  "BRAT"  GETS  MARRIED 

(Continued  from,  page  47) 


so  many  presents  Saks -Fifth  Avenue  will 
have  to  get  married  if  it  wants  to  get 
some  of  its  stock  back. 

June  Haver  and  Diana  Lynn,  both 
bridesmaids,  gave  two  of  the  showers. 
June  had  an  ice-cream  cake  made  up  in 
a  Cupid  and  heart  shape,  and  no  one  was 
allowed  to  have  a  piece  until  Jane  had 
finished  photographing  it. 

"Hurry  up,"  June  complained.  "It's 
melting." 

"No  sentiment,"  Jane  complained  back. 
'Thinking  of  your  stomach,  and  my  hap- 
piness in  the  balance." 

June  dimpled  sweetly.  "Balance  it 
quick,  and  let's  eat." 

Friends  also  gave  Bill  a  shower.  Every 
guy  who  came  brought  a  bottle  with  him, 
and  Bill  stood  there,  staring.  "Liquor 
shower,"  they  explained,  as  they  filed  in, 
one  by  one.    "You're  all  wet,  old  man — " 

He  was  touched.  He  said  so.  "I'm 
touched,"  he  said.  "In  the  head,  I  guess. 
Look  at  the  kind  of  friends  I've  got." 

The  wedding  was  scheduled  for  Satur- 
day, and  the  Thursday  night  before,  Bill 
was  given  a  bachelor  dinner  at  Lucey's. 

Everybody  sat  around  and  went  to  work 
on  him.  The  usual  stuff.  But  he  refused 
to  feel  like  a  condemned  man.  He  was 
happy.  After  dinner,  he  picked  up  his 
wine  glass  and  held  it  high.  "Jane!"  he 
said  solemnly,  and  they  all  drank  that 
down,  and  then  Bill  dramatically  hurled 
his  glass  against  the  mantel  piece. 

It  would  have  been  very  effective  ex- 
cept for  the  fact  that  a  chip  of  glass  flew 
back  and  hit  him  in  the  nose. 

"Wounded  already,"  a  kind  pal  said. 
"And  the  battle  not  yet  begun." 

At  6:30  Friday  night,  the  wedding  re- 
hearsal started.  Mrs.  Withers  and  Mrs. 
Moss  cried,  and  everything  went  beau- 
tifully. 

The  wedding  was  Saturday,  at  four. 

Jane  had  tried  on  the  dress  so  many 
times.  It  was  a  dream.  Conventional 
bridal  satin,  yards  of  it,  and  the  trim 
of  tiny  seed  pearls,  and  the  head-dress 
straight  out  of  the  French  Renaissance. 
Or  if  it  wasn't,  it  was  close  enough. 

And  now  she  was  getting  into  it  for 
the  last  time,  and  she  had  thirteen  hands, 
and  none  of  them  any  good  to  her.  Bill 
had  given  her  a  small  white  Bible  to 
carry;  she  picked  it  up  shakily,  and  some- 
body hung  two  lockets  around  her  neck 
— something  old,  something  blue. 

There  was  a  borrowed  penny  from  Jean 
Schmid,  the  matron  of  honor. 

"You  gave  it  to  me  when  I  was  mar- 
ried," Jean  said,  handing  it  back. 


"Did  I?"  Jane  asked  brightly.  "Did  I, 
really?" 

Somebody  stuffed  her  bouquet  into  her 
hands.  Roses  and  lilies,  and  white  satin 
ribbon.    "Hold  it  up,  don't  trip — " 

All  the  things  leading  up  to  the  minutes 
in  the  church;  all  the  half -remembered 
fragments,  until  finally  she  was  standing 
there,  while  the  minister  spoke,  and  then 
Bill  was  kissing  her  self-consciously,  the 
way  people  kiss  in  public,  and  she  grabbed 
him,  and  kissed  him  again,  on  the  cheek. 

They  were  out  in  the  street,  eventually, 
and  then  in  the  car,  and  then  at  the 
Withers'  house. 

The  reception  was  in  the  garden.  From 
the  terrace  of  Jane's  playhouse,  an  or- 
chestra played.  There  was  an  improvised 
dance-floor  laid  under  the  trees,  and  white 
water  lilies  drifted  in  the  pool. 

In  the  playhouse,  the  wedding  presents 
were  on  display,  and  all  around  the  gar- 
den, tables  and  bars  were  loaded  with 
bottles  of  champagne,  if  you  felt  like 
floating.  If  you  were  in  a  more  solid 
mood,  there  was  ham  and  turkey  and  a 
whole  lot  of  caviar. 

And  if  you  felt  like  shaking  hands,  there 
were  Jane  and  Bill  under  a  canopy,  doing 
the  honors. 

Shaking  hands  was  the  least  of  it. 

People  kept  coming  up  with  questions. 
"Where're  you  two  going?"  they'd  say 
cutely. 

"Away,"  Jane  and  Bill  would  say, 
equally  coy,  and  when  they  got  weary  of 
that,  they'd  start  making  up  other  lines. 

"Around  the  world,"  she'd  say. 

"But  not  first  class — "  this  from  Bill. 

"Tramp  steamer — " 

And  everybody'd  grin,  but  the  funny 
part  is,  they  meant  it.  Not  for  then,  of 
course.    Only  some  day — 

Bill  will  have  a  few  pictures  finished, 
and  they'll  be  settled  enough  so  they 
have  a  place  to  come  home  to,  and  one 
morning  they'll  take  off. 

But  for  the  moment,  they  laughed  with 
their  guests,  and  glasses  tinkled,  and  the 
pool  was  cut  into  smaller  pools  by  odd, 
bright  reflections  from  the  lights,  and  the 
music  got  softer  as  the  night  pushed  on, 
as  though  the  men  who  were  playing  had 
grown  a  little  mellow,  or  a  little  tired. 

From  time  to  time,  Jane  would  look  at 
Bill.  So  many  important  things  to  say, 
and  out  of  them  all,  she'd  come  up  with, 
"Nobody  fell  in  the  pool." 

He'd  think  the  thing  over,  giving  it 
careful  consideration.  And  then  he'd  say 
seriously,  "No,  nobody  did."  And  grin. 
"It's  been  a  lovely  party." 


IS  IT  TRUE  WHAT  THEY  SAY  ABOUT  JUNIE? 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


Junie-bug." 

Modern  Screen  had  thereupon  taken  the 
problem  to  Dick  Powell.  "Look,"  it  had 
said.  "Write  how  she  isn't  always  cute, 
your  wife.  Write  how  she  doesn't  bless 
everybody's  pointed  head." 

But  he  couldn't.  When  he  finished  his 
article,  she  was  still  cute.  Cuter,  even. 

So  they — the  editors — finally  settled  on 
me.  "He's  her  husband,"  they  said  depre- 
catingly.  "But  you — you're  unprejudiced. 
Go  see  the  girl.  Take  a  stop-watch.  Stay 
away  from  ice-cream  sodas.  Go  there 
coldly,  fishy-eyed. 

And  let  us  have  it  straight.  Is  she  there, 
or  did  we  make  her  up?" 

I  went.  But  first  I  checked  everybody 


else  in  town  who'd  ever  heard  of  Allyson 
to  find  out  all  there  was  to  know.  I  read 
her  official  biography  at  M-G-M.  It  said 
she  loved  sailing,  among  other  things.  Yet 
everyone  in  Hollywood  claims  Dick  Powell 
sold  his  boat  because  June  couldn't 
stand  the  water.  Significant?  If  you're  me, 
yes. 

You  check  with  Dick  at  RKO,  where  he 
is  making  Stations  West,  and  show  him 
the  biography.  He  says  it's  wrong.  June 
hates  sailing.  You  check  back  with 
M-G-M,  and  they  say  biographies  are 
based  on  stars'  own  statements,  and  there- 
fore there  can't  be  a  mistake. 

Then  you  find  out  from  people  who 
know  June  well  that  she  used  to  be  wild 


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about  sailing,  but  changed  after  her  mar- 
riage. You  dig  further,  and  finally  a  confi- 
dante of  June's  snitches. 

Both  Dick  and  June  love  to  sail.  But 
June  soon  noticed  that  Dick  always  got 
bad  sinus  attacks  after  a  cruise.  Knowing 
he'd  never  admit  that  his  favorite  sport 
got  him  down,  she  didn't  point  it  out.  In- 
stead, she  began  to  complain  of  not  feeling 
well  after  a  sail.  That  was  different.  Dick 
decided  he  wasn't  going  to  make  June 
,  suffer,  and  he  got  rid  of  the  boat.  And 
June's  eyes  narrowed  into  that  adoring 
little  squint  of  hers,  as  she  thanked  him 
for  being  so  thoughtful!  (When  Dick  reads 
this,  it's  going  to  be  a  surprise.  He  still 
thinks  she  can't  stand  the  water.) 

The  idea  for  a  bit  of  feminine  strategy 
like  that  just  doesn't  come  out  of  the  blue. 
You  have  to  sit  down  and  think  it  out. 
June,  if  she  is  to  be  credited  with  any 
advantages,  did  have  to  start  thinking 
early  in  life.  Her  not  too  happy  childhood, 
spent  a  good  part  in  hospitals,  and  later 
in  steel  back  braces,  as  a  result  of  being 
hit  by  a  falling  tree-branch,  may  have 
had  something  to  do  with  it. 

She  remembers  her  first  dance,  at  the 
age  of  fourteen,  because  she  ■  was  wearing 
a  brace  under  her  dress  at  the  time.  She 
also  remembers  it  because  of  the  look  on 
the  boy's  face  when  he  put  his  arm  around 
her  and  felt  the  metal.  His  mouth  fell 
open,  and  with  the  clumsiness  of  youth, 
he  started  to  ask  her  what  she  had  on. 
June  fled,  tears  spouting,  and  never  went 
to  another  party  or  talked  to  another  boy 
until  she'd  won  her  first  job  on  the  stage, 
freed  at  last  from  the  cage  she'd  had  to 
wear  so  long.  It  was  during  the  period  be- 
tween the  party  and  her  first  job  that  she 
started  her  thinking  and  planning  to  get 
somewhere  in  life — somewhere  even  fur- 
ther than  girls  who  had  never  suffered 
from  a  trick  back. 

The  odd  thing  is  that  many  youngsters 
with  this  sort  of  beginning  grow  into 
rather  grim,  introspective  adults.  June, 
however,  had  a  natural  interest  in  people, 
and  learning  how  others  felt  and  thought 
helped  her  to  manage  her  own  life  and 
affairs. 

She  was  dancing  in  a  Broadway  show 
when  her  first  movie  bid  came  in  the 
form  of  a  telegram  from  Louis  B.  Mayer 
of  M-G-M.  She  didn't  call  her  agent.  She 
didn't  have  one  then  because  she  didn't 
think  she  was  important  enough  to  interest 
one.  She  proceeded  to  negotiate  a  contract 
all  by  herself.  The  wires  went  back  and 
forth  between  Hollywood  and  New  York 
for  two  months.  At  the  studio  Mr.  Mayer 
was  surrounded  by  a  battery  of  legal  ex- 
perts on  contracts.  In  New  York,  June  was 
surrounded  by  the  none-too-cheerful  de- 
cor of  a  furnished  room. 

best  brain  forward  .  .  . 

The  studio  wanted  her  for  just  one  pic- 
ture, Best  Foot  Forward,  which  she  had 
done  on  the  stage.  June  insisted  on  a  term 
contract.  She  got  it.  As  they  will  tell  you 
now  at  M-G-M,  June  not  only  knew  what 
she  wanted,  she  knew  what  M-G-M 
wanted!  It  is  one  of  Mr.  Mayer's  pet 
jokes. 

It  was  a  nice  piece  of  business,  but  June 
isn't  particularly  proud  of  it.  She  is  more 
proud  of  being  fair  in  life,  of  something, 
for  instance,  that  happened  only  recently 
in  connection  with  her  latest  picture,  Good 
News.  Good  News  is  a  top  production, 
boasting  some  of  the  studio's  most  im- 
portant stars,  yet  its  director,  Chuck 
Walters,  never  directed  a  picture  before 
in  his  life!  He  had  only  handled  dance  se- 
quences. 

June's  friends  rose  up  in  protest.  Her 
agent  cried  no!  How  could  the  studio  en- 
trust one  of  its  biggest  stars  to  a  man 
88     nicking  his  debut  as  a  director? 


There  was  a  conference  between  June 
and  the  studio  heads.  They  told  her  they 
had  only  one  thing  to  say.  They  had  taken 
a  chance  on  her  when  she  made  her  first 
picture;  was  she  willing  to  give  another 
newcomer  similar  consideration?  June  got 
up,  said,  "Of  course,"  and  the  meeting  was 
over. 

Now,  for  those  who  doubt  June's  per- 
sonality, here  was  a  working  demonstra- 
tion of  June  applying  a  little  shot  of  it. 
What  do  you  suppose  Chuck  Walters 
thinks  of  her  for  helping  to  give  him  his 
first  chance?  Or  any  of  his  friends?  Or 
any  of  two  hundred  other  people  around 
the  studio  who  were  closely  connected 
with  the  production  and  wanted  it  to 
have  June's  star-power?  Or,  leaving  the 
studio,  what  about  the  company's  sales- 
men who  have  to  sell  the  picture  and  the 
exhibitors  who  have  to  play  it?  They  knew 
they  were  going  to  get  a  film  version  of 
Good  News,  but  they  hardly  dared  hope 
it  would  have  a  top  star  like  June  to  make 
it  doubly  appealing. 

Take  another  incident.  It  is  pretty  well 
known  that  Edwin  Knopf,  who  has  pro- 
duced some  of  June's  best  pictures,  is 
crazy  about  her.  You  ask  why,  and  some- 
one says  it's  because  Knopf  considers  her 
one  of  the  most  considerate  and  coopera- 


SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

When  Victor  Ma- 
ture returned  to 
his  home  town  of 
Louisville,  Ken- 
tucky, to  play  a 
one  night  stand, 
the  theater  was 
jammed.  After  the 
show  had  been 
going  about  fif- 
teen minutes ,  a 
loud  commotion 
broke  out  in  the  aisle.  A  local  pho- 
tographer who  had  worked  his  way 
down  front  with  his  camera,  discov- 
ered he'd  forgotten  his  flash  bulbs. 
Mr.  Mature  said,  "Well?"  The  pho- 
tographer started  back  up  the  aisle, 
but  Mr.  Mature  called,  "Wait!"  Then 
he  reached  in  his  sock,  threw  him  a 
flash  bulb,  and  posed  for  the  shot. 

Sgt.  Don  Edlin 

San  Francisco,  Calif. 


tive  of  stars.  You  pin  down  your  in- 
formant, and  you  get  a  typical  example. 

When  Knopf  was  making  A  Sailor  Takes 
a  Wife,  the  picture  fell  behind  schedule. 
Late  one  afternoon,  a  new  scene  was  being 
set  up  and  the  cameraman  ran  into  dif- 
ficulty lighting  June.  The  lights  seemed 
perfect  for  her  stand-in,  but  didn't  seem 
to  click  on  June  at  all.  Finally,  the  camera- 
man gave  up  fussing  with  the  arcs  and 
went  up  for  a  close  look  at  her. 

"June,  what's  happened  to  your  com- 
plexion?" he  asked.  "Your  face  has  a 
ruddy  look  to  it,  that  I  can't  shade  out." 

She  had  no  answer.  On  impulse  he 
touched  her  forehead.  "Why,  you're  burn- 
ing up!"  he  cried.  "You've  got  a  fever!" 

She  nodded,  and  slumped  into  the 
nearest  chair.  A  doctor  found  she  had  a 
temperature,  and  ordered  her  home.  She 
had  known  that  morning  when  she  awak- 
ened that  something  was  wrong,  but  she 
also  knew  that  Knopf  was  behind,  and  she 
didn't  want  to  delay  him  any  more. 

Maybe  you  would  have  a  good  slant  on 
June  if  you  happened  to  be  a  bit  player  in 
one  of  her  pictures.  Even  if  you  have  only 
two  lines  to  say  to  her,  June  will  rehearse 
with  you  as  conscientiously  as  she  will 
with  a  principal  or  the  star  playing  op- 
posite her.  More  than  that,  she'll  help  you 


on  your  lines,  and  then  ask  you  to  coach 
her  on  her  own.  "She  partners  up  quick," 
comments  one  extra. 

June  is  human.  She  has  done  some 
mean  things  in  her  life.  She  still  does.  But 
when  realization  hits  her,  she  marches 
right  up  to  the  party  she  has  hurt  and 
makes  a  full  confession — and  a  staunch 
friend.  When  she  was  nine  years  old  and 
in  a  hospital  ward,  she  stole  the  money- 
bank  of  a  little  boy  in  the  next  bed.  She 
was  going  home  the  next  day.  That  morn- 
ing, dressed  and  out  in  the  street,  she 
couldn't  stand  it  any  longer  and  ran  back 
to  the  boy.  In  front  of  him  and  the  nurses 
she  told  what  she  had  done.  Everybody 
cried. 

Soon  after  she  started  at  M-G-M,  June 
became  jealous  of  Gloria  De  Haven.  Gloria 
was  gorgeous.  The  makeup  experts  fussed 
with  her  for  hours.  June  they  disposed  of 
in  fifteen  minutes.  Soon  after  that  Gloria 
began  to  get  in  wrong  with  the  director; 
she  was  always  coming  in  late  on  the  set, 
while  June  was  always  on  time.  Gloria 
said  nothing  but  looked  at  June  in  a 
puzzled  way.  Then,  one  day,  Gloria  did 
something  very  thoughtful  for  her. 

It  was  too  much  for  June.  She  ran  to 
the  director  and  told  him  the  truth.  She 
had  made  it  her  business  to  watch  for 
Gloria's  arrival  at  the  studio  every  morn- 
ing, and  then  duck  into  the  makeup 
chair  just  ahead  of  her.  There  she  would 
stall  and  insist  on  elaborate  attention  until 
she  knew  Gloria  could  never  be  made  up 
in  time  for  the  set  call. 

a  true  confession  .  .  . 

After  she  told  this  to  the  director,  June 
ran  right  to  Gloria  and  repeated  the  whole 
story.  She  didn't  spare  herself;  admitted 
her  jealousy  of  Gloria's  beauty. 

There  is  only  one  reason  this  story  can 
be  told.  June  and  Gloria  are  the  best  of 
friends.  If  any  two  girls  understand  each 
other,  they  do.  June  makes  it  her  business 
to  be  on  the  same  footing  with  everyone 
else  she  meets  or  works  with. 

Perhaps  one  of  the  most  revealing 
things  about  June  is  that  you  never  hear 
just  average  comments"  on  her.  They  are 
all  specialized,  as  if  well  thought  out. 

Talking  about  her  work,  one  producer 
will  say,  "She  has  magical  presence  on 
the  screen.  Some  of  the  most  talented 
actors  and  actresses  know  that  the  second 
they  get  in  front  of  the  camera  they'd 
better  start  acting  or  there  will  be  a  lull. 
Their  presence  counts  for  little.  It's  the 
opposite  for  June.  Just  seeing  her  is  al- 
most enough." 

At  the  opposite  end  of  the  studio  per- 
sonnel is  the  young,  third-assistant  direc- 
tor who  has  to  summon  June  to  the  set 
when  a  scene  is  ready  to  go.  "She  doesn't 
play  hide-and-seek  with  you,  like  so  many 
others,"  he  says.  "She  knows  I'm  respon- 
sible for  having  her  ready.  Just  when  I'm 
told  to  get  her,  I  turn  around  and  there 
she  is  coming  up  and  giving  me  a  re- 
assuring wink.  Boy,  is  a  girl  like  that  a 
comfort!" 

I  considered  the  testimony  gathered  so 
far: 

".  .  .  considerate  and  cooperative  .  .  . 
fair  .  .  .  gave  me  my  chance  .  .  .  honest 
with  herself  .  .  .  magical  presence  .  .  .  boy, 
is  she  a  comfort  .  .  ." 

But  wait  a  minute!  According  to  the 
Modern  Screen  Popularity  Poll,  June  was 
something  new  and  unbelievable  in  per- 
sonalities. And  these  things  that  her 
friends  said  about  her,  they  were  nice,  but 
weren't  they  just  the  plain,  old-fashioned 
virtues?  Could  the  answer  be  as  simple 
as  that? 

I  didn't  know,  so  I  went  to  visit  June, 
myself.  And  I'm  still  gasping;  I'm  bowled 
over.  What  charm!  What  gaiety!  What  a 
personality!  And  they  wanted  me  to  tear 
that  cute  little  girl  apart!  I'm  insulted. 


ALOHA,  JOAN! 

(Continued  from  page  50) 


pressed  Christopher  and  Christina  con- 
siderably. At  the  party  in  Joan's  state- 
room, they  scrambled  around  inspecting 
portholes  and  trying  beds,  while  Joan 
grew  tearful. 

"I  thought  for  a  minute  you  were  going 
to  follow  them  clear  off  the  boat,"  Theo 
said  later.  "Cheer  up.  Think  of  the  good 
long  rest  in  Honolulu." 

Joan  thought,  and  was  mildly  cheered. 
Six  hours  later,  she  and  Theo  were  both 
so  sick  they  had  to  keep  each  other  from 
jumping  overboard.  Theo  was  sicker;  she 
couldn't  even  go  down  to  eat.  Joan  had 
dinner  at  the  Captain's  table,  but  she 
didn't  gorge. 
And  when  they  docked  at  Honolulu, 
j  there  were  15,000  fans  lined  up  to  see  her 
arrive.  "Oh,  no,  no,  no,"  she  murmured, 
torn  between  pleasure  and  despair.  "How 
lovely  of  them  to  come,  and  how  I  wish 
they  hadn't—" 

She  was  terribly  grateful  and  proud 
that  15,000  people  should  have  cared  that 
much  about  her,  but  she  needed  a  rest, 
and  it  looked  as  though  she  wouldn't  be 
getting  it. 

By  the  time  she  got  to  her  room  at  the 


Royal  Hawaiian,  she'd  decided  that  she 
and  Theo  would  take  the  Matsonia  right 
back,  on  its  return  voyage.  < 

Before  that,  though,  they  had  a  couple 
of  days  on  the  island,  and  the  days  were 
wonderfully  pleasant,  full  of  sun,  and 
exercise,  and  as  few  autographs  as 
possible. 

When  they  got  on  the  boat  again,  Joan 
was  wearing  a  lei  she'd  been  given,  and 
as  the  Matsonia  pulled  away,  she  threw 
the  flowers  overboard.  (This  is  a  custom 
which  signifies  the  flower-thrower's  in- 
tention to  return  some  day.) 

All  the  way  home,  Joan  and  Theo  were 
only  moderately  seasick,  and  had  to  take 
fewer  seasickness  pills,  which  was  fortu- 
nate, because  ■  they'd  about  run  out  of 
their  supply. 

They  talked,  casually,  sprawled  in  chairs 
on  the  deck.  "I  think  maybe  I'll  head 
for  New  York  next,"  Joan  said.  "See 
some  shows — Finian's  Rainbow — buy  some 
clothes — " 

Theo  began  to  sneer. 

" — and  take  the  kids  with  me,"  she 
went  on. 

"Oh,"  said  Theo  thoughtfully.    "I  see." 


ANNIVERSARY  STORY 

(Continued  from  page  57) 


Eve,  it's  because  I've  got  sentimental  rea- 
sons. It  was  on  a  New  Year's  that  I  had 
my  first  date  with  Paul,  and  felt  my  heart 
skip  beats  for  the  first  time  in  my  life. 
New  Year's,  two  years  later,  my  reaction 
was  even  more  wobbly.  In  fact,  a  few 
days  before  that  New  Year's  I  thought 
I'd  never  last  it  out. 

I'd  been  having  the  time  of  my  life 
making  Centennial  Summer.  We  were 
on  the  very  last  shot,  and  I've  never  had 
a  simpler  scene. 

I  was  sitting  in  a  cafe  set  with  Cornel 
Wilde  and  Bill  Eythe,  I  remember,  and 
Cornel  was  asking  me  to  go  somewhere 
with  him.  My  line  was  easy  as  pie,  just: 
"No,  I  can't.  I've  got  something  very 
important  to  do."  But  the  words  stuck 
in  my  throat.  Heaven  knows  how  many 
takes  I  wrecked  before  we  finally  made 
it,  and  I  escaped,  pretty  much  of  a  wreck, 
myself. 

I  couldn't  say  those  words  because  I 
did  have  something  important  to  do — the 
most  important  thing  in  the  world  to  me. 
I  was  going  downtown  with  Paul  to  get 
our  marriage  license,  only  it  was  a  secret 
then  and  I  couldn't  tell  a  soul.  And  on 
Dec.  31,  1945,  we  started  our  honey- 
moon as  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Paul  Brinkman. 
So  I  won't  exactly  forget  that  New  Year's 
Eve. 

Last  year,  my  head  was  spinning  as  we 
drove  home  from  the  New  Year's  party — 
not  from  the  champagne;  one  glass  was 
my  limit — but  with  all  the  wonderful 
things  that  had  come  our  way.  They  say 
the  first  year  of  married  life  is  the  hard- 
est, but  it  didn't  add  up  that  way  for  us. 
We'd  found  new  friends,  new  interests, 
brand  new  worlds  packed  with  wonders 
that  only  newly  married  couples  discover. 
On  top  of  that,  I  had  finished  Margie,  and 
it  was  a  hit;  Paul's  business  was  hum- 
ming, too. 

We  still  camped  in  an  apartment  so 
tiny  we  had  to  keep  most  of  our  clothes 
and  all  our  wedding  presents  at  our  par- 
ents' houses.  Our  only  family  was  Shah, 
our  lion  cub,  who  got  dumped  furtively 
in  the  laundry  basket  when  the  landlady 


came  around. 

But  last  New  Year's  we  had  definite 
prospects  in  both  those  departments.  Our 
favorite  Hollywood  hilltop  was  already 
leveled  off  for  our  dream  house,  and  the 
foundation  was  in.  And  we  were  going 
home  early  from  that  New  Year's  party 
because  of  doctor's  orders.  We  knew  be- 
fore very  long  our  baby  would  arrive. 

All  in  all,  back  then  I  didn't  see  how 
1947  could  come  up  with  anything  more 
wonderful  or  exciting  than  1946  did.  But 
it  has.  During  our  first  year  together  we 
planned  our  dreams.  This  year,  they 
came  true.  When  I  look  back  through 
1947  and  count  my  blessings,  I  feel  a 
little  guilty: 

Our  prize  thrill  of  the  year,  of  course, 
was  our  son,  Paul,  Junior. 

Last  Christmas,  before  he  was  born, 
we  were  putting  his  presents  around  our 
tree  and  tagging  them  "For  our  darling 
baby  boy,  Paul."  Somehow,  I  knew.  I 
even  described  him  to  Paul.  "He'll  be 
just  like  you — brown  eyes,  brown  hair. 
And,"  I  stuck  my  neck  out  rashly,  "he'll 
be  born  on  your  birthday." 

He  was  a  boy  all  right,  but  I  didn't 
do  quite  so  well  on  that  father-and-son 
birthday  project.  Paul's  birthday  is  April 
10th,  and  Paul,  Junior,  arrived  April  6th. 

When  Paul's  birthday  arrived,  four  days 
later,  I  had  the  birth  certificate,  complete 
with  footprints,  and  all  vital  statistics, 
done  up  in  blue  ribbon  and  framed  for 
him. 

There  could  never  be  another  year  in 
our  lives  as  memorable  as  this  one. 

There  were  the  fears,  worries  and  re- 
sponsibilities of  having  our  own  live  doll 
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annoying  two,  four  and  six  o'clock  feed- 
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the  happiest  minutes  of  the  day,  even 
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from  chair  leg  to  chair  leg.  The  first 
smile,  and  laugh.    The  first  tooth. 

And  then  one  day  I  called  Paul  at  the 
office.    "He  just  said  your  name!" 

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everything.  I'm  coming  home!"  Soon  his 
car  raced  up  our  curving  drive,  tires 
screaming,  and  Paul  bounded  into  the 
house,  out  of  breath.  We  bent  over  the 
crib,  tense  and  eager.  He  finally  said  it, 
"Da-dee."  Not  long  after  came  my  turn, 
"Oh-mom" — and  you  can't  tell  either  of 
us  yet  that  Paul  isn't  the  smartest  baby 
ever  born! 

Scenes  like  that  reel  through  my  mem- 
ory of  last  year  like  a  movie — only  I  never 
saw  a  script  that  could  catch  my  heart 
like  a  baby.  I  was  never  as  proud  of  any 
job  I've  ever  done  in  Hollywood  as  I  was 
of  the  one  measly  little  pair  of  socks  I 
knitted  for  him.  They  were  sort  of  cock- 
eyed and  out  of  shape,  but  I  got  more 
kick  out  of  seeing  them  on  his  tiny  feet 
than  I  would  have  got  from  a  row  of 
Oscars  on  my  mantelpiece.  That's  how 
you  get.    How  we  got. 

When  my  friends  showered  me  with 
four  huge  baby  books,  I  thought,  "Good 
Heavens,  what  will  I  ever  do  with  all 
these?"  Already  the  four  are  full  and 
bulging.  Paul  and  I  have  taken  enough 
film  of  our  baby  to  make  another  Gone 
With  the  Wind.  We're  hopeless,  proud 
parent  types,  I'm  afraid.  It's  a  bore,  I'm 
sure,  to  others,  but  it's  not  to  us.  Not 
for  a  minute. 

vacation  for  a  new  mother  .  .  . 

For  a  screen  actress,  I  had  the  fantas- 
tically lucky  leisure  to  enjoy  my  first 
months  of  motherhood  without  the  dis- 
traction of  a  part  to  play.  Most  actresses 
must  snatch  precious  moments  of  home 
life  from  a  time-demanding  career.  It's 
a  town  tradition. 

At  the  hospital,  the  studio  phoned 
anxiously  every  day:  "How  long  before 
you  think  you'll  feel  like  working?"  I 
was  trying  to  rise  to  the  occasion,  but 
what  I  knew  I  wanted  most  was  just  days 
and  days  at  home  with  our  new  baby. 

Just  as  I  thought  I'd  have  to  drag  my- 
self away,  my  picture,  Chicken  Every 
Sunday,  was  postponed  indefinitely,  and 
I  had  nothing  but  time  on  my  hands! 
Only  a  brand  new  mother  can  appreciate 
what  such  a  break  meant.  A  few  weeks 
later  on,  when  Julie  was  scheduled,  the 
same  thing  happened.  (That  time  I  was 
well  up  and  around.  In  fact,  I  dashed 
daily  down  to  Terry  Hunt's  gymnasium 
and  took  exercises  to  get  in  shape.  Julie 
was  to  be  a  dancing  picture  and  there 
was  plenty  of  conditioning  for  me  to  do.) 

I  couldn't  believe  that  second  reprieve. 
It  just  doesn't  happen  that  often  in  Holly- 
wood. But  it  did  to  me.  I  didn't  work 
for  four  months  after  Paul  was  born.  By 
then  I  was  dying,  of  course,  to  get  back 
on  a  set.  I  had  Paul  brought  over  one 
day  when  Dan  Dailey  and  I  were  making 
a  scene  in  You  Were  Meant  For  Me. 
Paul  paid  me  no  attention,  fell  in  love 
with  my  hairdresser,  grabbed  director 
Lloyd  Bacon's  glasses,  and  gurgled  right 
in  the  middle  of  a  take — Hollywood's  un- 
forgivable set  sin! 

No  thrill  can  ever  match  the  time  I  first 
held  my  baby  in  my  arms,  but  next  to 
that,  this  year's  Big  Moment  for  the 
Brinkmans  was  the  day  we  moved  into 
our  home,  at  last.  Paul  and  I  had  had  the 
hill,  four-and-a-half  acres  of  it,  'all 
through  1946.  It  was  up  in  Outpost,  over- 
looking Hollywood,  with  a  gorgeous  view. 
We  knew  every  pebble  on  it  personally. 
Paul  used  to  pick  me  up  at  lunch  hours 
while  I  made  Margie  and  we'd  race 
through  traffic  and  up  our  hill,  against 
the  clock,  nibbling  sandwiches  while  we 
planned. 

That  house  was  the  symbol  of  our  life 
together.  When  I  knew  I  was  going  to 
have  Paul,  Jr.,  I  made  a  resolution  that 
he'd  come  home  from  the  hospital  to  our 
house. 

It  was  pretty  rash  to  race  the  stork 


against  a  crew  of  builders,  in  times  when 
vital  materials  were  short,  but  I  have  a 
one-track  mind  about  some  things. 

Well,  the  suspense  was  terrific.  It 
seemed  as  if  that  frame  would  never, 
never  rise,  that  the  roof  would  never 
go  on. 

When  I  went  to  the  hospital,  the  floors 
still  weren't  down.  It  looked  to  most 
people  like  my  pet  project  was  impossible. 
Both  my  mother  and  Paul's  were  pretty 
firm  about  bringing  the  baby  to  one  of 
their  homes.  I  just  shook  my  head.  Paul 
wanted  our  baby  home  as  much  as  I  did 
and  I  knew  it.  I  checked  with  the  hos- 
pital. "There's  no  shortage  of  beds  right 
now,"  I  told  him,  "and  I  can  stay  here  as 
long  as  I  like." 

"That's  expensive,"  grinned  Paul. 
"Maybe  I'd  better  get  busy."  I  don't 
know  how  he  ever  managed  it.  Me — I 
stayed  in  the  hospital  two  and  a  half 
weeks  and  three  other  mothers  came  and 
left  before  I  did! 

But  when  Paul  lifted  me  across  the 
threshold  of  our  own  house,  I  had  baby 
Paul  with  me.  And  the  floors  were  all 
down.  The  walls  were  plastered  and  the 
heat  and  plumbing  in,  too,  but  there  wasn't 
any  light,  heat  or  hot  water.  There 
wasn't  a  rug  in  the  place,  and  not  a  stick 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

I  was  eating  lunch 
at  one  of  our  local 
drug  stores,  when 
someone  next  to 
me  told  the  clerk 
she  would  have  a 
sandwich  on  white 
bread.  She  was 
corrected  by  some- 
one on  the  other 
side  of  her  who 
said  it  would  have 
to  be  on  dark  bread  since  it  was  more 
nutritious.  Glancing  up,  I  was  sur- 
prised to  see  Shirley  Temple  and  her 
parents  by  my  side. 

Thelma  Cook 
Marysville,  Calif. 


of  furniture  besides  the  baby's  bassinette, 
our  bed  and  two  cots  for  the  cook  and 
the  hospital  nurse  from  the  Abbey  Rents. 
But  there  was  a  kitchen  to  cook  in  and 
running  water  and  what  more  did  we 
need?    It  was  home  sweet  home  to  us. 

In  fact,  the  best  times  Paul  and  I  have 
had  all  year  are  the  days  and  nights  we've 
spent  working  around  our  house.  Paul's 
a  great  gadgeteer  and  fixit  man.  I'm  a 
wonderful  kibitzer.  Paul,  Junior,  had  a 
lullaby  of  hammers  and  saws,  concrete 
mixers  and  the  Diesel  tractor  gouging 
out  the  swimming  pool.  He  slept  right 
through  it  all,  and  got  fat. 

I  was  at  the  building  site  one  day  when 
a  truck  rolled  up  the  hill  and  in  the  gate, 
and  the  driver  handed  me  a  gift  card. 
"All  my  love  with  your  gift-of-the- 
month,"  Paul  had  scribbled.  Inside  the 
truck  was  a  big  jacaranda  tree!  Our 
gift-of-the-month  plan  began  when  we 
were  honeymooning,  and  it's  been  carried 
on  ever  since. 

The  jacaranda  tree  was  promptly  planted, 
and  then  it  was  my  turn.  I  gave  Paul 
ten  different  kinds  of  citrus  trees,  and  he 
set  them  out.  He  topped  me  with  the 
brick  barbecue.  I  gave  him  another  one 
right  back,  an  inside  electric  one  for  the 
kitchen,  with  a  rotating  spit.  That  was 
the  only  mistake  of  all  our  gifts-of-the- 
month,  I'm  afraid.  Paul's  got  our  cook 
wild  messing  around  the  kitchen  with  it, 
and  one  night  when  we  had  dinner  guests, 
they  had  to  wait  three  hours  before  they 


could  eat,  because  Paul  insisted  on  cook- 
ing everything  on  that  electric  spit! 

We've  got  the  reputation  of  stay-at- 
homes,  and  we  deserve  it.  When  you're 
not  measuring  the  windows  for  draperies 
around  a  new  house,  you're  planting  rose 
bushes,  hunting  chairs. 

Paul  and  I  had  our  first  Father's  and 
Mother's  days  this  year,  and  Paul  got  a 
wonderful  old  Civil  War  officer's  pistol 
(he  loves  guns) — from  the  baby,  of  course. 
I  got  another  book  on  my  favorite  painter, 
Michaelangelo,  and  a  white  purse  from 
my  newest  boy  friend.  For  next  year, 
maybe,  I'll  have  the  portraits  I'm  starting 
on  both  father  and  son  ready  for  that 
paternal  honor  day.  The  one  of  Paul, 
Sr.,  is  almost  finished,  and  he  wants  to 
hang  it  beside  the  impression  I  painted  of 
myself  one  reckless  week  last  year.  I 
won't  let  it  inside  our  nice  new  house, 
so  Paul  keeps  it  out  in  his  workshop — 
the  "doghouse,"  he  calls  it! 

Maybe  by  next  year  I'll  have  the  studio 
with  the  North  skylight  Paul  has  prom- 
ised to  build  me  up  by  the  waterfall,  so 
I  won't  be  cluttering  his  shop  with  all  my 
paints  and  choking  his  gun  racks  with 
my  canvas  and  brushes.  And  maybe  then 
I'll  paint  better  pictures. 

Tops,  too,  on  our  must  list  for  1948  is 
another  pet  to  replace  Shah-Shah,  our 
cute  lion  cub,  who  grew  so  big  that  we 
had  to  find  her  a  new  home  in  the  zoo. 
We're  very  animal  happy,  and  it  broke 
our  hearts  to  let  Shah  go,  btit  cubs  do 
grow  up  and  get  rambunctious. 

visiting  an  old  friend  ... 

We  took  Shah  over  to  her  Griffith  Park 
cage  and  left  her  there  with  her  teddy- 
bear  which  she  loved  to  play  with  around 
our  yard.  When  Paul  and  I  went  back  to 
see  her  again  the  other  day,  she  almost 
tore  down  the  cage  trying  to  lick  our 
hands  and  when  we  left,  she  had  tears 
in  her  eyes.  Yes,  she  did.  That  Shah  is  a 
very  special  type  lion  and  we  love  her 
still.  But  we  have  a  mountain  ranger 
friend  of  ours  hunting  for  a  baby  fawn. 
We  can't  wait  to  see  Baby  Paul's  eyes 
when  he  spies  that  deer.  Paul,  Junior,  is 
busy  learning  to  walk  right  now,  and 
he'll  have  a  lot  of  plans,  too,  for  the  New 
Year,  like  growing,  cutting  a  few  more 
teeth,  exploring  the  new  world  that  widens 
for  him  every  day — and  bumping  his 
curly  head  a  few  times. 

But  we  all  hope  to  take  time  off  this 
New  Year's  Eve  to  celebrate  our  Second 
Anniversary  where  Paul  and  I  spent  our 
honeymoon — at  Furnace  Creek  Inn  in  the 
heart  of  Death  Valley.  There's  no  lovelier 
place. 

Not  being  the  seventh  daughter  of  a 
seventh  son,  I  don't  know  what  1948  will 
hold,  but  it  will  be  hard  to  top  1947  for 
us  three  Brinkmans — especially  me.  When 
at  last  you  have  both  the  baby  and  the 
house  of  your  dreams,  the  husband  you 
love  and  you  go  back  to  the  work  you 
love,  what  more  can  you  ask? 

The  other  day  on  You  Were  Meant  For 
Me  we  came  to  a  crying  scene,  and  I  ran 
into  trouble.  It's  the  hardest  acting  job  of 
all  for  me,  to  break  into  tears  on  a  set. 

My  director,  Lloyd  Bacon,  volunteered 
advice.  "Think  of  something  sad,"  he 
suggested.  "Run  back  through  the  year 
and  see  if  you  can't  feel  sorry  for  your- 
self." 

I  tried.  I  started  with  last  New  Year's  and 
ran  through  all  the  twelve  months.  It 
didn't  work.  The  only  halfway  sad  thing 
I  could  dig  up  was  Shah-Shah's  trip  to  the 
zoo.  But  even  there,  I  knew  she  was 
better  off.  "It's  nq  use,"  I  sighed  at  last. 
"I've  been  through  1947,  day  by  day— and 
every  one  of  them  was  perfectly  swell." 

He  grinned.  "Okay  then,"  he  said,  "cry 
because  you've  been  so  happy." 

So  I  did.  That  worked. 


MISS  PERFECTION 

(Continued  from  page  24) 


call  on  Antoine,  the  famous  hair  stylist, 
before  we  started  shooting.  Shorties  were 
stylish  then.  I  sat  in  the  great  man's  chair 
first,  and  got  glamor -sheared  like  a  lamb 
in  no  time;  then  came  Claudette's  turn. 

Antoine  flashed  his  shears  and  made 
possibly  three  snips — clip,  clip,  clip.  That 
was  ail.  "No,"  said  Claudette  suddenly, 
halting  the  operation. 

"But,  Miss  Colbert,"  protested  the  coif- 
fure king,  "this  is  the  new  style." 

"Maybe  it's  new,"  replied  Claudette  firm- 
ly, looking  critically  in  the  mirror,  "but 
I  know  how  I  look  best." 

When  we  walked  out,  Claudette's  coif- 
fure was  maybe  a  mite  shorter  all  around, 
but  otherwise  exactly  as  it  was  when  she 
went  in.  Exactly,  I  might  add,  as'  it  was 
when  she  first  came  to  Hollywood,  and 
■exactly  as  she  wears  it  today — a  close 
bob,  curled  at  the  ends  by  her  own  hands. 
It's  perfect  for  Claudette,  and  she  knows  it. 

She  can  do  practically  anything  for  her- 
self better  than  anyone  else  can.  When  she 
was  a  little  girl,  she  wore  button  shoes  and 
her  mother,  Mme.  Chauchoin,  used  to  try 
to  button  them  up  for  her  when  she  got 
dressed.  "I  wouldn't  let  her,"  Claudette 
told  me  once.  "I  knew  she  could  do  it  in 
five  minutes  and  it  would  take  me  a  half- 
hour.  But  I  had  to  do  it  myself.  I'm  still 
that  way." 

Sometimes  I  have  to  laugh  at  Claudette's 
utterly  practical  approach  to  her  job.  I 
visited  her  set  on  The  Egg  and  I  one  day, 
and  she  was  doing  a  hilarious  farm  scene 
with  Fred  MacMurray  that  called  for  her 
to  tumble  in  squishy  mud.  It  was  nippy 
weather  and  the  prop  boys,  who  love 
Colbert,  had  heated  the  mud  so  she 
wouldn't  get  chilled. 

One  take  passed,  the  director  cried 
"Cut"  and  everybody  left  the  set  for  a 
breather — except  Claudette.  She  stayed  in 
the  mud. 

"Hey,"  I  said,  "aren't  you  coming  out? 
Do  you  like  it  there?" 

"Yep,  I  do,"  came  back  Claudette.  "If 
I  come  out,  I'll  get  cold — and  I'll  have  to 
get  right  back  in,  anyway.  This  mud's  nice 
and  warm.  I'm  staying." 

paramount  on  parade  ... 

Claudette  came  to  Hollywood — and  Par- 
amount— before  the  parade  of  glamor 
queens  hit.  She  watched  them  breeze  in 
— Marlene  Dietrich,  Carole  Lombard,  Mae 
West — all  in  the  spotlight,  and  certainly 
in  the  case  of  Mae  and  Marlene,  a  spot- 
light highlighted  with  shenanigans,  poses 
and  personal  acts.  Colbert  didn't  go  in  for 
that  sort  of  thing;  she  just  kept  on  playing 
good  parts  in  good  pictures  and  she  was 
still  there  when  the  battalion  of  beauty 
rivals  had  bowed  out.  Yet  all  the  time — 
then  as  now  and  ever — she  was  getting 
her  way.  She's  called  her  own  shots  on 
every  picture  she's  made  in  twenty  years 
of  stardom. 

Except  for  once,  she  has  never  played  a 
picture  without  reading  the  entire  script 
in  advance.  The  one  time  she  skipped  that 
canny  rule,  I  happened  to  have  a  little 
bit  to  do  with  it.  But  Claudette's  keen 
mind  weighed  the  odds  and  made  her  de- 
cision. 

That  was  when  David  Selznick  offered 
her  the  part  of  Jennifer  Jones'  mother  in 
Since  You  Went  Away.  What  made 
her  knit  her  cautious  brows  was  the  un- 
finished script.  Selznick  shot  Since  You 
Went  Away  pretty  much  on  the  cuff.  It 
was  his  baby,  and  he  wrote  a  lot  of  it  as 
the  camera  rolled. 

"Listen,  Claudette,"  I  pointed  out  one 
afternoon,    "you    know    David  Selznick 


has  never  made  a  bad  picture." 

"What's  more,"  I  went  on,  "you  know 
if  a  picture  isn't  good  at  first,  he'll  do  it 
over  until  it  is.  That  happened  with  Gone 
With  the  Wind,  the  pappy  of  all  box- 
office  hits,  and  a  couple  of  others,  too. 

"Okay,"  I  summed  up.  "You're  an 
actress.  You  like  the  part  so  far.  You 
know  you  can  trust  David  Selznick.  It 
looks  like  a  good  risk,  doesn't  it?" 

She  thought  just  a  few  seconds.  "That's 
right,"  she  said.  And  right  then  she  de- 
cided to  do  it. 

Frank  Capra,  Mitchell  Leisen  and  Ernst 
Lubitsch  are  her  favorite  directors.  Frank 
made  her  first  picture,  Love  O'  Mike, 
years  ago,  also  her  favorite  and  Oscar- 
winner  with  Gable,  It  Happened  One 
Night,  and  now  he's  got  her  again  for  an-  . 
other  hit  in  State  of  the  Union.  Mitch 
Leisen  steered  a  great  Colbert  movie, 
Arise  My  Love.  But  I  think  the  one  she 
likes  to  work  with  best  is  jolly,  shrewd, 
twinkly  Ernst.  He's  got  a  bead  on  that 
canny  French  head  of  Claudette's. 

I  remember  one  scene  Claudette  did  with 
Gary  Cooper  in  Bluebeard's  Eighth  Wife. 
She  was  supposed  to  jump  on  Gary's  lap, 
muss  him  up  with  kisses  and  nibble  onions 
at  the  same  time. 

so  shy  .  .  . 

Sometimes  Claudette  gets  a  streak  of 
shyness,  and  Gary's  certainly  no  greeter. 
They  were  both  self-conscious  and  stiff  as 
boards.  Before  the  scene,  Claudette  broke 
down  completely. 

"Oh,  Ernst,"  she  confessed,  "I  don't 
think  I  can  do  that — it's,  it's  just  impos- 
sible!" She  was  actually  blushing,  and 
Gary  was  fidgeting  dismally  in  his  chair 
with  exactly  the  same  bashful  block. 

"Watch  me,"  said  Ernst,  springing  right 
onto  Gary's  startled  lap,  cigar  and  all.  He 
cooed  to  the  beet-red  Coop,  kissed  him, 
snuggled  and  snapped  off  the  scallions  like 
the  most  coy  cutie  in  the  world,  until 
Claudette  and  even  Coop — shaken  though 
he  was — broke  into  uncontrollable  roars. 
They  did  it  themselves  the  next  take,  and 
had  fun.  I've  always  thought  that  Gary 
turned  in  his  gayest,  screamiest  comedy 
in  Bluebeard's  Eighth  Wife. 

Lubitsch  gets  the  palm  for  that  break- 
down— but  another  time,  well— I  tell  her 
I'll  always  believe  she  cracked  her  ankle 
in  Arise  My  Love  on  purpose. 

Things  weren't  so  rosy  on  that  set  be- 
fore Claudette  sprained  and  half-busted 
her  ankle.  Her  leading  man  was  stiff  by 
nature  and  standoffish,  even  a  little  surly 
at  being  stacked  up  against  an  actress 
like  Colbert.  I'm  not  saying  seriously,  of 
course,  that  she  twisted  her  foot  as  a 
cagey  maneuver — but  when  she  did,  and 
had  to  be  carried  to  and  from  the  set  and 
her  dressing-room  in  the  strong  arms  of 
that  standoffish  guy,  what  followed  were 
some  of  the  greatest  love  scenes  ever  put 
on  film. 

And  I  know  something  else,  too.  Not 
long  after  a  certain  young  man  won  him- 
self an  Academy  Oscar,  he  and  his  wife 
had  dinner  with  Claudette  and  her  hus- 
band in  New  York.  The  Oscar-winner 
arrived  fifteen  minutes  ahead  of  his  wife, 
and  Claudette  could  tell  he  had  something 
on  his  mind.  Finally,  he  came  out  with  it. 

"Claudette,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  thank 
you  for  my  Oscar.  If  I  hadn't  played  with 
you  in  Arise  My  Love,  I'd  never  have  won 
my  award  for  The  Lost  Week  End." 

His  name?  By  now  you  ought  to  know. 
Ray  Milland,  of  course. 

Claudette's  first  interest,  however,  is  her 
own  career.    It  comes  above  everything 


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else — save  possibly  her  marriage.  Most  of 
her  marvelous  self-discipline  stems  from 
her  deep-rooted  Gallic  desire  to  be  effi- 
cient, good,  and  in  shape,  always. 

I've  had  dinner  at  Claudette's  when  she 
stuffed  her  guests  with  rare  morsels  like 
sauerkraut  cooked  in  champagne  and 
crepes  suzettes  for  dessert.  I  lapped  'em 
up,  but  not  Claudette.  She  has  herself 
in  training  and  under  control  always. 

Claudette's  a  little  embarrassed  when 
you  quiz  her  about  her  success.  "I  never 
really  had  any  struggle  at  all,"  she  says 
apologetically.  She  was  a  little  French  girl 
brought  to  America,  raised  in  New  York. 
She  wanted  to  design  dresses  originally, 
sold  a  few  sketches  around  New  York  for 
$3  apiece  and  decided  that  would  never 
make  her  rich.  So  she  gave  a  few  French 
lessons  to  help  out,  and  one  of  her  pupils, 
a  Broadway  actress,  said,  "I  can  get  you 
a  part  on  the  stage."  Claudette's  been 
acting  ever  since;  part  followed  part, 
money  followed  more  money — a  Broadway 
hit,  New  York  movies  and  then  Hollywood. 

dough-girl  .  .  . 

Claudette's  one  of  the  richest  girls  in 
town  today.  Away  back  when  she  was 
earning  those  first  $50-a-week  checks  on 
the  stage,  she  started  a  trust  fund  for  her 
old  age.  By  now  she  has  a  pack  of  gilt- 
edged  securities.  Her  brother,  Charlie 
Wendling,  is  her  business  manager  and 
agent,  but  she  works  right  along  with  him. 
Claudette's  on  my  best-dressed  list,  year 
in  and  year  out,  but  that  doesn't  mean 
she  buys  clothes  every  hour  on  the  hour. 

We  two  were  wailing  about  the  fashion 
revolution  the  day  I  saw  her.  "What  are 
you  going  to  do  about  these  new  hem- 
lines?" I  asked  Claudette.  She  whisked  up 
her  skirt  to  show  me  her  hem — four  or 
five  inches  full.  "I've  always  had  all  my 
suits  and  dresses  made  with  a  deep  hem," 
said  Claudette.  "For  insurance.  Now  I'm 
going  to  let  'em  down." 

Claudette's  one  big  extravagance  is  .  her 
house.  She  wanted  a  beautiful  colonial 
house,  and  she  got  it.  Trouble  is,  it's  too 
big— seven  or  eight  servants  can  get  lost 
around  the  place.  During  the  war,  Clau- 
dette moved  into  an  apartment. 

Because  of  her  thrift,  wealth  and  her 
direct,  businesslike  attitude,  Claudette  has 
been  painted  now  and  then  as  a  tight-fisted 
Madame  Moneybags.    It's  not  true. 

Just  the  other  night,  I  was  at  a  benefit 
for  the  Nursery  School  for  Visually  Handi- 
capped Children  at  Harold  Lloyd's  beau- 
tiful estate.  I  was  raising  money,  and  I 
asked  for  $1,000  donations  from  the  movie 
rich.  Claudette's  hand  was  the  third  one 
up,  which  is  typical. 

Claudette  may  have  a  heart  for  gold, 
but  it's  of  gold,  too.  The  day  I  dropped  in 
to  check  up  on  her  for  Modern  Screen, 
she  was  rummaging  through  her  clothes 
and  stacking  them  in  a  huge  heap.  It 
seemed  she'd  given  her  French  maid  a 
vacation  to  visit  her  family  in  France, 
and  when  the  maid  returned  and  told 
Claudette  of  their  desperate  need  for 
clothes,  Colbert  dropped  everything  and 
dove  for  her  racks. 

What  Claudette's  most  wrapped  up  in 
currently,  I  think,  is  the  wonderful  plan 
her  husband,  Dr.  Pressman,  and  some  other 
visionaries  have  for  a  new  hospital  in  the 
Beverly  Hills-Westwood-Bel-Air  section. 

Dr.  Pressman,  a  strong,  intelligent,  top- 
drawer  physician,  is  every  bit  as  much  a 
worthy  character  as  Claudette.  He's  a  man 
of  distinction,  without  the  highball,  a 
medical  scholar,  who  dropped  his  private 
practice  for  duty  as  a  Navy  flight  surgeon 
aboard  a  carrier.  There's  a  little  leather 
framed  picture  of  Claudette  in  her  den 
that  he  carried  all  during  the  war.  Clau- 
dette giggled  when  I  spied  it.  "Don't  tell 
him,  but  it's  a  picture  I  had  taken  15 
years  ago!" 


Joel  runs  absolutely  no  risk,  and  never 
did,  of  becoming  "Mister  Colbert."  Once 
in  Paris,  he  and  Claudette  were  scheduled 
to  go  to  a  very  ritzy  affair  to  meet  the  Duke 
and  Duchess  of  Windsor.  Came  the  night 
and  Joel  begged  off.  "Mind  if  I  don't  go?" 
he  asked  Claudette.  "There's  a  chance  to 
talk  to  Dr.  So-and-So  (another  French 
medical  expert)  tonight."  Claudette  under- 
stood perfectly,  went  on,  and  came  back 
to  find  Joel  and  the  scientist  deep  in  dis- 
cussion at  their  hotel  when  she  returned. 
That,  incidentally,  was  the  first  time  she 
knew  her  husband  could  speak  French. 
He'd  been  too  shy  to  spring  it  around 
his  expert  wife,  though. 

If  anyone  can  influence  Claudette's  ideas 
and  tastes,  it  is  Joel.  He  even  worked  the 
miracle  of  making  her  air-minded,  though 
she  hated  flying  until  he  came  home  from 
the  war,  got  a  plane  of  his  own  and 
started  buzzing  around.  "It  just  shows 
you,"  Claudette  sighed  to  me,  "what  you 
can  do  when  you  love  a  man.  I  fly 
now." 

Claudette  and  Joel  circulate  in  a  fairly 
tight  little  social  set;  you  never  see  them 
at  a  night  club,  and  when  the  Pressmans 
are  entertaining,  the  food  is  a  chef's 
dream,  the  wine  exactly  right,  the  service 
faultless.  Claudette  isn't  domestic,  herself; 
she's  too  practical  for  that.  "Why  should 
I  cook?"  she  once  asked  me,  frankly,  "when 
I  can  get  someone  a  lot  better  than  I  am 
to  do  it  for  me?"  Well,  why  should 
she? 

I  heard  the  other  day  that  she  was  quit- 
ting acting  in  three  more  years,  and  I 
called  her  right  up.  "I'm  coming  out  to  do 
a  story  on  you,"  I  told  her. 

She  laughed.  "Well,  since  it's  you."  That 
was  pure  flattery,  but  a  compliment,  too. 
Nothing  makes  Claudette  ache  like  talking 
about  herself. 

She  was  curled  up  in  one  of  those  com- 
fortable chairs  in  her  drawing  room, 
when  I  got  there.  The  sun  came  streaming 
in  through  the  wide  window,  and  Claudette 
wore  a  rust-colored  shantung  silk  suit.  It 
gave  her  a  golden  glow. 

"Look,"  I  said,  "it's  not  fair  to  anybody, 
including  yourself,  to  retire  from  the 
screen." 

new  career  for  colbert  .  .  . 

"Who  said  retire?"  came  back  Claudette. 
"I'm  just  switching  canvas  chairs.  I'm  go- 
ing to  direct.  I'm  forty-two.  In  three  years, 
I'll  be  forty-five.  Cameramen  can't  keep 
this  face  and  figger  beautiful  forever!" 

For  once  I  wasn't  impressed. 

"You  look  twenty-five,"  I  told  her.  "Be- 
sides, what's  forty-five  to  a  modern 
woman?" 

"Time  to  change,"  grinned  Claudette, 
paying  my  remarks  no  mind  at  all.  So 
three  years  from  now,  I'll  bet  she'll  be 
the  best  lady  director  in  Hollywood  his- 
tory, and  I'll  bet  she'll  make  a  ton  of 
money,  too.  She  always  does.  Why,  a  trust 
fund  she  started  away  back  when  she 
was  a  girl  for  her  "old  age"  came  due  re- 
cently, and  paid  her  off  several  thousand, 
and  she  put  it  in  a  certain  silly-sounding 
venture  and  then  was  ashamed  to  tell 
even  her  brother  and  her  lawyer. 

"It  was  strictly  my  money,"  explained 
Claudette,  "and  I  decided  I'd  have  a  fling 
with  a  folly  and  probably  lose  it."  Uh-huh! 
Guess  what  she  put  it  in — that  Bub-a- 
Loon  outfit  with  Matty  Fox,  the  Holly- 
wood gadget  promoter,  who  hit  a  pure  I 
gold  mine  with  those  plastic  bubbles  the 
kids  are  blowing  like  mad  all  over  the 
land.  Heaven  only  knows  how  much 
money  will  come  rolling  in  from  Col- 
bert's '  "folly." 

"Lucky!"  I  sighed  enviously.  But  luck, 
of  course,  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  That 
gal  just  can't  miss.  Even  when  she  blows 
bubbles,  Claudette  Colbert  picks  gold 
ones  that  can't  burst! 


m 


THE  LITRE  CRIB 

(Continued  from  page  24) 


I  was   sandpapering   the   crib.  Green." 

Mr.  Sebastian  nodded  with  professional 
approval.  "What  shade  of  green?"  he 
inquired. 

"Oh  dear,  I  don't  know."  Teresa  let 
her  eyes  wander  to  little  strips  of  colored 
j  paint  that  Joe  had  carefully  arranged  on 
the  counter.  "This  is  pretty:  Lettuce 
Green.  But  isn't  that  a  lovely  shade  of 
yellow?  Maybe  yellow  would  be  better 
after  all." 

crib  of  a  different  color  ..." 

She  sat  down  on  the  stool.  It  was  such 
a  problem.  If  it  were  a  girl,  of  course, 
pink  would  be  perfect  for  her  crib.  But 
it  would  never  do  for  a  boy.  And  al- 
though blue  would  not  be  too  bad  for  a 
girl,  still,  if  it  were  a  girl —  A  compro- 
mise color  would  be  much  safer.  But 
would  green  be  too  masculine,  or  yellow 
too  feminine?    Or  was  it  vice  versa? 

One  hour  and  seventeen  minutes  later, 
Mr.  Sebastian  rang  up  a  sale  of  $0.65  on 
his  cash  register,  and  Teresa  Wright  left 
with  a  small  can  of  paint  under  her  arm. 
White  paint. 

Two  seconds  later  she  was  back. 

"I  forgot  to  ask,"  she  gasped.  "Does 
this  paint  have  lead  in  it?" 

Mr.  Sebastian  assured  her  that  it  had 
not. 

The  color  of  the  crib  was  only  one  of 
the  dilemmas  that  Teresa  faced  through- 
out the  spring  and  summer.  In  many 
ways,  she  decided,  the  second  child  offered 
more  perplexities  than  the  first.  When 
she  had  presented  Niven  with  a  son  three 
weeks  before  Christmas  in  1944,  it  had 
been  a  relatively  simple  matter.  She  had 
brought  the  baby  home,  named  it  Niven 
Terence  for  its  father,  and  put  it  to  bed 
in  a  nursery  that  had  been  furnished  for 
the  purpose.  There  hadn't  even  been,  as 
she  remembered,  any  conjecture  as  to 
its  sex.  She  was  interested  only  in  hav- 
ing a  baby,  and  Niven  took  it  for  granted 
that  it  would  be  a  boy. 

Now  it  was  different.  Teresa  admitted 
to  herself,  as  she  would  to  no  one  else, 
that  this  time  she  wanted  a  daughter.  She 
was  not  sure  about  Niven.  With  Peter 
and  Tony,  his  two  sons  by  a  previous 
marriage,  and  Terry,  it  would  seem  likely 
that  he  was  at  last  in  a  receptive  mood 
for  a  girL  But  when  she  had  told  him, 
in  February,  that  she  was  going  to  have 
a  baby,  he  had  kissed  her  and  said  some- 
thing rather  strange. 

"If  it's  a  boy,"  he  had  remarked,  "we'll 
have  a  polo  team  in  the  family." 

If  any  other  husband  had  said  that,  it 
would  have  passed  as  a  lame  sort  of  joke. 
But  with  Niven  Busch,  who  objected  to 
his  career  as  a  novelist  only  on  the 
grounds  that  he  could  not  write  on  horse- 
back, it  was  probably  no  joking  matter. 
He  had  already  frightened  his  wife  half 
to  death  by  trying  to  teach  two- and-a- 
half-year-old  Terry  how  to  ride  bare- 
back. And  it  was  quite  possible  that  he 
was  all  too  serious  about  a  polo  team. 

She  considered  this,  as  she  thinned  out 
the  paint  and  prepared  to  apply  it  to  the 
crib. 

And  there  was  the  matter  of  Terry  him- 
self. Both  Teresa  and  Niven  recognized 
the  psychological  effect  the  arrival  of  a 
second  child  sometimes  has  on  the  first- 
born. It  would  take  considerable  care 
and  patience  and  understanding  to  pre- 
pare him  for  the  birth  of  a  little  sister 
or  brother,  so  that  when  he  (or  she)  ar- 
rived, Terry  would  accept  him  (or  her) 
without  resentment  or  jealousy.  It  was 
a  delicate  undertaking,  and  they  started 


on  it  one  bedtime,  when  Niven  was  telling 
Terry  his  nightly  story. 

The  bedtime  story  had  long  been  an 
institution  with  Terry  and  his  father.  At 
first,  Niven  had  spun  tales  of  the  Old 
West,  complete  with  cowboys  and  cattle- 
rustlers,  until  Teresa  had  put  her  foot 
down. 

"That's  no  kind  of  story  to  tell  a  baby," 
she  had  said  firmly.  "You'll  give  him 
nightmares.  He  should  hear  something 
more  elevating.    Like  Bible  stories." 

So  the  next  night  Niven  told  him  the 
story  of  David  and  his  sling-shot. 

The  following  night  Terry  asked  to  hear 
about  David  again. 

"And  his  sling-shot?"  his  father  asked. 

"No.  Tell  me  about  David  and  his 
bicycle." 

And  so  a  new  cycle  of  latter-day  leg- 
ends was  slowly  built  up  around  the  Old 
Testament  hero.  There  was  "David  and 
His  Baseball  Bat,"  "David  and  His  Ice- 
Cream  Cone,"  "David  and  His  Monkey," 
and  many,  many  more. 

Then  one  evening,  Terry  found  his 
mother  sitting  on  his  bed,  quietly  telling 
him  that  before  long  she  would  have  an- 
other baby,  and  that  Terry  would  soon 
be  a  brother.  When  she  had  finished,  she 
waited  for  the  usual  torrent  of  wide-eyed 
questions.    But  he  had  only  one. 

"Can  Daddy  come  now  and  tell  me  a 
real  story?"  he  asked. 

Teresa  left  the  room,  deflated  and  de- 
pressed. She  had  tried  so  hard,-  chosen 
her  words  so  carefully,  and  failed  so 
utterly  to  make  any  impression. 

In  this,  however,  she  was  not  entirely 
right.  For  a  little  while  later,  when 
Niven  took  his  accustomed  place  by  his 
son's  bed,  and  asked  what  the  subject  of 
tonight's  story  would  be,  Terry  deliber- 
ated for  an  unusually  long  time  before  he 
answered. 

"Tell  me  about  David,"  he  said  at  last, 
"and  his  monkey's  baby  sister." 

And  novelist  Niven  Busch  obliged. 

The  baby  was  due  in  October,  and  as 
the  hot  summer  wore  on  and  finally  out, 
the  Busch  homestead  in  Encino  echoed 
with  the  sound  of  hammers  and  saws,  as 
additions  were  added  and  porches  glassed 
in.  Teresa  kept  working  on  the  crib.  In 
July,  she  read  somewhere  that  Samuel 
Goldwyn  had  finished  The  Bishop's  Wife, 
the  picture  she  was  to  have  made,  and 
perhaps  she  felt  a  little  pang  of  regret. 
Or  maybe  it  was  the  baby  kicking. 

the  time  Is  now  .  .  . 

By  September,  she  had  the  crib  almost 
finished,  ready  for  its  final  coat.  It  was, 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  while  she  was  mixing 
the  last  batch  of  paint  that  she  decided 
somebody's  timing  was  off.  A  hurried  trip 
to  the  Good  Samaritan  Hospital  confirmed 
her  suspicion.  Mary  Kelly  Busch  was 
born  on  September  12,  a  full  month  be- 
fore she  was  expected. 

Mary  Kelly  Wright  was  the  name  of 
Teresa's  grandmother,  and  perhaps  her 
warmest  admirer.  When  Muriel,  as  she 
was  called  then,  decided  she  wanted  to 
go  on  the  stage,  it  was  Grandmother 
Wright  who  supported  and  encouraged 
her.  There  were  times,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  when  she  gave  her  almost  too  much 
encouragement.  Like  that  night  in  Prov- 
incetown,  when  Teresa  was  playing  a 
walk-on,  and  Grandmother  Wright  started 
applauding  when  she  made  her  entrance 
and  kept  on  clapping  until  she  left  the 
stage.  Or  that  other  awful  time,  during 
another  performance,  when  Teresa,  in  the 
midst  of  a  dramatic  scene,  heard  the  fa- 


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miliar  old  voice  suddenly  boom  out: 
"That's  my  granddaughter  up  there." 

So  when  Teresa  found  herself  on  Broad- 
way, as  the  ingenue  in  Life  With  Father, 
she  delayed  inviting  Grandmother  Wright 
to  see  the  play.  She  was  afraid  of  what 
might  happen,  and  thought  it  would  be 
better  to  wait  until  the  excitement  of  the 
opening  subsided  and  the  play  settled 
down  to  a  long  run.  She'd  have  grand- 
mother come  in  then  some  Saturday 
morning,  and  they'd  have  lunch  together, 
and  she  could  see  the  matinee.  But  be- 
fore that  happened  Grandmother  Wright 
died,  and  Teresa  never  entirely  forgave 
herself. 

She  thought  of  these  things  as  she  lay 
in  her  hospital  bed,  watching  the  nurse 


exhibit  the  tiny  parcel  of  blankets  and 
pink  skin  that  seemed  to  be  her  daughter. 
Then  it  was  time  for  her  to  "rest."  When 
she  opened  her  eyes  again  her  husband 
was  beside  her. 

"She's  a  beautiful  baby,"  he  said.  "How 
do  you  feel?" 

She  managed  a  smile.  There  was  a 
pause. 

"You  know,"  he  added  thoughtfully, 
"there's  no  reason  in  the  world  why  a 
girl  couldn't  play  polo.  If  she  were  taught 
to  ride  properly,  that  is." 

A  few  days  later  Teresa  and  Mary  came 
home.  While  she  was  in  the  hospital, 
Teresa  had  covered  reams  of  paper  with 
diagrams  showing  Niven  exactly  how  the 
baby's  furniture  was  to  be  arranged  in 


the  nursery,  and  even  careful  catalogues 
describing  what  articles  of  clothing  were 
to  be  placed  in  each  bureau  drawer.  But 
when  Niven  carried  her  upstairs  to  show 
her  the  room,  she  let  out  a  shrill  cry. 

"The  crib!    What's  happened  to  it?" 

Even  from  the  doorway  she  could  see 
the  brush-marks,  the  black  fingerprints, 
the  coagulated  rivulets  of  dried  paint  run- 
ning down  the  surface  like  varicose  veins. 

"I  thought  you'd  be  surprised,"  her  hus- 
band said.  "We  finished  it  for  you  while 
you  were  in  the  hospital.    Terry  helped." 

And  suddenly,  Teresa  Wright  found  that 
she  was  laughing.  It  was  the  laughter  of 
relief  and  joy  and  wonder. 

It  was  all  over.  And  it  was  just 
beginning. 


A  CHRISTMAS  SHE'LL  NEVER  FORGET 

(Continued  from  page  27) 


against  snow. 

Snow  was  all  she  needed  to  hear. 
Through  winter  after  winter  among  the 
palms  and  sunshine  of  California,  Ingrid 
had  ached  for  Christmas  in  the  snow. 
Alaska  would  be  perfect.  Only,  before 
definitely  committing  herself,  there  was 
another  member  of  the  family  to  consult. 

Pia  was  five  then,  a  little  young  for 
understanding.  Yet  Ingrid  explained  so 
that  Pia  understood.  About  the  soldiers 
who'd  been  in  that  faraway  country  for 
two  and  three  years,  to  make  the  world  a 
better  place  for  Pia  and  children  like  Pia 
to  grow  up  in.  About  how  Ingrid  wanted 
to  go  and  thank  them,  but  it  would  mean 
being  away  from  Pia  at  Christmas  time. 
Would  Pia  forgive  her? 

Listening,  the  little  girl's  eyes  clouded 
with  pity.  "Oh  yes,  I  want  you  to  make 
them  laugh." 

"The  only  trouble,"  said  her  mother, 
"is  I  don't  know  what  to  do  for  these 
soldiers." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  them  stories  like 
you  tell  me?" 

That  gave  her  her  first  idea.  Hunting 
through  story  material  that  would  fit 
Christmas,  she  found  O.  Henry's  "Gift  of 
the  Magi,"  and  made  a  simple  dramatiza- 
tion of  it.  Then  she  could  sing  them  some 
Swedish  folksongs. 

For  that,  her  friend,  Ruth  Roberts,  dug 
a  Swedish  peasant  dress  out  of  her  attic. 
It  was  cleaned  and  made  over  to  fit.  For 
the  rest,  Ingrid  packed  simple  things;  not 
so  much  as  a  cocktail  dress.  Just  plain 
clothes  that  the  boys  would  feel  at  home 
with. 

To  round  out  the  program,  she  wanted 
something  serious,  and  decided  on  a 
couple  of  Maria's  scenes  from  the  Hem- 
ingway picture. 

People  warned  her  against  this.  "It's  not 
even  released  yet.  Besides,  the  boys  don't 
go  for  that  heavy  stuff." 

Maybe  not,  thought  Ingrid,  but  it 
wouldn't  hurt  to  try.  If  she  found  that 
Maria  bored  the  boys,  she  could  always 
drop  her. 

They  were  a  group  of  five  who  left  by 
train  for  Seattle.  Ingrid,  Neil  Hamilton, 
actor  and  master  of  ceremonies,  Joan 
Barton,  the  pert  little  radio  singer,  Mar- 
velle  Andre,  hula  dancer  and  Nancy  Barnes, 
whose  accordion  supplied  their  only  music. 
Her  husband,  captured  early  in  the  fight- 
ing, was  in  a  German  prison  camp.  On 
receiving  the  news,  Nancy  had  picked  up 
the  accordion  she'd  never  played  profes- 
sionally, and  applied  to  the  USO.  Through 
all  the  weary  years  of  waiting  and  won- 
dering whether  her  own  soldier  would 
come  home,  she  went  wherever  they  sent 
her  to  bring  what  cheer  she  could  to 
other  soldiers. 

At   Seattle,   the   five   got  their  Arctic 


issue — parkas  and  fur  boots — then  off  to 
the  north  by  Pan  American  Clipper.  For 
Ingrid,  Christmas  started  the  evening  they 
landed  at  Anchorage — when  she  stepped 
from  the  plane  and  lifted  her  face  to  the 
snowflakes,  falling  softly  over  layers  al- 
ready fallen.  When,  at  Clemendorf  Field 
and  Fort  Richardson  (it  was  a  huge  base, 
combining  the  two)  she  saw  their  welcome, 
glowing  in  the  men's  faces.  When  they 
were  taken  to  meet  General  Buckner — 
the  same  gallant  Simon  Bolivar  Buckner 
who  eighteen  months  later  was  killed  on 
Okinawa — and  he  spoke  his  simple  words 
of  greeting  and  appreciation. 

The  big  doings  were  scheduled  for 
Christmas  Eve.  In  the  afternoon,  they'd 
gone  from  ward  to  ward  of  the  hospital. 
Now  they  stood  in  the  wings  on  the  stage 
of  the  auditorium.  The  boys  had  gone  to 
work  on  the  auditorium  walls,  painting 
them  with  reindeer  and  sleighs  and  fat 
Santa  Clauses  and — in  one  quiet  space — 
the  Manger  and  Child  and  the  Three  Wise 
men  on  their  donkeys.  Maybe  it  wasn't  art, 
but  it  was  certainly  Christmas. 

Neil  went  out  first,  then  he  introduced 
Nancy.  Watching  her,  Ingrid  felt  that  her 
manner  set  the  keynote  for  them  all. 
"None  of  that  here-I-come-and-give- 
you — "  she  described  it  later.  "Nancy  just 
sat  there  and  played,  as  if  she  were  play- 
ing for  her  husband  at  home." 

Next  came  Joan,  dark-haired  and  laugh- 
ing, doing  her  comedy  songs.  She  put  them 
right  in  the  mood  for  Marvelle's  hulas. 
Marvelle  soloed  first,  then  coaxed  a  "couple 
of  the  fellows  to  dance  with  her.  Neil 
followed  this  with  a  few  magic  tricks, 
assisted  by  Joan,  after  which  the  boys 
clamored  for  another  song. 

something  to  remember  her  by  .  .  . 

"What  would  you  like?"  she  asked  them. 

And  as  if  with  one  voice  they  called: 
"Oh,  give  me  something  to  remember  you 
by." 

An  old  tune,  and  not  at  all  a  gay  one, 
Ingrid  noted,  as  the  plaintive  melody  rose, 
and  the  house  fell  still.  Well,  then,  maybe 
she  hadn't  been  wrong  about  Maria. 

Now  came  the  moment  she  dreaded. 
Stage  fright?  No.  Even  worse  than  that. 
Now  she  must  listen  while  Neil  intro- 
duced her. 

Famous  actress  from  Hollywood,  great 
honor  to  have  her  with  us  and  so  forth 
and  so  on — 

"Please  don't,  Neil,"  she'd  begged,  at  re- 
hearsal. "It  will  make  them  laugh.  They've 
been  up  there  so  long,  they've  never  even 
seen  me." 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Neil.  "Sooner  or  later 
they'll  see  you." 

So  she  stood  there  blushing,  waiting  for 
the  cue,  imagining  the  whispers: 

"Who  is  she,  did  you  ever  see  her?" 


Ingrid  won't  tell  you  of  the  roar  that 
went  up  to  greet  her,  but  Joan  and  Nancy 
will.  Some  of  the  boys  must  have  seen 
Casablanca,  or  else  they  just  liked  the 
way  she  looked.  Joan  and  Nancy  will  also 
tell  you  about  the  moment  when  liking 
turned  to  love. 

To  break  the  ice,  Ingrid,  too,  did  a  couple 
of  magic  tricks  with  Neil.  Then  he  left 
the  stage  to  her  and  Nancy. 

"I  brought  this  Swedish  dress  all  the 
way  from  home,"  she  began,  "for  an  ex- 
cuse to  sing  you  some  Swedish  folksongs." 

If  you  saw  Bells  of  St.  Marys,  you  know 
how  charmingly  she  sang  them. 

One  song  in  particular — "A  janta  a  ja"— 
went  over  big.  They  thought  the  ja-sounds 
were  very  funny. 

"It  would  be  nice,"  said  Ingrid  after- 
ward, "to  sing  it  together,  and  it's  really 
not  difficult.  You  listen  and  say  the  words 
after  me.  A  janta  a  ja — " 

"A  janta  a  ja,"  they  roared  obediently. 

"Alto  polanda  vegen  a  ja — " 

"Alta  polanda  vegen  a  ja — " 

"I  think  we  can  still  make  it  a  little 
easier.  Are  there  any  Jansens  and  Sven- 
sens  in  the  audience?"  A  lot  of  blond  boys 
got  to  their  feet,  grinning.  "That's  fine. 
We  Svensens  will  lead." 

It  brought  down  the  house.  Flushed 
and  laughing,  she  waited  for  the  hubbub 
to  die. 

"Now,  to  finish  this  part  of  the  pro- 
gram, I  would  like  to  dance  a  little  polka 
that  I  learned  as  a  child — " 

What  followed  was  completely  sponta- 
neous and  unrehearsed.  A  GI  jumped  up 
and  rattled  off  some  Swedish  at  her.  She 
smiled  and  nodded,  rattling  off  some 
Swedish  back.  An  invitation  to  the  dance, 
as  the  others  soon  found  out,  and  the 
lady  had  accepted.  Down  the  aisle  ran  the 
soldier,  vaulted  to  the  stage  and  took  his 
place  opposite  her.  Nancy  started  the 
accordion. 

"And  there,"  says  Ingrid,  still  laughing 
at  the  memory,  "we  went  off  jumping." 

From  that  point  on,  they'd  have  sat  en- 
thralled while  she  did  the  multiplication 
table. 

She  did  Maria,  instead.  Neither  then, 
nor  at  any  of  the  spots  they  played  later, 
did  the  boys  seem  to  find  Maria  too 
serious.  On  the  contrary.  Many  who  knew 
the  book  realized  that  what  had  hap- 
pened years  earlier  among  the  mountains 
of  Spain  had  a  very  direct  connection  with 
their  presence  here.  Ingrid  told  them 
about  the  movie  and  how  it  was  made. 
She  sketched  the  background  leading  up 
to  each  of  her  scenes.  And  it  was  their 
response  that  sent  her  home  to  tell  all 
who'd  listen:  "Make  an  overseas  tour,  not 
so  much  for  the  boys  as  for  yourself.  It's 
an  audience  you'll  never  find  among 
people  who  come  in  and  pay  to  see  you. 


It's  the  kind  of  audience  actors  dream 
about." 

Gift  of  the  Magi,  with  Neil  playing  the 
man,  wound  up  the  show.  But  that  was 
only  the  shank  of  the  evening.  Out  of  the 
auditorium,  under  the  starlit  night,  they 
streamed  across  the  snow  to  the  big  can- 
teen, where  the  Red  Cross  had  prepared 
a  Christmas  party.  Mountains  of  ham  and 
turkey,  acres  of  pie,  rivers  of  coffee. 

Nancy  and  Ingrid,  Joan  and  Marvelle 
helped  serve  the  customers — some  too 
bashful  for  more  than  a  smile  as  they 
took  their  food,  others  so  eager  to  talk 
that  it  took  a  dig  in  the  ribs  from  their 
buddies  to  get  them  going. 

There  were  gifts,  too,  packed  by  the  Red 
Cross,  which  the  girls  helped  distribute. 
Then  the  jukebox  was  started  for  dancing, 
and  of  course  the  boys  stood  in  line  to 
cut  in  on  the  -visitors  who  never  got  more 
than  a  few  whirls  with  each.  But  even 
while  they  danced  and  laughed,  their  eyes 
remained  sad.  And  why  not?  What  did 
the  immediate  future  hold  for  them  but 
more  grinding  monotony  and  loneliness  at 
best?  And  at  worst — 

She  was  glad  when  the  dancing  stopped, 
and  they  sat  down  on  the  floor  to  sing 
Christmas  carols.  Now,  at  least,  they 
wouldn't  have  to  pretend.  You  can  sing 
without  forcing  a  smile  on  your  face.  You 
could  even  perhaps  get  some  kind  of  re- 
lease from  those  songs  dedicated  to  the 
birth  of  the  Man  of  Sorrows. 

where  dp  we  go  from  here?  .  .  . 

As  if  to  put  the  mood  into  words,  a  boy 
stood  up.  He  couldn't  have  been  more 
than  19,  and  he  spoke  very  simply. 

"I'm  not  for  speeches  any  more  than 
the  rest  of  you,  so  what  I've  got  on  my 
chest  I'll  get  off  it  quick.  This  is  my  first 
Christmas  away  from  home.  The  same 
goes  for  a  lot  of  you  guys,  and  on  the 
other  hand,  some  of  you  haven't  seen  your 
folks  in  two  and  three  Christmases.  We 
don't  know  how  long  we'll  be  hanging 
around  here,  or  whether  we  won't  be  in 
some  worse  place  a  year  from  now.  But 
so  far  we're  safe  and  healthy  and  alive, 
and  that's  a  lot  to  be  grateful  for  these 
days.  So  I  think  we  ought  to  sing  The 
Lord's  Prayer  to  thank  Him." 

For  Ingrid,  who's  heard  it  before  and 
since  but  never  so  movingly,  The  Lord's 
Prayer  will  always  mean  a  great  shad- 
owed room,  flickering  with  Christmas 
lights,  and  the  voices  of  hundreds  of  men. 

When  it  was  over,  nobody  stirred  for  a 
moment.  Then  a  door  was  opened  on  the 
frosty  air  and  the  spell  was  broken  and 
they  dashed  for  hats  and  coats.  It  was 
11:30.  At  the  Post  church,  they  were  pre- 
paring to  celebrate  midnight  mass. 

By  the  time  services  came  to  an  end, 
the  moon  was  out,  and  the  boys  obviously 
had   something   more   up   their  sleeves. 

"Of  course,"  they  said,  polite  but  wistful, 
"we  don't  want  to  keep  you  girls  up  if 
you're  tired  but — " 

But  the  baseball  park  had  been  flooded 
for  skating,  and  it  looked  unbelievably 
lovely  in  the  moonlight,  and  of  course  the 
girls  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything, 
so  they  skated  their  legs  off  until  3  in  the 
morning,  then  went  home  and  gathered 
in  the  kitchen  for  fruitcake  and  wine, 
sent  over  with  the  compliments  of  General 
Buckner,  while  they  opened  Christmas 
packages  from  their  families. 

They  didn't  expect  nor  want  nor  get 
much  sleep.  But  they  couldn't  figure  out 
the  sound  of  sleighbells  next  morning 
which  seemed  to  come  from  right  inside 
the  house.  Marvelle  rolled  out  of  bed  and 
trailed  the  jingle  to  its  source. 

"It's  the  phone,"  she  squealed.  "The 
telephone  rings  like  sleighbells." 

And  it  kept  on  ringing,  bringing  so  many 
invitations  to  breakfast  and  lunch  that 
the  girls  divided  forces  and  ate  at  different 


mess  halls.  Again  they  went  to  the  hos- 
pital, and  sang  the  same  songs  over  and 
over.  But  mostly  that  day  they  sat  and 
talked  to  the  boys,  though  Ingrid  remem- 
bers with  humor  and  compassion  the  boy 
who  didn't  talk. 

All  he  said  to  her  was  yes  and  no, 
looking  hunted,  and  finally  he  shoved  his 
chair  back  in  desperation. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  me.  It's  two  and 
a  half  years  since  I  talked  to  a  girl.  I 
don't  know  how  any  more."  And  he  turned 
and  fled. 

But  he  was  the  exception.  For  the  most 
part,  in  ward  or  mess-hall,  what  struck 
Ingrid  was  their  hunger  for  talk. 

It  wasn't  your  being  in  the  movies  that 
made  it  important.  They  were  just  as 
happy,  says  Ingrid,  to  talk  to  Nancy,  who 
wasn't  a  professional  at  all.  They  asked 
questions  about  Hollywood,  but  many 
more  about  home.  What  was  it  like  in  the 
States  now?  What  were  people  doing? 
When  did  they  think  the  war  would  be 
over?  They  showed  you  snapshots.  An 
MP,  the  father  of  four  children,  drew 
Ingrid  into  a  long  and  earnest  discussion 
on  the  raising  of  youngsters.  One  boy  said: 
"Just  to  see  someone  from  home — it's  a 
little  as  though  you'd  been  home  yourself." 

And  through  all  their  talk  ran  one 
ever-recurring  theme— that  Neil  and  the 
girls  should  have  come  for  the  holidays, 
at  a  time  when  everybody  most  wanted  to 
be  with  their  folks!  That  Ingrid  should 
have  left  her  little  girl — 

To  be  thanked  was  more  than  she  could 
bear.  "We  come  for  a  few  weeks.  You 
others  are  doing  so  much  more — " 

"It's  our  job." 

"It's  our  job,  too.  And,"  she  added,  "a 
great  privilege,  besides." 

the  real  meaning  ... 

Next  day,  as  the  plane  rose  over  Elmen- 
dorf  Field  on  its  way  to  their  next  stop, 
Ingrid  felt  it  was  she  who  owed  a  debt  of 
gratitude.  Almost  every  year  since  coming 
to  America,  she'd  been  working  at  Christ- 
mastime. Working  till  the  last  minute. 
Scrambling  to  buy  gifts.  Resting  all  Christ- 
mas day  because  she  was  too  tired  for 
anything  else.  Somewhere  in  the  shuffle 
you  lost  the  meaning  of  the  season.  Here, 
it  had  been  restored.  Christmas  was  noth- 
ing unless  you  gave  of  yourself  to  meet 
the  need  of  others,  whatever  that  need 
might  be — the  warmth  of  a  coat  or  the 
warmth  of  a  friendly  hand.  Actually,  you 
were  giving  to  yourself  in  values  that 
couldn't  be  measured  nor  bought  in  a  shop. 

"It's  their  gift  to  me,"  she  thought.  "A 
Christmas  I'll  never  forget." 

Six  weeks  later  they  were  home,  the 
whole  thing  a  howling  success  but  for 
one  disappointment. 

Pia  had  expected  her  mother  to  bring 
back  a  bear. 

That  was  four  years  ago. 

This  Christmas,  Neil  Hamilton's  in  New 
York,  after  a  road  tour  with  State  of  the 
Union. 

Marvelle,  married  to  the  police  chief  of 
Burbank,  has  retired  from  professional 
life. 

Joan's  still  in  radio  and  has  just  finished 
Mary  Lou  for  Columbia. 

Nancy's  husband  did  come  back.  They 
have  a  baby. 

Since  first  starting  in  movies,  Ingrid's 
dream  of  dreams  has  been  to  do  Joan  of 
Arc  for  the  screen.  This  Christmas  her 
dream  is  coming  true. 

Most  of  the  boys  at  Anchorage — those 
who  stayed  safe  and  healthy  and  alive — 
are  at  home.  The  war  is  over,  but  the 
peace  isn't  won — largely  because  all  over 
the  world  except  here  people  are  hungry. 
That's  why  Ingrid  holds  tight  to  what  she 
re-learned  four  years  ago.  That  Christmas 
is  nothing  unless  you  give  of  yourself  to 
meet  the  needs  of  others. 


far  once  ihey 


tee 


/ 


Hope  and  Crosby,  in  the 

movies,  seldom  see  eye  to 
eye. 

But  there's  one  thing 
they  really  do  agree  on — they  both  think 
U.  S.  Savings  Bonds  make  wonderful 
Christmas  gifts! 


6m  the-  finest  qift of  all 

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95 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  81) 


his  exploits  is  ready  to  stop  fighting  a  duel  to 
make  love  as  he  is  to  stop  making  love  to 
fight  a  duel.  In  Eighteenth  Century  Sicily  he 
has  achieved  quite  a  reputation  in  both  fields. 
At  present  he  is  in  Malta,  having  followed  a 
beautiful  blonde  that  far. 

The  patriot  forces  which  have  rebelled 
against  the  emperor  need  Casanova's  fighting 
ability  badly.  Lorenzo  (Turhan  Bey)  goes 
to  get  him.  Casanova  comes  back  enthusiasti- 
cally to  fight  for  his  beloved  Sicily. 

He  institutes  a  new  system  of  guerilla  war- 
fare, and  kidnaps  the  governor's  brother.  By 
using  him  as  a  hostage  he  persuades  the 
governor  to  give  the  people  more  food.  He 
also  meets  the  governor's  daughter.  Lady 
Bianca  (Noreen  Nash),  and  somewhat  to  his 
disappointment  finds  she  is  engaged  to  his 
best  friend,  Lorenzo.  Anyway,  she  has  a 
very  pretty  lady  in  waiting,  Zanetta  (Lucille 
Bremer),  who  suits  his  taste  better. 

Zanetta,  dressed  as  a  man,  comes  to  the 
patriot  force  with  a  message  that  Lady  Bianca 
is  going  to  join  them.  Casanova  greets  her 
politely,  and  pretends  he  has  no  idea  she 
isn't  a  man. 

From  here  on,  everyone  so  far  mentioned  gets 
captured  by  one  side  or  the  other. — EagJe-Lion 

CALL  NORTHSIDE  777 

In  1932  there  was  a  crime  wave  in  Chicago 
that  made  every  other  crime  wave  look  like 
boys  playing  cops  and  robbers  in  a  vacant 
lot.  And  in  1932,  a  policeman  named  Bundy, 
among  others,  was  shot.  Eventually,  two 
men  went  to  prison  for  the  crime. 

Eleven  years  later,  the  city  editor  of  the 
Chicago  Times,  Kelly  (Lee  J.  Cobb),  finds 
himself  staring  at  an  ad  in  his  own  paper. 
It  says  "Information  wanted  on  the  murder 
of  Officer  Bundy.  Five  thousand  reward. 
Call  Northside  777." 

Obviously,  something  is  up,  and  obviously 
Kelly  wants  to  know  what  it  is.  The  man 
he   picks    to    find    out    is   McNeil  (Jimmy 


The  Snake  Pit:  O.  De  Havilland  plays  the  psychopath  who  can't  remember  husband  tvl.  Stevens. 


Stewart).  At  first,  it  seems  like  a  bad  choice. 
McNeil's  sympathy  lies  more  with  the  mur- 
dered policeman  than  with  the  men  Wiecek 
(Richard  Conte)  and  Zaleska  (Richard 
Tyne),  who  are  supposed  to  have  shot  him. 

Then  he  meets  Wiecek's  mother.  It's  she 
who  put  the  ad  in  the  paper. 

So  McNeil  goes  on  up  to  the  prison  and 
talks  to  Wiecek.  He  still  isn't  convinced, 
one  way  or  the  other.  But  he  agrees  to 
investigate.  'He  finds  that  Wiecek's  wife  has 
divorced  him  and  re-married.  When  he 
talks  to  her,  she  says,  "He  made  me  do  it, 
because  of  our  son.  He  doesn't  want  the 
other  kids  telling  him  his  dad's  a  jailbird." 

There  is  a  little  evidence  here,  a  little 
there.  Most  of  it  points  to  Wiecek's  inno- 
cence. But  against  it  is  the  damning,  terrify- 
ing evidence  of  an  "eye-witness."  Her  name 
is  Wanda  Skutnik  (Betty  Garde). 

McNeil  is  a  stubborn  man.  He  has  seen 
enough  to  convince  himself  of  Wiecek's  in- 
nocence and  he's  going  on  from  there.  Not 
Wanda,  nor  anyone  else  in  the  world,  can 
stop  him. — 20th-Fox 


Adventures  of  Casanova:  Dashing  Sicilian  lover,  A.  De  Cordova,  toasts  court  lady  Lucille  Bremer. 


THE  SNAKE  PIT 

In  the  old  days  they  threw  insane  people 
into  a  pit  full  of  snakes,  hoping  the  shock 
would  cure  them.  Even  modern  science- 
uses  shock  treatment,  though  of  quite  a  differ- 
ent kind.  It  still  isn't  pretty,  but  neither  is 
the  fact  that  one  out  of  every  twenty  people 
in  the  U.  S.  spends  part  of  his  life  in  a 
mental  hospital.  Think  of  that  when  you 
watch  the  picture. 

Snake  Pit  tells  the  story  of  Virginia 
Cunningham  (Olivia  De  Havilland),  who 
wakes  up  one  bleak  November  day  and  finds 
herself  in  a  state  mental  hospital.  She  has 
little  or  no  memory  of  anything  since  the 
May  before.  Now  she  is  surrounded  by  in- 
sane people,  and  by  doctors  and  nurses  who 
are  too  hurried  or  too  hardened  to  care 
about  what  happens  to  her  as  a  person. 

There's  an  exception  to  this.  Doctor  Kik 
(Leo  Genn).  To  him,  a  patient  is  always  an 
individual.  He  is  particularly  interested  in 
the  case  of  Virginia.  In  her  denial  that  she 
has  a  husband,  although  Robert  Cunningham 
(Mark  Stevens)  comes  to  see  her  every 
visiting  day.  In  her  violent  reaction  to  the 
rag  doll  another  patient  gives  her.  In  the 
fits  of  violence  which  set  her  back  just  as 
she  seems  to  be  improving. 

Virginia  gets  shock  treatments.  She  gets 
cold  baths  and  wet  packs.  She  gets  the 
works.  And  she  still  goes  berserk  now  and 
then  because  of  things  that  are  going  on  in 
her  mind.  Things  she  thinks  she  can't  tell 
even  Dr.  Kik.  So  she  goes  back,  eventually, 
to  the  violent  ward.  That's  as  far  back 
as  you  can  go. 

Curiously  enough,  it  is  here  that  Virginia 
begins  to  realize  she  is  regaining  her  mental 
equilibrium.  She  recognizes  Robert  now 
when  he  comes  to  see  her,  and  feels  the 
old  kinship  with  him.  And  now,  at  last, 
she  devotes  all  her  efforts  to  getting  well — 
well  enough  to  go  home. 

There  are  superb  performances  in  The 
Snake  Pit.  I  happened  to  like  Leo  Genn 
best.  You  may  prefer  Olivia  De  Havilland 
or  Mark  Stevens  or  Celeste  Holm.  It's  a 
picture  you  should  see. — 20th-Fox 


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7 


II 


GIRL:  What  do  you  mean,  party  line?  I  never  get  a  buzz  to  go  to  a 
party.  As  far  as  men  are  concerned,  this  is  strictly  a  dead  wire! 

CUPID:  For  whom  the  bell  doesn't  toll,  eh?  Well,  Gloom  Child, 
didn't  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  the  big-time  operators  like  their 
party  girls  equipped  with  dazzling  smiles? 


GIRL:  And  where  do  I  phone  for  one  of  those?  I  brush  my  teeth  — but 
regularly.  And  I  still  wind  up  with  the  same  old  wrong-number  smile! 

CUPID:  Hmmmm  . . .  Been  noticing  any  "pink"  on  your 
tooth  brush  these  days? 

GIRL:  Uh-huh  —  the  loveliest  shade  of  pink  you  ever— 

CUPID:  For  your  information,  Cookie,  that 
"pink"  means  see  your  dentist.  Could  be  serious. 
Or  could  be  that  soft  foods  are  robbing  your 
gums  of  exercise.  In  which  case,  he  may 
suggest  "the  helpful  stimulation  of 
Ipana  and  gentle  massage." 


GIRL:  And  — zing!  —  I  get  a  smile  that  sparkles  like  sequins,  I  suppose? 

CUPID:  Listen,  dateless-and-mateless:  A  sparkling  smile  depends  so 
much  on  firm,  healthy  gums.  So  if  your  dentist  advises  Ipana 
and  massage,  pay  attention!  Get  yourself  an  Ipana  smile,  Honey  . . . 
and  you'll  have  to  get  a  switchboard  to  handle  your  calls! 


Product  oj  Bristol-Myers 


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and  the  beauty  of  your  smile  that  9  out  of  10  dentists 
recommend  it  regularly  or  in  special  cases,  according  to 
a  recent  national  survey.  Same  survey  shows  dentists 
recommend  and  use  Ipana  2  to  1  over  any  other  tooth 
paste!  Help  your  dentist  guard  your  smile  of  beauty! 


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STAYS  MOIST  IN  JAR,!  NEVER  GRITTY*  OR.  GRAINY  1 


FEBRUARY,  1948 


modern  screen 


i  mi 


stories 


THEY  KNEW  WHAT  THEY  WANTED  (Roy  Rogers-Dale  Evans) 

by  Cynthia  Miller  14 

TOUGH  BREAK,  GENE  (Gene  Kelly)  by  Fred  Astaire  24 

SPEAKING  FRANKLY  (Cornel  Wilde-Pat  Knight)  by  Ed  Sullivan  27 

THERE  OUGHT  TO  BE  A  WIFE  (Guy  Madison)  by  Louis  Pollock  28 

NORTH  TO  'FRISCO  (Gregory  Peck)                                  by  Cameron  Shipp  30 

IT  HAPPENED  IN  HOBOKEN  (Frank  Sinatra)  by  Christopher  Kane  34 

GODDESS  IN  THE  FAMILY  (Maureen  O'Hara)  by  Mrs.  Rita  FitzSimons  36 

HOMECOMING  (Esther  Williams)  *.by  Jack  Wade  38 

DREAM  GIRL  (Shirley  Temple)  by  Ida  Zeitlin  42 

STORK  CLUB  by  Sherman  Billingsley  46 

THE  YEARS  BETWEEN  (Richard  Greene)  by  Virginia  Wilson  48 

ARTFUL  DODGER  (Bing  Crosby)  by  Hedda  Hopper  50 

"EASY  STREET"  (Richard  Conte)  by  Kaaren  Pieck  52 

COMMAND  PERFORMANCE  ;  by  Inez  Robb  54 

THE  LADDS,  INC.  (Alan  Ladd)  by  Howard  Sharpe  56 

V.  J.  DAY  (Van  Johnson)                                                          by  Hank  Jeffries  58 

FIRST  LOVE  (Jane  Powell)  by  Arthur  L  Charles  60 

DARK  MAN  IN  YOUR  FUTURE  (Ricardo  Montalban)  by  George  Benjamin  62 

features 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parson  4 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:   "Gentleman's  Agreement"   22 

departments 

REVIEWS  by  Virginia  Wilson  18 

INFORMATION  DESK  by  Beverly  Linet  25 

FASHION  by  Constance  Bartel  65 

BEAUTY:  "Pink  Lady"  by  Carol  Carter  76 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  82 

FAN  CLUBS  by  Shirley  Frohlich  86 

COVER  PORTRAIT  OF  SHIRLEY  TEMPLE  (STAR  OF  THAT  HAGEN  GIRL') 
BY  NICKOLAS  MURAY 
DESIGNED  BY  LESTER  BEALL 
MISS  TEMPLE'S  SWEATER  BY  FEATHERKNITS,  GLOVES  BY  ARIS, 
STOCKING  CAP  GLENTOP  BY  GLENTEX 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  research  editor 
CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 


HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 
GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 
BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 
DON  ORNITZ,  staff  photographer 
BERT  PARRY,  n.  y.  staff  photographer 
CARL  SCHROEDER,  editorial  consultant 
JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 


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louella  parsons'  good  news 


At  the  Calif,  send-off  of  the  Friendship  Food  Train  were  Van  Johnson, 
Claude  Jarman,  Jr.,  and  Bev  Tyler.  Radio  commentator,  Drew  Pearson, 
dreamt  up  idea — food  collected  in  the  U.S.A.  will  be  sent  to  Europe. 


Strictly  from  hunger  is  the  sound  coming  out  of  Red  Skelton's  horn. 
Lauritz  Melchior  used  his  cigar  as  a  baton,  but  Van  just  wouldn't  listen. 
Ava  Gardner  smiled  bravely  for  the  cause  at  the  Friendship  Train  party. 


■  Up  till  now,  the  S164  Question  has  been, 
"Will  Lana  Turner  marry  Tyrone  Power?" 

But  as  I  write  this,  their  romance  is  off.  The 
squabbling  all  started  when  Ty  hung  up  on 
Lana  from  Rome,  after  he  heard  she  had 
stepped  out,  but  love  was  ever  thus.  He  called 
back  in  a  few  days,  and  according  to  Lana 
herself,  everything  was  sunshine  and  roses. 

"You  sure  everything  is  all  right?"  I 
asked  her. 

"Oh.  yes,  oh,  yes,  indeed!"  she  told  me. 
"He's  going  to  see  me  first  of  all." 

There  had  been  rumors  Ty  had  a  new 
girl  in  Rome,  and  Lana  was  so  furious  that 
she  gave  her  smiles  to  an  old  flame,  whose 
name  I  refuse  to  mention. 

Lana  had  seemed  depressed  and  very  dis- 
pirited for  a  few  weeks.  Then,  with  that 
mercurial  change  that  is  so  Lana-like,  she 
was  radiant  again. 

By  this  time,  Annabella  has  probably  filed 
her  divorce  in  Los  Angeles.  Of  course,  there 
is  a  year's  wait  in  California  before  it  will 
become  final.  I  happen  to  know  the  reason 
Annabella  is  suing  is  that  she  has  her  own 


love  life.  She  is  madly  in  love  with  a  young 
Russian  prince  who  belongs  to  the  Romanoff 
family.  He  is  in  the  perfume  business.  He's 
no  relation  to  Mike  Romanoff,  but  is  honestly 
and  truly  a  relative  of  the  late  Czar. 

Will  Lana  and  Tyrone  marry?  As  of  today, 
I  doubt  it  very  much.  They  seem  to  have 
made  a  clean  break,  but  anything  can  happen 
in  a  year.  I  do  know  that  the  separation, 
while  Ty  was  in  Europe,  wasn't  the  least  bit 
good  for  them.  Some  people  flourish  when 
they're  apart.  Not  Lana  and  Ty,  who  are 
among  those  who  should  have  stayed  side 
by  side  if  they  wanted  their  romance  to 
prosper  and  continue. 

If  Lana  and  Ty  really  had  cared  as  much 
as  Lana  told  me,  and  as  much  as  Ty  said 
before  he  went  abroad,  maybe  it  would  have 
meant  marriage,  but  who  could  ever  dare 
hazard  a  guess  where  that  Turner  girl  is 
concerned? 

At  the  moment,  it  looks  as  though  the  two 
have  made  a  clean  break. 

*       ■#  # 
The  clock  had  just  struck  two  o'clock  in 


the  morning  when  Mrs.  Burt  Lancaster  nudged 
her  sleeping  husband  and  said,  "Honey,  I 
think  you'd  better  take  me  to  the  hospital." 

Now,  ordinarily,  in  a  case  like  this,  when 
the  Stork  is  flapping  wings — you  would  think 
it  would  call  for  a  lot  of  excitement.  But 
five  times  in  the  past,  Mr.  Lancaster  had 
taken  Mrs.  L.  to  the  hospital — and  five  times 
he  had  brought  her  home.  False  alarm! 

So  he  merely  said,  "You  sure?" 

And  she  answered,  "No.    But,  maybe." 

So  the  Lancasters  arose,  decided  they  were 
hungry,  made  coffee  and  scrambled  eggs  be- 
fore Burt  got  out  the  car.  Casually,  they 
motored  down  to  the  hospital  where  he  left 
her  with  the  following  comment: 

"Have  a  good  night's  sleep,  honey.  I'll 
pick  you  up  in  the  morning — same  as  usual." 

"Okay,"  said  Mrs.  Lancaster,  yawning.  "I 
wish  I  had  a  good  book." 

Five  hours  later,  the  telephone  rang,  an- 
nouncing that  Mr.  Lancaster  was  the  father 
of  an  eight-pound,  ten-ounce  son. 

"My  God!"  yelled  Burt.  "It  can't  be!  I  didn't 
Dace  the  floor!" 


Ermine-wrapped  Mrs.  Harry  Karl  (Marie  McDonald)  and  Elizabeth 
Taylor  added  glamor  to  the  Friendship  Train  festivities.  Friends  say  that 
Marie,  whose  M-G-M  contract  expires  soon,  may  give  up  her  career. 


Things  were  fine  in  the  Crystal  Room  of  the  Beverly  Hills  Hotel  when 
this  snap  of  Diana  Lynn  and  Bob  Neal  was  made.  Since  then,  there've 
been  rumors  that  their  marriage  plans  are  off;  Diana's  dating  others. 


Gene  Kelly  came  to  Lana's  N.  Y.  cocktail  party  with  his  foot  in  a   rocker-like  cast.  He  broke  his  ankle  doing  a  routine,  but  he'll  dance  again. 


The  Friars'  Club  gave  a  testimonial  dinner  for  Bob  Hope  at  the  Biltmore  Bowl,  but  Jack  Benny  said 
they  should  have  stayed  home  to  listen  to  his  radio  show  (it  was  Sunday).  Gags  flew,  and  the 
evening  ended  with  songs  by  Jolson.  Around  Bob  are  Jessel,  Benny,  Cantor,  Burns,  Kyser  and  Al. 


louella  parsons'  good  news 


(Advertisement) 

*  '  ★     *     *  * 

At  the  first 

blush  of 
Womanhood 


by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 


Many  mysterious  changes  take  place  in 
your  body  as  you  approach  womanhood. 
For  instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under 
your  arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type 
of  perspiration  you  have  never  known 
before.  This  is  closely  related  to  physical 
development  and  is  especially  evident  in 
young  women.  It  causes  an  unpleasant 
odor  on  both  your  person  y.ndyour  clothes. 

No  need  for  alarm— There  is  nothing 
"wrong"  with  you.  It  is  just  another  sign 
you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a  girl.  It  is  also 
a  warning  that  now  you  must  select  a 
truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers  to  overcome  —  Underarm 
odor  is  a  real  handicap  at  this  age  when 
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cream  deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially 
to  overcome  this  very  difficulty.  It  kills 
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safe.  Moreover,  it  protects  against  a.  sec- 
ond danger— perspiration  stains.  The 
physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  of  the  teens  and  twenties  can 
cause  the  apocrine  glands  to  fairly  gush 
perspiration.  A  dance,  a  date,  an  embar- 
rassing remark  may  easily  make  you  per- 
spire and  offend  as  well  as  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  not  alike  —  Don't  take 
chances!  Rely  on  Arrid  which  stops 
underarm  perspiration  as  well  as  odor. 
No  other  deodorant  gives  you  the  same 
intimate  protection  as  Arrid's  exclusive 
formula.  That's  why  Arrid  is  so  popular 
with  girls  your  age.  They  buy  more  Arrid 
than  any  other  age  group.  More  nurses- 
more  men  and  women  everywhere  — use 
Arrid  than  any  other  deodorant. 

How  to  protect  yourself —You'll  find  the 
new  Arrid  a  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears  in  a  jiffy. 
Never  gritty  or  grainy.  The  American  In- 
stitute of  Laundering  has  awarded  Arrid 
its  Approval  Seal  —  harmless  to  fabrics. 
Gentle,  antiseptic  Arrid  will  not  irritate 
skin.  No  other  deodorant  tested  stops 
perspiration  and  odor  so  completely  yet 
so  safely! 

Don't  be  half -safe  — During  this  "age  of 
courtship,"  don't  let  perspiration  prob- 
lems spoil  your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe— 
be  Arrid-safe!  Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get 
Arrid  right  away,  only  39^  plus  tax  at 
your  favorite  drug  counter. 

*       *       *       *  * 


It  ever  two  people  belonged  together,  it's 
Jane  Wyman  and  Ronald  Reagan.  Because 
they  are  both  old  and  dear  friends  of  mine, 
I  hate  to  report  they're  at  the  breaking  point, 
with  Jane  sitting  it  out  alone  in  her  hotel  room. 
Ronnie  refuses  to  take  any  parting  from  Jane 
seriously,  believing  that  now  she's  just  com- 
pletely exhausted  from  her  last  film,  Johnny 
Belinda.  I  sincerely  hope  he's  right,  for  they 
based  their  marriage  on  too  solid  a  foundation 
to  wreck  it. 

*        *  * 

If  I  had  planned  my  New  York  trip  that 
way,  I  couldn't  have  hit  the  Big  Town  when 
there  were  more  Hollywood  stars  on  hand. 
Every  place  I  went  it  was  like  "Old  Home 
Week,"  waving  to  Irene  Dunne,  Lana  Turner, 
Joan  Crawford,  Greer  Garson,  Gene  Tierney, 
Frank  Sinatra,  the  Fred  MacMurrays,  Joan 
Fontaine,  Ann  Sheridan,  Marlene  Dietrich — 
and,  oh  well,  EVERYBODY! 

I  want  to  say  right  here  that  I  couldn't 
have  been  prouder  of  the  Hollywood  con- 
tingent. During  my  entire  stay,  I  didn't  see 
anyone  from  movietown  do  anything  out  of 
line — and  that's  more  than  I  can  say  for  q 
few  of  the  "sassiety"  lights. 

For  instance,  at  the  wonderful  cocktail 
party  Sherman  Billingsley  gave  in  my  honor 
at  the  Stork  Club  (a  party  I  shall  never  for- 
get!) Marlene  Dietrich  was  there — also  72- 
year-old  Mrs.  Frank  Henderson,  of  the  New 
York  social  set.  Just  a  few  days  previous, 
Mrs.  Henderson  had  hit  the  front  pages  of 
the  newspapers  by  putting  her  feet  up  on  a 
table  between  acts  of  the  opera. 


Even  so,  everyone  was  flabbergasted  when 
she  swept  down  on  Marlene  at  my  party 
saying  she  wanted  her  legs  photographed 
with  Dietrich's  famous  gams  so  the  world 
could  compare  their  respective  stems. 

Poor  Marlene  was  in  a  spot.  But  Parsons 
wasn't.  I  said,  "No  picture!"  and  meant  it. 

I  was  also  impressed  with  Lana  Turner's 
sweetness  and  thoughtfulness  in  getting  out 
of  a  sick  bed  to  come  to  my  party. 

It  was  wonderful  seeing  Joan  Fontaine,  so 
much  the  lady  and  so  perfectly  groomed. 

The  most  modest  guest  of  all  was  Frank 
Sinatra,  conducting  himself  so  inconspicuously 
in  the  big  crowd  that  he  might  have  been  a 
young  business  man  instead  of  the  idol  of 
the  bobby-soxers. 

Gene  Tierney  and  Ann  Sheridan  looked 
far  less  like  typical  movie  stars  than  several 
debutantes  present. 

"Flashy"  Hollywood  movie  stars?  Don't 
make  me  laugh. 

*        *  * 

One  of  the  best  times  I  had  in  my  New 
York  whirl — and  I  mean  whirl — was  doing 
the  town  with  Bob  Hope  and  Dolores. 

Bob,  you  know,  covered  the  Command 
Performance  and  Princess  Elizabeth's  wed- 
ding on  my  air  show,  so,  of  course,  we  had 
many  conferences  before  he  sailed.  But  it 
wasn't  all  business — not  by  a  long  shot. 

The  beautiful  Dolores  and  Bob  met  me  at 
the  Stork  Club,  and  from  there  on — we  just 
kept  going. 

The  most  fun  was  at  Leon  and  Eddie's,  for 
a   very  special   reason.   When    the  Hopes 


has  to  look 
to  his  future 
...  a  woman 
has  to  look 
to  her  past!" 


I  »  • 


11 


7-  KM  | 


production  of 

Cheat-  ^ftti/eZyt/eJ^  £cxisz</aff^/s?^  S&medtf- 


with 


V 


Color  by 

TECHNICOLOR 


Giynis  Johns  •  Constance  Collier  •  Sir  Aubrey  Smith  •  Hugh  Williams 


Produced  and  Directed  by 


I  KIR 


Screen  Play  by  Lajos  Biro  •  From  the  Play  by  Oscar  Wilde 
A  London  Film  Production  •  Released  by  Century-Fox 


Edward  G.  Robinson  congratulated  Jean  Her- 
sholt,  celebrating  his  - 1  Oth  anniversary  as  Dr. 
Christian,  at  a  party  given  by  Jean's  sponsors. 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Kirk  Douglas  listen  to  Cornel  Wilde,  in  an  expansive  mood,  at 
the  Hersholt  party.  Reason  for  Cornel's  happiness  is  that  wife  Pat  Knight, 
after  a    brief   New   York   jaunt,    is   now   back   with    him    in  Hollywood. 


8 


Instead  of  regular  dramatic  sketch,  guests,  including  Joan 
Bennett,  Ted  and  Betty  Hutton  Briskin,  joined  with  Jean  and 
cast  in  an  informal  broadcast  direct  from  Crystal  Room. 


were  courtin'  they  did  most  of  their  hand- 
holding  in  this  place.  In  fact,  this  is  where 
he  asked  her  to  marry  him. 

Talk  about  celebrations — they  turned  the 
place  inside  out.  Bob  had  everybody  rolling 
in  the  aisles  with  his  wisecracks,  but  I'll 
have  to  admit  that  for  one  of  the  few  times 
in  his  life — someone  else  stole  the  show 
from  him. 

I  mean — Dolores,  who  hasn't  sung  pro- 
fessionally in  over  twelve  years,  surprised 
everyone  by  getting  up  and  putting  her 
heart  into  "Smoke  Gets  In  Your  Eyes" — and 
she  was  wonderful. 

That's  the  song  that  was  the  big  hit  when 
they  first  fell  in  love,  and  it  will  always  mean 
something  special  to  them.  It  was  a  marvelous, 
nostalgic  evening,  and  I'm  so  glad  they 
asked  me  along. 

The  only  person  I  met  who  didn't  have 
a  sensational  time  in  New  York  was  Greer 
Garson — and  that  wasn't  her  fault.  Greer 
had  been  in  a  whirl,  appearing  everywhere 
with  attractive  beaux,  when  suddenly,  she 
was  taken  ill. 

Without  saying  a  word  to  anyone,  she 
went  off  to  a  Boston  hospital  all  by  herself 
and  underwent  a  minor  operation. 


THE  NEARER  THEY  GET  TO  THEIR  TREASURE 
THE  FARTHER  THEY  GET  FROM  THE  LAW! 


.HUMPHREY 


BOGART  hMi 

■■^  ■       ■  ■       •    ■  SCREEN   PLAY  BY  JOHN   HI  1ST 


TIM  HOLT-BRUCE  BENNETT 


DIRECTED  BY  PRODUCED  BY 

JOHN  HUSTON  •  HENRY BLANKE 

SCREEN  PLAY  BY  JOHN  HUSTON  .  BASED  ON  THE  NOVEL  BY  B.  TRAVEN  .  MUSIC  BY  MAX  STEINER 


We're  heroes  to  the  countless  women  who 
use  DeLong  Bob  Pins  . . .  They  fasten  a 
medal  on  us  every  time  they  step  up  to  the 
counter  and  ask  for  DeLong,  the  Bob  Pin 
with  the  Stronger  Qrip  . . .  We're  grateful,  too. 
That's  why  we  spare  no  effort  to  turn 
out  a  better  Bob  Pin,  one  made  of  stronger 
stee!  that  keeps  its  snap  and  shape  longer 
and  stays  in  your  hair  dutifully. 
Always  remember  DeLong  for  — 

Stronger  Grip 

Won't  Slip  Out 


ot*GR.p-w0;V> 


Quality  ^Manufacturers  for  Over  50  years 

BOB  PINS  HAIR  PINS  SAFETY  PINS 

HOOKS  a  EYES  HOOK  &  EYE  TAPES 

10       SNAPS  PINS  SANITARY  BELTS 


louella 
parsons' 

good 
news 


Contrary  to  Friars'  rules,  ladies  were  invited  to  Hope 
Dinner,  so  Ron  Reagan  brought  Jane  Wyman.  They're 
back  from   location   on   her  pic,  Johnny  Belinda. 


Gloria  DeHaven  and  John  Payne  enjoyed  combined  talents  of  several  million  dollars'  worth 
of  entertainers.  Johnny's  difficulties  with  20th  Century-Fox  are  ironed  out  and  he  goes 
into   Sitting   Pretty.     He    was    miffed    when    Vic    Mature    got   Ballad   of  Furnace  Creek. 


I  felt  so  sorry  for  her,  both  ill  and  alone. 

I  wish  something  awfully  good  or  happy 
or  romantic  would  happen  to  Greer  to  help 
her  forget  all  her  worries  of  last  year. 

*  *  * 

Interior  Decorating  Tip  to  Bachelors:  Like 
to  read  the  funny  papers?  Well,  Lon  Mc- 
Callister  covered  a  couple  of  end  tables  in 
his  bar  with  strips  of  the  comic  section, 
shellacked  them,  and  they  are  the  "hit"  of 
the  newly-decorated  room. 

*  *  * 

Dana  Andrews  isn't  going  to  let  his  chil- 
dren see  Daisy  Kenyan — and  not  because 
he  didn't  enjoy  working  with  Joan  Craw- 
ford and  Henry  Fonda. 

"I  don't  want  the  kids  seeing  me  playing 
a  chiseling  husband  trying  to  take  another's 
man's  wife  away  from  him,"  Dana  says — 
and  I  say,  good  for  him.  If  other  parents  were 
as  careful,  it  would  be  a  great  thing. 

Speaking  of  the  popular  Mr.  Andrews — 
he  certainly  gave  his  wife  a  big  thrill  when 


he  walked  in,  on  their  eighth  wedding  an- 
niversary, with  the  most  gorgeous  pin — a 
snow  flake  design  set  in  moonstones. 

This  is  the  first  year  they  have  ever  ex- 
changed anniversary  gifts. 

"Before  this,  we  were  too  poor  and  needed 
the  money  for  more  practical  things,"  Dana 
says. 

I  am  really  sorry  Humphrey  Bogart  got  in 
that  Washington  mess,  because  it  is  going  to 
take  a  while  for  the  fans  who  idolize  him  to 
forget  it.  Most  of  them  feel  he  shouldn't  have 
put  himself  in  the  position  of  sympathizing 
with  the  people  accused  of  being  Red. 

However,  I  don't  intend  to  go  into  the 
Communistic  question.  I  just  want  to  say 
that  no  motion  picture  star  should  get  mixed 
up,  in  the  future,  in  any  of  these  so-called 
"causes".  John  Garfield  told  me  he  has 
learned  his  lesson  and  is  no  longer  on  a 
soapbox. 


STAR  FILMS  presents 


mam 


TOM  TULLY  •  MARVIN  MILLER  •  DAN  SEYMOUR 

Screenplay  by  Barry  Trivers  and  George  Slavin 

two,  EDWIN  L.  MARIN 


if 


Released  thru  United  Artists 


11 


WARNING! 

\EVER  TANGLE  WITH 

THE 

MAN 

FROM 

TEXAS 


EAGLE  LION  FILMS  presents 

'THE  MAN  FROM  TEXAS" 

starring 

JAMES  CRAIG  •  LYNN  BARI 
JOHNNIE  JOHNSTON 

I  with  UNA  MERKEL  •  WALLY  FORD  •  HARRY  DAVENPORT 
SARA  ALLGOOD  •  Produced  by  JOSEPH  FIELDS 
Directed  by  LEIGH  JASON 
Screen  Play  by  JOSEPH  FIELDS  and  JEROME  CHODOROV 
Based  on  the  Stage  Play  by  E.  6.  GINTY 


I've  warned  this  girl  before — but  I'm  going 
to  do  it  again! 

Your  "innocent"  little  flirtations  on  the  set 
are  going  to  break  up  your  supposedly 
happy  marriage! 

Maybe  it  doesn't  mean  anything  that  you 
and  your  leading  man  drive  off  the  lot  for 
lunch,  or  that  he  frequently  picks  you  up  at 
the  beauty  parlor. 

But  big  debacles  from  little  actions  grow 
and  you  are  headed  for  our  next  "surprise" 
separation   unless   you  mind   your  conduct. 

Don't  you  believe  those  rumors  that  there's 
a  feud  on  between  20th's  two  good  looking 
"gangster"  stars — Victor  Mature  and  Richard 
Widmark.  Those  kids  are  a  mutual  admira- 
tion society. 

Vic  was  telling  his  boss,  Darryl  Zanuck, 
how  "good  Widmark  would  be  for  The  Chair 
for  Marrin  florae.  Darryl  said,  "Well,  he 
isn't  going  to  do  it." 

"Why?"  asked  Vic. 

"Because  I've  assigned  it  to  you,"  answered 

the  Head  Man — and  that's  the  first  Vic  knew 

he  was  going  to  make  that  picture. 

*        *  * 


Nancy  Sinatra  was  on  the  long  distance 
'phone  in  Hollywood  telling  Frankie  in  New 
York  that  what  they  hoped  for  was  true — 
they  were  going  to  have  another  baby — when 
the  radio  blared  out  the  absurd  news  that 
they  had  had  a  big  quarrel  and  were 
separating! 

I'll  say  one  thing  for  that  Nancy.  She 
keeps  her  head.  She  was  angry  and  annoyed, 
of  course,  at  the  ridiculous  gossip.  She  had 
not  expected  to  tell  the  world  the  news 
about  the  new  arrival  for  several  months,  be- 
cause she  thinks  it  bad  taste  to  announce 
news  like  this  the  split  second  you  yourself 
hear  about  it. 

(But,  I  heard  it  and  not  only  had  a 
"scoop",  but  I  believe  I  was  a  factor  in 
assuring  Frankie's  wild-eyed  followers  that 
there  is  no  trouble  at  the  Sinatra's.) 

Then,  Nancy  packed  her  bags,  and  she  and 
the  two  children  took  off  for  Palm  Springs — 
but  not  to  hibernate.  She  has  been  at  the 
Lone  Pine  Hotel,  having  a  good  time  with 
the  other  Hollywooders  there,  including  the 
Lou  Costellos,  the  Bill  Holdens  and  Betty 
Hutton  and  her  husband. 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

Do  you  like  what  we  write?  Do  you  care  for  our  choice  of  stars?  We're  really 
interested  in  your  opinions.  We're  giving  away  500  free  three-months'  subscriptions 
to  MODERN  SCREEN  just  to  find  out  how  we  rate  with  you.  Check  the  questionnaire 
below,  and  the  first  500  of  you  who  send  it  back  to  us  will  receive  the  March, 
April  and  May  issues  absolutely  free.    Just  speak  your  mind.    But  don't  delay! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  February  issue?  WRITE  THE 
NUMBERS  I,  2  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and.  3rd  CHOICES. 


Tough  Break,  Gene!  (Gene 

Kelly)  by  Fred  Astaire  □ 

They  Knew  What  They  Wanted 
(Roy  Rogers-Dale  Evans)  O 

Speaking  Frankly   (Pat  Knight- 
Cornel  Wilde)   □ 

There  Ought  To  Be  A  Wile 

( Guy  Madison  )  □ 

North  To  Frisco  (Gregory  Peck)  .  □ 

The  Years  Between  (Richard 

Greene)    □ 

Goddess  In  The  Family  (Maureen 
O'Hara)   □ 

Homecoming  (Esther  Williams)  .  .  Q 

Dream  Girl  (Shirley  Temple)  .  .  .  .  □ 


Stork  Club   □ 

Command    Performance  □ 

Artful  Dodger   (Bing  Crosby) 

by  Hedda  Hopper  □ 

It  Happened  In  Hoboken 

(Frank  Sinatra)   □ 

Easy  Street  (Richard  Conte)  □ 

The  Ladds,  Inc.  (Alan  Ladd)  □ 

"V.  J."  Day  (Van  Johnson)  □ 

First1  Love  (Jane  Powell)  □ 

Dark  Man  In  Your  Future 

(Ricardo  Montalban)   □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  □ 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues:  List  them, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  


What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference   ■•• 

My  name  is  ...  ■  

My  address  is  

City  Zone  State  

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT..  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


I  am   years  old 


are  lux  Oiikl 


'A  Lux  Girl?  Indeed  I  am!' 
says  this  famous  star 

Betty  Hut  ion  is  one  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  famous  screen  stars 
who  use  gentle  Lux  Toilet 
Soap  beauty  care.  "It  really 
makes  skin  lovelier,"  she  says. 


star  of 
Paramount  Pictures' 

DREAM  GIRL' 


Here's  a  proved  complexion  care!  In  recent 
Lux  Toilet  Soap  tests  by  skin  specialists,  actually 
3  out  of  4  complexions  became  lovelier  in  a  short 
time!  No  wonder  famous  screen  stars  trust  their  million - 
dollar  complexions  to  this  gentle  beauty  care. 

"I  always  use  Lux  Toilet  Soap — it's  wonderful  the 
way  this  beauty  care  gives  skin  quick  new  loveliness!" 
Betty  Hutton  tells  you.  "I  work  the  fragrant  lather  in 
thoroughly.  As  I  rinse  and  then  pat  with  a  soft  towel 
to  dry,  my  skin  is  softer,  smoother!"  Don't  let  neglect 
cheat  you  of  romance.  Take  the  screen  stars'  tip! 


/j#  GSr/s  art  £o\/e//er/ 


13 


they  knew  what  they  wanted 


Roy  and  Dale,  exhausted  by  their  hectic  rodeo  tour,  announced 
in  November  that  they  planned  to  marry  New  Year's  Eve.  They'll 
honeymoon  in  Sun  Valley;  Dale  will  retire  from  films  after  that. 


Roy  and  Dale  worked  hard 

for  fortune  and  fame,  but  now  they'll 

have  what  they've  wanted 

even  more — life  under  the  open  sky. 

Hunting,  fishing,  riding  through  the 

California  mountains,  together  .  .  . 

BY  CYNTHIA  MILLER 


14 


■  I  sat  under  a  sycamore  tree  weighted  down 
with  mistletoe  and  had  a  heart-to-heart  talk 
with  Roy  Rogers,  handsome  and  athletic  King 
of  the  Cowboys,  while  he  was  on  location 
making  Under  California  Skies  for  Repub- 
lic, the  last  picture  he'll  be  doing  until  he's 
had  a  real  and  needed  rest.  The  mistletoe,  a 
fungus  growth  on  the  giant  sycamore,  made 
us  think  of  kisses — naturally — and  kisses  made 
us  think  of  romance — naturally.  And  the  first 
thing  I  knew,  Roy  was  telling  me  about  the 
plans  he  and  Dale  Evans  had  made  for  their 
marriage  on  the  last  day  of  the  Old  Year.  He 
told,  too,  of  his  hopes  for  this  bright  New  Year 
which,  he's  praying,  will  mean  renewed  health 
and  happiness  for  him. 

If  ever  a  fellow  deserved  health  and  happi- 
ness, it's  Roy.  But  King  Roy  is,  at  the  mo- 
ment, "plumb  tuckered  out."  This  popular 
and  indefatigable  star  has  made  ten  pictures 
without  a  single  break! 

King  Roy  made  a  picturesque  sight  as  he 
stretched  against  a  boulder  to  talk.  He  had 
just  done  battle  with  the  villain  of  the  film, 
and  his  face  was  bruised  and  battered.  Red 
gore,  the  kind  that  makeup  artists  sprinkle 
out  of  a  bottle,  smeared  his  ruggedly  attractive 
face. 

"The  feller  with  the  black  bag  and  the  pill 
bottles  told  me  I  (Continued  on  page  16) 


.  .  .  the  most 


tern 


a  man 


ifying 


words 


hisvered 


ever  wnisp 


to  a  woman  ! 


Jl\aJu^.  'fc^jiJldl^  presents 


tte  cast  o         year  in  the  picture  of  the  year! 

CLAUDETTE         ROBERT  DON 

COLBERT  •  CUMMINGS  •  AMECHE 


in  'Sty*? 


with  RITA  JOHNSON  •  GEORGE  COULOURIS  •  ralph  morgan  and 


HAZEL  BROOKS 


Produced  by  Chas.  Buddy  Rogers  and  Ralph  Cohn  ■  Associate  Producer  Harold  Greene  •  Screenplay  by  St.  Clair  McKelway  and  Leo  Rosten 
Directed  by  Douglas  Sirk  •  Director  of  Photography  Joseph  Valentine,  A.S.C.  •  A  Triangle  Production  released  thru  United  Artists 


Peter  Thompsons 

one  peeve  against 

cVlfomen 


ANDREA  KING,  FEATURED  IN  "RIDE  THE  PINK  HORSE", 
A  UNIVERSAL-INTERNATIONAL  PICTURE,  AND  PETER  THOMPSON 

Andrea  King  speaking: 

"Peter's  so  gallant — he'll  never  speak  harshly 
of  a  woman.  Except  —  he  can't  stand  it  if 
her  hands  are  coarse  and  rough.  No  wonder!  Our 
hands  can  be  nice  and  smooth  and  soft  if 
we  always  use  Jergens  Lotion.  Jergens  is  my  hand 
care ! "  The  Stars.  7  to  1,  use  Jergens  Lotion. 

Your  hands  deserve  as  good  care  as  the  Stars'  hands. 
And  today  their  hand  care  —  Jergens  Lotion  —  is 
finer  than  ever.  Makes  your  hands  feel  even  smoother, , 
softer;  protects  even  longer.  Two  skin-beautifying 
ingredients  many  doctors  use  are  both  in 
Jergens  Lotion.  Still  lOtf  to  $1.00  (plus  tax). 
Never  oily;  no  stickiness. 

Used  by  More  Women  than 
Any  Other  Hand  Care  in  the  World. 

For  the  Softest,  Adorable  Hands,  use  Jergens  Lotion 


His  Peeve? 


should  take  two  or  three  months'  rest." 
Roy  drawled  with  his  easy  grin  which 
lights  up  his  whole  face. 

"The  doc  said  I'd  have  to  lay  off  work 
for  a  spell.  And  that's  exactly  what  I  aim 
to  do  for  the  first  time  since  I  meandered 
up  to  Sol  Siegel  in  the  dining  room  at  Re- 
public Studio  back  in  1937,  and  got  my 
first  job  as  a  movie  actor." 

"What,  no  vacation  in  ten  years?" 

"That's  my  story,  ma'am.  Been  too  active 
getting  my  roots  down  so  I  could  flourish 
and  prosper.  Takes  a  long  time.  You  can 
be  hustling  along  and  it  looks  like  you're 
headin'  for  all  kinds  o'  prosperity,  when 
boom!  No,  ma'am,  you  can't  let  go  for  a 
second  or  somebody's  got  your  spot.  Least- 
ways you  can't  let  go  until  you've  moved 
ahead  enough  so  you've  got  a  breathin' 
space  to  look  around  and  figure  where  you 
want  to  go." 

I'm  sure  anyone  would  love  the  pictur- 
esque spot  toward  which  King  Roy's 
glances  are  directed  just  now — the  wildly 
beautiful  ranch  which  he  owns  near  Ante- 
lope Valley  some  sixty  miles  from  the 
scene  of  his  spectacular  Hollywood 
triumphs.  He's  looking  forward  to  spend- 
ing some  time  in  those  home  diggings 
with  his  children  and  his  lovely  bride, 
Dale.  Nerves  have  turned  his  tummy  into 
a  bundle  of  knots,  and  he's  going  to  have  to 
untie  these  snarls,  or  he'll  not  be  able  to 
enjoy  the  marvelous  cooking  for  which 
Miss  Evans  is  famous. 

do  it  yourself  . 

Yes,  Dale  announced  flatly  that  she  in- 
tended to  do  all  the  cooking  for  the  house- 
hold. Neither  she  nor  Roy  has  ever  got 
accustomed  to  having  servants  around. 
"Reckon  we  both  found  out  a  long  time 
ago,"  Roy  told  me,  "that  if  you  want  some- 
thing done  right,  do  it  yourself — and  if 
you  can't,  why,  then  you'd  better  learn." 

Roy  and  Dale  aren't  throwing  their 
money  around  foolishly.  Here's  a  couple 
you'll  never  see  in  the  gay  night  spots  of 
the  Sunset  Strip.  Roy  and  Dale  are  a  team 
of  Western  stars  who  really  love  and  live 
the  life  they  portray  so  realistically  on  the 
screen.  They  find  their  fun  hunting  and 
fishing  together,  or  just  riding  horseback 
through  the  rough  California  mountain 
country.  Time  has  been,  you'll  remember, 
when  the  boys  and  girls  who  played  heroic 
Western  characters  in  celluloid  were  some- 
what on  the  harum-scarum  side  in  their 
private  lives.  I'm  sure  that  one  of  the 
reasons  why  Roy  got  to  be  King  of  the 
Cowboys,  and  why  he  has  maintained  his 
high  place  for  so  long,  is  that  Roy  Rogers, 
the  man,  has  clung  to  worthy  ideals. 

Let's  glance  back  for  just  a  brief  mo- 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

I  was  one  of  the 
fortunate  people 
who  saw  Ingrid 
Bergman  in  Joan 
of  Lorraine.  In  the 
first  act  there's  a 
scene  where  she  is 
alone  on  the  stage 
with  a  pet  rabbit. 
She  is  talking  to 
the  rabbit,  in  a 
kneeling  position. 
The  night  1  was  there,  she  gave  the 
dramatic  recitation,  but  as  she  started 
to  get  up,  her  knee  cracked.  Stepping 
completely  out  of  character,  she  said, 
"Mmmm — must  be  old  age,"  and  then 
continued  with  her  recitation  as  if 
nothing  had  happened.  What  an 
actress! 

Dolores  M.  Vanderbeck 
Union,  New  Jersey 


ment  into  the  early  lives  of  Roy  and  Dale. 
Years  ago  when  he  was  Leonard  Slye, 
working  on  a  farm  at  Duck  Run,  Ohio — 
try  to  imagine  a  more  rustic  spot! — Dale 
was  growing  to  girlhood  on  her  father's 
sheep  ranch  near  Uvalde,  Texas.  Here 
were  two  youngsters  born  and  brought  up 
in  the  heart  of  America,  and  spurred  on  by 
the  ambition  to  make  something  of  them- 
selves that  is  the  essence  of  our  American 
heritage. 

The  two  never  met  until  she  was  as- 
signed as  his  leading  woman  in  a  Republic 
Western.  By  that  time,  both  had  won  con- 
siderable fame  and  a  more  than  fair  meas- 
ure of  financial  success,  singing  on  the 
radio.  They  made  twenty-four  pictures 
together,  and  the  public  lost  no  time  in 
taking  them  to  its  hearts  as  filmdom's 
ideal  outdoor  sweethearts.  Through  the 
years,  each  came  to  admire  and  respect  the 
other.  Dale  is  a  real  whiz  on  a  horse,  a 
crack  shot  besides,  but  one  thing  you  can 
bet  your  last  dollar  on  is  that  she's  too 
smart  and  woman-wise  ever  to  outride  or 
outshoot  Roy  even  if  she  could,  which  I 
doubt  very  much.  She  is  dainty  and 
feminine,  every  inch  of  her,  and  the  top 
of  her  head  just  barely  reaches  to  his 
shoulder.  He  can  just  about  span  her 
waist  with  his  two  hands. 

Through  all  their  professional  associa- 
tion, Dale  continued  to  look  upon  Roy  in 
a  little  sister-big  brother  sort  of  way.  But 
in  the  summer  of  1947,  both  she  and  he  had 
come  to  realize  that  there  was  something 
more  than  just  friendship  between  them. 
Dale  had  learned  from  life  a  lesson  she  ex- 
pressed like  this:  "I  guess  there's  no  use 
trying  to  run  away  from  destiny." 

She  had  her  career  in  mind  when  she 
said  that;  not  romance.  Last  summer,  for 
the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  ran  away 
from  her  destiny — or  tried,  at  any  rate. 

She  went  far  away  from  Hollywood  and 
Roy.  She  engaged  in  professional  activities 
on  her  own.  And  she  thought  things  out. 

She  and  Roy  and  Arlene,  Roy's  wife 
of  ten  years,  had  been  good  friends.  The 
three  of  them  had  gone  out  together;  Dale 
knew  and  loved  the  Rogers'  kids.  Cheryl, 
who's  seven,  and  Linda  Lou,  who's  four, 
were  crazy  about  Dale.  "We  love  you," 
they'd  say,  when  she  came  to  visit,  and 
their  parents  would  chuckle.  "Good  taste, 
those  kids." 

After  Arlene  died  in  1946,  things  more  or 
less  fell  apart.  There  was  the  darling  new 
baby,  Dusty,  but  Roy  couldn't  seem  to  pull 
himself  together,  even  for  the  children's 
sake.  The  blow  was  appalling.  His  nerves 
were  shot;  he  was  physically  ill. 

Dale  stood  by.  She  was  a  tower  of 
strength,  and  Roy  came  to  depend  on  her. 
She  got  to  know  Roy's  mother  and  father 
(they  live  on  a  chicken  farm  he  bought 
them  years  ago)  and  they  liked  her.  They'd 
brag  about  Roy  (Continued  on  page  64) 


OUR  CHILDREN'S  KEEPERS 

Millions  of  children  all  over  the  world 
today  are  suffering  a  cruel  and  un- 
deserved fate — a  fate  that  is  theirs 
because  of  geography.  Put  yourself 
in  their  place  and  then  decide  whether 
you  can  refuse  to  be  these  children's 
keepers.  The  peace  for  which  we  all 
fought  together  will  never  last,  if  we 
allow  hunger  to  spread  like  a  disease 
through  more  than  half  the  world.  We 
will  have  no  citizens  tomorrow,  if  we 
let  our  children  die  today.  GIVE 
THEM  THIS  DAY  .  .  .  Contribute  to 
your  local  American  Overseas  Aid — 
United  Nations  Appeal  for  Children; 
or  to  AOA-UNAC  National  Head- 
quarters, 39  Broadway,  New  York  6, 
N.  Y. 


I  feriou;  a  so/eater  Is 


I'm  a  safety-first  girl  with  Mum 


Bright  you  are  and  right  you  are!  When  snug-fitting 
wool  traps  underarm  odor,  other  girls  catch  the  men! 
You  play  it  smartly— help  guard  your  charm  with  Mum! 

Even  in  winter  there's  a  heat  wave  under  your  arms. 
Odor  can  form  without  any  noticeable  moisture.  Every- 
one should  remember:  a  bath  washes  away  past  perspi- 
ration but  Mum  prevents  risk  of  future  underarm  odor. 


MUM 


Mum 
Mum 
Mum 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


safer  for  charm 


safer  for  skin 


safer  for  clothes 


Mum  checks  perspiration  odor,  protects 
your  daintiness  and  charm. 

Because  Mum  contains  no  harsh  or  irri- 
tating ingredients.  Snow-white  Mum  is 
gentle— harmless  to  skin. 

No  damaging  ingredients  in  Mum  to  rot 
or  discolor  fine  fabrics.  Economical  Mum 
doesn't  dry  out  in  the  jar.  Quick,  easy  to 
use,  even  after  you're  dressed. 


17 


Captain  From  Castile:  Ty  Power,  caballero,  befriends  tav- 
ern wench,  Jean  Peters,  and  her  brother,  Robert  Karnes. 


BY  VIRGINIA  WILSON 


(^^^     Always  use 
COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM 

offer  you  eaf  and  before 
every  date 


CAPTAIN  FROM  CASTILE 

Nobody  can  swashbuckle  quite  like  Tyrone 
Power.  I  have  a  feeling  that  there  will  be 
twenty  swoons  per  reel  among  the  feminine 
audiences  seeing  him  in  Capfain  From  Castile. 
He's  so-o-o  handsome! 

He  plays  a  young  caballero,  Pedro  De 
Vargas,  who  lives  back  in  the  days  of  the 
Spanish  Inquisition.  Pedro's  father,  Don  Fran- 
cisco Vargas  (Antonio  Moreno)  is  a  man  of 
influence,  honor  and  position.  Then,  in  one 
day,  everything  changes.  Because  Pedro 
makes  an  enemy  of  Sefior  De  Sylva  (John 
Sutton)  who  is  head  of  the  Inquisition 
Board,  the  whole  Vargas  family  is  thrown 
into  the  frightening  old  Spanish  prison.  Pedro's 
little  sister  dies  at  once,  under  the  hands  of 
the  torturers. 

Pedro,  however,  is  not  without  friends,  even 
though  the  so-called  aristocracy  is  afraid  to 
come  to  his  aid.  He  has  helped  two  people. 
One  is  a  little  tavern  wench  named  Catana 
(Jean  Peters)  and  the  other  is  a  stranger 
called  Juan  who  comes  from  a  far-off  land 
called  the  New  World.     Catana  knows  the 


turnkey  at  the  prison,  and  she  also  knows  a 
highwayman  who  will  furnish  horses.  Juan 
knows  a  safe  hiding  place  at  a  seaport  where 
they  can  get  passage  for  the  New  World.  So 
the  Vargas  family  is  whisked  out  of  prison 
under  the  very  nose  of  the  unpleasant  Sefior 
De  Sylva. 

Pedro's  father  and  mother  head  for  Rome, 
where  they  have  influential  friends.  The 
others,  including  Catana,  who  is  not  supposed 
to  come  at  all,  but  has  never  had  any  inten- 
tion of  letting  Pedro  out  of  her  sight,  go  to 
the  seaport.  There,  an  expedition  is  being 
fitted  out  for  a  great  exploratory  trip  to  South 
America — except  that  there  is  as  yet  no  such 
name  for  the  territory.  It  is  headed  by  a  man 
named  Cortez. 

That  expedition  turns  out  to  be  one  of  the 
most  famous  in  history.  Theoretically,  its  pur- 
pose is  to  "convert  the  heathen."  Actually,  all 
Cortez  wants  is  gold.  For  Pedro  and  Catana  it 
is  at  first  romantic,  then  very  dangerous,  when 
Sefior  De  Sylva  arrives  representing  the 
Church  of  Spain.  Better  see  what  happens — 
you'll  find  it  exciting. — 20th-Fox. 


II 


This  Girl  Belongs  to  Me 

-and  I  dare  any  man  to  take  her  from  me  now!" 


BOTH 
TREE! 

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UNCONiS  ! 

Superb  Drama  of  Wiwer  |  ^ 


T  INARMED  and  alone,  Chris  Holden 
stole  the  half-conscious  Abigail  Hale 
from  a  frenzied  Seneca  war  party — then 
escaped  with  her  through  fifty  miles  of 
wilderness  with  Death  stalking  them 
every  inch  of  the  way! 


ani  GREAT 
EXPECTATIONS 

Dickens'  Famous  Novel  w 

Is  a  Smash  Movie  Hit. 


NOW 


Abigail  was  an  indentured  servant — one  of 
England's  "criminal  scum,"  dumped  on  the 
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act  of  kindness  to  buy  up  her  indenture 
papers  .  .  .  only  to  discover  he  had  made 
it  possible  for  the  most  brutal  slave 
trader  in  the  Colonies  to  have  her 
roasted  alive!  How  they  cheated  the 
vicious  renegade  of  his  booty  .  .  . 
how  their  shy  love-making  flared 
into  a  bonfire  of  passion,  is  a  story 
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ring GARY  COOPER. 
PAULETTE  GODDARD 


Great  Expectations, 


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For  every  two  monthly  Selections  I  accept,  1  will  re- 
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to  accept  each  month's  new  Selection;  only  six  of  my 
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MISS  ' 


(Please  Print  Plainly) 


ADDRESS. 


Zone  No. 

CITY   (if  any)....  STATE. 


If  under  21 

Occupation   age  please. 

Slightly  higher  in  Canada. 
Address  105  Bond  St.,  Toronto  2.  Canada 


famous  stars  agree  on  this... 


These  stars  rely  on  a  cream  for  soft 
white  hands.  Pacquins  Hand  Cream! 

YOU  CREAM  your  face  for  a  smooth, 
soft  complexion.  Why  not  give  the 
skin  of  your  hands  this  same  care? 

Well-groomed  women  everywhere  are 
switching  to  creams.  And  now  more 
women  use  Pacquins  than  any  other  hand 
cream. 

"Why  not,  indeed!  But  of  course!"  say 
these  famous  stage  stars,  and  they  know. 
Knowing  all  the  "hows"  of  skin  grooming 
is  a  vital  part  of  their  profession.  They 
must  keep  their  hands  soft  and  eloquent! 

for  dream  hands 
-  cream  your  hands  with 


Try  this  — starting  tonight:  Smooth  on  a 
dab  of  snowy-white,  quick-melting,  flower- 
fragrant  Pacquins.  Notice  how  .your  skin 
gratefully  welcomes  its  soothing  magic. 
Not  sticky  or  greasy,  Pacquins  smooths 
away  dryness  and  roughness.  A  12-second 
rub-on  with  Pacquins  —  morning  and 
night  —  will  keep  your  hands  lovely. 


NURSE  FRANCES  ZALONIS 

says:  "I  always  have  a  jar  of 
Pacquins  at  the  office  because 
I  scrub  my  hands  30  to  40 
times  a  day.  It  takes  a  cream 
like  this  to  protect  my  hands. 
And  Pacquins  was  originally 
formulated  for  nurses  and 
doctors." 


Never  sticky  or  greasy! 


20 


V    HAND  CREAM 

At  Any  Drug,  Deportment,  or  Ten-Cent  Store. 


Cass  Timberlane:  Spencer  Tracy  marries  Lana 
Turner,   a  girl   from  the  wrong   side  of  fown. 

CASS  TIMBERLANE 

There's  a  judge  in  a  small  city  in  Wisconsin 
and  his  name  is  Cass  Timberlane  (Spencer 
Tracy).  You've  known  judges  like  him,  men 
who  were  admired  and  respected,  and  per- 
haps taken  a  little  for  granted.  Most  oi  the 
people  in  Grand  River  could  predict  his  future 
easily.  He  would  marry  Chris  (Margaret 
Lindsay),  a  nice,  suitable  girl  for  him.  And 
he  would  go  on  living  in  the  country  club  set, 
and  perhaps  give  them  a  bit  of  a  break  in 
cases  that  came  up,  as  judges  are  apt  to  do 
with  their  friends. 

But  Grand  River's  predictions  don(t  work 
out,  because  Cass  meets  Virginia  Marshland 
(Lana  Turner).  Ginny  doesn't  belong  to  the 
country  club  set,  or  any  other  except  a  boys' 
baseball  club  down  in  the  tenement  section. 
None  of  that  bothers  Cass,  but  what  does 
bother  him  is  the  difference  in  their  ages. 
He's  a  middle-aged  bachelor.  Ginny  is  twenty- 
three — and  so  beautiful  you  can  hardly  be- 
lieve it.  It  takes  Cass  quite  a  while  to  make 
up  his  mind  to  ask  her  to  marry  him,  and  it 
takes  Ginny  a  while  to  decide  to  accept. 

Then  suddenly,  it's  done,  and  she  is  Mrs. 
Judge  Timberlane,  entertaining  at  important 
dinners,  yet  knowing  that  she  isn't  accepted. 
It's  that  knowing  which  makes  her  turn  to 
Brad  Criley  (Zachary  Scott),  who  is  friendly 
and  admiring  and  makes  her  feel  at  ease.  Brad 
goes  off  to  New  York,  however,  to  pursue  his 
law  career  and  after  that  Ginny  is  very  rest- 
less indeed. 

So  she  persuades  Cass  to  go  to  New  Yoik, 
too.  He  doesn't  want  to  be  a  judge  in  a  little 
dump  like  this,  forever,  does  he?  And  Cass, 
worried,  idolizing  her,  agrees  at  last.  But  the 
moment  they  reach  New  York  he  realizes  he 
has  made  a  mistake.  This  isn't  for  him — this 
surging  tide  of  ambition,  compromise,  and 
slick,  smooth  promises,  too  easily  broken. 
Ginny  loves  it.  And  Brad  is  here.  Maybe  she 
loves  Brad.  The  thing  to  do,  Cass  feels,  is 
let  her  stay.  Let  her  be  happy.  Only  it  turns 
out  that  it  isn't  that  simple  for  anyone! 

Lana  never  looked  lovelier,  and  Spencer 
Tracy's  quiet  simplicity  is  displayed  to  top 
advantage. — M-G-M 


A  Woman's  Vengeance:  Charles  Boyer,  married 
to  an  invalid,  loves  younq  and  pretty  Ann  Blyth. 


A  WOMAN'S  VENGEANCE 

Take  one  middle-aged  man  married  to  a 
querulous  invalid,  one  seductive  little  baggage 
twenty  years  younger,  one  spinster  in  love 
with  above-mentioned  man,  and  what  have 
you  got?  In  this  case,  murder. 

Henry  Hutton  (Charles  Boyer)  has  been 
married  to  Emily  for  eighteen  years.  For  most 
of  that  time  she  has  had  a  nurse,  complained 
constantly,  and  handed  her  money  over  regu- 
larly to  her  worthless  younger  brother,  Robert 
(Hugh  French).  It's  no  wonder  that  Henry 
has  turned  to  the  lovely  Doris  (Ann  Blyth). 

Unfortunately  for  Henry,  he  is  goaded  one 
day  into  saying  he  wished  Emily  were  dead. 
By  night  she  is  dead,  and  there  he  is  in  as 
awkward  a  situation  as  can  well  be  imagined. 
Her  nurse,  Braddock  (Una  O'Connor),  has 
never  liked  him,  anyway.  And  it  was  Henry 
who  gave  Emily  her  last  dose  of  medicine. 

At  first,  his  old  friend,  Janet  Spence  (Jessica 
Tandy)  is  on  his  side.  But  then  Janet  finds  out 
about  Doris,  which  seems  to  provide  sufficient 
motive  for  almost  any  murder.  Particularly 
as  Henry  marries  the  girl  almost  immediately. 

Rumors  fly,  of  course,  as  they  always  do 
in  small  towns.  However,  nothing  definite 
comes  out  until  Nurse  Braddock  finds  that 
Henry  has  given  Doris  an  emerald  brooch 
which  she  herself  had  expected  to  get  in 
Emily's  will.  Braddock  is  so  furious  that  she 
goes  to  the  police  and  tells  them  she  is  con- 
vinced Henry  murdered  his  wife. 

There  is  enough  evidence  one  way  and 
another  to  warrant  exhuming  the  body.  An 
autopsy  shows  poison,  and  Henry  is  promptly 
arrested.  Not  only  arrested,  but  tried,  con- 
victed and  sentenced  to  be  hanged. 

The  only  person  who  really  believes  in  his 
innocence  enough  to  do  anything  about  it 
is  Dr.  Libbard  (Sir  Cedric  Hardwicke),  the 
doctor  on  the  case.  What  he  does  is  profes- 
sionally unethical,  but  it  works! — Univ. 

I  WALK  ALONE 

It  seems  to  me  highly  unlikely  that  either 
the  seductive  Lizabeth  Scott,  or  the  fascinating 
Burt  Lancaster  would  ever  succeed  in  walking 
(Continued  on  page  23) 


?m.MatMe<>  FELS-NAPTHA  SOAP 


This  is  lucky  Mrs.  "White",  fast  asleep  on  Washday  Night- 
Washday  dreams  improve  her  rest,  since  her  laundry  soap's  the  best. 
It  will  soon  be  lucky  you,  if  you  use  Fels-Naptha,  too. 


77fo.  &/iay  Z&ed...  SOMETHING  ELSE 


Here  is  restless  Mrs.  "Gray",  haunted  by  the  coming  day — 
She  knows  she  must  rub  and  scrub,  victim  of  the  Washday  Tub. 
Mrs.  G.  will  find  there's  hope,  if  she'll  try  Fels-Naptha  Soap. 


Every  week  there  are  more  Mrs.  "Whites"  in  the  world — 
and  fewer  Mrs.  "Grays".  Women  who  want  to  make 
washing  easier — who  want  their  washes  completely, 
fragrantly  clean  and  sweet — naturally  turn  to 
golden  Fels-Naptha  in  place  of  lazy  laundry 
soaps.  Or  tricky  "soap  substitutes". 

Why  not  mark  your  shopping  list  now?  1  RnPjjjJl 

For  whiter  washes,  brighter  colors, 
easier  washing,  Fels-Naptha  Soap. 


Golden  bar  or  Golden  ch i ps_ FELS-NAPTHA  banishesTattleTale  Gray" 


dorothy  kilgallen 

selects 
gentleman's 
agreement" 


Gregory  Peck,  as  the  magazine  writer  assigned  to  do  a  series,  on  anti-Semitism,  Dorothy 
McGuire,  as  his  girl,  and  John  Garfield  as  his  Jewish  friend,  just  out^of  service,  in 
Darryl  Zanuck's   picturization   of   Laura    Hobson's   best-selling    Gentleman  S  Agreement. 


■  Best  sellers  do  not  always  make 
best  movies — but  let  it  be  said  at 
once  that  Gentleman's  Agreement 
in  its  celluloid  form  is  even  more 
powerful  and  cogent  and  frightening 
than  it  was  as  a  novel. 

As  simple  entertainment,  it  is  one 
of  the  year's  classics.  As  part  of 
the  history  of  the  motion  picture  in- 
dustry, it  is  a  milestone.  It  rings 
all  the  bells  and  hits  all  the  bulls' 
eyes — chiefly  because  of  Moss 
Hart's  taut  and  intelligent  screen- 
play (which  is  rational  where  it 
must  be,  emotional  where  it  needs 
to  be)  and  the  splendid  fury  of 
Gregory  Peck's  performance  as  the 
central  figure.  Peck  was  perfect 
casting  for  the  part  of  Philip  Green, 
and  he  plays  it  with  passion  and  in- 
tensity and  great  conviction,  as  if 
he  believed  in  the  character  with  all 
his  heart. 

Of  course  everyone  who  read 
Laura  Z.  Hobson's  book  will-  want 
to  know  how  closely  the  screen  ver- 
sion follows  the  novel.  The  answer 
is  very  closely.  No  phase  of  the 
problem  of  anti-Semitism  that  was 
touched  on  in  the  book  is  omitted 
from  the  picture;  the  one  note- 
worthy difference  between  the  two 
media  is  that  the  screen,  in  this 
case,  has  far  more  force. 

For  this  is  a  problem  easier  to 
face  by  the  fireside  than  in  com- 
munion with  your  neighbors.  It  is 
far  easier  to  read  the  words  "dirty 
Jew"  in  print  and  in  privacy  than  to 
hear  them  spewed  from  the  screen 
in  a  public  theater.  It  is  less  shock- 
ing to  watch  viciousness  and  petty 
human  brutality  unfold  in  the  pages 
of  a  book  than  to  see  them  move 
larger  than  life  and  just  as  loud  and 
unpleasant  on  the  talking  screen. 

Elia  Kazan  has  done  a  brilliant 
job  of  the  direction,  getting  across 
the  point  of  the  story  with  force 
and  honesty  but  allowing  for  ten- 
derness and  humor  in  many  places, 
and  showing  a  keen  eye  for  some  of 
the  glossier  aspects  of  New  York 
life.  His  cast  is  on  the  whole  fine — 
specific  accolades  should  go  to 
Celeste  Holm,  Dorothy  McGuire 
and  little  Dean  Stpckwell — and  the 
entire  production  is  tasteful. 

Gentleman's  Agreement  is  sure  to 
cause  discussion  and  frequent  hot 
controversy  wherever  it  is  shown. 
But  it  is  high-powered  entertain- 
ment as  well  as  high-powered  prop- 
aganda for  decency,  and  I  think 
only  those  with  uneasy  consciences 
will  deliberately  miss  it. 


22 


I  Walk  Alone:  Kirk  Douglas  betrays  Burt  Lan- 
caster, takes  his  beating  while  Liz  Scott  watches. 

(Continued  horn  page  21) 
alone  for  even  a  block.  But  that  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  story,  which  is  about  Frankie 
Madison  (Burt  Lancaster)  just  out  of  jail. 

Fourteen  long  years  Frank  spent  there,  and 
when  he  emerges,  he  goes  straight  to  Noll 
Turner  (Kirk  Douglas),  who  owns  the  veddy 
swank  Regent  Club.  You  see,  Frank  and  Noll 
used  to  be  partners  in  a  speak-easy  in  Pro- 
hibition days,  and  it  was  because  of  that  that 
Frankie  went  to  jail.  They  had  agreed  then 
to  share  and  share  alike. 

Frankie  is  a  trusting  guy  at  heart.  Other- 
wise, he  wouldn't  be  so  surprised  to  find  that 
their  partnership  agreement  isn't  in  effect  any 
more.  Sure,  he  remembers  that  Dave  (Wen- 
dell Corey),  the  third  member  of  the  old  gang, 
brought  him  some  papers  to  sign  in  prison. 
But  Dave  said  not  to  bother  reading  them,  so 
he  didn't.  He  had  always  taken  Dave's  word 
for  everything. 

Okay.  Now  he  knows.  Now  he  isn't  going 
to  believe  in  anybody  any  more.  Most  es- 
pecially not  in  this  tall,  blonde  girl  with  the 
husky  voice,  that  Noll  gets  him  a  dinner  date 
with.  Sure,  she's  good  looking.  Sort  of  sweet, 
too,  you'd  think,  under  all  the  sophistication. 
She  gets  him  to  tell  her  all  about  himself 
and  then  goes  to  Noll  with  the  story.  Not  that 
it  matters,  really.  Noll  knows  it  already. 

Later,  this  blonde  girl  comes  to  see  Frankie 
at  his  hotel.  Kay  (Lizabeth  Scott),  her  name 
is.  She  tries  to  make  him  think  that  she's  tired 
of  Noll  and  his  tricks  and  his  conniving.  That 
she  cares  about  what  happens  to  Frankie.  It 
might  even  be  true.  But  he  hasn't  time  to  find 
out  now.  He's  going  to  get  his  share  of  the 
club  back  by  violence,  which  is  the  only  way 
he  knows.  It's  a  method  that  dates  back  to 
speak-easy  days  and  it  doesn't  work.  But  it 
starts  a  chain  of  events  that  leads  to  murder. 

Wendell  Corey  does  an  especially  nice  job 
as  Dave.  It's  a  fast-moving  picture,  well 
handled. — (Para. ) 

NIGHT  SONG 

Part  of  the  blues  of  the  world  and  its  music 
come  out  in  Night  Song.  Blues  caught  and 
held  like  crystal  drops  in  a  glass,  blues  that 
catch  you  unawares  and  hold  on,  because 
they  are  played  by  a  blind  man  named  Dan 
(Dana  Andrews). 

Dan  hasn't  always  been  blind.  He  wouldn't 
be  now  if  he  had  the  money  to  go  to  New 
York  for  an  operation.  As  it  is,  he  plays  the 
(Continued  on  page  87) 


One  Permanent  Cost  •  15  .  .  .  the  TONI  only  «2 


Your  mirror  will  show  you  .  .  .  your 
friends  will  tell  you  that  your  Toni  Home 
Permanent  is  every  bit  as  lovely  as  a  $15 
beauty  shop  wave.  But  before  you  try 
Toni  you'll  want  to  know  — 

Will  Toni  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that 
will  take  a  permanent,  including  gray, 
dyed,  bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 

How  much  curl  will  I  have  with  Toni? 

You  can  have  just  the  amount  of  curl 
that  suits  you  best  — from  a  wide,  loose 
wave  to  a  halo  of  ringlets.  Just  follow  the 
simple  directions  for  timing. 

Must  I  be  handy  with  my  hands? 

Not  at  all !  If  you  can  roll  your  hair  up  on 
curlers  you  can  give  yourself  a  smooth, 
professional-looking  Toni  Home  Perma- 
nent. It's  easy  as  ABC. 

How  long  will  it  take  me? 

Waving  time  is  only  2  to  3  hours— even 
less  for  hair  that's  easy  to  wave.  And 
during  that  time  you're  free  to  do  as 
you  please. 

How  long  will  my  Toni  wave  last? 

It's  guaranteed  to  last  just  as  long  as  a 
$15  beauty-shop  permanent  — or  your 
money  back. 


How  much  do  I  save  with  Toni? 

The  Toni  Kit  with  re-usable  plastic  curl- 
ers costs  only  $2  .  .  .  with  handy  fiber 
curlers  only  $1.25.  The  Toni  Refill  Kit 
complete  except  for  curlers  is  $1.  (All 
prices  plus  tax.  Prices  slightly  higher  in 
Canada.) 

Which  twin  has  the  Toni? 

Lovely  Beverly  Dahm  says,  "I  like  a 
loose,  natural-looking  wave.  And  that's 
just  what  I  got  with  Toni.  No  wonder 
Barbara  says  after  this  we'll  be  Toni 
twins."  Beverly,  the  twin  with  the  Toni, 
is  at  the  left. 

Where  can  I  buy  Toni  ? 

At  all  drug,  notions  or  cosmetic  coun- 
ters. Try  Toni  today. 


23 


To    a    dancer,  an 

ankle  is  almost  like  a  heart,  so 

Gene  Kelly  wasn't  happy 

when  he  broke  his.  But  the  accident 

brought  back  Astaire,  the 

artist  who'd  been  wasting  his 

magic  in  the  dark,  the 

only  hoofer  who  could  make 

Gene  say,  "Well, 

this  was  worth  it." 


by 

fred  astaire 


REAR,  GENE 


■    I   was   sitting   on  a 

terrace  in  Hollywood,  wearing  a 

pair  of  shorts  and  a  sweater,  my  feet 

up  on  a  table,  a  glass  in  my  hand,  a  copy 

of    the   Los  Angeles 

Times  spread  out  on  my  lap  (open 

at  the  comic  section)  when  I  was  called 

to  the  phone.    It  was  a  Metro- 

Goldwyn-Mayer  executive,  and  he 

said,  "Fred,  Gene  Kelly's  broken  his 

ankle.  Will  you  come  over  here  and 

take  his  spot  in  Easter  Parade?" 

"Oh  now  wait,"  I  began,  but  he 
wouldn't  let  me  finish. 

"The  picture's  all  set  up,  the  cast 
is  ready,  the  sets  are  designed — 
we're  really  in  a  spot." 

"I've  retired,"  I  said. 

"Hoofers  never  retire." 

"But  what  about  Gene?" 

The  executive  made  a  number  of 
inarticulate  but  alarming  noises. 
"All  right,"  I  said  hastily.  "I'll  come 
over  and  look  at  the  script  and  we'll 
talk  about  it." 

We  talked  about  it  all  afternoon. 
Then  I  went  to  see  Gene. 

"Just  how  bad  is  this  thing?"  I 
asked  him.    "Couldn't  you  be 
ready  in  a  month, two  months?" 

"I  won't  {Continued  on  page  108) 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

DANNY  SCHOLL, 
Call  Me  Mister's 
singing  and  re- 
cording star,  and 
both  Lon  McCal- 
lister's  and  ye  In- 
fo Desk's  favorite 
singer,  was  born 
in  Cincinnati, 
Ohio,  on  July  2, 
1921.  He  is  6'  4", 
weighs  190  lbs., 
and  has  brown  eyes  and  brown  hair. 
He's  unmarried.  Write  him  c/o  Louis 
Shurr,  1501  Broadway,  N.  Y.  C,  for  a 
picture,  henore  Larsen,  Mt.  Vernon 
Avenue,  Laurel  Springs,  N.  J.,  has  his 
fan  club,  and  if  you'd  like  to  see  him 
repeat  his  success  in  the  screen  version 
of  Call  Me  Mister,  drop  a  note  to 
20th  Century-Fox,  Beverly  Hills  and 
tell  them  so. 

DE  FOREST 
KELLEY,  the  ro- 
mantic lead  of 
Variety  Girl,  was 
born  in  Atlanta, 
Ga.,  on  Jan.  20, 
1920.  He  is  6'  tall, 
weighs  170  lbs., 
and  has  blond 
hair  and  blue  eyes. 
He's  married. 
Write  to  him  at 
Paramount  Pictures,  Hollywood,  Calif. 

STEVE  BRODIE 
was  born  in  Eldo- 
rado, Kansas,  on 
Nov.  25,  1919.  He 
is  6'.  weighs  170 
lbs.,  and  has 
brown  eyes  and 
brown  hair.  He's 
married  to  Lois 
Andrews,  and  his 
latest  pictures  are 
Station  West  and 
Crossfire.  Write  to  him  at  RKO, 
Hollywood,  Calif. 

H.  S.,  Nev.:  Gar  Moore,  Italy's  latest 
film  find  was  born  and  raised  in  Okla- 
homa. He's  only  sensational  and  you 
can  write  to  him  at  Celebrity  Service, 
150  E.  54th  St.,  N.  Y.  C. 

Miriam  A.,  Queens:  Irma  Schonhorn, 
646  Willoughby  Avenue,  Brooklyn,  N. 
Y.,  has  Bill  Callahan's  club.  Betty  Jane 
Engler,  865  Ellsworth  Avenue,  Colum- 
bus 6,  Ohio,  has  MacDonald  Carey's, 
and  Betty  Gootschalk,  50-11  205th 
Street,  Bayside,  N.  Y.,  has  Arthur  Ken- 
nedy's. Send  a  stamped  envelope  for 
INSTRUCTIONS  ON  STARTING  A 
CLUB. 

DON'T  FORGET!  Send  your  ques- 
tions, together  with  a  self -addressed, 
stamped  envelope  to  Beverly  Linet,  In- 
formation Desk,  MODERN  SCREEN, 
149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y. 

SPECIAL  OFFER 

SUPER-STAR  INFORMATION 
CHART— 1946-'47  (10c)— A  new  edi- 
tion of  the  chart  that's  a  32-page  pocket 
encyclopedia  of  fascinating  data  on  all 
your  favorite  stars.  100  additional 
names  never  before  listed!  Please  send 
10c  in  coin  to  Service  Dept.,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y. 


*-Q/cu/i  Q^ate  ^onty/it 


Rekindle  your  hair's  highlights  with  Lustre-Creme  Sham- 
poo. Just  a  few  finger-tipsful  makes  a  bountiful,  cleansing 
lather,  in  hard  or  soft  water.  (No  special  rinse  needed.) 
Leaves  hair  clean,  sparkling,  newly  soft  and  manageable. 
4  oz.  jar  $1.00.  Also  30<-  and  55tf  sizes.  All  cosmetic  counters. 


The  World's  Greatest  Lover! 
The  Screen's  Greatest  Adventurer! 


You'll  THRILL  to  his  rides  through  the  night  to  a 

rendezvous  of  passionate  heauty! 

You'll  MARVEL  as  thousands  of  horsemen 
storm  across  the  screen  to  clash  in  crashing  combat! 

You'll  be  SWEPT  by  the  excitement 
of  its  romance ...  the  fury  of  its  adventure... 
the  magnificence  of  its  spectacle! 


with  JOHN  SUTTON 
GEORGE  TOBIAS 


Produced  by  LEONARD  PICKER 
Directed  by  ROBERTO  GAVALDON 

Screenplav  by  CRANE  WILBUR.  WALTER 
BULLOCK  and  KAREN  DE  WOLF 
From  a  Story  by  CRANE  WILBUR 

An  EAGLE  LION  FILMS  Production 


They  say  Holly- 
wood love  is  glamor- 
ous, but  Pat  Wilde 
knows  what  it  takes... 
a  good  calm  stomach, 
a  nice  even  blood 
pressure  and  a 
fifty-two  hour  day! 


Pat  Knight  in  N.Y.,  after  the  release  of  Roses  Are  Red,  visits  Sullivan  and  Bojangles 


Speaking  frankly 


by  Ed  Sullivan 


■  Why  is  it  that  marriage  in  Hollywood 
seemingly  means  no  more  than  it  means  to  Peter  Rab- 
bit? What  busts  up  Hollywood  marriages — boredom,  too  much  money, 
too  much  temperament?  Why  can't  Hollywood  people  face 
and  conquer  the  identical  marital  problems  that  the  typical  movie  fan 
disposes  of  every  day,  without  recourse  to  divorce  court? 

I  hurled  these  questions  at  the  beautiful  blonde  woman  sitting 
on  the  couch,  in  my  apartment.  My  French  poodle,  Bojangles 
2nd,  who'd  been  climbing  all  over  the  lady,  sat  up  and  waited  for  the 
answers,  too. 

"Whoa,"  protested  Mrs.  Cornel  Wilde,  "those  are  all  of  the 
stereotypes — all  of  the  glamorous  reasons 
blamed  for  Hollywood  divorces  and  separations.  Some 
day,  some  writer  in  Hollywood  will  do  a  little  more  probing,  and 
find  that  the  warning  signals  of  a  movie  colony  split-up  are 
nothing  more  glamorous  than  a  (Continued  on  page  92) 


27 


there  ou6ht 


to  be  a  wife 


Dining  at  Ciro's,  Madison  and  Russell  (of  The  Night  Has  A  Thousand  Eyes] 
gazed  at  each  other  for  a  souvenir  shot.  Gail,  who  calls  herself  "the  wrong 
Russell"    (Jane's  her  friend),  is  among  top  ten   in   Stars  of  Tomorrow  poll. 


■  Over  a  luncheon  of 
roast  pork,  apple  sauce,  salad, 
milk,  and  no  cigarettes,  Guy 
Madison  was  being  quite 
confusing.   On  the  one  hand  (the 
one  he  used  to  wave  at  Jennifer 
Jones,  let's  say,  when  she 
entered  the  commissary  from  the 
Portrait  of  Jennie  set, 
wearing  jeans  under  a 
camel's  hair  coat)  he  was  denying 
that  he  was  married,  engaged 
to,  or  going  solo  with  Gail  Russell 
— or  any  other  girl.  On  the  other  hand, 
he  was  uncorking  the  most 
comprehensive  "dream  future,"  com- 
plete with  "dream  house"  layout, 
ever  to  come  from  the  lips  of 
a  fellow  who  hasn't  got  the  girl 
picked  yet. 

Listen  to  him: 

"The  kind  of  a  house  I 
want  is  a  rambling,  redwood, 
California  style  place  with  lots  of 
glass  in  the  exterior  walls 
for  the  view.  But  the  only  view 
I  want  is  of  my  own  land — five 
or  six  acres  of  secluded  ground 
around  the  house.  Going  to  have  a 
couple  {Continued  on  page  110) 


Guy  talks  about  a  flagstone  walk,  a 

barn,  four  kids;  but  he  refuses  to  mention  the  little 

item  called  a  wife! 

By  LOUIS  POLLOCK 


29 


In  the  shadow  of 
the  Golden  Gate  lurked  a 
bearded  menace — 
Gregory  Peck — driving 
a  poor  girl 
out  of  her  wits  .  .  . 
every  night  except  Sunday! 

By  CAMERON  SHIPP 


north  to 


'frisco 


■  As  1947  drew  to  a  close,  Gregory  Peck 
grew  a  black  beard,  donned  the  frock 
coat  Clark  Gable  wore  in  Gone  With  The 
Wind,  and  set  about  driving  Laraine  Day 
crazy  in  San  Francisco,  Oakland,  Sacra- 
mento, Seattle,  and  Los  Angeles. 

Greg  was  good  at  it,  and  Laraine  went 
out  of  her  mind  prettily,  to  the  applause 
of  packed  houses. 

"Got  to  keep  acting.  Got  to  learn  my 
business,"  said  Peck,  who  had  just  com- 
pleted a  spate  of  handsome  pictures  in 
Hollywood,  including  Gentleman's  Agree- 
ment. "This  is  the  kind  of  chance  a 
motion  picture  actor  doesn't  get  often 
enough."  _ 

The  play  was  Angel  Street,  as  you  sus- 
pected. The  same  that  Charles  Boyer 
and  Ingrid  Bergman  did  on  the  screen  un- 
der the  name  of  Gaslight. 

Western  audiences  were  somewhat  star- 
tled to  see  Gregory  Peck  playing  a  middle- 
aged  villain  on  the  stage,  but  they  liked 
it,  and  Peck  was  getting  precisely  what 
he  wanted — experience  in  a  different,  diffi- 
cult kind  of  part.  He  took  it  so  seriously 
he  grew  his  own  beard. 

"Sheer  laziness,"  he  explained.  "Saves 
an  hour  or  so  a  day  makeup  time."  It 
was  a  small  beard,  a  Van  Dyke,  but  few 
persons  accepted  it  as  real.  They  tugged 
at  it.  Greg  Peck  is  probably  by  now  the 
possessor  of  one  of  the  most  thoroughly 
inspected  beards  since  the  Smith  Brothers. 
"I  was  considering  having  a  sign  made 
which  would  say,  It's  real,  but  it's  all 
right.  If  people  want  to  pull  my  beard, 
why  let  'em." 

The  stock  company  in  which  Laraine 
and  Greg  went  on  tour  was  headed  by 
Sheppard  Traube,  who  directed  the  orig- 
inal Angel  Street,  on  Broadway,  and  was 
inspired  by  Greg's  consuming  passion  to 
get  on  a  stage  and  act.  Had  to  get  on  a 
stage.  {Continued  on  next  page) 


Fans  tugged  at  his 
beard,  were  amazed 
to  learn  that  it 
was  the  real  article. 


A  Greg  wound  up  his  Angel  Street  four  in  San  Fr.ancisco,  stayed 
at  his  mother's  home  there.  Greta  flew  up  for  visits,  made  her 
mother-in-law  haul  out  Greg's  baby  pictures,  just  to  tease  him. 


V  Shopping  for  your  dinner  at  a  Chinatown  market  is  a  rare  ex- 
perience. Fowl  are  always  sold  with  head  and  feet  intact.  The 
Pecks  bought  duck,  got  home  to  find  Greg's  mom  roasting  ham. 


Weekends,  Greg  flew  home  to  see  Greta 
and  the  boys,  and  to  supervise  construction 
of  a  barn  on  his  new  estate.  Late  evenings 
and  non-matinee  days  found  him  at  Fisher- 
man's Wharf  consuming  shrimp,  or  looking 
up  Chinese  friends.  Greg  admires  Chinese, 
holds  that  they  are  probably  the  most 
ethical  and  the  most  honest  people  in  the 
world.  In  San  Francisco,  he  ate  late  snacks 
prepared  by  his  mother,  who  lives  there, 
and  raided  her  icebox.  When  Greta  came  up 
for  visits,  he  introduced  her  to  fans  as  Sonja 
Henie,  which  embarrassed  her.  All  told,  he 
had  a  pretty  wonderful  time  acting  on  the 
stage.  But  the  beginning  wasn't  as  easy 
as  all  that. 

The  beginning  was  rough.  He  (Greg) 
started  his  idea  for  a  super  stock  company 
many  months  before,  in  Hollywood,  by  pay- 
ing a  visit  to  his  business  manager,  the 
astute  Roland  Mader,  who  heard  him 
through  patiently.  Mr.  Mader  admires  Art, 
good  acting,  and  youthful  enthusiasm.  But 
Mr.  Mader  is  convinced  that  the  best  way 
to  succeed  in  life  is  to  see  that  your  check 
stubs  balance   (Continued  on  page  78) 


T  In  famous  Chinatown,  salesman  Charles  Louie  showed  the 
Pecks  a  variety  of  exotic  Oriental  teas.  Each  package 
was  sniffed  appreciatively,  first  by  Greta,  then  by  Greg. 


►  Chinese  bookkeeping  baffled  Greg,  but  so  does  every 
other  kind!  The  Geary  Theater,  where  Greg  acted,  is 
owned  by  D.  Selznick,  producer  of  Greg's  Paradine  Case. 


They  had  fun  helping  Greg's  mother  prepare  meals.  "He  hasn't  changed," 
she  complained.  "Still  has  to  sample  everything  on  the  stove."  Greg's  mak- 
ing Earth  and  High  Heaven  next — similar  in  theme  to  Gentleman's  Agreement. 


Greg  and  Angel  Street  co-star,  Laraine  Day,  rehearsed  their  roles  at  her  home 
in  Hollywood.  Director  was  Sheppard  Traube  (left),  who  originally  produced  play 
on  Broadway.  Laraine's  husband,  Leo  Durocher,  served  coffee  in  the  kitchen. 


Press  and  radio  reporters  in  the  Golden  Sate  City  Selecting  crayfish  (California  lobsters)  at  open-air  stall.  Be- 
swamped  Peck  with  requests  for  interviews.  NBC's  fore  Greg  left  home,  he  and  Greta  gave  a  big  luncheon  for 
Katherine    Kerry   considered    herself   very    lucky!       paralyzed  vets  from  Birmingham  Hospital.    It's  a  monthly  habit. 


33 


■  I  am  one  ot  those  people  who  at- 
tracts little  troubles.  My  life  is  full  of 
petty  tragedy.  I  leave  umbrellas  in 
busses,  my  plants  all  die,  and  every 
time  I  have  a  party,  my  neighbors  call 
the  cops. 

The  only  difference  between  me  and 
others  similarly  afflicted  is  that  /  never 
learn.  I  keep  expecting  everything  to 
turn  out  great. 

If  my  boss  comes  in  and  says,  "What 
are  you  doing  tomorrow  night?"  I  am 
always  sure  he  is  going  to  give  me  two 
tickets  to  Oklahoma,  and  I  am  always 
wrong. 

A  few  weeks  ago,  this  very  thing  hap- 
pened. He  asked,  and  I  smiled  cheer- 
fully, and  said  I  was  doing  nothing. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there's  a  'March 
of  Progress'  over  in  Hoboken.  Been 
going  on  for  a  month.  Frank  Sinatra's 
going  to  show  up  tomorrow  night,  and 
bring  the  whole  thing  to  a  glorious 
close.  They'll  have  a  parade,  and  floats, 
and  Frankie  will  sing.  We  thought 
we'd  send  you  and  Bert  Parry  to  cover 
it." 

Bert  Parry  is  a  photographer,  and 
his  good  fortune  is  exceeded  only  by 
my  own.  When  we  sent  him  to  Eng- 
land on  the  Queen  Mary,  so  that  he 
could  get  pictures  of  Elizabeth  Taylor, 
Elizabeth  Taylor  promptly  became  ill. 
It  is  a  standing  joke  in  our  office  that 
we  could  never  send  Bert  Parry  on  an 
assignment  in  an  airplane.  It  wouldn't 
be  fair  to  the  rest  of  the  passengers. 

And  now  we  {Continued  on  page  104) 


Hoboken  police  had  busiest  day  in  its  history  when  Frank  appeared  for  Marc 
of  Progress  Celebration.  Citizens  helped  hold  back  crowds.  Despite  down-pou 
which  drenched  our  writer-photog  team,  Sinatra  Doy  was  a  memorable  event 


fire  in  the  Hoboken 
tubes,  and  City 
Hall  starts  floating 
away,  you  can  bet 
M.S.  gets  its  feet  wet, 
and  a  guy  named 
Sinatra  is  the 
cause  of  it  all! 
By  CHRISTOPHER  KANE 


In  a  burst  of  parental  pride,  the  senior  Sinatra  takes 
off  his  fire  captain's  hat  to  his  boy.  Close  to  50,000  Hoboken 
fans  defied  the  heavy  rain  to  get  a  brief  glimpse  of  Frank. 


On  the  steps  of  City  Hall,  Frank,  Hoboken's  most  illustrious 
son,  received  a  fitting  tribute  from  Mayor  Fred  DeSapio.  Frank 
is  flanked  by  his  mother  and  dad,  Fire  Captain  Martin  Sinatra. 


Signing  for  the  home-towners,  with  Mayor  looking  on.  Rain  brought 
Frank  a  severe  case  of  laryngitis,  cancelling  three  days  of  his  N.Y.  Capi- 
tol Theater  engagement.  Also  nixed  a  possible  all-time  gross  record. 


After  a  day's  shooting  on  Sitting  Pretty,  Maureen  dines 
at  Slapsy  Maxie's  with  husband,  Will  Price.  The  Met  is 
her  goal,  says  O'Hara,  who  won't  rest  till  she's  in  opera! 


The  grounds  of  the  Prices'  California  home  had  to  be  cleared 
of  underbrush.  But  now  there's  a  swimming  pool  and  plenty  of 
romping  space  for  Tripoli,  the  Great  Dane,  a  gift  from  Will. 


Ate  like  a  horse  and 
bent  umbrellas  over  young 
men's  heads — that 
was  Maureen, 
the  FitzSimons' 
red-haired  daughter.  And 
who  would  have  dreamed 
she'd  turn  into  a  sudden, 
green-eyed  Venus? 


■  It  isn't  a  bit  unusual  for  me  to  be  talking  about 
Maureen.  I'm  in  business  in  Dublin,  you  know,  and 
people  often  come  in,  saying  that  they  have  just  seen 
one  of  her  pictures  and  generally  adding,  "Oh,  Mrs. 
FitzSimons,  she  is  so  beautiful!"  I  agree,  of  course, 
because,  after  all,  the  customer  is  always  right — even 
in  Ireland. 

What  puzzles  me  is  that  for  the  first  seventeen  years 
of  her  life  I  never  noticed  this  beauty;  never  gave  it 
a  thought.  Nor  did  Maureen.  Nor  her  daddy,  or  her 
brothers  and  sisters.  In  fact,  I  can  remember  only  one 
comment  about  her  looks  and  that  was  her  daddy's 
repeated,  teasing  reference  to  her  skin  and  hair.  "Skin 
like  an  elephant's  hide  and  hair  like  hay,"  he  used  to 
tell  her.  And  Maureen,  munching  away  at  an  apple, 
would  take  it  quite  unconcerned,  if  she  heard  it  at  all ! 

If  this  seems  strange,  perhaps  you  will  understand 
when  I  tell  you  that  Maureen  is  the  second  of  six 
children,  all  born  to  me  between  the  time  I  was  nine- 
teen and  twenty-eight.  As  I  recall,  with  that  many 
growing  youngsters  running  about  the  house,  her  daddy 
and  I  spent  our  time  wondering:  (1)  Are  they  all 
present  and  accounted  for?  (2)  Are  they  healthy  and 
happy?  (3)  Are  they  keeping  out  of  trouble?  Some- 
where further  down  the  list  was  the  question  of  their 
good  looks,  but  we  just  never  (Continued  on  page  71) 


Back  home  after  her  tour  with  This  Time  For  Keeps,  Esther  was 
tired  but  happy.  Ben  met  her  train  50  mi.  out;  then  kissed  her 
hello  in  Union  Station  as  though  he'd  just  arrived  to  greet  her. 


■  Relax,  New  England.  Take  it  easy,  Boston, 
Providence,  Worcester,  Bridgeport  and  New 
Haven.  And  you  Yales  and  Harvards — you  can 
catch  your  breath  now.  Miss  Esther  Williams, 
the  one-girl  invasion,  has  completed  her  per- 
sonal appearance  tour  with  This  Time  For 
Keeps,  and  is  back  in  Hollywood. 

Esther  arrived  by  train.  She  did  not  back- 
stroke down  the  inland  waterway,  through  the 
Panama  Canal,  and  up  the  coast  of  Mexico  in 
a  sequin-spangled  bathing  suit,  as  any  male 
animal  who  has  seen  her  in  action  might  reason- 
ably expect.  She  came  in  on  the  streamliner,  as 
demurely  as  any  bombshell,  and  leaped  into  the 
arms  of  her  six-foot-five  husband,  name  of  Ben 
Gage.  Keep  that  in  mind,  gentlemen.  Six-foot- 
five.  And  Mr.  Gage  was  so  glad  to  see  her  that 
he  had  not  only  had  signs  stuck  up  around 
Union  Station,  but  had  a  "Welcome  Home" 
device  floating  in  the  home  swimming  pool. 

It  was  a  cold,  sunless  day,  but  to  show  how 
good  he  felt  about  getting  Esther  back,  Mr. 
Gage  took  a  header  off  the  ten-foot  board,  and 
splashed  water  all  over  Southern  California  and 
parts  of  Canada.  It  is  not  true  that  the  Wil- 
(Continued  on  next  page) 


While  she  was  away,  the  mail  mounted  daily  and  Ben,  being  a 
very  considerate  husband,  let  it  pile  up  on  the  living  room  table, 
so  she'd    be   sure   to   see   it  first   thing   when   she  returned. 


Esther  dashed  for  the  bathroom  scales  as  soon  as  she  removed 
her  coat.  Then  she  announced  proudly,  "Look,  I've  lost  5  pounds!" 
Ben  suggested  evilly  that  she  could  gain  them  back  in  a  week. 


homecoming 


WELCOME 
HOKE 


"What  you  got  in  these  bags,  Mom?"  Ben  asked.  "Some  rocks  from 
the  Coast  of  Maine?"  Esther  picked  up  several  antiques,  gowns  and 
souvenirs  in  the  East,  including  a  genuine  Conn.  State  Police  sombrero. 


Ben  was  an  indifferent  housekeeper  in  Esther's  absence,  al- 
lowing milk  bottles,  papers  to  collect  on  the  back  porch.  But 
as  a  one-man  welcoming  committee,  he  did  a  thorough  job! 


Hams-Gage  pool  contains  essence  of  pure  adrenalin. 

If  you  are  not  a  movie  star,  and  have  never  made 
a  personal  appearance  tour,  perhaps  you  do  not  know 
that  this  great  American  folk  custom  often  is,  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  star,  like  being  a  captive 
queen  in  a  Roman  orgy.  You  get  poked,  tugged,  ex- 
amined and  cross-examined,  exhibited,  made  to  dance 
and  perform,  and  in  the  end  they  throw  you  into  an 
arena  and  let  wild  animals  maul  you.  Strong  gents 
like  James  Cagney  and  Humphrey  Bogart  have  been 
known  to  grow  pale  and  weak  at  the  knees  in  the 
presence  of  fans  determined  to  pull  them  apart,  tear 
out  their  hair  and  make  away  with  their  garments 
for  souvenirs. 

Esther  Williams,  the  pastel-tinted  bathing  beauty, 
faced  that  sort  of  thing  for  a  month  and  emerged  as 
fresh  as  a  nymph  on  a  calendar.  Had  a  whale  of  a 
good  time.  Thrived  on  it. 

The  Williams  tour,  a  friendly  gesture  by  Metro- 


Goldwyn-Mayer,  designed  for  the  purpose  of  having 
Esther  meet  the  people  and  say  a  good  word  for  that 
nice  picture,  This  Time  For  Keeps,  began  in  Wash- 
ington, D.  C,  in  a  cinema-vaudeville  house  where  it 
was  appropriate  enough  for  Esther  to  shuck  down  to 
a  glittering  bathing  suit. 

After  that,  in  more  conservative  cities,  she  appeared 
on  stage  in  a  sweater  and  skirt.  Since  she  is  a  profes- 
sional swimmer,  she  and  her  manager,  an  energetic 
lady  named  Melvina  Pumphrey,  were  confronted  with 
a  slight  technical  problem.  How  you  gonna  lug  a 
swimming  pool  all  over  the  Eastern  seaboard? 

This  was  beyond  the  resources,  even,  of  Metro- 
Gold  wyn-Mayer.  Miss  Williams  decided  to  walk  on 
stage  and  answer  questions.  She  got  'em  fast.  The 
first  question  asked  everywhere  was:  "How  about  a 
date  tonight?"  Having  disposed  of  that  the  way  any 
nice  girl  should,  Esther  then  met  these  queries  head-on: 

"What  does  Frank  Sinatra  {Continued  on  page  98) 


40 


Esther  couldn't  wait  to  model  the  New  York  gowns  she'd 
brought  home.  Ben,  who  can't  resist  surprises,  barged 
•in  on  her  three  times  while  she  was  on  her  p. a.  tour. 


"Pappy"  Gage  shows  Esther  what's  been  going  on  while 
she  was  away.  "The  whole  neighborhood's  growing  over 
our   heads — two   dozen    new   homes   are    being  built!" 


Ah,  peace!  Doctors  say  Es  will  be  able  to  swim  good  as  new;  no  danger  from  accident  suffered  on  set  of  On  An  Island  With  You. 


41 


LUCKY  BREAK:  Before  Shirley  could  walk,  she  was  kicking  in  time 
to  music.  At  3,  she  was  enrolled  in  dancing  school,  soon  spotted 
by  a  talent  scout  and  signed  for  shorts,  bits  in  features.  One 
lead — with  J.  Dunn  in  Baby  Take  a  Boiv — and  she  was  starred! 


MARQUEE  MAGIC:  Shirley  lent  her  magic  name  to  two  box-office 
smashes  from  Paramount  (for  which  she  was  borrowed  from  her 
home  studio,  20th  Century-Fox):  Little  Miss  Marker  (above, 
with  Adolphe  Menjou)  and  Now  and  Forever,  with  Gary  Cooper. 


GOLDEN  TOUCH:  Shirley,  who'd  saved  20th  Century  from  bank- 
ruptcy, was  soon  earning  $300,000  a  year.  This  did  not  include 
royalties  from  Shirley  Temple  dolls,  dresses,  toys,  numerous  com- 
mercial articles  to  which  her  parent-managers  lent  her  name. 


WORLD  AT  HER  FEET:  World-renowned  figures,  such  as  Pres.  and 
Mrs.  Roosevelt,  Henry  Morgenthau,  Herbert  Lehman,  MacKenzie 
King  of  Canada,  were  charmed  by  the  Temple  personality.  On  a 
visit  to  Washington  in  1938,  she  "captured"  G-Man  Edgar  Hoover. 


Twice  in  a  lifetime,  Shirley 
Temple  has  lived  young  America's  day-dreams. 
But  like  any  other  kid,  she  did 
her  homework  to  the  hlare  of  the  radio, 
took  ribbings  from  her  unimpressed  big  brothers 
and  married  the  man  she  loved! 
by  IDA  ZEITLIN 


■  I've  been  doing  stories  on  Shirley  Temple 
for  twelve  years. 

I  remember  her  at  7,  feeding  the  bunnies 
behind  her  studio  bungalow  before  you  could 
get  her  to  eat  her  own  lunch. 

I  remember  the  mirthful  look 
in  her  eye  at  9,  when  somebody  asked  about  her 
ambitions.  "That  depends,"  said  Shirley. 
"Right  now  I'm  making  a  paper  basket,  and  most 
of  anything  in  the  world  I  want  some  paste." 

I  remember  the  schoolgirl  of  12,  sweater 
sleeves  pushed  back,  the  fifty-five  famous  curls 
forever  vanished.  "Thank  goodness,"  their 
owner  remarked. 

I  remember  her  at  16,  young  enough  to  be 
driving  the  family  nuts  with  some 
strange  brand  of  doubletalk,  old  enough  to 
be  wearing  a  forget-me-not  ring  whose  giver  was 
a  secret. 

I  remember  the  way  she  looked  a  few 
days  ago  on  the  lawn  of  her 
house,  flanked  by  the  Agars'  collie 
and  the  Temples'  boxer.   The  breeze 
ruffled  her  hair,  the  dimples  winked. 
"I  don't  care  if  it's  a  boy  or  a 
girl." 

I  drove  off  muttering,  "She's  not 
(Continued  on  next  page) 


WISE  MOTHER:  Mrs.  Gertrude  Temple  was  once  offered  $5,000  to  re- 
veal over  the  air  the  -secret"  of  Shirley's  success.  She  declined, 
saying,  "How  can  I  take  money  for  something  I  don't  know?"  George 
Temple  left  important  bank  job  to  handle  his  daughter's  finances. 


DREAM  SCHOOL:  In  June,  1945,  Shirley  was  graduated  from  West- 
lake  School.  Joyce  Agar  (right)  and  Betty  Jean  Lail  (between 
them)  are  her  two  best  girl  friends.  Shirley  was  as  nervous  as  any 
new  girl  the  first  day  of  classes — until-  Betty  Jean  took  her  in  tow. 


REPEAT  PERFORMANCE:  In  1944,  at  16,  Shirley  came  out  of  "retirement" 
to  start  tier  adult  career  in  David  Selznick's  war-time  hit,  Since  You 
Went  Away.  She  took  her  place  opposite  such  stalwarts  as  Clau- 
dette    Colbert,    Joe    Cotten,    Jennifer    Jones — and    held    her  own! 


ROYAL  WEDDING:  I  he  marriage  of  Shirley  and  John  Agar  took 
place  in  Wilshire  Methodist  Church  on  Sept.  19,  1945,  although 
they'd  promised  Mrs.  Temple  they'd  wait  two  years.  It  was  a  simple 
ceremony;  nevertheless,  bridal  gown  and  decorations  were  lavish. 


44 


mm  ml 

ft 


II  1 


PRINCE  CONSORT:  By  the  time  Shirley  celebrated  her 
18th  birthday,  John  was  in  civvies.  A  shy,  quiet 
boy,  John  has  only  recently  overcome  embarrassment 
at   public   attention,    annoyance   at   vicious  gossip. 


HEIR  APPARENT:  Shirley  "retired"  for  the  second  time  atter  Hagen 
Girl,  and  War  Party  (with  John)  to  await  their  first  child.  The  story, 
front-paged  all  over  the  world  on  July  21,  1947,  was  almost  missed 
because  skeptical  reporters  were  wary  of  "just  another  false  rumor." 


old  enough  to  have  a  baby,"  though  her  answer  to 
that  one  still  echoed  in  my  ears. 

"All  you  have  to  do  is  look  at  your  own  children. 
You'll  discover  that  we  all  grow  up." 

As  I  said,  I've  been  doing  stories  for  twelve  years. 
That's  why  I'm  doing  this  one.  "You're  elected 
vice-president  in  charge  of  Temple,"  Al  Delacorte 
wrote.  "She's  on  our  cover.  She's  still  America's 
dream  girl.  Go  back  through  your  memories  and 
tell  them  about  her." 

I  knew  how  Shirley 'd  wrinkle  her  nose  up  at 
"dream  girl."  She's  a  matter-of-fact  young  person, 
and  to  herself  she's  a  happy  wife  like  thousands  of 


others,  waiting  in  a  kind  of  suspended  glow  for  the 
birth  of  her  first  child.  Which  doesn't  alter  the  fact 
that,  viewed  from  the  outside,  she's  a  fairytale. 

Say  you're  a  girl  yourself,  from  ten  to  twenty. 
Say  you're  lying  awake  this  January  night,  building 
castles  in  Spain.  Here's  the  whole  world  to^  choose 
from,  what'll  you  have?  Let  your  fancy  roam  free, 
splash  the  colors  as  bright  as  you  please,  and  you'll 
still  dream  nothing  more  fabulous  than  what 
Shirley's  lived. 

Like  to  be  in  pictures?  At  19,  Shirley's  been  in 
them  for  16  years.  That  part  alone  would  fill  a 
book,  which  I'm  not  writing.  (Continued  on  page  95) 


45 


- 


Patricia  Medina,  Dick's  wife,  is  under  contract  to 
Metro.  She  visited  him  at  Fox,  was  seen  by  Direc- 
tor John  Stahl,  borrowed  for  Foxes  oj  Harrotv. 


Dick's  made  only  one  picture  (Forever  Amber)  in  Hollywood 
since  his  discharge  from  the  Royal  Armored  Corps.  Dissatisfied, 
he's  returning  to  English  films.  First  is  This  Was  a  Woman. 


■  You  couldn't  even  have  called  it  dawn,  really. 
The  sun  was  just  a  shallow  gold  rim  at  the 
edge  of  the  horizon  and  the  English  country 
road  was  grey  in  the  half-light.  But  the  young 
man  peddling  along  on  his  bicycle  whistled  as 
cheerfully  as  if  it  were  high  noon.  His  name  was 
Richard  Greene,  he  was  a  lieutenant  in  the 
Royal  Armored  Corps,  and — having  looked  in 
vain  for  a  place  to  live  in  town — he  was  trying 
to  find  a  room  in  the  country  for  the  most 
beautiful  girl  in  the  world — his  wife. 

He  came  to  a  pleasant  looking  stone  farm- 
house set  in  a  grove  of  budding  maples.  Dick 
got  off  his  bicycle  and  surveyed  the  place 
thoughtfully.  It  looked  nice,  all  right. 

He  walked  slowly  up  the  path  and  around 
the  house.  He  knew  better  than  to  try  the  front 
door  of  a  farmhouse.  From  the  thatched  barn 
came  the  moo  of  a  cow,  and  a  dozen  baby 
chicks  crowded  around  Dick's  feet.  Behind  them 
strode  a  gaunt  woman,  with  an  icicle  gaze  and 
a  red,  weatherbeaten  {Continued  on  page  93) 


Beach  sports  are  his  favorite  relaxation  between  chapters  of 
the  book  he's  writing  on  his  war  experiences.  He  wanted 
to  restore  his  Amber  moustache,  but  Pat  turned  thumbs  down. 


48 


Bing  and  the  Andrews  Sisters  swing  into  a  dance  routine  on 
the  Para  lot.  Quartet  also  made  a  gold  recording  of  "Jingle 
Bells,"  which  Decca  sent  to  Princess  Liz  for  a  wedding  gift. 


artful 
dodger 


Maybe  it's  not  Bing's  Pirates,  but  Denny,  Gary,  Phil  and  Lindsay  almost  fell 
out  of  the  box!  Bing  (of  Conn.  Yankee,  Road  to  Rio)  was  quiet.  Hedda 
(opp.  pg.)  broke  all  records  when  she  got  a  two-hour  interview  for  this  story. 


You  think  you  have  Bing  in 

a  corner,  but  it  turns 

into  a  revolving  door.  You  call  up 

for  an  appointment,  but  he's 

already  got  one.  Yet  when  Hedda 

says,  "Blue  Eyes,  an  interview?" 

he  grins,  "I'm  all  ears."  . 

by  hedda  hopper 


Left  holding  the  50  lb.  anvil,  Bing  stands  by  while  Hope 
accepts  his  (Hope's)  award  for  humor,  given  by  the  Black- 
smiths of  the  Amer.  Public  Relations  Assoc.,  at  the  Waldorf. 


50 


J 


■  Bing  Crosby  was  slumped  on  his  spine,  sucking  a 
pipe  and  rolling  his  baby  blue  eyes  warily,  when  I 
barged  onto  The  Connecticut  Yankee  set  at  Paramount. 

There's  only  one  way  to  interview  an  artful  dodger 
like  the  Groaner — corner  him  and  keep  him  cornered. 
I've  known  Bing  for  a  long,  long  time.  And  well  enough 
to  know  he  can  wiggle  out  of  an  interview  like  a  worm 
off  a  hook. 

"Sit  right  where  you  are,"  I  said.  "Take  that  pipe 
out  of  your  pearlies  and  relax.  You're  in  for  a  grilling." 

Bing  rose  gracefully,  swept  an  imaginary  hat  to  the 
floor  and  bowed. 

"King  Arthur's  Court,  and  you  make  it  sound  like  a 
drive-in.  Grilled  ham,  hey?  I'll  have  the  fried  shrimp." 

I'd  called  Bing  up  at  the  studio  a  fast  ten  minutes 


before,    and    luckily,    I'd    got    him    on    the  phone. 

"I  want  to  make  talk  with  you,"  I'd  told  him.  "What's 
all  this  male  Garbo  aura  clinging  'round  your  golden 
curls,  anyway?" 

The  phone  almost  blasted  my  ears  off. 

"What  the  Hell  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Now,  now,"  I  soothed,  "you  know  what  I  mean.  You 
don't  see  nobody,  you  don't  say  nuttin' — " 

"Garbo!"  exploded  Bing.  "I  should  wear  one  hat  so 
long!" 

"Coming  over."  I  broke  it  up. 

And  so  there  I  was  and  there  was  Bing,  trapped.  I'll 
be  fair.  He  invited  me.  In  fact,  he  said,  "Sure,  Hedda, 
trot  on  out.  I'm  taking  it  easy  this  afternoon.  Got 
chilblains  from  a  rusty  suit  (Continued  on  page  101) 


Gradually,  they're  getting 
used  to  it  .  .  .  the  cars,  the  tennis, 
the  $200  suits.  But  once 
the  Contes — perilously  broke  and  des- 
perately in  love — walked 
N.  Y.'s  pavements,  and  called 
it  "having  a  date." 

BY  KAAREN  PIECK 


■  Values  are  easy,  for  some  people.  Take 
Richard  Gonte.  He  lives  on  a  hill,  in  Holly- 
wood, and  his  wife  has  a  mink  coat,  and  a 
maid  stands  around  being  helpful,  but  he  got 
his  the  hard  way,  and  none  of  it  fools  him 
a  bit. 

You  know  what's  real,  and  you  know  what 
isn't,  and  you  can  enjoy  them  both.  It  would 
be  silly  to  say  Conte  doesn't.  But  the  balance 
is  there. 

Go  back  to  New  York,  and  the  stage.  Off- 
months,  he'd  work  in  his  father's  barber- 
shop. Go  back  still  further,  to  his  childhood. 
A  Jersey  City  slum. 

His  father,  Patsy  Conte,  got  off  the  boat 
from  Italy,  and  came  to  Jersey  City.  There 
wasn't  any  reason.  He  could  have  ended  up 
in  Kansas  if  he'd  had  the  fare. 

He  opened  a  barber  shop.  Haircut  35c, 
shave  15c.  (During  the  depression,  the  com- 
bination went  for  a  quarter.) 

Richard  was  born  in  a  tenement.  It  was 
right  on  the  Hudson  River,  in  a  neighborhood 
of  factories  and  freight  yards.  "It  wasn't 
nice,  but  it  was  interesting,"  he  says  now.  "It 
was  the  kind  of  background  that  sets  you  up 
well  for  whatever-  happens  later." 

Times  were  bad.  You  can  remember  how 
bad  times  were.  {Continued  on  page  113) 


After  The  Other  Love,  Dick  asked  Fox  for 
romantic  roles,  but  studio  said  no,  sent  him 
to   Chicago   for   murder-chiller,   Northside  777. 


Doctors  have  forbidden  him  to  play  tennis  for  a  year  because  of  a  chipped 
hand  bone,  so  he's  going  in  heavily  for  painting,  with  wife  Ruth  as  his  sub- 
ject. He's  so  daft  for  those  checked  pants,  he  made  Ruth  buy  matching  dirndl. 


52 


..''*•<.*•»•♦•••  •••••••♦I 

'■  ■  ^  *»••.  ** I *** """"»»- 


.e,  ' . .  I **• * »  *  » » •  ■  •  :>  \ .  •  u 


•♦*♦•«»•••»♦ 

•  •  •«.«« •••••« 

»••<«•«•»»•> 
.>•••• .t..,.. 

»<••••.#•••••  . 

§*••••••••<«•»•» 

<<•••«•••••••• > - 

•••«•♦ «• 
•♦♦♦#♦♦»••♦•»•»•-- 
^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 


British-born  Bob  Hope,  who.  helped  put  over  England's  Command  Performance,  and  wife  Dolores,  chat  with  Queen  Elizabeth  at  Odeon  Theatre. 


■  Nov.  10:  Oh  to  be  in  England,  now  that  November's 
here.  Well,  here  ah  is,  in  London  again,  honey,  after 
almost  six  years.  How  I  love  it.  It  may  be  a  drear,  cold, 
grey  land  of  austerity  to  some,  but  it  is  sheer  heaven  to 
me  to  be  again  in  this  gallant,  scarred  old  city  I  love  so 
much.  And  no  black-out.  The  black-out  was  unadulter- 
ated terror  to  me  in  winter,  1941-42.  I  had  forgotten 
how  London  looked  with  lights  on.  It  looks  wonderful. 
The  country-side  was  still  green,  and  the  trees  as  colorful 
as  those  in  Westchester  county,  as  we  rolled  up  to  London 
in  the  boat  train  this  morning.  The  way  in  which  the 
English  have  tidied  up  is  miraculous.  Even  at  Southamp- 
ton, where  there  was  such  terrible  bomb  damage,  they've 
done  a  wonderful  job  of  getting  rubble  out  of  sight.  When 
I  got  into  the  cab  at  Waterloo  Station,  I  made  the  driver 
go  first  to  Parliament  Square  to  visit  Abraham  Lincoln 
on  his  pedestal,  and  then  to  Trafalgar  Square,  to  pay 


respects  to  Admiral  Nelson,  still  high  on  a  column  over- 
looking the  city.  Having  made  my  calls  on  these  .two, 
I  went  off  to  the  Savoy  Hotel.  They  say  all  good  Ameri- 
cans go  to  Paris  when  they  die;  rest  of  us  go  to  Savoy. 

P.S.  Oh,  yes,  town's  getting  ready  for  wedding. 

Nov.  11:  Ran  in  to  see  Cobina  Wright  today.  She 
was  in  the  middle  of  entertaining  Bea  Lillie  and  the 
Marquess  of  Milford-Haven.  The  Marquess  has  been 
deputized  by  Cobina's  old  friend,  Lt.  Philip  Mountbatten, 
who  is  party  of -the  second  part,  in  this  royal  wedding  to 
look  after  Cobina.  Nice  work  for  both.  Kinda  cute  kid, 
the  Marquess. 

Nov.  12:  Lawsy  me,  all  hell  has  broken  loose.  Two 
nasty  London  newspapers — the  cads! — have  revealed  the 
most  closely  guarded  secret  in  England.  They  have  be- 
trayed the  design  of  Princess  Elizabeth's  wedding  gown. 
One  old  meanie  published    (Continued  on   page  99) 


command 
performance 


the  diary 
of  an 
american 
newspaper 
woman 

by  inez  robb 


Loretta  Young,  star  of  The  Bishop's  Wife,  Sam  Goldwyn's  honored  picture,  meets 
Princess  Margaret  Rose.  This  was  the  second  annual  Command  Performance  for 
British  charities.  Also  on  the  program  was  a  30-minute  color  film  of  royal  wedding. 


55 


■  The  studio  had  found  them  rooms  at  the  Sherry- 
Netherlands,  and  they  went  there  directly  from  the 
station.  After  the  air-conditioned  Chief  and  Century, 
the  sick-damp,  enveloping  heat  of  New  York  seemed 
inexcusable  and  insufferable,  like  a  deliberate  insult. 
By  the  time  they  reached  their  suite,  they  felt  as  if 
they  were  walking  in  a  steam  bath,  and  their  hair 
and  clothes  looked  it. 

Standing  before  her  mirror,  trying  to  peel  a  blouse 
off  over  her  head,  Sue  mumbled  through  the  folds 
of  silk,  "I  was  going  to  say  it  felt  swell  to  be  in  town 
again,  but  I've  changed  my  mind." 

Alan  was  already  in  the  shower,  she  realized,  when 
she  at  last  emerged  from  the  blouse  and  heard  the 
water  running.  She  snorted.  "Beast!  Where  are 
your  manners?" 

He  stuck  his  head  out  of  the  curtain.  "Something?" 

"I'll  give  you  just  thirty  seconds  to  get  out  of 
there." 

He  was  out  in  twenty-five,  and  after  she'd  had 


her  shower  and  dressed,  they  sprawled  in  opposite 
chairs  and  grinned  at  each  other.  "I  may  live," 
Alan  said. 

"I'm  all  over  my  temper,  too.  But  do  you  realize 
I  brought  nothing  but  fall  clothes  with  me?  I  thought 
surely  with  October  so  near —  The  effects  of  this 
shower  are  going  to  last  about  ten  minutes." 

"Let's  try  to  be  like  children  and  not  pay  any 
attention  to  the  weather." 

"Children  metabolize  at  a  different  rate,  honey, 
and  anyway  they're  not  expected  to  look  crisp  in  hot 
weather.  What're  we  doing  tonight?" 

"Harvest  Moon  Ball.  Madison  Square  Garden." 

"Well,  let's  have  dinner  on  a  roof  somewhere, 
anyway.  I  want  some  lobster  Mayonnaise,  lobster 
with  real  claws,  and  some  breeze,  if  there  is  a  breeze." 

There  wasn't  any,  even  on  the  terrace  of  the 
Starlit  Roof.  Sue  pointed  wryly  at  the  sleeves  of 
her  dress,  already  wrinkled  on  the  inside  at  the 
elbow.  Alan  mopped  his  (Continued  on  page  111) 


THEY'RE  BUILDING  THEIR 

OWN  FURNITURE  NOW,  AND  BECAUSE 

THEY'RE  THE  LADDS,  IT'S 

A  50-50  PROPOSITION.  ALAN 

WIELDS  THE  TOOLS, 

AND  SUSIE  SAYS  THE  PRAYERS! 

by  Howard  Sharpe 


THE  LADDS,  INC 


Alana  enjoys  having  Daddy  kibitz  while  she  washes  her  neck — all 
by  herself.  Fans  are  clamoring  for  Alan  to  do  a  musical,  since 
they  heard  him  sing  in  Variety  Girl,  but  studio  wants  him  to  be  tough! 


Dinah  Shore  Montgomery's  a  mean  whittler.  "Specializing  in  home-made 
toothpicks,"  observed  Sue,  /whose  new  hair-do  is  Alan's  favorite.  The 
Ladds  gave  the  Montgomerys  a  christening  dress  for  their  coming  event. 


Layoff  from  Long  Gray  Line  made  Alan  restless, 
so  George  Montgomery  taught  him  carpentry.  He's 
built  enough  furniture  now  to  fill  a  whole  new  room. 


57 


THEY    DIDN'T  WAVE 

FLAGS  AT  BIRMINGHAM 

WHEN  THEY  CARRIED 

THE  WOUNDED  SOLDIERS 

FROM    THE  TRAIN. 

AND  VAN  JOHNSON,  WATCHING 

QUIETLY,  SWALLOWED  HARD. 

WONDERING  HOW  TO 

SAY,  "WELCOME  HOME." 

By  Hank  Jeffries 


■  On  a  January  night  in  1943,  a  passenger  train,  with 
all  car  lights  shaded,  switched  from  the  main  line  of 
the  Southern  Pacific,  in  the  San  Fernando  Valley  in 
California,  onto  a  spur  leading  to  the  U.  S.  Army 
Debarkation  Hospital  in  California.  On  it  were  the 
first  American  soldiers  wounded  in  the  Pacific  battle 
area.  As  it  steamed  slowly  into  the  hospital  grounds, 
the  bustle  of  reception  activities  became  evident,  and 
word,  flying  through  the  wards,  was  carried  to  a  group 
of  visitors.  One  of  the  women  in  this  party,  a  member 
of  the  Volunteer  Army  Canteen  Service,  turned  to  a 
tall,  blond,  young  man  walking  with  her. 

"Did  you  hear  that,  Van?"  she  asked.  "These  are 


the  boys  hurt  in  The  Solomons.  Will  you  come  and 
help  us  welcome  them?  It's  one  of  the  most  important 
moments  in  their  lives;  they've  come  home." 

Van  Johnson,  who'd  visited  the  hospital  many  times 
before,  and  had  talked  to  thousands  of  European 
visitors,  stared  at  her.  A  frightened  look  came  over  his 
face.  "Lord,  no,"  he  said.  "I'd  be  petrified.  Those  guys 
must  be  grim  after  traveling  thousands  of  miles  to  get 
here.  I'd  be  the  last  person  they'd  want  to  see." 

They  told  him  he  was  wrong.  Against  his  judgment, 
they  persuaded  him  to  go  along.  When  the  first  boy 
was  carried  off  the  train  on  a  stretcher,  Van  was  stand- 
ing in  the  background.  The  (Continued  on  page  106) 


* 


The  patients  at  Birmingham  got  a  new  swimming  pool  through  the  efforts 
of  the  Hollywood  Canteen  Foundation.  Van  Johnson,  old  friend  of  the 
vets,  and  Dot  Lamour  were  among  those  at  the  dedication  and  party. 


Usually,  the  stars  like  to  entertain  right  in  the  wards,  but  Christmas  is 
pretty  special.  It  turned  into  a  network  show  direct  from  the  hospital 
auditorium,  with  Gregory  Peck,  Margaret  Whiting  and  Eddie  Cantor. 


j  Before  leaving  recently  for  San  Francisco,  Gregory  Peck  gave  a  party 
in  his  own  home  for  veterans  in  the  paraplegic  ward.  Greg  and  his 
wife,  Greta,  know  some  of  the  men  well,  are  interested  in  their  families. 


Tie-less  and  informal,  Cary  Grant  talked  with  vets  alongside  the  pool. 
For  many  of  the  stars,  visits  to  the  hospital  began  as  duty  calls,  but 
soon  became  pleasures  and  the  beginning  of  real  friendship's  with  the  men. 


He's  been  razzed  for  16  years  over  the  air,  but  Jack  Benny  took  some 
more  when  he  brought  his  whole  show  with  him  to  the  hospital.  Most  of 
the  time,  he  comes  alone.    Just  walks  in  and  they  start  laughing. 


Jennifer  Jones,  who's  going  to  Switzerland  for  a  visit  with  her  sons  (at 
school  in  St.  Moritz)  is  familiar  to  the  men  in  the  hospital.  Here,  she 
swaps  autographs  with  vet  Gerald   Halbrook,   in  one  of"  the  wards. 


■  Backstage  at  the  Capitol  Theater,  she  was  getting 
into  the  Bergdorf  dress  (shocking  pink,  and  sensa- 
tional) when  the  flowers  came. 

"Orchids  again,"  Mrs.  Burce  said. 

Jane  sighed.  "Every  day.  He's  so  nice — for  an 
older  man." 

Her  mother  looked  surprised.   "How  old?" 

"He  must  be  thirty,"  Jane  said,  ending  the.  dis- 
cussion. 

Shortly  thereafter,  she  went  out,  did  three  songs, 
and  one  encore,  came  off,  wiggled  out  of  the  Bergdorf 
For  her,  they  prac-  dress,  creamed  her  face,  and  sagged. 

"The  makeup  is  wrecking  my  skin,"  she  said, 
tically  polished  up  the  stars  "And  I'm  tired." 

"And  there  wasn't  any  letter  from  Tommy  today," 
in  Central  Park;  they  her  mother  noted.   "Is  that  it?" 

She  had  to  grin.  Not  that  she  didn't  have  a  right 
practically  wrote  her  name  to  be  tired.   The  train  trip,  and  the  confusion,  with 

Jane  coming  in  to  one  of  New  York's  two  railroad  sta- 
in lights  across  the  New  tions,  while  her  agents  (MCA)  were  dutifully  meet- 
ing her  at  the  other.  The  two  weeks  of  five  shows 
York  sky.  But  the  glow  in  Janie's              a  day  (a  different  dress  for  every  show)  and  eating 

in  a  million  restaurants,  so  that  your  stomach  was  a 
eyes  was  there  before ;  little  off,  and  never  getting  to  bed  because  there  was 

so  much  to  see. 

'  it  came  with  love  .  .  .  She  was  tired,  all  right.    But  the  fact  remained 

that  Tommy  hadn't  written;  there  hadn't  been  any 

BY  ARTHUR  L.  CHARLES  letter  today,  and  maybe  you  could  blame  the  mood 

on  that,  and  not  New  York. 

People  in  New  York  had  (Continued  on  page  83) 


He  fought  bulls  at  1 3,  won  a  singing 
contest  when  he  couldn't  sing,  chased 

a  dream  until  she  married  him. 
He  gets  what  he  goes  after,  that 
Ricardo  Montalban — and  right  now  he's  after  your  heart! 
by  george  benjamin 


Stardom  is  just  a  step  ahead  for  Mexican-born  Ric  Montalban,  who's 
next  is  On  An  Island  With  You.  Going  along  in  stride  are  wife  Georgi- 
anpa   (Loretta  Young's  sister),  Laura,  2,  and  Mark,  now  9  months. 


dark 

man 

in  your 

future 

■  His  name  is  Ricardo  Montalban. 

Mont  (as  in  don't)—  tahl — 

bahn,  with  a  slight  emphasis  on  the  Mont. 

In  the  picture  Fiesta,  he  was  required 
to  dance  a  little  number  with 
Cyd  Charisse  called  "The  Flaming 
Flamingo,"  and  to  play  a  ter- 
rific concerto  on  the  piano,  and  to 
seem  as  proficient  a  matador 
as  the  men  who  spend  lifetimes 
practicing. 

He  also  had  to  act. 

He  doesn't  look  like  the  typical  Amer- 
ican conception  of  a  Mexican,  but 
Americans  have  some  funny  concep- 
tions.   His  charm  has  an  effervescent 
quality  about  it:  he  is  a  bundle  of 
nerves,  but  they  are  under  control. 
And  he  is  a  genuinely  intelligent 
man. 

He  remembers  being  eight  years  old, 
and  the  first  plane  coming  over  their 
little  city  of  Torreon.  Everyone  stood  in 
the  streets  and  watched  it,  that  first 
day,  because  they  didn't  know  what 
would  happen,  and  in  Northern 
Mexico,  in  1928,  one  had  not  seen  many 
flying  machines. 

Directly  over  the  center  of  town,  the 
pilot  leaned  out  and  dropped  a  small 
black  object,  which  plummetted  straight 
down  and  made  a  noise  and  a  flash 
when  it  hit. 

Then  the  (Continued  on  page  105) 


62 


i 
i 


For  these  reasonably  priced  shoes, 
write  for  the  name  of  your  dealer 
PETERS  SHOE  COMPANY,  SAINT  LOUIS 


THEY  KNEW  WHAT  THEY  WANTED 

(Continued  from  page  17) 


to  her.  "Brand-new  Buick  the  boy  just 
gave  us.  Some  boy." 

And  she'd  say  yes,  because  she  already 
knew  he  was  some  boy.  Her  parents  met 
Roy,  too.  They'd  come  on  from  Uvalde, 
to  visit,  and  they'd  thought  Roy  was  ter- 
rific. 

So  all  Hollywood  wondered,  when  Dale 
went  away.  Dale  had  been  married  her- 
self, before,  and  maybe  it  was  a  case  of  the 
burned  child.  She'd  been  divorced  from 
composer  Robert  Butts  in  1945;  she  wasn't 
in  any  rush  to  marry  again. 

She  came  back  to  Hollywood  eventually, 
but  not  to  act  with  Roy  in  his  Westerns — 
much  as  she  loved  playing  the  Western 
heroine — but  in  other  films.  Once  again, 
Hollywood  wondered  about  them — won- 
dered, and  suspected  that  they  cared,  and 
then  forgot. 

But  the  fact  was  that,  during  all  those 
months,  Dale  was  finding  out  for  sure  and 
always  that  "there's  no  use  running  away 
from  destiny."  She  and  Roy  made  the 
announcement  of  their  wedding  date  unex- 
pectedly, and  all  their  friends  rejoiced, 
because  all  Hollywood  loves  to  see  an 
idyllic  love  story  come  true.  Dale  Evans 
was  running  quickly  and  joyously  to  meet 
her  destiny. 

the  gossips  behave  .  .  . 

The  whole  thing  was  carried  off  with 
dignity  and  a  complete,  refreshing  lack  of 
cheap  cracks  on  the  part  of  filmland's  pack 
of  gossip  columnists.  Even  now,  Roy  and 
Dale  are  extremely  reticent,  refusing 
pointblank  to  discuss  themselves  with  most 
reporters. 

As  to  the  wedding  itself,  plans  were 
not  complete  the  day  I  talked  with  Roy, 
but  he  had  called  his  tailor  that  morning 
to  order  his  wedding  suit — a  conservative 
dark  blue,  but  a  cowboy  costume,  of  course. 
Roy  never  would  wear  anything  else  since 
he  carries  the  trademark  of  his  range 
royalty  into  all  his  activities.  He  told  me 
he  had  ordered  also  a  specially-made  pair 
of  soft  kidskin  boots,  cut  lower  than  the 
ones  he  wears  in  pictures.  Dale's  prefer- 
ence for  her  bridal  costume  was  a  suit  of 
soft  blue,  her  favorite  color,  and  lovely 
with  her  light  brown  hair. 

By  the  time  you  read  this,  of  course,  the 
wedding  will  be  history.  But  both  Roy 
and  Dale  were  really  up  in  the  air  the  day 
he  talked.  He,  for  example,  had  about  de- 
cided on  a  trip  to  Hawaii  by  steamer.  Four 
long  days  at  sea  with  nothing  to  do  but  re- 
lax. "That  sure  appeals  to  me,"  he  re- 
marked. Anything  that  he  wanted  was 
okay  with  Dale.  There  was  also  some  talk 
of  a  honeymoon  visit  to  Sun  Valley  for  the 
skiing. 

a  shipboard  wedding?  .  .  . 

Just  where  the  wedding  should  be  sol- 
emnized also  was  a  major  problem.  With 
the  date  set,  they  couldn't  make  up  their 
minds  as  to  where,  anyhow.  One  thing 
both  insisted  on — simplicity.  A  quiet  cere- 
mony in  a  friend's  home  seemed  a  good 
idea.  However,  Roy  was  also  toying  with 
the  notion  of  having  the  marriage  per- 
formed on  shipboard.  "The  gong  sounds, 
and  the  announcement  comes — 'all  ashore 
that's  going  ashore' — then  everybody  has  to 
rush  down  the  gangplank.  Best  way  in  the 
world  to  break  up  a  party,"  he  said 
thoughtfully,  grinning. 

The  ranch  in  Antelope  Valley,  where  Roy 
plans  to  rest  after  the  honeymoon,  has  three 
small  houses  on  its  365  acres.  He  will  not 
build  a  permanent  home  there  until  he 
and  Dale  have  definitely  decided  that  that's 


the  place  where  they  want  to  settle  down 
for  good. 

"It  might  turn  out  too  cold  in  winter," 
he  explained.  "Sometimes  it  blows  up 
quite  a  bit  of  snow  there  and  the  tempera- 
ture jiggles  around  the  zero  mark,  because 
it's  high  in  the  mountains.  But  the  kids 
love  it.  They're  living  on  the  ranch  now, 
and  going  to  the  little  country  school  five 
miles  away.  If  we  find  the  climate  agrees 
with  all  of  us,  we'll  build  a  place  large 
enough  to  make  living  an  honest-to-good- 
ness  pleasure. 

"There's  a  big  lake  on  the  property. 
Just  now  it's  dried  up,  so  I  took  a  bull- 
dozer to  the  place  last  week  and  dredged 
out  the  lake  bottom.  Now  we'll  have  a 
real  deep  piece  of  water  which  I'll  stock 
with  bass  and  blue  gill.  A  great  deal  of  the 
land  can  be  cultivated,  and  it's  my  idea  to 
raise  oats  and  other  grains.  I  don't  like 
waste." 

The  King  will  not  be  idle  while  he's 
taking  a  little  time  off  from  picture-mak- 
ing. He  still  has  his  circus  and  rodeo  shows 
and  has  launched  a  merchandising  deal  of 
considerable  magnitude.  The  company  he 
recently  established  handles  the  licensing 
of  Roy  Rogers  cowboy  shirts,  boots,  hats, 
guns,  belts,  wallets,  etc. 

And  anyhow,  the  fact  is,  resting  isn't 
quitting  with  Roy.  It  only  means  he's  slow- 
ing down  a  bit — four  color  pictures  a  year 
instead  of  nine  or  ten.  He  made  Under 
California  Skies  contrary  to  doctor's  or- 
ders. But  he  had  a  reason.  I  got  the  low- 
down  from  a  member  of  the  shooting  crew 
up  in  the  wilds  of  Placerita  Canyon — and 
it's  an  eloquent  tip-off  to  why  everybody's 
crazy  about  the  King. 

"Roy  wanted  us  all  to  have  a  month's 
work  just  before  Christmas,"  a  veteran 
juicer  told  me.  "That's  the  kind  of  guy 
the  King  is — and  he'll  keep  on  bein'  King 
as  long  as  he  wants  to  as  far  as  us  guys  are 
concerned.  Yep,  there's  gonna  be  a  Queen 
now,  too,  and  that's  all  to  the  good.  That's 
sure  all  to  the  good." 


June  Lbekhart  . 

Eagle-Lion's  wonder  girl,  who  has 
New  York  at  her  feet  for  her  smash- 
hit  performance  in  the  Broadway  play 
For  Love  or  Money. 

You.'ll  see  June  soon  in  T-Men. 
Meantime,  while  she's  the  toast  of  the 
town  in  Manhattan,  Eagle-Lion  is  scout- 
ing around  for  a  new  comedy  romance 
for  June  to  star  in  under  her  new  long- 
term  contract. 

Here  June  lounges  before  the  fire  in 
a  slack  get-up  that's  as  cute  as  it's 
easy-going.  She's  wearing  denims  in  a 
terrific  new  Barnyard  red.  The  jeans 
have  a  back  pocket  and  a  side  zipper. 
The  matching  jacket  is  cut  on  boxy 
lines,  with  cuffed  sleeves  and  the  same 
double-stitched  pockets  you  see  on'  the 
pants.  With  It  she  wears  a  Dan  River 
checked  cotton  shirt  and  a  whopping 
big  belt  from  Criterion. 

You  can  buy  the  denims  also  in  navy 
blue,  aqua,  or  forest  green.  Sizes  12-20. 
Jeans, 'about  $3.95.  Jacket,  about  $5.95. 
Barnyard  denims  by  Saddletogs. 
Shirt  in  red  or  blue,  about  $3.95. 
Shirt  by  Variety  Sportswear. 
For  where  to  buy  see  page  73. 


V  4  #•  %  * 


••V-' 


modern  screen  fashions 


By  CONNIE  BARTEL,  Fashion  Editor 


shirtwaist 


66 


The  look  the  boys  love !    Get  yourself 
one  knockout  skirt — and  switch 
blouses  to  suit  the  occasion.    Like,  for 
instance,    the    ballerina    skirt  and 
'blouse  on  this  page — all  dressed 
up  with  little  lace  mitts  and  pearl  pins. 
Black  rayon  faille  skirt,  10-16. 
By  Alice  Stuart  About  $8.95. 

The  valentine  of  a  blouse  is 
cotton  batiste  with  Venise  lace.  Sizes  32-38. 
Blouse  by  Judy  Bond.    About  $4. 
Coro  pins,  $1  each* — drop  earrings,  $1  a  pair.* 
Lace  mitts  by  Kayser — $1.25  a  pair. 


FOR  WHERE 

TO  BUY 

SEE  PAGE  73 


modern  screen  fashions 


For  an  innocent  school 
girl  look — try  a  crisp  striped  blouse 
with  sweet-and-pure  collar 
and  cuffs  and  a  big  wide-eyed 
taffeta  bow.   In  Rossman's 
Lusterspun,  a  stiffish  rayon 
with  a  nice  gleam,  and  an 
expensive  look. 
Pink,  grey,  maize  or 
blue  stripes.    Sizes  32-38 
Blouse  by  Joan  Kenley,  $6 
Criterion  belt,  $4,  Coro  pin,  $1.* 


•  •  •  • 


For  a  more  dressed  up  deal — 
try  this  "Ride  the  Pink  horse"  print — 
named  after  guess  what  picture? 
It's  Ponemah  Mills  spun 
rayon — black  with  green,  grey, 
white  or  pink  horses 
galloping  over  it — 
and  it  has  a  ribbon  bow 
to  match  the  print.   Sizes  32-38. 
Nice  with  a  cummerbund  belt. 
Alice  Stuart  blouse.   About  $5.95 
Belt  by  Criterion. 


modern  screen  fashions 


FOR 
WHERE 
TO  BUY 
SEE 

PAGE  73 


Joan  Leslie,  soon  to  appear  in  Eagle-Lion's  "Northwest  Stampede.' 


Here's  Joan  Leslie — perfect 
example  of  the  pretty  young  Ameri- 
can,    wearing     pretty  young 
American  clothes,  in  the  magic 
city  of  Paris.    We  photographed 
Joan  in  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  with 
her   hired   bike — (everyone  tears 
around  Paris  on  bicycles) — and.  did 
we  draw  a  gallery!    Know  why? 
Because  Joan's  so  lovely,  natch.  And 
also  because  the  French  just  can't 
get  over  American  clothes!  Especially 
wonderful,    wearable,  buyable 
clothes  like  these  from  Koret  of  Cali- 
fornia.    Proving  once  more 
that  nowhere  in  the  world  can 
a  girl  dress  so  well,  for  so  little — 
as  in  America.    Aren't  we  lucky? 

■  Left,  Joan  wears  a  beautifully  cut 
corduroy  jumper  you  can  buy  and  love 
in  aqua,  grey,  tan,  green,  russet. 

■  Opposite,    Joan  wears 

nifty  wool  fleece  Globe-Trotter  jacket 
and  adjustable,  roll-upable  Trik- 
skirt.      All    by    Koret  of 
California.    Write  for  prices. 


68 


modern  screen  fashions 


70 


sweater 


ml  skirt— 

QA  mm, 


FOR  WHERE 
TO  BUY 
SEE  PAGE  73 


Wait '11  you  hear  the  whistles 

when  you  show  up  in 

a  full  wool  jersey  skirt  with 

its  own  gold  belt — and 

a  smooth  turtle  neck  sweater  blouse. 

Skirt  in  kelly,  cocoa, 

powder,  aqua,  fuchsia,  others.  22-30. 

Skirt  by  Sporteens,  $7.98 

Cotton  sweater  blouse  in  every  color 

you  can  think  of.  34-40. 

By  Colony  Club  $2.98. 

Pins  by  Coro— $1  each* 

Gloves  by  Kayser — $2  a  pair. 


GODDESS  IN  THE  FAMILY 

(Continued  from  page  37) 


got  to  it  when  they  were  children. 

But  surely,  you  would  say,  I  must  have 
noticed  Maureen's  beauty  developing  when 
she  got  to  be  about  eleven  or  twelve? 
The  answer  is  no.  When  Maureen  got  to 
be  that  age,  something  else  began  to  de- 
velop and  it  wasn't  beauty — as  I  thought 
then.  She  started  to  shoot  up  in  height  and, 
before  she  was  twelve,  she  was  five  feet 
six  inches  tall!  Because  my  father  was  a 
man  six  feet,  four,  I  began  to  worry.  I 
just  didn't  fancy  being  the  mother  of  the 
tallest  girl  in  Ireland! 

Actually,  Maureen  was  only  to  grow  two 
more  inches  with  full  adulthood,  but  this 
was  advance  information  I  didn't  have. 
I  was  worried  the  more  because,  like  so 
many  overly  tall  children,  she  began  to  be 
sensitive  about  it;  unconsciously  so,  I 
think.  At  least,  I  would  catch  her  slumping 
so  she  could  get  down  on  a  level  with 
her  playmates. 

And  about  the  time  she  stopped  growing 
and  began  to  fill  out,  there  developed  in 
my  long-legged,  queen-to-be,  the  appetite 
of  a  Killarney  giant!  Those  days  we  all  of 
us  could  hear  Maureen  coming  home  from 
school  a  half  block  before  she  got  to  the 
house.  She  would  be  sniffing  for  what  was 
cooking  in  the  kitchen  and  "oohing"  and 
"ah-h-ing"  if  it  smelled  good.  The  next 
second  she  would  pop  in  the  side  door 
and  personally  inspect  what  was  stewing 
for  supper. 

no  time  for  beauty  .  .  . 

Do  you  now  suppose  that  we  took  any 
time  out  to  wonder  if  this  gawky,  ravenous 
beanpole  (who  was  also  developing  a  fine 
tummy,  by  the  way)  was  beautiful?  Not 
a  one  of  us,  and  certainly  not  Maureen 
who  was  much  too  busy  lifting  pot  lids 
and  tasting  contents. 

Oh,  I  do  remember  her  getting  a  mo- 
mentary qualm  about  her  looks  once  or 
twice.  There  was  an  occasion,  when  she 
was  about  fifteen,  when  she  appeared  in 
.downtown  Dublin  with  her  first  lipstick 
on,  and  also  one  of  my  hats.  This  was 
duly  reported  to  me,  as  those  things  often 
are,  before  Maureen  got  home  that  evening. 
I  had  noticed  that  a  hat  was  missing,  and 
my  lipstick  not  where  I'd  left  it.  But  I 
said  nothing,  and  in  due  time  the  hat  re- 
appeared and  Maureen  got  back  to  soap 
and  water. 

Another  time  we  were  on  a  train  and 
across  from  us  sat  a  very  attractive  woman. 
Maureen  leaned  close  so  she  could  talk 
in  my  ear. 

"Oh,  Mommy!"  she  said.  "I  would  love 
to  grow  up  to  be  as  beautiful  as  that  lady!" 

"Ho,  ho!"  I  answered.  "You'll  certainly 
not,  young  lady,  walking  around  with 
your  head  scrooched  into  your  shoulders, 
and  eating  like  a  horse  at  meals!" 

"Oh,  well,"  said  she,  shrugging,  as  much 
as  to  say  that  beauty  wasn't  worth  the 
bother. 

No,  it  wasn't  until  Maureen  was  seven- 
teen, and  we  went  to  London  to  attend 
the  preview  of  her  first  picture,  Jamaica 
Inn,  that  she  was  officially  pronounced  a 
beauty.  The  "authority"  was  Charles 
Laughton,  and  after  all,  it  was  almost  as 
if  King  Henry  the  Eighth,  himself,  was 
talking!  Maureen  and  I  were  on  the  edge 
of  a  crowd  of  people  before  the  showing, 
when  we  heard  Charles  cry.  out  to  a  friend: 
"Just  wait  until  you  see  that  O'Hara  girl 
on  the  screen.  You'll  think  you  are  looking 
at  a  Greek  goddess,  old  man!" 

I  could  feel  Maureen's  startled  little 
movement  beside  me. 

"Well!"  I  whis-  (Continued  on  page  74) 


with  your  own  initials 


Monogrammed  to  be  personally  yours.  If  you 
want  that  important  blouse... smart  with  tight 
two  button  culFs  and  perky  pointed  collar... 
gay  with  a  tie  color-matched  to  your  own 
initials  in  a  clever  "turn  of  the  century 
monogram ...  then  clip  the  coupon 
but  quick! 


Finest  mercerized  broadcloth 
Washable . . .  P  re-shrunk 
Sizes:  10  to  16,  teen  age 
30  to  38,  misses 


»OMA,\CeMSt.  Chicane  6,  W- 
333  V/.Uke  St..  approval. 

Print  2 


s  color--  Black 


These 


make  the 
difference 


The  two  blocks  of 
sterling  inlaid  at  back 
of  bowls  and  handles 
of  most  used  spoons 
and  forks.  They  make 
this  silverplate  stay 
lovelier  longer.  Fifty - 
two  piece  set  $68.50 
with  chest.  (No  Fed- 
eral Tax.) 


HOLMES  &  EDWARDS 
STERLING  INLAID0 
SILVERPLATE 


Cepyritht  1948.  The  litirmllHll  Shir  Co.,  Holmes  I  Eiwjrds  Division, 
MoriiM,  Com.  Sold  in  Crnta  ii  :  Tit  T.  Esten  Co.,  lid.  °Rit.  U.  S.  Pat.  OH. 


The  exciting  difference  is 
this  simple  small  wire 
rat. 

luxurious  SATIN,  Siyl*  805 

A.  8,  &  C  cup  #_ 

White,  Black,  Blue,  Tearose  $5. 

In  BROADCLOTH,  Style  802 
B  and  C  cup 

White  and  Tearose  $g50 

Exquisite  Form  Brassiere,  inc. 

373  4th  Ave.,  N.Y.  •  850  S.  B'way,  Los  Angeles 


71 


modern  screen  fashions 


■  Spring's  closer  than  you 
think!    If  you're  in  the  midst  of  an  after- 
holiday  letdown— pep  yourself  up 
with  a  bright  print  that  says  Easter's 
on  the  way.  Our  pet  prescription 
for  a  spring  tonic  is  this  bright  rayon 
crepe  with   jutting  peg-top 
pockets,  slit  draped  sleeves,  and  the 
world's  most  wearable  neckline. 
Your' choice  of  gold,  luggage,  grey  or 
black  background  with  bright 
printed  figures.   Sizes  12-20. 
By  Queen  Make.    About  $14.95. 


f«  KM? 

8 

i 


FOR  WHERE 
TO  BUY 
SEE  PAGE  73 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY  MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 


(Prices  on  merchandise  may  vary  through- 
out country) 

Saddletogs  Barnyard  denims  box  jacket 
and.  jeans  worn  by  June  Lockhart  in  the  full 
color  photograph 

(Page  65) 

Denver,  Colo. — The  Denver  Dry  Goods 
Co.,  Sports  Shop,  Second  Floor 

Fort  Wayne,  Ind. — Wolf  &  Dessauer 

Kansas  City,  Mo.— Emery,  Bird,  Thayer 
Co.,  Sportswear,  Grand  Ave.  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Mary  Lewis,  Sports- 
wear, Street  Floor 

Variety  Sportswear  checked  gingham  shirt 
worn  by  June  Lockhart  in  the  full  color 
photograph 

(Page  65) 

Chicago,  111. — Von  Lengerke  &  Antoine, 
Women's  Dept.,  Fourth  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Kauffman's,  139  East 
24th  St. 

Philadelphia,  Pa. — Gimbels,  Sportswear 
Dept.,  Third  Floor 

Criterion  yellow  &  blue  leather  belt  shown 
in  the  full  color  photograph 

(Page  65) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Arnold  Constable, 
Be"lts,  Main  Floor 

Koret  of  California  corduroy  jumper  worn 
by  Joan  Leslie 

(Page  66) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Lane  Bryant,  Misses 

Dept.,  Second  Floor 
Washington,  D.  C— The  Hecht  Co., 

Casual  Dresses,  Third  Floor 

m 

Koret  of  California  Globe-Trotter  jacket 
and  Trikskirt  worn  by  Joan  Leslie 

(Page  67) 

Washington,  D.  C— The  Hecht  Co., 
Sportswear  Dept.,  Third  Floor 

Judy  Bond  cotton  batiste  blouse  with 
Venise  lace 

(Page  68) 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Abraham  &  Straus, 
Moderate  Priced  Blouses,  Main  Floor 

Chicago,  111.— Carson,  Pirie  Scott  &  Co. 

Los  Angeles,  Calif. — Broadway  Depart- 
ment Store,  Blouses,  Street  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Loth- 
rop,  Blouse  Dept.,  First  Floor 

Alice  Stuart  rayon  faille  ballerina  skirt 

(Page  68) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — McCreery's,  College 

Shop,  Fourth  Floor 
Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  & 

Lothrop 

Coro  round  pearl  pins  and  pearl  drop 
earrings  shown  with  skirt  and  blouse 

(Page  68) 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Dennison's,  411  5th 
Ave. 

Kavser  lace  mitts  shown  with  blouse  and 
skirt 

(Page  68) 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Sterns,  Gloves,  Main 
Floor 


Joan  Kenley  Lusterspun  striped  blouse  with 
taffeta  bow 

(Page  69) 

Chicago,  111. — Mandel  Brothers,  Blouse 

Dept.,  First  Floor 
Columbus,  Ohio — The    Fashion,  Joan 

Kenley  Dept.,  First  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Franklin  Simon,  Joan 

Kenley  Dept.,  Main  Floor 


Coro  horseshoe  pearl  pin  shown  with  blouse 

(Page  69) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Dennison's,  411  5th 
Ave. 


Alice  Stuart  spun  rayon  "Ride  the  Pink 
Horse"  blouse 

(Page  69) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — McCreery's,  College 
Shop,  Fourth  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Loth- 
rop, Blouse  Dept.,  First  Floor 


Colony  Club  cotton  turtle  neck-  sweater 
blouse 

(Page  70) 

Detroit,     Mich. — Himelhoch's,  Casual 

Shop,  Fourth  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y.— Macy's,  Sweater  Dept., 

Third  Floor 
Washington,    D.  C— The    Hecht  Co., 

Sweater  Bar,  First  Floor 


Sporteens  all  wool  jersey  skirt  with  gold 
belt 

(Page  ,70) 

Philadelphia,  Pa. — Strawbridge  & 
Clothier,  Misses  Separates,  Third  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C— The  Hecht  Co., 
Sportswear  Shop,  Third  Floor 


Coro  Fleur  de  lis  pins  shown  with  blouse 
and  skirt 

"(Page  70) 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Dennison's,  411  5th 
Ave. 


Kayser  gloves  with  round  pearl  buttons 
shown  with  blouse  and  skirt 

(Page  70) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Stern's,  Gloves,  Main 
Floor 


Queen  Make  rayon  crepe  print  dress  with 
peg-top  pockets 

(Page  72) 

Los  Angeles,  Calif. — J.  W.  Robinson  Co., 

Patio  Shop,  Fourth  Floor 
New  Orleans,  La. — Maison  Blanche  Co., 

Daytime  Dress  Dept.,  Second  Floor 
St.    Louis,    Mo. — Scruggs -Vandervoort- 

Barney,  Third  Floor 


If  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed,  write: 
Fashion  Editor,  Modern  Screen,  149 
Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


1 


THE  Juijf  THAT 
IIEUER  LETS 
VOU  D0UII1 

Making  the  most  of  your  figure? 
— you  can,  you  know,  with  a 
"Perma-lift"*  Brassiere.  There's  a 
soft,  yet  firm  cushion  inset  at  the 
base  of  each  bra  cup.  Your  bust  is 
naturally  and  gently  supported 
from  below.  Wash  and  wear  your 
"Perma-lift"  Bra  as  often  as  you 
want — it  will  never  lose  its  fa- 
mous lift.  At  your  favorite  cor- 
setiere— $1.50  to  $3.50.  Won- 
derful and  comfortable  is  a 
"Perma-lift"  Girdle  too  — 
"No  Bones  about  it — Stays 
up  without  stays." 


ilk 


erma-liff  mid  ••Hickory" 
re  trademarks  of  A.  i*tein 
,fc  Company  {Reg  .  U.  S. 
Pat.  Oil.) 


(Continued  from  page  71)  peered  to  her, 
"What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"The  man's  daft,  Mommy,"  she  whis- 
pered back. 

Then  we  went  in  to  see  the  picture. 
Maureen's  face  was  a  study. 

"What's  wrong?"  I  asked. 

"It's  that  girl,"  she  replied.  "Mommy, 
she  is  beautiful  but  I  just  can't  connect 
myself  with  her.  I  keep  hearing  Daddy's 
voice,  'skin  like  an  elephant's  hide  and 
hair  like  hay.'  I  know  it's  me  up  there  and 
at  the  same  time  I  can't  believe  it." 

"Then  Mr.  Laughton  was  right,  wasn't 
he?"  I  asked. 

"If  it's  me,"  she  said  wonderingby.  "If 
it's  me." 

Maureen  made  her  first  impression  upon 
the  public  when  she  was  not  yet  three. 
Oh,  it  wasn't  as  an  actress,  but  you  might 
say  she  almost  stopped  the  show,  and 
certainly,  she  gave  her  daddy  and  me  the 
reddest  faces  we  have  ever  shown  to  the 
world.  It  was  a  crisp  Sunday  morning  and 
her  informal  debut  took  place  in  church 
during  a  crowded  Mass.  Maureen's  older 
sister,  Peggy,  who  was  then  four,  had  been 
left  home  because  she'd  dawdled  with  her 
dressing,  wouldn't  let  her  gaitors  be  put 
on,  and  we  were  already  late. 

There  came  a  moment  in  the  Mass,  the 
Elevation,  when  the  assemblage  was  stilled 
in  prayer.  In  the  quiet  some  child  began 
to  cry  and  was  immediately  hushed.  But 
Maureen  got  the  idea  Peggy  had  come  to 
church  all  by  herself,  and  couldn't  find 
us  in  the  solidly  filled  pews.  She  split  the 
silence  by  screaming  out,  "We're  here, 
Peggy!  Over  on  this  side!  Here,  Peggy!" 

What  a  rustle  and  murmuring  of  laugh- 
ter through  the  church,  and  what  eyes 
were  turned  on  us! 

Maureen  and  Peggy  were  inseparable  as 
toddlers.  If  you  threatened  to  spank  one, 
tears  would  spring  from  the  eyes  of  the 
other.  As  soon  as  they  were  old  enough 
to  get  around,  they  took  on  themselves 
the  task  of  defending  the  house  from  in- 
vaders. Their  weapons  were  gooseberries 
which  they  stripped  from  their  father's 
bushes  and  threw  at  passersby.  When  I  took 
them  to  the  seaside  for  their  first  visit 
and  they  stuck  their  toes  into  the  cold 
water,  the  same  idea  struck  both  of  them 
at  once.  "Mommy!"  they  screamed.  "Please 
fetch  the  kettle  of  hot  water  and  warm 
the  sea!" 


The  two  younger  girls,  Florrie  and  Mar- 
go,  were  of  a  pair  with  Peggy  and  Maureen, 
but  had  their  own  peculiarities.  Florrie, 
who  has  starred  in  English  pictures  but  is 
now  married  to  a  Montreal  lumber  man, 
we  used  to  call  "Sneaking  Moses"  because 
she  would  sneak  into  a  room  with  a  pair  of 
scissors,  cut  something  and  then  disappear. 
Margo,  who  has  also  been  in  a  number 
of  pictures,  was  called  "The  Banshee." 
She  wailed  like  one.  The  oldest  of  my 
boys,  Charlie,  now  a  barrister  in  Dublin, 
has  been  tested  for  pictures  along  with  my 
younger  son,  Jimmy.  Charlie,  whom  we 
called  "Rusty  Gullet"  as  a  boy,  because  he 
always  wanted  to  hurry  up  and  be  a  man, 
and  forced  himself  to  talk  with  a  low, 
hoarse  voice,  is  not  sure  that  he  wants  to 
leave  the  law  for  the  screen.  Jimmy  is  sure. 
He  thinks  of  nothing  else,  and  when  I 
return  to  Ireland,  my  first  duty  is  to  dis- 
cuss a  contract  he  has  been  offered. 

Having  almost  all  your  children  in  the 
movies  has  its  points.  Whenever  I  am 
lonesome  for  one  of  them,  I  need  only 
hunt  up  his  or  her  latest  picture  and  spend 
a  warm  few  hours. 

Maureen  started  the  acting,  of  course, 
just  as  she  was  always  the  "one  to  start 
something  new  about  the  house;  destroy- 
ing her  toys,  for  instance.  She  wanted  to 
know  what  made  them  tick.  Once  she  slit 
her  stuffed  pony  open,  and  I  discovered 
her. 

"I  just  wanted  to  know  if  it's  the  same 
as  me  inside,"  she  explained. 

"How  would  you  know  what  you  are 
like  inside?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  I  know,"  she  answered,  giving  me 
a  sidelong  look.  "Lots  of  pipes  and  things." 

A  desire  on  my  part  to  help  a  friend 
who  was  opening  a  small  dramatic  school, 
was  Maureen's  actual  start  in  her  career. 
I  thought  it  would  be  a  very  good  idea 
if  she  got  elocution  lessons;  a  girl  is  the 
better  for  being  able  to  speak  clearly,  in- 
stead of  mumbling.  But  I  gave  it  no  fur- 
ther special  thought  until  the  class  gave 
a  play,  Jack  Frost,  and  to  my  surprise, 
Maureen  made  quite  a  thing  of  the  lead. 

Miss  Edna  Mary  Burke,  who  heads  a 
leading  dramatic  school  in  Dublin,  hap- 
pened to  see  the  play  and  was  taken  with 
Maureen.  What  mother  would  say  no  un- 
der such  circumstance?  From  then  on,  for 
years,  Maureen  was  about  the  busiest  girl 
in  Dublin.  You  see,  she  didn't  stop  with 


MODERN  SCREEN 


her  regular  school  and  her  dramatic  and 
dancing  lessons.  She  took  up  stenography, 
typing  and  bookkeeping,  as  a  practical 
step!  •  » 

Now,'  she  began  professional  work  as 
well.  She  worked  with  the  Abbey  Theatre, 
did  radio  plays  over  Dublin's  station, 
Radio  FJREANN,  and,  was  also  attached 
to  the  Bernadette  Players  in  Rathmines, 
a  Dublin  suburb.  She  was  always  going 
places  alone  now.  I  began  to  worry  about 
this  and  lectured  her  on  a  number  of 
subjects,  including  MEN. 

Somewhere  in  Dublin  there's  a  lad  for 
whom  I  still  feel  sorry  because  of  these 
lectures.  He  approached  Maureen,  one 
rainy  evening,  as  she  stood  outside  the 
Abbey  Theatre,  waiting  for  a  tram  to  take 
her  home,  her  books  under  one  arm  and 
an  umbrella  in  the  other  hand.  She  was 
about  15  then.  Possibly,  the  young  chap 
was  just  going  to  ask  for  street  directions 
or  the  like.  But  that  morning  I  had  given 
Maureen  that  old,  old  piece  of  advice: 
"Men  will  only  go  as  far,  will  only  be  as 
wicked,  as  a  girl  will  let  them  be.  Re- 
member that,  young  lady!" 

The  young  fellow  said,  "Good  evening — " 
but  that  was  far  enough  for  Maureen. 
She  promptly  bent  her  umbrella  over  his 
head,  and  he  fled  for  his  life! 

tricks  of  the  traveler  .  .  . 

Yes,  Maureen  had  quite  a  code  of  con- 
duct to  guide  her  in  her  travels  in  Dublin. 
But  this  was  nothing  to  what  was  dinned 
into  her  head  by  her  Aunt  Florence,  with 
whom  she  lived  in  London  when  she  went 
there  to  make  Jamaica  Inn.  Aunt  Florence 
made  Maureen  copy  down  her  instruc- 
tions. Here  they  are,  in  case  you  ever  go 
to  London  to  make  a  picture! 

1.  While  waiting  for  bus  or  tube  train, 
never  stand  still.  Always  keep  moving 
up  and  down  the  street  or  platform. 

2.  Never  catch  anyone's  eye. 

3.  Always  sit  near  the  conductor  on  the 
bus. 

-.4.  Never  threaten  to  call  a  policeman  if 
a  flirt  speaks  to  you — go  and  call  him! 

5.  Never  walk  slowly.  Always  act  like 
you  are  late  and  in  a  hurry! 

As  a  result  of  following  this  set  of  rules 
carefully,  Maureen  remembers  London 
as  just  one  big  blur.  She  never  had  a 
chance  to  stop  and  look  at  it. 

Maureen  did  well  in  London,  but  again, 
in  her  practical  way,  she  played  safe.  Even 
though  she  was  making  a  picture  with  a 
star  as  prominent  as  Charles  Laughton, 
she  registered  at  Trinity  College  for  a 
dramatic  course.  She  stayed  until  she 
graduated,  with  a  92%  mark;  an  achieve- 
ment so  unusual  that  the  school  board 
awarded  her  a  gold  medal  of  honor. 

Her  greatest  asset  in  stage  work  was  her 
quick  memory.  When  she  first  read  Shake- 
speare, she  fell  so  much  in  love  with  him 
that  she  would  memorize  huge  gobs  of  his 
plays  at  one  sitting.  She  could  read  a  page, 
give  me  the  book,  and  then  recite  almost 
all  of  it  straight  out!  More  than  that,  she 
took  to  writing  poetry,  and  could  compose 
a  little  sonnet  while  riding  home  from 
school  on  her  bicycle.  I  sometimes  feel  that 
working  in  pictures,  where  you  need  only 
remember  a  short  scene  at  a  time,  is  a 
waste  of  her  talent.  Still,  films  bring  her 
talent  to  so  many  people.  And  her  beauty. 

Yes,  when  people  step  into  my  shop  and 
talk  about  Maureen's  beauty,  I  agree. 
Now  that  I  look  back  on  it,  there  was  her 
flaming  red  hair,  and  I  remember  how  I 
used  to  try  to  get  her  dresses  in  comple- 
mentary colors  to  match.  Then  there  were 
her  green  eyes,  and  her  finely-modeled 
face  and  the  graceful  movements. 

What  must  I  be  thinking  of?  Why, 
Maureen  was  always  beautiful!  Of  course! 
Of  course!  And  the  first  thing  I'll  do  when 
I  get  back  to  Ireland  will  be  to  remind 
her  father  of  it.  He'll  be  quite  delighted! 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 


Dear  You: 

This  is  getting  to  sound  like  a  broken 
record — but  anyway,  thank  you  again  for 
your  wonderful  letters.  We  got  a  great 
big  kick  out  of  every  one  of  them — plus  a 
nice  warm  feeling  that  we're  getting  to 
know  you  like  our  own  best  gal  friends. 

And  thanks  especially  for  those  cou- 
pons you  sent  in,  telling  us  what  size 
clothes  you  wear.  They  have  helped  us 
heaps.  From  now  on,  you'll  be  seeing 
more  and  more  Modern  Screen  fashions 
in  the  size  ranges  you  yourself  have  asked 
for — because,  as  we  can't  repeat  too 
often,  we  run  MS  fashions  solely  to  help 
you  find  the  clothes  you  want  at  the 
prices  you  like. 

Now,  if  you've  got  the  strength  to 
write  us  one  more  letter — here's  some- 
thing else  we  want  to  know.  How  are 
you  doing  when  you  actually  go  into  a 
store  to  shop  for  MS  togs?  Do  you  have 
trouble  finding  the  clothes?  Does  the 
salesgirl  know  which  dress  you're  refer- 
ring to?  We  try  to  make  it  easy  for  you 
to  locate  your  favorites  by  naming  the 
department  as  well  as  the  store.  But, 
if  you  ever  do  hit  a  snag,  won't  you  write 
and  telk  us  about  it?  It's  only  by  know- 
ing exactly  what  happens  when  you  go 
shopping — that  we  can  fix  things  with 
your  home  town  store  so  that  finding 
what  you  want  will  be  a  breeze.  Mean- 
time, just  to  make  sure,  why  don't  you 
tear  out  the  picture  of  the  fashion  you 
want,  and  show  it  to  the  salesgirl?  That 
helps,  too. 

About  C.O.D.'s.  Kids,  we  can't  handle 
them  here  at  MS.  You  can  send  a 
C.O.D.  order  to  the  stores  we  name,  or 
you  can  write  us  for  the  name  of  a  store 
which  will  take  your  C.O.D.  But  help! 
Please  don't  send  your  C.O.D.  order  to 
this  office — because  we're  not  set  up  to 
handle  it. 

And  here's  another  point,  chicadees. 
If  there's  anything  you  don't  like  about 
MS  fashions — write  us  that,  too,  won't 
you?  We  welcome  kicks  as  well  as  com- 
pliments. You  see  we  slave  over  Modern 
Screen  fashions  not  just  to  show  you  the 
latest  trends;  but  to  actually  help  you 
put  your  whole  wardrobe  together. 
Every  single  fashion  in  Modern  Screen 
is  meant  to  turn  up  with  you  inside  it, 
happily  feeling  as  well  dressed  as  any- 
thing. That's  why,  if  we  show  something 
J  you  don't  feel  is  right  for  you  to  wear, 
[we  want  to  know  about  it.  Let. us  hear, 
hear? 

Yours  affectionately, 

Connie  Bartel 


d  SHO-FORM 


MODELED  BY  BETTY  GUTHRIE  OF  THE  EARL  CARROlfc 
THEATRE  RESTAURANT 


The  young  uplift  .  .  .  smooth  lines  .  .  .  and 
smart  separation  that  you  achieve  with 
Miss  Sho-Form,  adds  to  fashion's  "new 
look."  In  A,  B  and  C  cups  for  individual  fit. 


A  Cup  :  32  to  36 
B  &  C  Cups:  32  tp  42 


860  S.  LOS  ANGELES  STREET 
LOS  ANGELES  14,  CALIFORNIA 


The  Ring  that  goes 
straight  to  the 
HEART 


January— Garnet 

w 

February —  Amethyst 

^> 

March — Aquamarine 
April— White  Sapphire 
May — Emerald 
June  —  Alexandrite 
July —  Ruby 

August— Peridot 

<^> 

September—  Sapphire 
October— Rose  Zircon 

w 

November— Topaz 

<^> 

December—  Zircon 

*Simulated 


Measure 


You  pay  Nothing  until 
you  wear  your  ring 
—  then  only 
$1  a  week 

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Ring  Size 

y>r(/  Pa*  ring  of  right  size 
'  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

Draw  pencil  circle  in- 
side ring.  Send  paper 
with  this  coupon. 


NO  Down 
Payment 

Fine  stones,  cut  for 
dazzling  brilliance, 
clustered  for  sparkle 
—in  a  rich  setting  of 
10  kt.  Gold. 


SEND  NO  MONEY 


Goldcraft,  Box  417,  Birmingham  1,  Ala. 

Please  send  me  Birthstone  Ring  as  advertised.  I  ogree 
to  pay  Goldcraft  $1  weekly  until  Ring  is  paid  in  fuU 

I   Ring  size  Birth  Month. 

Name  


Address. 


_State_ 


75 


THE 


AKE-UP" 

i 

—for  your 
Color  Type*  Jl 


v     Created  for  REDHEADS 

9  W    Four  of  Marchand's  12  rinse 

shades  are  ideal  for  redheads!  "Light 
Golden  Blonde"  makes  your  natural 
hair  color  sparkle  with  highlights. 
"Titian  Blonde"  and  "Henna"  add 
coppery  tones,  while  "Bronze" 
blends  in  little  gray  strands. 

Colors  for  every  hair  type  .  .  .  blonde, 

brownette,  brunette  and  redhead!  Marchand's 
new  color  chart  tells  you  which  shade  to  use 
for  the  particular  color  effect  you  want  .  .  . 
whether  it's  just  a  subtle  color  accent  or  a 
deeper,  richer  tone. 

Glistening  highlights,  too!  Marchand's 
"Make-Up"  Rinse  does  what  a  shampoo  alone 
cannot  do.  As  it  rinses  out  dulling  soap  film, 
it  rinses  in  new  lustre,  leaving  your  hair 
shining,  silken-soft  and  easier  to  manage. 
Safe,  easy-to-use.  After  every  shampoo, 
simply  dissolve  Marchand's  Rinse  in  warm 
water  and  brush  or  pour  it  through  your  hair. 
It's  as  easy  as  that!  Not  a  bleach,  not  a  per- 
manent dye,  it's  as  safe  as  lemon  or  vinegar 
and  does  so  much  more  for  your  hair.  It's 
made  with  government-approved  colors  that 
wash  off  with  your  next  shampoo. 


6  RINSES 

25<t 


2  RINSES 

IO<fc 

Plus  tax 


76     By  the  Makers  of  Marchand's  Golden  Hair  Wash 


Geraldine  Brooks,  star  of  Warners'  Glory  Enough,  is  lovelier  than. ever  in  the  pink! 


PINK  LADY 


Pink,  pretty  and 


away  from  exotic  effects  is  the 

lovely  young-lady  look  for  this  spring 

by  CAROL  CARTER 

■  This  spring,  pink  is  for  all  pretty  young  ladies.  The  new  look  is  ' 
deliciously  peaches  and  cream  and  very  feminine.  No  Gypsy  in- 
souciance, comfortable  though  it  may  be!  Of  course,  blondes,  titians 
and  brunettes  won't  all  be  wearing  exactly  the  same  shades,  but 
each  will  strive  for  the  hot-house-flower  look. 

If  all  this  sounds  like  a  spring  of  sitting  indoors  with  hands 
folded  passively  on  your  lap,  you're  underestimating  modern  cos- 
metics! Remember  how  suddenly  we  all  got  that  bronzed  look? 
Out  of  a  little  jar  or  box,  of  course.  The  pink  prettiness  is  to  be 
had  with  equal  ease. 

Blondes  take  naturally  to  the  most  delicate  shades  of  pink  with 
bluish  tinges.  Brunettes  should  buy  a  face  powder  with  more  pink, 
rather  than  brownish  tones.  Lipstick  to  go  with  it  should  be  a 
bright,  rosy  shade.  Away  from  purplish  shades  which  have  been  worn. 
Foundation  cream  with  a  pinkish  cast  is  the  magic  beneath  it  all. 

Pink  has  always  been  one  of  the  most  nattering  colors  for  red- 
heads, even  though  there  has  been  a  lot  of  conversation  about 
sticking  to  orangey  shades.  Pinkish  lipstick  with  a  hint  of  blue  is 
especially  lovely  for  the  fair-skinned  titian. 

Nail  polish  will  automatically  and  beautifully  blend  with  makeup, 
since  a  lot  of  rosy  tones  will  be  seen. 

As  always,  the  lovely  lady  will  use  a  delicate  hint  of  eye-shadow 
and  mascara  for  beautiful,  swoopy-lashed  eyes. 


Beautiful  English  visitor  dines  at  the  Plaza— The  Lady  Bridgett  Poulett 


7 


No  longer  does  a  complexion  mask  mean  a  smothering,  20-minute  face 
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77 


NORTH  TO  FRISCO 

(Continued  from  page  32) 


with  your  bank  account. 

He  regarded  Peck  solemnly. 

''My  good  man,"  he  said,  "you  are  nuts." 

Consider  a  plumber.  A  plumber  posi- 
tively never  plumbs  anything  just  for  the 
hell  of  it.  And  a  writer  will  cheerfully  let 
his  children  grovel  in  the  neighbor's  turnip 
patch,  starving  to  death,  rather  than  get  at 
his  writing. 

But  actors — Mr.  Mader  sighed.  Actors 
insist  upon  acting.  Even  when  they  have 
more  picture  commitments  than  a  Brownie 
No.  2  at  a  family  reunion,  they  will  insist 
on  running  off  somewhere  to  act  in  a  barn. 
Mr.  Mader  now  regarded  Gregory  Peck 
with  disappointment. 

Greg  left  his  business  manager's  office 
and  put  in  a  telephone  call  to  Dorothy  Mc- 
Guire  in  New  York.  He  talked  rapidly  for 
one  minute. 

"Yeah  man,"  said  Miss  McGuire. 

Greg  then  got  Jennifer  Jones,  also  in 
New  York,  on  the  telephone. 

"Why,  shore,"  said  Miss  Jones. 

The  next  New  York  call  was  to  Joseph 
Cotten.  Greg  talked  for  a  minute.  Joe 
talked  for  three. 

After  that,  Greg  took  a  plane  to  New 
York  and  gathered  the  clan  in  a  hotel  bed- 
room. Mel  Ferrer,  who  directed  Jose 
Ferrer  in  Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  joined  them. 
They  dedicated  summer  stock  to  the  gods, 
cast  their  proposed  plays  with  glittering 
names,  and  never  once  bothered  their 
heads  about  money. 

Joe  Cotten  composed  an  elegant  tele- 
gram to  Miss  Ethel  Barrymore. 

miss  barrymore  declines  .  .  . 

"Organizing  most  distinguished  summer 
stock  company  in  history  of  American 
theater.  Deeply  honored-  if  you.  would 
consent  to  appear." 

In  Hollywood,  Miss  Barrymore  barely 
dropped  two  and  purled  one  before  she 
sent  a  singing  reply: 

"Thank  you  very  much,  my,  dear  chil- 
dren, but  I  would  rather  die." 

It  takes  considerably  more  than  a  brush- 
off  from  a  Barrymore  to  discourage  young 
actors  and  actresses  who  are  determined 
to  act  on  the  stage.  There  was  a  slight 
pause  for  studio  identification  while  Greg 
finished  The  Paradine  Case  for  Selznick 
and  Gentleman's  Agreement  for  Twentieth, 
and  while  Joe  and  Jennifer  completed 
Portrait  of  Jenny,  but  theatrical  conversa- 
tion was  brisker  than  ever  when  they  all 
met  again  in  Hollywood. 

What  they  wanted,  they  decided,  was  no 
ordinary  summer  stock  company,  but  a 
thorough-going  professional  troupe,  put- 
ting on  plays  in  California  with  the  same 
care  that  plays  are  put  on  in  New  York. 

The  idea  finally  came  up  as  something 
to  talk  about  in  the  presence  of  David  O. 
Selznick.  Mr.  Selznick  asked  a  couple  of 
quick  questions  and  said,  "What  are  you 
waiting  for?  I'll  put  up  the  money." 

Mr.  Peck,  Mr.  Cotten,  Miss  McGuire, 
Miss  Jones  and  Mr.  Ferrer  registered  iden- 
tical expressions — bug-eyed.  And  then 
grinned  broadly  and  happily.  Ought  to 
have  known  all  the  time  that  Papa  would 
come  through.  Several  years  ago,  Papa 
had  dropped  $33,000  on  three  plays  at 
Laguna,  without  batting  more  than  one 
eye. 

"David  is  a  dead  game  sport,"  said  Joe 
Cotten  later.  "He  also  knows  which  side 
his  income  tax  deductions  are  buttered  on." 

"Go  ahead,  put  on  six  plays,"  said  David 
O.  "Be  good  for  you." 

The  result  of  th's  promise  was  a  tele- 
phone call  by  Greg  to  prominent  Califor- 


nia Kiwanian,  Frank  Tarmon,  Buick  agent 
at  La  Jolla,  California.  La  Jolla  is  Greg 
Peck's  home  town,  where  his  uncle,  a  re- 
doubtable Democrat  named  Rannells,  has 
been  postmaster  for  thirty  years  with  the 
exception  of  an  unfortunate  lay-off  during 
the  Hoover  Administration. 

La  Jolla  is  where  Greg  learned  to  swim. 
You  learn  to  swim  instantly  when  older 
boys  toss  you  off  Alligator  Point  into  water 
25  feet  deep.  La  Jolla  is  where  Peck  can 
walk  all  over  town,  greeting  cousins. 

"Act  in  a  quonset  hut?"  said  Mr.  Har- 
mon. "Naw.  In  the  high  school.  The 
Kiwanians  will  sponsor  you." 

So  last  summer  the  actors  took  over  the 
high  school,  turned  school  rooms  into 
dressing  rooms,  and  laboratories  into  prop 
shops. 

Planeloads  of  Hollywood  celebrities 
peeled  down  from  the  clouds  nightly  to  see 
Dorothy,  Joe,  Laraine  Day,  Dame  Mae 
Whitty,  Robert  Walker,  Ruth  Hussey,  Guy 
Madison,  Eve  Arden,  Diana  Lynn  and 
Richard  Basehart  acting  on  the  stage.  The 
La  Jolla  season  closed  with  Peck  and 
Laraine  in  Angel  Street. 

Then  it  was  David  O.  Selznick's  eyes 
that  bugged.  The  figures  were:  income, 
$70,000;  outgo,  $75,000. 

"Lost  only  $5,000!"  Mr.  Selznick  mut- 
tered. "Why,  this  theatrical  venture  is 
practically  a  gold  mine!" 

Peck  lost  $2,000.  He  spent  that  much  on 
telephone  calls,  travel,  and  room  and  board. 

It  sums  him  up.  He  says:  "I'm  not  one 
of  those  personality  boys  so  handsome  all 
I  have  to  do  is  appear  in  a  picture. 

"I  have  to  keep  learning.  I  have  to  keep 
looking  for  parts  that  make  you  stretch." 

It  was  after  La  Jolla  was  finished  and 
done  that  Greg  and  Laraine  went  on  tour 
with  Angel  Street,  and  ended  up  in  San 
Francisco. 

But  first,  Greg  lounged  for  a  while  and 
counted  his  blessings.  He's  come  a  long 
way.  He  thought  of  1939,  the  year  he  got 
the  job  as  a  sideshow  barker  at  the 
World's  Fair.  Then  there  were  the  years 
of  batting  around  Broadway,  winning 
theatrical  scholarships,  getting  parts,  act- 
ing them  well,  but  never  managing  to  be 
in  a  play  that  was  itself  a  hit  play. 

Then  Hollywood,  and  nine  starring  pic- 
tures in  four  years. 

"A  good  life,"  murmured  Peck,  who  was 
loafing  for  the  first  time  in  twelve  months. 

Stephen,  aged  one,  and  some  pumpkins 
were  obviously  the  production  events  of 
the  year.  Two  big  pictures.  The  La  Jolla 
playmaking.  The  San  Francisco  play- 
making  to  come.  And  the  new  house — 
with  a  swimming  pool. 

Peck  gazed  lazily  at  his  elder  son,  a 
dark-haired  child  named  Jonathan,  aged 
three. 


A  $5  RESOLUTION 

Now's  the  time  for  New  Year's  reso- 
lutions. And  this  is  ours — we'll  pay  $5 
for  every  "I  Saw  It  Hapven"  anecdote 
we  use.  How  about  helping  us  keep 
our  promise  by  sending  in  your  con- 
tribution? Something  true,  short  and 
amusing  is  what  we  want.  And.  of 
course,  it  must  be  about  a  movie  star! 
Read  our  "I  Saw  It  Happen"  feature 
and  you'll  see  what  we  mean.  Send 
your  contribution  to  the  "I  Saw  It 
Hapven"  Editor,  Modern  Screen,  249 
Madison  Ave.,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y.  Have  you 
made  a  list  of  resolutions?  Add  this! 


Jonathan  was  padding  about  under  a 
figtree,  stamping  his  feet  carefully. 

"What  are  you  doing,  my  good  man?" 
Greg  inquired  politely. 

'^Stepping  on  figs,"  said  Jonathan. 

^Why  are  you  stepping  on  figs?" 

"I  am  stepping  on  figs  so  that  flies  and 
birds  can  eat  them,"  said  Jonathan. 

Greg  thought  that  over. 

"Fine,"  he  said.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you 
have  a  social  conscience." 

After  a  week's  beach  vacation  with  Greta, 
who  is  Mrs.  Peck,  and  whose  blonde  Lead 
comes  to  the  middle  button  of  Mr.  Peck's 
vest,  Gregory  and  family  returned  to  their 
new  house  near  Pacific  Palisades. 

The  house  sits  on  top  of  a  small  moun- 
tain and  has  four  acres  around  it  on  which 
Greg  is  hopeful  of  seeing  horses  someday. 

Greg  speaks  often  and  seriously  these 
days  about  Gentleman's  Agreement.  This 
film  has  been  publicized  as  a  love  story. 
It  is  that.  But  readers  of  the  novel  will 
know  that  it  is  also  a  forthright  attack  on 
anti-Semitism.  Greg  plays  the  part  of  the 
reporter  who  pretends  to  be  a  Jew  in  order 
to  write  a  magazine  article  on  his  findings. 
(Last  month  in  M.S.,  producer  Darryl  F. 
Zanuck  told  why  he  felt  no  other  actor 
could  do  justice  to  the  role.) 

they  pulled  no  punches  .  .  . 

"We  never  pulled  a  punch  on  the  set,  no 
matter  what  kind  of  visitors  we  had," 
Greg  says.  "There  was  a  governor,  once, 
from  a  state  not  noted  for  liberal  feeling. 
He  was  shocked.    We  went  right  on. 

"We  learned  this,  among  other  things: 
it  is  hard  to  detect  all  prejudice.  You 
think  you  haven't  got  any.  You  suddenly 
discover  that  you  have — and  you  want  to 
do  something  about  it.  That  picture  taught 
us  things  while  we  made  it.  I  hope  it 
awakens  people  when  they  see  it." 

During  the  making  of  this  picture,  Greg 
took  his  work  so  seriously  he  became 
absent-minded  about  everything  else. 

He  misplaced  his  automobile  several 
times  and  reported  it  stolen,  to  the  chief 
of  studio  police.  It  was  always  exactly 
where  he'd  left  it.  He  hasn't  yet  man- 
aged to  do  anything  about  the  seven 
thousand  letters  he  received  every  week 
after  the  picture  started — letters  com- 
mending him  for  appearing  in  it. 

Neither  has  he  had  time  to  consider  the 
problem  of  two  prize  Hereford  steers  pre- 
sented to  him  by  admirers  in  Texas.  The 
Herefords  broke  out  of  their  pen  and  ate 
$500  worth  of  Greta's  fancy  camellias. 

He  does  find  time  to  pay  a  great  deal  of 
attention  to  his  sons.  He  not  only  plays 
with  them  at  every  free  moment,  but  has 
worked  out  a  unique  way  to  build  up  a 
bank  account  for  them:  for  every  day  he 
works  in  a  picture,  he  deposits  one  dollar 
to  each  boy's  account.  The  kids  made 
$720  on  Gentleman's  Agreement. 

He  has  found  a  way  to  keep  in  touch 
with  his  23  relatives  in  Australia  and  with 
his  wife's  23  relatives  in  Finland.  Once  a 
week,  Greg  and  Greta  compose  a  general 
letter,  reporting  on  this  and  that  in  the 
life  of  the  Peck  family,  have  it  mimeo- 
graphed, and  send  it  around. 

Greg  was  in  the  new  house  for  two 
months,  before  he  began  to  wonder  seri- 
ously why  nobody  ever  called  him  on  the 
telephone.  He  expected  no  studio  calls, 
since  he  worked  every  day,  but  why,  he 
said  to  Greta,  does  nobody  else  ever  call 
me  up? 

"Dear,"  said  Mrs.  Peck  patiently,  "we 
haven't  got  a  telephone." 

It's  been  a  busy  year  all  right. 


New  lotion  sensation  works  wonders 

foryour  whole  hand! 


BEAUTIFIES 
SKIN 

because  New  Hinds  has 
special  "skin  affinity" 
ingredients —  makes  hands 
feel  softer  instantly — 
gives  longer-lasting 
protection! 


SATINIZES 
PALMS 

because  New  Hinds  helps 
protect  them  from  work- 
roughness —  soothes  and 
helps  soften  calluses 
yet  never  feels 
'  sticky! 


SOFTENS 
CUTICLE 

because  New  Hinds  is 
enriched  with  wonder- 
working lanolin — helps  avoid  i 
unsightly,  ragged  edges — 
keeps  your  manicures 
lovelier  longer! 


SMOOTHS 
KNUCKLES 

because  New  Hinds  contains' 
effective  emollients  that 
absorb  .  .  .  "work  into" 
roughened  knuckles  — 
soothing  and  smoothing , 
miraculously! 


Now  in  NEW  Beauty  Bottle 


NEW  LOVELINESS  for  your  "whole  hand"  instantly 
with  New  Hinds  Honey  and  Almond  Fragrance 
Cream!  Proved,  longer-lasting  protection— no 
matter  what  your  work  or  the  weather ! 

NEW  SMOOTHNESS  for  elbows,  arms  and  legs  with 
New  Hinds !  It's  marvelous  as  a  powder  base,  too 
.  .  .  makes  cosmetics  go  on  smoothly,  cling  hours 
longer !  Now  in  new,  larger  Beauty  Bottle  — 
four  sizes,  10^'  to  1.00. 


PRODUCT  OF  LEHN  &  FINK 


/IS 


Hinds 

Honey  and  Almond 

Fragrance  Cream 


79 


STORK  CLUB— BY  SHERMAN  BILLINGSLEY 

(Continued  from  page  46) 


a  single  real  big  shot  who's  a  stuffed  shirt, 
and  the  movie  people  who  visit  the  club 
are  strictly  regular  guys.  No  demands  for 
unusual  service,  no  screams  because  some- 
one had  a  bigger  table. 

They  tip  well  (although  our  head  wait- 
er's biggest  tip — $150 — was  given  by  a 
Chicago  businessman,  not  a  star) ,  and 
when  they  give  you  a  check  it  doesn't 
bounce.  I  figure  that  I  lose  about  $10,000 
a  year  on  rubber  checks,  but  I've  never  yet 
been  stuck  by  a  Hollywoodian.  I've  found 
them  a  good  bunch,  and  look  how  those 
beautiful  people  dress  my  place  up!  There's 
no  show  at  the  Stork,  you  know.  I  have 
two  small  orchestras,  so  there's  uninter- 
rupted dancing,  but  what  packs  the  crowds 
in  are  the  People.  There's  something  about 
a  chance  to  see  Dorothy  Lamour  (and  did 
you  know  she  used  to  work  here  before 
she  became  a  star?)  or  Ty  Power  or  Lana 
Turner,  at  close  range,  that  few  of  us  can 
resist.  (I  still  can't — which  is  why  I  haunt 
the  place  from  three  P.M.  to  three  A.M.) 
When  you  consider  that  half  of  our  patrons 
are  out-of-towners  who  come  to  look,  you 
can  understand  how  much  I  like  having 
Van  Johnson  drinking  his  endless  glasses 
of  milk  in  our  Cub  Room,  and  lovely  pink- 
haired  Lucille  Ball  rhumba-ing  on  our 
fifteen-by-twenty  dance  floor. 

How  come  we're  a  headquarters  for  the 
stars?  I'm  trying  to  remember  how  it  all 
started.  I  think  Helen  Morgan  was  our 
first  celebrity.  Then  we  had  a  wonderful 
band  consisting  of  Eddie  Condon  and  kids 
like  him,  and  big-name  musicians  started 
to  come.  The  whole  thing  kind  of  snow- 
balled. Now  we  subscribe  to  Celebrity 
Service,  and  when  a  star  checks  into  New 
York,  we  know  about  it.  If  he  doesn't 
come  over  soon  after  his  arrival,  we  phone 
and  tell  hhn  we  have  a  table  reserved  for 
him.  He's  usually  pleased,  and  after  that, 
he'll  drop  around  regularly  for  lunch  and 
dinner  while  he's  in  town. 

He  soon  discovers  that,  aside  from  being 
a  nice  quiet  place  to  eat,  the  Stork  has 


quite  a  set-up  to  offer  him.  Upstairs,  we 
have  a  barbershop  and  a  gym,  and  what's 
more,  we're  practically  a  bank  when  it 
comes  to  cashing  checks.  The  gals  par- 
ticularly appreciate  our  policy  of  "steal- 
ing" no  candid  pictures.  My  publicity 
man,  Don  Arden,  always  gives  them  fair 
warning,  and  if  they  just  don't  feel  in  the 
mood  for  a  snapshot,  we  don't  insist.  The 
other  night,  I  saw  Don  go  up  to  Sylvia 
Sydney,  who  looked  good  enough  to  eat, 
and  ask  if  he  could  snap  her.  She  said 
she  was  tired  and  not  at  her  best  and — ■ 
please,  would  he  mind —  Don  said,  "Sure, 
next  time,"  and  went  on  to  the  next  table. 
Miss  Sydney  was  awfully  grateful.  A 
little  consideration  of  that  kind  goes  a 
long  way  with  our  customers.  They  appre- 
ciate, too,  that  we  protect  them  from  auto- 
graph hounds.  The  night  we  had  Harold 
Russell  here,  for  example,  many  curious 
patrons  wanted  him  to  sign  their  menus. 
Our  waiters  handle  those  situations  with 
finesse,  and  nobody's  feelings  are  hurt. 
Recently,  we've  been  giving  visiting  movie 
folks  another  service.  Somehow  or  other, 
we've  become  an  unofficial  information 
bureau.  They  can  call  up  and  say,  "Where's 
June  Allyson  staying?"  or  "Has  Danny 
Kaye  been  in?"  or  "What  train  is  Crosby 
leaving  on?"  And  nine  times  out  of  ten, 
we'll  know. 

Why,  if  Dorothy  Kilgallen  wants  to  know 
what  Merle  Oberon  eats— for  her  Inter- 
esting People  column — our  headwaiter 
can  tell  her.  (The  answer  to  that,  inci- 
dentally, is  practically  anything  with  gar- 
lic.) If  we  wanted  to  stick  our  necks  out, 
we  could  predict  at  least  one  marriage  and 
a  couple  of  divorces.  We  can  tell  you  that 
Lucille  and  Desi  Arnaz  have  more  fun 
than  anyone,  that  Bob  Walker  dates  the 
world's  most  gorgeous  gals,  that  Jimmy 
Stewart  likes  to  eat  alone.  (We  don't  as 
a  rule  encourage  stags,  as  they're  too  often 
wolves  on  the  prowl,  but  Jimmy's  a  nice 
guy.   He  can  come  anytime.) 

The   women   stars   who   come   in  are 


usually  dressed  to  the  teeth.  However, 
there's  no  rule  against  casual  clothes. 
We've  seen  Dorothy  McGuire  looking 
mighty  beautiful  in  a  sweater  and  skirt, 
and  Lucille  and  Desi  in  sport  clothes  many 
times.  Don't  think  any  girl's  ever  come  in 
in  slacks. 

There  are  five  rooms  at  the  Stork.  The 
bar  room,  the  main  dining-room,  the 
Loner's,  the  Blessed  Event  Room  and  the 
Cub  Room.  The  last-named  is  reserved 
for  the  important,  the  famous,  and  the 
beautiful.  And  more  than  one  struggling 
model  has  gotten  a  break  because  a  well- 
known  illustrator  or  editor  spied  her  dunk- 
ing doughnuts  at  Mr.  B's  Stork  Club. 

Table  Fifty — that's  the  one  dead  ahead 
of  you  as  you  enter  the  intimate  Cub 
Room — is  the  table.  Admiral  Halsey  has 
sat  at  it,  and  Barry  Fitzgerald — now  there's 
a  fine  chap — Walter  Winchell,  Brenda 
Frazier,  Elliott  Roosevelt,  (wish  those 
Roosevelt  boys  would  bring  their  mother), 
Jim  Farley,  Helen  Hayes,  a  lot  of  nice 
people.  When  the  waiter  seats  you  at 
#  Fifty,  you'll  know  you've  arrived.  My 
youngsters  prefer  Table  Three.  It's  right 
near  the  orchestra,  and  for  them,  that's  the 
big  attraction.  Celebrities,  they've  seen. 
They're  much  more  blase  about  'em  than 
the  old  man. 

ask  joe,  he  knows  .  .  . 

People  often  ask  us  how  we  know  a 
celebrity  from  a  traveling  salesman.  How 
do  our  waiters  know  that  this  unassuming 
chap  is  Joseph  Curley,  Hearst's  right  hand 
man;  that  this  soft- voiced  woman  is  a  top 
flight  literary  agent  who,  if  she  likes  us, 
will  bring  famous  writers  to  us  in  droves? 
I  don't  know  how  other  clubs  do  it,  but 
at  our  entrance,  we  have  one,  Joe  Lopez,  a 
fellow  with  a  photographic  eye  and  a  sixth 
sense  for  people.  He  can't  quite  explain 
it  himself,  but  Joe  just  knows.  Have  we 
ever  put  anyone  in  the  Cub  Room  by  mis- 
take who  wasn't  Anyone  at  all?  Not  by 
mistake.  Sometimes,  I'll  put  my  non- 
celebrity  friends  in  there,  or  a  nice  young 
couple  who  look  as  if  they  might  be  on 
their  honeymoon,  or  a  spectacular-looking 
woman  whose  name  is  simply  Jones  or 
Smith. 

Not  all  the  stars  want  to  be  in  the  Cub 
Room.  Ingrid  Bergman,  for  example,  al- 
ways asks  for  a  quiet,  out-of-the-way 
table  at  which  to  eat  her  favorite  Bel  Paese 
cheese.  Annabella,  who  drinks  beer,  by 
the  way,  likes  to  be  near  the  band.  Col- 
umnists like  good  central  tables  in  order 
to  see  what's  going  on,  and*  we  try  to  give 
them  to  them  in  order  to  insure  plugs  for 
our  favorite  bistro  in  their  columns. 

I  guess  every  columnist  in  the  business 
averages  a  visit  a  week  to  the  Stork.  Dor- 
othy Kilgallen  and  her  good-looking  hus- 
band, Dick  Kollmar,  are  frequent  diners, 
usually  ordering  Italian  food.  (We  have 
an  Italian  chef,  in  addition  to  our  "famous 
French  and  Chinese  ones,  and  he's  terrific.) 
Winchell  comes  over  after  the  theater  for 
a  chickenburger  a  la  Winchell,  or  some- 
times, a  blueberry  tart.  Ed  Sullivan  is  in 
a  lot,  and  I'm  still  amazed  when  I  hear 
him  order  a  pot  of  tea  when  he's  all  fin- 
ished dinner. 

I  have  a  lot  of  good  friends  among  the 
columnists,  and  among  movie  people,  and 
on  my  birthday  and  at  Christmastime, 
they  turn  the  tables  and  give  me  presents. 
I'm  not  an  easy  man  to  give  things  to,  be- 
cause I  don't  drink  or  smoke  at  all,  so 
almost  everyone  sends  me  ties.  Hand- 
painted  ones,  foulards,  woolen  jobs,  the 
louder  the  better.    They  know  loud  ties 


are  my  weakness,  in  spite  of  my  conserva- 
tive suits,  and  my  kids  assure  me  that  I 
now  have  enough  ties  to  wear  one  every 
day  for  six  months  without  repeating! 

From  all  of  this,  you  can  gather  that 
owning  a  night  club  is  fun.  Life  is  never 
the  same  two  days  in  a  row.  One  day,  a 
fellow  will  call  up  and  say,  "Look,  I'm  in 
a  jam.  Some  out  of  town  clients  are  in 
town,  and  I've  talked  a  little  big  to  them. 
How  can  I  establish  credit  so  that  I  can 
sign  for  our  dinner  there  tonight,  instead 
of  paying  cash?"  I  tell  him  to  send  over 
the  cash  in  advance,  then  he  can  sign  all 
night  up  to  that  amount.  Another  day,  a 
lady  will  come  in  and  want  luncheon  for 
herself  and  her  Great  Dane.  Or  a  guy 
will  call  up  from  Paramount  Pictures  and 
offer  me  a  cool  $100,000  for  the  use  of  the 
name,  Stork  Club,  for  a  movie.  (P.S.  It 
was  a.  deal!)  Or  maybe  things  will  be 
kind  of  slow  and  nothing  much  will  happen 
except  that  Hedy  Lamarr  will  drop  in. 

compliments  of  mister  b.  .  .  . 

Part  of  what  I  like  about  my  job  is  the 
chance  to  play  fairy  godfather  to  people. 
Sure,  it's  good  business  to  give  out  lip- 
sticks and  perfume,  but  it's  fun,  too.  I  like 
to  watch  Crosby's  face  light  up  when  the 
waiter  says,  "No  check.  Compliments  of 
Mr.  Billingsley,"  and  sophisticated  Orson 
Welles  break  out  in  a  big  grin  when  the 
bottle  of  champagne  appears  on  his  table 
with  my  card.  It's  fun  to  pick  out  some 
couple  you've  never  seen  before,  and  will 
probably  never  see  again  and  give  them 
dinner  on  the  house.  After  all,  we  gross 
nearly  a  million  and  a  half  a  year,  we  can 
afford  to  do  things  like  that,  but  lest  you 
think  we  don't  have  tremendous  running 
expenses,  just  listen  to  this.  Our  weekly 
laundry  bill  is  in  the  neighborhood  of  $700. 
Those  fresh  flowers  on  the  tables  cost  me 
$10,000  a  year.  Also,  I  have  two  hundred 
and  fifty  well-paid  employees  on  the  pay- 
roll. Someone  asked  me  how  much  I 
lost  a  year  through  souvenir  hunters. 
About  two  thousand  of  our  big  black  ash- 
trays with  The  Stork  Club  lettered  on 
them  in  white  vanish  annually,  but  we're 
happy  about  that.  They're  doing  a  good 
advertising  job  for  us  somewhere. 

Getting  back  to  the  business  of  giving 
gifts,  it's  expensive,  but,  as  I  said,  it's  fun. 
I've  given  everything  from  dogs  to  dia- 
monds. The  biggest  present  we  ever  gave 
anyone  was  a  new  car.  The  smallest,  I 
guess,  was  the  tab  we  picked  up  for  a 
glamorous  deb  and  her  football  hero  beau, 
only  to  discover  that  all  they'd  had  were 
two  glasses  of  milk! 

Which  just  goes  to  show  you  that  you 
don't  have  to  be  a  big  spender  to  come  to 
the  Stork.  We've  had  youngsters  linger 
and  linger  over  a  couple  of  cokes,  and  our 
waiters  haven't  hovered  annoyingly.  On 
the  other  hand,  we've  had  to  gently  ease 
out  people  who'd  spent  a  couple  of  hun- 
dred dollars  because  they  were  growing 
noisy  or  objectionable.  We  haven't  any 
bouncer,  and  to  date,  we  haven't  needed 
one.  Our  waiters  generally  sense  an  im- 
pending fight  and  the  belligerent  parties 
are  encouraged  to  be  on  their  way  before 
they  get  to  the  stage  where  they  start  trad- 
ing punches. 

We  like  well-behaved  people  at  the 
Stork  Club,  and  we  generally  get  them. 
No  obviously  intoxicated  people  are  ad- 
mitted, no  rowdies,  few  stags.  But  unless 
we're  honestly  filled  up — and  that  can 
happen,  since  we  can  seat  only  374  people, 
and  between  three  and  four  thousand  try 
to  get  in  every  night — respectable-looking, 
sober,  well-dressed  people,  and  we  mean 
just  plain  people  from  Hoboken  or  Sioux 
City  or  Flatbush,  are  assured  a  real  wel- 
come at  the  Stork. 

Don't  forget,  friends,  I'm  just  an  Okla- 
homa boy,  myself. 


CATCH  EYES. ..CATCH  HE  ARTS ..  .WITH 


ELLA  RAINES 
in  Nunnally  Johnson's 
THE  SENATOR  WAS  INDISCREET" 
A  Universal-International  Picture 


TRY  ELLA  RAINES'  BEAUTY-GLOW  CLEANSING 

"First  —  smooth  massage 

with  Woodbury  Cold  Cream,"  says  Ella. 
"Its  deep-cleansing  oils  lift  away 
make-up.  Tissue  and  swirl  on 
more  Woodbury.  Four  special  softening 
ingredients  smooth  dryness.  Tissue  N 
again . . .  spank  with  cold  water. 
Your  skin  glows  silken-clean,  with  that 
daytime  I  Before  studio  hours,  Ella        Woodbury 'Always-Fresh'  look!" 
paints.  i>ne  s  a  picture ...  skin  rosy-  J  J 

awake!  "For  my  wake-up  facial,  it's 
Woodbury  Cold  Cream.  Cleanses  deep 
and  clean,  coaxes  fresh  beauty-glow!" 


WOODBURY 


PLAYTIME!  Ella  "at  home".  "Studio  day 
done,  my  first  date  is  Woodbury!  So 
rich— it  not  only  cleanses,  but  softens, 
smooths  dryness.  Leaves  skin  velvety  I" 


81 


Avoid  underarm 
irritation . . . 


AC 


Wonderful!  Yodora  stops  perspiration  odor 
safely,  quickly  . . .  yet  is  positively  soothing  to 
normal  skin.  Made  with  a  face  cream  base, 
with  no  harsh  acid  salts  to  cause  irritation, 
Yodora  actually  helps  soften  your  skin,  like  a 
face  cream.  TSo  other  knoivn  deodorant  gives 
this  PLUS  protection.  Try  Yodora,  the  sooth- 
ingest  deodorant.  Tubes  or  jars,  10^,  30g,  60<. 
McKesson  &  Robbins,  Inc.,  Bridgeport,  Conn. 


Don't  let  your  beau- 
tiful blonde  hair  get  dull, 
dark,  faded  or  streaked. 
Blondex,  a  wonderful  new 
shampoo  for  blondes  only, 
keeps  light  hair  from  dark- 
ening and  brings  back  the 
golden  gleam  and  sparkle  to 
dull,  faded  blonde  hair.  The 
first  shampoo  leaves  blonde 
hair  soft,  easy  to  manage, 
shades  lighter,  with  a  lovely 
lustrous  shine.  Safe  for  chil- 
dren's hair.  Try  BLONDEX 
at  home  tonight.  It's  the  world's  largest  selling  blonde 
82     shampoo.  At  10c,  d.-u?  and  department  stores. 


By  LEONARD  FEATHER 


**  Highly  Recommended 
*  Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 


POPULAR 

CIVILIZATION—  **Ray  McKinley  (Majestic);  *Danny  Kaye  &  Andrews  Sisters  (Decca); 
*Louis  Prima  (Victor);  Woody  Herman  (Columbia);  Sy  Oliver  (M-G-M);  Murphy 
Sisters  (Apollo);  Jack  Smith  (Capitol). 

Notice  how  semi-calypso  novelties  are  catching  on?  There's  another  one  groping 
■for  the  Hit  Parade  right  now,  Bread  and  Butter  Woman,  waxed  by  those  expert 
Trinidaddies,  Danny  Kaye  (Decca)  and  Sy  Oliver  (M-G-M).  But  I'll  take  Civilisation. 

PUT  YOURSELF  IN  MY  PLACE,  BABY— *Betty  Rhodes  (Victor);  *Frankie  Laine  (Mer- 
cury); Hoagy  Carmichael  (Decca);  Duke  Ellington  (Columbia);  Skitch  Henderson 
(Capitol). 

Frankie  and  Hoagy  wrote  this,  but  it  still  wasn't  a  good  choice  for  Duke's  first 
Columbia  release.   Let  the  Duke  make  his  own  hits! 

THEY'RE  MINE,  THEY'RE  MINE,  THEY'RE  MINE  — **The  Soft  Winds  (Majestic);  *Buddy 
Clark  (Columbia);  Guy  Lombardo  (Decca). 

Soft  Winds  are  a  great,  gentle-voiced  trio  of  refugees  from  Jimmy  Dorsey's  band. 
Excellent  piano  by  Lou  Carter  and  guitar  by  Herb  Ellis.   A  distinguished  debut. 

TUNE  FOR  HUMMING,  A — *Woody  Herman  (Columbia);  *Jean  Sablon  (Victor); 
Hoagy  Carmichael   (Decca);  Eddy  Howard   (Majestic);  Bob  Houston  (M-G-M). 

TWO  LOVES  HAVE  I— *Billy  Eckstine  (M-G-M);  *Perry  Como  (Victor);  Frankie  Laine 
(Mercury);  Ray  Noble-Buddy  Clark  (Columbia). 

First  popular  in  its  native  France  around  1930  as  "J'ai  Deux  Amours,"  this  opus  owes 
its  revival  to  Frankie  Laine. 

HOT  JAZZ 

LOUIS  ARMSTRONG.  MILDRED  BAILEY.  JACK  TEAGARDEN.  ETHEL  WATERS— 

*"Singing  The  Blues"  Album  (Victor).  Warning:  Above  album  was  recorded  by 
MODERN   SCREEN'S  music  man. 

CHARLIE  BARNET -**Sharecroppin'  Blues  (Decca). 

Noteworthy  for  a  wonderful  vocal  by  Kay  Starr,  who  should  be  a  big  starr. 

COUNT  BASIE  — *Futile  Frustration  (Victor). 

Less  depressing,  by  far,  than  its  title! 

TEN  CATS  AND  A  MOUSE— *Ja-Da  (Capitol). 

Unique  record  on  which  everyone  plays  the  wrong  instrument.  Singer  Hal  Derwin 
plays  guitar;  guitarist  Dave  Barbour  plays  trumpet  (one  note);  trumpeter  Bobby 
Sherwood  plays  trombone;  alto  saxman  Benny  Carter  and  tenor  saxist  Eddie  Miller 
switch  horns;  Paul  Weston  blows  some  good  clarinet,  Frank  DeVol  imitates  Slam 
Stewart  on  the  bass,  and  vibraharp  star  Red  Norvo  does  right  by  the  piano.  But 
don't  overlook  that  solid  rhythm  background  by  the  drummer — Peggy  Lee! 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

CARNEGIE  HALL — All  the  World  is  Mine:  *Harry  James  (Columbia). 

ESCAPE  ME  NEVER— Love  for  Love:  *Claude  Thornhill  (Columbia);  *Andy  Russell 
(Capitol);  Hal  Mclntyre  (M-G-M);  Vaughn  Monroe  (Victor). 

GOOD  NEWS — The  Best  Things  In  Life  are  Free:  *Beryl  Davis  (Victor);  *Jimmy  Lunceford 
(Decca);  Dinah  Shore  (Columbia);  Mel  Torme  (Musicraft);  Danny  O'Neil 
(Majestic).  Pass  That  Peace  Pipe:  *Dinah  Shore  (Victor);  *Beryl  Davis  (Victor); 
Kay  Kyser  (Columbia);  Margaret  Whiting  (Capitol). 

Best  Things  is  a  good  old  tune  and  the  Lunceford  version  a  good  old  version. 
Mel   "Velvet  Fog"  Torme,  who's  seen   in  this   picture,   sounds  a   little  too  foggy. 

IT  HAD  TO  BE  YOU — Title  Song:  *Deep  River  Boys  (Victor);  *Buddy  Clark  (Columbia). 

YOUR  RED  WAGON — **Ray  McKinley  (Majestic);  Tony  Pastor  (Columbia). 

The  McKinley  band  really  rocks,  and  Ray's  vocals  are  refreshingly  relaxed.  Tune 
is  a  rehashed  traditional  blues  thing  (there  was  a  great  Lunceford  disc  in  1940, 
now  unavailable),  and  if  you  don't  know  what  "your  red  wagon"  means,  well, 
that's  your  red  wagon! 


FIRST  LOVE 

(Continued  from  page  61) 


been  swell.  There  wefe  crowds  of  fans  at 
the  Capitol's  stage-door  every  night,  and 
once,  when  it  was  cold  and  rainy,  and 
there  wasn't  a  cab  in  sight,  one  of  the 
kids  had  disappeared,  and  come  back  in 
five  minutes,  triumphantly  riding  a 
running  board. 

"A  cab,"  she  said.  "For  you."  And  Jane 
had  never  even  found  out  the  kid's  name. 

New  York  had  much  to  recommend  it, 
and  if  there  was  something  missing,  you 
could  only  decide  that  the  lack  was  in  you. 

There  was  another  night  (that  day,  a 
letter  had  come)  and  Jane  and  a  girl- 
friend, sitting  in  the  hotel,  had  an  in- 
spiration. 

"I've  always  wanted  to  take  a  hansom 
around  Central  Park,"  Jane  said,  and  the 
other  girl  said  she  had,  too,  and  they 
grabbed  coats,  and  went  out  into  the 
street,  and  hired  themselves  a  cab. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night,  full  of  stars, 
and  the  air  not  too  crisp  for  comfort,  and 
they  sat  back,  feeling  luxurious,  and 
Victorian. 

"Romantic,"  the  girl  friend  said. 

And  then  they  both  giggled.  "But  not 
with  you!" 

With  Tommy,  Jane  was  thinking.  Ah, 
with  Tommy.  .  . 

It  was  strange  to  look  back.  There  was  a 
time  when  she'd  been  almost  bored.  For 
an  eighteen-year-old  girl— well,  lacking 
I  only  a  week  or  two — who  was  healthy, 
beautiful  and  possessed  of  a  fine  fat  con- 
tract with  M-G-M,  this  was  an  unusual 
state  of  affairs.  She  had  on  a  brand  new 
evening  dress  this  one  night;  her  hairdo 
was  impeccable;  and  she  was  sitting  at  a 
table  in  Earl  Carroll's  very  swank,  very 
glamorous  theater-restaurant,  watching 
one  of  the  biggest  benefit  shows  of  the 
season.  All  the  photographers  had  been  by, 
and  stopped,  and  set  off  flashbulbs  in  her 
face.  Three  young  men,  handsome  but 
somehow  anonymous  in  their  dinner 
jackets  and  tans,  had  asked  her  to  dance. 
It  was  February,  1947. 

And  something  was  missing. 

what's  wrong  with  this  picture?  .  .  . 

It  would  not  have  been  easy  for  anyone 
in  that  night  club,  even  Janie's  escort,  to 
have  diagnosed  what  was  essentially  wrong. 
It  was  something  to  do  with  the  night, 
the  new  moon,  the  music, 
i  Janie,  to  simplify  this,  was  just  ready 
to  fall  in  love,  that's  all.  She  had  never 
been  in  love  before,  and  she  would  have 
hooted  at  the  very  idea,  but  there  it  was. 

And  there  was  Janie,  just  ready.  And 
presently,  wearing  a  dinner  jacket  like 
everybody  else,  his  dark  hair  somewhat 
mussed  from  driving  in  an  open  car,  his 
nice,  young  round  face  flushed  from  the 
I  cold  air,  and  one  of  Janie's  best  girl 
!  friends  on  his  arm,  there  came  to  the  table 
Thomas  Batten,  21,  Kappa  Sig,  Senior  at 
the  University  of   Southern  California. 

Three  years  before,  he'd  been  at  Metro 
on  a  contract,  and  he  and  Jane  had  studied 
together  but  they  hadn't  seen  each  other 
since. 

During  her  second  dance  with  him, 
Tommy  said,  "My  fraternity  is  tossing  a 
dance  at  the  beach  Saturday  night.  Kind 
of  a  spring  thing,  to  open  the  season. 
Want  to  come?" 
"Yes,"  said  Janie. 

"Three  years  ago,"  he  went  on  thought- 
fully, "I  never  realized — " 
"You  never  realized — ?" 
"I  mean,  could  I  give  you  a  ring  about 
next  Saturday?" 

So  there  it  was.  Tragedy.  New  house,  in 
the  valley.  No  phone.  The  company  had 


Sure  as  shootin'.  •  • 


RC  tastes  best! 


JEAN  PETERS 

See  her  in 

CAPTAIN  FROM 
CASTILE" 

A  20th  Century-Fox 
Technicolor  Picture 


"Here's  why  I'm  so  sure!"  says  Jean. 
"I  tasted  leading  colas  in  paper  cups 
—  and  RC  turned  out  to  be  the  best- 
tasting  by  far!"  Try  it!  Say  "RC  for 
me ! ' '  That's  the  quick  way  to  get  a  cool , 
refreshing  quick-up  with  Royal  Crown 
Cola  — best  by  taste-test! 


JEAN  TAKING  THE  FAMOUS  TASTE-TEST 


ffello,  Mss. .  er. .  Smith ' 

to  say  .  .  .  Now  it's 

ni  Goiyeous 


he  used  to  say 


JUST  USE  NESTLE  COLORINSEI  It  gives  your 
hair  the  lovely  glowing  color  that  makes  you 
look  "alive".  Not  a  permanent  dye  or  a  bleach 
. . .  easy  and  absolutely  safe  to  use.  Try  it  —you'll 
be  thrilled  at  the  new  beauty  of  your  hair. 


84 


CP  HAVE  THE  WHOLE  FAMILY  use  Nestle 
Hfi  Creme  Shampoo— the  wonderful  new  lanolin 
Q  creme  shampoo  in  a  tube.  They'll  love  It.  lOe, 
"'O  25c,  53c  at  all  toilet  goods  counters. 


said,  "In  a  few  weeks." 

"That's  the  way  it  is  about  the  phone," 
Janie  said,  in  further  explanation.  "But 
you  could  give  me  a  call  at  the  studio. 
I'm  on  a  picture.  How  about  that?" 

"Mmmm,"  he  said,  dubious.  You  called 
the  studio,  you  went  through  thirteen 
secretaries,  you  got  the  stage,  someone 
said,  "Sorry,  the  red  light's  on."  You 
waited.  Next  time  the  one  set  phone  was 
busy.  He  knew  that  routine. 

"I'll  try,"  he  said. 

On  Friday  afternoon,  she  had  all  but 
forgotten  the  incident.  (Not  quite,  of 
course:  you  do  not  entirely  forget  first 
important  moments.) 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  she  was  in  her 
dressing-room  collecting  the  things  she 
wanted  to  take  home  for  the  weekend, 
when  an  assistant  director  came  up  to  the 
door  and  said,  "Telephone,  Janie." 

Tommy  was  very  nice  about  the  car,  in 
his  diffident,  almost  shy  way.  It  was  a 
Chrysler  convertible  of  ancient  vintage, 
which  he'd  had  before  the  war  and  some- 
how managed  to  hang  onto  all  through 
his  service.  When  he  brought  her  up  to  it, 
at  the  curb  in  front  of  her  house,  he  said, 
"If  you'll  wait  just  a  minute — "  and  then 
proceeded  to  spend  a  minute  and  a  half 
untying  the-  knot  in  a  sturdy  section  of 
clothes  line.  As  the  knot  gave,  finally,  the 
door  sprang  loose  and  fell  into  the  street. 

breakaway  jalopy  .  .  . 

"Oops!"  he  said.  "I  forgot  to  hang  on  to 
the  back  part."  He  retrieved  the  door.  She 
got  in.  He  put  the  door  back,  and  tied  it. 

"We're  off,"  he  told  her,  and  for  a  minute 
or  two  they  drove  in  anything  but  silence, 
although  neither  spoke  a  word. 

Janie  giggled.  "You've  gone  five  blocks 
and  you're  still  in  second." 

After  a  moment's  pained  pause  he  said, 
"We're  in  high.  It  was  second  we  started 
in.  Low  doesn't  work." 

Eight  blocks  later  he  said,  "You 
should  have  brought  a  scarf  for  your 
hair.  It's  kind  of  blowing." 

"We  might  put  up  the  top,  then." 

He  didn't  answer  that. 

She  said  finally,  "I'll  help." 

"I  can  put  it  up  myself.  Only  there's 
just  half  a  top.  The  rest  is  ripped.  You 
get  a  worse  draft  when  it's  up." 

She  began  to  laugh.  "I'm  happy.  And  I 
can  comb  my  hair  at  the  dance." 

She  had  never  meant  anything  more 
sincerely  in  her  life. 

After  the  Hollywood  boys  she  was  used 
to,  Tommy  was  like  someone  from  another 
world.  He  said  he'd  finished  all  his  pre- 
med  training,  and  quite  simply  had  de- 
cided that  being  a  doctor  was  too  hard 
a  row  for  him  to  hoe.  "Besides,"  he  ex- 
plained, "it's  getting  so  everyone  special- 
izes, and  that  takes  even  longer.  I'm 
twenty-one  now.  My  gosh,  I'd  be  an  old 
man  before  I  ever  got  anywhere." 

So  he  was  getting  his  degree  in  entomol- 
ogy— which  he'd  probably  never  have  oc- 
casion to  use — and  helping  out  his  current 
income  by  assisting  a  professor  of 
physiology. 

"Sounds  like  a  lot  of  studying,"  Jane 
said.    "Dorsal  aortas,  and  all." 

He  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  They  were 
sitting  out  a  dance  in  the  lounge,  having 
a  coke.  "What  do  you  know  about  dorsal 
aortas?" 

"I  took  zoo.  The  dorsal  aorta  is  just 
back  of  the  post  caval  vein,  and  where 
would  your  renal  arteries  get  off  without 
it?  Now  ask  me  about  malphygian 
corpuscles." 

"I'm  convinced  you  have  a  brain,"  he 
said,  "so  let's  dance.  For  aortas  and  cor- 
puscles, I  have  Doctor  Beers.  For  fun  and  . 
dancing,  I  have  you.  Come  on." 


That  night,  when  he  took  her  home,  it 
seemed  perfectly  natural  that,  after  raiding 
the  icebox  and  eating  cold  lamb  sand- 
wiches, he  should  kiss  her  goodnight  at 
the  door. 

The  first  time  he  came  to  dinner,  he 
arrived  by  way  of  the  garden  and  the 
back  door.  "I  don't  usually  do  this  when 
I  visit  people's  houses,"  he  said,  "but  there 
was  a  slight  obstruction  called  a  skunk 
sitting  on  your  front  porch.  Maybe  it  will 
go  away." 

"Indeed,"  Jane  said,  "it  will  not."  She 
went  to  the  front  door  and  opened  it,  and 
the  skunk,  tail  high,  came  mincing  in. 

"Oh,  now  look  here,"  Tommy  said. 

"This  is  Scent  of  Jasmine,  called  Jazzie 
for  short,"  said  Jane.  "Certain  alterations 
have  been  made  and  she  hasn't  any  fight 
left  in  her.  How  about  a  swim  before 
dinner?" 

They  went  dancing  at  the  Florentine 
Gardens  that  evening,  and  when  they 
got  the  car  from  the  parking  lot  Janie  slid 
under  the  steering  wheel,  from  his  side. 
They  drove  out  into  the  street,  stopped 
at  the  red  light,  and  the  door  fell  off. 

While  impatient  horns  behind  them  grew 
more  insistent,  Tommy  got  out.  "Oh  Lord," 
he  said  finally.  "The  rope's  busted." 

"Well,  throw  the  door  in  the  back  and 
we'll  go  on  without  it." 

"Too  dangerous  for  you,"  he  shouted 
above  the  deafening  horns.  From  the 
turtleback,  he  brought  an  enormous  ten- 
foot  chain,  meant  for  towing  purposes. 
He  secured  the  door  with  that,  and  they 
drove  on  at  last,  clanking  like  Scrooge. 

After  that  Tommy  had  no  alternative 
but  to  wire  the  door  permanently  shut. 
When  in  formal  evening  dress,  Janie 
walked  around  and  slid  under  the  wheel. 
When  in  slacks,  she  learned  to  climb 
cheerfully  over  her  own  side. 

two  lives  have  i  .  .  . 

The  spring  wore  on,  and  became  summer, 
and  Janie  had  two  lives.  One  was  at  the 
studio,  working  like  mad,  clowning  with 
the  enchanting  Iturbi,  practicing  her  music. 
The  other  was  the  gay  college  social  whirl, 
always  with  Tommy.  They  danced.  They 
sat  around  bonfires  on  the  beach,  and  ate 
charred  hot  dogs.  They  drove  for  hours 
along  the  coast,  watching  the  moon. 

Once,  at  breakfast,  Mrs.  Powell  said 
rather  anxiously  to  her  daughter,  "But 
you  don't  see  so  many  of  your  old  friends 
any  more.  Just  these  college  people.  Don't 
you  miss  the  kids  who  are  in  pictures?" 

"I  like  it  this  way,"  Janie  said.  She 
brandished  a  slice  of  toast  for  emphasis. 
"Don't  you  see?  I'll  never  be  able  to  have 
the  experience  of  going  to  college,  and 
this  is  the  nearest  thing  to  it. 

"Besides — I  like  to  be  where  Tommy  is." 

"He's  pretty  important  to  you,  isn't  he?" 

Jane  did  not  look  coy.  She  said  firmly, 
"He  is  very  important  to  me." 

But  her  mother's  remark  remained  in 
her  mind,  and  later  that  week  when  Jose 
Iturbi's  niece  invited  her  to  a  swimming 
party  at  Jose's  Beverly  Hills  house,  she 
accepted  for  herself  and  Tommy.  They  had 
a  wonderful  afternoon  at  the  pool,  be- 1 
cause  a  heat  wave  had  set  in;  they  had  a 
barbecue  for  dinner;  a  party  developed 
afterward,  and  they  danced  until  mid- 
night. 

Then,  tired  but  contented,  they  set  out 
for  Janie's  house  in  the  Valley.  Cold- 
water  Canyon  winds  for  a  long  way  up 
over  the  mountains,  and  halfway  up  the 
road,  empty  of  traffic  except  for  their  car, 
the  radiator  cap  blew  off,  the  motor  ut- ' 
tered  a  few  indignant  burps,  and  froze. 

"I  guess  it  was  letting  the  old  girl  sit 
out  in  that  blazing  sun  all  day,"  Tommy, 
said    ruefully.    "All   the    water  must've 
evaporated  out  of  the  radiator.  Shall  we 
start  back  to  Beverly?" 

"That  doesn't  make  sense.  Let's  go  on 


to  my  house." 

"Do  you  know  how  far  that  is?" 

"Are  we  young  and  healthy?" 

He  groaned.  "Woman,  I  am  swum  out 
and  danced  out.  But — lead  on." 

They  sang  as  they  hiked.  After  about 
fifteen  minutes,  while  they  sat  on  a  stone 
wall  to  rest,  he  said  seriously,  "I've  liked 
a  lot  of  things  about  you,  honey,  but  this 
is  one  of  the  nicest  things  you've  done. 
A  lot  of  girls  would  be  sore  at  me  for 
what's  happened." 

She  was  genuinely  astonished.  "But 
why?  You  didn't  know  the  car  would 
conk  out  on  us.  I'm  loving  every  minute." 

After  a  few  moments  he  reached  over 
and  pinned  something  on  her  sweater. 

"That  means  I'm  your  girl,"  Janie  said. 

"It  means  you're  my  girl." 

A  car  picked  them  up  a  few  minutes 
later,  and  took  them  all  the  way  to  Janie's 
house,  after  they  had  explained  their  pre- 
dicament. It  was  already  one  o'clock, 
which  was  Janie's  deadline  for  getting 
home,  so  Mrs.  Powell  had  to  be  roused,  and 
listened  sleepily  to  their  story.  They  had  to 
find  a  really  big  can,  to  put  water  in,  and 
get  out  Janie's  car,  and  drive  back  to  the 
Chrysler.  Then  Tommy  had  to  follow 
Janie  back  to  her  house,  because  she 
mustn't  go  traipsing  around  lonely  moun- 
tains alone  at  that  hour. 

the  "morning  after"  .  .  . 

Tommy  got  back  to  the  Kappa  Sig 
house  in  Los  Angeles  at  four,  and  did  not 
do  so  well  in  the  quiz  that  was  tossed 
at  him  during  his  eight  o'clock  hour. 
Janie,  on  the  set  at  nine,  looked  in  the 
mirror  and  reflected  that  she  was  lucky 
to  be  eighteen,  so  her  face  didn't  look 
haggard;  and  it  was  good  to  be  a  movie 
star,  and  in  love,  and  Tommy  Batten's 
girl. 

It  was  October,  with  the  World  Series 
over  and  the  football  season  on.  In  the 
Coliseum,  one  Saturday,  Janie  and  Tommy 
yelled  themselves  hoarse  while  SC  romped 
all  over  Oregon  State. 

There  was  no  less  charm  or  glamor  in 
the  tea  dansant  that  followed  the  game, 
at  one  of  the  fraternity  houses.  As  they 
danced,  Tommy  said,  "You're  so  quiet. 
Didn't  you  enjoy  the  game" 

"The  way  it  turned  out?  You  know  bet- 
ter. It's  just — oh,  let's  go  out  in  the  patio 
for  a  few  minutes." 

He  followed  her,  a  puzzled  frown  on  his 
face.  "Let's  have  it." 

"I'm  going  away  for  a  while." 

He  didn't  say  anything  to  that.  She 
went  on:  "It's  a  big  chance  for  me.  Two 
weeks  at  the  Capitol  in  New  York.  Four 
and  five  shows  a  day,  but  lots  of  money. 
If  it  weren't  for  missing  you — " 

But  he  was  begining  to  laugh.  "For  a 
minute  you  had  me  worried,"  he  said.  "I 
thought  you  were  going  away  permanent- 
ly. I  guess  I  can  manage  for  two  weeks." 

"Oh?  Well,  it's  going  to  be  longer  than 
two  weeks.  I've  got  reservations  at  the 
Waldorf,  and  mother's  going  with  me, 
and  the  studio  thinks  I  can  stay  on  after 
I've  finished  at  the  Capitol.  Indefinitely." 

He  was  not  to  be  fooled.  "You've  got 
another  picture  starting  the  last  of  No- 
vember. You'll  be  back.  And  New  York 
will  do  you  good.  But  you  be  careful  in 
those  cabs — they  don't  care  how  they 
drive." 

"You'll  have  fun,  too.  You  know  a  lot 
of  other  girls." 

"That  I  do."  He  grinned  at  her,  and  she 
grinned  uncertainly  back.  She  saw  his 
eyes.  She  read  what  they  had  to  say.  Then 
she  sighed  happily  and  stood  up.  "Let's 
go  back  and  dance  some  more,"  she  said. 

As  they  walked  inside  she  added,  "At 
least  you'll  get  a  lot  of  studying  done 
while  I'm  gone.  I  leave  you  to  explore  the 
omphalomesenteric  vein  to  its  fullest.  In 
thirty-six  hour  embryo  chicks." 


Soaping  dulls  liair. 
Halo  glorifies  it! 


Yes,  even  finest  soaps 
and  soap  shampoos  hide  the 
natural  lustre  of  your  hair 
with  dulling  soap  film 


•  Halo  contains  no  soap.  Made  with  a  new  patented 
ingredient  it  cannot  leave  dulling  soap  film!  •  Halo  reveals  the 

true  natural  beauty  of  your  hair  the  very  first  time  you 
use  it,  leaves  it  shimmering  with  glorious  highlights.  •  Needs 
no  lemon  or  vinegar  after-rinse.  Halo  rinses  away, 
quickly  and  completely!  •  Makes  oceans  of  rich,  fragrant 
lather,  even  in  hardest  water.  Leaves  hair  sweet,  clean, 
naturally  radiant!  •  Carries  away  unsightly  loose  dandruff  like 
magic!  •  Lets  hair  dry  soft  and  manageable,  easy  to  curl! 
•  Buy  Halo  at  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


Reveals  the  Hidden  Beaut  ij  of  Your  Hair! 


Those  BAD  DAYS 
can  be  GOOD  DAYS 


RELIEVES  FUNCTIONAL 

PERIODIC  PAIN 

CRAMPS-MADAM -"BLUES" 


PERSONAL  SAMPLE— In  plain  envelope. 
Write  Dept.  C-28,  Room  HI  8, 
Ul  East  J,2nd  St.,  New  York  17,  N.  Y. 


"What  a  DIFFERENCE 
Midol  makes" 


-^ES  HEADACHES 


the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 

GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


Hi,  Clubbers!  Tell  us  truthfully,  how  many 
times  have  you  had  to  answer  the  question, 
"What  good  are  fan  clubs,  anyway?"  Kay 
McGowan,  the  very  attractive  and  intelligent 
vice-president  of  the  Jeanne  Pierre  Aumont 
Club,  was  asked  that  question  recently  by  a 
New  York  newspaper.  Here's  the  answer 
Kay  gave  her: 

"A  fan  club  enriches  you  with  a  cleaner 
concept  of  tolerance.  You  never  think  of  such 
trivialities  as  who  is  a  Gentile  or  who  is  a 
Caucasian.  You  think  in  terms  of  who  is  loyal 
to  the  particular  aims  and  principles  dearest 
to  your  star.  You  learn  that  it  is  simple  to  find 
common  ties  between  members  from  every 
walk  of  life.  We  originally  banded  together 
out  of  admiration  for  Pierre;  we  soon  found 
lasting  attachments  and  gained  a  new  outlook 
on  life.  A  fan  club,  at  its  best,  can  be  a  living 
laboratory  for  democracy  ...  an  outlet  for 
youthful  energies  that  is  constructive,  ie., 
journals,  meeting  people,  gaining  poise.  This 
club  has  taught  me  more  about  getting  along 
with  others  than  anything  in  my  life." 

How  about  that?  Do  you  like  Kay's  an- 
swer, or  do  you  have  an  even  better  one? 
We'd  like  to  hear  what  you  think. 

Bargain  snaps:  For  those  of  you  who  missed 
our  last  announcement,  here's  how  to  get  finest 
quality  4x5  snaps  at  lowest  possible  prices. 
Irving  Klaw,  the  man  who's  nationally  famous 
for  movie  star  photos,  has  made  this  wonderful 
offer  to  clubs  associated  with  the  MSFCA 
ONLY.  You  must  order  through  us,  you  must 
order  a  minimum  of  10  prints.  You  may  borrow 
our  negatives,  or  supply  your  own.  Send 
inquiries  to  Gloria  Lampert,  MSFCA,  149  Mad- 
ison Avenue,  N.  Y.  16. 

ANNOUNCEMENT:  Trophy  Winners  in  the 
Sixth  Semi-Annual  MODERN  SCREEN  Trophy 
Cup  Contest  will  be  announced  next  month 
in  this  column.  Watch  for  this  important  news! 


6TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 

Sixth  Lap:  (the  following  results  are  based  on 
journals,  reports,  other  data  received  at  our  offices 
during  the  month  ending  November  15).  Individ- 
ual Prizes.  Each  winner  in  THIS  IS  MY  BEST  Con- 
test receives  a  generous  gift  package  of  FA- 
BERGE's  Perfume  and  Cologne.  Best  editors  are 
each  awarded  a  special  assortment  of  POND's 
beauty  preparations.  Winning  artist  gets  a  hand- 
some TANGEE  Trip  Kit  for  travel.  First  prize 
winner,  CANDID  CAMERA  CONTEST,  receives  a 
year's  subscription  to  SCREEN  ROMANCES,  a 
year's  subscription  to  SCREEN  ALBUM,  and  4  Dell 
Mysteries.  Other  Candid  Camera  winners,  a  neat 
package  of  4  Dell  Mysteries.  (Suitable  prizes  al- 
ways substituted  for  male  winners.) 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners:  Lewis  E. 
Brown,  "A  Day  With  The  Circus,"  (Lloyd)  Bridges 
To  Stardom  (Denahy).  Nat  Hentoff,  "Understand- 
ing Is  The  Word,"  TaJkin'  To  Teddy  (Walters). 
Doris  Anderson,  "Dear  Diary,"  Voice  of  The  Peo- 
ple (Sinatra).  Doris  Albritton,  "Don't  .Want  To 
See,"  (Dennis)  Moore's  Mesquiteers.  Clelia  Bar- 
ger,  "Is  This  What  They  Fought  For?"  Idol  Chat- 
ter (Sinatra,  Fries).  Shirley  McBroom,  "British 
or  American  Movies?"  Corvinus  (Charles  Korvin). 
Candid  Camera  Contest:  First  prize,  Nancy  Martin, 
The  Duffies  (Howard  Duff).  Others,  Joel  Pacilio, 
Frankly  Impressed  C.  (Sinatra).  Pat  Maben,  Dan 
Duryea  C.  Ellen  Tanner,  Allan  Jones  C.  Gloria 
Hoyle,  Teddy  Walters  C.  Elsie  Ellovich,  Louise 
Erickson  C.  Best  Editors:  None  qualified  in  League 
1.  League  2.  Isabel  Lee,  Jive  (Bob  Crosby).  3. 
(tied)  Margaret  Staley,  The  Crooning  Barber 
(Como),  Ron  De  Armond,  Four  Star  Review.  Best 
Journals:  None  qualified  in  League  1.  League  2. 
(tied)  The  Caroler  (Landis),  Goiden  Comet 
(Jeanette  MacDonald,  Farrington).  League  3. 
(tied)  Jottings  on  Janis  (Paige).  Bab's  Boosters 
(Lawrence),  James  Melton  Club  Journal.  Best 
Covers:  None  qualified  in  Leagues  1,  2.  League  3. 
(tied)  Corvinus,  Jottings  on  Janis,  Burt  Lancaster 
Club  News,  Talkin'  To  Teddy,  Arthur's  Echoes 
(Kennedy),  Racing  With  The  Moon  (Vaughn 
Monroe,  Staub),  Cubanly  Yours  (Desi  Arnaz, 
Martinjack),  (Lloyd)  Bridges'  Chronicle  (Gockel). 
Best  Original  Art  Work:  Astrid  Rundberg,  Spot- 
light  on  Sinatra.  Most  Worthwhile  Activities:  1. 
Club  Crosby,  contributed  raffle  proceeds  ($21)  to 
Vets'  Hosp.,  Wood,  Wise.  2.  Ladd's  Legionaires 
(Kee),  have  pledged  $200  to  United  Construction 
Relief  Fund,  already  paid  $20  (proceeds  of  skat- 
ing party).  3.  Johnny  Desmond. C.  (Skoff),  con- 
tributed decorations  for  Christmas  tree  to  Lock- 
port  Vets'  Hosp.  Also,  35  presents  to  Red  Cross 
for  personnel  of  ships  which  were  at  sea  during 
Christmas  Holidays.  Greatest  Percentage  Increase 
in  Membership:  1.  Bill  Boyd  C.  2.  Club  Friendship. 
3.  Nina  Foch  C.  Best  Correspondents:  1.  Kit  Pritch- 
ett,  Dennis  Morgan  C.  2.  Margaret  Walton,  Carole 
Landis  C.  3.  Lee  Valentine,  Barbara  Lawrence  C. 


Prexy's  dream  come  true!  (I.  to  r.)  Mimi  Kraushar,  Joel  Pacilio,  Anna  Ling,  Doris  Anderson  and 
Audrey  White,  pilots  of  Sinatra  clubs,  lunched  with  Frankie,  visited  the  set  of  The  Kissing  Bandit. 


LITTLE  LULU 


•  Little  Lulu  says . . .  Compare  tissues  —  compare  boxes— and  - 
you'll  see  why  7  out  of  10  tissue  users  like  Kleenex*  best! 
Soft!  Strong!  Pops  Up!  It's  America's  favorite  tissue. 

>  International  Cellucotton  Products  Co.  *T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Ofi. 


BUY  U.  S.  SAVINGS  BONDS 


ALMOST  INCREDIBLE  NEW 
TREATMENT  FOR  PIMPLES 

(EXTERNALLY  CAUSED) 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  23) 


piano  in  a  dive  in  San  Francisco,  and  the 
only  reason  he  has  that  job  is  because  the 
leader  of  the  regular  band  there,  Chick  Mor- 
gan (Hoagy  Carmichael),  got  it  for  him. 

Dan  might  be  playing  there  yet,  if  one  night 
a  girl  hadn't  drifted  in  with  some  friends  after 
the  opera.  "Slumming,"  the  friends  called  it. 
Catherine  Mallory  (Merle  Oberon)  her  name 
was,  and  she  was  wearing  a  mink  coat,  but 
Dan  couldn't  see  that,  and  wouldn't  have 
cared  anyway.  When  she  sees  Dan  and  hears 
him  play,  something  happens.  Maybe  it's 
partly  the  way  he  looks,  and  his  independence 
in  spite  of  being  blind.  How  can  you  explain 
love  at  first  sight?  How  can  you  explain  love? 

Catherine  is  bright  enough  to  realize — and 
Chuck  confirms  it — that  Dan  would  accept  no 
help  from  her.  So,  with  the  help  of  her  Aunt 
Wille'y  (Ethel  Barrymore),  Catherine  Mallory 
becomes  a  blind  girl,  Mary. 

Yes,  blind.  Because  that's  the  only  way  to 
do  it.  the  only  way  to  get  into  the  strange, 
dark  world  where  Dan  lives.  Mary  is  part  of 
that  world,  he  thinks — and  with  her  help  he 
at  last  goes  back  to  composing  music — some- 
thing he  hasn't  done  since  his  blindness. 

And  with  the  help  of  Catherine  Mallory,  he 
wins  a  prize  for  a  concerto  and  goes  to  New 
York  for  an  operation  which  restores  his  sight. 
But  here's  the  catch.  Now  that  he's  back  in 
the  bright  world  of  light,  what  interest  has 
he  in  blind  Mary? 

Ethel  Barrymore  gives  impact  to  a  rather 
minor  part.  Dana  and  Merle  and  Hoagy  do 
all  right  for  themselves,  too. — RKO 

TREASURE  OF  THE  SIERRA  MADRE 

I'm  always  faintly  mournful  when  they  put 
Humphrey  Bogart  in  a  picture  with  an  all 
male  cast.  Not  that  he  isn't  good  at  the  kind 
of  thing  he  does  in  Sierra  Madre,  but  he's 
pretty  good  in  the  romance  department,  too. 

Anyway,  here  he  is  as  a  broken  down 
American  bum,  in  Tampico,  Mexico,  in  1920. 
Call  him  Dobbs.  Maybe  that's  his  real  name 


Treasure  Of  The  Sierra  Madre:  Humphrey  Bo- 
gart and  Walter  Huston  seek  gold  in  Mexico. 


It's  true!  New  Ting  works  while 
it  helps  hide  pimples,  blemishes, 
blotches.  You  simply  apply  Ting  to 
pimples,  let  it  dry  —  and  whisk  off 
excess  powder.  Ting  is  both  fungi- 
cidal and  germicidal  —  often  works 


wonders  for  externally  caused 
pimples.  Even  if  other  products  have 
failed,  ask  your  druggist  today  for 
a  tube  of  new  Ting  Antiseptic  Medi- 
cated Cream.  Stainless,  greaseless. 
Only  50#.  Economy  size  89tf. 


and  maybe  it  isn't,  but  in  Tampico  nobody 
cares.  His  theme  song  is  "Brother,  can  you 
spare  a  dime?"  and  he  can  spot  a  rich  Ameri- 
can tourist  three  blocks  away.  He  can  also 
occasionally  beat  the  bootblacks  to  a  dis- 
carded cigarette  butt,  which  is  quite  a  trick 
in  Tampico.  One  tourist  gives  him  a  dollar 
and  Dobbs  gets  a  shave,  a  meal  and  a  lottery 
ticket. 

That  same  day,  he  meets  another  bum 
named  Curtin  (Tim  Holt),  and  the  two  of 
them  regretfully  decide  that  things  are  so 
tough  they'll  have  to  take  jobs  in  one  of  the 
construction  camps  up  the  river.  A  few  weeks 
of  work  puts  them  in  reasonably  good  physical 
shape,  and  when  they  get  back,  Dobbs  has  a 
surprise.  He's  won  the  lottery.  It  doesn't 
amount  to  any  fortune — about  a  hundred 
dollars   in  American  money. 

Maybe  it's  coincidence  and  maybe  it  isn't, 
that  they  have  just  been  talking  to  an  old 
gold  prospector,  Howard  (Walter  Huston). 
He  knows  where  there's  gold,  all  right,  but  as 
he  says,  if  it  was  easy  to  get  out,  everybody 
would  have  it.  The  trip  is  tough  and  what's 
worse,  he  warns,  you  get  gold-crazy.  The  stuff 
seems  more  important  to  you  than  anything 
else  in  the  world  and  you'll  sacrifice  your 
best  friend  for  it,  even  when  you  already  have 
enough. 

In  spite  of  these  predictions,  the  three  of 
them  join  up  in  a  gold-hunting  expedition.  And 
everything  Howard  said  comes  true.  Sure, 
they  find  gold.  And  hatred  and  disloyalty  and 
— finally — death,  along  with  it! — War. 

THE  GAY  RANCHERO 

I  don't  know  what  it  is  about  Roy  Rogers' 
pictures  that  gets  me.  Maybe  it's  because  they 
don't  demand  any  heavy  thinking — you  just 
sit  back  and  relax  and  watch  the  shooting. 

The  Gay  Ranchero  in  Technicolor  has  the 
usual  ingredients.  Roy  is  a  sheriff  in  a  small 
southwestern  town.  The  principal  activity  in 
the  place  is  the  airline  run  by  Betty  Richards 
(Jane  Frazee)  with  the  assistance  of  Cookie 
Bullfincher  (Andy  Devine). 

There  is  also  a  hotel  outside  town  where 
a  mysterious  South  American  beauty  is  stay- 
ing. Actually,  she  only  looks  mysterious.  Her 
name  is  Consuelo  Belmonte  and  she  has  come 
here  to  get  away  from  a  young  man  named 
Nicci  Lopez  (Tito  Guizar).  Not  that  she  doesn't 
love  Nicci.  She's  as  crazy  about  him  as  he  is 
about  her  and  she's  not  really  mad  when  he 
turns  up  there.  But  she  thinks  he's  a  coward, 
because  he  has  renounced  bull  fighting.  Seems 
a  silly  reason  to  me  for  dropping  a  handsome 
fiance,  but  I  don't  share  Consuelo's  mad  pas- 
sion for  bull  fights. 

There  are,  naturally,  several  villains  in  this 
same  town.  Vance  Brados,  Mike  Ritter,  and  a 
couple  of  what  are  usually  referred  to  as 
henchmen.  Brados  has  envolved  a  fine,  prac- 
tical scheme  for  making  money  without  work- 
ing for  it.  Betty's  airline  flies  gold  in  from 
the  mines  to  the  bank  in  town.  Brados  has 
a  guy  called  Breezy  planted  with  the  airline 
as  a  mechanic.  He  fixes  it  so  the  gold-laden 
planes  run  out  of  gas  at  a  nice,  deserted  spot. 
The  pilot  goes  to  look  for  gas,  and  the  villains 
take  the  gold.  All  very  simple, 
gg        The   trouble  is  that,  like  most  crimes,  if 


The  Senator  Was  Indiscreet:  Senator  William  Powell,  looking  for  votes,  joins  an  Indian  tribe. 


you  pull  it  too  often,  people  begin  to  catch 
on.  And  Brados  pulls  it  too  many  times,  so 
Roy  takes  over  for  a  wild  and  woolly  finish. 
—Hep. 

THE  SENATOR  WAS  INDISCREET 

Probably  large  numbers  of  Senators  dream 
of  becoming  President.  It's  an  occupational 
disease,  and  Senator  Ashton  (William  Powell) 
has  it  in  a  particularly  virulent  form. 

Ashton  is  quite  an  influential  man.  He  is 
head  of  a  Committee  for  something  or  other, 
and  he  has  a  press  agent,  Lew  Gibson  (Peter 
Lind  Hayes).  Lew  gets  the  Senator  inducted 
into  the  usual  Indian  tribes,  has  him  made 
a  Kentucky  Colonel  and  photographs  him  kiss- 
ing enormous  numbers  of  babies.  But  things 
are  tougher  these  days.  The  public  wants 
something  really  special  from  a  presidential 
candidate. 

Press  agent  Lew's  girl  is  not  much  in  sym- 
pathy with  his  methods.  Poppy  (Ella  Raines) 
thinks  the  American  people  deserve  better 
treatment  and  eventually  she  breaks  with  Lew, 
and  begins  a  campaign  of  ridicule  in  her  news- 
paper against  Senator  Ashton. 

The  Senator  goes  on  a  speaking  tour  of 
the  entire  country.  He  comes  out  flatly  against 
inflation  and  deflation,  but  is  in  favor  of  a 
mysterious  something  called  "flation."  He  has 
a  health  bill  guaranteeing  every  adult  a  nor- 
mal temperature.  He  is  super,  terrific  and  un- 
shakeable.  He  makes  no  sense  at  all,  but  his 
speeches  sound  as  if  they  did  and  he  rapidly 
becomes  "the  people's  choice." 

Ashton  has  one  weakness  from  the  point  of 
view  of  the  professional  politicians  who  are 
backing  him.  He  insists  on  keeping  a  diary  all 
about  the  party's  affairs.  The  diary  disap- 
pears and  everyone  suspects  everyone  else. 
With  good  reason.  Poppy  might  have  stolen 
it.  Or  the  beautiful  redhead,  Valerie  Shep- 
herd  (Arleen  Whelan),  whom  the  Senator 


has  befriended.  And  Lew.  And  all  the  party 
leaders. 

There  seems  to  be  just  one  solution.  Throw 
Ashton  out  as  a  candidate,  then  the  diary 
won't  matter.  But  throwing  Ashton  out  proves 
far  more  difficult  than  anyone  anticipates. 

Some  amusing  satire  in  this.  I  think  you'll 
like  it — Univ. 

KILLER  McCOY 

This  is  the  story  of  a  prizefighter.  A  little 
guy,  not  a  big  one,  but  with  all  the  guts  and 
toughness  it  takes  to  stay  in  the  ring  with 
bigger  guys  and  take  what  they  hand  out. 
Tommy  McCoy  (Mickey  Rooney)  his  name 
is,  and  you're  going  to  like  him. 

Tommy  comes  from  the  kind  of  neighborhood 
where  you  learn  to  fight  as  soon  as  you  learn 
to  walk.  You  have  to.  His  father,  Brian  (Jimmy 
Dunn)  used  to  be  in  vaudeville.  Now  he's 
just  a  drunk.  Mrs.  McCoy  (Gloria  Holden) 
does  sewing  and  Tommy  sells  newspapers  and 
somehow  they  keep  going. 

Then,  one  night  at  a  neighborhood  benefit, 


Killer  McCoy:  Mickey  Rooney,  Jimmy  Dunn's 
son,  becomes  a  boxer  with  Sam  Levene's  help. 


Brian  is  asked  to  do  one  of  his  old  vaudeville 
acts.  Uncertain  on  his  legs,  filled  with  panic 
before  an  audience  now,  he  gets  Tommy  to  do 
it  with  him.  They're  a  hit.  Tommy's  even  more 
popular  later  when  he  challenges  an  older, 
heavier  boy  to  a  fight  in  a  ring  that  has  been 
set  up  for  some  boxing  matches. 

Tommy  wins  and  Martin  (Mickey  Knox), 
who's  in  charge  of  the  fights,  takes  the  boy  and 
the  old  man  on  tour  as  part  of  the  act.  A  year 
later.  Tommy  is  really  a  fighter.  Martin  and 
his  trainer,  Happy  (Sam  Levene),  have  seen 
to  it  that  he  knows  all  they  know,  which  is 
plenty.  Martin  retires  as  a  fighter,  and  Tommy 
loses  track  of  him  but  keeps  a  feeling  of 
affection  for  him  in  his  heart. 

There  are  things  about  the  racket  that 
Tommy  hates.  He  quits  it  once,  but  it's  the 
only  thing  he  knows  and  he  goes  back.  His 
contract  is  owned  now  by  a  gambler,  Caighn 
(Brian  Donlevy).  He  discovers  that  Tommy 
has  a  terrific  right,  although  his  reputation  is 
built  on  his  left  punch.  That's  the  kind  of  angle 
Caighn  can  use  in  his  business — the  gambling 
business. 

It's  strange  that  Caighn  should  have  a 
daughter  like  Sheila  (Ann  Blyth),  although  it 
certainly  isn't  strange  that  Tommy  should  fall 
in  love  with  her.  If  only  Tommy  hadn't  had 
to  fight  his  old  friend,  Martin,  who's  trying 
to  make  a  comeback.  Martin  dies  from  that 
fight,  and  they  call  Tommy  "Killer  McCoy!" 
—M-G-M 

SO  WELL  REMEMBERED 

There  is  plenty  to  remember  in  this  story 
which  begins  in  England  right  after  World 
War  I,  and  carries  on  till  Victory  Day  of 
World  War  II.  Its  central  figure  is  George 
Boswell  (John  Mills),  a  young  politician  in 
the  town  of  Browdley. 

Or  maybe  I'm  wrong.  Maybe  the  real  cen- 
tral figure  is  Olivia  Channing  (Martha  Scott). 
The  Channings  dominated  the  town  of  Browd- 
ly  for  many  years,  until  Olivia's  father  was 
sent  to  jail  for  some  financial  skullduggery 
which  involved  keeping  the  city  slums  just 
that — slums. 

Mr.  Channing  is  just  out  of  jail  when  the 
crusading  young  George  meets  Olivia.  Like 
most  crusaders,  George  is  a  romanticist.  He 
sees  lovely,  deep-eyed  Olivia  as  a  victim  of 
the  town's  prejudice  against  the  Channing  fam- 


So  Well  Remembered:  Martha  Scott,  Trevor 
Howard  and  John  Mills  in  a  politico-love  drama. 


about  these 


Every  girl  and  woman  today  should 
know  how  necessary  vaginal  douch- 
ing often  is  for  cleanliness,  health, 
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and  after  menstrual  periods. 

And  here's  your  chance  to  learn 
how  important  it  is  to  always  use 
zonite  in  the  douche. 

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Those  ignorant,  old-fashioned  women 
who,  because  of  misinformation 
passed  on  by  friends,  still  use  vine- 
gar, salt  or  soda  in  the  douche  should 
wake  up!  Don't  you  realize  you  are 
using  nothing  but  'kitchen  make- 
shifts'? 

Vinegar,  salt  or  soda  in  the  douche 
are  not  germicides.  They  can't  pos- 
sibly give  the  great  germicidal  and 
deodorizing  action  of  zonite.  Scien- 
tists tested  every  generally  known 
antiseptic  and  germicide  for  the 
douche  they  could  find  for  sale.  And 


Zom'te 


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no  other  type  proved  so  powerful 
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A  MODERN  MIRACLE  — 

zonite  contains  no  phenol,  no  mer- 
curial ingredients — no  harsh  acids — 
overstrong  solutions  of  which  may 
damage  tissues  and  in  time  even 
impair  the  functional  activity  of 
mucous  glands. 

There  is  positively  no  risk  of 
injury  with  zonite  no  matter  how 
often  you  use  it  as  directed.  Non- 
irritating.  Non-poisonous  —  no 
poison  warning  is  needed  on  the 
zonite  bottle. 

zonite  destroys  and  removes  odor- 
causing,  clinging  waste  substances, 
helps  guard  against  infection  and 
immediately  kills  every  germ  it 
touches.  You  know  it's  not  always 
possible  to  contact  all  the  germs  in 
the  tract.  But  you  can  be  sure  zonite 
does  kill  every  reachable  germ  and 
keeps  them  from  multiplying.  Com- 
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emimne 


Name- 
Address- 


Stote. 


ily.  He  not  only  gets  her  elected  to  the  post 
of  town  librarian,  but  is  soon  wildly  in  love 
with  her. 

Olivia  is  an  opportunist.  No  romantic  non- 
sense for  her.  She  marries  George  not  out 
of  love,  but  because  she  thinks  she  can  make 
him  a  successful  London  politician  with  its 
attendant  riches  and  pomp.  For  a  while  it 
seems  she's  right.  George  stands  for  Parlia- 
ment. They  live  more  in  London  than  in  Browd- 
ley,  and  Olivia  is  admired  as  an  astute  and 
brilliant  wife. 

Meanwhile,  George's  crusading  spirit  has 
lagged  considerably.  Even  when  he  gets  a 
report  from  his  old  friend.  Dr.  Whiteside 
(Trevor  Howard)  concerning  the  terrible  con- 
dition of  Browdley's  slums,  he  allows  himself 
to  be  persuaded  that  Whiteside  is  a  fanatic. 
It  is  only  when  a  serious  outbreak  of  diphtheria 
gives  direct  and  terrible  proof,  that  George 
becomes  himself  again.  And  then  Olivia  leaves 
him. 

Twenty-five  years  pass  before  Olivia  comes 
back  to  Browdley.  She  has  a  son,  by  a  second 
marriage,  who  is  in  the  RAF.  It  is  when  she, 
with  her  old  dominating  ways,  tries  to  break 
up  the  boy's  romance,  that  George  once  more 
comes  into  her  life. — RKO 

THE  UPTURNED  GLASS 

Nothing  to  do  with  drinking — just  murder. 
James  Mason  and  Pamela  Kellino  are  the  stars. 
Pamela  (Mrs.  Mason,  as  I'm  sure  you  know) 
has  also  co-authored  the  screen  play  which 
is  adapted  from  a  story  by  John  Monoghan. 

As  it  begins,  we  are  listening  to  a  lecture 
on  crime.  The  lecturer  is  a  casual,  oddly  at- 
tractive man.  He's  telling  the  class  about 
a  murderer,  a  sane  and  sensible  fellow,  who 
committed  his  one  crime  from  a  sense  of  justice. 

This  man,  the  lecturer  explains,  he  will 
refer  to  as  Michael  Joyce.  He  is  a  surgeon, 


a  brain  specialist,  and  one  of  the  best  in  the 
field.  However,  aside  from  his  work,  he  leads 
a  dull  and  lonely  life.  He  is  separated  from 
his  wife  and  doesn't  have  any  particular  in- 
terest in  the  women  he  occasionally  sees. 

One  day  he  meets,  professionally,  a  charm- 
ing young  woman  whose  little  daughter  must 
have  a  brain  operation.  Michael  performs  it 
successfully,  and  by  the  time  the  child  is  well, 
he  and  the  mother,  Emma  Wright  (Rosamund 
John),  are  in  love.  However,  she  has  a  hus- 
band in  the  Near  East  on  a  geological  expe- 
dition and  Michael  has  a  wife  who  won't 
divorce  him.  Being  honorable  people,  they 
finally  decide  never  to  see  each  other  again. 

You  can  imagine  Michael's  shock  when,  not 
much  later,  he  hears  that  Emma  has  fallen 
from  a  high  window  of  her  house  and  has  been 
killed.  He  goes  to  the  inquest  and  immediately 
becomes  suspicious  of  the  behavior  of  Emma's 
widowed  sister-in-law,  Kate  (Pamela  Kellino). 
She  obviously  hated  Emma. 

There's  nothing  very  definite  to  go  on,  but 
Michael  starts  a  campaign  of  attention  to 
Kate.  Flowers,  dinner  dates,  the  usual  things. 
It's  very  easy.  She  soon  not  only  wants  to 
marry  him  for  his  money,  but  is  really  in  love 
with  him. 

All  the  while,  Michael  is  gathering  evidence 
against  her.  She  finally  learns  his  real  pur- 
pose in  a  scene  that  will  chill  your  blood  like 
iced  champagne.  And  even  after  that  climax, 
there  is  more  of  the  story  to  come. — Univ. 

IF  WINTER  COMES 

A  friend  of  mine  has  a  favorite  saying — 
"In  this  world  a  good  deed  never  goes  un- 
punished." Cynical?  Undoubtedly,  but  a  per- 
fect example  of  the  way  it  works  is  to  be 
seen  in  It  Winter  Comes. 

Here  we  have  an  Englishman,  Mark  Saber 
(Walter  Pidgeon),  who  has  plenty  of  friends. 


If  Winter  Comes:  Deborah  Kerr  and  Walter 
Pidgeon   married   to  others,   are   still   in  love. 


a  good  job,  and  a  wife  (Angela  Lansbury) 
who,  like  many  wives,  never  knows  quite  what 
he  is  talking  about  but  doesn't  care.  She  does 
care,  however,  when  Mark's  ex-fiancee,  Nona 
Tyler  (Deborah  Kerr),  returns  to  their  town 
of  Tidborough  with  her  worthless  husband, 
Tony.  She's  afraid  Nona  will  get  Mark  back. 

Actually,  Nona  and  Mark  are  still  in  love. 
But  they  aren't,  they  find,  the  kind  of  people 
who  can  take  their  happiness  at  the  expense 
of  others.  They  do  consider  for  a  little  while 
the  possibility  of  running  away  together — a 
possibility  which  definitely  goes  by  the  board 
when  war  is  declared,  and  Nona's  husband 
joins  up.  She  plunges  into  war  work,  and 
Mark  tries  to  forget  his  unhappiness  in  his 
job  with  a  publishing  house. 

Now  we  come  to  the  good  deed  that  causes 
all  the  trouble.  There  is  a  girl  named  Effie 
Bright  (Janet  Leigh)  whom  Mark  has  met 
guite  casually.  Her  father  is  a  clerk.  When 
a  young  friend  of  Mark's,  Freddie  (Hugh 
Green),  goes  off  to  war,  Mark  gets  Effie  a  job 
as  companion  to  Freddie's  mother.  It  seems  an 
ideal  arrangement  for  all  concerned,  and  prob- 
ably it  would  have  been,  if  Freddie  had  stayed 
away  all  the  while. 

But,  of  course,  now  and  then  he  got  a  leave. 
And  equally,  of  course,  he  fell  in  love  with 
Effie.  So  before  long,  Effie  finds  herself  about 
to  become  an  unwed  mother,  and  a  whole 
series  of  idiotic  coincidences  point  to  Mark, 
not  Freddie,  as  the  father.  Mark's  wife  leaves 
him,  he  loses  his  job,  and  Effie — aghast  at 
the  effect  of  her  indiscretion — commits  suicide. 

It's  quite  a  trick  to  produce  a  happy  ending 
out  of  a  setup  like  that,  but  they've  managed 
it.— M-G-K 

THE  LOST  MOMENT 

A  girl — a  really  beautiful  girl — who  is  liv- 
ing in  two  centuries  at  once.  That's  the  theme 
of  a  ghostly  drama  starring  Robert  Cummings 
and  Susan  Hayward.  The  scene  is  Venice 
around  1900.  Lewis  Venable  (Robert  Cum- 
mings), an  American  publisher,  comes  there 
to  try  and  find  some  lost  love  letters. 

Not  his  own.  No,  these  were  written  by 
a  famous  poet,  Jeffrey  Ashton,  who  disap- 
peared in  Venice  in  1830  and  was  never 
heard  of  again.  But  the  woman  Ashton  wrote 
them  to,  Juliana  Bordereau  (Agnes  Moor- 
head),  is  still  alive  at  the  age  of  one  hundred 
and  five.  Lewis  is  to  be  a  "paying  guest" 
in  her  home  while  posing  as  a  writer,  but 
he  has  every  intention  of  finding  those  letters 


The  Upturned  Glass:  James  Mason,  surgeon,  and  Rosamund  John,  victims  of  an  unhappy  love  affair. 


The  Lost  Moment:  Susan  Hayward  and  Robert  Cummings  find  the  body  of  aged  Agnes  Moorehead. 


and  publishing  them  if  they  exist.  His  theory- 
is  that  Jeffrey  Ashton  was  so  great  a  poet 
that  any  word,  any  phrase,  written  by  him, 
belongs  to  the  world. 

Lewis  finds  that  the  Bordereau  household 
is  an  odd  one.  It  is  run  by  Tina  (Susan  Hay- 
ward),  Juliana's  niece.  She's  a  stern,  un- 
friendly young  woman  who  tells  Lewis  frank- 
ly that  it  is  only  because  they  must  have 
money  that  they  allow  him  in  the  house.  There 
is  an  old  cook  who  mutters  what  sounds  like 
Italian  curses  every  time  she  sees  him.  There 
is  the  little  maid,  expertly  played  by  Joan 
Lorring,  who  is  obviously  afraid  of  Miss  Tina. 
She  warns  Lewis  that  something  is  wrong  in 
the  house  but  refuses  to  say  what  it  is. 

One  night,  he  hears  a  piano  playing  softly. 
He  traces  it  to  a  secret  room  and  finds  that 
it  is  Tina  playing.  But  you  would  never  rec- 
ognize her.  Lovely  and  feminine  with  her  gor- 
geous hair  down  around  her  white  shoulders, 
she  looks  like  a  dream  from  long  ago. 

And  it  seems  she  is.  Because  she  calls 
Lewis  "Jeffrey"  and  obviously  believes  herself 
to  be  Juliana.  She  kisses  him  passionately  to 
prove  her  love.  But  when  they  meet  next  day, 
she  apparently  has  no  memory  of  what  has 
happened.  It  takes  Lewis  a  long  time  to  un- 
ravel the  mystery,  and  with  it,  he  discovers  the 
secret  of  Jeffrey  Ashton's  disappearance. — 
Univ. 

TO  THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH 

Your  name  is  Mike  Barrows  (Dick  Powell), 
and  on  a  cloudy,  fog-bound  night  in  San  Fran- 
cisco Bay  you  are  watching  the  captain  of 
a  Jap  freighter  toss  a  hundred  Chinese  slaves 
overboard  to  drown.  This  is  before  the  war. 
You  are  working  for  the  Treasury  Department, 
in  the  Narcotics  Division.  There  isn't  a  thing 


you  can  do  about  the  Chinese  slaves.  But  you 
ask  yourself,  "Why  was  this  thing  done?" 
And,  being  Mike  Barrows,  you  decide  to  find 
out. 

Mike  takes  a  vacation  without  pay  and  gets 
aboard  the  next  Clipper  for  Shanghai,  where 
the  freighter  came  from.  He  reports  the  inci- 
dent to  Japanese  officials  there,  and  is  met 
with  polite  smiles  and  a  bland  request  for 
proof.  Of  which  he  has  none. 

But  he  meets  a  man  named  Lum  Chi  (Vladi- 
mir Sokoloff),  and  later  two  girls,  Ann  Grant 
(Signe  Hasso)  and  Shu  Pan  (Maylia).  They 
tie  in  somewhere,  although  he  doesn't  yet  see 
where.  Ann  is  the  widow  of  an  American 
engineer.  Shu  Pan  is  a  pretty  Chinese  girl 
whom  Ann  plans  to  take  back  to  the  States 
with  her. 

Egypt  comes  after  Shanghai.  Mike  finds  a 
clue  there  which  points  directly  to  Ann.  The 
whole  situation,  he  discovers,  is  based  on  an 
international  narcotic  ring.  Suicides  follow  his 
trail  now,  but  Mike  blazes  along,  trying  to 
get  to  someone  who  will  talk.  Suicides  don't 
talk. 

Havana  is  next.  You  really  get  around  when 
you're  after  international  smugglers.  Mike 
finds  Ann  and  Shu  Pan  there,  ready  to  take 
a  boat  for  New  York,  and  he  takes  it,  too. 
He  knows  quite  well  that  a  $5,000,000  ship- 
ment of  narocotics  is  on  board  and  if  he  can 
catch  Ann  bringing  it  in,  he  has  her  cold.  As 
it  turns  out,  Michael  is  the  one  who's  cold — 
out  cold,  hit  over  the  head  with  a  life 
preserver. 

From  here  on  it's  strictly  fox  and  hounds 
stuff,  with  the  criminal  one  jump  ahead  until 
the  very  end.  If  you  like  spy  stories  you'll 
be  happy  with  To  The  Ends  Of  The  Earth. 
—Col. 


•HO  ROUGH 


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SPEAKING  FRANKLY— By  Ed  Sullivan 

(Continued  from  page  27) 


medicine  cabinet  crowded  with  pills  for 
nervous  stomachs — and  disclose  that  Joe 
Hero  and  Josephine  Heroine  are  afflicted 
with  nothing  more  glamorous  than  low 
blood  pressure.  When  people  or  movie 
stars  make  decisions  that  are  influenced 
by  poor  health,  those  decisions  are  liable 
to  be  off  the  beam." 

"Uh-huh,"  I  murmured.  Mrs.  Wilde 
looked  at  me  icily. 

"You  don't  believe  me!" 

"Let's  put  it  differently,"  I  said.  "This 
is  the  first  time  I've  ever  heard  of  that 
low  blood  pressure  routine,  and — " 

"And  nothing,"  she  stormed.  "It's  no 
routine.  It  happened!  It  happened  to 
Cornel  and  me.  The  only  time  we  ever 
experimented  with  a  trial  separation,  it 
was  because  he  was  worn  out  and  nervous. 
His  blood  pressure  then  was  less  than  80. 
He'd  just  finished  Bandit  of  Sherwood 
Forest  for  Columbia.  He  came  home  that 
night,  completely  exhausted.  After  din- 
ner, a  studio  barber  arrived  to  cut  his 
hair;  then  he  went  to  bed  all  in.  I  had 
to  wake  him  at  6  o'clock  the  next  morn- 
ing, so  that  he  could  start  for  Arizona  for 
his  next  picture." 

She  gestured. 

"Cornel  sat  at  the  breakfast  table  that 
morning,  wordlessly.  His  face  was  drawn; 
there  were  deep  circles  under  his  eyes. 
This,  then,  I  thought  to  myself,  was  movie 
stardom! 

"For  ten  years  the  two  of  us  had  strug- 
gled to  make  the  grade.  We  had  stood 
up  to  heartbreak  and  discouragement, 
we  had  fought  against  sickness,  we  had 
laughed  off  shows  that  folded  after  one 
or  two  nights — and  for  what?" 

"Wait  a  moment,"  I  enthused.  "This 
sounds  like  a  great  story." 

"Not  a  great  story,"  corrected  Mrs.  Cor- 
nel Wilde,  "but  a  tragic  explanation  of 
why  some  Hollywood  marriages  go  on  the 
rocks.  Not  maliciously,  but  with  a  cer- 
tain sense  of  smugness,  people  say  that 
the  Hollywood  star  is  overwhelmed  by 
problems  that  the  average  citizen  meets 
in  stride.  It  is  consoling  for  people  out- 
side of  Hollywood  to  feel  that  the  movie 
personality    lacks   the    moral   fibre,  the 


sense  of  proportion  or  the  moral  courage 
of  John  Q.  Citizen." 

"What  are  you  driving  at?"  I  asked  her. 

"Just  this,"  said  Mrs.  Wilde,  "the  prob- 
lems of  Hollywood  stars  are  completely 
dissimilar.  Actors  encounter  occupational 
hazards  that  never  touch  the  lives  or  affect 
the  happiness  of  those  who  aren't  on 
Hollywood  sound  stages. 

"For  instance,"  she  said,  "after  Cornel 
became  a  star,  we  rarely  saw  each  other, 
and  then  only  when  he  was  so  exhausted 
that  it  was  an  effort  to  make  conversation. 
Both  of  us  were  on  edge;  he  was  worn 
out  from  too  much  work;  I  was  lonely 
and  unhappy.  The  day  he  left  for  Ari- 
zona, I  packed  his  bags  for  him. 

"  'Don't  forget  my  pills,'  he  told  me. 
'My  stomach  is  doing  nip-ups.' 

"As  I  watched  Cornel  walk  out  of  the 
house  that  morning  to  the  studio  car,  I 
thought  to  myself  that  it  had  been  far 
better  when  we  were  struggling  to  earn 
rent  and  food  money  back  on  Broadway." 

"Tell  me  about  Broadway,"  I  suggested. 

"Well,"  she  said,  "in  New  York,  we  had 
been  together  continuously.  We  had  gone 
to  agents'  offices  together,  we'd  lunched 
together,  had  dinner  at  the  Automat  to- 
gether, and  it  was  all  wonderful.  We  both 
got  parts  in  Tallulah  Bankhead's  Antony 
and  Cleopatra,  and  we  felt  flattered  that 
she'd  selected  us.  That  was  back  in  1937, 
just  before  we  eloped  to  Maryland.  Then, 
to  our  dismay,  we  learned  that  Miss  Bank- 
head  had  planned  a  long  road  tour,  and 
like  most  kids,  we  wanted  to  stay  on 
Broadway.  So  we  told  her.  L^he  was  very 
nice,  and  understanding,  and  we  left  the 
company,  confident  we'd  grab  another  job, 
quickly." 

"What  happened?"  I  asked. 

"We  eloped,  came  back  to  Broadway,  and 
never  got  another  offer  from  a  producer." 

"What,"  I  asked,  "did  you  do  for 
money?" 

"What  any  other  young  stage  couple 
does,  I  suppose,"  she  said.  "Worried  our- 
selves sick.  Every  time  we'd  make  some 
money,  we  had  to  pay  it  to  the  doctor. 
Luckily,  the  manager  of  the  hotel  where 
we  lived  was  swell.    No  impounding  of 


MODERN  SCREEN 


our  trunks  or  anything  like  that.  We 
played  periodic  'subway  circuit'  engage- 
ments in  Moon  Over  Mulberry  Street, 
and  finally  I  landed  a  job  in  the  Ethel 
Merman-Bert  Lahr  musical,  Dubarry  Was 
a  Lady.  It  was  the  security  of  the  $40  a 
week  that  permitted  Cornel  to  look  for  a 
part  leisurely. 

"If  you  read  fan  mags,  Ed,  you  know 
the  rest  of  our  story.  The  first  real  break 
for  us — parts  in  the  Laurence  Olivier- 
Vivien  Leigh  production  of  Romeo  and 
Juliet,  and  traveling  to  San  Francisco,  and 
opening  there,  and  the  Warners'  scout 
raving  about  Cornel.  Warners  used  him 
twice,  dropped  his  option,  and  six  months 
later,  he  signed  with  Fox. 

"For  two  long  years,  we  waited  and 
waited,  and  then  Columbia  borrowed  him 
for  Song  to  Remember." 

"Where  does  the  low  blood  pressure 
enter  the  script?"  I  asked  her. 

"Starting  right  then,"  said  Mrs.  Wilde. 
"For  years,  Cornel  had  been  under  con- 
tract, doing  nothing.  Once  he  clicked  in 
Song  to  Remember,  they  ran  him  ragged. 
Three  pictures  in  a  row  at  Columbia,  then 
Leave  Her  to  Heaven,  Centennial  Sum- 
mer, three  weeks  with  Peggy  Cummins 
in  Forever  Amber,  then  into  The  Home- 
stretch, then  the  Linda  Darnell  version  of 
Amber,  and  out  of  that  and  into  It  Had 
To  Be  You,  with  Ginger  Rogers.  So  in- 
stead of  enjoying  this  new-found  stardom, 
we  were  worse  off  than  ever.  And  that's 
when  we  finally  determined  on  a  trial 
separation. 

"The  separation  did  the  trick?" 

"It  gave  us  both  time  to  think  things 
over  sanely.  It  enabled  both  of  us  to 
remember  that  we  loved  each  other  a  lot. 
If  I'd  forgotten,  it  reminded  me  that  Cor- 
nel was  the  most  wonderful  guy  I'd  ever 
met;  sweet,  considerate,  thoughtful  and 
a  lot  of  fun — when  he  wasn't  on  the  verge 
of  a  nervous  breakdown  because  of  over- 
work. So  we  determined  that  from  now 
on,  we'd  live  differently.  Now  that  he  is 
a  star,  he  can  ask  for  certain  things — and 
the  first  thing  he  asked  for  was  a  six- 
month  clause  in  which  he  could  do  a 
play.  Never  again  will  we  ever  permit 
Hollywood  to  disrupt  our  happiness." 

A  few  nights  ago,  the  Sullivans  went 
to  a  dinner  party  in  New  York.  There 
w?s  a  Wall  Streeter  and  his  wife,  there  was 
a  toy  merchant,  there  was  a  big  league 
baseball  star  and  his  wife,  a  doctor  and 
his  wife  and  some  other  couples.  "An- 
other Hollywood  divorce  on  the  front 
pages,"  said  one  of  the  guests,  shaking 
his  head.  "Well,  I  guess  marriage  means 
no  more  in  Hollywood  than  it  means  to 
Peter  Rabbit." 

"They  can't  stand  success,"  said  the 
doctor.  "When  they  click  out  there,  they 
lose  all  sense  of  proportion." 

"It's  the  atmosphere,"  suggested  one  of 
the  wives.  "It  breeds  promiscuity."  An- 
other wife  chimed  in:  "They  have  too 
much  money." 

"The  problems  that  all  of  us  face  and 
defeat,  every  day,"  said  the  doctor,  "de- 
stroy them.  Every  married  couple  has 
disagreements,  but  we  lick  them.  Holly- 
wood people  can't  take  it." 

I  think  that  any  movie  fan  will  agree 
that  he  or  she  has  said  practically  the 
same  thing  about  Hollywood  stars.  It  is 
a  nice  concession  to  your  own  ego  to  pon- 
der on  the  fact  that  the  problems  which  all 
of  us  citizens  solve  are  the  very  problems 
that  send  the  movie  stars  scurrying  to 
Reno. 

So  next  time  you're  tempted  to  be  smug, 
remember  this  story  by  Mrs.  Cornel  Wilde. 


THE  YEARS  BETWEEN 

(Continued  from  page  48) 


face. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  feebly. 
"I — I'm  looking  for  a  room  for  my  wife. 
We've  been  married  since  Christmas  Eve. 
I'm  stationed  over  at  the  camp  three  miles 
from  here,  and  I  thought — I  mean  this 
looked  like  such  a  nice  place,  the  kind 
Pat  would  like — but  of  course  I  don't 
blame  you  at  all."  He  finished,  breathless. 

"Now,  now,  slow  down,  young  man. 
How  much  were  you  thinking  of  paying?" 

"I  hadn't  thought,  actually.  Whatever 
you  say." 

The  farmer's  wife  muttered  something 
under  her  breath.  It  sounded  like  "a  fool 
and  his  money  are  soon  parted."  But 
fifteen  minutes  later  Dick  was  peddling 
triumphantly  to  town. 

Back  at  the  barracks,  Dick  took  a  good- 
natured  ribbing.  "Easy  for  a  matinee  idol 
like  you,"  the  boys  said.  "I  think  I'll  try 
telling  the  next  old  hag  I  ask  that  I'm 
Clark  Gable!" 

left  his  career  behind  .  .  . 

Actually,  of  course,  it  had  never  oc- 
curred to  Dick  to  mention  that  he  was  the 
Richard  Greene  who  had  made  pictures  in 
both  England  and  America  before  the  war. 
His  career  had  been  successful,  certainly, 
but  he  had  put  it  behind  him  when,  in 
September,  1940,  he  left  Hollywood,  to  go 
home  and  enlist  in  the  British  Army. 

Some  of  his  friends  told  him  then  that 
he  was  crazy.  "You've  got  a  bad  leg  from 
that  car  accident  you  were  in  a  while  ago. 
Use  that  for  an  alibi,  and  stick  right  here. 
America  isn't  at  war,  and  you're  just  going 
good.  You'll  make  a  fortune." 

"It  wouldn't  be  enough  to  buy  back  my 
self-respect,"  Dick  had  said  quietly.  "I 
don't  like  war  any  better  than  the  next 
man,  but  England's  my  country." 

He  enlisted  as  a  private  in  the  ranks 
of  the  27th  Lancers.  Promotions  came,  but 
slowly,  as  they  do  in  the  British  Army. 
Then  the  leg  injury  he  had  suffered  in 
Hollywood  was  aggravated  by  an  added 
strain  during  training. 

"Sorry,  Greene,"  his  superior  .officer 
told  him.  "No  combat  duty  for  you,  after 
this  injury.  Your  leg  wouldn't  take  it. 
You're  eligible  for  medical  discharge  now, 
if  you  like,"  the  officer  went  on  briskly. 
"Or  you  can  stay  in  the  Army  and  do 
non-combat  work.  There's  plenty  of  it  to 
be  done." 

Dick  was  silent  for  a  moment.  A  dis- 
charge would  mean  that  he  could  go  back 
to  Hollywood  and  take  up  where  he'd  left 
off.  Probably  the  money  he  could  make 
and  contribute  to  the  British  cause  would 
help  a  lot  more  than  the  non-combat  work 
he  could  do.  Damn  it  all,  he  hadn't  sac- 
rificed his  career  and  come  over  here  and 
gone  through  training  just  to  sit  the  war 
out  at  a  desk! 

That  mood  lasted  about  ten  seconds,  then 
Dick  grinned.  "I'd  like  to  stay  in  the  Army, 
sir." 

He  wondered  a  little  as  he  said  it,  what 
Pat  would  think.  Because  by  now  he  was 
married  to  Pat  Medina.  She  was  half- 
Spanish  and  half-English.  He  had  met  her 
late  in  1941  when  he  was  given  a  tem- 
porary release  from  the  Army  to  make  a 
propaganda  picture   at  Denham. 

One  day  Dick  was  strolling  across  the 
set  of  another  picture  they  were  making 
there.  He  noticed  a  beautiful  girl  talking 
to  the  director.  Soft  black  hair  to  her 
shoulders,  smooth  peach-colored  skin  and 
lively  dark  eyes. 

"Not  bad,"  he  said  to  the  friend  with 
him.  "Not  bad  at  all." 

The  friend  laughed.  "Our  national  genius 


for  understatement.  That's  Pat  Medina 
and  she's  not  only  beautiful,  she's  a  good 
actress." 

"Know  her,  do  you?"  Dick  asked,  very, 
very  casually. 

"As  it  happens,  I  do.  Come  to  dinner  at 
my  place  Thursday  night  and  you  can  talk 
to  her  all  evening." 

Thursday  night  came,  and  at  the  party 
Dick  sat  down  by  Pat  who  was  looking 
chic,  cool  and  detached  in  a  black  dress 
that  flowed  smoothly  around  every  curve. 

"A  bit  silly  to  talk  shop  so  violently, 
isn't  it?"  he  offered,  as  the  babble  of  the 
other  guests'  voices  rose  and  fell  around 
them. 

Pat  pounced  on  that  like  a  puppy  on  a 
bone.  "What's  silly  about  it?  We  make  a 
living  out  of  acting.  Why  shouldn't  we 
talk  about  it?" 

Dick  swallowed.  "Sorry,"  he  said.  In  a 
moment  he  made  an  excuse  to  get  over 
to  the  other  side  of  the  room.  The  girl  was 
beautiful  all  right,  but  what  a  disposition! 

So  that  was  that,  and  Dick  forgot  about 
it.  But  a  couple  of  weeks  later  Dick  was 
in  London  for  the  weekend.  On  the  street 
ahead  of  him  some  GI's  whistled  ap- 
preciatively at  a  girl  crossing  Trafalgar 
Square.  A  girl  with  smoky  black  hair  and 
tawny  skin.  A  girl  named  Pat  Medina. 

Dick  found  himself  walking  faster  and 
faster.  Not  that  he  really  wanted  to  see 
her,  of  course.  And  not,  he  thought  wryly, 
that  it  would  do  him  any  good  if  he  did. 
She  obviously  hadn't  thought  much  of  him. 
Still,  she  might  be  willing  to  have  a  drink. 

Fifteen  minutes  later,  over  sherry,  they 
were  both  wondering  how  they  could  have 
been  so  wrong.  Pat  was  wonderful.  She 
bubbled  like  champagne,  with  a  dry  wit 
and  delightful  charm. 

"You  certainly  didn't  like  me  the  other 
evening  when  we  met,"  Dick  said  even- 
tually.  "What  did  I  do  wrong?" 

an  explanation  .  -.  . 

Pat  explained.  "When  I  got  to  the  party 
everyone  was  having  a  fearful  row,  and  I 
felt  left  out  with  no  one  to  argue  with. 
Then  you  came  in  so  I  started  on  you, 
thinking  it  was  the  thing  to  do.  Only  you 
wouldn't  argue,  you  just  went  away." 

Dick  laughed.  "We  seem  to  have  made 
a  botch  of  things,  between  us.  Let's  make 
up  for  it  by  having  dinner  together  to- 
night." 

So  they  went  to  Dick's  favorite  restaur- 
ant, but  since  it  was  London  in  war-time 
they  had  to  "queue  up"  for  a  table.  By 
the  time  they  got  one,  an  hour  later,  they 
were  in  love.  By  the  time  they'd  had  din- 
ner, they  were  engaged.  On  Christmas 
Eve  they  were  married  in  a  ceremony  that 
left  out  all  the  pomp  and  circumstance 
but  left  in  all  the  beauty  and  solemnity. 

There  couldn't  be  any  honeymoon.  Dick's 
picture  was  finished  and  he  was  back  in 
the  Army.  But  they  had  three  days  to- 
gether in  London.  Three  days  to  catch  up 
on  all  the  things  they  wanted  to  know 
about  each  other.  To  recall  and  compare 
their  childhood  Christmases,  when  they 
had  never  dreamed  that  any  Christmas 
could  be  as  wonderful  as  this.  To  make 
love,  and  argue,  and  make  love  again. 
Three  days  to  be  happier  than  any  two 
people  had  ever  been  before. 

Then  Dick  had  to  join  his  regiment  in 
Yorkshire,  while  Pat  waited  in  London. 
But  now  he  had  found  this  bedroom  in 
the  old  stone  farmhouse,  and  Pat  was  ar- 
riving tomorrow,  and  life  would  be  heaven 
again. 

He  had  one  awful  moment  of  misgiving 
when  she  stepped  off  the  train.  She  looked 


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so  elegant,  so  completely  out  of  place 
among  the  dumpy  country  women  who  fol- 
lowed her.  What  was  he  doing,  bringing 
a  girl  like  Pat  to  live  on  a  farm,  with 
nothing  to  do  but  wait  for  him  to  come  out 
from  camp? 

He  needn't  have  worried.  The  minute 
he  kissed  her,  he  knew  somehow  that 
everything  would  work  out.  That  as  long 
as  they  were  together,  nothing  else  would 
matter  to  either  of  them. 

And  Pat  in  slacks  and  a  sweater,  with 
her  hair  blowing  in  the  wind  as  she  cycled 
along  a  country  lane,  bore  little  resem- 
blance to  the  svelt,  bored  actress  he  had 
first  met.  She  was  happy  and  carefree 
and  her  sense  of  humor  carried  her  over 
the  rough  spots. 

"Our  landlady  doesn't  approve  of  me," 
she  confided  to  Dick.  "I'm  sure  she  doesn't 
believe  we're  really  married.  She  said 
'What  do  you  expect  me  to  call  you?'  and 
when  I  said  'Mrs.  Greene'  she  positively 
sneered!" 

"She  has  a  heart  of  gold  under  that 
sneer,"  Dick  assured  her,  laughing.  "And 
I'll  bring  out  our  marriage  certificate  and 
put  it  on  the  mantel  over  the  fireplace." 

That  fireplace  was  their  delight.  They 
sat  in  front  of  it  during  the  long  evenings, 
reading,  talking,  holding  hands.  It  was 
all  very  romantic — until  eleven  P.  M.  Then 
the  farmer's  wife  would  come  in  and  make 
the  same  little  speech  every  night. 

"If  anyone  wants  to  use  the  'conven- 
iences,' they'd  better  do  it  now  before  I 
lock  up." 

The  "conveniences"  was  her  euphemistic 
term  for  the  outside  plumbing. 

One  day  Dick  came  downstairs  in  the 
morning  looking  very  preoccupied. 

"I  just  remembered  that  they're  show- 
ing Kitty  Foyle  at  camp  tonight,"  he  told 
Pat.  "They've  never  shown  a  picture  I 
was  in  before,  and  I'm  terrified.  Suppose 
the  men  hiss!" 

Pat  howled  with  laughter.  "I  think  it 
would  be  too  funny,"  she  said  unfeelingly. 
"A  new  sort  of  mutiny — one  you  couldn't 
do  a  thing  about,  Lieutenant  Greene.  I 
must  come  to  the  picture." 

"Don't  you  dare!  It  will  be  quite  awk- 
ward enough,  without  that." 

But  at  eight  o'clock  there  was  Pat,  in 
a  scarlet  coat  that  made  her  look  like  a 
young  gypsy  queen,  her  eyes  dancing  with 
mischief.  They  sat  together  in  the  back 
row,  while  Kitty  Foyle  unrolled  and  Dick 
squirmed. 

embarrassing  moment  .  .  . 

There  was  a  general  turning  of  heads 
when  he  first  appeared  on  the  screen. 
Dick  wondered  gloomily  if  any  of  the  four 
generations  of  acting  Greenes  who  had 
preceded  him  had  had  to  cope  with  any 
situation  like  this.  He  thought  back  to  the 
previous  most  embarrassing  moment  of 
his  life.  It  was  when  he  played  his  first 
stage  role,  that  of  a  spear-carrier.  Dick  had 
decided  really  to  make  a  production  of 
that  spear-carrying.  He  had  leaned  against 
the  wall,  started  an  animated,  if  silent, 
conversation  with  another  spear-carrier, 
and  made  gestures  like  Barrymore  playing 
Hamlet.  He  had  visions  of  the  director 
calling  him  over  after  the  performance 
and  saying  "No  more  walk-ons  for  you, 
Greene.  From  now  on  you'll  have  good 
parts."  The  director  called  him  over, 
all  right.  He  said  "Greene,  you're  fired!" 

But  this  experience  was  even  worse. 
Dick  dragged  Pat  away  before  the  picture 
was  over.  He  worried  all  night.  Suppose 
when  he  gave  orders  the  next  day,  the 
men  just  laughed!  They  didn't,  of  course. 
In  fact,  some  of  them  said  "Very  good 
picture  last  night,  sir."  Dick  felt  better. 

That  was  why  he  was  delighted  when,  in 
1943,  he  was  offered  a  chance  to  tour 
France,  England  and  Belgium  with  an 
Army  company  of  Arms  And  The  Man. 


Pat  was  in  it,  too,  which  made  everything 
wonderful. 

In  December  of  1944,  Dick  was  given  a 
medical  discharge  by  the  Army.  Less  than 
a  year  later  he  and  Pat  were  in  Hollywood 
where  Dick  was  to  make  Forever  Amber. 

They  came  over  on  a  Liberty  ship.  The 
weather  was  bad  and  the  trip  took  far 
longer  than  they  had  expected.  Pat  says 
she  spent  all  her  time  on  deck  alone, 
singing  "Sentimental  Journey."  Dick  was 
busily  playing  poker  with  the  GIs  on 
board — and  winning.  Some  months  later  he 
went  into  21  in  New  York  and  the  cap- 
tain who  showed  him  to  a  table  was  one 
of  the  men  he  had  won  it  from. 

"I  couldn't  afford  to  play  with  him  now," 
Dick  says,  grinning. 

forever  delay  .  .  . 

The  first  few  months  in  Hollywood  he 
was  terribly  restless.  Everything  seemed 
to  conspire  to  delay  the  shooting  on  For- 
ever Amber.  Dick  was  one  of  the  few 
members  of  the  original  cast  retained 
when  they  started  all  over  again.  Twen- 
tieth had  originally  suggested  that  he 
should  play  Carlton,  the  man  Amber 
really  loves  throughout  the  picture.  But 
he  himself  felt  he  was  better  suited  to 
Almsbury,  Carlton's  friend,  and  that  was 
the  role  he  eventually  played. 

At  last  Amber  began  really  to  roll,  and 
Dick  was  happy  again.  It  was  good  to  be 
back  before  the  cameras,  making  a  big 
picture.  Even  the  beard  he  had  to  wear 
didn't  bother  him — much. 

But  Amber  was  over,  eventually,  and 
the  restlessness  set  in  again.  Dick  had 
agreed  with  his  studio  that  he  wouldn't 
make  any  quickies  which  might  beat 
Amber  out  as  to  release  date,  since  they'd 
all  figured  his  first  post-war  appearance 
should  be  something  flashy. 

So  he  went  home'  and  sat.  He  knew  he 
was  going  to  do  Britannia  Mews,  at  some 
point  during  the  next  year,  but  the  point 
seemed  far-off,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
new  house,  he  couldn't  have  stood  the 
inactivity. 

The  new  house  took  a  lot  of  thought, 
and  a  lot  of  time.  It's  in  Coldwater  Canyon 
(Beverly  Hills)  and  it's  two-story  Georg- 
ian. It's  set  back  off  the  street  about  sixty 
feet,  surrounded  by  privet  hedge,  and  it 
has  a  small  pool  on  the  front  lawn. 

Pat  did  a  couple  of  pictures  while  Rich- 
ard fidgeted — Moss  Rose,  and  Foxes  of 
Harrow — both  loan-outs  to  Fox  from 
Metro,  where  she's  under  contract. 

She'd  come  home  at  night,  and  Dick 
would  sigh.  "Fine  thing.  My  wife  rushing 
off  to  work  every  day,  while  I  hang  around 
and  worry  about  how  three  men  lay  the 
green  carpeting,  and  the  way  they're  re- 
modeling the  wood-work  upstairs." 

"You're  an  idiot,"  she'd  say  briskly. 
"  Amber  11  be  out  any  day  now,  and 
then — " 

The  small  brown  Pomeranian  called 
"Amber"  would  wander  in  at  this  point, 
and  hearing  herself  named,  would  act  fool- 
ish and  ingratiating,  and  what  could  Dick 
do  but  laugh? 

"I  guess  I'm  a  crank,"  he'd  say.  "Don't 
know  when  I'm  well  off." 

Now  Amber's  been  released  and  the 
period  of  waiting's  over.  It's  just  a  ques- 
tion of  what  comes  next.  The  Greenes 
discuss  this,  evenings. 

"Maybe  a  play,"  Dick  says.  "A  New 
York  play — but  serious,  not  a  comedy — " 

And  the  way  his  eyes  light  up,  his  wife 
could  cry.  Because  here  is  a  guy  who 
loves  to  work,  and  gets  excited  by  the 
prospect,  and  there's  something  so  mar- 
velously  eager  about  him  that  he  can't 
help  communicating  the  excitement. 

But  they're  British,  so  they  don't  talk 
emotionally.  Pat  simply  says,  "A  play 
would  be  lovely,"  and  her  eyes  say  all  the 
rest. 


DREAM  GIRL— By  Ida  Zeitlin 

(Continued  from  page  45) 


But  it  started  from  nothing.  No  movie 
connections.  No  ambitious  mamma  shov- 
ing her  darling  toward  the  limelight.  Just 
a  middle-class  family  of  modest  means, 
and  a  father  who  carried  snapshots  around 
same  as  yours  did. 

Roughly,  the  beginning  divides  itself 
into  four  scenes.  Scene  1.  George  Temple, 
manager  of  a  branch  bank,  showing  his 
snaps  to  a  depositor,  who  happened  to  be 
a  dancing  teacher.  "That's  a  cute  kid," 
she  said.  "You  ought  to  give  her  dancing 
lessons." 

He  grinned.    "She's  just  a  baby." 

But  he  mentioned  the  incident  that 
night,  and  Mrs.  Temple  turned  thoughtful. 
The  baby  did  love  to  dance.  She'd  sway 
her  body  to  the  rhythm  of  radio  music, 
and  Sonny,  their  13-year-old,  would  take 
her  hands  and  trot  her  around  the  room. 
"You  know,  she's  a  little  shy  with  other 
children.  Dancing  school  might  be  good 
for  her." 

Scene  2.  The  day  they  arrived  at  danc- 
ing school  after  several  months  of  lessons, 
to  find  the  other  kids  done  up  in  their 
best.   Shirley  was  in  her  dancing  uniform. 

"What  goes  on  here,  a  party?" 

"No,  some  movie  director's  coming  to 
look  for  talent." 

Mrs.  Temple  hustled  her  daughter  into 
coat  and  cap,  but  the  teacher  nabbed  them 
at  the  door.  "Oh,  let  her  stay,  they're  not 
taking  pictures,  just  looking — what  harm 
can  it  do?" 

So  Shirley  stayed  with  the  children, 
while  the  mothers  waited  in  another  room. 
"What  happened,  Prune?"  Mommy  asked 
on  the  way  home. 


Prune — her  mother's  pet  name  that 
stuck  through  the  years — chuckled.  "I 
hid  under  the  piano,  but  they  found  me. 
Then  they  said  walk  up  and  down,  and 
what's  your  name,  and  that's  all." 

Four  days  later,  the  director  called. 
Would  Mrs.  Temple  bring  Shirley  in  for 
a  screen  test?  Daddy  hit  the  ceiling.  He 
wouldn't  have  the  child  turned  into  a 
little  showoff.  What  finally  brought  him 
round  was  knowing  that  his  wife  didn't 
care  for  showoffs  either. 

Followed  a  series  of  shorts.  Nothing 
startling  happened.  Shirley  got  some 
good  notices.  "A  brown-eyed  little  vamp 
whose  head  is  a  halo  of  golden  curls  .  .  ." 
"Shirley  Temple's  already  queen  of  the 
troupe,  and  she's  breaking  lots  of 
hearts  .  .  ."  But  the  pictures  weren't  im- 
portant enough  to  attract  much  attention, 
and  it  might  have  ended  there  except  for: 

Scene  3.  Jay  Gorney,  a  songwriter  for 
Stand  Up  and  Cheer,  ran  into  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple and  Shirley  in  the  lobby  of  the  Ritz. 
He'd  seen  those  two-reelers.  "Look,  they 
need  a  youngster  for  a  spot  with  Jimmy 
Dunn  in  this  picture.  I  wish  you'd  take 
her  over  to  Fox." 

"Where  do  you  take  her?  How  do  you 
get  in?" 

"Ask  for  Lew  Brown.  He's  producing  for 
Winnie  Sheehan." 

Lew  Brown  had  seen  150  children.  He 
took  one  look  at  Shirley.  "I  want  you  to 
take  this  song  home  and  learn  it — ■" 

Which  brings  us  to  Scene  4  and  the 
climax.  The  sound  recording  room  at 
Fox,  crowded  with  people.  Shirley  stand- 
ing on  top  of  a  table,  singing  Daddy,  Take 


a  Bow,  and  then  Winnie  Sheehan's  office, 
and  Mr.  Sheehan  saying,  "Shirley's  going 
to  be  one  of  the  screen's  greatest  sensa- 
tions. A  star  within  a  year  and  after  that, 
anything  can  happen." 

He  was  a  truer  prophet  than  he  knew. 
When  Stand  Up  and  Cheer  showed  at 
Radio  City,  the  audiences  did  just  that 
for  Shirley.  For  four  years  in  a  row,  she 
topped  all  box-office  winners.  "A  world- 
wide emotion,"  somebody  called  her.  Pre- 
senting her  with  a  special  Oscar  in  '34, 
Irvin  Cobb  said:  "When  Santa  Claus  did 
you  up  in  a  package  and  dropped  you 
down  Creation's  chimney,  he  brought  the 
world  a  beautiful  Christmas  present." 

By  the  time  she  was  eight,  people  were 
fondly  speculating  about  what  she'd  be 
like  at  18.  Clark  Gable  said  to  me  once: 
"They'll  never  let  her  go.  They'll  want 
to  watch  her  grow  from  a  little  girl  to  a 
bigger  one.  They'll  follow  every  stage; 
in  a  way  she's  their  own  kid,  they've 
adopted  her." 

We're  a  democratic  nation  and  we  pick 
our  own  royalty.  What  Elizabeth  is  to 
the  British,  Shirley  became  to  us — prin- 
cess of  American  girlhood. 

Gable  was  right.  Shirley  was  still  fifth 
on  the  box-office  poll  when  she  left  20th- 
Fox  for  school.  Came  a  couple  of  years 
and  a  couple  of  pictures  that  did  no  one 
any  good,  but  her  name  still  made  head- 
lines. In  Annie  Rooney,  Dickie  Moore 
kissed  her  on  the  cheek.  "Shirley  Gets 
Her  First  Kiss!"  blared  the  papers.  ("I 
never  heard  so  much  bother  about  noth- 
ing," said  Shirley.)  Through  those  years 
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CITY   STATE.. 


tinued  to  pour  in. 

David  O.  Selznick  bought  Since  You 
Went  Away,  and  asked  Shirley  to  play 
Brig.  Under  contract  to  Selznick,  the 
career  went  zooming  again.  When  she 
left  Fox,  Nicholas  Schenk  said:  "We  owe 
her  a  great  debt.  I  look  forward  to  the 
day  when  she'll  be  taking  her  place  among 
top-ranking  adult  players." 

The  day  has  arrived.  She's  the  only 
child  star  who  ever  made  it.  Her  name 
on  the  marquee  pulls  customers  in  as  it 
did  ten  years  ago.  And  in  bringing  her 
career  up-to-date,  there's  a  final  roman- 
tic touch  that  you'd  never  dream  of 
dreaming  in,  it's  too  far-fetched. 

As  you  know,  John  Agar's  also  under 
contract  to  Selznick.  He  went  through  a 
long  arduous  period  of  trainingv  Finally 
John  Ford,  casting  War  Party,  started 
looking  at  tests  for  someone  to  play  the 
young  West  Point  subaltern,  and  stopped 
when  he  came  to  Jack's.  "There's  the 
fellow  I  want." 

Later  he  told  Daniel  O'Shea,  president 
of  Vanguard:  "Now  I  need  a  girl.  Some- 
one like  Shirley  Temple." 

"Well,  why  don't  you  get  Shirley 
Temple?" 

The  minute  he  realized  O'Shea  wasn't 
kidding,  Ford  made  tracks  for  the  phone. 
Shirley  hesitated.  I'll  talk  to  Jack  first, 
Mr.  Ford,  then  I'll  let  you  know." 

It  was  the  baby  of  course.  Nobody 
knew  about  the  baby  yet,  but  she  couldn't 
make  the  picture  without  telling  Mr.  Ford. 
So  she  went  down  and  sort  of  whispered 
it  in  his  ear. 

"Shirley,"  he  promised,  "I'll  carry  you 
round  on  a  feather  cushion,  if  need  be." 

So  her  last  part  before  the  baby  comes 
is  played  opposite  her  husband.  "It's  per- 
fect," says  Shirley.  "I  chase  Jack  all 
through  the  picture." 

Before  she  was  12,  Shirley'd  earned 
enough  to  be  independently  wealthy  for 
life.  Remember  the  giant  moneymakers? 
Little  Miss  Marker,  Little  Colonel,  Wee 
Willie  Winkie,  and  on  and  on.  Manufac- 
turers clamored  for  Shirley's  name  on  toys 
and  bags,  on  dolls  and  clothes  and  cutouts. 

The  Temples  took  their  responsibility 
hard.  No  product  was  ever  endorsed  till 
their  lawyer  had  made  an  exhaustive 
checkup.  By  the  time  she  was  six,  Shir- 
ley's financial  affairs  were  such  that  her 
father  left  the  bank  to  take  over.  George 
Temple's  no  exception  to  the  tradition  of 
conservative  bankers.  Carefully,  he  in- 
vested his  daughter's  money  for  his 
daughter's  future.  In  the  interests  of  her 
welfare,  he  and  his  wife  turned  down  for 
Shirley  at  least  as  many  thousands  as  she 
made.  Not  to  mention  what  they  turned 
down  for  themselves.  Gertrude  Temple 
was  offered  $5,000  to  tell  radio  listeners 
the  secret  of  Shirley's  success.  "How  can 
I  take  money,"  she  asked,  "for  something 
I  don't  know?" 

5  bucks  for  sodas  .  .  . 

So  Shirley  became  a  million-dollar  in- 
dustry. She  had  a  guard,  but  to  her  he 
was  just  the  chauffeur.  She  got  five  dol- 
lars every  two  weeks,  most  of  which  went 
on  soda  pops  for  herself  and  pals.  "Is 
that  my  salary,  Mommy?"  she  asked  once. 

"Oh  no,  you  make  quite  a  bit  more,  but 
Daddy's  saving  the  rest  for  when  you 
grow  up." 

"That's  good.  I'll  need  it  to  buy  my 
vegetable  market."  An  ambition  that 
lasted  a  good  six  months. 

With  the  Temples,  home  and  family 
came  first.  To  say  that  their  life  was  un- 
affected by  Shirley's  success  would  be 
silly.  To  say  that  its  spirit  remained  un- 
changed is  true.  The  only  thing  they 
splurged  on  was  a  new  home.  Driving 
up  Sunset  Boulevard  one  day,  they  stopped 
at  a  wooded  hill  overlooking  the  sea. 
96     Shirley  ran   ahead.     At  the  base  of  a 


tropical  bush,  she  found  a  family  of  quail. 
"Here's  where  I  want  to  live.  The  birds 
like  it  here." 

There  the  new  place  went  up,  with  its 
pool  and  terraced  gardens,  its  badminton 
court  and  playhouse  and  everything  to 
delight  the  heart  of  a  child.  There  Shir- 
ley lived  till  she  and  Jack  built  their 
five-room  French  Provincial  cottage  next 
door.  Now  the  guest  room  will  be  a 
nursery.  In  the  flagstone  court  at  the 
Temples',  the  bush  still  stands  where  a 
little  girl  knelt  enchanted  on  a  sunny  af- 
ternoon. The  little  girl  made  a  fortune. 
But  her  great  pride  today  is  that  she 
budgets  her  household  within  Jack's 
income. 

If  it's  fame  you're  after,  Shirley's  had 
the  world  at  her  feet.  No  child  ever 
had  a  better  excuse  to  become  unbearable. 
Shirley  stayed  lovable. 

The  movie  greats  she  acted  with  were 
just  a  lot  of  friendly  people  to  Shirley. 
Orson  Welles  was  the  only  one  who  ever 
made  her  eyes  pop,  and  that  was  on  ac- 
count of  his  broadcast  from  Mars.  To 
reward  him,  she  let  him  win  from  her  at 
croquet.  But  her  contacts  weren't  lim- 
ited to  the  movie  world.  Statesmen,  art- 
ists, scientists — if  they  came  to  Hollywood, 


our  man  of 

the  year  in 

the  march 

issue  of 

modern  screen 

it's 

larry  parks 

on  the 

cover 

• 

on  sale 

february  10 

most  of  them  asked  to  see  Shirley  Temple. 

One  spring  in  '38,  Mrs.  Franklin  Roose- 
velt, the  First  Lady  of  those  days,  came, 
and  wrote  in  her  column:  "She's  one  of 
the  most  charming  children  I  know.  I 
marvel  at  her  mother's  achievement  in 
keeping  her  unspoiled.  Shirley  told  me 
she  was  coming  to  Washington  to  see  the 
President  soon,  and  I  hope  she  will  not 
delay  her  visit  too  long." 

When  the  President  of  these  United 
States  keeps  his  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
waiting,  in  order  to  spend  ten  minutes 
with  a  child,  brother!  that's  fame.  It  hap- 
pened the  following  June.  Mr.  Roosevelt 
and  Shirley  discussed  sailboats,  fishing 
and  children.  She  told  him  about  the 
tooth  she'd  lost  in  a  sandwich.  He  told 
her  not  to  feel  too  badly.  "You  know, 
Shirley,  I've  lost  a  few  of  my  own.  and 
it  doesn't  make  a  bit 'of  difference.  I  still 
manage  to  say  all  I  want  to  say." 

She  emerged  on  a  roomful  of  reporters, 
popping  questions.  What  had  they  talked 
about?  "I  was  so  excited,  I'm  afraid  I 
can't  remember  everything,  but  when  I 
said,  'Will  you  please  sign  my  autograph 
book?'  he  said,  'Sure,  Shirley,  I'll  be  glad 
to  do  that.'  " 

She  showed  them  the  book.  "To  Shir- 
ley,  from  her   old   friend,   Franklin  D. 


Roosevelt,  June  24,  1938."  His  wife's  name 
was  on  the  same  page.  "Mrs.  Roosevelt 
left  a  space  for  the  President  when  she 
was  out  at  the  studio  that  time.  It's  a 
very  important  book  now." 

"Did  you  like  him,  Shirley?" 

"Oh  yes,  he  was  simply  grand." 

"Did  he  like  you?" 

That  chuckle  again.  "I  don't  know,  I 
didn't  ask  him." 

She  spent  a  day  at  Hyde  Park  with  the 
Roosevelt  grandchildren.  "It's  awf'ly  nice 
of  you  folks  to  invite  me  here,"  said  Shir- 
ley. Mrs.  Roosevelt  wrote  another  column 
about  her  simplicity.  She  didn't  mention 
the  President  by  name,  but  said  "a  gen- 
tleman present  was  her  willing  slave  for 
the  afternoon." 

Darling  of  her  countrymen,  and  their 
President  "her  willing  slave,"  if  only  for 
an  afternoon.  Try  that  in  your  dreams, 
girls. 

the  simple  life  .  .  . 

On  the  other  hand,  you  may  be  for  the 
simple  life.  The  normal  round  of  home 
and  games  and  school  and  dates  and  fun. 
Shirley  must  have  missed  all  that,  you 
say.    A  girl  can't  have  everything. 

Shirley  didn't  miss  it.  When  the  drums 
began  beating  after  Little  Miss  Marker, 
the  Temples  eyed  each  other,  incredulous 
and  scared.  George  was  the  first  to  re- 
cover speech.  "Looks  like  we've  got  a 
movie  star  on  our  hands,"  he  gulped. 
"What'll  we  do  now?" 

What  they  did  through  all  the  years 
that  followed  was  to  put  Shirley,  the  child, 
ahead  of  Shirley,  the  star.  Mrs.  Temple 
will  never  stop  being  grateful  to  Winnie 
Sheehan,  because  he  insisted  that  little 
Shirley  have  her  own  bungalow,  where 
she  ate  and  played  and  studied.  It  was 
he  who  ruled  that  she  never  be  taken  to 
the  studio  commissary  for  lunch.  "You 
can't  keep  people  from  making  a  fuss 
over  her,  and  enough  of  that'll  turn  any- 
one into  a  smart-alec. 

Mrs.  Temple  was  an  old-fashioned 
mother,  who  believed  that  no  child  should 
consider  herself  too  important  in  the 
scheme  of  things.  Once  there  was  a  great 
to-do  over  whether  to  spank  or  not  to 
spank  in  Wee  Willie  Winkie.  "What's  so 
awful  about  spanking?"  Mrs.  Temple  in- 
quired crisply.  "I've  done  it  myself  once 
or  twice;  Shirley's  no  different  from  other 
children."  So  June  Lang,  as  her  screen 
mother,  spanked  her,  and  Shirley  giggled 
to  her  own  mother:  "She  never  hurt  me 
a  bit,  but  I  bet  her  hand  stings." 

She  had  as  much  time  to  play  as  any 
child  who  goes  to  school;  she  never  worked 
more  than  25  weeks  a  year,  averaged  be- 
tween two  and  three  hours  before  the 
camera,  and  thought  it  a  joke  when  people 
asked  if  she  minded  working.  The  only 
thing  that  ever  bothered  her  were  people 
who  went  gooey  and  wanted  to  kiss  her. 
But  as  far  back  as  I  can  remember,  there 
was  a  dignity  in  her  that  served  as  its 
own  protective  barrier.  Years  later  she 
said,  "I'd  keep  calm  and  think  about  my 
rabbits  or  something,  and  that  way  I'd 
feel  safe  in  my  own  private  life." 

In  the  backyard  behind  her  studio  bun- 
galow were  sandpiles  and  swings  and  boxes 
for  the  beloved  bunnies.  Her  stand-in 
and  closest  companion  was  Mary  Lou 
Isleib,  daughter  of  a  banking  associate  of 
George  Temple's.  Mary  Lou  was  a  brides- 
maid at  Shirley's  wedding,  and  this  year 
Shirley  served  as  attendant  at  Mary  Lou's. 

Loved  and  looked  after  like  any  small 
daughter,  she  was  definitely  no  star  in 
the  home.  Her  two  brothers'  healthy  at- 
titude toward  her  was  best  summed  up 
by  Jack.  "Are  you  Shirley  Temple's 
brother?"  he  was  asked. 

"No,"  he  snapped,  "she's  my  sister." 

She  raided  the  pantry,  made  mudpies — 
Mom  found  her  selling  them  at  the  gate 


one  day  for  ten  cents  apiece — and  became 
the  hero  of  her  gang  when  she  tripped 
on  an  electric  wire  and  got  a  black  eye. 
She  adored  the  Lone  Ranger,  sent  box- 
tops  to  get  her  into  the  club,  and  got  an 
answer  back,  saying  little  girls  shouldn't 
tell  fibs  about  their  names.  "What's  wrong 
with  my  name?"  she  demanded  indig- 
nantly, while  Mom  hastened  to  iron  that 
one  out. 

She  grew  older  and  joined  the  Camp- 
fire  Girls  and  rode  a  bike,  no  hands,  and 
started  ribbing  her  brothers  about  their 
dates.  And  in  1940  she  was  enrolled  in 
the  Westlake  School  for  Girls.  Her  mother 
had  picked  Westlake  for  several  good  rea- 
sons— among  them,  that  the  parents  of 
many  of  the  girls  were  connected  with 
pictures,  and  a  movie  star  was  nothing 
special  to  them. 

tight  shoes  .  .  . 

It  was  super  from  the  start.  The  French 
teacher  introduced  her  to  a  class  of  about 
twelve,  and  one  of  them  came  forward 
and  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  said:  "I'll 
take  care  of  Shirley."  That  was  Betty 
Jean  Lail,  another  bridesmaid  at  the  wed- 
ding. It  was  with  her  classmates  that  she 
went  to  her  first  formal.  She  got  home 
at  eleven,  complaining  happily  that  her 
feet  were  killing  her. 

The  girls  called  her  Butch,  and  the  only 
time  they  ribbed  her  about  the  movies 
was  at  Senior  Initiation,  when  they  made 
her  do  an  imitation  of  Shirley  Temple 
doing  the  Lollipop  song.  Otherwise,  pick 
any  schoolgirl  you  know,  and  that  was 
Shirley.  Sweaters  and  skirts  and  saddle 
shoes  till  Friday  and  Saturday  nights 
rolled  around;  then  moaning  for  glamor 
hairdos  and  "Oh  Mother,  that  lipstick's 
not  too  exotic,  all  the  girls  use  it."  Typing 
themes  by  what  she  called  the  Columbus 
system — discover  and  land — studying  to 
the  blast  of  the  radio,  jabbering  endlessly 
on  the  phone.  Bringing  new  boy  friends 
home,  so  the  folks  could  give  them  the 
old  once -over,  getting  a  crush  on  Van 
Johnson,  and  on  the  way  she  felt  when 
she  found  she'd  turned  down  a  dance 
with  him.  One  of  the  girls  asked  if  she'd 
like  to  trade  dances,  and  Shirley  said  no, 
she  had  such  a  smooth  partner.  Then  lo 
and  behold,  the  other  girl's  partner  was 
Van,  and  Shirley  stayed  mad  at  herself 
for  a  week. 

On  a  June  day  in  '45,  she  was  graduated 
from  the  Westlake  School  with  her  class. 
Forty-two  white-gowned  girls  walked 
down  a  flower-banked  lane,  and  received 
their  diplomas.  Gertrude  Temple's  thoughts 
flew  back  to  another  day. 

"Looks  like  we've  got  a  movie  star  on 
our  hands.    What'll  we  do  now?" 

Their  first  job  had  been  to  protect  her 
against  influences  that  might  distort  her 
natural  growth  into  womanhood.  That 
job  was  done  now,  and  well  done. 

All  this,  and  heaven  too.  All  this,  and 
a  storybook  romance,  and  two  young  peo- 
ple loving  each  other  more  dearly  at  the 
end  of  two  years,  and  a  baby  coming  before 
Shirley's  20th  birthday. 

She  was  fifteen  the  first  time  she  looked 
up  at  Jack's  six-foot-two.  A  bunch  of 
them  were  down  at  the  Temple  pool,  and 
Ann  Gallery  had  brought  the  young  buck 
sergeant  over.  Twenty-two  doesn't  take 
fifteen  too  seriously.  This  particular  fif- 
teen was  dating  about  six  nice  boys,  and 
marriage  was  far  from  her  mind.  Yet  she 
wasn't  quite  seventeen  when  she  got  her 
ring,  and  not  seventeen  and  a  half  when 
she  said,  "I  will." 

"How  can  you  be  sure  it's  love?"  some- 
body asked  her. 

"When  it's  love,  it's  love,  and  you  don't 
need  a  chart  to  tell  you." 

He  was  the  dream  prince  all  right,  tall, 
blond  and  handsome.    Better  still,  with 


tastes  and  standards  like  hers,  and  the 
same  solid  background.  Even  the  difference 
in  age  was  perfect.  Shirley'd  always  gone 
for  older  men. 

They  meant  it  when  they  promised  not 
to  marry  for  two  years.  But  suddenly  the 
war  was  over,  and  it  looked  as  if  Jack 
might  be  sent  overseas  with  the  occupa- 
tion troops.  "If  he  has  to  leave  me,"  said 
Shirley,  "I  want  him  to  leave  me  as  his 
wife." 

Life  had  showered  her  with  all  its  gifts, 
but  I  assure  you  that  Shirley's  wedding 
day  meant  to  her  exactly  what  yours  would 
mean  to  you — the  same  radiance,  the  same 
hopes  and  visions. 

At  home  she  went  round  in  circles,  while 
Mom  answered  millions  of  last-minute 
phone  calls,  and  everyone  looked  kind  of 
numb.  They  must  have  been  numb,  be- 
cause on  the  way  to  church,  they  suddenly 
realized  they'd  forgotten  brother  George, 
who'd  gone  to  pick  up  his  girl.  In  the 
Brides'  Room  at  the  Methodist  Wilshire 
Church,  Howard  Greer,  who'd  designed 
all  the  wedding  clothes,  was  waiting  with 
his  assistants.  Under  Mom's  supervision, 
Shirley  and  her  bridesmaids  were  dressed. 
"Is  Jack  here?"  Shirley'd  ask  every  two 
minutes. 

Outside,  the  streets  were  jampacked. 
You  couldn't  keep  the  crowds  away  from 
their  adopted  child.  But  within  the  candle- 
lighted  church,  lovely  with  pink  roses  and 
looped  blue  ribbons,  everything  was  as 
Shirley  wanted  it — not  a  Hollywood  cir- 
cus, but  a  quiet  gathering  of  close  and 
valued  friends. 

Mrs.  Temple  in  gray,  Mrs.  Agar  in  gold 
crepe,  took  their  places.  Jack  stepped  to 
the  altar,  with  Shirley's  brother  Jack  as 
his  best  man.  I'll  Be  Loving  You  Always 
dissolved  into  the  Wedding  March.  Be- 
hind her  bridesmaids  in  periwinkle  blue, 
behind  Mims,  her  sister-in-law  and  matron 
of  honor,  came  Shirley  on  her  father's  arm. 
Her  gown  was  of  ivory  satin.  As  she 
joined  Jack  at  the  altar,  she  looked  up  at 
him  and  smiled. 

"Dearly  beloved,"  began  the  Reverend 
Willsie  Martin. 

When  he  finished  the  ceremony  which 
made  the  sweetheart  of  millions  the  bride 
of  John  Agar,  her  husband  turned  and 
took  Shirley  into  his  arms.  Not  even  Gable, 
as  one  onlooker  put  it,  ever  kissed  a  girl 
with  greater  authority. 

marrying  a  legend  .  .  . 

Of  course  there  was  lots  of  chatter  at 
the  time.  Wise  talk  about  a  boy,  who'd 
never  had  a  thing  to  do  with  pictures, 
marrying  not  merely  a  fabulous  movie  star, 
but  a  legend. 

"I'm  not  marrying  a  legend,"  smiled 
Jack.  "I'm  marrying  my  girl."  He  said  it 
simply — and  meant  it. 

Whatever  the  pitfalls,  they  haven't 
snared  these  two,  and  to  them  the  reason's 
simple.  "I  don't  like  giving  advice,"  said 
Shirley  once.  "But  since  you  ask  me,  I 
think  the  secret  of  any  marriage  is  love. 
Nothing  else  matters." 

They  love  each  other  enough.  They're 
planning  a  family  of  three,  though  Jack's 
inclined  to  four.  "Maybe  we'll  compro- 
mise," says  his  wife,  "and  make  the  last 
one  twins." 

At  the  moment  she's  busily  knitting  on 
a  pink  and  white  afghan.  If  you  point  out 
that  pink's  for  girls,  she  replies  firmly: 
"Our  son,  if  he  turns  out  to  be  a  son,  will 
use  it  and  like  it.  Because  his  mother  has 
a  pretty  strong  notion  that  pink's  for 
babies." 

So  there  you  have  her  up-to-date,  the 
girl  who's  lived  your  dreams.  To  me,  the 
top  miracle  of  the  lot  is  that  Shirley  Agar 
sounds  sweeter  in  her  ears  than  Shirley 
Temple,  and  what  she  wants  most  out  of 
life  is  to  go  right  on  being  her  husband's 
dream  girl. 


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93 


HOMECOMING 

(Continued  from  page  40) 


look  like?"  Esther  said  he  looked  like  a 
pipe-cleaner  with  ears. 

"Is  it  true  about  Jane  Russell?"  Esther 
replied  that  they  did  not  move  in  the  same 
sweater  circle. 

"What  about  Communism  in  Holly- 
wood?" Esther  wouldn't  know  about  sub- 
versive activities.  She  said  all  her  activi- 
ties were  submersive. 

She  took  a  male  consensus  of  long  skirts. 
The  consensus:  They're  awful.  But  one 
Johns  Hopkins  student  said  he  didn't  mind, 
he  had  a  long  memory. 

"What  movie  star  do  you  like  to  kiss  the 
best?"  Esther  got  that  question  every- 
where. She  replied  by  getting  the  ques- 
tioner on  stage,  and  putting  him  through 
a  little  scene  in  which  the  poor,  anxious 
fellow  expected  to  get  kissed  and  didn't. 
She  also  sang  a  little  song  entitled  "Can't 
I  Do  Something  But  Swim?" 

She  did  four  shows  a  day,  two  or  three 
radio  programs,  and  three  or  four  press 
conferences.  She  walked  in  parades  with 
high  school  drum  and  bugle  corps.  ("Felt 
silly,  but  it's  fun.") 

She  visited  hospitals,  doing  thirty  wards, 
when  necessary,  to  see  everybody.  She  had 
pictures  taken  with  everybody  who  came 
on  stage.  She  called  for  one  boy  to  come 
up  in  a  Boston  appearance,  and  got  four 
Harvard  men.  They  stayed  through  four 
shows  and  turned  up  later  in  her  hotel 
room.  Miss  Pumphrey  gently  pushed  them 
out.  They  followed  her  by  telephone  all 
over  New  England  and  said  they  would  be 
in  Hollywood  soon.  The  Yale  men,  Miss 
Williams  found,  were  co-operative  but 
twice  as  conservative.  Late  at  night,  the 
Misses  Williams  and  Pumphrey  did  their 
own  laundry  in  their  room. 

In  Boston,  which  was  new  and  fascinat- 
ing to  them,  they  wanted  to  do  some  sight- 
seeing. A  theater  manager  shoved  them 
into  a  car  and  sent  them  forward  to  their 
next  split-second  engagement.  "I'll  send 
you  a  book  about  Boston,"  he  promised. 


In  Providence,  they  had  a  half-hour  to 
spare,  tried  to  shop  for  antiques.  Real 
antique  lovers  don't  walk  into  stores  and 
pay  the  first  price.  They  haggle.  Haggling 
is  necessary  and  expected.  When  Esther 
appeared  with  four  motorcycle  cops,  a  fur 
coat  and  an  orchid,  the  jig  was  up.  Prices 
in  pewter  and  highboys  inflated  like  bubble 
gum.  Free  advice:  Don't  wear  orchids 
while  haggling. 

In  New  York,  Esther  played  four  the- 
aters, met  the  press,  met  the  fans,  was 
photographed,  admired,  and  tugged  at.  In 
her  Warwick  hotel  room,  the  telephone 
rang.  "Long  distance,"  said  the  operator. 
"California  calling."    It  was  Ben  Gage. 

Mr.  Gage  said  he  was  fractured,  said  he 
was  lonely,  said  he  was  sad,  forlorn  and 
six  miles  lower  than  a  deep  blue  funk.  Said 
the  dog  was  lonely,  too. 

Esther  brushed  tears  from  her  eyes  as 
she  hung  up  the  phone.  There  was  a  rap 
on  the,  door.  She  opened  it  abstractedly. 
Ben  Gage  caught  her  in  his  big  arms. 

"He  fooled  me  all  the  time,"  says  Esther. 
"You  know,  I'm  awfully  sorry  for  all  the 
girls  who  didn't  get  to  marry  Ben  Gage." 

Ben,  who's  a  big  time  radio  announcer 
and  singer,  currently  on  the  Joan  Davis 
show,  thinks  nothing  of  flying  3,000  miles 
between  rehearsals  and  bribing  telephone 
operators  in  order  to  surprise  his  wife.  If 
all  husbands  were  like  Ben  Gage,  airplane 
stock  would  zoom. 

In  New  Haven,  Esther  was  dressing  for 
dinner  after  the  afternoon  show.  The 
phone  rang.  Miss  Pumphrey  answered  it. 
There's  a  man  from  the  airport  who  says 
he's  Miss  Williams'  husband,"  the  operator 
said.  "Of  course  we  know  he's  not,  but  he  is 
a  very  persistent  man." 

Miss  Pumphrey,  who  admires  Mr.  Gage, 
pretended  to  be  talking  to  a  fan.  She 
promised  to  talk  to  him  for  five  minutes 
in  the  lobby.  Then  she  steered  Esther  down 
and  into  Ben  Gage's  arms  again. 

In  another  city — they  can't  remember 


Three  times  during  her  p. a.  tour,  Ben  Gage  surprised  his  wife,  Esther  Willioms  by  popping  up 
unexpectedly.  At  Loew's  Poll,  in  New  Haven,  Conn.,  he  appeared  in  the  audience  with  huge  bouqet. 


Your  Shoes 
are  Showing! 


A  rare  honor  has  -fallen  to  Esther  Williams. 
She's  "water  girl"  of  the  Yale  football  team. 

accurately  all  the  cities  they  captured — 
Ben  sneaked  into  the  audience,  indulged 
in  his  favorite  trick  of  bribery,  and  ap- 
peared on  stage  at  the  end  of  the  act  with 
an  enormous  bouquet  of  flowers. 

Esther  and  Miss  Pumphrey  got  a  cop's  - 
eye  view  of  New  England.  They  went 
through  the  countryside  in  automobiles 
following  state  highway  patrolmen.  Esther 
thought  the  New  England  scenery  would 
be  wonderful  if  it  would  only  hold  still. 

Her  way  with  people  was  casual. 

"My,  what  are  all  you  folks  doing  here? 
Whom  did  you  come  to  see?"  she  asked  a 
jam-packed  mob  outside  the  theater  in 
Baltimore.  The  crowd  grinned,  moved 
aside,  made  way  for  her.  A  girl  reached 
for  her  hair.  The  cop  moved.  Esther 
moved  quicker.  "If  she  wants  to  feel  my 
hair,  let  her,"  she  told  the  policeman.  "It's 
just  hair." 

On  one  occasion,  a  squadron  of  police- 
men pushed  so  hard  through  a  crowd  that 
they  left  Esther  completely  behind.  She 
remained  where  she  was,  safely  protected 
by  a  little  ring  of  fans — while  the  cops 
found  it  impossible  to  get  back  to  her. 
When  she  decided  to  go,  she  grinned  and 
walked  through  the  crowd,  which  opened 
the  passage  without  even  pushing. 

Esther  even  disarmed  the  critics,  and  in 
Boston,  of  all  places.  Boston,  as  you  know, 
has    high    standards.     Esther  addressed 


the  press  at  an  enormous  hotel  banquet. 

She  answered  questions,  was  witty,  good- 
humored  and,  an  understatement  if  there 
ever  was  one,  a  luscious  package  to  look  at. 

"You  surprised?"  she  asked.  "You  sur- 
prised I  could  even  put  several  words  to- 
gether? Yes,  I  know.  I  make  swimming 
pictures.  It  seems  lots  of  people  like  them. 

"There's  an  enormous  studio  out  in  Cul- 
ver City  called  Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, 
and  way  out  on  the  back  lot,  you  will  find 
stage  33,  and  a  swimming  pool,  and  I'll 
be  there.  And  orders  from  the  big  of- 
fices will  go  down  to  say  the  words 
such-and-such  a  way,  and  play  the  scene 
such-and-such  a  way,  all  these  important 
people  deciding  on  it,  and  finally  the  direc- 
tor says,  'Esther,'  do  it  this  way.'  And  I 
do  it  that  way.  Under  wp.ter,  mostly." 

Esther  grinned  at  the  audience. 

"When  you  consider  all  that,  and  now 
that  we  know  each  other,  I  defy  you  to  be 
too  critical  of  me.  Why  don't  you  just  say, 
'My,  why  don't  they  give  this  lovely  child 
better  pictures?' " 

That  sort  of  thing  brought  down  the 
house  in  a  roar  of  laughter.  Miss  Williams 
is  now  very  popular  in  Boston. 

Esther's  homecoming,  as  aforesaid,  was 
something  in  the  nature  of  the  arrival  of  a 
conquering  army.  All  this  was  engineered 
by  Ben  Gage.  Mr.  Gage  planned  to  sur- 
prise her  at  Union  Station  witlj  examples 
of  the  sign  painter's  art,  and  he  did. 
Being  the  kind  of  man  he  is,  he  went 
one  step  further,  and  it  might  as  well  be 
told  on  him.  He  couldn't  wait  for  the  train 
to  pull  in.  He  boarded  the  streamliner 
fifty  miles  out  of  Los  Angeles,  and  tackled 
the  conductor  for  permission  to  enter  Miss 
Esther  Williams'  stateroom. 

Conductors  plying  between  Hollywood 
and  the  East  are  sophisticated  executives 
who  are  accustomed  to  dealing  brusquely 
with  ardent  young  men  who  want  to  get 
into  movie  queens'  staterooms.  He  was 
considering  throwing  Ben  off,  when  Mr. 
Gage  escaped  in  the  barber  shop.  (Those 
fine  trains  have  barber  shops.) 

"You're  Ben  Gage,"  the  barber  said  in- 
stantly. 

Ben  isn't  a  man  who  flabbergasts  easily, 
but  this  staggered  him.  "How'd  you 
know?" 

"I  did  Miss  Williams'  hair  last  night.  She 
talked  about  you  all  the  time.  She 
described  you  exactly.  Which  isn't  hard 
to  do,  sir,  since  you're  six-foot-five.  I'll 
show  you  where  she  is." 

And  he  did,  and  that's  when  Esther  Wil- 
liams leaped  into  the  arms  of  her  husband, 
and  that's  how  she  arrived  home  with  New 
England,  Baltimore,  Washington  and  New 
York  in  her  pocket. 


COMMAND  PERFORMANCE 

(Continued  jrom  page  55) 


sketches  of  the  dress;  the  second  printed 
a  brief  account  of  its  magnificence.  I  hear 
Buckingham  Palace  is  in  a  royal  swivet. 
Their  Majesties  are  angry.  The  princess 
is  in  tears,  but  the  secret  is  out.  What 
I  wonder  is  how  on  earth  any  girl  can 
move,  or  carry  off  a  wedding  gown  of 
such  regal -magnificence,  embroidered  with 
such  a  tremendous  weight  of  seed  pearls 
and  crystal.  It  must  weigh  a  short  ton. 
The  princess  need  have  no  fears  the  dress 
will  be  copied.  It  is  indeed  a  gown  only 
for  a  future  queen.  Who  else  can  afford 
8,000  bucks  for  a  wedding  dress?  Yes,  the 
secret  is  out,  but  it's  safe. 

Nov.  13:  To  Buckingham  Palace  this 
morning  to  pay  my  respects,  but  not  to 
Their  Majesties.  I  saw  them  crowned  in 
Westminster  in  1937,  and  traveled  for  six 
weeks  with  them  through  Canada  and 


America  in  1939,  but  that  does  not  con- 
stitute formal  introduction  in  England. 
So  I  went  to  the  working,  or  overall,  side 
of  the  palace.  This  is  comparable  to  the 
executive  wing  of  the  White  House.  If 
anything,  it  is  easier  to  get  into.  The 
bobby  on  guard  at  the  palace  gates  cas- 
ually beckoned  the  taxi  into  the  palace 
yard.  It  had  been  almost  six  years  since 
I  was  last  in  Buckingham.  The  only  dif- 
ference I  can  see  is  that  it  is  just  si  :  years 
shabbier.  Heaven  knows  it  was  worn 
and  shabby  in  1941-42,  but  the  red  car- 
pets are  a  lot  thinner  today,  and  the  rose 
brocade  on  the  little  French  chairs  in 
the  anteroom  is  reduced  to  a  handful  of 
threads.  The  stuffing  of  chairs  is  even 
beginning  to  leak  out.  Tsk,  tsk — things 
are  tough  all  over.  I  paid  my  respects 
to  Their  Majesties'  press  secretaries,  and 


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left,  wishing  to  high  heaven  some  good 
old  American  huckster  was  in  charge  of 
the  press  arrangements.  A  press  agent 
who  speaks  with  a  broad  "A"  is  a  very 
upsetting  experience  to  one  who  has  al- 
ways voted  a  straight  democratic  ticket. 

Nov.  14:  Dear  Diary,  I  was  too  excited 
last  night  to  finish  my  daily  stint.  I  was 
joining  a  new  fan  club.  It  is  the  Prin- 
cess Elizabeth  club.  I  went  to  a  charity 
ball  which  she  attended  last  night.  I 
think  she  is  one  of  the  prettiest  girls 
I  have  ever  seen.  Her  coloring  is  out  of 
this  world.  From  her  mother,  she  in- 
herited porcelain  skin,  her  peaches  and 
cream  complexion.  Like  Her  Majesty,  her 
hair  is  so  dark  brown  it's  almost  black. 
Yet  for  all  her  poise,  she  has  the  defense- 
less look  of  all  the  young  who  mus*  yet 
face  hard  experiences  of  life  that  spare 
neither  royalty  nor  rabble.  Her  beau  did 
not  come.  Lieut.  Mountbatten  dineJ  with 
his  uncle  and  aunt,  Earl  and  Countess 
Mountbatten  of  Burma,  who  had  just 
arrived  via  plane  from  India.  Princess 
Elizabeth  looked  beautiful  in  a  lovely 
frock  of  stiff  white  brocade.  The  skirt 
vas  full,  the  bodice  fitted,  and  outlined 
across  the  shoulders  with  a  fichu  cf  the 
same  material.  No  tiara,  just  a  string  of 
pearls,  and  two  teensy  weensy  diamond 
bracelets.  Hardly  enough  glitter  to  get  a 
girl  into  El  Morocco. 

enter  prince  charming  . .  . 

Nov.  15:  Lucky,  lucky  me.  Lt.  Philip 
Mountbatten  almost  trapped  me  in  a  re- 
volving door  today.  At  first,  all  I  could 
see  was  a  big  blond  boy  rushing  like  mad 
to  get  out  of  the  Savoy.  I  jumped  aside 
to  avoid  collision,  and  glared,  until  I  rec- 
ognized the  bridegroom.  Heavenly  day! 
Then  I  just  stood  and  gaped  and  wished 
I'd  worn  my  bobby  sox,  so  I  could  scream 
and  swoon.  A  dream  boat — that's  what 
he  is.  Darn  it! — work's  interfering  wi'S.i 
pleasure.  Had  to  refuse  Lady  Nancy 
Astor's  week-end  invitation  to  Cliveden. 
Last  time  I  spent  a  week-end  at  Clive- 
den, Pearl  Harbor  happened.  She  guar- 
anteed no  catastrophe  this  week-end,  but 
I  don't  dare  leave  town  with  such  a  big 
story  as  the  wedding  on  the  fire. 

Nov.  16:  The  wedding  week,  and  every- 
one getting  more  and  more  excited  about 
it.  Life  is  damn  austere  and  hard  in 
England.  People  are  looking  forward  to 
Thursday  as  temporary  relief  from  the 
hard  monotony  that  is  the  lot  of  English- 
men today.  But  what  a  contrast  is  this 
royal  wedding  to  the  coronation!  Then 
I  went  out  every  night  to  half  a  dozen 
great  dinners,  balls  and  receptions.  To- 
day such  entertainment  is  impossible  in 
England.  It  is  all  one's  friends  can  do  to 
scrape  up  a  meal  for  a  few  guests  semi- 
occasionally.  There  is  to  be  a  little  dance 
tomorrow  night  at  the  Palace  for  the 
Princess  and  a  few  of  her  young  friends. 
Then,  on  Tuesday  night,  there  is  to  be 
the  only  great  function  in  connection  with 
the  wedding — a  reception  for  all  the  vis- 
iting royal  firemen,  at  Buckingham.  Even 
the  wedding  breakfast  on  Thursday  is 
limited  to  100  guests.  It  is  against  the  law 
in  England  for  more  than  100  persons  to 
eat  at  a  private  or  public  dinner. 

Nov.  17:  Luck  of  the  Irish  holds.  I  drew 
the  No.  2  press  seat  in  the  abbey,  when 
seats  for  the  American  press  were  drawn 
this  morning.  Glory  be.  Even  the  first 
formal  display  of  the  royal  wedding  gifts 
at  St.  James  Palace  this  afternoon  takes 
second  place  to  that  No.  2  seat.  But  pres- 
ents! Holy  smoke,  if  worse  comes  to 
worst,  they  can  hock  diamonds,  gold  ser- 
vice and  silver  plate  for  a  very  fat  fortune. 
Four  diamond  necklaces,  four  diamond 
tiaras,  a  diamond  stomacher,  diamond 
rings,  diamond  bracelets — count  'em,  what 
a  haul!  Enough  silver  to  stock  Sears 
Roebuck  for  the  next  fifty  years.    Not  to 


mention  antimacassars  sent  by  old  ladies, 
an  electric  dishwasher,  an ,  ice-box,  a  tele- 
vision set,  shoe  brushes,  dozens  of  pairs 
of  warm  wool  socks  for  the  bridegroom, 
and  two  kitchen  aprons  for  the  bride.  The 
presents  overflowed  four  huge  rooms  in 
St.  James  Palace,  and  they  overpowered 
me. 

Nov.  18:  This  town  is  full  of  pickets  and 
princes.  All  the  European  royalty  still 
holding  down  jobs  on  the  same  old  thrones 
are  here — not  to  mention  a  lot  of  beat-up 
royalty  now  at  leisure.  An  honest  woman 
can  scarcely  push  her  way  into  a  posh 
pub  like  Savoy,  or  Claridge's,  without  ask-, 
ing  a  royal  flush  to  make  way.  In  fact 
any  social  gathering  not  opened  by  three 
kings  or  better  is  a  bust.  Earl  and  Count- 
ess Mountbatten  had  a  swell  cocktail  party 
at  the  Dorchester  Hotel  this  evening.  Both 
handsome  as  Greek  gods. 

Nov.  19:  Just  before  the  battle,  Mother, 
I  am  thinking  most  of  you.  It's  almost 
H-hour.  His  Majesty  has  just  pivoted  his 
future  son-in-law  to  the  head  of  the  line. 
He  is  no  longer  plain  Lt.  Philip  Mount- 
batten, British  commoner,  but  HRH  Prince 
Philip,  Duke  of  Edinburgh,  Earl  of  Mer- 
ioneth, and  Baron  Greenwich.  Philip  is 
one  Greek  who  made  good  in  London 
without  starting  a  restaurant.  Bucking- 
ham Palace  is  all  lit  up  tonight,  and  a 
great  many  of  His  Majesty's  loyal  subjects 
have  followed  suit.  I  drove  up  the  Mall 
for  a  glimpse  of  the  flood-lighted  palace, 
and  it  is  lovely,  but  the  rest  of  London 
can  scarce  scrape  up  enough  bunting  to 
make  a  handkerchief.  The  few  pitiful 
decorations  attempted  make  London  look 
more  than  ever  like  a  picked  chicken. 
Only  on  the  government  offices  in  White- 
hall is  there  any  bunting  or  color. 

Nov.  20:  It  is  almost  midnight,  and  be- 
tween excitement  and  exhaustion,  I  have 
almost  knocked  myself  out.  The  wedding 
was  wonderful.  Next  to  the  coronation, 
it  is  the  most  splendid  sight  I  ever  saw. 
What  a  beautiful  bride!  Loveliest  I  ever 
saw,  and  one  of  the  most  radiant,  too. 
The  new  duke  was  a  solemn  bridegroom, 
but  only,  I  think,  because  so  much  pomp 
all  but  scared  the  wits  out  of  him.  I  loved 
that  moment  when  bride  and  bridegroom 
left  the  sanctuary  for  the  high  altar,  and 
King  George  had  to  get  down  on  his  knees 
and  wrestle  with  the  bride's  train.  It 
caught  on  the  sanctuary  steps,  and  the 
little  pages  were  no  match  for  it.  So 
down  went  the  King,  his  ceremonial  sword 
swung  aside.  He  strove  manfully  with 
the  problem,  and  won.  The  whole  cere- 
mony was  so  beautiful,  and  there  were 
so  many  little,  human  incidents  proving 
royalty  can  be  people.  Queen  Elizabeth 
didn't  cry,  as  do  most  mothers.  But  old 
Queen  Mary — and  what  a  woman  she  is! 
— blew  her  nose  vigorously.  If  I  weren't 
tired,  I  would  go  up  to  Buckingham  Pal- 
ace to  join  the  mobs  now  yelling  them- 
selves hoarse.  I  do  hope  Jim  Farley  and 
the  boys  in  the  back  room  don't  hear  about 
this  and  disqualify  me. 

moment  of  a  lifetime  .  .  . 

Nov.  25:  All  my  life  I  have  heard  about 
Command  Performances,  and  now  I  have 
seen  one.    This  monarchy  business  isn't 
half  as  bad  as  William  III  made  it  seem. 
The  second  Royal  Command  Film  Per-  i 
formance  tonight,  at  the  Odeon  Theatre  - 
in  Willie  Shakespeare's  Leicester  Square  t 
drew  only  a  slightly  smaller  street  crowd  '■ 
than  the  royal  wedding.   The  traffic  jam 
around  the  theater  was  so  tremendous, 
ticket  holders  abandoned  their  cars  blocks 
from  the  Odeon,  and  walked.    I  had  the 
usual  luck  of  the  Irish.    I  was  escorted 
by  a  flying  wedge.    Secretary  of  State 
George  Marshall  was  in  the  vanguard; 
American  Ambassador  Lewis  Douglas  was 
protecting  the  rear,  and  Scotland  Yard 
was  on  the  flanks.    It  wasn't  intentional. 


'■ 


I  just  got  mixed  up  in  the  formation  when 
we  all  abandoned  cars,  and  the  Secretary 
and  the  Ambassador  hustled  me  along 
with  their  parties.    The  King  and  Queen 
with  their  guests,  Princess  Margaret  Rose, 
Queen    Ingrid    of   Denmark,    and  King 
Michael  of  Roumania  sat  in  a  beautiful 
box  encircled  by  a  small  formal  garden  of 
chrysanthemums.  Thank  goodness  Amer- 
ica  did    send    an    excellent   film,  "The 
Bishop's  Wife,"  for  the  event.  That,  plus 
the  first  showing  of  color  films  taken  of 
i  the  royal  wedding,  and  the  parade  of  half 
.  of  Britain's  and  America's  film  royalty, 
I  made  a  gala  evening  for  people  who  had 
j  gladly  paid  100  dollars  for  a  seat. 

And  what  a  parade  of  stars  it  was.  Bob 
1  Hope,  Robert  Montgomery,  Ann  Todd, 
'  David  Niven,  Carole  Landis,  Margaret 
I  Lockwood,  Sir  Laurence  Olivier,  Vivien 
i  Leigh,  Alexis  Smith. 

j  Hope  drew  the  most  laughs.  He  gave  the 
I  .King  and  Queen  an  album  full  of  auto- 
|  graphed  pictures  of  Hollywood  stars,  as 
1  a  wedding  present  for  Princess  Elizabeth, 
i  When  the  King,  chuckling,  asked  if  Crosby 
I  was  in  the  book,  Hope  nodded  solemnly. 
I  "Yes,  sir,"  he  said.  "He's  put  down  three 
I  crosses.  You  see,  sir,  he  can't  write." 

The  queen  laughed  so  gleefully  her  dia- 
mond tiara  was  knocked  sideways. 

But  there  was  a  serious  note  in  the 
show,  a  speech  made  by  Loretta  Young, 
one  of  the  stars  of  "The  Bishop's  Wife." 
She  was  introduced  by  David  Niven,  who 
j  was  also  in  the  picture,  but  Niven  seemed 
j  to  be  keeping  deliberately  in  the  back- 
|  ground.  The  year  before,  another  Niven 
j  picture  "Stairway  to  Heaven"  had  been 
'  the  Command  Performance  choice,  and  it 
■  was    as   though    he    thought    he'd  had 
enough  of  the  glory,  and  was  stepping 
aside  so  the  others  might  be  seen  more 
easily. 

His  introduction  of  Miss  Young  was 
brief.  "The  main  topic — Anglo-American 
relations,"  he  said,  speaking  right  to  her, 
and  not  the  audience.  "You  have  to  say 


something,  and  you  have  to  do  it  on  your 
own." 

Miss  Young,  very  beautiful,  and  a  little 
frightened  looking,  nodded.  "I  have  to  say 
something — on  my  own." 

She  turned  to  the  guests.  "I  know  what 
I  want  to  say;  there's  a  lot  of  oratory  on 
the  subject,  and  some  of  it  is  sincere,  and 
some  of  it,  well,  just  oratory.  But  in  back 
of  all  the  words  is  the  truth.  That  our 
friendship,  our  relationship,  is  like  a  light- 
house that  shines  in  the  dark,  that  we  use 
only  in  times  of  danger. 

"We  argue  and  we  bicker  with  each 
other,  and  sometimes  the  fact  that  we 
speak  the  same  language  seems  to  be  an 
embarrassment,  rather  than  a  help.  Some- 
times it  would  be  better  if  each  of  us 
couldn't  understand  the  other. 

"When  times  are  good,  when  the  world 
is  full  of  peace  and  prosperity,  we  can 
enjoy  the  privilege  of  insulting  each  other. 
But  when  times  are  bad,  that  is  when  we 
wake  up  and  realize  that  we're  in  the 
same  family,  in  the  same  boat.  We  need 
each  other,  and  we  stand  together.  That  is 
the  way  it  has  been,  that  is  the  way  it  is, 
and  always  will  be. 

"Personally,  I  hope  that  times  will  soon 
be  so,  good  again  that  we  can  go  right 
back  to  our  old  normal  healthy  habit  of 
calling  each  other  names.  While  the  sun 
is  shining,  and  the  weather  is  calm,  and 
everybody  is  happy,  we  do  not  see  the 
beacon  in  the  lighthouse.  But  it  is  always 
there  to  guide  us  when  we  need  it. 

"With  all  my  heart,  I  thank  you  for  this 
great  honor." 

She  bowed,  and  the  theatre  was  quiet 
for  a  minute,  and  afterward,  General  Mar- 
shall and  Ambassador  Douglas  came  up 
to  congratulate  her,  and  Queen  Elizabeth 
took  her  hand  and  spoke  to  her. 

The  evening  had  been  a  huge  success 
for  both  the  Commanders  and  the  Com- 
manded, and  you  left  with  the  feeling  that 
the  ties  between  the  two  countries  were 
both  whole  and  sound. 


ARTFUL  DODGER 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


of  armor."  I  dropped  the  receiver  and 
ran.  I  wasn't  taking  any  chances.  I  know 
Harry  Lillis  Crosby  too  well.  Let  me  tell 
you  a  story  that  happened  not  long  ago. 

There's  a  man  whose  job  is  to  pay  Bing 
$5,000,000  in  the  next  few  years.  His 
name's  Pierson  Mapes  and  he's  Bing's 
contact  man  with  Philco,  the  radio  com- 
pany who  sponsors  his  broadcast.  Well, 
Mr.  Mapes  had  been  trying  to  pin  Der 
Bingle  down  for  a  certain  important  ad- 
vertising picture.  Finally  he  flew  out  from 
New  York.  He  got  an  iron-clad,  honest 
Injun  promise  from  Everett  Crosby,  Bing's 
manager  bud,  that  he'd  have  baby  brother 
in  tow  one  day  for  lunch  and  the  sitting. 
Then  he  trotted  across  Sunset  Boulevard 
and  went  into  a  huddle  with  the  chefs  at 
LaRue.  He  ordered  specially  cooked  lunch 
goodies  he  knew  Bing  loved.  He  arranged 
for  Bing's  favorite  music  to  be  piped  into 
the  dining  room.  He  had  his  ad  copy  and 
layouts  in  a  handy  display  for  Bing's  in- 
spection.   He  took  Bing  to  lunch. 

Bing  enjoyed  every  minute  of  it.  He 
was  gay,  jovial,  friendly  as  a  pup.  With 
his  tummy  full,  at  last,  and  his  pipe  puffing, 
Mapes  led  him  across  the  street  to  the 
photographer's.  The  whole  busy  studio 
had  been  cleared  for  two  solid  hours. 
That's  what  they'd  counted  on — lots  of 
shots  of  Bing  Crosby  tuning  in  Philcos. 

Bing  sat  down  by  the  radio.  He  looked 
innocently  at  Paul  and  Pierson.  "Okay, 
boys,"  he  said.  "Now,  whaddya  want?" 
They  told  him.    Hesse"  squeezed  his  bulb, 


got  one  shot.  Bing  hopped  up,  stuck  out 
his  hand. 

"Well,  fellows,"  he  grinned.  "Thanks  a 
million."  And  out  he  walked.  They  had 
to  use  that  one  shot!  Bing  looked  some- 
what like  a  dying  calf,  but  that  was  the 
picture.  You've  seen  it  in  the  magazines. 

Pinning  Bing  Crosby  down  for  anything 
in  the  line  of  extra-curricular  work  is  like 
keeping  Houdini  in  a  strait- jacket.  That's 
why  he'd  hardly  hung  up  the  receiver  be- 
fore I  was  bobbing  my  best  bonnet  in  front 
of  his  nose,  my  pencil  flying. 

Bing  Stared  at  the  turkey-tracks  on  my 
pad  with  startled  eyes,  and  sighed. 

"Fire  when  ready,  Gridley.  You  won't 
know  what  you've  written  anyway." 

Well,  Bing,  I've  fooled  you.  Maybe  the 
transcript's  on  the  fuzzy  side  here  and 
there,  but  you're  interviewed,  Baby,  and 
in  print.  The  way  it  stacks  up  is  like  a 
radio  script.  So  why  not  write  it  that 
way? 

HEDDA:  Bing,  why  don't  you  like  in- 
terviews? 

BING:  I  do.  I  do-o-o-o.  Love  'em. 
Love  those  interviews. 
HEDDA:  Now,  Bing,  I  want  the  truth— 
BING:  Well,  the  trouble  with  interviews 
are  questions.  If  somebody  comes  up  with 
a  new  set  I'm  delighted,  happy  as  a  lark 
to  talk  all  day,  have  to  gag  me.  But  I've 
been  around  Hollywood  a  long  time, 
Hedda.  The  answers  have  been  printed 
so  many  times  you  could  write  'em  back- 
wards.   Crosby's  an  old  story.   I  bore  my- 


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self.    Got  any  newies? 

HEDDA:  You  bet  I  have.  How  do  you 
like  making  Connecticut  Yankee? 

BING:  Couldn't  be  happier.  It  was  my 
favorite  Mark  Twain  book  as  a  nipper  and 
I  was  nuts  about  it  when  Will  Rogers 
made  a  movie.  I  was  nuts  about  Will,  too. 
That's  why  I  nixed  doing  his  life.  I'm  not 
in  that  guy's  league.  I'm  a  crooner — you 
know — Boo-boo-boo-boo? 

HEDDA:  Your  modesty  makes  me  posi- 
tively ill. 

BING:  You  look  a  little  puny.  Maybe 
there's  a  doctor  in  the  house. 

HEDDA:  Never  mind.  Now  look,  what's 
on  your  mantelpiece  at  home? 

BING:  Wait,  don't  tell  me.  I  know,  an 
Oscar. 

no  kewpie  doll  .  .  . 

HEDDA:  It's  not  any  kewpie  doll.  Well, 
how  did  you  get  that? 

BING:    Sometimes  I  wonder. 

HEDDA:  I  don't.  You  got  it  for  giving 
the  best  screen  acting  performance  of  1945 
in  Going  My  Way,  that's  how.  You  want 
to  know  something  else? 

BING:    I'm  all  ears. 

HEDDA:    You're  not  kidding. 

BING:  Touche!  As  we  say  in  Broken 
Bow,  Nebraska. 

HEDDA:  Don't  change  the  subject. 
Why,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  your  mother, 
you  wouldn't  even  have  showed  up  the 
night  they  handed  out  the  Oscars.  She 
made  you  go." 

BING:  Well,  Mom  always  knows  best. 
But,  Hedda,  I'm  all  over  blushes.  This  is 
Technicolor — you'll  wreck  my  next  shot. 
Thought  we  were  talking  about  Connecti- 
cut Yankee. 

HEDDA:  We  are — as  of  now.  How  do 
you  like  Rhonda  Fleming,  your  new  lead- 
ing lady? 

BING:  There's  a  cute,  smart,  sweet  and 
shapely  kid,  Hedda.  Can  sing,  too.  David 
Selznick  sure  picks  'em.  We  do  a  duet, 
"Once  and  For  Always"  and  confidentially, 
she  steals  it. 

HEDDA:  Incidentally,  how  do  you  like 
the  modern  tunes — are  they  as  good  as 
the  oldies? 

BING:  Every  bit.  But  they  wear  out 
too  soon,  introduced  one  week  and  old  hat 
the  next. 

HEDDA:  Stay  on  your  side  of  the 
street,  Crosby. 

BING:  Lordie,  gal- — I  never  said  your 
hats  were  old.  But  about  tunes — look — 
every  month  a  flock  of  swell  scores  break 
out.  Lots  of  them  I'd  love  to  sing.  But 
by  the  time  I  get  around  to  'em,  they're 
old  and  fuzzy  around  the  edges.  What 
with  disc  jockeys,  juke  boxes,  a  radio 
beating  night  and  day — they're  done. 
Sometimes  I  wonder  if  Petrillo  hasn't  got 
something.  Anyhow,  by  the  time  his  ban 
goes  on,  if  it  does,  we'll  have  enough  re- 
cordings to  last  up  to  Easter.  I'm  cutting 
two  a  week  myself. 

HEDDA:  Think  you'll  ever  go  back  to 
a  live  broadcast,  Bing? 

BING:  I  certainly  hope  not.  Me,  I'm 
lazy.  I  like  transcribed  shows.  I'm  not 
tied  down  every  week,  for  one  thing.  You 
know,  every  show  we  transcribe  we  record 
a  full  hour.  Then  we  cut  out  a  half-hour. 
What's  left  is  only  the  best.  Makes  sense, 
doesn't  it?.  It's  really  more  work,  but  I 
can  work  a  while,  play  a  while,  and  give 
Hope  a  golf  lesson  now  and  then.  The  boy 
needs  'em. 

HEDDA:  How's  about  you  and  Bob? 
Thought  maybe  you'd  show  up  at  his  tes- 
timonial dinner  the  other  night. 

BING:  I  should  go  to  a  testimonial  for 
Hope  to  let  that  guy  know  how  I  feel  about 
him!  I  wouldn't  expect  Hope  to  stay  up 
late  for  me.  He  needs  his  beauty  sleep 
and,  confidentially,  so  do  I. 

HEDDA:    Don't  give  me  that.  You  look 


exactly  the  same  as  you  did  twenty  years 
ago. 

BING:  You're  just  dazzled  by  my  curly 
hair  and  wasp  waist,  that's  all.  Ah,  well* 
when  I  get  too  old  to  fool  the  bobby-soxers 
I  can  make  a  living  playing  golf  with 
Hope. 

HEDDA:    Can  you  take  him? 

BING:  Take  him?  Why  Hedda,  my 
girl,  I  could  lick  that  guy  on  the  links 
wearing  boxing  gloves  and  a  long  hem 
line.  I've  got  to  hand  him  five  strokes 
before  he'll  bet  me.  I  don't  want  that  to 
get  around,  though.  Hope's  my  own  pri- 
vate pigeon. 

HEDDA:  I  won't  tell  a  soul.  But  what 
about  you  and  Bob  in  pictures?  Any  more 
"Road"  movies  with  Dottie  Lamour? 

BING:  Paramount  says  "no,"  but  I 
wouldn't  be  surprised  myself.  You  know 
why?    S-h-h-h-h.  They  make  money! 

HEDDA:  Think  you'll  ever  play  any 
more  priest  parts? 

BING:    Doubt  it.    Two's  enough. 

HEDDA:  How  about  Dixie?  Think 
she'll  ever  return  to  the  screen? 

BING:  Not  Dixie.  She's  not  twins,  but 
she's  got  'em,  and  believe  me  with  four 
young  Crosbys  she  has  her  hands  full. 
Doing  some  job  raising  those  boys,  too. 

HEDDA:  I  heard  somewhere,  Bing, 
that  you'd  vetoed  the  idea  of  the  boys 
appearing  in  pictures.   How  about  it? 

BING:  A  fabrication  and  a  gross  canard 
— and  the  answer's  absolutely  no!  I  have 
no  objection  in  the  world  to  any  of  my 
kids  making  movies.  That's  how  their 
Old  Man  pays  the  rent,  isn't  it?  Matter 
of  fact,  Walt  Disney  and  I've  been  kicking 
the  idea  around  of  my  doing  the  prologue 
for  his  Legend  of  Sleepy  Hollow.  If  I  do, 
the  kids  do  it  with  me. 

HEDDA:    The  kids  sing,  too? 

BING:  They  can  carry  a  tune  but  that's 
all.  No,  the  idea's  a  father-son  thing,  try- 
ing to  sell  American  kids  on  a  few  classic 
stories  instead  of  Superman,  Flash  Gordon, 
and  atomic  comics.  They  no  like  the  pitch 
at  first,  but  then  I  lead  'em  through  Dis- 
ney's animated  old-timer  and  they  love 
it.  Pretty  constructive  idea  for  kids,  hey? 
And  my  kids  could  do  it.  You  know  they're 
pretty  smart,  if  I  do  say  so.  I'm  pretty 
puffed  up  over  that  Gary  of  mine.  Know 
what  he's  sending  back  from  Bellarmine, 
where  he  goes  to  school  up  in  San  Jose? 
Straight  90.  He  never  got  that  from  -his 
Pop.  Maybe  it's  association  with  Leslie 
Gargan,  Bill's  boy — his  sidekick  up  there. 

HEDDA:  You  mean  Gary's  old  enough 
to  go  aWay  to  school? 

almost  a  grandpop  .  .  . 

BING:  Why  Hedda,  any  minute  I'll 
wake  up  and  find  myself  a  grandfather. 
I'm  at  the  stage  now  where  the  kids  look  ; 
the  old  man  over  with  a  fairly  fishy  critical 
eye.  Matter  of  fact,  I  just  squeezed  through 
Gary's  entrance  once-over  to  Bellarmine. 
The  school  head  took  a  trip  over  to  Ne- 
vada to  observe  our  whole  gang.  He 
didn't  say  yes  or  no  when  he  left.  But 
the  good  word  came  through.  You  know 
what  I  think  impressed  the  Father?  Gary's 
job. 

HEDDA:  Don't  tell  me  you've  got  him 
working  for  Bing  Crosby,  Inc.! 

BING:  Gary  went  this  solo — ranch 
handling.  Talked  me  into  a  job  punching 
at  $5  a  day.  Only  fourteen,  but  he  kept 
up  with  the  men  and  salted  away  $400  for 
spending  money  at  school.  I  used  to  in- 
dulge him  with  a  buck  a  week  but  I 
chopped  that  off  when  he  got  rich. 

HEDDA:  Can  the  kids  ride?  Got  their 
own  horses? 

BING:  Ride?  Listen,  they've  got  not  only 
their  own  horses  but  their  own  string 
of  ponies.  That's  a  working  ranch  I've  got 
up  there  in  Nevada.  Three  thousand  head 
of  cattle  graze  on  the  open  range. 


HEDDA:  What  do  you  do  with  all  your 
millions,  Mister  Crosby? 

BING:  Catch  her!  Another  day,  another 
dollar,  that's  with  me.  Matter  of  fact,  my 
kids  have  all  the  trust  funds.  If  they  grow 
up  and  turn  out  to  be  heels,  Dixie  and  I  are 
sunk.  They've  got  all  the  dough.  Show 
signs  of  generosity,  though.  Other  day  on 
Dixie's  birthday,  Denny,  Gary,  Phil  and 
Lindsay  chipped  in  and  came  through  with 
a  French  poodle  for  their  maw. 

HEDDA:  What  did  you  give  her? 

BING:  Nothing.  Just  baked  a  cake.  We 
had  ourselves  a  wedding  anniversary 
couple  of  days  before,  and  Dixie  nicked 
me  for  a  pretty  then.  A  little  necklace 
thing — I  think  it  had  some  gold  on  it. 

HEDDA:  And  maybe  a  few  stones? 
'BING:  M-m-m-m-m-m — maybe  a  few. 

HEDDA:  Understand  you  stepped  out, 
too,  to  Ciro's,  but  I  want  to  know  why  you 
and  Dixie  refused  to  pose  for  photograph- 
ers there. 

BING:  You  ought  to  know  me  better 
than  that,  Hedda.  But  they  tagged  me  just 
as  Dixie  and  I  were  stepping  onto  the 
floor.  I  don't  hold  it  for  anybody  when  I 
want  to  dance  with  Dixie. 

HEDDA:  When  you  step  out  with  Dixie 
— like  the  other  night — do  you  dress  up? 

BING:  Haven't  you  heard?  Men  of  dis- 
tinction are  simply  mad  with  envy  since  I 
got  my  new  prefabricated  tux.  Straight 
from  Smilin'  Frankie's. 

HEDDA:  Go  away!  What  I  did  hear  is 
that  you're  having  pants  made  to  match 
those  God-awful  flying  fish,  sunrise-over- 
Tahiti  shirts  of  yours. 

BING:  Don't  think  even  I  would  have 
that  much  nerve.  But,  it's  an  idea. 

(I  told  Bing  a  story  I  heard  high  in  the 
sky  in  a  DC-6  this  summer.  A  fellow  plane 
passenger  from  Los  Angeles  had  just 
toured  Jasper  Park  in  the  Canadian  Rock- 
ies. Driving  in  the  woods,  one  day,  he 
spied  what  he  thought  was  a  tramp  shag- 
ging along  the  road,  jerking  a  thumb  for 
a  ride.  His  heart  melted,  and  he  picked 
up  the  character.  Only  when  the  weary- 
willie  pickup  opened  his  mouth,  did  he 
recognize  Bing  Crosby!) 

hallelujah,  i'm  a  bum  .  .  . 

BING:  Lordy,  Hedda,  I  did  look  like  a 
bum,  too.  I'd  been  hunting,  and  my  car 
had  busted  down.  I  originally  got  a  load  of 
that  Jasper  Park  country  making  Emperor 
Waltz  and  I'd  hustled  back  for  another  look 
with  my  Daisy  air  rifle.  No  kidding,  since 
I've  got  my  New  Deal — the  transcribed 
radio  show  and  a  contract  for  just  two 
pictures  a  year — I'm  getting  around,  meet- 
ing the  people.  I  made  more  trips  just 
looking  at  scenery  last  year  than  you'd 
ever  guess.  I'm  a  softie  for  autographs  and 
things  when  I'm  in  the  out-country,  too. 
Those  people  up  at  Jasper,  for  instance,  act 
like  they  really  like  me. 

HEDDA:  Whatever  made  you  think  they 
didn't? 

BING:  Well,  I  don't  know.  Around 
Hollywood  here,  it's  so  professional,  this 
glamor  stuff.  And  I'm  such  an  old  story. 
You  won't  believe  me,  but  I  rolled  into  a 
town  last  summer,  parked  my  Cad  and 
came  back  to  find  the  new  canvas  top 
covered  with  crayon  scribbles.  Kids. 
They'd  ruined  it.  But  you  know,  I  kind  of 
liked  it,  although  it  cost  me  a  new  top. 
Now  and  then  I  get  a  kick  like  I  got  on  that 
GI  trip  during  the  war. 

HEDDA:  Ever  hear  from  those  soldier 
guys  you  met  overseas? 

BING:  All  the  time.  They  drift  around 
to  the  studio  and  I'm  always  tickled  to  see 
'em.  I  ain't  such  a  mean,  hard,  nasty  old 
man,  Hedda,  honest.  I'm  really  quite 
sociable.  Getting  out  my  road  maps  for 
next  vacation  already,  I  am. 

HEDDA:  Why  don't  you  fly?  You'd 
cover  a  lot  more  ground. 


BING:  I  don't  mind  flying  when  I  have 
to.  Did  all  over  Europe,  you  know,  and 
keep  a  little  plane  up  at  the  ranch  to  hop 
back  and  forth  to  Hollywood  in  emer- 
gencies, but  I'm  strictly  a  terra  firma  man, 
myself.  I'm  skeert. 

HEDDA:  Pooh.  When  your  time's  up, 
it's  up,  that's  all. 

BING:  Yeah,  but  what  if  the  guy  sitting 
next  to  you  has  his  time  come  up — and 
you're  in  the  same  plane?  But  I  know 
what  you  mean.  I  could  sure  look  after  my 
interests  that  way. 

HEDDA:  How  about  all  those  Crosby, 
Inc.  interests — -baseball  for  instance?  Are 
you  going  to  hire  Leo  Durocher  to  run  the 
Pittsburgh  Pirates? 

BING:  First  time  I've  heard  that  one. 

HEDDA:  I  heard,  too,  that  you  were 
buying  a  farm  in  Pennsylvania  and  a  few 
big  hotels  scattered  around  the  country. 

BING:  Wrong  again.  I  need  new  busi- 
ness interests  like  a  hole  in  my  head. 

HEDDA:  Is  that  why  you  sold  your 
racetrack  at  Del  Mar  and  your  race  horses? 

BING:  Didn't  sell  'em  all.  I've  got  about 
six  hayburners  left  up  at  Bob  Howard's 
place  in  San  Mateo. 

HEDDA:  What  made  you  quit — all  those 
jokes  about  Crosby  horses? 

tired  of  feeding  hope  .  .  . 

BING:  Well,  I  did  get  a  little  weary 
feeding  Hope  gags  for  his  radio  show.  But 
the  real  reason  is,  when  you  have  a  thing 
like  a  racetrack  and  stables  on  your  hands 
you've  got  to  look  after  them.  Got  to 
make  policy,  run  the  joint,  customers  with 
gripes  want  to  see  the  head  man — that's  me. 
I  wasn't  enough  people  to  handle  it,  so  I 
sold  out.  It's  work,  Hedda,  and  you  ought 
to  know  I'm  allergic  to  that  stuff. 

HEDDA:  How  about  that  picture  you've 
signed  to  do  in  England? 

BING:  That  looks  like  fun— if  and 
when.  Been  wanting  to  take  Dixie  and  the 
kids  over  there  ever  since  the  war  any- 
way. So  when  Arthur  Rank  brought  up 
the  idea  at  a  golf  game,  I  went  for  it.  But 
nothing's  set.  I  haven't  seen  a  script.  I'm 
cagey  that  way.  Wouldn't  I  look  silly 
traveling  6,000  miles  to  make  a  stinker, 
when  I  can  do  that  right  in  Hollywood? 

HEDDA:  Tell  me,  how  do  you  explain 
that  our  mutual  friend,  King  Bing,  has 
just  been  crowned  top-  male  star  of  the 
boxoffice   for  the   fourth   straight  year? 

BING:  A-h-h-h — People  are  funny. 

HEDDA:  Not  that  funny. 

BING:  Now  you're  making  my  ears  burn 
again  and  I  told  you  this  was  Technicolor. 
Jiggers — here  comes  that  man  right  now. 

(It  was  Director  Tay  Garnett,  all  right, 
coming  over  with  that  look  in  his  eyes! 
"Two  more  questions,  Tay,"  I  told  him. 
"Then  you  can  have  him.") 

BING:  These  the  sixty-four  dollar  ones? 

HEDDA:  Sort  of.  First,  are  you  going 
to  make  a  picture  with  Al  Jolson? 

BING:  That  would  be  news  to  me, 
Hedda.  Fact  is,  I  don't  even  know  if  Al 
wants  to  make  a  picture  in  Hollywood. 
Why  should  he — with  Larry  Parks  hang- 
ing around?  Wish  I  had  a  guy  to  handle 
my  acting  for  me;  all  I'd  have  to  do  is  sing. 

HEDDA:  Okay,  one  gone.  Now,  how 
are  the  pipes  holding  up?  Ever  think  about 
retiring? 

BING:  Every  day.  Every  day.  But  leave 
us  face  it — I  couldn't  stop  singing  for 
keeps  and  have  any  fun  out  of  life.  Far 
as  I  know,  the  old  gravel  box  is  just  like 
it  always  was.  So  I  guess,  unless  I  break 
a  leg  and  they  have  to  shoot  me,  you're 
just  stuck. 

HEDDA:  Stuck  with  you — or  on  you? 
(Bing  didn't  answer  that  one;  just  gave 
me  the  back  of  his  hand  and  his  Irish  grin. 
But  frankly,  I'm  in  love  with  the  guy,  and 
I  always  have  been,  and  I  can't  think  of 
anyone  I  know  who  isn't.) 


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IT  HAPPENED  IN  HOBOKEN 

(Continued  from  'page  35) 


two  were  to  go  to  Hoboken,  and  try  our 
luck.  I  went  first,  and  got  passes  from 
the  Mayor's  secretary.  Supposedly,  these 
would  see  us  safely  through  all  the  police 
lines.  V 

When  I  called  Bert  up  in  New  York  to 
tell  him  I  had  them,  he  said  that  was  nice, 
but  that  a  fire  had  just  broken  out  in  the 
Hudson  Tubes,  and  he  didn't  know  if  he 
could  get  over. 

"Naturally,"  I  said  bitterly,  and  settled 
down  to  wait  outside  a  nice,  shiny  cigar 
store. 

Bert  showed,  for  a  wonder,  laden  down 
with  flash  bulbs,  a  raincoat,  and  a  look 
of  woe,  and  at  eight  o'clock,  the  appointed 
hour,  we  made  our  way  back  to  City  Hall. 
It  was  beginning  to  rain,  but  the  steps 
were  swarming  with  people  waiting  for 
Frankie  to  come  out,  curiously  oblivious 
to  the  fact  that  they  were  getting  soaked. 

We  shoved  our  way  in,  and  upstairs, 
to  the  Mayor's  office.  There  seemed  to 
be  hundreds  of  people  there,  and  most  of 
them  were  taking  pictures.  Frank  posed 
with  his  father,  Fire  Captain  Martin  Sina- 
tra, who  was  in  a  blue  uniform  and  cap, 
and  the  resemblance  between  the  two  men 
was  unmistakable.  Captain  Sinatra's  face  is 
rounder  and  fuller,  and  he  only  comes  up 
to  Frankie's  shoulder,  but  the  blue  eyes  are 
the  same,  and  their  smiles  are  alike  as  two 
peas  in  the  proverbial  pod.  • 

Mrs.  Natalie  Sinatra,  Frank's  mother, 
wearing  a  black  dress,  a  white  fur  coat, 
and  a  small  black  satin  hat,  smiled,  as 
people  passed,  and  waved,  or  called  to 
her.  "I  feel  sorry  for  myself  tonight," 
she  murmured,  at  one  point,  but  her  face 
stayed  smooth  and  cheerful,  and  you  could 
see  she  was  happy. 

She  talked  about  Frank  a  little;  said 
he  was  East  quite  often,  and  always 
dropped  in  for  "mother  and  son  visits,  in 
the  house  he  gave  us — " 

Frank  came  over  to  her.  "Pop  and  I 
are  going  out  to  ride  the  fire  truck  now*. 
You  go  in  one  of  the  closed  cars,  so  you 
don't  get  wet." 

(Originally,  cancellation  of  the  parade 
had  been  broadcast,  and  now  the  other 
floats  had  to  be  quickly  reassembled, 
when  the  word  got  around  that  Frankie 
was  going  to  ignore  the  rain.) 

a  fair  exchange  .  .  . 

Surrounded  by  police,  Frank  walked 
out  to  the  steps,  and  took  a  huge  dummy 
key  from  the  Mayor.  The  onlookers 
screamed,  and  he  grinned,  and  swallowed. 
"In  return  for  the  key  to  Hoboken — I  can 
only  give  Hoboken  the  key  to  my  heart." 

They  screamed  again,  louder,  and  on 
the  lower  steps,  the  photographers  knelt, 
shooting,  as  Frank  started  down  the  flight 
of  steps. 

There  was  a  surge  toward  him,  and  the 
policeman  grabbed  at  him,  but  he  freed 
himself.  "It's  okay,  fellows.  Don't  hold 
my  arms."  He  walked  easily  through  the 
mob  with  his  father,  and  they  hopped 
onto  the  truck. 

Photographers  were  permitted  on  the 
truck,  too,  and  we  all  raced  for  it. 

Up  in  front,  Frank  and  his  father 
waved,  and  grinned,  and  called  out  greet- 
ings to  people  they  recognized.  "Hi,  Gus," 
Frankie'd  yell.    "How  ya  doing?" 

By  then  the  truck  was  rolling,  and  the 
answers  came  back  disjointedly  through 
the  noise  and  the  rain,  and  the  camera- 
men hung  on  the  running  boards,  getting 
pictures  and  colds  indiscriminately,  and 
wondering  if  there  weren't  better  ways  to 
make  a  living. 

A  few  soggy  floats  rode  ahead,  and  be- 


hind the  truck,  the  cordon  of  police  kept 
hundreds  of  children  from  getting  too 
close. 

People  filled  the  windows  on  both  sides 
of  the  street,  and  in  the  apartments  where 
the  lights  were  out,_  the  figures  had  a 
strange  look,  like  wax  dummies  in  a  cloth- 
ing store. 

It  had  really  begun  to  pour,  when  the 
truck  stopped.  Frank  seemed  to  have  dis- 
appeared, but  the  photographers  sloshed 
on  over  to  Veterans'  Field,  where  the 
ceremonies  were  supposed  to  be  held. 

Frankie  wasn't  there.  A  detective  told 
us  that.  "He's  back  at  City  Hall,"  he  said. 
"I'll  drive  you  over." 

I  collected  Bert,  and  the  detective  drove 
us  .  back  to  City  Hall,  explaining  along 
the  way  how  sympathetic  he  felt  toward 
newspaper  people.  "Used  to  fancy  that 
line  of  work  myself,"  he  said. 

His  name  was  Joseph  Marotta,  and  as 
it  happened,  he  was  an  old  pal  of 
Frankie's,  and  lived  with  the  Sinatras. 

landlady  sinatra  .  .  . 

He  called  Frankie's  mother  "my  land- 
lady," jovially,  and  he  seemed  really  up- 
set about  how  badly  disorganized  the 
evening  had  been.  There  were  people 
waiting  for  Frank  at  the  Field,  there  were 
people  waiting  at  one  of  the  schools,  but 
somehow  the  whole  system  had  broken 
down,  and  Frank,  as  bewildered  as  the 
rest  of  us,  had  been  taken  back  to  City 
Hall,  as  soon  as  the  fire  truck  had  stopped. 

Delivered  to  the  City  Hall  by  Special 
Officer  Marotta,  we  raced  up  to  the 
Mayor's  office  one  more  time. 

There  were  a  few  more  pictures  of 
Frankie,  some  with  his  mother  and  father, 
some  with  a  boy  named  Eugene  MacMas- 
ters,  a  paraplegic,  and  then  Frankie  had  to 
go.  He  was  apologetic,  but  he  had  to  get 
back  to  New  York  because  he  was  appear- 
ing in  a  benefit  for  Bellevue  Hospital  at 
Madison  Square  Garden,  at  eleven  o'clock, 
and  it  was  already  after  ten. 

He  kissed  his  mother  and  father,  and 
went  out,  looking  tired,  but  still  smiling. 
The  room  emptied  slowly  after  that,  and  a 
few  people  walked  around,  talking  quietly 
about  what  a  guy  Frankie  was,  and  that 
was  it. 

A  couple  of  days  later,  there  were  pic- 
tures in  the  New  York  papers  of  Frankie 
at  the  Metropolitan  Opera,  hob-nobbing 
with  all  the  blue-bloods,  and  looking  very 
much  at  home.  But  if  you  were  one  of 
the  fans  who'd  watched  him  get  his  head 
soaked  and  his  feet  wet,  and  his  heart 
warmed  on  a  certain  night  in  Hoboken, 
you  knew  there  was  a  difference.  The 
blue-bloods,  he  may  like;  those  Hoboken 
crowds,  he  loved. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

While  attending 
the  races  at  Del 
Mar,  we  noticed 
two  celebrities  in 
the  box  above  us. 
Every  time  the 
bugler  announced 
a  race,  the  man  in 
the  box  shuddered 
and  hid  his  face. 
He  just  couldn't 
stand  a  note  off- 
key.  And  who  could  blame  him?  It 
was  Harry  James,  the  trumpet  king, 
and  his  wife,  Betty  Grable. 

Helen  Kinney 

San  Bernardino,  Calif. 


DARK  MAN  IN  YOUR  FUTURE 

(Continued  from  page  62) 


airplane  flew  away,  and  there  was  a  great 
deal  of  rushing  about  and  confusion.  The 
revolution  had  come  to  Torreon. 

Every  day  at  noon,  after  that,  for  twenty 
successive  days,  Ric's  father  and  uncle 
would  wait  in  front  of  the  house,  search- 
ing the  sky  until  the  droning  speck  ap- 
peared in  the  distance.  They  would  shout, 
"There  it  is!  There  it  is!  Andale!"  And 
mother  would  round  up  Ric  and  his 
brother  and  sister  and  shove  them  under 
one  of  the  big  beds.  It  was  all  great  fun, 
and  Ric  was  sorry  when  the  plane  stopped 
coming. 

Torreon  was  in  a  barren  part  of  Mexico, 
but  two  rivers  ran  past  it  and  in  the 
country  outside,  endless  fields  of  wheat 
and  cotton  stretched  toward  the  distant 
mountains;  from  the  fields  gold  poured 
into  the  town,  making  it  one  of  the  richest 
cities  in  Mexico.  Here,  Senor  Montalban, 
who  had  come  from  Spain,  established  his 
department  stores. 

first  bull-fight  .  .  . 

It  was  when  Ric  was  twelve  that  he  spent 
his  first  summer  vacation  at  the  great 
Durango  hacienda  of  Senor  Gurza,  his 
father's  old  friend.  Senor  Gurza  raised 
bulls  on  his  estate.  That  August,  Ric  saw 
his  first  Tienda. 

All  the  neighboring  rancheros  and  their 
families  gathered  around  the  private  bull- 
ring at  the  Gurza  hacienda,  after  the 
noonday  barbecue,  and  Juan  Gonzales,  the 
foreman's  son,  explained  the  Tienda  to 
Ric.  "It  is  that  you  can  fight  a  bull  only 
once,"  he  said.  "After  that  they  know — 
they  shy  from, the  cape.  But  the  Senor 
Gurza  must  find  out  if  the  little  bull  is 
growing  up  to  be  a  sissy,  or  if  he  will  be 
fierce  and  put  up  a  stiff  battle. 

"Now,  mira,  all  the  little  bulls  have 
sisters,  and  it  is  known  that  a  bull  and  his 
sister  always  are  born  the  same,  with  the 
same  characteristics.  So  we  have  a  trial 
fight  with  the  little  cow,  just  nicking  her 
a  little,  not  to  hurt  her,  and  -so  we  find 
out.  Verdad?" 

"Men  do  not  fight  cows,"  Ric  said. 

"No.  You  and  I  and  the  other  muchachos 
will  fight  them.    Come  along." 

"I?  I've  never  faced  a  bull — or  a  cow, 
even.    I'd  be  gored." 

Juan  looked  scornful.  "You  have  to 
start  sometime.  You  know  the  passes, 
don't  you?    You've  seen  fights?" 

"Yes,  but—" 

"Then  vome  on.  They'll  think  you're 
afraid." 

Ric  stood  trembling  in  the  middle  of  the 
ring,  watching  the  young  cow — no  delicate 
ego,  hers — pounding  toward  him.  He  had 
never  realized  how  much  taller  a  cow  was 
than  he,  until  she  pulled  up,  raised  her 
head  and  stood  glowering  at  him,  for  a 
moment.  Then  she  lowered  her  head  again 
and  charged. 

Shutting  his  eyes  tight,  because  he  was 
afraid  to  look,  he  waited  until  the  sound 
of  hooves  was  almost  upon  him;  then,  as 
he  had  seen  the  matadors  do,  he  made  a 
slow  wheeling  turn  to  his  right,  sweep- 
ing his  cape  in  an  arc  as  he  did  so. 

The  cow  thundered  past,  and  in  momen- 
tary relief,  he  opened  his  eyes,  waiting  for 
applause.  Instead,  there  was  a  storm  of 
laughter  from  the  wall,  and  hoots  of  de- 
rision. The  cow  had  charged  behind  him — 

Fury  mounted  in  him,  throbbing  in  his 
throat  and  making  his  face  dark.  He  faced 
the  ugly  little  cow  again,  brandishing  the 
cape  wildly,  and  met  her  second  charge 
full-face,  with  his  eyes  open.  He  was' so 
angry  he  forgot  to  sidestep.     The  next 


instant,  he  was  sprawled  in  the  dirt, 
stunned  and  breathless,  and  the  cow  was 
worrying  him  with  her  horns  and  a  fore- 
foot. A  cow-hand  distracted  her  before  he 
was  too  badly  mauled,  and  he  had  not 
been  gored.  But  he  -was  a  sorry  sight. 

Senor  Gurza  was  furious.  "You  shouldn't 
have  tried  it  without  practice!" 

"I  will  do  this  again  tomorrow,  with 
your  permission,  sir,"  Ric  said.  "I 
couldn't  let  a  cow  beat  me  in  the  ring." 

The  older  man  smiled.  "As  you  like." 

After  six  summers  at  the  Gurza,  Ric 
was  a  fairly  accomplished  amateur 
matador. 

But  the  rest  of  his  early  life  was  mun- 
dane enough.  He  had  a  remarkable  boy's 
soprano  until  he  was  fourteen,  and  his 
voice  shattered  on  a  high  C  one  afternoon 
and  thereafter  was  no  good  at  all. 

Since  his  father  was  a  merchant,  it 
occurred  to  him  that  he  might  become  an 
accountant;  and  by  the  time  he  finished 
high  school  he  was  considered  one. 

But  a  few  weeks  as  an  apprentice  in  a 
dry  goods  store  cured  him.   He  was  bored. 

"I  shall  be  an  engineer,"  he  announnced 
grandly. 

"How?"  asked  his  father. 

"There  are  schools  in  Mexico  City." 

"Your  brother,"  Senor  Montalban  said, 
"has  a  better  idea.  He  is  living  in  Beverly 
Hills,  and  he  writes  that  if  you  want  to  live 
with  him  and  go  to  school  in  Los  Angeles, 
he  will  be  happy  to  watch  over  you." 

"Don't  they  teach  school  in  English  in 
Los  Angeles?" 

"Learn  it." 

Ric  learned.  It  took  him  three  months, 
in  the  only  high  school  in  Southern  Cali- 
fornia which  accepted  students  who  did 
not  speak  English. 

By  the  time  he  switched  to  Fairfax,  he 
was  good  enough  to  play  the  lead  in  the 
school  production  of  Tovarich,  and  that 
was  the  beginning. 

When  his  brother  went  to  New  York  to 
live,  Ric  went  too,  determined  to  be  an 
actor. 

He  tramped  the  streets  for  weeks.  Then, 
one  afternoon,  he  read  of  an  audition,  and 
applied  for  it. 

The  first  candidate  was  a  tall,  good- 
looking  gentleman,  with  a  barrel  chest, 
who  sang  two  songs  in  a  loud  tenor.  He 
was  quite  good,  and  there  was  applause. 
After  him  came  a  statuesque  contralto. 
More  applause. 

"And  now,"  said  the  announcer,  "Ricardo 
Montalban  will  sing  a  Spanish  ballad  for 
us." 

no  canary  he  .  .  . 

Ric  stood  up.    "I  can't  sing." 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  "Oh  well," 
he  added,  "if  I  could  use  the  mike, 
maybe-^-" 

He  adjusted  the  mike  until  it  blasted, 
and  eventually  started  singing  "El  Rancho 
Grande."  By  this  time,  everyone  was 
Jaughing,  anyway,  and  he  thought  he 
might  as  well  gag  the  whole  thing. 

When  he  was  finished,  the  agent  con- 
ducting the  audition  called  him  aside. 

"You'll  never  get  anywhere  with  that 
face  or  that  voice,"  he  said,  "but  you've 
got  guts,  and  a  personality.  I'll  find  a 
place  for  you  somewhere."    And  he  did. 

An  actor  in  Tallulah  Bankhead's  play, 
Her  Cardboard  Lover,  forgot  his  lines,  and 
Ric  stepped  in  as  the  logical  replacement. 
After  that,  he  made  some  slot  machine 
movies — one  of  which  was  called  The  Latin 
From  Staten  Island — and  then  went  back 
to  Mexico,  where  he  made  nine  pictures, 


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106 


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was  mentioned  for  the  Mexican  Academy 
Award,  and  was  discovered  by  Preston 
Foster. 

Whereupon,  of  course,  he  came  back  to 
Hollywood. 

The  traffic  cop  was  most  understanding. 
"I'm  late  for  mass,"  Ric  told  him,  and  the 
cop,  whose  name  was  O'Mara,  nodded. 

"I'll  just  have  a  look  at  your  license,  me 
boy,  and  if  it's  in  order,  you  may  hightail 
it  for  the  church." 

Ric  handed  him  the  cellophane  folder 
from  his  wallet.  The  cop  examined  one 
side  of  the  license;  then,  turning  the  folder 
over,  stared.    "Who's  this?" 

Flushing,  Ric  said,  "Just  a  picture  of  a 
girl." 

"But  she's  only  about  eleven  or  twelve." 

"I've  had  it  for  seven  or  eight  years.  I 
just  like  to  look  at  it." 

"Well,  I  can't  give  you  a  ticket  for  that. 
Say  a  Hail  Mary  for  me." 

"That  I  will,"  Ric  promised.  He  was 
late,  all  right;  all  the  parking  places  were 
gone  and  he  had  to  leave  his  car  in  the 
alley  behind  the  church.  Later,  coming 
out,  he  saw  another  motorist  had  had  the 
same  idea.  She  passed  him,  and  he  had  a 
glimpse  of  flying  blonde  hair  and  a  lovely 
almost-familiar  face. 

Her  car  was  already  turning  into  the 
street  when  it  came  to  him  who  she  was. 
A  moment  later  he  careened  out  of  the 
alley  after  her.  Catching  up,  he  leaned 
out  of  his  window  and  said  "Hey!"  It  was 
all  he  could  think  of,  and  it  was  not 
enough. 

Georgianna  Young,  whose  picture  he 
had  carried  for  almost  eight  years,  allowed 
him  one  icy  glare,  and  disappeared  in  a 
cloud  of  fine  California  dust. 

Two  weeks  later,  Ric  ran  into  Norman 
Foster.  "We  haven't  had  a  decent  talk  in 
too  long,"  Norman  said.  "Come  home  with 
me  to  dinner." 

"Delighted,"  said  Ric;  unknowingly  ac- 
cepting a  date  with  destiny. 

Because  Norman  Foster's  wife  is  Sally 
Blane  Foster,  and  Sally  Blane  and  Loretta 
Young  and  Georgianna  Young  are  all 
sisters. 

Wherefore,  when  Ric  stepped  through 
the  doorway  of  Norman's  house  an  hour 
later,  three  beautiful  girls  walked  into  the 


entrance  hall  to  be  introduced. 

It  is  not  for  a  Montalban  to  be  without 
words  for  very  long. 

"Hey,"  he  said. 

"I'm  beginning  to  think  you  really  mean 
that."  Georgianna  grinned.  "D'you  know, 
all  that  Sunday  I  wondered  why  you'd 
chased  me.  At  first,  of  course,  I  thought 
you  were  just  another  wolf.  Then  I  re- 
membered what  you  looked  like,  and  it 
occurred  to  me  there  must  have  been 
something  wrong  with  the  car,  and  finally, 
I  got  out  of  the  car  and  went  in  back  and 
saw  what  you  meant." 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

"The  tail  light.  Knocked  off  and  hanging 
down  and  banging  against  the  fender.  That 
was  it,  wasn't  it?" 

After  a  moment  he  said,  "But,  of  course. 
That  was  it." 

"What  are  you  two  babbling  about?" 
Sally  asked.  "I  thought  you  didn't  know 
each  other." 

"What  a  ridiculous  notion,"  Ric  told  her. 
"We're  old  friends."  He  smiled  disarm- 
ingly  at  Georgianna.    "Aren't  we?" 

She  smiled  back.  "Oddly  enough,"  she 
said,  "I  believe  we  are." 

And  it  was  shortly  after  that  that  Ric 
told  Georgianna  how  long  he  had  loved 
her,  and  how  much;  and  how  desperately 
he  needed  and  wanted  her  for  his  wife. 
That  was  on  the  twelfth  night  after  the 
evening  of  the  dinner  party  at  the  Fosters'. 

And  on  the  fourteenth  day  they  were 
married.  It  was,  to  be  exact,  October  26, 
1944. 

On  August  12,  1946,  their  first  child, 
Laura,  was  born.  Their  son,  Mark,  fol- 
lowed as  soon  as  God  and  nature  would 
permit.  Somehow,  this  is  also  typical  of 
Ric:  this  haste  in  the  great,  important 
things  of  life  as  well  as  in  the  lesser  things. 
He  wants  everything,  and  he  wants  it 
immediately. 

Robert  Hillyer  wrote  a  verse  called 
"Twentieth  Century"  once,  and  its  lines 
fit  the  way  Ric  is  headed  for  fame  and 
fortune  and  greatness: 

There  is  no  time, 
No  time, 

There  is  no  time — 

Not  even  for  this," 

Not  even  for  this  rhyme. 


"V.  J."  DAY 

(Continued  jrom  page  58) 


soldier,  like  his  mates  now  being  taken 
from  the  cars,  did  look  grim.  Hfs  eyes 
were  sunken,  uninterested.  He  had  been 
lifted  and  handled  dozens  of  times;  this 
was  no  novelty.  Van  Johnson  swallowed 
hard,  and  stepped  farther  back  on  the 
hastily  built  platform.  Then  he  froze.  The 
first  soldier  had  yelled  something. 

"Hey!"  his  voice  rang  out.  "Hey,  you 
guys!    Look!    Van  Johnson!" 

Another  soldier  took  up  the  cry,  cran- 
ing his  head  from  the  stretcher.  "Yeah! 
Hey,  Van!  I  saw  your  last  picture!  Me 
and  a  million  mosquitoes!" 

Somebody  pushed  Van  forward,  and  be- 
fore he  knew  it,  he  was  shaking  hands 
with  the  boys  and  talking  to  all  of  them 
as  they  were  taken  from  the  train.  Thus, 
the  first  Pacific  wounded  at  Birmingham 
were  greeted  on  their  homecoming,  and 
thus,  they  learned  to  know  Van. 

And  these  same  Pacific  boys — long  before 
our  actual  victory  over  Japan — seized  upon 
Van  Johnson's  initials   to   designate  his  ■ 
visits  as  their  own  kind  of  "V.  J."  Day. 

It's  still  "V.  J."  Day  at  Birmingham 
when  Van  drives  over,  but  now  he 
drops  in  as  a  friend,  and  not  a  stranger. 

There  are  other  stars  who  are  keeping 
up  their  wartime  habit  of  going  out  to 


Birmingham,  although  it's  been  changed 
from  an  army  debarkation  to  a  veterans' 
hospital.  The  six  hundred  vets  that  Van 
and  the  other  stars  know  best  are  the  para- 
plegic and  tubercular  victims,  about  evenly 
divided  in  number.  (Paraplegia  is  paraly- 
sis of  the  lower  half  of  the  body,  from  the 
waist  down.)  There  are  as  many  more 
patients,  less  seriously  disabled,  who  form 
a  shifting  or  transient  group,  being  con- 
stantly replaced  by  others  as  they  are 
cured  and  returned  to  civil  life. 

The  boys  at  the  hospital  have  their  own 
ideas  about  the  Hollywood  stars  who  visit 
them.  If  a  star  comes  out  once,  they  accept 
it  as  just  a  gesture  and  not  much  more. 
If  he  or  she  makes  a  second  trip,  they  are 
pleased.  But  if  the  star  continues  to  come 
out  and  see  them,  the  visits  begain  to  have 
real  meaning.  A  friendship  is  formed;  the 
visits  take  on  the  significance  of  reunions. 

When  Gregory  Peck  walks  in,  there  are 
a  hundred  of  the  boys  with  whom  he  has 
formed  associations.  He  knows  the  names 
of  their  whole  families.  He  knows  the 
color  and  style  of  their  homes.  They  know 
Greg,  and  they  know  his  wife,  Greta.  Many 
of  them  have  been  out  to  his  home. 

Take  Janis  Paige,  of  Warners,  who  comes 
out  regularly  with  Don  McGuire.  A  month 


ago  she  was  kidding  around  in  one  of  the 
wards  when  the  doors  flew  open  and  in 
came  a  wheelchair  vet  carrying  a  big 
birthday  cake.  Nearly  a  year  before  Janis 
had  happened  to  mention  the  date  of  her 
birthday.    The  boys  had  remembered. 

Or  think  of  Lou  Costello  crashing  into 
a  ward,  waving  his  big  cigar  ahead  of  him 
and  yelling,  "What  the  hell's  been  goin' 
on  around  here  since  I  seen  you  guys  last? 
Huh?"  The  latest  thing  Lou  did  was  to 
get  into  an  argument  with  a  group  of  vets 
who  were  kidding  him  about  the  ability  of 
his  kid  football  team  out  at  the  Youth 
Foundation  which  he  supports. 

"Okay,  you  guys!"  he  yelped,  finally. 
"I'll  bring  the  whole  damn  team  out  here, 
and  another  team  for  them  to  play,  and 
we'll  see  how  good  they  are!" 

He  did  just  that.  It  didn't  settle  the  ar- 
gument, which  still  goes  on,  but  it's  strictly 
between  old  friends. 

That  goes  for  a  lot  of  Hollywood's  famous 
names.  For  Susan  Peters,  herself  a  para- 
plegic as  a  result  of  her  unfortunate  acci- 
dent, whose  pet  delight  is  to  take  a  bunch 
of  the  boys  fishing.  Or  for  Desi  Arnaz, 
who  was  stationed  at  the  hospital  as  a 
sergeant  during  the  war  and  never  gets 
back  to  Hollywood  but  that  he  drives  out 
to  Birmingham  to  celebrate  "Old  Home 
Week."  Or  for  Bob  Burns,  Andy  Devine, 
Dinah  Shore,  Don  Ameche,  who  are 
neighbors,  since  they  live  near  the  hospi- 
tal, and  often  drop  in  to  meander  around. 

The  hospital  attaches  still  talk  about 
Jose  Iturbi  who  was  asked  to  give  a  con- 
cert for  the  boys  once.  Great  preparations 
were  made  for  it  and  the  piano  placed  on 
the  stage  of  the  recreation  theater  where 
all  could  see  and  hear.  Iturbi  gave  his  con- 
cert but  he  didn't  seem  too  pleased. 

Not  long  afterward,  he  phoned  the  hos- 
pital and  said  he  would  like  to  come  out 
the  next  day. 

"But  Mr.  Iturbi,  we're  not  prepared  to 
make  the  arrangements  that  quickly,"  the 
special   service   representative  protested. 

"No,  no,"  came  back  Iturbi.  "I  don't 
want  to  give  a  show.  I  want  to  play  for 
the  boys  I  know.  I  want  to  just  drop  in 
and  play.   Like  you  visit  somebody,  see?" 

And  drop  in  he  did.  And  he  has  dropped 
in  often;  never  giving  any  notice,  never 
desiring  a  formal  concert  atmosphere,  and 
forbidding  any  publicity  about  it.  There 
isn't'  any  argument  about  it;  he  likes  to 
drop  in  and  play. 

casual  cary  .  .  . 

Cary  Grant  doesn't  even  bother  to  phone. 
If  he  has  finished  a  picture  and  has  time 
on  his  hands,  he  simply  shows  up.  He 
breezes  into  a  ward,  renews  old  acquaint- 
ances and  has  as  great  a  time  as  the  vets. 

While  Van  Johnson  is  the  old  faithful  of 
the  boys,  the  "model"  visitor  is  perhaps 
Olivia  De  Havilland.  She  established  her 
technique  on  the  first  day  she  came.  She 
was  told  that  by  confining  herself  to  speak- 
ing a  few  words  at  each  bedside,  she  could 
go  through  from  ten  to  sixteen  wards  be- 
fore it  was  time  to  leave.  Olivia  nodded 
and  entered  the  ward.  She  went  to  the 
first  bed  and  began  talking.  In  a  few  min- 
utes she  sat  down  beside  the  bed,  still 
talking  to  the  soldier.  Fifteen  minutes 
later  she  was  still  there.  When  "chow 
call"  sounded  hours  later,  Olivia,  instead 
of  doing  sixteen  wards,  hadn't  even  fin- 
ished one! 

"Miss  De  Havilland,"  said  one  of  the 
nurses,  "you're  making  a  wonderful  visit 
with  each  of  the  boys  but  you'll  never 
get  through  all  the  wards  this  way." 

"Oh,  yes  I  will,"  said  Olivia."  "I'm  off 
every  Tuesday.    I'll  come  back." 

"But  it  will  take  ten  Tuesdays  to  finish." 

"At  least  that,"  said  Olivia,  and  for  the 
next  ten  Tuesdays  she  was  back. 

If  you  are  a  movie  star,  particularly  a 


male,  it  is  not  the  easiest  thing  in  the 
world  to  walk  into  a  ward  and  face  two 
long  rows  of  badly  war-wounded  men. 
There  is  an  emotional  interplay  of  such 
feelings  as  resentment  and  envy,  and  you 
are  aware  of  it.  It  can  be  controlled  and 
eliminated  if  you're  a  nice  guy  and  can 
show  it. 

When  hospital  visiting  first  began  at 
Birmingham  some  stars  made  grand  en- 
trances into  each  ward.  It  was  a  mistake 
which  resulted  in  every  soldier  instantly 
freezing  stiff.  Nowadays,  the  visiting  star, 
unless  he's  an  old  friend  of  the  boys,  slips 
into  the  ward  quietly  and  is  talking  to  the 
first  veteran  before  any  of  the  others  are 
even  aware  of  his  presence. 

Not  all  visitors  to  Birmingham  are  stars. 
One  day,  the  hospital  got  a  phone  call  from 
a  chap  who  said  his  name  was  Malcolm 
Beelby;  he  was  a  staff  musician  at  Warner 
Brothers.  He  wanted  to  come  out  and 
play  the  piano  for  the  soldiers  in  the 
"closed  wards."  These  contain  the  men- 
tally deranged  veterans  whom  none  but 
near  relatives  ever  visit  ordinarily. 

music  for  the  soul  .  .  . 

Malcolm,  a  young  vet  himself,  can 
ramble  on  for  hours  through  classics  or 
swing  numbers  with  equal  facility.  One 
afternoon  a  piano  was  rolled  into  one  of 
the  closed  wards — they  are  not  quiet 
places,  as  can  be  imagined — and  Malcolm 
sat  down  to  play.  At  once,  a  few  of  the 
men  retreated  from  the  music  and  were 
led  away  by  attendants.  The  rest  seemed 
not  to  notice  it  at  first.  One  of  these  was 
a  youngster  who  was  the  victim  of  a 
laughing  mania,  and  was  actually  in  such  a 
fit  now. 

Malcolm  played  on.  The  men  grew 
quieter.  Some  began  to  gather  closer  to 
the  music.  Fifteen  minutes  after  Malcolm 
had  started  to  play,  the  boy  who  was 
laughing  stopped.  His  face  bore  a  look 
of  relaxation  that  doctors  had  been  trying 
to  induce  ever  since  his  admission  into  the 
hospital. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  session,  Malcolm 
had  a  perfectly  quiet  and  attentive  audi- 
ence. The  medical  men  begged  him  to 
come  back,  and  he's  now  one  of  the  hos- 
pital's most  appreciated  visitors. 

Most  of  the  stars  come  out  on  Tuesday 
and  Saturday  afternoons,  when  the  Volun- 
teer Army  Canteen  Service  holds  its.  par- 
ties, and  distributes  cigarettes.  If  you  pass 
a  ward  and  hear  whistles,  you  can  be  sure 
Jane  Russell  has  dropped  in  to  say  hello. 
Or  you  might  catch  Eddie  Cantor  singing 
to  the  music  of  a  midget  piano  that  he 
rolls  around  with  him. 

Remember  when  Bob  Hope's  book,  "So 
This  Is  Peace?"  came  out?  He  brought  a 
case  of  the  books  to  Birmingham  and 
handed  them  out  after  autographing  each 
copy.  Bing  Crosby  wandered  into  the 
hospital  during  the  afternoon,  and  prompt- 
ly accused  Bob  of  peddling  the  books  from 
bed  to  bed! 

There  are  formal  parties,  like  the  last 
Christmas  affair  when  the  hospital  had 
four  Santa  Clauses:  Guy  Kibbee,  Chill 
Wills,  Bill  Bendix  and  Harry  Von  Zell. 
They  cruised  the  wards  distributing  gifts 
and  then  all  came  together  for  a  super 
party  in  the  recreation  hall. 

There  are  even  more  significant  parties, 
including  those  held  to  celebrate  the  wed- 
dings which  have  taken  place  in  the  past 
few  years  between  thirty  paraplegic  pa- 
tients and  their  nurses. 

And  when  it  is  a  case  of  a  party  being 
thrown  in  the  home  of  a  star,  it  must  be 
remembered  that  many  patients  make  the 
trip  all  by  themselves  in  their  own  cars. 
As  a  result  of  the  hospital's  rehabilitation 
training,  a  paraplegic  can  wheel  his  chair 
to  his  specially  built  car  (all  hand  oper- 
ated), lift  himself  into  the  driver's  seat, 


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ALWAYS  CABRT^    QUICK  RELIEF 
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I1  INDIGESTION 


and  lift  his  wheelchair  in  beside  him. 

The  stars  have  figured  in  this  rehabili- 
tation program.  As  head  of  the  Hollywood 
Canteen  Foundation,  Bette  Davis  has  seen 
to  it  that  the  boys  received  a  $25,000  swim- 
ming pool,  a  battery  of  electric  typewriters, 
and  mimeograph  machines  for  their  news- 
paper. One  of  her  personal  gifts  is  her 
entire  stamp  collection,  contained  in  a 
number  of  heavy,  bound  volumes. 

There  is  a  fine  silver  workshop  in  the 
hospital  with  full  equipment  for  this  craft. 
It  belonged  to  Russell  Gleason,  who  died 
in  an  accident  a  few  years  ago.  His  father, 
Jimmy,  donated  it.  And  to  train  the  boys 
who  want  to  learn  silverworking,  he  in- 
duced one  of  Hollywood's  finest  silver- 
smiths, Alan  Adler,  who  has  a  shop  on  the 
Strip,  to  come  out  twice  weekly  and  teach. 

And  then  there  is  Atwater  Kent,  of 
course,  who  has  given  nearly  two  thou- 
sand small,  dis-assembled  radios,  which 
vets  can  put  together  and  keep. 

And  always,  there's  the  guy  they  all  dote 
on — the  freckled  "V.  J."  himself. 

Van  has  brought  "V.  J."  Day  to  hospitals, 
soldiers,  and  even  civilians,  all  over  the 
country. 

On  a  recent  trip  to  Memphis,  he  had  just 
28  hours  to  spend  in  town.  During  this 
time,  he  was  booked  to  make  four  theater 
appearances,  three  radio  broadcasts,  and 
to  take  part  in  a  half-dozen  newspaper 
interviews.  He  raced  through  them  so 
that  he  could  go  out  to  the  Kennedy  Vet- 
erans' Hospital  there,  for  which  he  man- 
aged to  find  two  full  hours. 

Around  the  studio,  his  faithfulness  to 
his  friends  and  acquaintances  is  amazing. 
Two  years  ago,  the  head  of  the  portrait 
photographers,  Milton  Brown,  was  stricken 
with  a  heart  attack.  He  was  in  the  hospital 
for  three  months.  Naturally,  during  his 
first  week  there,  his  friends  sent  flowers, 
came  out  to  see  him. 

But  there  was  an  end  to  that  after  a 
while,  and  he  was  alone,  looking  forward 
to  months  of  loneliness,  and  boredom. 
That's  when  Van  showed  up.  He  walked 
in  with  an  armful  of  flowers  and  presents 
promptly  at  seven  o'clock  one  evening, 
and  stayed  until  visiting  hours  were  over. 
That's  not  unusual.  But  consider  this: 
twice  a  week,  for  the  full  three  months  that 
Milton  was  laid  up,  Van  showed,  as  regu- 
lar as  clockwork! 

Sometime  after  Milton  was  discharged 
from  the  hospital,  he  suffered  a  relapse 
and  had  to  go  back  for  three  and  a  half 
more  months.  Van  was  on  the  job  imme- 
diately. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Stopping  once  at 
a  mountain  resort, 
my  mother  was 
told  that  Pierre 
Aumont  was  at 
the  same  hotel.  He 
was  standing  in  a 
doorway,  and 
Mother  stood  be- 
hind him,  calling, 
"Pierre.  Pierre." 
No  answer.  He 
turned  around,  and  my  mother  said, 
"If  you're  who  I  think  you  are,  my 
daughter  would  like  to  have  your  au- 
tograph." "Certainly,  certainly,"  he 
said  very  politely.  It  wasn't  until  she 
had  his  autograph,  that  Mother 
learned  it  was  Paul  Henreid! 

Ruth  Ann  Woods 

San  Marino,  California. 


Not  a  soul  at  M-G-M  knew  about  this, 
and  it  would  never  have  come  to  be 
written  here  if  Milton  Brown  hadn't  for- 
gotten Van's  warning  to  keep  quiet.  Van, 
like  Iturbi  about  his  piano  parties,  is  dead 
set  against  any  publicity.  It  is  only  because 
you  can't  gag  a  whole  staff  of  nurses  and 
doctors,  that  his  kindness  becomes  known 
at  all. 

One  evening,  a  doctor  at  Birmingham 
walked  out  to  his  car  and  found  it  was 
blocked  by  one  of  those  big  trailer  trucks. 
Just  then  the  owner  of  the  car  next  to 
his  came  out. 

"Oh,  Lord!"  said  the  doctor  wearily.  "I 
suppose  I'll  have  to  run  back  and  locate 
the  driver  of  that  truck.  He  might  be 
anywhere  in  the  hospital." 

"Don't  do  that,  doc,"  said  the  other  man. 
"You're  tired.  I'll  move  the  truck  for  you." 

"You?"  asked  the  physician.  "You've 
spent  all  day  walking  through  the  wards. 
You  must  be  as  tired  as  I  am." 

"Naw,"  said  the  other.  "Besides,  I'm  a 
truck-driver  at  heart." 

He  jumped  into  the  cab  of  the  big  ten- 
wheeler  and  started  the  motor  immediately. 
Skillfully,  he  backed  it  clear  and  let  the 
doctor  pull  out.  Then  he  rolled  the  truck 
into  the  vacated  space,  shut  off  the  motor 
and  got  into  his  own  car. 

It's  only  natural,  isn't  it,  that  that  doctor 
would  mention  what  happened,  to  his 
friends.  And  that  the  young  fellow  who 
went  to  such  trouble  so  cheerfully  should 
have  been  old  "V.  J."  Day  Van,  himself? 


TOUGH  BREAK,  GENE! 

(Continued  from  page  24) 


dance  again  for  five  months." 

"But  they  could  postpone  the  picture." 

He  said,  "Fred,  I  really  mean  this.  It's  a 
good  picture,  and  you're  right  for  it.  If  you 
bow  out,  my  accident  means  trouble  for 
the  studio.  If  you  take  the  part,  every- 
body will  be  happy,  including  me.  How 
about  it?" 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  I'll  be  delighted," 
I  said,  and  that  was  the  truth.  When  I  had 
announced  my  retirement  a  year  before,  I 
had  never  meant  anything  more  sincerely 
in  my  life.  I  had  been  dancing  profes- 
sionally for  more  years  than  I  liked  to  re- 
member, and  I  was  tired.  I  found  myself, 
at  the  completion  of  each  new  number, 
thinking:  "This  is  it.  This  is  the  best 
you've  done,  and  the  best  you  can  do.  You 
can't  keep  topping  yourself  forever,  and 
yet,  if  you  don't,  the  public  will  get  wise  to 
the  fact  that  you're  levelling  off.  Now  is 
the  time  to  quit,  before  people  begin  ask- 
ing you  to." 


So  I  went  back  to  our  home  in  the  East, 
and  began  relaxing.  It  was  wonderful,  for 
a  few  months.  Then  one  morning  my 
daughter,  who  is  four,  said  at  breakfast, 
"When  is  Daddy  going  back  to  the  studio?" 
I  didn't  even  know  she  understood  what 
the  word  meant.  She  had  been  brought  to 
a  studio  to  visit  me  just  once,  a  year  be- 
fore, and  apparently  the  experience  had 
impressed  her  deeply 

A  few  weeks  later,  I  dropped  in  at  the 
school  in  Aiken,  South  Carolina,  where  my 
son  is  a  student.  Fred  is  eleven,  and  has 
the  modern  boy's  sharpness  of  wit  and 
tongue.  "What  are  you  going  to  do,  Dad?" 
he  asked  directly.  "Retire?"  It  occurred 
to  me  for  the  first  time,  then,  that  my 
work  meant  something  to  him,  that  he  con- 
sidered it  important  for  his  father  to  be  an 
active,  functioning  human  being,  instead 
of  a  has-been. 

Even  the  critics,  upon  hearing  the  word 
"retirement,"  suddenly  decided  I  was  better 


than  they  had  ever  thought  before,  and 
said  so  in  print.  Also,  to  my  intense  as- 
tonishment, they  said  so  in  personal  let- 
ters to  me. 

I  came  back  to  Hollywood.  I  discussed 
making  another  picture  with  Ginger  Rog- 
ers. I  wanted  to  be  in  again — but  not  at  the 
expense  of  another  dancer,  not  to  profit 
by  another  chap's  misfortune.  Gene  cleared 
that  up  with  one  of  the  nicest  remarks  I 
have  ever  heard  in  such  circumstances. 
He  said  to  a  columnist,  "Naturally,  I  hated 
to  break  my  ankle,  but  if  it  means  seeing 
Astaire  on  the  screen  again,  it's  worth  it." 

There  is  a  gentleman.  There  is  also  one 
of  the  finest  dancers  in  America  today. 

An  accident  such  as  he  suffered  is  not 
just  a  casual  misfortune.  To  a  dancer,  any- 
thing that  disables  or  even  impairs  him 
physically,  if  only  temporarily,  smacks  of 
tragedy.  Twice  it  has  happened  to  me,  and 
I  know. 

The  first  time  was  in  1919.  I  was  playing 
in  Apple  Blossoms,  dancing  to  Fritz  Kreis- 
ler's  enchanting  score,  and  we  were  open- 
ing in  Providence,  Rhode  Island,  before 
one  of  the  toughest  audiences  in  America. 
Everyone  in  the  cast  knew  just  how  tough 
it  was,  and  prepared  to  strip  his  gears 
to  put  the  show  over.  I  was  fresh  to  show 
business  at  the  time,  imbued  with  the 
spirit  of  the  evening.  I  knocked  myself 
out,  figuratively  and  almost  literally. 

My  most  difficult  turn  was  performed  on 
a  stairway — always  dangerous — and  at  the 
end  of  the  number  I  did  a  series  of  fast 
twist  steps,  then  grasped  myself  by  my 
shoulders  and  did  a  spiral  full  turn  into 
a  squatting  position;  since  my  feet  re- 
mained stationary,  I  finished  with  my  legs 
crossed,  like  an  Indian  at  a  conference. 

I  performed  this  finale  that  evening  with 
such  vigor  that,  as  I  landed  in  the  tag 
position,  there  was  a  small  sharp  report 
and  my  sacro-iliac  went  away  somewhere. 
I  managed  to,  finish  the  show,  but  later  in 
my  dressing  room  I  lay  down  for  what  I 
thought  would  be  a  few  minutes.  I  did  not 
get  up  again,  under  my  own  power. 

For  ten  years,  I  couldn't  walk  down  the 
street  or  play  tennis  or  dance  without 
knowing  that  at  any  moment  I  might  lose 
control  of  my  feet,  and  face  a  long  siege  of 
pain  and  helplessness. 

The  other  accident  served  me  in  good 
stead,  though  at  the  time,  I  cursed  fate.  I 
was  dancing  with  my  sister,  Adele,  and  I 


went  in  a  good  deal  for  high  kicking;  once, 
while  my  right  foot  remained  several 
inches  above  my  head,  the  other  ankle 
turned,  and  I  went  sprawling  into  a  heap. 
That  sprain  put  an  end  to  the  high  kicks, 
and  incidentally,  improved  my  work,  since 
I  had  to  substitute  less  corny  and  spec- 
tacular— but  more  subtle  and  interesting — 
devices. 

Fred  Stone,  who  was  once  a  famous 
dancer  before  he  became  a  theater  great, 
took  up  flying,  crashed,  and  did  not  dance 
at  all  after  that.  Thank  God,  Gene's  injury 
will  not  mean  the  end  of  dancing  for  him. 
He  broke  the  same  ankle  once  before,  in 
the  same  kind  of  accident,  and  his  doctors 
tell  him  that  it  will  heal  in  the  same  fash- 
ion. I  say  "Thank  God,"  fervently,  because 
I  can  think  of  no  greater  loss  to  the  Amer- 
ican stage  and  screen  than  if  Gene  Kelly 
should  not  dance  again. 

I  shan't  soon  forget  the  first  time  I  saw 
him,  in  Cover  Girl.  When  Gene  did  his 
Alter  Ego  number  I  realized  that  I  was 
watching  an  artist.  I  grabbed  my  wife's 
hand.  "Look!"  I  said.  "Look  at  that!" 

She  maintained  a  loyal  silence. 

And  when  I  saw  his  inspired  cartoon 
sequence  in  Anchors  Aweigh,  I  knew. 
Gene's  technique  was  not  only  superb;  he 
had  imagination  and  a  genius  for  producing. 

It  is  one  thing  to  dance  flawlessly 
through  a  piece  of  music.  It  is  another  to 
take  an  idea,  a  mood,  and  interpret  it  in 
terms  of  rhythm  and  movement  so  that  an 
audience  discovers  what  that  idea  is  with- 
out hearing  a  word  or  reading  a  line. 

Gene's  ingenuity  is  boundless.  There 
have  been  times  when  I  have  known  in 
advance  the-  interpretations  Gene  would 
be  asked  to  invent  in  certain  scripts,  and  I 
have  asked  myself,  "How  would  I  do  that?" 
On  a  number  of  occasions  I  have  had  to 
admit  to  myself,  "I  don't  know." 

Then,  when  I  see  what  he  has  created 
in  the  finished  product,  I  am  aware  that  I 
am  watching,  not  my  greatest  rival — al- 
though he  would  be  that  if  we  were  in 
competition— but  a  contemporary  whom  I 
regard  with  respect  and  admiration. 

This  is  a  calculated  personal  appraisal 
of  Gene's  ability,  and  if  it  sounds  like  a 
back-patting  spree  I  can't  help  it.  Just 
thank  your  lucky  stars  that  he'll  be  back 
with  you  in  a  few  months,  while  I  thank 
mine  that  I'm  back  where  I  belong,  on  a 
sound  stage. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"Who  ordered  the  shrimp? 


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THERE  OUGHT  TO  BE  A  WIFE 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


of  horses  so  there  will  have  to  be  some 
pasturage  for  them.  There  will  be  a  flag- 
stone patio,  flagstone  walks  and  flagstone 
chimneys.,  I  guess  I  like  flagstone. 

"Going  to  have  my  own  freezing  unit  to 
store  the  meat  from  my  hunting  trips. 
That's  to  tell  you  that  I  still  hunt  with 
bow  and  arrow,  in  case  you  forget  to  ask. 
I  want  a  redwood  den,  a  good  practical 
kitchen,  and  I'm  going  to  build  the  bar- 
becue pit  myself.  I  guess  that  will  take 
care  of  us,  all  right." 

"Us?  Who  is  us?" 

"Why,  I've  got  to  have  room  for  the 
four  children  I  want,  haven't  I?"  He 
smiled,  and  showed  he  knew  darn  well  he 
was  skipping  the  obvious  fact  that  there 
ought  to  be  a  wife  involved  in  his  plans 
somewhere,  and  that  he  wasn't  naming  any 
such. 

That's  when  Gail's  name  came  up  the 
first  time.  But  the  first  time  it  didn't  take. 
Guy  went  on  rambling: 

"Now  the  interior  of  the  house.  I  won't 
have  much  to  say  about  that  except  for  a* 
few  things.  There  will  be  big  fireplaces 
in  the  living-room  and  den.  And  there 
will  be  a  lot  of  animal  skins  around.  In 
fact,  I  will  have  a  lot  of  the  furniture 
upholstered  with  skins.  And,  oh,  yes, 
there  won't  be  any  dogs  in  the  house. 
There  will  be  dogs,  but  they  will  live 
outside." 

the  great  denial  .  .  . 

That's  when  Gail's  name  came  up  again. 
"Married  to  Gail?"  Guy  repeated,  and 
you  could  tell  by  the  look  in  his  eyes  that 
he  considered  it  a  very  nice  thought.  But 
what  he  said  was,  "I  have  always  denied 
it.  Gail's  always  denied  it.  The  other  night 
we  had  dinner  at  King's  and  danced  at 
Ciro's  and  we  took  time  out  to  deny  it  to 
each  other.  Gee,  if  I  am  her  husband  I  do 
an  awful  lot  of  telephoning  to  date  •  her. 
I  ought  to  cut  that  out.  I  ought  to  call 
up  some  other  girls.    Maybe  I  do." 

Which  brings  up  the  fact  that  Guy's 
bachelor  friends  say  he  enjoys  going  out 
with  other  girls,  but  he  always  hedges  and 
won't  admit  it.  On  the  other  hand,  when 
they  ask  him  how  he  feels  about  Gail's 
going  out  with  other  fellows,  he  comes 
back  with  that  old  answer  of  the  proud 
male:  "All  depends  on  what  I'm  doing 
that  night." 

Guy  wasn't  smoking,  the  day  I  had  lunch 
with  him.  He  was  on  the  first  month  of 
no  smoking  after  betting  a  friend  fifty 
dollars  he  could  quit.  And  everybody  on 
the  Selznick  lot  seemed  to  be  checking 
him  on  it. 

"Slipped  yet?"  queried  Joe  Cotten,  as  he 
came  by  the  luncheon  table. 

"Nope,"  replied  Guy. 

"That's  the  boy,"  Joe  encouraged.  "Just 
put  your  foot  down;  that's  the  only  way 
to  stop  smoking." 

Guy  laughed.  "Put  your  foot  down, 
nothing,"  he  said.  "You  have  to  put  the 
cigarette  down!" 

He  isn't  kissing  off  nicotine  just  to  win  a 
bet,  of  course.  His  reasoning  runs  like 
this:  "When  I  first  came  to  Hollywood,  I 
used  to  smoke  only  at  parties  or  after 
dinner  once  in  a  while.  Little  by  little, 
I  got  to  wanting  a  cigarette  all  the  time, 
it  was  like  a  crutch.  I  couldn't  do  any- 
thing without  them.    That  was  too  much." 

He  has  even  tried  to  induce  Gail  to  stop 
smoking,  but  when  he  told  her  she  smoked 
too  much,  she  flipped  a  stream  of  ashes 
into  the  air  and  quipped,  "I  like  to  smoke 
too  much." 

The  two  are  still  seeing  each  other,  still 


having  their  tiffs,  and  still  making  up. 
Gail  has  given-  Guy  an  oil  painting  outfit 
and  he  likes  it,  except  that  instead  of 
painting  with  the  brushes  he  uses  old  rags. 

Guy  still  loves  to  hit  the  beach  on  his 
days  off  and  Gail  tolerates  it,  but  not 
when  she  has  an  early  morning  studio  call 
ahead  of  her  the  next  day.  The  sand  and 
grit  in  her  hair  are  too  much  to  combat. 

And  their  plans?  "No  plans,"  says  Guy. 
"We're  happy  the  way  we  are.  At  least, 
I  am.  I  got  peace  of  mind  without  even 
reading  one  book  on  how  to  get  it." 

Hollywood  doesn't  always  do  nice  things 
for  a  newcomer;  it  has  for  Guy.  He  was 
always  pleasant,  but  hardly  a  conversa- 
tionalist, and  for  this  reason  some  people 
were  inclined  to  class  him  as  dull.  He  is 
a  lot  more  comfortable  now,  with  an  ease 
of  manner,  and  a  bit  of  talent  for  banter 
which  livens  his  talk  attractively. 

In  other  ways  he  is  still  true  to  the  kid 
that  he  was;  the  kid  that  came  to  Holly- 
wood fresh  out  of  the  navy  and  celebrated 
the  event  by  buying  himself  a  wardrobe 
featuring  an  array  of  semi-draped  suits; 
not  the  sharp  stuff,  you  understand, 
but  not  on  the  square  side  either. 

He  has  just  bought  himself  a  new  car 
and  it  is  not  a  convertible;  it  is  a  club 
coupe.  It  may  have  quite  a  bit  of  fancy 
trimming — but  it's  not  a  convertible! 

One  of  Guy's  youthful  eccentricities 
caught  up  with  him  one  day  in  Phoenix, 
not  long  ago,  during  his  Duel  in  the  Sun 
personal  appearance  tour.  Gregory  Peck 
and  Joe  Cotten  were  on  the  tour  as  well, 
and  one  early  evening  thev  saw  Guy  slip 
out  of  the  hotel.  Calling  a  cab,  they  trailed 
him  in  the  best  thriller  tradition. 

Guy  entered  a  grocery  store,  and 
through  the  window  they  watched  him, 
apparently  busy  laying  in  stuff  for  a  pic- 
nic. Curious,  they  decided  to  go  in  and 
ask  him  how  come?  Wasn't  he  satisfied 
with  the  hotel  food? 

"Sure,"  Guy  told  them,  not  a  whit  dis- 
turbed. "But  what  if  I  get  a  yen  for  a 
midnight  snack?" 

They  howled  at  this  and  kidded  him  all 
the  way  back  to  the  hotel.  But  at  mid- 
night, when  Guy  was  in  his  room  making 
himself  a  little  snack,  who  do  you  think 
knocked  on  the  door? 

call  of  the  wild  .  .  . 

When  Guy  was  a  boy  in  Bakersfield,  his 
father  worked  for  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad 
in  the  locomotive  maintenance  section. 
Growing  up,  Guy  was  stirred  by  the  call 
of  adventure,  but  his  call  had  nothing  to 
do  with  railroading.  And  it  certainly 
wasn't  the  call  of  the  theater.  Acting  was 
furthest  from  his  thoughts.  The  closest 
he  got  to  satisfying  his  vague  impulse  was 
going  hunting. 

When  he  got  older,  he  still  had  no  plans, 
but  was  pretty  sure  that  his  future  lay 
away  from  Bakersfield.  This  hunch  had 
something  to  do  with  his  attitude  towards 
the  girls  he  met  in  town.  He  went  out 
with  them,  danced  with  them,  took  them 
to  the  movies,  but  held  off  from  "going 
steady."  If  and  when  the  road  ahead 
opened  up  clearly,  he  wanted  to  be  free 
to  take  it  without  hurting  anyone. 

Somehow,  during  this  period  of  waiting, 
he  formed  a  pattern  of  character  that  is 
still  with  him;  an  ability  to  be  himself  and 
wait  for  what  lies  ahead.  His  faith  is  not 
so  much  in  his  future,  as  it  is  in  himself. 
For  instance,  he  thinks  it  isn't  too  impor- 
tant that  there  is  much  to  acting  that  he 
doesn't  know.  What  is  important  is  his 
conviction  that  he  can  learn  it. 


Guy  hasn't  made  a  picture  for  some 
time  now,  yet  he  exhibits  no  nervous 
hurry  about  getting  started  again.  A  lot 
of  the  past  year  was  taken  up  by  the 
Duel  personal  appearance  tours,  and  what 
other  time  he  had  left  he  was  anxious  to 
spend  with  his  dramatic  and  diction 
coaches,  Lester  Luther  and  Florence  Cun- 
ningham. The  more  knowledge  he  ac- 
quires now,  the  better  his  work  when  he 
steps  before  the  camera  again,  he  feels. 

When  he  got  back  from  his  personal 
appearance  tour  and  no  picture  was  set 
for  him,  Guy  took  off  for  a  hunting  trip  to 
Ruby  Valley  in  Nevada.  With  him  went 
Howard  Hill,  his  archery  mentor  and  pal, 
and  Kenny  Von  Zell,  of  the  radio  Von 
Zells.  Harry  is  Kenny's  father.  The  boys 
had  a  cabin  in  Ruby  Valley,  but  otherwise 
roughed  it.  When  Guy  was  nominated  to 
cook  the  breakfasts,  he  dragged  his  sleep- 
ing bag  into  the  kitchen  to  be  close  to 
his  work.  Hill  handled  the  evening  meals, 
and  Kenny  the  chores  in  between. 

There  was  a  bit  of  social  life  as  well — a 
country  dance  in  the  schoolhouse  at  Ruby 
Valley.  Guy  was  invited  to  drop  in.  He 
did.  He  "dropped  in"  when  the  dance 
started,  and  didn't  drop  out  until  six 
hours  later  when  it  was  over.  In  that 
time  he'd  danced  with  every  girl  present, 
and  that  took  them  all  in  from  three  to 
seventy. 

They  knew  he  was  a  movie  star,  but 
that  wasn't  why  he  made  an  impression 
on  one  girl. 

"You're  really  a  dream  dancer,"  she  said. 
"It's  too  bad  you  have  to  waste  your  time 
in  Hollywood." 

"I  don't  get  it,"  Guy  said. 

"Well,  all  the  fellows  in  Hollywood  dance 
well,  I  suppose,"  she  said,  "so  it's  no 
novelty  to  the  girls  there.  But  how  about 
the  rest  of  us  in  other  parts  of  the 
country?" 

When  he  got  back  from  the  trip,  he  took 
up  life  again  in  his  newly-rented  house 
in  the  valley.  This  isn't  the  "dream 
house,"  you  understand,  but  there  is  a 
certain  significance  attached  to  it,  never- 
theless. In  the  first  place,  he  upped  and 
rented  it  about  the  time  that  rumors  of 
his  marriage  to  Gail  were  flying  thicker 
than  ever.  In  the  second  place,  as  he 
admits,  it  is  too  big  for  just  himself  ancf 
Wayne. 

The  house,  an  eight -room  affair,  is 
secluded  behind  a  grove  of  trees  on  a  hill 
in  the  valley.  The  living  room  is  com- 
pletely empty,  not  even  a  lamp,  "which 
makes  it  hard  for  me  to  read,"  Guy  grins. 
Ditto  one  of  the  three  bedrooms  and  ditto 


the  den,  excepting  for  a  radio-record- 
player  that  Guy  has  going  all  the  time. 

The  kitchen  is  fully  equipped  and  so  is 
the  dinette — "a  man  has  to  cook  his  food 
and  have  a  place  to  eat  it,  doesn't  he?" 
One  of  the  bedrooms  is  done  in  blue,  and 
it  is  here  that  Guy  sleeps  on  the  one 
article  of  furniture  in  it — an  oversized  bed 
that  he  had  custom-made.  In  the  clothes 
closet  is  his  wardrobe  but  not  his  sling 
of  bow  and  arrows.  This  he  keeps  in 
Wayne's  clothes  closet  in  the  latter's 
bedroom. 

There  is  not  a  chair  anywhere  in  the 
house  excepting  in  the  dinette.  Two  keys, 
one  for  Guy  and  one  for  Wayne,  make  up 
the  only  other  house  possessions.  If  this 
isn't  a  bit  of  a  mystery,  it  will  do  until  a 
better  one  comes  along  or  until  Guy  cares 
to  explain,  which  he  doesn't  right  now. 
At  least,  he  isn't  answering  a  lot  of  ques- 
tions which  would  seem  natural  under  the 
circumstances,  and  some  of  which  might 
run  like  this: 

1.  Did  he  rent  the  new  house  because 
he  and  Gail  had  planned  an  elopement 
which,  for  some  reason,  never  came  off? 

2.  Is  that  why  the  bedroom  is  done  in 
blue — which  is  said  to  be  Gail's  favorite 
color? 

3.  Is  he  hesitating  about  furnishing  it 
further  because  the  "understanding"  is  off 
and  he  knows  he  doesn't  want  such  a  big 
place  for  himself? 

4.  Have  he  and  Gail  just  postponed  the 
date  and  is  that  why  he  is  talking  about 
a  "dream  house"  that  he  wants  to 
build? 

Guy  just  laughed  when  I  quizzed  him, 
and,  instead  of  answering  the  questions, 
started  to  tell  a  story  of  an  incident  which 
occurred  during  his  Ruby  Valley  hunting 
trip.  Seems  they  were  driving  along  the 
bed  of  a  dry  lake  when  they  caught  up 
with  a  coyote.  An  expert  shot,  by  the  name 
of  Skeets  Moore,  started  shooting  at  the 
coyote  from  the  back  of  the  car. 

"Sometimes,  we'd  get  as  close  as  a  dozen 
feet  from  the  animal,"  Guy  said,  "but 
Moore  missed  and  missed.  But  he  kept 
on  trying  and  finally  got  him  on  the 
twenty-fifth  shot." 

What  did  that  have  to  do  with  the  house? 
Was  Guy  trying  to  say  that  getting  the 
house  was  a  take-a-chance-shot  he  made 
that  missed,  but  that  he  was  still  trying? 

He  chuckled.  "That  Skeets  Moore  was 
sure  sore  when  he  kept  on  missing  that 
coyote,"  he  said.  "But  you  take  me.  I 
don't  get  sore  when  I  miss.  I  just  keep 
plugging  along.    I'll  get  there." 

Are  you  listening,  Gail  Russell? 


THE  LADDS,  INC. 

(Continued  from  page  56) 


forehead  ^nd  drank  his  chilled  Vichy- 
soisse.  "Think  I'll  find  an  air-conditioned 
movie  and  pitch  a  tent  in  it,"  he  said. 

But  they  appeared  at  Madison  Square 
Garden  on  time.  And  then  it  happened. 
The  spotlight  caught  Alan,  singling  him 
out  in  the  vast  amphitheater  like  a  bug  on 
the  end  of  a  golden  stick.  An  amplified 
voice  announced  who  he  was.  After  an 
instant's  silence,  bedlam  broke  loose. 

They  would  not  stop,  for  minutes.  Fi- 
nally, Ed  Sulliyan  managed  to  make  his 
voice  heard  long  enough  to  announce  that 
this  was  Alan's  birthday.  Then  twenty 
thousand  people  stood  up  and  sang  "Happy 
Birthday  To  You."  As  she  listened  to  the 
silly  little  song  roared  out  in  such  ma- 
jestic volume,  Sue  discovered,  to  her  sur- 
prise, that  she  was  crying  and  thinking, 
like  any  wife  of  any  important  or  popular 
man,  This  is  it.  It's  wonderful  moments 
like  this  that  make  it  all  worth  while. 


And  when  Alan  finally  spoke  into  the 
mike,  his  normally  deep  voice  was  high- 
pitched  and  hesitant,  too,  with  emotion. 

In  the  early  morning  hours,  before 
going  to  bed,  they  strolled  along  empty 
sidewalks  for  a  time  and  stopped  for  a 
cup  of  coffee  in  an  all-night  beanery. 
They  did  not  have  much  to  say,  but  even 
in  the  continuing  heat,  each  recognized  in 
the  other  a  mood  of  calm  happiness. 

They  did  not  work  too  hard  at  it,  this 
trip.  They  stayed  as  often  as  they  could 
with  friends  on  Long  Island's  North  Shore. 
In  town,  they  saw  Brigadoon  and  Finian's 
Rainbow  and  Annie  Get  Your  Gun. 

There  was  business  to  attend  to,  and 
Alan  attended  to  it  with  a  grim  deter- 
mination. He  had  originally  wanted  to 
make  records,  as  he  has  an  excellent 
singing  voice,  but  Paramount  felt  that 
popular  ballads  were  not  in  harmony  with 
the  kind  of  character  Alan  portrayed  on 


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111 


When  does  a  man 
start  slipping  ? 

The  moment  comes  to  every  man. 

The  moment  when  he  realizes  that 
the  days  of  his  peak  earning  power  are 
over .  .  . 

That  some  day  not  so  very  far  away 
some  younger  man  will  step  into  his 
shoes. 

When  does  this  time  come?  It  varies 
with  many  things. 

But  of  one  thing  you  can  be  sure.  It 
will  come  to  you  as  surely  as  green 
apples  get  ripe — and  fall  off  the  tree. 

Is  this  something  to  worry  about? 
Well,  yes.  But  .  .  .  constructively.  For 
that  kind  of  worrying  can  lead  you  to 
save  money  systematically. 

What's  the  best  way  to  do  this?  By 

buying  U.  S.  Savings  Bonds  .  .  .  auto- 
matically. Through  the  Payroll  Savings 
Plan. '  Or  through  the  Bond-A-Month 
Plan  where  you  bank. 

Either  method  is  virtually  foolproof. 
It's  automatic.  You  don't  put  it  off. 
There's  no  "I'll  start  saving  next 
month" — no  "Let's  bust  the  piggy 
bank." 

And  when  you  really  do  need  the 
money — when  your  health  fails — or 
when  you're  old  and  ready  to  retire — 
it's  right  there  waiting  for  you.  Four 
shiny  dollars  at  maturity  for  every 
three  invested. 

So  why  not  take  this  one  step  now 

that  will  make  your  future  so  much 
brighter? 

Get  on  the  Payroll  Savings  Plan; — 
or  the  Bond-A-Month  Plan — today. 

Sure  saving  because  it's  automatic 
-U.  S.  Savings  Bonds 


Contributed  by  this  magazine  - 
in  co-operation  with  the 
Magazine  Publishers  of  America 
as  a  public  service. 


the  screen.  In  all  justice  to  this  point  of 
view,  it  is  a  trifle  hard  to  envision  the 
ManWith  the  Gun  crooning  tender  senti- 
ments about  moon  and  June  via  the  corner 
juke-box.  In  any  case,  Alan  had  surren- 
dered that  ambition,  not  without  battle, 
and  had  turned  to  another  idea. 

This  was  a  radio  show  called  "Box  13," 
in  which  he  would  play  a  young  writer 
who  advertised  for  adventure — and  found 
it.  Paramount  had  at  first  said  no  to  this, 
too,  because  radio  rehearsals  would  take 
him  away  from  his  studio  work;  but  they 
had  agreed  to  transcriptions. 

So  a  corporation  had  been  formed,  and 
the  first  waxings  made.  The  show  was 
being  sold  across  the  country,  to  local 
sponsors,  and  Alan  was  still  in  the 
midst  of  negotiations  when  he  was  called 
to  West  Point  for  a  week  of  shooting.  It 
was  there  that  he  almost  ended  up  in  the 
guard  house.  One  afternoon,  when  the 
last  sweltering  take  had  been  finished,  he 
unbuttoned  his  tunic,  shoved  his  cap  on 
the  back  of  his  head,  put  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  lit  a  cigarette,  and  started  wearily 
across  the  yard.  An  officer  of  the  day 
took  one  look  at  him,  shuddered,  and  went 
sprinting  in  pursuit. 

Alan  turned  in  surprise.  "What's  the 
matter,  Mac?"  he  asked. 

It  was  another  long  minute  before 
recognition  came. 

The  location  trip  had  been  fun,  but  they 
had  come  back  to  Hollywood  on  Septem- 
ber 20th,  and  further  shooting  on  The 
Long  Gray  Line  would  not  begin  until 
October  13th,  wherefore  it  was  obvious 
that  Alan  would  have  to  get  himself  in- 
terested in  some  new  enterprise. 

Learning  to  make  Early  American  fur- 
niture as  a  pupil  to  George  Montgomery 
was  obviously  the  answer. 

the  home-made  home  .  .  . 

This  idea  presented  itself  one  afternoon. 
Sue  and  Alan  in  the  just-finished  living 
room  of  the  Montgomerys'  house,  were 
sitting  staring  with  awe — not  at  Dinah, 
radiant  as  she  was  with  the  happiness  of 
coming  motherhood,  nor  at  George — but 
at  the  furniture. 

"That  table,"  Sue  said.  "It's  none  of  my 
business,  but  where  did  you  dig  up  the 
buried  treasure?  I've  been  trying  to  find 
a  few  Early  American  pieces  for  the  new 
room  at  the  ranch,  just  one  room,  and  the 
budget's  cracked  at  the  seams  already." 

"Ha!"  Dinah  said,  on  a  note  of  triumph. 
She  stood  up.  "Follow  me,"  she  com- 
manded, and  led  the  way  out  the  front 
door,  across  the  lawn  and  motor  court,  past 
the  garage  to  a  doorway.  She  opened  the 
door  and  stood  aside.  Past  her  came  the 
clean  sharp  smell  of  lumber,  turpentine 
and  shellac,  varnish  and  wax. 

They  went  inside.  Standing  everywhere 
were  nearly  finished  pieces  of  furniture, 
scattered  among  the  permanently  anchored, 
gray-painted  electric  saws,  drill-presses, 
lathes  and  vises.  It  was  a  complete,  mod- 
ern shop. 

"It  beats  me,"  Alan  said  finally.  "You 
can't  find  the  furniture  you  want,  so  you 
create  a  manufacturing  plant  in  your  back 
yard,  hire  a  raft  of  cabinet  makers,  and 
have  a  custom  job  done.  But  wait  a  min- 
ute, what  about  that  patina,  those  worm- 
holes,  that  authentic  use  of  porcelain?" 

"Who  said  anything  about  hiring  any- 
one?" Dinah  asked  indignantly.  "I'll  have 
you  know  that  George  made  every  one 
of  those  pieces  by  himself!" 

They  watched  as  George  neatly  turned 
a  delicate  chair  leg  on  a  lathe,  fitted  it 
to  a  chair,  pegged  and  glued  it,  made  with 
sandpaper  and  pumice  stone,  and  gen- 
erally behaved  like  an  accomplished  cab- 
inet-maker. 

Driving  back  to  the  ranch  late  that  night, 
Alan  said,  "Darn  it,  I've  never  felt  so  in- 
ferior in  my  life.    All  that  furniture's  as 


good  as  any  I've  seen  in  the  best  shops." 

"Don't  be  silly,"  Sue  told  him  loyally. 
"Why,  you  helped  the  carpenter  all  the 
time  when  he  was  building  the  new  room, 
and  put  most  of  the  shingles  on  the  roof." 

"It  isn't  the  same.  Anybody  can  pound 
on  shingles." 

Sue  was  tired  when  they  reached  the 
ranch,  and  paid  no  attention  to  the  num- 
ber of  mysterious  articles  Alan  kept  fetch- 
ing from  the  car.  She  went  immediately 
to  bed.  About  one  o'clock  she  woke  up, 
aware  of  odd  grinding  and  scratching 
noises  coming  from  the  new  room. 

Mice?  Sue  thought.  Already?  (She 
knew  the  older  part  of  the  house  was 
swarming  with  them,  but  although  the 
Ladds  possessed  seven  cats,  none  was 
housebroken  enough  to  be  allowed  inside, 
and  thus  the  wildlife  abounded,  unre- 
strained; the  beasties  ate  very  little,  in 
any  case,  and  always  ran  and  hid  when 
they  saw  her,  so  she  didn't  really  mind.) 

Then  she  saw  a  rim  of  light  under  the 
door,  and  realized  that  Alan  had  not  come 
to  bed.  She  put  on  a  dressing  gown,  and 
went  to  the  new  room. 

Alan,  kneeling  beside  the  new'  wood- 
work of  a  built-in  cupboard,  looked  up 
as  she  came  in.  He  was  holding  a  pe- 
culiar, awl-like  tool,  and  on  the  floor 
beside  him  were  a  saw,  a  large  amount  of 
scrapings,  and  bits  of  woodwork. 

"What  on  earth  are  you  doing?"  Sue 
asked.  Then  she  looked  closely  at  the 
cupboard.  She  closed  her  eyes.  "Do  you 
know  what  that  cupboard  cost?" 

Alan  regarded  her  without  offense.  "I'm 
antiquing  the  thing,"  he  explained  sol- 
emnly. "George  showed  me  how.  I  bor- 
rowed some  of  his  special  tools.  Watch." 
While  Sue  gritted  her  teeth,  he  punched 
half  a  dozen  more  wormholes  into  the 
fresh  wood  with  the  instrument  in  his 
hand,  then  took  the  saw  and  rasped  its 
sharp  teeth  across  the  panels. 

"How  do  you  like  it?"  he  asked. 

"I  think  the  only  word  is  'extraordi- 
nary'." 

"Want  to  help?" 

"You  mean  you're  going  to  do — this — 
to  more  of  the  woodwork?" 

"Well,  I've  gone  this  far.  I  mean,  it 
would  look  kind  of  silly,  wouldn't  it, 
having  an  antique  cupboard  and  every- 
thing else  all  fresh  and  unspoiled?" 

"I  like  that  last  word,"  Sue  said.  Sud- 
denly the  spirit  of  the  thing  caught  her. 
"By  no  means,"  she  said,  "should  we  do 
this  thing  by  halves.  You  take  the  saw. 
I'll  take  the  punch  thing.  Ready?" 

"Ready." 

So  the  sawdust  flew,  far  into  the  night, 
furniture  fever  .  .  . 

After  that,  there  was  no  holding  the 
Ladds.  There  had  to  be  two  cabinets 
made,  first,  to  flank  the  entrance  to  the 
new  room.  One  would  hold  the  radio- 
phonograph  combination,  the  other  Alan's 
records  and  anything  else  that  needed 
holding.  They  must  be  Early  American, 
thoroughly  antiqued,  and  as  good  as  any- 
thing George  could  turn  out.  Alan  knew 
George  wouldn't  mind  sharing  his  shop. 

He  and  Sue  arrived  at  the  Montgom- 
erys' just  at  lunch  time  one  day,  refused 
luncheon,  having  just  finished;  and  made 
at  once  for  the  workshop. 

Half  an  hour  later  George  and  Dinah 
came  out  to  watch.  The  cabinets  were  all 
but  finished.  The  knobs  had  to  be  screwed 
on,  a  few  more  worm  holes  added,  and 
the  first  application  of  high-smelling  goo 
that  eventually  would  create  the  color  and 
shading  of  an  old,  treasured  piece,  made 
a  century  or  two  ago. 

There  were  a  few  slip-ups.  Alan  had 
the  entire  side  of  one  cabinet  brushed  in 
before  George  discovered  he  was  using 
the  wrong  mixture. 

He  also  got  a  sliver  the  size  mi  a  golf 


club  caught  deep  in  his  finger;  the  thing 
apparently  had  a  barb  on  the  end,  and  it 
took  the  combined  efforts  of  everyone 
present  to  dig  it  loose  with  a  jack-knife. 

It  was  several  days  later  that  Alan  and 
Sue,  driving  the  convertible,  followed  the 
truck  on  the  San  Fernando  Road.  The  truck 
was  carrying  the  last  load  of  furniture, 
and  it  was  almost  five  o'clock. 

Deadline  was  near.  An  empty  room 
awaited  them,  but  the  material  to  bring 
it  alive  was  here.  If  they  didn't  pull  it 
off  tonight,  it  would  be  another  week  or 
two  before  Alan  would  have  time.  Shoot- 
ing on  The  Long  Gray  Line  resumed  the 
next  morning. 

The  days  were  getting  shorter,  now,  and 
as  the  truck  ahead  of  them  pulled  off  the 
highway  on  the  side  road  that  led  to  the 
ranch,  it  was  almost  dusk;  the  dark  earth 
against  the  still  light  sky  created  a  de- 
ceptive area  of  shadows. 

It  was  perhaps  because  of  this  that  the 
driver  of  the  truck  switched  his  lights  on, 
then  off  again,  he%ded  directly  for  a  tree, 
sheared  away  from  it  just  in  time  and  hit 
a  deep  rut  in  the  road  that  bounced  the 
rear   wheels   two   feet   off   the  ground. 

"Hey!"  Alan  said,  under  his"  breath. 
Helpless,  he  and  Sue  watched  while  a 
double  wing  chair  and  a  large  table  very 
slowly  slid  back  to  the  roadbed. 

The  truck  and  the  convertible  came  to 
a  halt.  After  a  moment  Sue  stirred  in 
her.  seat.  "Go  ahead  and  say  it,"  she  com- 
manded, "for  both  of  us." 

Alan  said  it.    Then  they  climbed  out  of 


the  car  and  inspected  the  damage.  It  was 
considerable. 

"Does  the  insurance — ?"  Alan  began. 

"I  don't  know,"  Sue  said. 

"I  just  didn't  see  the  bump,"  the  truck 
driver  explained  unhappily. 

"That's  okay.  You  might  have  hit  the 
tree  and  hurt  yourself.  Give  me  a  hand 
with  the  table,  will  you?" 

At  the  ranch,  fifteen  minutes  later,  they 
stood  and  surveyed  the  empty  room  and 
the  stacks  of  furniture,  the  crates  of  books 
and  ornaments,  the  boxes  of  curtains,  the 
rolls  of  rugs.  Alan  took  off  his  jacket, 
rolled  up  his  sleeves.  Sue  slipped  a  smock 
over  her  dress.  Without  a  word,  except 
for  mumbled  "Excuse  me's"  and  "Where'd 
you  put  the  tacks?"  they  had  worked 
without  pause  until  nine  o'clock. 

Only  then,  hair  mussed,  perspiration- 
streaked,  backs  aching,  they  stood  together 
and  looked  at  their  handiwork. 

They  had  created  a  miracle.  The  room 
glowed  before  them.  It  glowed  aMittle 
too  brightly,  because  the  material  for  the 
lamp-shades  had  turned  out  to  be  the 
wrong  color  and  had  been  put  away  for 
exchanging;  and  one  window  had  a  cu- 
rious look  about  it,  because  Alan  had  hung 
the  curtains  upside  down — but  the  im- 
possible had  been  accomplished. 

Alan  put  his  arm  around  Sue's  waist, 
and  bent  his  head  and  kissed  her  lightly. 

Five  minutes  later  they  were  in  bed, 
and  sound  asleep.  And,  oh  yes,  the  in- 
surance on  the  double-wing  chair  and 
table  was  okay. 


EASY  STREET 

(Continued  from  page  52) 


There  weren't  any  clothes,  there  wasn't 
much  rent.  Some  months,  the  Contes  would 
have  to  face  the  landlord.  "We  haven't 
got  the  money." 

And  the  landlord  would  shrug.  "Never 
mind.  Another  month.  Things  will  get 
better—" 

Sundays,  Richard  got  his  nickel  allow- 
ance. If  he  was  feeling  low,  he'd  rush  right 
out  and  get  an  ice-cream  cone. 

Other  Sundays,  he'd  wait,  holding  the 
money  carefully,  until  the  Nickelette 
opened.  The  Nickelette  had  200  seats;  it 
had  Tom  Mix;  it  was  food  for  the  soul. 

There  was  the  usual  gang  of  boys  in 
the  district.  They'd  swim  in  dirty  Hud- 
son water,  sneak  into  freight  cars. 

At  home,  life  was  good.  Somehow,  you 
ate.  And  there  was  always  music  in  the 
house.  Nicky's  father  had  played  with 
street  bands  in  Italy;  there  wasn't  an  in- 
strument he  couldn't  handle. 

He  tried  to  pass  his  gift  on  to  Nicky. 
They  spent  hours  together,  the  man  pulling 
the  boy's  ear  and  crying,  "No,  no,  no!" 
He  never  pulled  the  ear  hard  enough  to 
hurt  it  any,  and  Nicky  knew  about  sol- 
feggio, when  long  division  was  still  a 
mystery  to  him. 

After  Nicky  got  to  high  school,  he'd  help 
out  in  the  shop,  Saturdays.  He's  proud  of 
a  faded  old  picture  he  has.  It's  the  inside 
of  the  shop,  and  three  barbers  behind 
three  chairs.  Nicky's  chair  was  second. 

High  school  being  over,  eventually, 
Nicky  took  stock. 

Four  years  later,  he  was  still  taking 
stock.  He'd  driven  a  truck,  played  piano 
in  a  summer  hotel  orchestra,  been  a  Wail 
Street  runner,  a  stock  boy,  a  floorwalker. 
He  was  no  nearer  his  first  million,  and 
he  didn't  particularly  mind.  What  he  did 
mind  was  that  he  hadn't  yet  hit  anything 
which  satisfied  him  emotionally. 

He  was  reflecting  on  this,  as  he  tried  to 
shove  a  pair  of  small  shoes  on  the  large 
feet  of  an  insistent  lady.  If  you  were  a 
shoe  salesman,  and  he  was,  you  were  not 


permitted  to  say,  "Madam,  go  away,  I  beg 
of  you." 

Eventually,  she  went  away,  anyhow, 
and  he  wiped  his  forehead,  and  greeted  a 
friend  named  Peter  Leeds,  who  had  just 
come  in. 

Leeds  had  a  brilliant  idea.  "Why'n't  we 
get  jobs  as  waiters  in  a  summer  hotel?" 
he  said.  "In  the  Catskills." 

The  Catskills  sounded  green,  and  cool. 
The  city  streets  were  gfey,  and  the  heat 
blinding.    "Sure,"    said    Nicky  happily. 

In  the  Catskills,  it  was  pleasant.  Only  the 
waiters  were  expected  to  pitch  in  and 
stage-act  too.  This,  Nicky  hadn't  been  told. 
It  was  a  place  with  entertainment  for  the 
paying  guests,  and  the  first  thing  he  knew, 
Nicky  was  playing  Vanzetti,  in  a  play 
about  Sacco  and  Vanzetti,  the  martyred 
Italian  labor  leaders. 

Politically,  he-  was  ignorant;  but  the 
speech  he'd  been  given  stirred  him.  He 
read  his  lines  so  well  that  three  members 
of  the  Group  Theater  (the  famous  co- 
operative group)  approached  him  after  the 
performance. 

"We'd  like  you  to  join  our  acting  classes." 

"Thanks,"  he  said.  "But  I've  got  no  time 
for  acting.  I  have  to  earn  a  living.  When 
I'm  not  serving  in  the  dining-room,  I'm 
cutting  hair  in  the  barn." 

They  invited  him  to  come  to  the  re- 
hearsal of  a  play  they  were  doing,  in  any 
case,  and  the  next  Wednesday  night,  he 
went. 

It  was  Clifford  Odets'  Waiting  For  Lefty; 
he  sat  there  spellbound,  and  shaken.  He'd 
never  seen  a  play  before;  and  such  a  play. 

When  the  final  curtain  came  down,  he 
tore  backstage  and  accepted  their  offer. 

His  three  discoverers  were  John  Gar- 
field, and  the  two  directors,  Sanford  Meis- 
ner  and  Elia  Kazan. 

By  the  end  of  the  summer,  he  could 
think  of  nothing  but  acting.  "Up  until  that 
time,"  he  says,  "I'd  been  a  limited  Italian 
boy,   aimless,   looking .  for   something — " 

In  the  fall,  he  got  a  scholarship  to  the 


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Neighborhood  Playhouse.  His  tuition  was 
free,  and  he  got  $15  a  week  to  live  on. 
The  course  was  for  two  years,  and  he 
lived  at  home,  and  cut  hair  on  week-ends. 

In  the  summer,  he  got  odd  stock  jobs. 

When  he  graduated  from  the  Playhouse, 
he  was  scared.  No  more  15  bucks.  No  more 
security.  But  there  was  a  job  for  him  in 
Saroyan's  My  Heartfs  in  the  Highlands 
(it  ran  six  weeks),  and  then  a  gangster 
part  in  the  road  company  of  Golden  Boy. 

After  that  came  his  first  Hollywood  try. 
He  made  a  movie  called  Heaven  With  a 
Barbed  Wire  Fence,  then  turned  around 
and  went  back  to  New  York. 

"I'm  not  ready,"  he  explained,  more  to 
himself  than  to  anyone  else.  "I  need 
experience." 

So  it  was  Broadway  again.  Four  weeks 
in  Heavenly  Express.  Two  weeks  in  Odets' 
Night  Music,  and  he  was  earning  Equity 
minimum.  Forty  bucks  a  week,  and  half 
pay  for  rehearsal.  It  wasn't  a  living. 

But  he  was  in  love,  and  it  kept  him 
going.  He'd  met  this  girl,  this  Ruth  Strohm 
in  Hollywood,  at  John  Airfield's  house. 

She  was  an  actress,  and-  now  she  was 
back  in  New  York,  too,  and  when  either 
one  of  them  had  money,  they  shared  it. 

empty  pockets,  full  hearts  .  .  . 

Ruth  had  a  mother,  a  singer,  who  was 
generous  about  meals;  Nicky  had  a  cousin, 
a  Bostonian,  who  handed  on  his  old  clothes. 

They'd  walk  around  the  streets  at  night, 
and  call  it  having  a  date.  It  didn't  much 
matter  what  you  called  it,  it  was  wonderful. 

She  loved  him  because  she  could  see 
through  him.  That  his  intensity,  the  brash- 
ness,  was  a  natural  response  to  a  hard 
world,  that  he  was  hiding  an  oversensi- 
tive spirit,  lyric  and  poetic. 

He  loved  her  less  analytically,  because 
she  was  small  and  pretty  and  red-headed, 
and  bright,  and  she  made  him  feel  good. 

They  saw  the  last  two  acts  of  a  lot  of 
Broadway  plays.  It's  an  old  trick.  You 
stand  around  and  mix  with  the  people  who 
come  out  for  a  cigarette  during  the  first 
act  intermission.  Then  the  bell  rings,  and 
you  march  into  the  theater  with  the  rest. 

The  only  times  it  wouldn't  work  were 
when  shows  ,were  sold  out.  Those  days, 
practically  nothing  was  sold  out. 

In  1941,  Nicky  got  a  lead.  Walk  Into  My 
Parlor,  it  was.  George  Abbott  saw  him, 
and  handed  him  the  starring  part  in  Jason; 
Jason  won  him  the  Critics'  Circle  award. 
It  all  led  up  to  a  year  in  the  army. 

He  walked  into  Ruth's  place  eventually, 
a  medical  discharge  in  one  hand,  and  noth- 
ing in  the  other.  "I'm  free,"  he  said,  and 
she  said,  "So  you  are,"  and  he  got  a  job 
in  a  play  called  The  Family.  It  didn't  last. 

He  had  a  lot  of  movie  offers  by  then, 
though,  and  he  started  to  think  them  over. 
"Steady  money,"  he  said  to  Ruth.  "People 
even  get  married,  and  have  homes,  on 
steady  money — " 

She  kissed  him.  "Go  and  get  it—" 

He  sent  for  her  after  three  months,  and 
she  came  to  California.  They  were  mar- 
ried in  1943,  by  a  Los  Angeles  judge,  and 
everything  was  great  until  Richard  (he  was 
by  then  Richard)  told  Ruth  that  their 
apartment  was  $150  a  month. 

"You're  crazy,"  she  said  flatly. 

After  a  while,  she  got  used  to  it.  People 
saying,  "Get  a  Cadillac;  better  than  the 
Ford."  Or,  "Why  don't  you  buy  a  house?" 

Nicky  (he's  still  Nicky  to  her)  was  doing 
well.  Somewhere  in  the  Night,  13  Rue 
Madeleine,  Walk  in  the  Sun — he  kept  mak- 
ing pictures  for  Fox,  and  they  were  good 
pictures,  and  they  brought  the  money  in. 

So  now  she's  used  to  it.  The  mail,  the 
cars,  the  tennis,  the  flowers,  the  $200  suits. 
And  the  mink  coat.  Or,  at  least,  she  pre- 
tends to  be  used  to  it. 

But  sometimes  he  catches  her  just 
stroking  its  softness,  and  murmuring, 
"Nicky.  Ah,  Nicky."  ' 


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with  the  "new  look." 


CANDY  STRIPES  do  neat  tricks 
with  slimming  lines,  soft  fullness 


Special  No-Canvassing  Plan!  We  show  you  how  to  make  sales 
without  canvassing,  too!  Our  special  cooperation  plan  helps 
you  to  exceptional  earnings  like  these:  Marie  Patton,  111.,  took 
in  $28.84  an  average  week;  Mrs.  Claude  Burnett,  Ala.,  aver- 
aged $27. 10  weekly.  You  may  have  a  handy  extra  income  like 
that,  plus  many  beautiful  dresses,  if  you  mail  coupon  below. 


Desk  62054  Cincinnati  25,  Ohio 


"My  designs  for  these  lovely  Fashion  Frocks  were 
inspired  by  the  $200  to  $300  dresses  that  drew  so  many 
compliments  when  I  wore  them  myself.  I'm  so  proud 
to  offer  them  at  a  tiny  fraction  of  that  cost." 

@o*t4tcutce  Harnett 

. . .  fascinating  star  of  stage,  screen,  and  radio.  Her 
glamour  and  good  taste  rate  her  "one  of  the 
world's  ten  best-dressed  women."  She  designs 
only  for  us— and  only  Fashion  Frock  representa- 
tives can  make  money  by  distributing  them! 


Just  think  what  you  could  do  with  $18,  $20,  or  $25  a  week 
to  spend  for  anything  you  want!  And  think  of  getting  your 
own  lovely  Spring  dresses  without  a  penny  of  cost!  That's  the 
wonderful  chance  we  offer  you!  Really— all  this  can  be  yours, 
just  by  taking  orders  for  FASHION  FROCKS  in  your  spare  hours. 

When  friends  see  these  flattering  styles  of  finest  fabrics  and 
workmanship,  they'll  rub  their  eyes  at  the  astonishing  low 
prices.  Imagine— some  are  as  low  as  $3.98!  And,  they  can't  be 
bought  in  stores  anywhere!  Women  must  come  to  you  for 
these  gorgeous  dresses  at  bargain  prices.  Each  dress  carries  the 
famous  Good  Housekeeping  Seal  and  is  sold  on  a  Money  Back 
Guarantee.  Your  friends  will  flock  to  you  to  order  these 
Fashion  Frocks.  You  are  paid  in  cash,  right  then  and  there, 
for  every  order!  Besides  that,  you  are  given  an  additional 
bonus  of  smart  Spring  dresses  for  your  own  personal  wardrobe. 

NO    PREVIOUS   EXPERIENCE  REQUIRED 

These  stunning  FASHION  FROCKS  are  such  a  wonderful  buy 
for  such  a  low  cost,  you  can't  stop  women  from  buying  them. 
Every  woman  knows  about  FASHION  FROCKS,  and  especially 
the  sensational  new  styles  designed  by  Constance  Bennett. 
Miss  Bennett  is  famous  as  "one  of  the  world's  ten  best- 
dressed  women."  She  lends  her  smart  style  sense  exclusively 
to  designing  FASHION  FROCKS.  The  minute  women  hear  that 
Constance  Bennett  herself  designed  these  charming  originals, 
you  get  orders  right  and  left.  You  surely  don't  need  selling 
experience  when  you  make  sales  as  easy  as  that! 

EVERY    DAY'S     DELAY    COSTS    YOU  MONEY 

Openings  for  FASHION  FROCK  representatives  have  been  filling 
up  fast,  especially  since  the  news  about  Constance  Bennett's  new 
designs  got  around.  Don't  put  it  off— don't  wait.  Get  started  today. 
Develop  a  steady  group  of  regular  customers  who  order  dresses 
through  you  every  season.  Your  Style  Presentation  Portfolio 
contains  handsome  rich  samples  of  America's  most  beautiful 
fabrics.  It's  free  —  costs  you  nothing.  Mail  the  coupon  now  to 
reserve  this  Free  Portfolio.  No  obligation— nothing  to  pay.  Just 
paste  coupon  to  postcard  and  mail  it  today! 


ASTE  THIS  COUPON  ON  POSTCARD-****  **« 


FASHION  FROCKS,  INC. 
Desk  62054,  Cincinnati  25,  Ohio 

YES— I  am  interested  in  your  opportunity  to  make  money 
in  spare  time  and  get  my  own  dresses  without  a  penny  of 
cost.  Send  me  full  information,  without  obligation. 

Name—  


Address- 
City  


JZone- 


JState- 


Age- 


Dress  Size- 


Ever  see  a  dewy-fresh,  fragrant  bed  of  mint  like  this?  Probably  not  —  be- 
cause this  is  special  mint,  with  the  sparkling  clean,  cool  flavor  you  can  only 
find  in  Clark's  Tendermint  gum!  Clark's  fine  row-mint  is  gathered  at  the 
peak  of  early-morning  freshness,  when  nature  seals  in  its  true  mint- 
essence.  Ask  for  freshly  minted  Clark's  Tendermint — naturally,  it's  better! 

■C21  ark's 


Copyright  1947.  Clark  h  others  Chewing  Gum  Company 


SHEER  MAGIC 


wear  them  NOW... 
and  all  Summer  long ! 

SEND  NO  MONEY! 
SENT  ON  APPROVAL! 


only 


4fr 


•to 


si;p 


he0,0',fa'^/0e 


C"  SWEEP 


Swing  into  the  NEW  LOOK  with  a 

Perky  Peplum  . . .  the  gay,  little 
peplum  and  the  rich  soutache 

embroidery  will  knock  him  for  a 
love-loop . . .  fishtail  flattery 
keeps  you  ahead  when  your 
back  is  turned.  Impudently  charming, 
it's  on  top  of  the  fashion  wave  with 
its  two-piece  look  (though  it's  really 
one  piece) — and  its  longer  skirt 

may  be  shortened  if  you  like 
it  that  way  . . . 

Superbly  tailored  in  fine  rayon  faille 
-side  zipper  for  smooth  fit  and  fully 
padded  cap  sleeves,  of  course. 


Ill  Sizes  1M2«13>14-1S-16-17-18 

and  also  size  20 


in  luscious  pastels . 

•  PefaJ  Pink 

•  Sky  Blue 

•  Foam  Aqua 


RUED  FASHIONS.  Dept.  dl-4,  838  SIXTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  1,  NEW  YORK 

Please  send  the  following  on  approval.  I'll  pay  postman  $   plus  postage  anc* 

C.O.D.  charges.  If  not  delighted,  I  may  return  same  for  refund  within  10  days.  If  prepaid,  I 
pay  no  postage  or  C.O.D.  charges.  In  New  York  City  add  2%  Sales  Tax. 


SIZE 

1st  COLOR  CHOICE 

2nd  COLOR  CHOICE 

SHEER  MAGIC  BALLERINA  at  $7.95 

PERT  PEPLUM  at  $6.95 

838  SIXTH  AVENUE,  N.  Y.  1.  N. 


NAME-  

ADDRESS.. 


*    CITY  ZONE  STATE. 

seioei  advehti$:nq  AGENCY*  inc*  „     .     .     .     .     ,    Cut  Oul  Coupon  And  Paste  On  A  Penny  Post  Card  , 


and  ste^out,(joufakec 


CUPID:  OUCH!  Hey,  Sis,  why  the  rush  act? 

GIRL:  Serves  you  right,  you  dime-size  double-crosser! 
Bragging  about  being  the  world's  best  matchmaker 
—and  then  falling  down  on  your  job! 

CUPID:  On  my  job?  Get  this,  Gingersnap— /  can't 
land  you  a  lad  unless  you  cooperate.  Swap  that 
crabapple  look  for  a  smile!  Give  out  witn  some 
sparkle! 


GIRL:  Your  advice  is  brilliant,  Sonny— only 
my  teeth  aren't.  They're  strictly  dull  'n  dingy. 
I  brush-brush-brush,  but  what  gives  . . .  ? 

CUPID:  A  touch  of  "pink"  on  your 
tooth  brush  mebbe? 

GIRL:  Ye-es,  come  to  think  of  it.  So  what? 

CUPID:  So  listen,  dimwit!  That  "pink" 
you  toss  off  so  airily  is  a  sign  to  see  your  dentist. 
Let  him  decide  whether  or  not  it's  serious.  He  may 
find  that  soft  foods  are  robbing  your  gums  of 
exercise  — and  suggest  "the  helpful  stimulation  of 
Ipana  Tooth  Paste  and  gentle  massage." 


GIRL:  Stick  to  the  subject,  Short  Change.  Our  topic  for 
today  was  my  smile.  Remember? 

CUPID:  You  remember  this:  firm,  healthy  gums  are 
important  to  sparkling  teeth,  a  radiant  smile.  So  get  bright 
and  start  now  with  Ipana  care.  And  don't  say  I  didn't  tell  you 
that  men  really  fall  for  a  gal  with  a  gorgeous  Ipana  smile! 


never 
ignore 
"pink 

tooth  brush" 


Follow  your  dentist's  advice  about  gum  massage.  Cor- 
rect massage  is  so  important  to  the  health  of  your  gums 
and  the  beauty  of  your  smile  that  9  out  of  10  dentists 
recommend  it  regularly  or  in  special  cases,  according  to 
a  recent  national  survey.  Same  survey  shows  that  dentists 
recommend  and  use  Ipana  2  to  1  over  any  other  tooth 
paste.  Help  your  detrtist  guard  your  smile  of  beauty. 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


or  (jour  smile 


of  keautjj 


Veto  says  "no" 
to  Offending! 

Veto  says  "no"—  to  perspiration 

worry  and  odor!  Soft  as  a  caress  .  . . 
exciting,  new,  Veto  is  Colgate's  wonderful 
cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy  and 
smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you 
lovely  all  day!  Veto  stops  underarm  odor 
instantly,  checks  perspiration  effectively. 

Veto  says  "no"— to  harming  skin 

and  clotbes!  So  effective  .  .  .  yet  so 
gentle — Colgate's  Veto  is  harmless  to  nor- 
mal skin.  Harmless,  too,  even  to  filmy, 
most  fragile  fabrics.  For  Veto  alone  con- 
tains Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  ingredi- 
ent to  make  Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant 
can  be  like  Veto! 

TRUST  ALWAYS  TO  VETO 

IF  YOU  VALUE  YOUMt  CHARMt 


APRIL,  1948 

modern  screen 


stories 


IF  THIS  ISN'T  LOVE  (Tyrone  Power-Linda  Christian) 

 by  Maxine  Smith 

16 

THE  "BISHOP'S"  WIFE  (David  Niven)  

by  Nancy  Winslow  Squire 

24 

ORDEAL  (Van  Johnson)  

 by  Florabel  Muir 

27 

THEY  WAKE  UP  DREAMING  (Roy  Rogers-Dale  Evans)  by  Mary  Morris 

28 

EASTER  BENEDICTION  

 by  Elizabeth  Taylor 

30 

THAT  OLD  BLACK  EYEBROW  (Cary  Grant)  

 by  Hedda  Hopper 

32 

SECOND  HONEYMOON  (Mark  Stevens)  

 by  Virginia  Wilson 

34 

SAME  OLD  JOAN  (Joan  Caulfield)  

 by  Jean  Kinkead 

36 

I  AM  A  MOVIE  STAR'S  MOTHER  (Gail  Russell) 

by  Mrs.  George  Russell 

38 

THE  HOUSE  ON  HOLLYWOOD  AVENUE  (Linda  Darnell)  by  Henry  Gris 

40 

I  REMEMBER  BARBARA  (Barbara  Bel  Geddes) 

 by  Harriet  Parsons 

42 

MY  SISTER  AND  I  (Ida  Lupino)  

 by  Rita  Lupino 

44 

AIN'T  SHE  SWEET!  (Mona  Freeman)  

 by  Carl  Schroeder 

46 

MRS.  SHERRY  (Bette  Davis)  

by  William  Grant  Sherry 

48 

ALIAS  SAM  SPADE  (Howard  Duff)  

 by  Louis  Pollock 

50 

LIFE  WITH  ESTHER  (Esther  Williams)  

 by  Melvina  Pumphrey 

52 

TRUTH  OR  CONSEQUENCES  (Lizabeth  Scott)  

 by  Cynthia  Miller 

56 

features 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons  4 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "Naked  City"   14 


departments 

REVIEWS  

FASHION  

FAN  CLUBS  

BEAUTY:  "Slender  Hopes" 
MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"... 
INFORMATION  DESK  


..by  Virginia  Wilson  18 

by  Constance  Bartel  65 

...by  Shirley  Frohlich  76 

 by  Carol  Carter  88 

by  Leonard  Feather  94 
 by  Beverly  Linet  110 


COVER  PORTRAIT  OF  ESTHER  WILLIAMS 
BY  NICKOLAS  MURAY 
MISS  WILLIAMS'  HAT  BY  JOHN  FREDERICS 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor  HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  research  editor 
CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 

GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 

BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 

DON  ORNITZ,  staff  photographer 

BERT  PARRY,  n.  y.  staff  photographer 

JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 

GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 


POSTMASTER:  Please  set/d  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  y9  Madjson  Avenue,  New  Y/rk  16,  New  York 

Vol  36  No.  5,  April,  1948,  Copyright,  1948  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave.,  New 
York.  Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in 
USA  and  Canada  $1 .80  a  year;  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,1930, 
at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for 
the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


•ft** 


'She's  a  vixen 
. . .  but  there's 
one  way  to  tame 
her!" 


"She's  rich  . . . 
but  perhaps 
my  millions 
spoiled  her!" 


"She's  a  wildcat 
but  there's 
something  about 
her!" 


'She's  a  snob 
. . .  but  a  lovely 
little  devil  in 
mink!" 


Screen  Play  by  Luther  Davis  •  Based  on  the  Novel  by  John  P.  Marquand 
Directed  by  RobeftZ.  LeOIWCi  •  Produced  by  Edwifl  H.  KflOpf  •  A  METRO-GOLD WYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


The  very  new  look  on  Mrs.  Doug  Fairbanks,  Jr.  was  one  of  the  feature  Kirk  Douglas  and  his  actress  wife  Diana  spotted  lots  of  friends  at  the 

attractions  at  the  Westwood  premiere.  Doug  at  work-in  This  Is  The  opening.  When  he  finishes  Walls  Of  Jericho.  Kirk  will  have  his  choice 

Moment — wants   to    make   enough    money   for   his   own    productions.  of  seven  pictures,  and  an  income  running -up  to  $200,000  by  end  of  year. 


Greer  Garson  came  to  The  Paradinc  Case  in  her  new  platinum  blue  Competing  with  himself  for  an  Oscar,  Greg  Peck  of  Gentleman's  Agrce- 

mink  coat.  Later,  she  felt  peeved  when  she  heard  a  girl  who  was  an-  merit,  and  The  Paradinc  Case,  escorted  his  wife  to  the  premiere.  This 

nouncing  fashions  over  the  mike  say  that  it  was  a  stone  marten  coat.  year  he  won  the  Golden  Apple  from  Hollywood  Women's  Press  Club. 


4 


Fascinating  twosome  at  gala  premiere  in  Westwood  of  The  Paradine 
Case — Louis  Jourdan  and  his  wife  Quique.  This  was  Louis'  first  American 
film — Joan  Fontaine  saw  him  in  it,  paid  $100,000  to  get  him  for  co-star. 


Sought  after  by  every  studio,  since  Gentleman's  Agreement,  Dorothy 
McSuire  will  go  to  work  in  March  for  20th  Century-Fox.  Here,  with 
husband  John  Swope;  they'll  celebrate  fifth  wedding  anniversary  in  July. 


LOUELLA 
PARSONS 


GOOt> 


9o°d 


■  We  all  feel  a  little  older  now  that  Shirley- 
Temple,  a  few  years  ago  the  world's  most 
famous  child  star,  is  a  mother.  Never  has  a 
baby  created  so  much  world-wide  interest  as 
little  Linda  Susan  Agar  who  arrived  at  6:30- 
Friday  morning,  January  30,  to  gladden  the 
hearts  of  her  parents. 

Mrs.  Gertrude  Temple,  Shirley's  mother,  says 
the  baby  looks  exactly  like  her  nineteen-year- 
old,  curly-haired  mother — Mrs.  John  Agar. 
"I  can  hardly  wait,"  Mrs.  Temple  said,  "to  see 
Shirley  with  the  baby  in  her  arms." 

All  the  way  home  from  the  hospital,  George 
Temple,  Shirley's  father  cried;  cried  because 
he  had  seen  his  little  girlie  lying  white  and 
unconscious  just  before  the  baby  was  born. 
But  his  tears  soon  turned  to  smiles,  for 
Shirley  and  her  young  husband,  John  Agar, 
are  so  happy,  and  she  is  getting  along  so 

Mrs.  Temple  said  there  must  have  been  at 
least  300  booties,  little  jackets,  and  bonnets — 
all  knitted  by  fans  who  wanted  to  do  some- 
thing for  this  very  special  baby. 


LODELU 
PARSONS' 


When  500  patriotic  young  men  were  sworn  into  the  U.  S. 
Marine  Corps  Reserve  on  the  Los  Angeles  City  Hall  steps, 
ex-Leatherneck  Tyrone  Power  officiated  at  the  ceremony. 


(Advertisement) 

*  *        *        ★  * 

At  the  first 

blush  of 
Womanhood 

by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 

Many  mysterious  changes  take  place  in 
your  body  as  you  approach  womanhood. 
For  instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under 
your  arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type 
of  perspiration  you  have  never  known 
before.  This  is  closely  related  to  physical 
development  and  is  especially  evident  in 
young  women.  It  causes  an  unpleasant 
odor  on  both  your  person  and  your  clothes. 

No  meed  for  alarm  —There  is  nothing 
"wrong"  with  you.  It  is  just  another  sign 
you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a  girl.  It  is  also 
a  warning  that  now  you  must  select  a 
truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers  to  overcome  —  Underarm 
odor  is  a  real  handicap  at  this  age  when 
a  girl  wants  to  be  attractive,  and  the  new 
cream  deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially 
to  overcome  this  very  difficulty.  It  kills 
odor  instantly,  safely  and  surely,  then  by 
antiseptic  action  prevents  the  formation 
of  all  odor  for  many  hours  and  keeps  you 
safe.  Moreover,  it  protects  against  a  sec- 
ond danger— perspiration  stains.  The 
physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  of  the  teens  and  twenties  can 
cause  the  apocrine  glands  to  fairly  gush 
perspiration.  A  dance,  a  date,  an  embar- 
rassing remark  may  easily  make  you  per- 
spire and  offend  as  well  as  ruin  a  dress. 

All II  deodorants  not  alike  —  Don't  take 
chances!  Rely  on  Arrid  which  stops 
underarm  perspiration  as  well  as  odor. 
No  other  deodorant  gives  you  the  same 
intimate  protection  as  Arrid's  exclusive 
formula.  That's  why  Arrid  is  so  popular 
with  girls  your  age.  They  buy  more  Arrid 
than  any  other  age  group.  More  nurses- 
more  men  and  women  everywhere— use 
Arrid  than  any  other  deodorant. 

How  to  protect  yourself —You'll  find  the 
new  Arrid  a  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears  in  a  jiffy. 
Never  gritty  or  grainy.  The  American  In- 
stitute of  Laundering  has  awarded  Arrid 
its  Approval  Seal  —  harmless  to  fabrics. 
Gentle,  antiseptic  Arrid  will  not  irritate 
skin.  No  other  deodorant  tested  stops 
perspiration  and  of&o»  so  compJcjreroy  yet  s 
so  safely! 

Don't  be  half -safe  — During  this  "age  of 
courtship,"  don't  let  perspiration  prob- 
lems spoil  your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe— 
be  Arrid-safe!  Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get 
Arrid  right  away,  only  39$  plus  tax  at 
your  favorite  drug  counter. 

★  ★        ★        ★  ★ 


There  were  movie  contracts  galore.  The 
first  to  arrive  was  one  from  David  Selznick, 
Shirley's  studio.  The  second  came  from  20th 
Century-Fox,  in  a  wire  which  contained  these 
words:  "We  could  use  another  Shirley  Tem- 
ple." But  up  to  now  both  Shirley  and  John  are 
adamant  about  commercializing  their  baby. 
They've  turned  down  a  fortune  from  manu- 
facturers who  wanted  to  make  cribs,  high- 
chairs,  dolls,  baby  clothes,  all  carrying  the 
face  of  little  Linda  Susan. 

"We're  not  going  to  publicize  this  baby," 
both  John  and  Shirley  said.  "She's  going 
to  have  a  normal  childhood  and  do  all  the 
things  any  little  girl  enjoys  doing.  If  she 
has  talent  later  when  she's  older,  we  won't 
stand  in  her  way  but  right  now,  while  she's 
little,  she's  just  our  baby  and  belongs  only 
to  us." 

That  is  very  sweet  and  as  it  should  be. 
With  Shirley's  future  as  an  actress  brighter 
than  ever,  and  John  Agar  showing  a  great 
promise  as  a  potential  Hollywood  favorite, 
there  is  no  need  to  make  money  for  Linda 
Susan. 

*        *  • 
The  torrid  romance  of  Lana  Turner  and 
millionaire  Robert  Topping  began  in  a  snow 
storm! 

Lana,  her  mother  and  her  baby,  had  gone 
up  to  Connecticut  to  spend  a  weekend  as  the 
guests  of  Bob  when  that  record-breaking  East- 
ern snowfall  started  and  kept  on  until  it 
practically  isolated  them  from  the  world. 

LafM  later  told'Sae,  "I'll  nevev  forget  that 
experience  as  long  as  I  live.  The  electricity 
went  off.  There  was  no  hot  water.  It  was 
impossible  to  get  food  from  the  village 
grocery  store  just  three  miles  away. 

"We  walked  around  that  beautiful  home 
with  candles  in  our  hands  as  early  in  the 
day  as  noontime.  That's  how  black  it  was! 

"I've  never  known  a  man  as  considerate 
as  Bob.  All  the  canned  milk  and  vegetables 


on  hand,  we  saved  for  Cheryl's  meals.  After 
the  third  day  of  the  blizzard,  mother.  Bob  and 
I  were  down  to  eating  hot  dogs  which  we 
roasted  on  sticks  over  wood  fires  in  the 
living  room.  It  takes  times  like  this  to  bring 
out  a  person's  true  disposition  and  not  once 
was  Bob  anything  but  cheerful,  helpful  and 
the  best  scout  in  the  world." 

All  right,  I  know  I  have  quoted  Lana  when 
she  has  been  in  love  before.  But  I  believe 
that  if  Arline  Judge  doesn't  complicate  Top- 
ping's divorce  suit,  Lana  will  be  his  wife  in 
March.  Personally,  I  hope  Lana  does  get  mar- 
ried. I  think  she  has  wanted  marriage  and  a 
home  and  security  with  a  man  who  loves  her 
for  a  long,  long  time. 

More  than  anything  in  the  world,  Linda 
Darnell  wants  to  have  a  baby  of  her  own.  On 
advice  of  her  doctor,  she  had  told  20th  Cen- 
tury-Fox that  she  does  not  want  to  make  any 
more  costume  pictures  for  awhile  because  it 
is  believed  the  tightly  laced  corsets  and  heavy 
gowns  are  harmful  to  her  health. 

Meanwhile,  she  and  Pev  Marley  are  going 
ahead  with  plans  to  adopt  a  couple  of  chil- 
dren of  their  own. 

*        *  * 

Ida  Lupino's  wedding  dress  will  not  have 
"the  New  Look"  for  a  sentimental  reason 
— believe  it  or  not. 

Ida,  and  Collier  Young,  fell  in  love  while 
she  was  making  Escape  Me  Never,  a  little 
number  in  which  she  runs  around  through 
most  of  the  picture  in  short  boy's  pants,  or  if 
you  prefer,  boys'  short  pants.  And  Mr.  Young, 
who  is  an  executive  at  Warners,  thinks  she 
has  the  cutest  legs  in  town!  He  would  stack 
Ida  up  against  Marlene  Dietrich  any  day. 

So,  that's  the  reason  her  wedding  gown 
will  be  on  the  short  side  which  is  all  right 
with  designer  Adrian  who  has  taken  a  stand 
against  skirts  too  long  from  the  beginning. 


DeLong  Bob  Pins  hold  your  hair  as  firmly 
as  a  thriller  holds  your  attention  . . . 
The  Stronger  Grip  DeLong  boasts  about  is 
no  mere  slogan  dreamed-up  by  ad-writers 
. .  .It's  a  fact  as  cold  and  hard  as  the 
high-carbon  steel  that  goes  into  these 
quality  bob  pins  . . .  Try  them  and  see  how 
much  better  DeLong  Bob  Pins  stay  in 
your  hair,  how  much  longer  they  keep  their 
strength  and  springy  action . . .  You'll 
never  go  back  to  the  wishy-washy  kind  of 
bob  pin  that's  in  your  hair  one  minute  and 
in  your  lap  the  next.  Always  remember  — 

Stronger  Grip 

Won't  Slip  Out 


LOUELLA  PARSONS'  GOOD  NEWS 


YOUR  FAVORITE  VARIETY  STORES  ARE  FEATURING 
D  E  LONG  BOB  PINS  DURING  NATIONALLY  ADVER- 
TISED BRANDS  WEEK.  APRIL  9-19. 


Joan  Bennett  Wanger,  who  expects  a  baby 
in  July,  gave  a  cocktail  party  followed  by  a 
buffet  dinner  in  her  home  that  was  quite  THE 
social  event  of  the  month.  She  and  Walter 
Wanger  have  the  knack  of  making  everyone 
comfortable  and  happy  which  is  the  best  rea- 
son they  are  among  the  best  hosts  in  Holly- 
wood. 

Their  large,  white  house  in  Holmby  Hills  is 
one  of  the  town's  most  luxurious,  but  it  has 
such  a  wonderful  "homey"  quality.  Joan 
laughingly  says,  "When  you  have  three  chil- 
dren around  (and  another  on  the  way)  things 
should  take  on  a  homey  quality." 

Gregory  Peck  and  his  cute  little  blonde 
wife,  Greta,  were  there  when  I  arrived  a 
little  late  from  my  radio  broadcast.  "You  were 
good,"  he  said,  "and  I  thoroughly  enjoyed 
Ginger  Rogers." 

I  laughed,  because  Ginger  and  I  had  cre- 
ated more  excitement  making  up  our  supposed 
feud  on  a  broadcast  than  any  radio  interview 
in  a  long  time. 

David  Selznick  introduced  me  to  Patricia 
Neal,  the  new  Warner  actress,  and  I  was 
surprised  to  see  how  tall  she  is — taller  than 
any  of  our  movie  favorites. 

I  asked  David  about  Jennifer  Jones.  I  had 
heard  she  was  registered  at  a  hotel  in  Rome 
as  Mrs.  Phyllis  Walker.  David  said  that  Jen- 
nifer is  coming  home  soon  and  that  all  is  well 
between  them. 

There  is  so  much  talk  about  David  and 
Jennifer  since  he  obtained  his  divorce  from 
Irene  Selznick  about  whether  they  will  or 
won't  marry.  I  believe  they  will.  Certainly  he 
always  speaks  of  her  as  if  he  were  deeply 
in  love  and  I  believe  the  fact  that  she  walked 
out  suddenly  and  went  to  Europe  has  given 
her  added  interest  in  his  eyes.  Men  secretly 
like  independent  belles. 

It's  always  nice  to  run  into  Robert  Mont- 
gomery and  his  wife  at  any  party.  They  are 
among  Hollywood's  happiest  married  couples 


and  they  show  it. 

Joan  Fontaine  was  there  with  William 
Dozier,  of  course.  She  spent  a  great  deal  of 
time  talking  with  me  and  Howard  Hughes 
who  fascinated  us  both  by  saying  that  he 
was  getting  his  big  ship,  the  $27,000,000 
Hercules,  in  the  air  not  later  than  July. 

Constance  Bennett,  in  one  of  the  "New  Look" 
outfits  in  bright  green  sat  and  talked  with  Joe 
Schenck,  an  old  friend  of  hers.  Connie  said 
that  she  never  expected  to  be  as  happy  as 
she  is  in  her  married  life  with  Colonel  John 
Coulter. 

I  asked  her  about  Peter  Plant,  her  son, 
over  whom  a  bitter  lawsuit  was  waged  years 
ago.  She  said  he  is  now  nineteen,  a  freshman 
at  Dartmouth  and  a  wonderful  boy. 

*        *  * 

I  have  a  few  thousand  words  to  say  to 
Deanna  Durbin,  or  to  her  attorney  or  to 
whoever  it  was  who  tacked  that  asinine  re- 
mark— "The  separation  of  Miss  Durbin  and 
Mr.  Felix  Jackson  can  be  of  no  possible  in- 
terest to  anyone  other  than  themselves" — on 
the  official  announcement  of  their  parting! 

What  do  they  mean,  "no  interest"? 

Didn't  the  public,  have  "interest"  in  Deanna 
when  she  was  just  starting?  Didn't  the  fans 
have  enough  interest  in  her  beautiful  voice 
and  her  charm  to  build  her  into  a  top  star? 
Yes,  indeed,  my  friends,  this  same  public 
interest  brought  her  fame  and  fortune. 

How,  then,  can  stars  or  their  advisers, 
take  the  attitude  that  a  divorce  is  strictly 
private  business?  Actors  can't  invite  the  fans 
to  share  part  of  their  lives  and  then  shut  the 
door  in  their  faces  when  something  un|, 
pleasant  comes  up. 

I  think  the  thing  that  parted  them  is  the 
same  factor  that  caused  so  much  surprise  at 
the  time  of  their  marriage.  Deanna  is  24  and 
Jackson  is  well  into  his  forties.  Deanna  was 
his  fourth  wife,  he — her  second  husband.  It 
was  unfortunate,  too,  for  their  marriage  that 


Loretta  Young  was  hostess  at  the  special  "birthday"  party,  given  by  Sam  Soldwyn  for  175  girls 
who  are  sheltered  at  Los  Angeles  Orphan  Asylum.  Many  of  the  children  are  without  recorded 
birth-dates.  Kids  were  treated  to  song^.  by  Mitchell  Boys'  Choir  and  screening  of  Bishop's  Wife. 


Warner  Bros,  bring 
you  everything 
that  made  its 
love-making  the 
snappiest,  and  its 
5-year  stage-run 
the  happiest  that 
ever  came  roaring 
off  Broadway/ 


SNAPPIEST 
PLAY 


with 


KENT  SMITH  •  JOHN  EMERY 

DIRECTED  BY 

IRVING  RAPPER 

PRODUCED  BY 

CHARLES  HOFFMAN 

Screen  Play  by  JOHN  VAN  DRUTEN  •  Additional 
Dialogue  by  Charles  Hoffman  •  From  the  Stage 
Play  by  John  van  Druten  •  Produced  by  Alfred 
de  Liagre.  Jr.  •  Music  by  Max  Steiner 


r  G OTHAM  > 

GOLD  STRIPE 


LOUELLA  PARSONS'  GOOD  NEWS 


of  the  Valley.    A  Town  House  party  followed.      |t  pays  +Q  be  nice  to  the  press  gals,  as  Joan 

Fontaine  has  discovered.  She  won  Women's 
Press  Club's  prize  for  being  "most  cooperative." 


GOTHAM  GOLD  STRIPE  NYLONS 

MOCHA  ...  to  start  your  Spring. 
Choose  this  beautiful  new  brown  to  go 
with  your  new  spring  suit,  your  print 
dress!  Choose  it  in  beautiful  Cotham 
Gold  Stripe  Nylons  ...  30  denier.  Buy 
them  at  your  favorite  store.  If  not  ob- 
tainable, use  coupon  below. 

G  0  T_H  AM  H  OS  I E  R  Y  CO  MP  ANY,  INC. 

200  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 
Gotham  Hosiery  Company  of  Canada,  Ltd. 
Dominion    Square    Building,  Montreal 


•  GOTHAM  HOSIERY  COMPANY,  INC.,  DEPT.  MO  4 

•  200  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 

•  t  would  like  to  buy  the  stockings  illustrated 

•  "On  A  Pedestal."  Please  send  me,  through 

•  a  local  store,  one  pair  Gotham  Gold  Stripe 

•  Nylons  in  30  denier,  MOCHA,  Style  3300, 

•  at  $1.35  a  pair.  My  size  is  I  enclose 

•  Check  □  or  Money  Order  □.  (Don't  send 

•  stamps.) 


Coupon  orders  filled  only  in  the  U.S.A. 


the  pictures  he  produced  with  her,  were  not 
among  her  best.  Several  months  ago,  he  left 
Universal-International,  and  she  stayed  on  as 
a  star. 

I  suspected  things  weren't  going  well  with 
them  when  I  began  to  spot  her  around  the 
quieter  night  clubs  with  a  handsome  young 
man  who  looks  not  unlike  her  first  husband, 
Vaughn  Paul. 

But  she  always  said  the  dates  were  mere 
business  conferences. 

*        *  * 

Close-up  of  June  Haver:  She  doesn't  wear 
mascara  off  screen  anymore  because  she 
cries  so  easily.  A  sad  item  in  the  newspapers 

can  set  her  off  But  she  eats  when  she's 

blue,  even  banana  splits  with  nuts  on  the  top 

 She  holds  hands  with  whomever  she's 

walking  with  and  is  so  afraid  of  crossing  the 

street  that  she  runs  from  side  to  side  

She  likes  purple  but  never  wears  it  because 
it's  tagged  as  an  "old"  color  and  not  becom- 
ing to  blondes  Right  now  she's  making 

a  picture  with  Ty  Power  (temporarily  titled 
For  Fear  of  Little  Men)  but  she's  far  more 
excited  about  playing  Marilyn  Miller  in  The 

Life  of  Marilyn  Miller  She  likes  to 

chew    gum   but    "sneaks"    it   because  she 

doesn't  think  it's  attractive  in  public  

She  is  one  of  the  few  Hollywood  divorcees 
who  moved  back  in  with  her  family  when  her 
marriage  went  phooey.  That's  how  much  she 

loves  the  family  clan  She  has  irritated 

some  of  her  friends  and  many  reporters  by 
having  dates  with  her  ex,  Jimmy  Zito,  after 
she  announced  that  she  was  through  with 
him.  But  I  doubt  if  she  sees  him  from  here  on 
in.  Her  lawyer  has  advised  her  to  stay  out  of 

the  night  clubs  where  he  plays  She 

likes  spinach,  Margaret  O'Brien,  cloudy  days, 
open  cars,  friendly  policemen,  taxicabs,  Dres- 
den China,  novels  about  the  old  South,  Tony 
Martin  and  Alice  Faye  on  the  radio,  and  all 
children  ......  She  doesn't  like  Saturday 

nights,  jive  shouters,  suggestive  jokes,  pink, 
mystery  novels,  walnuts,  alarm  clocks,  politi- 
cal or  religious  arguments,  phony  accents  or 

being  told  how  to  dress  Sometimes  she 

gets  mixed  up  about  what  she  really  wants. 


Ingrid  Bergman  doesn't  often  entertain  and 
I've  never  known  her  to  throw  a  typical  Hol- 
lywood social  affair.  Buf  her  party  celebrating 
the  finish  of  Joan  of  Arc  was  a  lulu  and  a 
honey. 

Ingrid  had  huddled  with  the  "prop"  boy 
and  when  the  cast  and  crew  members  ar- 
rived at  the  studio,  they  were  ushered  to  a 
sound  stage  that  had  been  completely  re- 
modeled into  a  medieval  Inn  at  Rheims.  Even 
the  cooking  was  in  keeping  with  the  period. 
Whole  pigs  were  being  roasted  on  barbecue 
spits  and  the  Swedish  Glogg  (a  drink  in  any 
other  language  excluding  the  Scandinavian) 
was  served  in  tall  silver  steins. 

The  beautiful  Bergman,  arrayed  in  a  peasant 
costume  of  her  native  Sweden,  was  here, 
there  and  everywhere  circulating  among  her 
guests — and  having  the  time  of  her  life.  When 
Bergman  laughs,  she  really  laughs  and  she 
had  plenty  to  amuse  her  because  there  was 
so  much  confusion. 

Actors  who  had  worked  together  on  the 
Walter  Wanger  production  for  months  wear- 
ing wigs  and  battle  armor,  didn't  recognize 
one  another  in  modern  clothes  and  frequently 
Ingrid  had  to  introduce  old  friends. 

I  wish  it  were  possible  for  everyone  to 
meet  Bergman  at  a  party.  She  is  so  gay,  so 
completely  natural  and  so  charming. 

P.S.  In  case  you  want  to  know  the  recipe 
for  Glogg — it  consists  of  hot  wine,  brandy, 
fruits  and  nuts  mixed  together  and  brewed 
over  a  flame. 

*        *  * 

Yes,  Rita  Hayworth  was  surprised  over 
David  Niven's  sudden  marriage  in  London  to 
a  beautiful  Swedish  model  named  Hjordis 
Tersmeden.  But  don't  get  the  idea  that  she 
is  carrying  a  torch.  She  ain't.  Rita  had  heard 
from  David  several  times,  but  if  there  ever 
had  been  a  big  flame  between  them,  it  had 
simmered  out  months  ago. 

I  did  hear  some  "inside"  about  the  Niven 
romance.  It  seems  the  bride  had  been  previ- 
ously married  to  a  very  rich  Swedish  business 
man  and  she  was  practically  on  her  way 
home  to  talk  over  a  reconciliation  with  him 
when  she  met  David.  It  was  love  at  first  sight. 


IP  H 


P 


ARE  THE  PEOPLE  WHO  BRING  YOU  THE 

: 

MOST  POWERFUL  DRAMA  OF  OUR  TIMES! 


"CHRISTA"...  - 

pawned     (:  :% 
her  soul 
for  love! 


"SUSAN" 
...young 
beautiful 
...and 
useful! 


Produced  by 

ARTHUR  S.  LYONS 

Directed  by 
EDGAR  G.  ULMER 


PRODUCING  ARTISTS,  Inc. 
'  presents 

"Ru 

iTHI 

LESS" 

with  Dennis  Hoey  •  Edith  Barrett  -  Raymond  Burr 

Screenplay  by  S.  K.  Lauren  and  Gordon  Kahn 
Based  on  the  Novel  'Prelude  to  Night'  by  Dayton  Stoddart 

An  Eagle  Lion  Films  Release 


11 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  particles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safely!" 


MTER-Thanks  to  Colgate  Dental  Cream 


By  the  time  you  read  this  the  Nivens  will 
probably  be  back  in  Hollywood  where  lots  of 
parties  are  being  planned  in  their  honor. 
David's  two  children  will  be  with  them. 
*        *  * 

Dana  Andrews  has  a  brother  named  Bill 
who  is  taking  up  a  movie  career  and  David 
Selznick  is  the  gent  who  is  testing  him.  This 
is  all  right  with  me.  I  like  Dana  so  much  I 
could  take  a  dozen  Andrews  brothers. 

Not  long  ago,  Dana  hit  the  newspapers 
with  some  unwelcome  publicity  following  an 
altercation  with  the  gendarmes.  He  got  holy 
you-know-what  from  his  two  bosses,  Darryl 
Zanuck  and  Sam  Goldwyn,  and  he  is  a  thor- 
oughly contrite  young  man. 

Usually,  I'm  the  first  to  shake  a  finger  at 
an  actor  who  has  stepped  out  of  line  and  done 
something,  or  anything,  to  disillusion  the 
fans.  In  Dana's  case  it  is  particularly  bad  for 
him  to  indulge  in  collegiate  pranks  because 
the  public  has  so  much  respect  for'  him  as 
an  actor  and  as  a  family  man.  ■ 

But  I  must  say  in  his  defense  that  he  is 
over-tired  lately  from  making  so  many  movies 
without  a  vacation  and  he  was  worried  about 
the  health  of  his  wife  before  the  birth  of 
their  fourth  child. 


Believe  me.  I  am  not  making  idle  requests 
when  I  ask  you  each  month  to  keep  on  writing 
to  me  about  your  likes  and  dislikes.  It  was 
the  number  and  quality  of  your  letters  that 
led  me  to  write  a  radio  editorial  about  the 
sequel  to  the  Jolson  story  and  M-G-M's  plan 
to  put  Gene  Kelly  in  the  Larry  Parks  role. 

You  don't  like  that,  my  friends,  you  don't 
like  it  at  all.  And  I  found  your  protests  in- 
telligent and  logical. 

First,  The  Jolson  Story  (original  version) 
was  one  of  the  most  popular  movies  of  1947 
if  not  THE  most  popular. 

For  reasons  of  their  own,  Columbia  did  not 
feel  like  carrying  on  with  a  sequel  and  M-G-M 
bought  the  rights  from  Al  Jolson.  I  suppose 
it  is  natural  for  them  to  want  to  put  one  of 
their  own  stars  in  the  Jolson  role.  But  it  is 
not  only  unwise,  it  is  dangerous. 

You  and  you  and  YOU,  through  your  let- 
ters, have  made  it  plain  that  you  want  no 
one  but  Larry  Parks  as  Jolson.  Even  such  a 
good  actor  as  Gene  Kelly  would  suffer  if  he 
attempts  to  follow  Larry — he  would  be  the 
innocent  victim  of  public  resentment. 

But,  what  I  particularly  want  to  prove  by 
it  is  that  your  letters  do  carry  a  lot  of  weight. 

So,  keep  on  writing,  please. 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

We  think  it's  fun  to  relax  with  a  copy  of  MODERN  SCREEN.  We  hope  you  do,  too. 
In  fact,  we  want  to  -write  about  the  stars  you're  interested  in.  Checking  the 
questionnaire  below  will  help  us — and  if  you're  among  the  first  500  to  mail  it 
back  you'll  get  a  three  months'  free  subscription  to  this  magazine.  Do  you  want 
the  May,  June  and  July  issues  for  free?   Then  be  among  the  first  500! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  April  issue?  WRITE  THE 
NUMBERS  I,  2  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES.  - 


The  "Bishop's"  Wife  (David 

Niven )   □ 

//  This  Isn't  Love  (Ty  Power- 
Linda   Christian)  □ 

Ordeal  (Van  Johnson)  □ 

They  Wake  Up  Dreaming  (Roy 
Rogers-Dale    Evans  )  □ 

Easter  Benediction  by  Elizabeth 
Taylor   □ 

That  Old  Black  Eyebrow  (Gary 
Grant )  by  Hedda  Hopper  □ 

/  Am  A  Movie  Star's  Mother 
(Gail  Russell)  by  Mrs.  George 
Russell   □ 

My  Sister  and  I  (Ida  Lupino) 
by  Rita  Lupino  □ 


/  Remember  Barbara  (Barbara  Bel 
Geddes)  by  Harriet  Parsons     .  □ 

Same  Old  Joan  (Joan  Caulfield)  .  O 

Second  Honeymoon   ( Mark 

Stevens)    □ 

The  House  On  Hollywood  Avenue 
(Linda    Darnell)   □ 

Ain't  She  Sweet!  (Mona  Freeman)  □ 

Mrs.  Sherry  (Bette  Davis)  □ 

Alias  Sam  Spade  (Howard  Duff)  .  .  □ 

Truth  or  Consequences  (Liz  Scott)  □ 

Life  With  Esther  (Esther  Williams)  □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  ;  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues:  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  

 -  .  ;  ' 

What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  


My  name  is 
My  address 
City  


 Zone   State   I   am   years  old 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 


usanc/"eters 

RETURNS  TO  THE  SCREEN 

with  a  distinguished  co-starring 
cast  in  a  powerful  emotional  drama 


ALEXANDER  KNOX 


PHYLLIS  THAXTER 


PEGGY  ANN  GARNER 


RON  RANDELL 


E  MAY  WHITTY 


ALLENE  ROBERTS 


%  5'SH  Of  %  Ram 


L  STOP  SI  NOTHING... 


A  compelling  story  of  an  extraordinary  woman,  THE  SIGN 
OF  THE  RAM  provides  SUSAN  PETERS  with  a  superb  role,  Co-starning 
with  her  are  Alexander  Knox,  Phyllis  Thaxter,  Peggy  Ann  Garner, 
Ron  Randell,  Dame  May  Whitty  and  Allene  Roberts.  Screenplay  by 
Charles  Bennett.  Directed  by  John  Sturges.  Produced  by  Irving 
Cummings,  Jr.  An  Irving  Cummings  production.  A  Columbia  Picture. 


Based  on  the  best-selling  novel  by  JAargaret  Jerguson 


13 


dorothy 
kilgallen 


Barry  Fitzgerald,  as  Lt.  Muldcon  of  Homicide,  questions  a  patrolman  about 
the  mysterious  death  of  a  New  York  model.    Scene  was  filmed  on-the-spot. 


Howard  Duff's  impressive  as  a  neurotic.  Here,  he  admits  to  his  fiancee, 
Dorothy  Hart,  that  her  engagement  ring  was  given  him  by  murdered  girl. 


■  Mark  Hellinger's  love  affair  with  the 
city  of  New  York,  which  was  •  tender  if 
not  private,  faithful  if  flamboyant,  is 
fittingly  immortalized  in  his  last  and  best 
film,  The  Naked  City. 

He  was  a  natural  historian  for  the  won- 
derful island  of  Manhattan.  He  knew 
all  its  sides,  all  its  streets,  all  its  hours 
from  dawn  to  dawn,  all  its  people  from 
the  cheap  and  cruel  to  the  magnificent  and 
noble,  all  its  excitements  from  the  cry  of 
a  child  to  the  heavy  footfall  of  a  mur- 
derer. 

He  put  them  all  into  the  picture.  It 
is  rich  with  urban  lore,  it  is  compelling, 
it  is  full  of  suspense,  and  above  all  ac- 
curate. It  should  thrill  and  instruct 
those  who  never  have  seen  New  York — it 
should  give  them  the  feel  of  the  town  as 
no  picture  with  trick  sets  and  process 
shots  ever  has  done — and  it  will,  of 
course,  send  New  Yorkers,  real  and 
adopted,  into  ecstasies  of  recognition  and 
consequent  pride. 

All  the  bright  kaleidoscopic  phases  of 
the  great  city  are  shown  with  swiftness 
and  care:  the  steaming  subway  kiosks, 
the  deceptively  laconic  cubicles  of  the 
police,  the  bridges  over  the  East  River, 
the  hot  slum  streets,  the  avenue  known 
as  Broadway,  and  the  great  milling  mar- 
kets of  the  poor. 

But  The  Naked  City  is  no  mere  travel- 
ogue. In  the  foreground  of  the  splendid 
metropolitan  panorama  moves  a  tense 
story  of  homicide — an  expert  whodunit,  a 
stirring  chase.  It  is  hard  to  imagine  a 
moviegoer  seeing  it  and  not  feeling  he 
has  had  a  full  evening  and  double  his 
money's  worth. 

The  cast  is  not  all-star,  but  it  is  all-fine, 
all  the  more  effective  against  the  genuine 
New  York  background  because  so  many 
of  the  faces  are  unfamiliar  and  completely 
untheatrical.  Barry  Fitzgerald  is  the  only 
"name"  in  the  cast;  he  is  by  no  means  the 
only  excellent  actor  on  hand  but  he  is,  as 
always,  a  complete  delight.  Howard  Duff, 
as  a  key  figure  in  the  murder  case,  gives 
a  portrayal  of  weakling  falsifier  that  is 
absolute  perfection;  a  newcomer  named 
Don  Taylor  looks  and  performs  like  a 
young  man  on  his  way  to  the  top  of  the 
cinema  ladder,  and  Enid  Markey  of 
years-ago  fame  contributes  a  brief  but 
striking  bit.  The  direction  of  Jules  Dassin 
is  faultless. 

Mark  Hellinger  would  have  been  proud 
of  The  Naked  City  if  he  had  lived. 


Dines  at  the  Waldorf-Astoria — Antonia  Drexel  Earle 


No  wonder  that  prominent  society  leaders  are  devoted  to  Pond's 
1-Minute  Mask!  It's  so  different  from  the  usual  heavy,  20-minute 
facial  mask !  Feather-light,  cool  and  so  marvelously  quick.  Only 
one  minute — and  your  skin  looks  smoother,  brighter,  even  lighter! 


'Not  for  years  have  I  felt  so  conscious  of  the  absolute  neces- 
sity for  a  pretty  complexion!"  says  Antonia  Drexel  Earle,  a 
noted  beauty  of  Philadelphia  society. 

"The  new  fashions  seem  to  demand  smoother,  more 
delicate  skin,"  Mrs.  Earle  says.  "That's  why  I  always  have  a 
1-Minute  Mask  with  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  before  I  go  out. 
It  gives  my  face  a  softer,  clearer  look — wide-awake  and/res/i/" 

Before  your  next  date,  "re-style"  your  complexion  with  a 
1-Minute  Mask.  Get  a  big  jar  of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream 
today.  Use  it  for  1-Minute  Masks,  for  silky  powder  base, 
and  for  a  wonderful,  smoothing  band  cream.  For  free  trial 
tube,  write  to  Pond's,  9-D,  Clinton,  Conn. 


eve* 


a.  -maze 


<?UH£<1 


fete. 


/ 


1.  Spend  one  minute  on  beauty — to  make 
your  evening  more  glamorous!  Smooth  a 
cool  white  Mask  of  Pond's  Vanishing 
Cream  over  your  face,  except  eyes. 

2.  "Keratolytic"  action  of  the  cream  loosens 
and  dissolves  off  little  roughnesses  that 
make  skin  look  coarser,  duller.  Tissue  off 
after  one  minute. 

3*  Your  skin  looks  lighter,  clearer — feels 
smoother  —  holds  powder  better!  Always 
have  a  1-Minute  Mask  to  look  your  best! 


is 


Linda,  M-G-M  starlet  ( bottom) ,  met  Ty  (of  That  Old  Black  Magic)  in  Rome. 


"With  all  my  love— Ty," 
soys  the  inscription 
on  Linda  Christian's 
diamond  ring. 

Just  one  of  those  lover's  vows? 
Or  does  Ty  mean  business? 
By  MAXINE  SMITH 


if 

this 

isn't 

love... 

■  Love  came  to  Tyrone 
Power  and  green-eyed  Linda 
Christian  one  day  last  No- 
vember in  Rome,  Italy. 

Linda  had  flown  from  Paris  to 
Rome  aboard  a  plane  of  Air 
France,  accompanied  by  her  17- 
year-old  sister,  Ariadna,  and  both  girls 
were  tired  and  cramped  from  the 
long,  weather-delayed  plane  trip 
and  prayed  for  nothing  more 
than  hot  water  and  clean  white 
sheets  when  they  landed  in  Rome. 

On  hand  to  meet  them  was 
Signor  Minghelli,  Metro-Gold- 
wyn-Mayer's  Rome  representative. 
(Linda  is  an  M-G-M  contract 
player.) 

Soon  after  arriving  at  the  hotel, 
Signor  Minghelli  asked:  "Did 
you  know  that  Tyrone  Power  was 
in  Rome?  Living  right  here — on  the 
same  floor  as  you?" 

Exhausted,  Linda  sleepily  mum- 
bled something  like,  "Yes?  Is  he?" 

Signor  Minghelli's  exuberance 
wasn't  to  be  stopped.  "Call  him  up, 
say  'hello.'  What  you  say,  eh?" 

"No,"  said  Linda.    "I  don't 
know  him  that  well — " 

"Call  him!"  said  Minghelli.  "He  will 
be  verrrry  happy.  You're  from  Holly- 
wood, too.  What  you  say,  yes?" 

So  Linda,  needled  by  the  devilish 
Ariadna  (a  hopeless  Tyrone  Power 
fan)   and   the   effusive  Minghelli. 
finally  agreed  (Continued  on  page  98) 


Stnoofh&f 

says  this  famous  star 


9  out  of  10  Screen  Stars  use  this  care 
for  lovely  Lux  Complexions 


Here's  a  proved  complexion  care!  In 
recent  tests  of  Lux  Toilet  Soap  by  skin 
specialists,  actually  three  out  of  four 
complexions  became  lovelier  in  a  short 
time!  No  wonder  famous  screen  stars 
trust  their  million-dollar  complexions 
to  this  gentle  beauty  soap. 


"It's  wonderful  the  way  Lux  Soap 
care  really  makes  skin  lovelier,"  Susan 
Peters  tells  you.  "I  work  the  fragrant 
lather  well  in.  As  I  rinse  and  pat  with 
a  soft  towel  to  dry,  skin  takes  on  fresh 
new  beauty!"  Don't  let  neglect  cheat 
you  of  romance.  Take  Hollywood's  tip! 


Oulceps  dean 
lAJitfi  two  him! 

You  don't  have  to  press  down  at  all 
with  the  new  Bissell  Sweeper!  Just 
glide  it  gently  for  perfect  pick-up, 
even  under  beds! 


Ifianks  to 
13isco-matiG* 
brush  action' 

This  amazing  new  Bissell  feature  ad- 
justs the  brush  automatically  to  any 
rug,  thick  or  thin!  Makes  your 
sweep-ups  easier — and  cleaner! 

The  new  "Bissell"®  is  available 
in  limited  quantities  at  Bissell  dealers 
only — complete  with  "Sta-up"  Han- 
dle and  easy  "Flip-O"  Empty.  Priced 
from  $6.95. 


Hobmdouiri'with 
BISSELL 
SWEEPERS 

Bissell  Carpel  Sweeper  Co. 
Grand  Rapids  2,  Mich. 

♦Reg.  U.S.  Pat.  Off.  Bissell  Sweeper's  exclusive 
brush  action  with  full  spring-  controlled  brush 


Illustrator  June  Allyson  is  disillusioned  to  find  that  genial 
"Uncle"  Van  Johnson,  writer  of  kids'  books,  drinks  too  much. 


To  stop  her  from  going  home  to  Vermont  he  "adopts"  Butch 
Jenkins,  tells  her  he  drinks  because  he's  mourning  dead  wife. 


THE  BRIDE  GOES  WILD 

June  Allyson  and  Van  Johnson  are  a  gay 
pair  in  this  comedy.  Wait  till  you  see  June  in 
a  scene  where  she's  looped  to  the  eyebrows 
— and  all  because  she  thought  Coffee  Tas- 
manian  was  just  plain  coffee. 

June,  as  Martha  Terryton,  artist  and  school- 
teacher, has  come  to  New  York  to  illustrate 
"Uncle  Bumps'  "  newest  juvenile  book.  Every- 
one except  his  publisher  thinks  of  Uncle 
Bumps  as  an  amiable  old  gentleman  who 
goes  around  patting  children  on  the  head  and 
feeding  them  candy.  McGrath,  the  publisher 


(Hume  Cronyn),  is  all  too  aware  that  Uncle 
Bumps  is  Gregory  Rowlings  (Van  Johnson), 
who  drinks  a  great  deal,  in  a  charming  sort 
of  way.  Greg  pats  no  one  on  the  head  except 
blondes  over  eighteen,  and  if  he  fed  candy  to 
children  it  would  have  arsenic  in  it. 

When  Martha  first  finds  out  the  devastating 
truth  about  Uncle  Bumps,  she  decides  to  go 
right  back  to  Vermont.  To  forestall  this  (and 
incidentally  prevent  her  from  telling  her  aunt, 
who  is  head  of  the  Juvenile  Book  Board), 
Greg  gets  her  tight  on  Coffee  Tasmanian.  This 


is  an  innocent  looking  preparation  but  full  of 
brandy.  When  its  effects  wear  off.  however, 
Martha  still  wants  to  go  back  to  Vermont, 
where  coffee  is  just  something  you  have  with 
a  stack  of  wheatcakes  in  the  morning  for 
your  breakfast. 

McGrath  decides  to  take  desperate  measures. 
He  tells  Greg  to  go  to  a  local  orphanage  and 
select  a  small  boy — one  with  slight  juve- 
nile delinquent  tendencies.  The  mere  sugges- 
tion makes  Greg  shudder.  But  McGrath  is 
sure  that  if  he  can  tell  Martha  that  Greg 
drinks  because  his  wife  died  and  left  him 
with  a  problem  child  on  his  hands,  everything 
will  be  ducky.  He  finally  convinces  Greg  that 
it's  the  only  solution. 

So  they  get  Danny  (Butch  Jenkins).  Danny 
doesn't  want  to  come.  He  says  stoutly  that  he 
likes  the  orphan  asylum.  Anway,  when  they 
do  get  him  to  Greg's  place  the  results  are 
about  like  Fourth  of  July  in  an  atom  bomb 
factory.— M-G-M 

AH  IDEAL  HUSBAND 

Opulent  sets  and  gorgeous  Cecil  Beaton 
costumes  compete  with  the  charms  of  Paulette 
Goddard,  Diane  Winyard  and  Glynis  St.  Johns 
in  An  Ideal  Husband.  The  masculine  side  is 
represented  by  Michael  Wilding,  Hugh  Wil- 
liams and  C.  Aubrey  Smith.  It  all  takes  place 
in  the  London  of  Oscar  Wilde's  favorite  world, 
where  the  conversation  is  conducted  entirely 
in  epigrams.  Sometimes  it's  a  bit  dated,  but 
visually  it's  very  amusing. 

The  fashionable  ball  being  given  by  Lord 
and  Lady  Chiltern  (Hugh  Williams  and  Diane 
Winyard)  is  marred  by  the  presence  of  one 
uninvited  guest,  Mrs.  Cheverly  (Paulette  God- 
dard). She  is  greeted  by  the  hostess  with  a 
definite  lack  of  enthusiasm.  It  seems  that  they 
were  at  school  together  and  Mrs.  Cheverly 
was  expelled  for  stealing.  It  was  a  great 
scandal  at  the  time. 

Mrs.  Cheverley  is  still  stealing,  although 
now  in  a  more  subtle  way.  She  has  come 
from  Vienna  for  the  purpose  of  persuading 
Sir  Robert  to  back  what  amounts  to  a  stock 
market  swindle  by  using  his  influence  in  the 
House  of  Parliament.  And  she  has  good  rea- 
son, in  spite  of  Sir  Robert's  reputation  for  al- 
most idealistic  probity,  to  expect  she  will  suc- 
ceed. 

It  seems  that  when  he  was  only  twenty-two 
he  used  a  state  secret  for  his  own  advantage. 
No  one  ever  discovered  it,  but  Mrs.  Cheverly 
has  a  letter  which  proves  it.  If  she  uses  that 
letter.  Sir  Robert  is  a  very  dead  duck  indeed, 
and  Mrs.  Cheverly  is  certainly  going  to  use  it! 
And  what  bothers  him  most  is  that  his  wife 
will  then  learn  that  early  secret.  She  is  not  a 
woman  who  condones  mistakes,  no  matter 
how  they  were  made.  It  would  be  the  end  of 
their  marriage,  a  marriage  which  Sir  Robert 
finds  very  satisfactory. 

Behind  all  this  serious  talk  of  blackmail  and 
swindles,  a  very  pretty  little  romance  is  going 
on  between  a  young  Lord  (Michael  Wilding) 
and  Mabel  Chiltern  (Glynis  St.  John).  But  the 
two  affairs  are  gradually  interwoven  until  ho 
one  quite  knows  who  is  what  or  where.  Much 
of  it  is  amusing.  Some  just  confusing.  But  it's 
all  very  very  Oscar  Wilde.  And  I  daresay 
his  fans  will  lap  it  up. — 20th-Fox 


%u  Panel's  a  suj&dkeart ! 

dee  u)kus 
i  use  /Mum  f" 


Orchids  to  you  for  holding  on  to  your  honeymoon  happiness  . . .  for  guarding 
the  charm  be  finds  so  adorable.  No  wonder  you  vow  never  to  be  without 
Mum!  Your  bath  washes  away  past  perspiration.  But  to  keep  that  daintiness 
from  fading  ...  to  prevent  risk  of  underarm  odor  to  come . . .  always  complete 
your  bath  with  Mum. 


Mum 
Mum 
Mum 


safer  for  charm 


safer  for  skin 


safer  for  clothes 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 

Mum  checks  perspiration  odor,  protects 
your  daintiness  all  day  or  all  evening. 

Because  Mum  contains  no  harsh  or  irri- 
tating ingredients.  Snow-white  Mum  is 
gentle— harmless  to  skin. 

No  damaging  ingredients  in  Mum  to  rot 
or  discolor  fine  fabrics.  Economical  Mum 
doesn't  dry  out  in  the  jar.  Quick,  easy  to 
use,  even  after  you're  dressed. 


19 


f 


A  great  many  "Mamas"  will  understand  this  picture 
without  a  word  of  explanation.  They'll  be  reminded  of 
clothes  that  are  cleaner  and  whiter;  of 'shorter'  washdays; 
less  washing  'wear  and  tear.'  Because  they  use 
Fels-Naptha  Soap. 

You  may  want  to  try  golden  Fels-Naptha,  too, 
when  you  know  why  it  removes  dirt  and  stains  that 
other  laundry  soaps  can't  budge.  This  mild,  golden  soap 
brings  extra  help  to  every  washing  job.  The  extra  help 
of  naptha.  Gentle,  active  Fels  naptha  that  loosens 
stubborn  dirt — deep  down  in  the  fabric — so  it  can  be 
'floated'  away  without  harmful  rubbing. 

Once  you  see  a  sparkling,  fragrant  Fels-Naptha 
wash  on  your  line,  you'll  never  want  to 
start  another  washday  without  the 
extra  help  of  Fels-Naptha  Soap. 


20 


Golden  baror  Golden  chips. FELS-NAPTHA  banishesTattle-Tale  Gray" 


Saigon:  Offered  $10,000  to  fly  Veronica  Lake 
to  Shanghai,  Alan  Ladd  meets  trouble  head-on. 


SAIGON 

Alan  Ladd  pictures  aren't  exactly  full  of 
surprises  these  days  but  routine  or  not, 
they're  good  entertainment.  In  Saigon,  Major 
Larry  Briggs  (Alan  Ladd)  has  the  customary 
two  buddies.  One  is  Sergeant  Rocco  (Wally 
Cassel)  who  is  strictly  from  the  Bronx,  and 
the  other  is  Captain  Perry  (Douglas  Dick), 
a  dreamy-eyed  kid  from  Iowa. 

The  three  of  them  are  demobilized  from 
the  Air  Force  in  Shanghai.  Perry  wants  to 
go  home,  but  the  other  two  know  that  because 
of  war  wounds,  he's  going  to  die  in  a  matter  of 
weeks.  Why  not  keep  him  with  them  and 
never  let  him  know  what's  ahead? 

Briggs  has  heard  about  a  mysterious 
Shanghai  importer  who  is  looking  for  U.S. 
fliers.  The  three  of  them  go  to  the  native  cafe 
where  they  have  heard  he  can  be  found.  By 
the  way.  the  singer  there  (Betty  Bryant)  can 
really  sing,  besides  having  a  figure  which 
evokes  considerable  comment  from  Bocco. 

When  they  find  the  importer,  whose  name 
is  Maris  (Morris  Carnowsky),  he  offers  them 
ten  thousand  dollars  to  fly  him  and  his  secre- 
tary to  Saigon.  Obviously  there  is  something 
very  fishy  about  a  deal  like  that,  but  ten 
thousand  bucks  would  come  in  very  handy. 
It  would  stake  them  to  everyone  Perry  might 
want  or  need  before  his  death. 

What  none  of  them,  including  Maris,  ex- 
pected was  that  some  last  minute  shots  from 
the  Shanghai  police  would  keep  him  from 
the  plane,  so  that  only  his  secretary  Susan 
(Veronica  Lake)  managed  to  get  abroad. 
Said  secretary  is  a  small,  nicely  put  to- 
gether blonde,  and  ordinarily  three  normal 
young  men  would  be  glad  to  have  her  as  a 
passenger.  But  Briggs  is  worried.  He  doesn't 
like  those  shots  as  they  took  off,  or  the  hard 
expression  in  Susan's  eyes. 

But  to  Perry,  she's  wonderful.  She's  the 
girl  he's  always  been  looking  for.  Unfortu- 
nately, Lieutenant  Keon  of  the  Saigon  police 
is  also  looking  for  her.  He  wants  to  know 
some  things  about  Maris's  business.  And 
Briggs  wants  to  know  what  is  in  the  dispatch 
case  she  always  keeps  with  her.  In  fact, 
everyone  wants  to  know  something,  and 
sometimes  the  results  are  disastrous! — Par. 


THE  SIGN  OF  THE  RAM 

Susan  Peters  gives  a  really  fine  perfor- 
mance in  her  return  to  the  screen.  The  story 
is  a  fascinating  one.  It  tells  of  a  woman  who, 
from  a  wheelchair,  dominates  her  entire-  fam- 
ily in  a  way  she  couldn't  possibly  have  done 
if  she  weren't  an  invalid. 

When  Sherida  Binyon  (Phyllis  Thaxter)  goes 
to  Cornwall  to  be  the  secretary  of  Leah  St. 
Aubyn  (Susan  Peters)  she  finds  what  is,  at 
first  glance,  a  very  happy  household.  Cer- 
tainly Leah's  husband,  Mallory  (Alexander 
Knox),  is  very  devoted  to  her.  He  has  three 
children  by  a  previous  marriage.  Logan  (Ross 
Ford),  the  oldest,  is  practicing  law  and  in 
love  with  a  local  girl  named  Catherine  Mait- 
land  (Diana  Douglas).  Jane  (Allene  Roberts) 
is  a  shy  nineteen,  Christine  (Peggy  Ann 
Garner),  only  sixteen,  is  a  queer  intense 
child  who  devotes  herself  completely  to  Leah. 

Sherida  is  charmed  with  her  new  job.  Oh, 
there  are  some  things  she  doesn't  quite  under- 
stand. For  instance  why  is  the  sweet  Leah  so 
friendly  with  a  spiteful  village  gossip,  Mrs. 
Brastock  (Dame  May  Whitty)?  And  why  does 
she  keep  lane  so  shy  instead  of  encouraging 
her  to  go  out  more? 

The  first  time  Sherida  has  an  inkling  of  the 
truth  is  when  she  talks  to  Catherine  Maitland. 
Catherine  knows  that  Leah  has  opposed  her 
marriage  to  Logan  for  some  time.  Leah  wants 
no  break  in  the  circle  of  affection  and  admira- 
tion that  surrounds  her. 

Dr.  Crowdy  (Ron  Randall)  too,  finds  that 
his  attentions  to  Jane  are  discouraged  by 
Leah.  When  he  finally  persuades  the  girl  to 
go  to  a  dance  with  him,  Leah  subtly  dis- 
suades her. 

Catherine  and  Logan  eventually  get  them- 
selves engaged.  Leah  is  sweet  about  it  at 
first — provided  they  will  wait  a  year.  But 
when  they  refuse,  she  tells  them  that  she  has 
evidence  of  insanity  in  Catherine's  family. 
Logan,  furiously  angry,  disproves  her  state- 
ment completely. 

So,  gradually,  the  charmed  circle  around 
Leah  breaks,  until  only  Christine  is  left,  ador- 
ing her  as  ever.  And  because  of  that,  death 
comes  very  close  to  the  introverted  house- 
hold.—Col. 


The  Sign  Of  The  Ram:  Susan  Peters  dominates 
her  family  as  well  os  her  husband,  Alex  Knox. 


YOU'RE  LOVELY  . . .  YOU'RE  LOVABLE  .  . .  WITH 


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PRODUCT  OF  LE 


The  Strawberry  Roan:  Ranch  foreman,  Gene 
Autry,  captures  a  wild  stallion,  soon  finds  him- 
self at  odds  with  rancher  Jack  Holt  and  police. 


THE  STRAWBERRY  ROAN 


Even  people  who  can  take  horses  or  leave 
them  alone  will  go  for  the  strawberry  roan 
in  this.  He's  really  a  beauty,  and  in  Cine- 
color  too.  The  star  of  the  picture,  of  course,  is 
Gene  Autry.  He  plays  a  foreman  named — 
guess!  Gene  Autry! — who  works  for  ranch- 
man Bartley  (Jack  Holt). 

Bartley  has  two  children,  Connie  (Gloria 
Henry)  who's  old  enough  for  Autry  to  fall  in 
love  with,  and  teen-age  Joe  (Dick  Jones). 
When  Bailey  and  Gene  capture  a  wild  stal- 
lion, Joe  names  him  Champion  and  insists  on 
riding  him  at  once.  The  roan  rears  and  Joe 
is  crippled  for  life. 

Bailey  gives  orders  for  Champion  io_  be 
killed.  But  Gene  doesn't  follow  the  orders. 
He  takes  the  stallion  over  into  a  nearby 
valley  and  nurses  him  slowly  back  to  health. 
Meanwhile  Joe  is  in  a  wheelchair,  unhappy 
and  depressed  because  he  thinks  Champion 
is  dead. 

Bailey's  mare  finds  the  stallion,  and  nature 
takes  its  course.  Bailey  is  not  pleased  at  the 
impending  blessed  event.  In  fact,  he  flies  into 
a  rage  and  accuses  Autry  of  horse  stealing. 
A  reward  is  posted  for  him  and  Bailey  makes 
it  big  enough  to  interest  everybody. 

Gene  is  still  determined  to  get  Champion 
back  to  Joe  because  he  thinks  that  will 
help  cure  the  boy.  He  has  trained  the  horse 
all  these  weeks  with  this  in  mind,  but  now 
what  can  he  do?  He  is  in  hiding  not  only 
from  Bailey  but  from  everyone  else. 

Connie  and  Joe  find  Gene  in  his  hiding 
place  and  advise  him  to  give  himself  and  the 
horse  up.  Instead,  Gene  asks  Joe  to  ride 
Champion.  Slowly,  painfully,  but  surely,  the 
boy  gets  astride  and  rides  .  .  .  really  rides. 

But  that's  not  the  end.  You'll  have  to  see 
that  yourself. — CoJ. 


APRIL  SHOWERS 

You  wouldn't  think  a  little  thing  like  a  cigar 
could  mean  the  difference  between  getting  on 
Broadway  and  going  back  to  the  sticks,  would 
you?  But  that's  because  you  don't  know  about 
the  "Good  Tyme"  family — June  (Ann  Sothern), 
Joe  (Jack  Carson),  and  young  Buster  (Bobby 
Ellis). 

Let's  go  back  to  1912.  June  and  Joe  are 
hoofing  for  a  living,  and  not  much  of  a  living 
at  that.  Their  routines  are  beat-up  old  num- 
bers, and  the  audiences  yawn  in  their  faces. 
So  they  get  fired.  They  don't  tell  their  hotel 
about  it,  natch.  Maybe  something  will  turn  up 
even  if  it  isn't  the  rent. 

What  turns  up  is  Buster,  who  at  the  age  of 
twelve,  has  decided  school  is  a  waste  of 
time.  He's  going  to  be  a  vaudeville  actor  like 
his  pop.  The  gueer  part  is  that,  unlike  his  pop, 
the  kid  really  has  it.  An  agent  sees  him 
doing  a  crazy  tap  dance  in  the  lobby,  and 
before  June  and  Joe  guite  know  what  goes 
on,  the  whole  family  is  signed  up  to  play  in 
an  act  with  popular  vaudevillian  Billy  Shay 
(Bob  Alda). 

Eventually  they  get  a  wire  from  a  New 
York  agent,  and  drop  everything  else  to  head 
for  Broadway.  The  world  is  a  wonderful 
place.  They  feel  great,  only  they  find  that  New 
York's  Gerry  society  has  a  law  which  won't 
let  any  performer  under  sixteen  years  of  age 
appear  on  the  stage.  The  law  was  made 
especially  for  them. 

Here's  where  the  cigar  comes  in.  Young 
Buster  grabs  his  pop's  derby,  rattles  a  non- 
existent watch  chain,  puffs  on  a  cigar,  and 
there  he  is — a  midget!  There's  no  law  against 
midgets  appearing. 

It's  a  good  gag  and  it  almost  works.  Not 
quite.  Because  in  front  of  a  representative  of 
the  Gerry  society  Buster  has  to  smoke  the 
cigar  and  becomes  violently  ill.  So  back  they 
go  to  San  Francisco,  where  June  goes  to  work 
again  for  Billy  Shay  who  is  in  love  with  her. 
But  there's  no  place  for  Joe  and  he  starts  to 
drink  constantly.  It's  a  long  while  before 
Buster  manages  to  get  the  "Good  Tyme" 
family  back  together  again.  But,  one  bright 
day,  he  does. — War. 


April  Showers:  Because  of  their  son,  Bobby  Ellis, 
the  "Good  Tyme"  family,  Ann  Sothern  and  Jack 
Carson   are   signed   with    popular   Bob  Alda. 

(Continued  on  page  84) 


^onmu  UyjlJjjjA  smfo  wins  ht>r  a  spotlight  on  the-  fllitteririg  \ttt 

/ 


Joan  Hyldoft,  Ice  Ballerina — spins  and  swoops 
under  a  solo  spotlight  in  'Tcetime  of  1948"  at  New 
York's  Center  Theater.  In  her  first  big  show,  she  is  a 
star!  Kansas-born  Joan  was  once  headed  for  a' career 
as  an  athlete.  She  held  trophies  for  horsemanship,  div- 
ing and  figure  skating  when  her  smile  captured  a  beauty 
crown  that  changed  her  course.  Now  Joan's  smile  out- 
sparkles  even  the  shining  sequins  she  wears  while  she 
skates  — it's  a  Pepsodent  Smile!  "No  other  tooth  paste 
makes  my  teeth  so  bright,"  she  says. 

Do  you  have  a  winning  smile?  If  Pepsodent 
Tooth  Paste  has  helped  your  smile  and  career  —  send 
your  picture  and  story  to  Pepsodent,  141  W.  Jackson 
Blvd.,  Chicago  4,  111.  If  used  you  will  receive  pro- 
fessional model  fees. 


You'll  find  people  all  over  America  agree  with 
Joan  Hyldoft.  New  Pepsodent  with  Irium  is 
their  3-to-l  favorite  for  brighter  smiles.  In  re- 
cent tests,  families  from  coast  to  coast  were 
asked  to  compare  New  Pepsodent  Tooth  Paste 
with  the  brands  they'd  been  using  at  home.  By 
an  overwhelming  majority  ...  by  an  average  of 
of  3  to  1  .  .  .  they  preferred  New  Pepsodent  over 
any  other  leading  brand  they  tried! 

Yes,  New  Pepsodent  won  3  to  1  for  its  cool, 
minty  flavor  .  .  .  for  making  breath  cleaner,  and 
making  teeth  brighter!  For  the  safety  of  your 
smile  use  Pepsodent  twice  a  day  —  see  your  dentist 
twice  a  year! 


/ 


le1lt  ■■■■ 


Another  Fine  Product  of 
Lever  Brothers  Company 


the 


They  were  talking  casually — 
about  kilts.   They  were  talking,  and  suddenly  he 
noticed  how  beautiful  she  was. 
And  suddenly,  David  Niven  fell  in  love. 

By  NANCY  WINSLOW  SQUIRE 


bishop's"  wife 


■  In  six  weeks,  all  of  it  happened. 
Their  meeting,  their  falling  in  love, 
the  five-minute  ceremony  at  the 
Kensington  registry  which  made 
Hjordis  Tersmeden  Mrs.  David 
Niven. 

It  began  on  the  set  of  Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie,  the  picture  David 
was  making  in  London.  Mrs.  Ters- 
meden was  visiting  there  with 
friends,  and  everyone  was  talking 
to  everyone  else,  and  she  found 
herself  engaged  in  earnest  conver- 
sation about  the  origin  of  kilts.  She 
and  Mr.  Niven  seemed  to  agree 
that  kilts  had  certainly  originated. 

Mr.  Niven  also  decided  that  Mrs. 
Tersmeden  was  the  most  beautiful 
girl  he  had  seen  in  a  long  time.  His 
appraisal  was  right — she'd  been  a 
famous  mannequin  in  Stockholm, 
and  London — and  his  appreciation 
was  heightened  by  the  fact  that  he 
hadn't  been  paying  much  attention 
to  beautiful  girls  for  a  couple  of 
years. 

His  first  wife,  Primula  Rollo, 
died  in  1946,  after  falling  down  a 
flight  of  stairs  at  a  party  in  Holly- 
wood, and  it  wasn't  a  thing  he  got 
over  easily,  or  could  talk  about  to 
anyone.  Time  had  to  pass;  work, 
and  his  two  children  had  to  fill  the 
empty    (Continued   on   page  87) 


David,  37,  and  his  bride,  the  former  Mrs.  Hjordis  Tersmeden,  27,  of  Sweden,  were 
cheered  by  Londoners,  as  they  left  the  Kensington  registry,  where  they  were  mar- 
ried January  14.  David  (star  of  The  Bishop's  Wife)  has  two  sons,  aged  2  and  5. 


24 


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of  safety  for  your  skin, 
biopsy-specimen. 


Solitair  promises  exciting  new  beauty  to  even  the  loveliest  complexions.  Does  wonders 
for  just  ordinary  skin!  Cleverly  cbnceals  little  skin  faults  and  blemishes. 
Gives  your  skin  an  appearance  of  delicate  perfection  that  stays  fresh-looking 
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Van  (of  The  Bride  Goes  Wild)  and  Evie  at  CIro's. 


The  doctor  had 

warned  her — no  more  children 

But  Evie  could  picture 

the  glow  of  parenthood 

on  Van's  face,  and  the  pride. 

And  because  of 

this,  she  wasn't  afraid  .  .  . 

By  FLORABEL  MUIR 


ordeal 


■  As  I  write  these  lines  two  weeks  after 
the  birth  of  Van  and  Evie  Johnson's  baby  girl,  I'm 
almost  afraid  to  say  that  Evie  is  out  of 
danger.  You  jus't  never  know. 

In  order  to  have  this  baby,  Evie  submitted 
to  her  third  Caesarian  section — and  two  of  these 
operations  are  all  that  medical  science  will 
allow  a  woman  ordinarily.  She  came  through  the 
operation  well,  and,  the  other  day,  the  doctor  pronounced 
her  okay.   They  brought  her  home  from  the 
hospital.   The  next  night  the  nurse  discovered  that  her 
stitches  had  broken.  Van,  sleeping  on  the  floor  near 
her  bed,  was  beside  himself  with  anxiety  and  dread. 

There  had  been  some  talk  that  the  Johnson  offspring 
would  be  a  New  Year's  arrival,  and  the  guesses 
weren't  too  far  wrong.  The  baby  arrived  at  7:51  A.M. 
the  morning  of  Tuesday,  January  6th,  at  Cedars 
of  Lebanon  Hospital  in  Hollywood.  Dr.  Benbow 
Thompson  was  the  attending  physician.  Van  had  driven 
Evie  to  the  hospital  in  a  frantic  rush  the 
afternoon  before.  The  birth  itself  was  accomplished 
with  no  untoward  circumstances.  Mrs.  Elizabeth  Cregar, 
mother  of  the  late  actor  Laird  Cregar,  a  close 
pal  of  Van's,  gave  the  Johnsons  a  lovely  bassinet  trimmed  wi 
and  blue  silk.   Van  was  beaming  with  pleasure 
and  pride  and  joy.  {Continued  on  page  62) 


th  lace 


A  wedding 

in  a  quiet  room, 

a  look  between  two  people 

— Roy  and  Dale 

wondering  if  it's 

too  good  to  be  true. 

Roy  and  Dale  knowing 

that  it's  love. 

by  MARY  MORRIS 


tkey 


Roy  and  Dale  honeymooned  for  two  weeks  on 
cattleman  Bill  Likins'  6,000-dcre  ranch.  Here,  the 
three    serenade    Oklahoma's    Gov.    Rov  Turner. 


Star  of  Gay  Ranchero  hunted  rabbits  with  host. 


■  On  the  last  day  of  1947,  on  a 

snow  swept  6,000-acre  ranch  in  Oklahoma, 

Roy  Rogers  took  as  his  real-life  bride 

Dale  Evans,  the  leading  lady  he  had 

loved  but  never  kissed  in  25  wonderful 

Westerns. 

Their    three-year  friendship 
had  turned   to  courtship  sometime  last 
summer.     He   proposed   in  Chicago; 
they  were  on  tour  together  with 
Roy's  rodeo.    It  was  a  warm  harvest 
moon  sort  of  evening,  but  there  was  hardly 
time  for  romance;  there  was  a  show  to 
do.    The  cowboy  and  his  lady  were  alone 
for  a  few  moments  in  the  chutes  with 
the  animals  ("backstage1'  at  the 
stadium)  waiting  to  go  on.  Only  Trigger  and 
a  few  other  neighing  friends  were  around 
when  Roy  popped  the  question.  It 
came  obliquely. 

"Talked  with  my  kids  on  the  phone  this 
afternoon."  he  said.    (He  has  three; 
his  wife  died  suddenly,  after  the  birth  of 
the  last  one.) 

"The  kids  didn't  ask  anything  about 
Trigger    or   me,"    he  continued. 
"  'When  is  Dale  coming  back?'  is  all 
they  wanted  to  know!" 

"Gee,  that  makes  me  feel  good,"  Dale 
said.    "They're  the  nicest  kids  I  know." 

"Nice  enough  to  give  up  a  career  for?" 

Dale  wasn't  sure  what  he  meant.  He 
spelled  it  out.    He  loved  her,  but  he 
wanted  to  marry  a  wife,  a  homemaker,  a  mother 
for  his  three  children. 

"I've  had  seven  {Continued  on  page  100) 


29 


the  Spring 


The  year  moving  slowly  toward 
new  life  stirring  in  the  earth  .  .  .  Easter 

to  Elizabeth  means  light  and  hope. 

BY  ELIZABETH  TAYLOR 


■  My  earliest  recollections  of  Easter  are 
such  beautiful  and  happy  ones. 

Right  after  Christmas  (when  I  was  a 
very  little  girl  in  England)  we  would  start 
looking  forward  to  Easter.  All  through 
die  long  days  of  darkness — which  came  on 
so  early  in  the  afternoon — and  through 
days  and  days  of  dense  thick  fog,  and 
rain,  we  talked  of  Spring. 

When  I  was  very  small,  Nannie,  our  • 
nurse,  would  push  me  for  hours  in  the 
pram,  with  Howard,  my  brother,  and  our 
dogs  walking  along  close  by.  Nannie  would 
tell  us  all  about  the  different  trees,  how 
they  slept  and  rested  in  the  winter.  And 
how  eagerly  we  watched  for  the  first  sign 
of  their  awakening!  And  then,  suddenly, 
one  morning  it  would  come — the  begin- 
ning of  the  transformation. 

Right  before  our  very  eyes  we  would 
see  new  life  appearing,  all  around  us. 
Primroses  and  violets  in  the  woods,  tiny 
brown  buds  tinged  with  green  on  all  the 
trees.  We'd  come  home  with  our  arms 
full  of  branches,  and  oh!  the  fun  and  ex- 
citement of  arranging  them  and.  in  the 
warm  room,  of  watching  the  tiny  buds 
burst  forth  and  unfurl.  Our  nursery  would 
be  a  bower  of  Spring. 

We  had  two  homes,  one  in  town  and  one 
in  the  country,  down  in  Kent.  The  town 
house  faced  Hampstead  Heath.  It  was 
thrilling  at  Easter  (Continued  on  page  106) 


Benediction 


30 


■  I  dropped  in  on  Cary  Grant  one  after- 
noon recently  to  catch  up  on  that  hard- 
to-get  guy  for  modern  screen.  Cary  met 
me  at  the  door  of  his  big.  white  Bel-Air 
house  (incidentally,  he  just  called  to  say 
he's  sold  the  place  to  C.  H.  Howard,  mil- 
lionaire sportsman)  and  ushered  me  into 
the  living-room.  It's  a  huge,  masculine 
affair  with  a  long,  low  table  stretching  half 
its  length,  loaded  with  magazines,  books, 
pipes.    The  chairs  and  sofas  are  man-sized 

32 


and  deep.  Pictures  and  bronze  figures  of 
horses,  Cary's  favorite  beasts,  are  all 
around.  In  one  end,  there's  a  small  movie 
screen  where  he  runs  off  his  stack  of 
16-mm'.  home  movies. 

We  strolled  on  through  to  the  den,  where 
the  walls  are  lined  with  beautiful  Boudin 
canvases,  the  shelves  solid  with  books.  Cary 
seemed  a  little  embarrassed  about  them 
both.  "I  just  buy  pictures  I  like  to  look 
at,"  he  said,  and  the  books  he  tossed  off 


with,  "Agents  and  producers  send  me  those 
to  read  for  possible  screen  parts."  He  was 
so  worried  I'd  think  he'd  gone  highbrow, 
my  old  friend  Grant!  He  pointed  out 
stacks  of  puzzles  hastily.  "That's  what  I 
really  like,"  he  confessed.  "I  work  them 
at  night  to  put  myself  to  sleep." 

A  mammoth  couch  was  all  made  up  with 
blankets,  because,  Cary  explained,  "Some- 
times it  seems  a  long  way  up  to  the  bed- 
room." Upstairs.  Cary  has  the  biggest  bed 


by 

hedda 
hopper 


rh is  Cary  Grant 
character  dawdling  along, 
his  hands  in  the 
pockets  ot  his  Salvation 
suit — he  lifted  a 
wicked  eyebrow,  and  he 
winked  at  Hedda. 
It'  was  I  5  years  ago, 
and  a  gal  forgets 
a  lot.  But  that  guy — she 
hasn't  forgotten  him. 


that  old 
black 
eyebrow 


in  all  Christendom.  I'm  sure.  He  had  it 
made  when  he  and  Randy  Scott  shared  a 
Santa  Monica  beach  house.  It  has  a  built- 
in  radio,  bookshelves,  pipe  racks  and 
Heavens  knows  what-all.  and  takes  up  one 
whole  room,  almost.  But  if  it  seems  an 
effort  to  get  upstairs,  Cary  parks  right 
downstairs.  Old  line-of-least-resistance — 
that's  his  private  life  trademark. 

"I  like  comfort,"  he  told  me.  "I  like 
to  relax.    Luckily  I  can.    You  know  why? 


Because  I've  made  some  money  and  kept 
some.  I'm  not  saying  it's  a  ticket  to  hap- 
piness. But  I'm  not  pretending  I  hate  the 
stuff." 

Cary  loves  to  debunk  the  tired  old  tale 
that  he  arrived  in  Hollywood  on  his  uppers. 
"Matter  of  fact,"  he  told  me,  "I  came  with 
a  fair  bankroll  and  a  Packard  car,  all  set 
for  a  vacation,  after  a  good  run  in  Broad- 
way musicals.  Only  reason  I  didn't  go  to 
Florida  is  because  it  was  too  darned  hot 


there.  I  ran  into  a  friend  here  and  he 
asked  me  to  make  a  test.  I  was  lucky  all 
the  way." 

Cary  likes  the  things  money  brings,  all 
right.  Clothes,  servants,  travel,  pleasant 
living.  But  he  works  for  them,  and  he 
digs  in  deep  when  charity  calls.  During 
the  war  he  gave  his  entire  salary  from  one 
picture— $250,000— to  the  Red  Cross. 

He  led  me  into  his  library  next,  where  he 
keeps  his  very   {Continued  on  page  71) 


33 


second 
honey 


A  year  ago,  every- 
thing seemed  wrong,  and 
the  Stevens'  thought 
their  marriage  was  over. 
Now  they're  together  again — 
Mark  and  Annelle — happy 
as  newlyweds,  but  with 
a  wiser,  stronger  love  .  .  . 


Reconciled,  Mark  and  Annelle  spent  their  Christmas 
in  Wash.,  D.  C,  where  he  worked  in  Street  With- 
out A  Name.  Annelle  may  have  career  at  M-G-M. 


■  It  was  a  beautiful  suite  in  a 
large  Washington  hotel.  It  contained 
some  chic  interior  decoration,  and  a  pretty 
girl.    There  was  a  terrace  out- 
side, and  an  unusually  handsome  young 
man  in  white  shirt  and  white  trousers 
was  doing  a  complicated  trapeze 
act  on  the  support  which,  in  summer,  would 
hold  an  awning. 

The  'pretty  girl  went  to  the  window. 
"Mark,  you're  crazy!    You'll  ruin  those 
trousers ! " 

Mark   Stevens   did   a   quick  somersault, 
landed  gracefully  on  his  feet,  and  came  in 
and  kissed  his  wife.    "Oh,  so  you  don't 
worry  about  my  breaking  my  neck.  You 
just  worry  about  my  pants." 

He  put  his  arms  around  her  and  kissed 
her  again.    His  brown  eyes  grew  darker. 
Looking  at  them,  knowing  nothing  at 
all  about  them,  you  would  have  guessed 
that  they  had  just  been  married. 
That  this  was  their  honeymoon. 

You  wouldn't  have  been  far  wrong,  ex- 
cept that  this  was  sort  of  a  second  honey- 
moon.    Mark  and  Annelle  have 
been  married  almost  three  years.   They  have  a 
son,  Mark  Richard,  who  is  a  year  and  a 
half  old  and  who  toddles  around  the 
house  in  an  endlessly  {Continued  on  page  79) 


■  The  train  was  quiet  at  last.  After 
breathing  fire  at  them  for  an  eternity,  it 
had  finally  shut  up,  and  Joan  Caulfield's 
father  and  her  sister  Betty  could  hear 
themselves  think  again. 

"I'm  cold,"  Betty  said,  her  teeth  chat- 
tering. 

"I'm  frozen  stiff,"  said  her  father.  They 
looked  at  each  other  sideways,  and  knew 
that  they  weren't  fooling  anybody.  They 
weren't  cold.  They  were  shivering  with 
excitement  like  two  kids  on  Christmas  Eve, 
because  Joan  and  Mrs.  Caulfield  were  on 
that  train.  People  poured  out  of  the  cars 
and  pushed  past  them.  Two  women  in 
mink,  two  in  Persian  lamb,  two  soldiers. 

"Twosomes,"  Betty  giggled.  "Like  Noah's 
Ark."  Then,  abruptly,  the  giggle  was  gone. 
"I  see  them,"  she  said,  and  the  old  nag- 
ging fear  was  starting  again.  The  fear  that 
this  time  maybe  Joan  would  be  changed. 
Maybe  this  time —  They  were  coming  down 
the  platform  walking  fast,  Joan's  bright 
hair  flying,  mom  with  her  quick  small  steps. 

"No  kidding,  Pop,"  Betty  murmured, 
"isn't  she  beautiful?" 

"Always  was,"  her  father  answered,  and 
Betty  thought  suddenly,  "Why  he  means 
mother!"  And  just  before  they  all  fell  on 
each  other's  necks,  she  thought,  "Golly, 
what  a  corny  family." 

Corny,  maybe,  but  heavenly.  The  busi- 
ness of  harboring  a  star  right  under  their 
very  own  roof  hasn't  thrown  them  at  all. 
"It's  wonderful,"  is  Mrs.  Caulfield's  atti- 
tude, "but  life  goes  on." 

Mr.  Caulfield  is  equally  blase.  Further- 
more, he  doesn't  exactly  get  it.  For  years 
he's  been  taking  evening  walks  unmolested. 
Now,  following  Joan's  recent  eight-weeks' 
visit  East,  he's    (Continued  on  page  92) 


36 


Sarah  Turner,  headmistress  of  Beard  School  (Joan's  alma  mater)  in 
Orange,  New  Jersey,  found  Joan  unchanged — excepr  for  nail-polish  (a 
school  tabu).  Youngsters  shaking  hands  are  current  Beard  under-grads. 


"The  girls  will  hoot  at  me,"  Joan  wailed,  all  the  The  star  of  The  Sainted  Sisters  topped  off  a 
way  to  the  school  (in  studio  limousine).  But  the  memorable  day  by  horning  in  on  the  Glee  Club, 
kids  made  her  sign  books  until  her  arm  ached.      Later,  Joan  kept  date  in  N.  Y.  with  J.  MacLain. 


and  sister  Betty.  "Is  that  me?"  Joan  shrieked.         "Wish    I    hadn't  cut  so   much,"   she   told  them. 


U^Uc  ycfot  Jtofoj  4  7UWt£  A&1  yerukt  s*C4A&{  /j£cty 
it/a;  patfj  pu-fet  atui  Ao-g&zA/,  *  k)/u>/3  </kt<>  &Aoef  f" 


37 


i 


Gail's  mother  calls  it 

Hotel  Russell,  because  there's 

always  a  full  meal  on  the 

stove,  a  fresh  blouse  on  the 

hanger — and  plenty  of 

hot  and  cold  running  temperament! 


am/ ay 


Mrs.  Russell  makes  it  a  rule  never  to  ask  questions  about  the 
men  in  Sail's  life.  Currently,  the  list  includes  Jack  Sasoon,  John 
Dall,  Johnny  Meyers.  Gail's  now  making  Night  Has  1,000  Eyes. 


■  Picture  Gail  Russell,  aged  10: 
The  setting  is  a  Chicago  restaurant 
where  we  have  taken  her  for  a 
meal   with   a   group   of  our 
friends.  We  are  no  more  than  seated 
when  Gail  is  begging  for  our  butter 
pads.  Her  father  and  I  give  her  a  flat 
no.  But  she  is  so  cute  and  appealing. 
She  soon  has  seven  pads  of  butter 
lined  up  in  front  of  her  waiting  for  the 
bread  and  potatoes. 

"Gail,  seven  butters!   One  is  too 
much,"  I  say. 

"Oh  Mother,"  she  complains,  "you 
never  understand.  A  girl's  got  to  have 
weight  to  play  on  the  boys'  foot- 
ball team." 

Anyone  who  caught  that  scene 
would  never  have  made  a  bet  that  the 
chubby  little  10-year-old  at  our 
table — who  wore  a  size  14  skirt, 
mind  you — would  one  day  become  a  tall, 
slim,  110-pound  movie  star.  I  know 
I  had  no  (Continued  on  page  104) 


39 


A  Modern  Screen 
reporter  moves  in  on 
another  Hollywood 
miracle — the  miracle  of 
Linda  Darnell.  Her 
story  isn't  new  but  the 
wonder  hasn't  changed. 
A  skinny  kid  living  on 
Hollywood  Avenue 
in  Texas;  a  once-beautiful 
mother  pushing  a  dream  .  .  . 

BY  HENRY  GRIS 


on 


■  I  pulled  out  the  envelope  that  said: 
"Oak  Cliff — Darnell — see  Mrs.  Cornwall, 
711  Hollywood  Avenue."  and  felt  the  old 
excitement  rising  in  me.  I'm  a  wandering 
reporter,  and  there's  no  thrill  like  the  thrill 
of  moving  in  on  a  story,  after  a  couple  of 
false  starts. 

I'd  begun  my  hunt  for  the  Linda  Darnell 
story  in  the  heart  of  Dallas,  across  the 
river,  because,  technically,  Dallas  is  Linda's 
home-town.  But  Dallas  is  too  big.  You 
-have  the  feeling  that  sounds  and  feet  and 
commerce  and  bulldozers  have  obliterated 
any  imprint  a  girl  might  once  have  made. 
Sure,  the  people  thought  Linda  was  pretty, 
sure  they  went  to  see  her  pictures,  but 


40 

I 


Only  two,  Linda  showed  promise  of  beau-  At  seven,  Linda'd 
fy  that  led  to  roles  lite  Forever  Amber.-    started  drama  lessons. 


Margaret  and  Roy  Darnell  of  Dallas,  Texas,  pose  with  three  of  their  four  chil-  The  Darnell  backyard  wasn't  Hollywood,  The  Walls  Of  Jericho 
dren. "Linda  (born  Monetta).,  Monte  and  Roy,  Jr.  Oldest  girl,  Undeen,  is  absent.     but  ■  I  I -yr.-old  Linda  could  strike  a  pose!     star  at  12,  in  costume. 


Dallas  is  a  boom-town,  and  in  a  boom- 
town,  you  contemplate  dollars;  you  have 
no  time  to  ponder  Hollywood  miracles. 

"I  remember  her  as  a  skinny  kid  of 
twelve,"  one  man  told  me.  "She  was  com- 
peting for  a  five  dollar  prize  at  the  Sunset 
Theater,  and  she  did  a  Spanish  dance.  She 
didn't  even  get  honorable  mention.  We're 
pleased  Monetta's  gone  to  Hollywood,  but 
we  refuse  to  fuss  over  it.  There's  more 
good  stuff  where  she  came  from!" 

But  the  legend  which  Dallas  considers  so 
matter-of-factly  is  a  source  of  bliss  to  little 
Oak  Cliff,  the  Dallas  suburb  right  across 
the  Trinity  River.  Why,  Monetta  Darnell 
put  Oak  Cliff  on  the  map!    Roy  Darnell's 


five-room  cottage  still  stands  there,  on 
Hollywood  Avenue,  though  it's  been  sold  to 
other  people.  The  street  number's  715. 
And  next  door,  at  711,  lives  the  lady  named 
Mrs.  Mary  Cornwall. 

I  looked  at  my  envelope  again.  And 
then  I  knocked  on  Mrs.  Cornwall's  door. 
There's  the  moment  of  tension.  What  will 
the  woman  say?  What  will  I  read  in  her 
eyes? 

But  she's  a  pleasant  old  lady,  she  re- 
members, she's  willing  to  talk — and  I'm 
really  on  the  track,  this  time. 

Mrs.  Cornwall's  the  official  chronicler  of 
Hollywood  Avenue.  She  came  there  28 
years  ago,  when  the  area  was  farmland,  and 


only  twelve  houses  stood  in  a  street  recently 
cut  through  the  fields. 

She'd  been  there  when  the  Darnells 
moved  in,  and  when  the  Darnells  moved 
out.  She'd  kept  abreast  of  Hollywood 
news  concerning  a  certain  Linda  Darnell; 
she  let  the  people  of  Oak  Cliff  know  what 
was  going  on.  "I  have  news  for  you,"  she'd 
say  from  time  to  time.  "Here's  the  latest 
about  Monetta.  You  know  Mrs.  Darnell 
sold  the  house  recently?  Well,  Monetta's 
made  up  her  mind  to  get  it  back — " 

Old  Mrs.  Cornwall  knows.  She  keeps  her 
ear  to  the  ground.  But  as  I  sat  in  her  tiny 
living-room,  with  the  plush  armchairs,  and 
the  bric-a-brac  {Continued  on  page.  102) 


George  Stevens,  director  of  /  Remember  Mama,  teases 
Barbara  about  her  1910  teen-ager  costume.  Visitors  to  the 
set  didn't  believe  Barbara  was  Susan's  (opp.  pg.)  mother. 


I  REMEMBER 
BARBARA 


mm 


■  Before  I  became  a  feature  producer,  I  made 
a  series  of  short  subjects  called  Screen  Snap- 
shots and,  during  six  years,  photographed 
almost  every  young  player  who  came  to  Holly- 
wood. Some  didn't  make  the  grade,  others 
scored.  I  always  made  bets  with  myself  on 
which  would  succeed  and  which  would  fail. 

Quite  the  most  interesting  young  actress 
I've  seen  in  years,  from  the  standpoint  of 
personality,  ability  and  background  is  Bar- 
bara Bel  Geddes.  It  is  only  slightly  coinci- 
dental that  she's  in  /  Remember  Mama  which 
I'm  producing,  with  George  Stevens  as  execu- 
tive producer-director. 

Barbara  made  a  brilliant  screen  debut  in 
The  Long  Night  after  an  equally  imposing 
success  in  the  New  York  play  Deep  Are  the 
Roots.  I  didn't  get  to  see  the  play  but  I  read 
all  her  glowing  press  notices  with  great  ex- 
citement because  RKO  had  signed  her  for  the 
very  important  part  of  Katrin  in  /  Remember 
Mama.  My  excitement  increased  when  I  saw 
the  first  feet  of  film  (Continued  on  page  108) 


■  When  Modern  Screen  asked  me  to  tell  about  my 
sister  Ida,  and  me,  I  was  a  little  frightened.  This  was  a 
magazine,  I  thought,  which  would  want  a  story  about 
two  girls  growing  up,  going  to  church  together  on 
Sundays,  swapping  clothes  and  dates  and  makeup,  and 
this  was  the  kind  of  story  I  couldn't  give  them,  because 
it  never  happened  to  me. 

Lupinos  are  strange,  I  guess.  Ida  and  I  have  both 
worked  since  we  were  tiny.  We've  been  together  and 
apart  a  hundred  times,  for  days,  occasionally  for  months, 
and  now  I  sit  in  a  Greenwich  Village  club  where  it's 
almost  morning,  and  I  try  to  explain  about  Ida,  3,000 
miles  away,  and  fast  asleep,  and  how  it  is  with  the  two 
of  us. 

We  love  each  other  very  much,  and  yet  we  correspond 
infrequently.  The  papers  say  Ida  is  going  to  marry 
Collier  Young,  and  I  haven't  even  heard  from  her  about 
it.  When  she  gets  ready  to  let  me  know,  she  won't  write; 
she'll  phone,  and  talk  for  an  hour,  and  run  up  a  bill 
.that  only  a  movie  actress  could  pay. 

Ida  should  have  been  the  one  to  do  this  story,  actually. 
She  has  a  staggering  memory.  She  can  talk  about  inci- 
dents that  happened  in  shows  when  she  was  three  or 
four.  I  don't  do  so  well,  but  even  for  me,  a  few  things 


stand  out.  Sitting  with  Ida  in  a  box,  all  by  ourselves, 
at  the  theater  in  London,  for  instance,  watching  our 
father  and  mother  in  a  musical  called  Hold  My  Hand. 

They  were  both  fine  artists,  and  we  saw  them  many 
times. 

Ida  started  dancing  when  she  was  five;  I  did  too,  but 
I  never  got  over  it.  Dancing  was  always  the  big  thing 
With  me,  and  nowadays  my  family  gets  a  little  impatient 
with  it,  because  it's  not  an  easy  way  to  live,  and  they 
think  I'm  overworked  and  too  thin.  And  when  they're 
done  arguing,  they  shake  their  heads  and  say,  "In  the 
blood,"  and  give  the  whole  argument  up. 

Anyhow,  Ida  and  I  both  danced  as  children,  but  there 
the  similarity  ended.  She  was  good  in  school;  I  was 
always  being  expelled  for  bringing  mice  to  class.  When 
I  was  eight,  I  ended  up  in  a  convent  behind  a  high 
wall.  It  must  have  been  the  only  place  they  thought 
could  hold  me. 

Out  in  back  of  the  house,  at  the  bottom  of  our  gar- 
den, Daddy  had  a  real  miniature  theater  built  for  us. 
It  wasn't  a  toy;  he'd  spent  thousands  of  dollars  on  it, 
and  it  was  completely  and  professionally  equipped.  Ida 
and  I  trained  there.  She  wrote  music  for  our  plays  (she 
still  composes  magnificent   {Continued  on  page  82) 


44 


myi 


Ida  (of  Escape  Me  Never),  publicist  Harry  Mines,  actress  Frances 
Robinson  and  Collier  Young,  Warner  exec — stars  of  the  Lupino-Young  wed- 
ding scheduled  for  May.  Harry  and  Frances  will  be  their  two  attendants. 


Charles  Feldman,  Ida's  agent,  sent  the  lady  a  modern  painting.  Here,  it 
meets  critics,  Mrs.  Lupino  and  Collier.  Young  gave  his  bride-to-be  a 
diamond  and  ruby  antique  ring.  Ida  gave  her  groom  a  gold  money  clip. 


"Lupinos  are  strange,"  says  Rita,  thinking  back  to  when 
they  were  kids  .  .  .  Ida,  dazzled  by  the  stage,  Rita,  dreaming 

of  castanets  in  Spain.  Apart  a  hundred  times  since 
then,  but  somehow,  always  together  .  .  . 


sister  and  I 


by  rita  lupino 


They  told  her  she  was 

too  young  for  romantic  leads, 

but  even-tempered 

Mona  Freeman  refused  to  get 

miffed.    She  simply 

retired  to  become  a  mother! 

BY  CARL  SCHROEDER 


a'nt  Shn  swetit! 


Mona,  Jr.,  born  last  October,  has  one  of  Hollywood's  young- 
est mothers.  Mona,  Sr.'s  only  21,  was  a  model  in  New  York 
when  she  was  voted  Miss  Subways,  given  a  Para,  contract. 


■  Mona  Freeman,  blonde,  tiny,  and  lovely  as  a 
Spring  song,  looked  at  the  man  she  was  going  to 
marry. 

She  was  not  impressed. 

Pat  Nerney  was  not  impressed,  either. 

"Hullo,"  he  mumbled,  opening  his  Irish  map  wide 
enough  to  admit  an  oversized  bite  of  ham  sandwich. 

Pat  was  uncomfortable  in  his  sailor  uniform,  and 
he  was  not  getting  up  off  the  comfortable  perch  on 
the  back  steps  of  his  Beverly  Hills  home  for  any- 
body. He  was  too  tired  in  the  first  place.  Just  out 
of  the  Naval  hospital  in  San  Diego,  and  shot  full  of 
bug-eating  drugs,  he  wanted  to  be  left  alone.  In  the 
second  place,  he  vaguely  remembered  that  his  brother 
John  had  been  dating  this  Mona  Whatsername. 

And  if  a  third  place  were  needed,  he  had  a  date 
that  night  with  Diana  Lynn. 

All  this  happened  about  three  years  ago,  just  be- 
fore John  Nerney  went  into  the  service.  His  number 
suddenly  came  up  for  Pacific  service,  and  more  or 
less  to  make  conversation,  brother  Pat  said,  "I  sup- 
pose it's  all  right  with  you  if  I  have  a  date  with 
Mona  now  and  then  while  you're  gone." 


Auto  aqent  Pat  Nerney  and  Mona  were  married  three  years  ago. 
Five-foot-three,  blonde  and  blue-eyed,  Mona  was  on  loan-out  four 
times  before  her  home  studio  gave  her  a  break  in  Dear  Ruth. 


It  was  all  right.  John  had  no  exclusive  interests. 
Like  Pat,  he  played  the  field. 

Brother  Pat  didn't  know  what  this  casual  interest 
would  lead  to,  but  several  months  later  he  began  to 
find  out. 

"I  guess,"  Mona  says,  remembering  the  day,  "that 
in  our  subconscious  minds  the  romance  had  been 
going  on  for  quite  a  while." 

In  any  event,  Mona  trapped  Pat  into  taking  her 
shopping  in  Beverly  Hills  on  a  Saturday  afternoon. 
Reluctantly,  he  agreed.  He  felt  a  little  uncomfort- 
able as  Mona  stopped  in  front  of  the  eighteenth  store 
window,  pressed  her  nose  against  the  glass,  and  gazed 
fondly  at  an  expensive  dress  she  wasn't  going  to  buy. 

A  friend  spotted  them  and  said,  "What  do  you 
two  think  you're  doing?" 

"Oh  nothing  much,"  Pat  replied,  sharp  with  humor. 
"Mona  is  working  out  her  trousseau.  We're  going 
to  get  married." 

Some  joke.    The  three  of  them  laughed  merrily. 

That  evening,  Pat  dropped  by  to  take  Mona  to 
producer  Arthur  Freed's  birthday  party.  Mona,  in  a 
long  white  fluffy  dress,  looked  (Continued  on  page  89) 


The  piggy-bank  is  Mona,  Jr.,'s,  and  Daddy  sometimes  forgets  to 
part  with  his  loose  change.  Mrs.  Nerney  claims  her  favorite  pas- 
time is  being  lazy,  but  really  works  hard  in  Isn't  It  Romantic! 


•■I 

47 


mrs. 
sherry 


Bette    in  blue 

denims  .  .  .  Bette  playing 

with  the  baby  .  .  . 

Bette    yapping  away, 

arms  waving  in  the 

breeze.  That's  how  artist 

Sherry  sees  his 

wife,  Miss  Bette  Davis,  the 

dignified  movie  star! 


r 


)( 


as  told  to  george  benjamin 


by  william  grant  sherry 


48 


■  I  like  the  title  of  this  story.  Confession 
being  good  for  the  soul,  let  me  confess 
right  off  to  a  masculine  prejudice.  My  wife 
is  known  and  addressed  by  everyone,  natur- 
ally, as  Miss  Davis,  but,  at  home  it  irks 
me  to  hear  her  addressed  otherwise  than 
Mrs.  Sherry.  This  is  an  irk  normal  to  men 
married  to  famous  women  so  I'm  not  apolo- 
gizing for  it,  merely  pointing  out  why  the  1 
title  makes  me  beam. 

When  I  am  asked  to  talk  about  her  (my 
wife)  the  subject  becomes  long,  wide  and 
inexhaustible.  I  have  many  mental  pic- 
tures of  Bette,  all  different.  She  is  kind, 
loyal,  honest,  warm-hearted,  generous, 
courageous.  It  may  be  against  the  rules  to , 
come  out  with  extravagant  praise  of  your 
wife,  but  these  things  being  true,  I  say 
them. 

To  avoid  more  adjectives,  perhaps  the 


best  way  to  tell  the  story  is  through  these 
pictures  of  Bette  that  run  through  my 
mind.  I  remember  our  first  evening  at 
Butternut,  Bette's  New  Hampshire  home, 
where  we  went  on  our  honeymoon.  We'd 
been  motoring  for  days  over  snowpacked 
roads  to  get  there  in  time  for  Christmas. 
Our  luck,  our  stubbornness  and  the  chains 
had  held,  so  we  made  it. 

Like  Bette,  I'm  a  New  Englander,  and 
legend  hath  it  that  we  are  the  taciturn  folk. 
If  this  is  true,  neither  of  us  runs  true  to 
type.  We  are  both  what's  politely  called 
articulate.  We  call  it  gabby.  Often  we  find 
ourselves  talking  about  two  different  things 
at  the  same  time,  till  one  of  us  stops  and 
indignantly  announces,  "You're  not  listen- 
ing to  me."  This  strikes  us  as  the  joke  of 
the  ages. 

But  that  night  we  were  both  unnaturally 


quiet.  I  thought  Bette  was  just  tired,  as 
she  had  every  right  to  be.  But  presently  I 
realized  that  this  wasn't  enough  to  account 
for  a  kind  of  childlike  woe  on  her  face. 

"What's  the  matter  with  you?"  I  asked. 

"I  wanted  so  much  for  you  to  like  my 
home,  and  I  can  tell  by  your  face  you  don't 
like  it  at  all." 

Actually,  I  had  found  Butternut  so  every- 
thing that  I  loved  in  a  home  that  I,  for 
once,  was  speechless.  It  was  all  I  had  hoped 
to  build  myself  some  day.  I  tried  to  ex- 
plain to  Bette  how  it  felt  to  have  every- 
thing you've  always  wanted  suddenly  yours. 

"It  also  makes  me  a  little  angry,"  I 
added,  "because  I  had  nothing  to  do  with 
building  it." 

That  sent  her  into  gales  of  laughter,  and 
the  Sherrys  were  themselves  again. 

Bette's  love  for  Butternut  has  for  many 


years  been  one  of  the  primary  things  in 
her  life.  Here  she  has  kept  her  collection 
of  antique  furniture,  her  books,  her  won- 
derful array  of  awards.  She  has  only  re- 
cently realized  that  it  is  foolish  to  see  her 
treasures  so  seldom.  Her  work  confines  her 
here  3,500  miles  away.  She  has  at  last  de- 
cided to  selj  Butternut.  It  was  a  difficult 
decision  to  make.  She  had  always  felt  her 
roots  were  in  New  England.  I  think  she 
feared  if  she  gave  up  her  home  there,  her 
roots  would  in  some  way  disintegrate.  We 
spent  last  winter  there  waiting  for  Barbara 
to  be  born.  We  have  many  pictures  of  that 
winter — the  snow  on  Christmas  Eve,  the 
breathtakingly  beautiful  white  world  next 
morning,  the  huge  open  fires,  the  old  beams 
catching  the  firelight,  the  quiet  evening 
with  friends  around  the  fire,  it  is  a  way  of 
life  important  to    (Continued  on  page  61) 


alias  sam 
spade 


HE'S  HARD-BOILED; 
HE  SLAYS  THE  WOMEN  WITH  HIS 
VOICE;  HIS  NAME'S  SAM 
SPADE.  DETECTIVE.  BUT  WHEN 
HE  STEPS  AWAY  FROM  THE 
MIKE.  YOU'VE  GOT  ACTOR 
HOWARD  DUFF— AND  WOMEN 
DON'T  HATE  HIM,  EITHER! 

By  Louis  Pollock 


■  One  particularly  filthy  day  during  the  war, 
a  couple  of  hundred  cubic  miles  of  wind,  rain 
and  fog  got  together  and  lined  up  against  one 
lone  Navy  transport  plane  trying  to  find  its 
way  from  Iwo  Jima  to  Saipan.  Aboard  the 
plane  was  an  overload  of  military  passengers, 
including  a  fellow  called  Howard  Duff,  master 
sergeant  in  the  U.  S.  Army.  Duff  was  playing 
bridge,  when  one  of  the  pilots  suddenly  burst 
out  of  the  cockpit  cabin  yelping  for  everyone 
to  strap  on  life  preservers. 

Then  a  dozen  guys  were  on  his  tail  wanting 
to  know  what  was  up.  He  told  them.  On  ac- 
count of  playing  tag  with  the  storm,  the  plane 
was  some  six  or  seven  hundred  miles  off  course, 
and,  as  one  half-hysterical  soldier  put  it, 
"probably  damn  near  as  many  gallons  of  gas 
short  of  making  Saipan!" 

Things  got  very  quiet,  and  you  could  feel 
the  strain.  At  this  moment,  Master  Sergeant 
Duff  chose  to  play  a  card  and  flipped  it  right 
into  the  center  of  the  improvised  table.  The 
other  players  and  the  rest  of  the  men  were 
dumbfounded. 

"Hey,  Sarge!  Ain't  you  heard?  The  pilot 
said  the  plane's  maybe  going  downj  and  noth- 
ing under  us  but  the  deep  Pacific!" 

Duff  looked  up.  "I've  got  my  life  preserver 
on  and  I'm  waiting  until  we  hit.  What  do 
you  want  me  to  do,  dive  from  up  here?" 

The  laugh  broke  the  tension  and  the  men 
settled  down  to  what  was  coming  in  a  spirit 
more  philosophic.  (Continued  on  page  109) 


Howard  Duff,  "hottest  thing  on  the  Universal  lot  since  his 
role  as  pathological  liar  in  Naked  City,  chats  with  Burt 
Lancaster  between  takes  on  their  latest  film,  All  My  Sons. 


Sunday  nights,  Duff's  the  hard-boiled  detective  Sam  Spade, 
a  Dashiell  Hammett  invention.  Man  behind  the  controls  is  di- 
rector Bill  Spier.  Universal  may  make  a  movie  of  the  series. 


51 


LIFE 


melvina  pumphrey 


FOR  PRESS  AGENT  MEL.  IT'S  HARD  TO  IMAGINE 
LIFE  WITHOUT  ESTHER,  THE  GAL  WITH  THE  SUNNY 

SMILE.  GAG  A-MINUTE  MIND — AND  LOVELY.  SLOPPY  WAY 
ABOUT  THE  KITCHEN! 


"Esther  married  Ben 
Gage  on  November  25,  1945, 
in  Westwood.    I  was  her  only 
attendant.    Ben's  brother, 
Charles,  was  best  man." 


"She  tackles  all  her  work 
with  equal  vigor.  Esther  was  dogged 
about  studying  bull- 
fighting with  Antonio  Marquez 
in  Mexico." 


"At  the  world-famous 
Charro  Festival  (a  Mexico  charity 
rodeo)  Esther  was  intro- 
duced to  the  crowd  by  a  Mexico 
City  dentist." 


■  Esther  Williams  flashed  her  sunny 
smile  at  the  photographers.  "If  you 
boys  are  through,"  she  said,  "I  think 
I'll  slip  into  a  suit  and  have  myself 
a  swim." 

I  had  a  moment  of  panic.  Me,  I 
can't  swim  a  stroke.  Here  I  was 
trusted  by  my  boss  with  a  new 
M-G-M  starlet  named  Esther  Wil- 
liams. It  was  my  first  publicity  as- 
signment with  her — a  fashion  sitting 
at  the  Town  House.  I'd  worked  at 
the  studio  just  two  weeks.  What  I 
knew  about  Esther  Williams,  you 
could  have  slipped  under  your  left 
eyelash. 

But  I  was  playing  this  safe.  If  she 
drowned  in  that  pool,  I  wasn't  going 
to  have  her  blood  on  my  hands. 

"Wait  a  minute,"  I  interrupted 
anxiously.  "Are  you  sure  you  can 
swim?" 

Esther  still  kids  me  about  it,  be- 
cause when  I  pulled  that  one,  she 
was  a  past  national  freestyle  swim- 
ming champ! 

It  happened  five  and  one  half 
years  ago  and  strangely  enough,  it 
was  the  start  of  a  perfect  personal 
friendship  and  career  connection 
that's  lasted  happily  every  day 
since.  Maybe  I'd  better  explain: 
My  name's  Melvina  Pumphrey  and 
strangely  enough,  I've  been  associ- 
ated with  Esther  Williams'  publicity 
from  that  day  on.  I  know  somewhat 
more  about  her  by  now. 

She  was  bridesmaid  at  my  wed- 
ding and  I  was  bridesmaid  at  hers. 
Esther  came  along  on  my  honey- 
moon ("Look,  I've  got  to  see  this 
thing  through,"  she  said)  and  I  flew 
after  Ben  Gage  and  his  bride  the  day 
after  they  hopped  off  for  Mexico. 
We've  traveled  all  over  the  country 
together,  shared  a  hundred  hotel 
rooms,  swapped  outfits  too  (we  wear 
the  same  sizes,  with  a  few  minor  ad- 
justments). I've  fretted  like  a  dot- 
ing maw  over  every  problem  Esther's 
had,  and  vice  versa. 

People  have  tossed  bouquets  at 
times  which  make  me  purr,  naturally. 
"You've  done  a  wonderful  job  with 
Esther,"  they  say.  I  have  a .  stock 
comeback.  "Look  what  I've  got  to 
work  with." 

There's  a  tree-top  tall  character  in 
modern  screen's  Hollywood  office 
named  Tom  Carlile,  and  the  other 


"Wherever  she  goes,  Esther  infects 

people  with  her  gaiety.  Here,  while  being  fitted,  she's  giving 
Irene,  M-G-M's  head  designer,  the  news  about  a  p.a.  tour." 


"Ben  came  down  to  see  Esther  several 

times  during  the  filming  of  Fiesta.    That's  my  husband,  Ken 
McEldowney,  on  the  right;  we're  at 
the  Mexico  City  Race  Track." 


LIFE  WITH  ESTHER 


"In  Mexico  City  we  looked  around  like 
tourists  before  Esther  went  to  work.    With  Antonio 
Marquez,  we  went  to  all  the  bull- 
fights, ate  too  many  tocos." 


day  he  phoned  me.  "Mel,  you've  been  all 
over  the  country  with  Esther,  you  know 
more  about  her  than  anyone  outside  of  her 
family  and  Ben,"  he  said.  "We  want  you 
to  write  the  real  lowdown,  the  inside,  the 
works." 

"That  is  not  an  utterly  impossible  re- 
quest," I  replied,  modestly. 

"There's  a  catch,"  he  said.  "We  want 
to  illustrate  the  story  with  pictures  of  you 
and  Esther  taken  during  your  vast 
travels  together." 

"Hey,  remember  me?"  I  said.  "It's  my 
job  to  stay  out  of  pictures.  Besides,  I 
don't  think  I  have  any." 

"G'wan,"  he  said.  "You  must  have  a 
.personal  scrapbook  chuckfull." 

So  he  convinced  me,  and  if  you  don't 
like  my  looks  in  the  pictures  on  these 
pages,  blame  it  on  Tom. 

I  think  it  is  pertinent  that  after  five  and 
a  half  years  with  Esther,  I  still  can't 
swim  a  stroke.  She  has  labored  patiently 
to  teach  me,  and  every  time  I've  spluttered, 
gagged  and  half-drowned.  "Just  lie  down 
in  the  water  like  you're  going  to  sleep." 
says  Esther.  "That's  the  first  step."  So  I 
do,  trustingly,  and  I  wake  up  on  the  bot- 


54 


"Eating  -with  Esther  is  my  biggest  occupa- 
tional hazard.  She  has  a  healthy  appetite,  but  she 
works  off  all  the  excess  calories.  Wish 
1  could  say  the  samel" 


torn,  asleep  in  the  deep.  The  last  step, 
maybe  she  means.  When  Esther  isn't  sub- 
mersed, she's  flying  high  with  a  natural 
bouyancy  that  makes  her  a  dream  to  be 
around. 

I  remember  the  day  (not  long  after  that 
swimming-pool  boner  of  mine)  Esther 
asked  me  to  go  with  her  to  Cal  Shipyards. 
It  was  during  the  war  and  she'd  been  asked 
to  christen  a  boat. 

The  first  surprise  came  when  she  led  me 
to  her  rackety  flivver  and  wheeled  me 
across  town  bouncing  and  rattling  and 
talking  a  blue  streak — mostly  about  her 
family.  "Hey,"  she  said,  "We've  got  time. 
Let's  drop  by  the  house  and  see  Mom." 
So  we  did.  I've  never  forgotten  it. 

It  wasn't  much  of  a  Hollywood  glamor 
house  as  I'd  pictured  them.  It  was  tiny, 
plain  and  in  the  unfashionable  south  end 
of  town.  But  Esther  ushered  me  inside  as 
if  it  was  a  -palace  to  meet  her  sweet, 
smart,  motherly  mom. 

Before  we  left,  I'd  inspected  the  bed 
Esther  was  born  in,  her  baby  crib  and 
1 1  clothes.  We'd  dug  down  in  the  trunk  to 
;  j;  see  her  homemade  party  gowns,  old  beaux' 
ji  pictures,  (Continued  on  page  95) 


"Sharing  a  train  bedroom  can  be  agony,  but 

not  when  your  partner  has  a  sense  of  humor.  Here,  the  star  of  On 
An  Island  With  You  talks  about  her  favorite  guy,  Ben." 


55 


Bob  Hastings,  Fairfax  High  student,  was  a  surprised  young 
man  when  Ralph  Edwards,  on  Truth  or  Consequences  show, 
told  him  Lizabeth  Scott  had  volunteered  to  be  his  date  at 
ROTC  dance.  His  regular  gal,  Bob  said,  had  turned  him  down. 


He  stood  there, 
expecting  a  pie  in  the  face, 
because  anything  could  happen 
on  this  loony  radio  show. 
Then  they  brought  out 
Liz  Scott,  and  Bob  thought, 
Oh,  brother,  what 
a  consequence! 

BY  CYNTHIA  MILLER 


/ 


■  Bob  Hastings  felt  terrible. 
Five  o'clock  on  a  Saturday  afternoon,  and 
here  was  his  girl  on  the  other  end 
of  the  wire  breaking  their  date  for  the  ROTC 
ball  that  night.  "I'm  busy,"  she  said. 
He  said  "Okay.  I'll  go  alone,  but  it  won't  be  much 
fun."  And  he  hung  up  sadly. 

Delda  was  a  wonderful  girl,  and  he  just 
didn't  understand  it. 

"Look,"  his  mother  said,  "come  along  with 
Dad  and  Don  and  me  to  the  Truth  or 
Consequences  radio  show  this  after- 
noon. Dad  got  tickets  from  a  man  in  the  office — " 

It  was  an  obvious  attempt  to  cheer  him 
up,  but  that  was  all  right,  too.  He 
grinned,  put  his  arm  around  his  mother,  and 
said,  "Swell." 

He  was  sitting  in  the  radio  station, 
brooding,  when  Don  (his  nineteen-year-old 
brother)  poked  him  in  the  ribs.  "Hey, 
they're  asking  for  two  high  school  students 
— raise  your  hand,  you  could  use  some 
of  that  fast  radio  money." 

Bob  raised  his  hand  obediently,  and  was 
hooked  by  Ralph  Edwards,  the  show's 

{Continued  on  following  page) 


56 


After  the  program,  Bob  and  Liz  stopped  at  Brown  Derby  for  quick  dinner. 
Host  Ralph  suggested  the  steak,  but  Bob,  who'd  lost  his  appetite  in  the 
excitement  of  the  broadcast,  settled  on  a  sandwich  and  an  ice-cream  sundae. 


Bob*,  slicked  up  in  his  ROTC  uniform,  gets  a  fond  send-off  from 
his  family.  Aside  from  their  well-wishes,  he  was  equipped  with 
orchid,  $50  cash  arid  chauffeured  limousine,  thanks  to  Edwards. 


•  Orchid  tucked  under  his  arm,  Bob  greeted  Liz  at  her  door.  He  was  surprised 
,  to  find  she  only  appears  tall  in  films  (/  Walk  Alone  and  Pitfall  are  her 
latest).  Actually,  she's  two  inches  shorter  than  he,  not -"too  sophisticated." 


Liz  paused  on  the  porch  for  Bob  to  pin  the  orchid  on  her  mink. 
Under  the  coat,  she  wore  a  simple  white  crepe  grown  with  a  large 
metal-studded  belt.    Her  hair  was  arranged  in  large,  soft  curls. 


TRUTH  or  CONSEQUENCES 


Settled  in  the  car,  Liz,  who's  24,  and  Bob,  16  and  a  half,  got  acquainted.  He  At  the  Ball,  Liz  met  Bob's  commanding  officer,  Lt.  Col. 
told  her  his  girl  had  called  that  very  day,  said  she'd  made  q  date  with  Hal  Randall.  He  and  Liz  exchanged  knowing  glances,  for 
another  guy  weeks  before,  had  forgotten  about  it.  Liz  was  sympathetic.      in  6  little  while,  the  "gag"  would  be  revealed  to  all! 


■  •  ;'V  v:  -  "  "-•    '  i  ■  s  -i-?     '  [ 

•  .  .  .  ) 

master  of  ceremonies.  Edwards  asked  Bob  to  go  up  on  the 
stage,  and  Bob  went  up  and  watched  as  two  warm-up  con- 
testants— big,  burly  men — raced  to  put  on  women's  clothing, 
and  he  wondered  what  kind  of  nutty  stunt  he'd  end  up 
doing.  Eventually,  Mr.  Edwards  called  him  to  the  micro- 
phone, and  asked  for  his  full  name. 

"Robert  George  Hastings."  The  words  came  out  shakily. 

"Where  do  you  go  to  school?" 

"Fairfax  High,"  he  said.  And  then  Mr.  Edwards  was 
saying,  "And  now  your  question.  A.  A.  O'Keefe  wants  you 
to  name  three  popular  sports  in  which  feathers  are  used." 

Bob  opened  his  mouth.  "Pillow  fighting — "  His  mind 
fled,  and  he  stood  frozen,  as  the  horn  sounded.  "You  haven't 
told  the  truth,"  Edwards  said,  "so  you'll  have  to  pay  the 
consequences.  Are  you  free  tonight?" 

Bob  said  no,  he  wasn't,  he  was  going  to  a  military  ball 
out  at  school.  Ralph  asked  if  he  had  a  date. 

He  stood  there,  considering  Delda's  perfidy.  "No,"  he 
said.  "I  did  have,  but  I  don't  now." 

Mr.  Edwards  got  the  whole  painful  story  out  of  him, 
after  which  he  boomed,  "How  would  you  like  to  go  to  that 
dance  escorting  a  beautiful  movie  star  like  Lizabeth  Scott?" 

"I'd  rather  have  a  short  one,"  Bob  said  candidly.  Once 
the  laughter  had  faded  a  little,  Ralph  said,  "Oh,  the  movies 
make  them  look  a  lot  taller,"  and  then  before  anybody  could 
say  anything  else,  Lizabeth  Scott  strode  on-stage. 

Bob's  face  turned  brick-red. 

"Miss  Scott's  volunteered  to  fill  the  gap  in  your  eve- 


ning," Ralph  said.  "And  you'll  have  $50  spending  money, 
and  a  chauffeured  limousine — " 

Timidly,  Bob  gazed  at  Lizabeth.  She  sure  was  pretty, 
and  not  so  tall,  either.  Not  as  tall  as  he  was,  even. 

When  the  broadcast  was  over,  Mr.  Edwards  took  Bob 
and  Liz  to  the  Brown  Derby  to  eat, ,  and  then  they  sep- 
arated, each  going  home  to  get  dressed  for  the  ball.  Bob's 
family  helped  him  slick  up,  excitedly,  and  he  explained 
that  Miss  Scott  was  really  awfully  nice,  and  as  long  as  he 
couldn't  be  taking  Delda — • 

At  8  o'clock,  he  drove  away  in  the  limousine,  clutching 
under  his  arm  the  box  of  orchids  the  program  had  provided. 

He  got  a  kick  out  of  walking  in  to  the  dance  with  Liz 
by  his  side.  She  looked  gorgeous,  all  right.  He  introduced 
her  to  his  commanding  officer,  Lt.  Col.  Randall,  and  Colonel 
Randall  took  them  up  on  the  platform,  and  introduced  Miss 
Scott  to  all  the  people. 

After  which  Miss  Scott  went  down  into  the  audience  and 
came  back  with  Delda  Jacks,  Bob's  girl.  "She  was  in  on 
the  stunt  with  Mr.  Edwards,"  Liz  explained  to  the  aston- 
ished Bob.  "She  hated  having  to  phone  like  that.  Now 
you  two  go  have  the  first  dance  together." 

But  Bob  politely  invited  Liz  to  be  his  first  partner. 

Next  number,  he  excused  himself,  and  approached  Delda. 
Delda  slipped  into  his  arms,  and  they  drifted  away,  both 
smiling  because  it  was  good  to  be  sixteen,  and  dancing. 
And  once  Bob  whispered,  "She's  swell,  all  right — but  Delda, 
you're  my  girl." 


58 


Liz  danced  the  first  one  with  Bob,  and  he  began  Later,  she'd  introduced  Delda  Jacks,  Bob's  girl.  Delda'd  been  in 
to  lose  his  self-consciousness.  Previously,  Liz  had  on  "frame-up,"  was  glad,  at  last,  that  truth  was  out.  Admitted 
been  introduced  to  the  audience  by  Col.  Randall.      breaking  date  on  day  of  dance  was  hardest  thing  she'd  ever  done! 


Graceful  Vikkie  Dougan,  New  York  mode) 

and  prize-winning  skater. 

A 

r 

"Look  Pink,"  blithe  new  spring  shade 

HI 

of  Cutex  polish. 

(Luscious  in  Cutex  Lipstick  too.) 

jnj  ■ 

"Never,  eier  before,  have  I  found 

a  polish  so  long-wearing 

as  the  new  Cutex,"  says  Vikkie. 


— newest,  fashion-favored  look  for  nails  and  lips 


This  spring,  fashion  loves  pink!  You  11  love 
"Look  Pink" —  glowing  on  your  nails  and  lips 
— flattering  your  new  clothes,  and  you! 

It's  a  heavenly  shade  in  a  stay-perfect  pol- 
ish! Cutex  now  outwears  even  costly  polishes! 
Sparkles  with  rich,  fadeless  color!  And  new 
Cutex  is  angel-pure — safe  for  even  sensitive 
skins.  A  wonderful  exclusive  found  in  no 


other  leading  polish!  Only  lOjif,  plus  tax. 

You'll  love  the  "Look  Pink"  shade  in 
creamy,  silk-smooth  Cutex  Lipstick  too.  So 
luxurious!  Yet  .  .  .  only  49^,  plus  tax. 

Try  all  Cutex's  fine  manicure  aids,  from 
nippers  to  nail  white,  for  the  exquisite  groom- 
ing new  fashions  demand.  Northam Warren, 
New  York. 


MRS.  SHERRY— BY  WILLIAM  GRANT  SHERRY 

(Continued  from  page  49) 


both  of  us.  But  in  the  end,  Bette  said,  "My 
work  will  always  be  in  California;  Butter- 
nut has  always  been  too  far  away.  Let's 
sell  it." 

Another  picture  in  my  mind  is  Bette  as 
a  mother.  She  adores  her  daughter  with- 
j   out  smothering  her.  Many  times  when  Bette 
and  I  are  playing  with  Barbara,  she  will 
turn  to  me  and  say,  "Sherry,  is  she  really 
ours?"  Being  such  an  individual  herself, 
she  treats  Bede  like  one.  No  baby  talk 
j   from  Bette.  That's  my  prerogative.  One 
'   of  Bette's  favorite  pastimes  at  the  moment 
j    is  watching  me  toss  Bede  up  and  catch 
her.  The  baby  chuckles  away  as  she  flies 
through  the  air.  (Bede,  the  nickname  we 
!    use,  is  the  vocalization  of  the  baby's  in- 
j    itials.  B.  D.  Sherry.) 

When  Bette  isn't  working,  we  live  en- 
■   tirely  in  Laguna.  Some  of  the  nicest  pic- 
j   tures  in  my  men,tal  album  are  of  her 
j   there.  Bette  in  blue  denims  looking  like 
a  little  girl.  Bette  playing  in  the  sand  with 
her  niece  Fay.  Bette  sitting  in  the  end 
of  our  rowboat  while  I  take  her  on  trips 
up  and  down  the  coast,  Bette  barbecuing 
chickens  by  the  light  of  the  fire  and  the 
moon,  Bette  swimming — but  that's  a  story, 
and  I'd  better  go  back  a  little. 
Our  mornings  in  Laguna  are  given  to 
I    work.  While  I  paint,  Bette  putters  around 
|   the  house.  She  fixes  flowers,  gives  a  dust 
,   here  and  there,  plans  the  meals,  answers 
\   her  mail.  We  have  our  lunch  on  the  ter- 
race overlooking  the  ocean.  There's  an 
I   extra  kitchen  off  the  terrace,  and  Bette 
always  arranges  for  salads  and  coldcuts 
and  a  jug  of  iced  coffee  to  be  in  the  refrig- 
erator so  we  can  serve  ourselves  whenever 
we  feel  hungry,  instead  of  eating  at  a 
I    regular  luncheon  hour.  In  this  way  I  can 
work  as  long  as  I  am  in  the  mood  without 
j    inconveniencing  the  workings  of  Bette's 
|   well  scheduled  household. 

Afternoons,  we  devote  to  the  beach. 
When  I  first  met  Bette,  she  swam  a  very 
sloppy  crawl.  She  spent  most  of  her  time 
on  the  beach  concentrating  on  a  suntan — 
alternating  with  sitting  under  an  umbrella 
with  her  typewriter,  surrounded  by  scripts. 
But  from  the  very  first,  she  admired  the 
ease  with  which  I  swam,  and  envied  the 
fun  I  had  in  the  water.  One  day,  bored 


with  her  beach  routine,  she  asked  me  if 
I  would  teach  her  to  swim  as  I  did.  "I'll 
certainly  try,"  I  said.  "I'm  tired  of  watch- 
ing all  that  lost  motion  of  yours." 

My  wife's  a  perfectionist.  By  the  middle 
of  the  summer  she  had  really  smoothed  out 
that  crawl.  Then  came  the  day  when  she  de- 
cided she  was  quite  able  to  cope  with  the 
sea  on  its  own  terms.  I  stood  on  the  shore 
and  realized  she  was  going  farther  out 
than  she  ever  had  before.  She  turned  to 
give  me  a  triumphant  wave — "Look  what 
I've  done" — when  a  breaker  hit  her.  That 
is  one  thing  I  had  always  warned  her 
about.  "Don't  turn  your  back  on  the  ocean, 
watch  it,  then  it  can't  hurt  you."  I  could 
just  hear  her  saying  to  herself,  "You  got 
yourself  into  this  my  girl,  now  get  your- 
self out."  And  she  did.  A  few  minutes  later 
she  was  standing  beside  me,  breathing  a 
little  hard  but  still  triumphant. 

"Almost  went  in  after  you,"  I  said. 

She  pulled  her  cap  off  and  opened  her 
eyes  at  me.  "Whatever  for?" 

Bette's  zest  for  anything  new  is  exhilar- 
ating. She  bubbles  with  enthusiasm,  not 
only  for  what  she  does  herself  but  for 
what  others  do.  In  this  connection  she 
bowled  me  over  once. 

I've  always  wanted  to  fly,  and  had  a 
chance  to  learn  on  the  GI  Bill.  But  I  knew 
how  Bette  felt  about  flying.  Except  in  cases 
of  dire  emergency,  she'd  have  nothing  to 
do  with  it.  So  I  kept  wondering  how  to 
broach  my  plan,  certain  that  she'd  say 
"Please  don't — "  In  the  end,  I  just  broke 
it.  "Bette,  I  think  I'll  enter  flying  school — " 

She  was  sitting  there,  knitting.  "Why 
don't  you?"  said  my  astounding  wife,  with- 
out dropping  a  stitch. 

"You  mean  that?" 

"Of  course  I  mean  it." 

"But  you  hate  flying — " 

"But  you  love  it.  Therefore  I  think  you 
should  fly — " 

More  than  that,  she  came  to  watch  when 
I  took  my  flight  test.  More  than  that,  she's 
gone  up  with  me  a  couple  of  times — which 
I  consider  the  nicest  kind  of  compliment. 
Because,  make  no  mistake,  she's  still 
frightened.  What  she  minds  is  the  sense 
of  suspension  in  space,  the  feeling  that 
she  can't  do  anything  about  it. 


"I'd  like  not  to  be  able  to  see  out,"  she 
says. 

"Then  close  your  eyes." 

"Don't  be  silly,  I  might  as  well  stay  on 
the  ground." 

To  me  that's  spunk — -not  the  absence  of 
fear,  but  the  will  to  overcome  it.  When  the 
picture's  finished,  we  plan  to  fly  around 
looking  for  a  ranch.  We've  concluded  that 
a  near-by  ranch  is  the  best  substitute  for 
Butternut. 

Right  now,  we  divide  our  time  between 
the  studio  and  Laguna.  So  that  Bette 
wouldn't  have  to  go  back  and  forth  daily, 
Warners  converted  the  dressing  room 
above  her  own  into  a  bedroom  and,  by 
adding  an  inside  staircase,  turned  the 
place  into  a  very  livable  little  house.  My 
intention  was  to  stay  put  at  Laguna.  "You'll 
be  working  up  there,  I'll  be  working  down 
here,"  I  said.  "Perfect  set-up — " 

end  of  day  blues  .  .  . 

Only  it  wasn't.  When  Bette's  working  day 
was  over,  she  was  lonely;  so  was  I.  I'd 
phone,  she'd  assure  me  everything  was 
fine,  and  ten  minutes  later  I'd  find  myself 
back  on  the  phone.  Moreover,  I  couldn't 
work  during  the  day — missed  her  too  much. 

"You  know,  Sherry,"  she  said,  "there's 
that  little  upstairs  kitchen — " 

Which  was  all  I  needed.  That  little  up- 
stairs kitchen  became  my  temporary  studio. 
Bette  goes  off  to  the  set,  I  go  up  to  the 
kitchen,  and  my  mind's  at  peace,  and  we 
meet  for  lunch.  Weekends  we're  at  Laguna. 
And  always  once  in  the  middle  of  the  week, 
Windy,  her  director,  arranges  for  Bette  to 
finish  early,  and  gives  her  a  late  morning 
call.  She's  very  cute  about  that.  It's  been 
going  on  ever  since  the  picture  started, 
but  each  time  she  takes  it  like  a  Christmas 
gift. 

"JIow  marvelous!  You  mean  I  can  go 
home  to  my  daughter?" 

In  many  ways  Bette  and  I  are  alike 
temperamentally.  I  daresay  an  eavesdrop- 
per in  our  car  would  tag  us  mildly  wacky. 
I  daresay  we  are.  We'll  be  driving  along 
when: 

"Hungry?"  I'll  ask. 

"Starved,"  says  my  wife. 

"Well,  reach  down  and  get  a  sandwich." 

Of  course  there's  no  sandwich.  There's 
no  reason  for  a  sandwich.  But  Bette  reaches 
down  and  goes  through  all  the  pantomime 
of  unwrapping  one,  biting  into  it,  exclaim- 
ing, "Oh!  Peanut  butter  again?"  Then, 
"Think  I'll  have  some  coffee,"  she  says.  Up 
comes  an  imaginary  thermos,  and  she 
struggles  with  the  cork.  "Can't  get  it  out." 
She  hands  it  to  me.  I  wrestle  the  cork  out 
with  my  teeth,  and  hand  it  back.  She  tilts  it, 
nothing  happens,  she  peers  inside.  "That's 
not  coffee,  that's  baked  beans — " 

Li  the  midst  of  our  hilarity,  she'll  fix 
me  with  a  reproachful  eye.  "Sherry,  .some- 
times I  think  we're  simple-minded." 

Then  there  was  the  day  I  fell  in  with 
Windust's  gag,  and  became  an  extra  on 
a  huge  subway  set.  (You  can't  do  this 
without  being  paid,  so  the  money  was 
turned  over  to  the  Motion  Picture  Relief 
Fund.)  I  wore  my  navy  uniform,  carried 
a  big  seabag  to  cover  my  face,  and  kept 
getting  between  the  camera  and  Bette. 
Finally  she'd  had  enough  of  me. 

"What's  wrong  with  that  man?"  she  asked 
Windust.  "Do  something  about  him." 

That  was  my  signal  to  drop  the  seabag. 
I  knew  just  how  my  wife's  head  would 
go  back,  how  she'd  explode  into  mirth, 
just  what  she'd  say.  She  said  it.  "Sherry, 
you  fool!" 

She  got  back  at  me  nicely  too.  Had  one 
of  the  men  on  the  set  fill  my  seabag  with 


MODERN  SCREEN 


Really,  Harold — just  because  you  were  voted  most  likely  to  succeed  .  .  . 


One  Permanent  Cost  $15.. .the  TONI  only  $2 


Like  the  winsome  Miller  twins,  you'll  say 
your  Toni  Home  Permanent  is  every  bit 
as  lovely  as  an  expensive  beauty-shop 
wave.  But  before  trying  Toni  you'll  want 
to  know 

Will  TONI  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that  will 
take  a  permanent,  including  gray,  dyed, 
bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 

Will  my  TONI  wave  be  loose  or  tight? 

With  Toni  you  can  have  just  the  amount 
of  curl  that  suits  you  best  — from  a  loose, 
natural-looking  wave  to  a  halo  of  tight 
ringlets.  Just  follow  the  simple  directions 
for  timing. 

Is  it  easy  to  do? 

Amazingly  easv  .  .  .  just  as  easy  as  rolling 
your  hair  up  on  curlers.  That's  why  more 
lhan  a  million  women  a  month  use  Toni. 

Will  TONI  save  me  time? 

Definitely.  Waving  time  is  only  2  to  3 
hours.  And  while  the  wave  is  taking 
you're  free  to  do  as  you  please. 


How  long  will  my  TONI  wave  last? 

Your  Toni  wave  is  guaranteed  to  last  jus 
as  long  as  a  $15  beauty  shop  permanent  — 
or  your  money  back. 

Which  twin  has  the  TONI? 

Pictured  above  are  the  Miller  twins  of 
Long  Island.  N.Y.  Jean,  the  one  at  the 
right,  has  the  Toni.  She  says,  "When 
Ann  saw  how  easily  I  gave  myself  the 
Toni  Home  Permanent,  she  vowed  her 
next  wave  would  be  a  Toni,  too." 


weights.  All  but  broke  my  back  when  I 
tried  to  lift  it. 

While  we're  on  the  subject  of  pictures, 
many  people  have  asked  me  whether  or 
not  Bette  accepts  suggestions  regarding 
her  work.  She  is  most  interested  in  sug- 
gestions offered  by  people  whose  opinions 
she  values.  Extremely  short  with  those  who 
she  feels  have  no  right  to  offer  a  sug- 
gestion. Bette  has  always  been  a  firm  be- 
liever in  minding  one's  own  business.  She 
does,  and  she  expects  the  same  from  others. 

One  suggestion  I  did  make  to  her  con- 
cerned her  appearance  on  the  screen.  "Do 
you  realize  how  much  more  attractive 
you  are  off  the  screen  than  on?"  I  said. 
"Why'  don't  you  try  a  new  way  of  making 
up  for  your  next  picture?"  Bette  consulted 
the  powers  that  be.  They  tried  something 
new  and  liked  it.  Bette  likes  it.  I  like  it. 
All  that's  left  to  hope  is  that  her  audiences 
will  like  it— if  not,  here  will  be  a  guy  out 
on  a  very  long  limb. 

Bette  also  likes  my  suggestions  about 
clothes.  I'm  a  bug  on  the  subject — I  think 
few  women  dress  to  their  best  advantage. 
I  believe  clothes  are  a  form  of  expression, 
not  merely  a  covering.  I  don't,  like  any- 
thing on  Bette  that  is  tight  or  slick.  She 
is  such  an  active  and  vital  person  her 
clothes  should  be  cut  so  that  she  can  move 
freely,  she  strides  out,  waves  her  arms 
around — ■ 

"That  makes  two  of  us,"  says  my  wife. 
"To  see  us  talking  together,  you'd  think 
we  were  having  a  fist  fight." 

A  while  back,  I  said  that  Bette  and  I  were 
alike.  In  one.  basic  way  we  differ.  My  theory 
is  that  most  things  work  themselves  out. 
You  work,  you  eat,  you  sleep,  you  take 
the  good  or  bad  as  it  comes,  and  do  the  best 
you  can  with  it.  Bette  does  not  feel  this 
way;  she  worries  about  the  universe.  In 
fact,  spends  so  much  time  planning  and 
worrying  about  others  she  hasn't  time  to 
solve  her  own  problems.  She  has  more  con- 
science than  anyone  I  have  ever  met. 
Single-handed,  she'd  like  to  mould  the 
scheme  of  things  nearer  to  her  heart's 
desire.  But  I  am  curing  her  of  brooding — 
she  laughs  more  than  she  used  to.  With 
Bede  around  it's  a  new  life  for  her.  The 
baby  makes  so  much  that  used  to  be  im- 
portant seem  unimportant.  Bette  can  be 
really  down  in  the  dumps,  and  start  play- 
ing with  Bede  and  everything  changes. 
Barbara  smiles  one  of  her  enchanting 
toothless  smiles  and  it's  magic.  Bette's  face 
lights  up,  her  troubles  drop  away.  That's 
my  favorite  picture  of  Mrs.  Sherry. 


ORDEAL 


(Continued  from  page  27)  _ 


He  was  staying  away  from  the  studio 
having  been  granted  a  leave  following, 
completion  of  The  Bride  Goes  Wild,  and 
every  possible  minute  he  was  with  Evie1 
and  the  infant.  They  had  selected  the 
baby's  name  in  advance — Schuyler  Van 
Johnson.  (Both  fell  in  love  with  the  name 
Schuyler  when  they  saw  Gentleman's 
Agreement.  Gregory  Peck's  name  in  that 
picture  was  Schuyler.  "Boy  or  girl,  that's 
it,"  Van  said  excitedly,  and  Evie  agreed 
with  him.) 

On  Thursday,  the  baby  and  Evie  were 
doing  well  enough  so  Van  felt  safe  in; 
leaving  the  hospital  long  enough  to  go  to 
Metro,  and  pass  out  cigars.  He  enjoyed 
a  field  day  on  the  lot,  greeting  old  friends 
and  accepting  congratulations  on  his 
fatherhood.  He  told  with  bursting  pride 
of  how  the  fans  had  deluged  Evie  and  the 
child  with  gifts— blankets,  pretty  baby 
bonnets,  little  infant  garments. 

It  was  on  Friday  night  that  Evie  had  her 
first  relapse.    Van  was  not  in  the  hospital. 


■ 


since  all  hospitals  are  still  too  crowded  for 
fathers  to  be  accommodated  when  their 
babies  are  born.    I  remember  after  the 
first    John    Barrymore-Dolores  Costello 
baby  was  ushered  into  the  world,  John 
refused  to  budge  an  inch  from  Good  Sa- 
maritan Hospital  and  was  promptly  en- 
sconced in  a  room  of  his  own  where  he 
held  court.    (I'll  tell  you  a  secret  that  not 
everyone  knows — that  baby,  now  seven- 
teen years  old,  is  just  about  to  be  launched 
on  a  screen  career  of  his  own.    It's  been 
kept  very  sub  rosa,  and  they  do  say  he 
j  has  all  the  makings  of  another  John  Barry- 
more.   Which  by  the  way  he  is— John  II.) 
Van  must  have  had  a  presentiment,  that 
I  Friday  evening.    He  knew  that  Evie  had 
;  gone   through   a   difficult   time.  (Little 
I  Schuyler  Van  was  by  way  of  being  a 
!  whopping  infant,  eight  pounds  six  and  a 
half  ounces  at  birth.)    The  hospital  got 
Van  on  the  phone,  and  he  rushed  to  Evie's 
side.    He  found  her  weak  and  scarcely 
conscious.    All  that  night  he  sat  beside 
her.    The  crisis  passed. 

The  next  day,  he  was  heavy-eyed  from 
lack  of  sleep,  and  restless.  He  decided  he 
needed  a  haircut,  and  drove  to  his  favorite 
barbershop  in  Beverly  Hills.  He  was  in 
the  chair  getting  a  trim  when  the  telephone 
rang. 

"It's  for  you,  Van,"  the  proprietor  said. 

Van  uttered  one  exclamation— "My 
God!"— and  leaped  out  of  the  chair.  It 
was  the  hospital,  and  the  news  was  far 
from  reassuring.  "You'd  better  come  at 
once,"  said  the  calmly  judicial  voice  at 
the  hospital. 

With  his  haircut  half-finished,  Van 
dashed  to  his  car  and  sped  away. 

He  found  Evie  barely  alive.  Doctors  and 
nurses  were  struggling  over  her  but  for 
the  rest  of  that  day  and  most  of  the  night 
her  chances  remained  doubtful.  She  was 
too  weak  to  know  that  Van  was  there 
beside  her.  He-  didn't  sleep  at  all.  To- 
ward morning  a  nurse  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder.  "She's  going  to  be  all  right 
now.  She's  sleeping."  "Oh,  thank  God!" 
Van  cried,  and  finally  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  slept  the  sleep  of  utter  exhaustion. 

As  is  customary  in  such  cases,  Evie 
promptly  made  a  quick  comeback.  Though 
still  extremely  weak,  she  was  cheerful 
and  able  to  take  nourishment.  For  hours 
on  end  each  day  and  each  evening  she 
would  lie,  Van's  hand  clasping  hers,  and 
together  they  planned  and  dreamed.  At 
regular  intervals,  the  baby  would  be 
brought  in. 

"See,  darling,  she  has  your  red  hair," 
Evie  said  one  day,  and  there  was  no  deny- 
ing it. 

"You  just  can't  beat  a  redhead,"  Van 
said  proudly.  "There's  something  about  a 
redhead." 


beautiful 
ingrid  bergman 

on  the 

may  cover  of 
modern  screen 
on  sale 
april  9 


^Carnati 


r    -  # 

mm 


■ 


,         ™e  little  can  of 


,.  started  with  one  little  can  of 
and  it  stdii-t"  j 

in.//nulk-nchd1shes.devet  L£5 
CREAMED  TUNA 


Incidentally 

,  tablespoons  butter 
5,  tablespoons  flour 
14$  cups  (1  tall  can) 

Carnation  MW 
ifj,   cup  water 
y2    teaspoon  salt 


M 


a  budget-extender! 

,  tablespoons  chopped  green  pepper 

flaked 

,  hMd-cooked  eggs,  sliced 
;  noodle  nests  or  6  slices  toast 

t-on  salt  .  h.  Add  Carnation 

nishw.th  adasllOtl  ...  if  yoU'd  like  75  more 

WRITE  for       free  -We;  UgJ&JL 
recipes  «  good  «        ^  " 

X-4.  MiWvoukee  7.  W*  Mi,k-un 

muted   double-rich-tor  a 
KS/F&e  with  cereals,  too.  _ 
-From  Contented  Com 


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while 
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Please  send  the  useful  20-page  book,  "The  Etiquette  of  the  Engagement 
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the  betrothal  and  wedding  events  .  .  .  with  illustrations  and  prices  of 
Keepsake  Rings  and  the  name  of  the  nearest  Keepsake  Jeweler.  I  enclose 
10c  to  cover  moiling. 

Name  

Street  and  No  

•City    MSC  4-48 


Evie  smiled  as  she  regarded  her  hus- 
band's own  flaming  locks.  "You're  so 
right,"  she  told  him  fondly. 

One  afternoon  the  nurse  brought  a  new 
gift,  a  baby  photograph  album  .that  came 
from  Deborah  Kerr,  the  British  star  who 
had  given  birth  to  her  baby  just  before 
New  Year's.  That  brought  on  a  whole  new 
sequence  of  parental  dreams.  The  hospital 
attendants  got  a  great  thrill  out  of  being 
in  on  the  ground  floor  of  this  Hollywood 
4rama.  Of  course  everybody  wanted  au- 
tographed pictures — Van  had  to  make  two 
special  trips  over  to  the  studio  to  load 
himself  down  with  scores  of  photographs. 
Besides  that,  he  bought  dozens  and  scores 
of  pounds  of  candy  for  the  nurses. 

Evie's  condition  kept  improving.  She 
was  eager  to  return  to  the  familiar  sur- 
roundings of  her  own  home.  On  Friday 
night,  just  a  week  after  her  first  serious 
setback,  Van  was  in  her  room  talking  and 
suddenly  remarked:  "How  about  some  ice- 
cream?" 

"Oh,  I'd  like  a  little,"  Evie  said.  Van 
made  an  inquiry  of  the  nurse  who  told 
him  that  it  was  too  late  to  have  ice-cream 
in  the  room.  "Never  mind,  though,  I'll 
see  what  I  can  do,"  she  said,  and  sure 
enough  within  a  half  hour  she  returned 
with  a  container.  Van  felt  embarrassed. 
"You  shouldn't  have  gone  to  all  that 
trouble." 

"Oh,  it's  nothing,"  the  nurse  replied.  "I 
have  a  little  girl  who  just  idolizes  you  and 
I'd  do  anything  in  the  world  for  you  and 
Mrs.  Johnson." 

Afterward,  it  developed  that  she  had 
gone  to  the  drugstore  across  the  street  for 
the  ice-cream,  and  then  had  walked  up  six 
flights  of  stairs  to  Evie's  room  just  in  case 
anyone  should  detect  her  going  up'  in  the 
elevator  and  ask  questions. 

The  very  next  day,  Saturday,  the  doctor 
decided  that  Evie  could  go  home.  The 
trip  was  made  in  an  ambulance  without 
mishap  and  Evie  was  installed  in  her  huge 
bed,  the  one  Van  had  ordered  specially 
made  for  them. 

Van  fixed  himself  a  mattress  with  sheets 
and  blankets  on  the  floor  beside  her — and 
that  turned  out  to  be  lucky.  For  it  was 
the  very  next  night  that  Evie  had  the  very 
bad  time  with  those  broken  stitches. 

As  this  story  leaves  my  typewriter,  I 
have  the  last  available  word  from  the  doc- 
tors— Evie  will  make  it  okay,  they  say. 
She  is  a  strong,  healthy  girl  normally,  and 
her  constitution  is  good. 

Little  Schuyler  Van  remains  unaware 
of  the  excitement  she  has  caused,  as  Van 
and  Evie  blissfully  dream  up  a  bright 
future  for  her,  and  for  themselves. 


Loraine  Day  .  .  . 

currently  starring  in  RKO's  Tycoon, 
poses  for  Modern  Screen  in  a  bolero 
dress  sure  to  turn  heads  your  way  in 
the  Easter  parade. 

It's  two-piece,  and  the  nice  swingy 
skirt  has  a  wide  polka  dot  cummerbund 
to  hug  your  waist.  The  brief  little  jack- 
et repeats  the  polka  dots  in  the  collar 
and  cuffs. 

It's  made  of  rayon  gabardine,  and 
comes  also  in  rose  with  dotted  navy 
rayon  cummerbund;  grey  with  brown; 
white  with  navy;  beige  with  green. 
Sizes  9  to  15. 

By  Perky  Frox  About  $10.95 

For  where  to  buy,  see  page  83. 


by  connie  bartel 
fashion  editor 


for 
easter 


■  Navy's  in  town  again — 
navy  spiked  with  fresh,  here-I-come 
stripes.  To  steal  the  show 
in  the  Easter  parade — try  this  rayon 
sheer  jacket  job  with  the  very 
Fifth  Avenue  look.  The  short-sleeved 
dress  is  a  wow  by  itself;  with 
the  bold  cuffed  jacket  it's  a 
Costume!    Comes  also  in  black. 
Junior  sizes  9  to  15. 
By  Carousel  about  $12.95 

for  where  to  buy  turn  to  page  83 


66 


a. 

» 

3 


navy 
and 
stripes 


•  How's  this  for  a  cagey 
way  to  snag  your  public?  The 
long,  slim  torso  makes  your 
waist  practically  vanish — the  all- 
round  pleated  skirt  swirls  pert 
as  can  be — and  the  tricky  capelet 
lights  up  your  cute  little  face. 
The  bodice  is  butcher  rayon;  the 
stripes  are  rayon  jersey.  Navy, 
red,  green,  luggage.  9-15. 
By  Meadowbrook  Jrs.  about  $7.95 

for  where  to  buy  turn  to  page  83 


67 


J 


for  easier- bri 


68 


■  Spring  giving  you  all 
sorts  of  urges?  This  come-hither 
sheer  rayon  print  will  ex- 
press what  you're  feeling.  See  the 
provocative  marquisette  neckline — 
with  the  look-again  applique? 
See  the  harem  pockets  to  make  your 
waist  unbelievably  small? 
A  dress  with  s.  a.,  wouldn't  you  say? 
Pink  or  gold.  10-18.  N  ' 

A  Plutzer  Pme-Winner.  About  $12.95 

for  where  to  buy  turn  to  page  ffe 


prints 


■  If  you're  a  cute  5'5"  or 
less — this  dress  is  sized  just  for 
you.  It's  the  Merry-Go-Round 
print — designed  to  make  the  boys' 
heads  spin.  It's  black  rayon 
jerseys-sprinkled  with  darling 
pink,  blue  and  white  horses.  Deep 
flounce,  and.  moonstone  buttons. 
Also,  lime  and  blue  print; 
or  orange  and  turquoise.  10-16. 
by  Leslie  Fay      About  $10.95 
for  where  to  buy  turn  to  page  83 


I 

s- 
S 


69 


the 
dress 
with 
the 

talked-about 
belt 

■  And  the  raved-about  every- 
thing else — period!     Look  at 
it.    Three  way  color  contrast. 
Shirt-top  for  your  jewelry.  Black 
skirt — with  impressed  pleats. 
And  of  course — that  belt,  with  the 
great  big  shining  medallion. 
Powder  blue,  aqua,  pink  or  maize 
top,  all  with  black  skirt 
and  belt  in  third  color.  Sizes  9-15. 
By  Jtox  Frox.  About  $5.95. 

Star  pin  by  Coro,  $1  plus  tax. 

for  where  to  buy  turn  to  page  83 


modern  screen  fashions 


THAT  OLD  BLACK  EYEBROW 

(Continued  from  page  33) 


favorite  paintings,  books  and  his  grand 
piano.  First  thing  that  caught  my  eye  was 
a  picture  of  his  ex-wife,  Barbara  Hutton, 
on  his  desk,  and  hear  that  one  of  her  son, 
Lance.  Cary  saw  the  surprise  on  my  face. 
I  shouldn't  have  shown  it;  I  shouldn't  have 
felt  it.  I  should've  known  Cary  better  by 
now.  He's  good  friends  with  everyone — 
even  his  ex-mates. 

He  still  takes  out  his  first  wife,  blonde 
Virginia  Cherrill,  who  divorced  the  Count 
of  Jersey  not  so  long  ago.  He  visited  her 
abroad  when  she  was  the  Countess.  Last 
spring,  when  he  went  to  Europe,  Cary  met 
Barbara  Hutton  in  Paris  and  they  sailed 
gaily  around  to  all  the  best  places.  "If 
we  hadn't  just  been  divorced,"  grinned 
Grant,  "you'd  have  thought  I  was  court- 
ing the  girl.  Barbara's  a  marvelous 
woman,"  he  went  on.  "And  very  misun- 
derstood." Their  broken  marriage,  Cary 
explains  with,  "We  just  had  two  different 
ways  of  life.  She  loves  the  international 
life  and  travel.  My  work  keeps  me  close 
to  Hollywood."  That  was  a  short,  pointed 
and  true  explanation,  but  incomplete. 

Barbara  was  never  happy  in  Hollywood, 
and  why  those  two  people  ever  talked 
themselves  into  a  marriage,  is  sometimes 
to  wonder.  I  can't  believe  that  Cary,  who 
can  make  a  million  dollars  every  year, 
himself,  was  ever  dazzled  by  Barbara 
Hutton's  five-and-dime-store  millions,  or 
by  her  international  glamor.  I  think  he 
honestly  fell  for  her,  and  Cary  has  always 
been  consistent  in  falling  for  the  same  type 
of  woman — short,  fragile,  beautiful  blondes. 

They  made  a  heavenly  beautiful  couple, 
surely.  They  set  up  a  Hollywood  home  in 
the  style  Barbara  was  accustomed  to,  with  • 
butlers  and  second  butlers  and  all  the 
trimmings.  Cary  didn't  mind  that.  Maybe 
he  liked  it.  He  was  sweet  to  Barbara  and 
her  son,  as  he's  sweet  to  everyone.  I  don't 
know  how  deeply  Cary's  emotions  were 
touched,  or  can  be  touched.  There's  an 
impersonal  side  to  him  and  it  could  be 
that  his  relaxed  philosophy  protects  his 
inner  heart  strings. 

It  was  a  basic  tug  with  Cary  all  the 
time  they  were  married  between  the  pro- 
fession he  loves,  and  Barbara's  sophisti- 
cated tastes  and  values.  Many  a  time  when 
she  was  partying  with  her  friends,  Cary 
was  upstairs  cramming  twelve  solid  pages 
of  script  into  his  head.  Up  at  six  for  a 
studio  call,  home  late,  dead  tired,  he  didn't 
have  much  time  for  the  upper  crust  goings 
on  around  his  place. 

Once,  while  the  Grants  were  wed,  I 
wrote  an  article  presenting  them  as  a  hap- 
pily married  couple.  I  did  it  because  I 
liked  Cary,  but  at  heart  I  knew  I  was 
writing  nonsense.  Cary  knew  I  knew  it, 
too.  He  hung  my  house  with  flowers  the 
day  it  came  out.  (Continued  on  page  73) 


SAY  IT  IN  WRITING 

Writing  can  be  fun,  and  if  you  write 
for  Modern  Screen  it  pays.  So  sharpen 
up  your  penpoint  and  your  brain, 
we've  got  an  assignment  for  you.  We 
want  some  on-the-spot  coverage  of 
the  stars,  some  true,  amusing  anec- 
dotes for  our  "I  Saw  It  Happen" 
feature.  You've  read  it.  Now  write 
it  yourself.  Send  your  scoop  to  the 
"I  Saw  It  Happen"  Editor,  Modern 
Screen,  249  Madison.  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y.  Do  you  like  to  play 
with  words?   Then  be-a  star  reporter! 


BY  THE 
MAKERS  OF 
STARDUST 
FASHION -WEAR 


EHTEI  THE  STARDUST  CONTEST . .  .  Pictured  is  lovely  Joan  Murray,  winner  of 
the  last  Stardust  Beauty  Contest,  now  a  Walter  Thornton  Pin- Up  Girl.  Enter 
our  1948  Contest  now.  YOU  may  be  the  lucky  winner  of  $500  first  prize  or 
27  other  awards!  Just  send  recent  non-returnable  photo,  with  height,  weight, 
bust,  waist  and  hip  measurements  before  May  31. 1948.  Decisions  of  famous 
beauty  judges  are  final.  Mail  entry  to  P.O.  Box  65.  Murray  Hill  Station,  N.Y. 


PATTY 
$7.95 


Other  Styles  Available, 
$6.95  to  $7.95,  at  Better 
Stores  Everywhere.   For  One 
Nearest  You,  Write  to  — 


MARILYN  SHOE  CO.,  1748  N.  13th  St.,  Milwaukee  5,  Wisconsin 


spring 
two-piecers 

(in  any  size  you  can  name!) 


■  For  you  Juniors — 
(sizes  9-15) — here's  a  sweet 
neat  little  suit  dress 
to  ooh  and  ah  over.  It's 
smooth  rayon  gabardine  with 
your  favorite  weskit-front  peplum, 
and  a  double  march  of  silver 
buttons.    Your  choice  of 
dreamy  pink,  aqua  or  melon, 
by  Jay  Day.     About  $11.95. 


72 


■  For  you  Misses — 
(sizes  12-40)  — a  spring- 
into-summer  dress  which 
says  two  peplums  are  better 
than  one.    It's  two- 
piece,  in  printed  rayon. 
Grey,  lime  or  tangerine, 
by  Barbette.      About  $12.95. 


SEAMPRUFE  INCORPORATED  •  FIFTH  AVENUE  •  NEW  YORK 


0»it 


c=^  


High  fashion 
double  anklet  sandal 
with  just-right  wedge 
heel .  .  .  priced  for 
summer  budgets!  £ 
BLACK,  WHITE  or  * 
GREEN  fabric  Sizes 
5  to  9,  narrow. 
3  to  9,  medium. 

State  regular 
shoe  size 
for 

correct 
fit 


KAYS-NEWPORT,  Dept.  I,  Newport,  R.  L 
Send  BUSK  ENS  "Twosome"  at  $3.50  or. 


;  Crs. 

Color 

Size 

Width  1 

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NAME   

ADDRESS   

CITY  STATE 

Second  color  choice   

CHECK  □  MONEY  ORDER 


C.O.D. 


{Continued  from  page  71)  His  way  of  say- 
ing "Thank  You!"  Six  months  later  they 
were  separated. 

Cary  Grant  lives  his  real  life  on  a  sound 
stage.  All  else,  I  know,  is  secondary  with 
him  and  has  been  since  he  set  his  course 
straight  for  the  stars. 

I  remember  the  first  time  i  ever  met 
him.  He  was  wearing  a  Salvation  Army 
suit,  and  he  winked  his  eye  at  me. 

I  was  younger  then,  and  a  little  more 
foolish,  and  I  winked  right  back. 

I  was  strolling  down  Glamor  Row  at 
Paramount  the  day  it  happened.  We  called 
it  Glamor  Row  then  because  Paramount's 
star  queens  of  that  hey-hey  day  patted  on 
their  powder  in  the  dressing  rooms  of 
plushy  suites  strung  along  one  sparkling 
row.  Marlene  Dietrich,  Claudette  Colbert, 
Carole  Lombard — and  the  sexiest  invader, 
Mae  West — ah,  the  competition  among  that 
batch  of  sirens  for  Paramount's  eligible 
males  was  something  fierce.  Whoever 
could  corral  the  most  courtiers  in  her 
dressing-room  made  the  others  burn. 

This  day,  Mae  had  a  prize  catch  on  her 
string  and  as  I  passed,  she  swept  out  the 
door,  curvaceous,  corseted,  bosomy,  bulg- 
ing and  dripping  diamonds,  trailed  by  six 
or  eight  charmed  captives— Gary  Cooper, 
Jack  Oakie,  Mitch  Leisen,  Dick  Arlen — 
I've  forgotten  who-all,  except  this  dark, 
debonair  character  dawdling  along  in  the 
rear,  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  Sal- 
vation suit.   I  haven't  forgotten  him. 

wicked  wink  ... 

My  jaw  must  have  dropped  at  the  sight, 
because  I  stood  stock  still,  and  Cary  almost 
had  to  knock  me  over  to  get  past.  As  he 
did,  a  black  eyebrow  angled  mischievously 
up  and  one  big,  brown  eye  rolled  me  a 
deliberate,  merry  wink.  As  if  to  say, 
"Sister — get  a  load  of  this!" 

I  did,  and  of  him,  too.  I  followed  the 
procession  to  the  set  of  -She  Done  Him 
Wrong  where  Cary  was  Mae  West's  lead- 
ing man,  and  I  talked  and  laughed  with 
my  new  boy  friend  until  they  practically 
had  to  throw  me  out.  I  wish  I  had  a  nickel 
for  every  time  I've  done  that  since. 

A  few  months  ago  I  got  a  call  from  a  fel- 
low I  like  and  admire,  the  famous  flyer, 
Howard  Hughes.  "Fm  going  to  try  her 
out,"  he  announced,  "and  I'd  like  to  have 
you  there  to  watch  and  wish  me  luck."  He 
was  talking  about  his  jumbo  flying  boat, 
the  one  that  took  years  and  years  and 
millions  and  millions  to  build,  the  one  all 
the  world  doubted  would  fly.  That  I 
couldn't  miss. 

It's  pretty  clammy  around  a  harbor  at 
8  a.m.  in  the  morning.  I  stumped  aboard  the 
yacht  without  my  coffee,  my  mood  match- 
ing the  gray  waves  that  slapped  the  gang- 
plank. Jimmy  Stewart,  Hank  Fonda,  and 
Randy  Scott  were  already  aboard  with 
some  other  pals  of  Howard's.  I  was  late, 
and  that  didn't  improve  my  disposition.  I 
was  wearing  an  anxious  frown,  until  all  of 
a  sudden  something  swept  out  of  a  cabin 
door  like  a  wave  and  tossed  me  mast  high 
it  seemed. 

"The  late  Miss  Hoppuh!"  boomed  a  voice 
in  my  ear,  and  I  stared  down  at  that  Old 
Black  Eyebrow. 

"Let  me  down!"  I  screamed,  grabbing  my 
hat  which,  wavered  in  the  breeze,  almost 
heading  out  to  sea.  "The  late  Miss  Hopper, 
indeed!   I'm  not  dead  yet,  Grant!" 

"Well,  then,"  he  grinned,  tossing  me 
about  like  a  bean  bag,  "get  that  undertaker 
look  off  your  face  and  join  the  party." 
'  It  was  Cary's  idea  to  save  the  champagne 
until  Hughes'  motors  revved  over,  way 
down  the  bay.  He  filled  the  glasses  as  his 
binoculars  caught  the  giant  ship's  foam- 
ing run.  As  the  eight  motors  thundered 
past  us,  skimming  the  ship  over  the  water, 
we  all  drank  a  toast  to  Howard  Hughes 
and  his  plane.   "May  she  fly  like  a  feather 


'$10...?  MO! 
S7..J  HEAR/ 
$5...?  WARMER/ 

YOU'RE  RIGHT!  It's  the  most 
beautiful  dress  in  the  world 
for  the  money.  098 


LOOK 


at  the  gorgeous  ploid  .  .  .  the 
2  big  pockets  ...  the  simulated  patent 
leather  belt  with  double  buckle  ...  the  full, 
longer  skirt  I 

SEE.  ..the  smart  spring  color  combinations 
in  beautiful  "Beoutitex"... washable  cotton. 

ORDER  your  beautiful  "Beauty-Belle" 
now.  Gray  top  with  Gray  plaid.  Blue  top 
with  Blue  plaid.  Fink  top  with  Brown  plaid. 
Sizes:  9,  11,  13,  15. 

SEND  NO  MONEY— WE  MAIL  IMMEDIATELY 
Full  satisfaction  or  money  beck 
Write  for  fill  Style  Folder 
Even  if  you've  never  ordered  by  mail 
before,  this  is  one  time  you  should. 


K3 


FIORIDA  FASHIONS*  SAN  FORD    636    FLORIDA  ] 

Please  send  _  "Beauty  Belles"  at  $3.98  each 

(2  for  $7.83)  plus  postage  and  C.O.D.  charges. 
If  not  fully  satisfied,  I  may  return  purchase  within 
10  days  for  refund.  (You  save  C.O.D.  fee  by 
enclosing  purchase  price,  plus  20c  postage.  Same 
refund  privilege.) 

Circle  Size:      9      11      13  15 
Circle  Color:       Gray       Blue       Pink  and  Brown 

Nome      _ 


I 
I 
I 
I 
I 
I 
I 

I  Address  

!  City  &  Stale. 


SSL 


in  the  breeze!"  cried  Cary — and  do  you 
know  what?  She  rose  like  a  graceful  gull 
and  took  off  in  the  air — the  greatest  craft 
by  far  ever  to  lift  itself  from  this  globe! 
Howard  told  us  afterwards,  "I  had  no 
idea  of  actually  flying  the  plane.  Just 
wanted  to  test  her  out  on  water.  But  she 
felt  so.  good  all  of  a  sudden  that  I  just 
took  off!" 

Well,  I'm  silly  enough  to  think  that 
Cary's  ever-lovih'  buoyancy  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  that! 

Cary  and  Howard  Hughes  are  the  closest 
of  friends.  Like  Cary,  Howard's  a  bach- 
elor; like  Grant,  he's  quiet  in  public,  some- 
what of  a  mystery  man.  Together  they 
take  their  fun  where  they  find  it. 

Last  year  Cary  and  Howard  made  head- 
lines. Cary  Grant  and  Howard  Hughes 
Overdue  on  Flight — Feared  Lost.  A  couple 
of  days  later  they  turned  up  in  Mexico, 
without  a  care  in  their  handsome  heads. 

Cary  explained  it  all  later.  "We  put 
down  at  El  Paso,  Texas,  for  coffee,  and 
when  take-off  time  came,  the  weather 
looked  bad.  Howard  said,  'Let's  go  to 
Mexico,'  so  we  did.  Two  days  later,  a 
reporter  came  up  and  told  us  we  were 
hopelessly  lost." 

bachelors'  ball  ... 

The  best  Hollywood  party  I've  ever  at- 
tended was  tossed  by  Cary  Grant  and  three 
other  bachelors  (of  that  moment),  Eddy 
Duchin,  Jimmy  Stewart  and  Johnny  Mc- 
Clain. 

First,  they  re -opened  Hollywood's  famous 
Clover  Club,  after  the  place  had  been 
gathering  cobwebs  for  months.  If  there's 
anything  chillier  than  an  abandoned  night- 
ery,  you  can  have  it.  But  Cary  and  his 
crew  warmed  it  up.  They  reopened  it, 
redecorated  it  and  invited  half  of  Holly- 
wood. Mike  Romanoff  catered,  the  food,  a 
big  name  orchestra  played,  everybody  had 
the  most  of  the  finest  service  and  favors. 
We  had  a  party  post-mortem  not  long 
after,  and  Cary  told  me  the  inside  story. 

He'd  summoned  a  florist  to  make  it  look 
and  smell  pretty.  Flowers  to  Grant  reach 
their  peak  in  gardenias.  "How  about  gar- 
denias?" he  asked  the  flower  man.  "Ex- 
cellent," the  man  confirmed.  "An  ex- 
cellent choice." 

"Then,"  waxed  Cary  enthusiastically, 
string  them  all  over  the  room." 

The  florist  did.  He  was  happy  to.  He 
strung  two  thousand  of  them.  "Then  next 
day  we  got  the  bill,"  grinned  Cary,  a  little 
sheepishly.  "A  dollar  a  gardenia — two 
thousand  bucks." 

That's  the  way  it  went,  but  to  Cary  and 
his  pals  it  was  worth  it. 

Cary's  a  hard-headed  Englishman,  but 
when  it  comes  to  brewing  fun  for  the  peo- 
ple he  likes,  the  sky's  the  limit  with  him. 

The  first  picture  that  bagged  an  Academy 
nomination  for  Cary.  was  Sylvia  Scar- 
lett, one  he  made  several  years  ago  with 
Katie  Hepburn  and  Brian  Aherne.  It  was 
a  vague,  rambling,  sometimes  silly  pic- 
ture, and  it  flopped  at  the  boxoffice, 
but  Cary  played  a  comedy  cockney  that 
was  devastating.  That's  typical  Cary. 
Whether  it's  with  Shirley  Temple  or  Greta 
Garbo  he  gives  his  good-humored  every- 
thing to  a  picture. 

I  watched  him  playing  intimate  husband- 
wife  scenes  with  Myrna  Loy  in  Mister 
Blandings  Builds  His  Dream  House  the 
other  day  at  R-K-O,  and  the  scenes  were 
so  realistic,  I  was  actually  embarrassed. 
I  thought,  "Why,  that  Cary  could  be  the 
most  domesticated  ever  lovin'  husband  in 
the  world,  if  he  had  the  right  girl."  It 
was  hard  to  believe  he  was  acting. 

Ethel  Barrymore  was  charmed  by  Cary 
into  coming  back  to  Hollywood  when  she'd 
sworn,  "Never  again!"  -Cary  was  the  big 
ja  reason  Ethel  agreed  to  make  None  But 
The  Lonely  Heart  though  she  said  she'd 


shaken  Hollywood's  dust  for  keeps  after 
Rasputin  (made  years  ago  with  her 
brothers  Lionel  and  John).  Cary  set  high 
hopes  on  None  But  The  Lonely  Heart.  It 
was  another  cockney  part,  but  a  tragic  one 
this  time,  and  it  was  Cary's  bid  for  real 
acting  honors,  to  prove  to  a  lot  of  us  that 
he  was  an  actor,  and  not  just  a  screen 
personality. 

But  during  the  shooting,  Cary  was  so 
busy  being  nice  to  Ethel  he  forgot  about 
hunself.  I  know  because  Ethel  told  me 
all  about  it.  How  movie-rusty  she  was, 
and  how  Cary  had  watehed  over  her  like 
a  mother  hen.  I  was  oh  the  set,  and  I  saw 
him  steer  scene  after  scene  her  way  which 
Ethel  should  never  have  had.  She'd  for- 
gotten everything  about  camera  angles. 
Half  the  time  she'd  play  away,  leaving  it 
all  to  Cary.  "No,  no!"  he'd  correct  her. 
"Do  it  this  way." 

Ethel  was  crazy  about  him.  "If  he'd 
been  my  own  son,"  she  told  me,  "instead  of 
one  out  of  a  script,  he  couldn't  have  been 
sweeter." 

One  of  Cory's  greatest  friends  was  the 
late  Frank  Vincent,  his  agent-manager. 
Frank  steered  Cary  surely  and  successfully 
when  his  breaks  came  in  Hollywood,  after 
an  early  spell  of  very  anemic  leading  man 
parts  at  Paramount.  When  Frank  died, 
his  widow  was  left  with  his  big  house 
which  was  too  much  for  her  needs.  Cary 
bought  it.  He  has  no  use  at  all  for  it;  he 
just  figured  that  was  the  thing  to  do,  and 
he  went  ahead  and  bought  it. 

As  far  as  I  know,  Cary  Grant  "ain't  mad 
at  nobody."  He  had  triple  trouble  all 
through  his  last  picture,  The  Bishop's 
Wife,  with  Sam  Goldwyn,  who  can  make 
a  saint  blow  his  top  at  times.  If  Sam  isn't 
a-feudin'  and  a-fussin'  with  one  of  his 
stars,  he  loses  weight.  By  the  time  Cary 
checked  off  the  Goldwyn  lot  he  was  in  a 
state  to  speak  nevermore  to  Sam  Goldwyn. 

the  master  knows  his  stuff  .  .  . 

"But  you  know,  Hedda,"  he  said  to  me 
the  other  day,  "much  as  Sam  can  get  my 
goat,  I've  got  to  hand  it  to  him.  Whatever 
he  does,  he  thinks  is  right  for  his  picture, 
and  he  can  make  pictures!"  That  was  just 
after  Cary  and  I  had  seen  The'  Bishop's 
Wife,  and  its  quality  banished  any  peeves 
Cary  had  hanging  around.  The  dope  is 
that  it  and  Gentleman's  Agreement  will 
battle  for  the  Oscar  this  year,  and  in  The 
Bishop's  Wife  Cary  Grant  stands  out  like 
a  beacon. 

It's  so  easy  to  take  Grant  for  granted. 
He's  never  raising  any  fuss,  getting  in  the 
scandal  headlines.  He's  been  around 
Hollywood  so  long  and  still  looks  and  acts 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"Taking  anything  for  that  cold?" 


so  much  the  same. 

Cary's  still  a  ring-bird  at  the  Friday 
night  Legion  fights,  still  makes  the  circuit 
of  dinner  parties  gaily,  with  a  girl  on  his 
arm,  one,  incidentally,  you  can  always  be 
sure  is  attractive,  pretty  and  welcome. 
He's  still  a  fashion  plate,  still  drives  the 
best  car  he  can  get,  likes  all  the  comforts 
of  life  he  can  arrange,  ducks  emotional  up- 
sets the  way  he  ducks  athletics.  He  was 
an  acrobat  as  a  youth,  and  somehow 
established  a  durable  figure  that  needs 
absolutely  no  attention  to  keep  in  trim,  i 
He's  a  beach  hound,  but  if  he  ever  swings 
a  golf  club,  tennis  racket  or  barbell,  I 
don't  know  about  it.  I  can't  find  any  gray 
in  his  thick  black  mop  and  his  tan  com- 
plexion seems  year  and  weather  proof, 
though  he's  in  his  mid-forties. 

He  has  four  pictures  booked  ahead  right 
now.  He  could  have  four  hundred.  I  ( 
can't  see  how  anyone  can  predict  an  end  to 
Cary  Grant's  screen  career  unless  they 
shoot  him.  He  gets  better  in  every  pic- 
ture. He's  signed  right  now  for  a  couple 
with  Alexander  Korda,  to  be  made  in  Eng- 
land, One,  Young  Nick,  Junior,  is  his 
pet  project.  It's  to  be  made  on  live  loca- 
tions all  over  England,  France  and  the 
Riviera. 

'  I  asked  Cary  not  long  ago  if  he  thought  j 
he'd  try  marriage  again.    The  Old  Black 
Eyebrow  waggled  provocatively.  "Maybe 
someday,"  he  said.    "Not  now." 

Not  now,  he  said.  And  after  all,  why 
should  he?  He's  in  the  same  frame  of 
mind  as  his  pal  Howard  Hughes,  free  as 
the  breeze  and  liking  it.  He  kites  off  at 
the  drop  of  a  last  take  for  New  York,  i 
Mexico,  Palm  Springs,  Europe. 

Yet  he's  right  on  that  "some  day."  He's 
too  nice  a  guy  to  exist  forever  in  lonely 
bachelor  hall,  too  sociable  not  to  have  a 
partner  to  share  his  happy  hours.  Who 
the  lucky  girl  will  be — -and  I  think  the 
right  one  will  be  plenty  lucky — I  couldn't 
tell  you. 

I  had  a  tip  not  long  ago  that  Cary  was 
meeting  an  unknown  beauty  at  the  airport. 
I  called  him,  "Who  is  she?"  (I'm  not  back- 
ward that  way.) 

Cary's  voice  came  back  merry  but  firm,  i 
"That,  my  inquisitive  Hedda,  is  some- 
thing I'm  just  not  gonna  tell  you!"  I  had 
the  girl's  description  right  down  to  the 
shade  of  her  lipstick.  I  even  had  the 
initials  on  her  luggage.  But  I  never  found 
out  her  name.  Cary  can  be  contrary  when  I 
he  wants  to,  darn  him! 

reluctant  dragon  .  .  . 

His  blood  bubbled  up  a  year  or  so  on  the 
subject  of  bobby-soxers.  He  took  a  series 
of  rough  goings-over  by  Manhattan  hood- 
lums (he's  easily  spotted  anywhere)  and  , 
he  didn't  like  it.  He  told  them  off  in  no  | 
uncertain  terms,  over  the  radio  arid  in 
lashing  interviews.  Right  after  one  bitter 
blast,  I  spotted  him  on  Hollywood  Boule- 
vard, swamped  by  bobby-soxers,  auto- 
graphing away  like  mad,  and  enjoying 
every  minute  of  it. 

"Get  you!"  I  called.  "You  old  reluctant 
dragon.  I  thought  you  shrank  from  this 
sort  of  thing." 

Cary  looked  a  little  sheepish.  "Ahh, 
Hedda,"  he  grinned,  "these  kids  are  cute, 
they're  polite — and,  who  knows,  maybe 
they  really  like  me.  Besides,"  he  covered, 
"I'm  in  training  for  my  next  picture — The 
Bachelor  and  the  Bobby-Soxer."  It's 
pretty  funny,  come  to  think  of  it,  how  Cary 
Grant's  picture  parts  catch  up  with  him. 

If  he  cops  that  long  delayed  Oscar  this 
year,  he'll  get  it  for  playing  an  angel  from 
Heaven  in  The  Bishop's  Wife.  In  his 
next,  Young  Nick,  Jr.,  Cary's  a  devil 
from  you  know  where. 

Somewhere  in  between,  I  think,  is  the 
real  Cary  Grant — but  the  helping  from 
Heaven's  the  biggest. 


Vj*HPr      Junior  wise!  Whisper-weight,  and 
-  all  but  tear-proof,  LACE  pantie  girdle  by  Fortuna 
.  .  .  with  the  won't  cut,  won't  bind  "Fitted  Crotch"  of  exclusive 
Elast  A-Q  cloth.  In  nylon-reinforced-cotton  and  elastic  lace. 
Detachable  garters.  Matching  girdle.  Small,  medium, 
large  sizes.  Nude,  white,  ice  blue,  and  black.  At  leading  stores. 

WOLFE  &  LANG,  INC.,  35  West  32nd  Street,  New  York  1 

Creators  of  Fortuna   Girdles  •  Pantie  Girdles  •  Garter  Belts  •  Bras 


*Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off 


Wear  the  scarf  for  protection  under  the  sun — for  glamour 
under  the  stars.  And  keep  that  fresh-from-the-bandbox  look 
all  season  through  by  starching  with  unit,*  the  superior 
starch  that  restores  the  fabric's  original  finish. 

Leading  designers  agree  —  "Cottons 
need  linit."  See  how  much  fresher  it 
keeps  frilly  little-girl  dresses,  curtains, 
men's  shirts — sheets  and  pillowcases,  too. 
linit  makes  cottons  look  and  feel  like 
linen.  All  grocers  sell  linit. 


...ADDS  THE 


CC.  P.  R.  Co.,  194S 

•UNIT  is  a  registered  trade-mark  distinguishing  this  product  of  the  Corn  Products  Refining  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


the  fans 

MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


Hi,  clubbers!  O-o-o-h,  our  aching  ego!  A 
slew  of  complaints  this  month  because  space 
limitations  forced  us  to  cut  out  our  Club  Banter 
section  in  the  last  few  issues.  Okay,  you 
want  plugs,  and  you  certainly  deserve  'em. 
So,  hang  on  while  we  catch  up  with  your 
activities — and  very  exciting  activities,  too! 

Marion  Oppenheim,  prexy  of  the  solid-as- 
the-rock-of-Gibraltar  Bette  Davis  Club,  recently 
returned  from  a  vacation  in  Hollywood — and 
a  visit  with  Bette,  her  husband,  William  Sherry 
— and  baby  Barbara  .  .  .  Did  you  know  there's 
a  club  in  honor  of  Pamela  Kellino  (Mrs. 
James  Mason)?  Violet  Fairhurst  is  prexy.  In- 
cidentally, the  Federated  James  Mason  Clubs 
recently  feted  Pamela  at  a  tea.  About  90 
Masonites  were  present,  all  duly  impressed 
with  Mrs.  Mason's  graciousness  .  .  .  Lorraine 
Romais'  Fred  Lowery -Dorothy  Rae  Club  (head- 
quarters: Milwaukee,  Wise.)  is  a-buzzing  with 
activity — monthly  meetings  and  a  Pepsi-Cola 
party  a  while  back — with  both  honoraries 
present  .  .  .  Entire  membership  of  Irene  Di 
Mattia's  Semper  Sinatra  Club  has  transferred 
to  Ann  Bachman's  Kid  From  Hoboken  Club 
.  .  .  the  Ora  E  Sempre  Sinatra  Club  has  re- 
organized under  the  new  name.  The  King's 
Followers  .  .  .  Astrid  Rundburg's  Sinatra 
Sorority  has  the  real  homey  touch.  When  they 
visit  vets  at  Halloran  Hospital,  they  bake  a 
real  old-fashioned  layer-cake  to  take  with 
'em  .  .  .  Virginia  Haywood,  former  prexy,  inci- 
Dick  Haymes  Associates  (new  prexy,  inci- 
dentally is  Mary  Kelly),  is  now  heading  up 
an  all-stars  radio  club,  for  those  whose  fa- 
vorites hit  the  airwaves.  First  journal  fea- 
tured: Howard  Duff,  Jack  Berch,  Haymes, 
Alice  Faye  and  Phil  Harris,  and  the  My 
Friend,  Irma  program. 

something  for  the  boys  .  .  . 

Members  of  the  Melody  of  Frank  Sinatra 
Club  (Bev  Bush,  prexy)  are  now  honorary 
citizens  of  Father  Flannagan's  Boys'  Town — 
and  have  a  certificate  to  prove  it  .  .  .  Free 
life-time  memberships  are  given  to  shut-ins 
and  foreign  fans,  by  Viola  Myers'  Jay  Kirby 
Club  .  .  .  There's  now  a  Detroit  Frank  Sinatra 
Fan  Club  Association,  modeled  after  the  na- 
tional org.  Purposes:  to  band  together  for 
social,  patriotic  activities.  Frances  Stathakis 
and  Carol  Bennett  of  the  Frank  Keys  are  the 
leading  lights  .  .  .  Half  of  all  dues  received 
from  English  mems  of  the  Lloyd  Bridges  Club 
(Harriet  Denahy,  prexy)  will  be  turned  over 
to  British  charities.  Half  of  U.  S.  dues  for 
past  6  months  have  been  written  over  to 
Damon  Runyan  Cancer  Fund!  .  .  .  Members 
of  the  Racing  With  the  Moon  Club  (Jeanne 
Staub's  Vaughn  Monroe  Club,  to  the  un- 
initiated) are  sporting  white  polo  shirts  with 
Vaughn's  pic  and  autograph  .  .  .  The  Barbara 
Lawrence  Club  is  a  new  club  coming  up 
fast.  They've  reduced  their  dues  from  S2  to 
SI  ...  A  membership  drive  with  a  new  twist 
is  the  boast  of  the  Larry  Parks  Club.  They're 
giving  away  ten  free  memberships  to  start 
their  drive  with  a  bang,  and  here's  how  it's 
been  done:  First  all  the  letters  of  the  alpha- 
bet were  placed  in  a  fish  bowl,  and  the  one 
drawn   was   "M."    Then,   they  put  all  the 


SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 

GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


different  cities  and  towns  they  could  think  of 
with  the  initial  "M"  in  the  same  bowl,  and 
drew  out  "Manhasset."  So — to  the  first  10 
Larry  Parks  fans  living  in  Manhasset  who 
contact  us,  will  go  free  memberships  in  Lori 
Rossi's  club  for  Larry.  Address:  47  West  87th 
Street,  New  York  City. 

You  have  to  be  a  good  cook  to  be  a  fan 
club  prexy,  these  days.  We're  chortling  over 
the  account  of  Annette  Sterling's  Victory  Party 
in  honor  of  the  Richard  Conte  Club's  $100 
contribution  to  the  Cancer  Fund.  Annette 
itemizes  "15  dozen  assorted  butter  cookies, 
90  open-faced  cute  little  tea  sandwiches, 
decorated  very  fancy  with  jellies,  cheese, 
nuts  and  cherries,"  etc.,  etc. 

Have  you  ordered  your  copy  of  the  NEW 
MODERN  SCREEN  Fan  Club  Chart?  The 
only  one  of  its  kind  available  anywhere,  it 
contains  the  names  and  addresses  of  over 
350  official  fan  clubs!  Find  out  where  to 
write  for  information  about  a  club  for  your 
favorite  star,  how  much  the  dues  are,  what 
you  can  expect  for  your  money.  Join  the 
gang  boosting  your  star — and  have  fun, 
meet  new  friends,  write  or  draw  for  the 
club  journals.  For  Fan  Club  Chart,  send 
10c  in  coin,  plus  a  self-addressed,  stamped 
(3c)  envelope  (4x9  in.)  to:  Service  Dept., 
MODERN  SCREEN,  149  Madison  Ave., 
New  York  16. 

7TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 
(Second  Lap) 
Pond's  assortment  of  line  cosmetics,  especially 
packed  for  you  ...  a  handsome  Tangee  Trip  Kit, 
fitted  with  Tangee  products  .  .  .  free  subscriptions 
to  SCREEN  ROMANCES,  SCREEN  ALBUM  or  FRONT 
PAGE  DETECTIVE  ...  a  scary  bunch  of  new  DELL 
mystery  books  .  .  .  these  may  be  your  reward  for 
working  hard  to  put  your  club  in  the  running  in 
our  Seventh  Semi- Annual  MCFCA  Trophy  Cup! 
Now,  get  busy  and  try  to  qualify  for  the  contests 
listed  below: 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners:  Ronald  Far- 
rington,  Editorial,  Jack  Smith  Journal  (Greer). 
Rosemarie  Carley,  "On  Music  Itself,"  Two  Grand 
(Whittemore  and  Lowe).  Sylvia  Levin,  "Baby  Bot- 
tles and  Night  Life,"  Joan  Crawford  Journal.  Anna 
Rechter,  "Intolerance,"  Sinatra  (Rundberg).  Pat 
Harris,  "Battle  of  Fear,"  Sinatra  (Ling).  Nancy 
Gottschalk,  "Show  Business,"  Arthur's  (Kennedy) 
Echo.  Candid  Camera  Contest:  First  Prize,  fanis 
Sargeant,  Rand  Books  Club.  Others:  Kathy  Camp- 
bell, Darryl  Hickman  Club.  Alyce  Cogas,  Darryl 
Hickman  Club.  Dorothy  Nix,  Frank  Sinatra  Club 
of  Staten  Island.  Lee  Perrini,  Edward  Ashley  Fan 
Club.  Dorothy  Dominique,  Bobby  Beers  Fan  Club. 
Best  Editors:  League  1.  Dorothy  Crouse,  Gene  Autry 
Club.  League  2.  Gerry  Kee,  Alan  Ladd  Fan  Club. 
League  3.  Margaret  Grant,  Dan  Duryea  Fan  Club. 
Best  Journals:  League  1.  (Dennis)  Morgan  Memos. 
League  2.  A  Handsome  Ladd  (Pearl).  League  3. 
(tied)  Sinatra  (Ling),  Arthur's  (Kennedy)  Echoes, 
Radio  Stars.  Best  Covers:  League  1.  Morgan 
Memos.  League  2.  A-Laddin's  Lamp  (Kee).  League 
3.  (tied)  Sinatra  (Ling),  Radio  Stars,  Philip  Friend 
Chatter,  Tuqwell  Talk  (Willock).  Best  Original  Art 
Work:  Caroline  Bartell,  Sinatra  (Barger).  Most 
Worthwhile  Activities:  Gene  Autry  Club  (donated 
$100  to  Infantile  Paralysis  Fund).  2.  (tied)  Jeanette 
MacDonald  Club  (Farrington)  (gave  $50  to  New 
England  Peabody  Home  for  Crippled  Children), 
and  Jeanette  MacDonald  (Riley)  (donated  $40  to 
Children's  Village).  3.  (tied)  Perry  Como  Club 
(Staley)  (made  a  $10  donation  to  CARE),  and 
Barbara  Lawrence  Club  (made  their  monthly  con- 
tribution of  $15  to  their  adopted  war  orphan). 
Greatest  Percentage  Increase  in  Membership:  1. 
Reno  Browne  Fan  Club.  2.  Sleepy  Hollow  Club.  3. 
Burt  Lancaster  Fan  Club.  Best  Correspondents:  1. 
Bernice  Olsen,  Gene  Autry  Club.  2.  Mary  Ruth 
1  Bond,  Musical  Notes  Club.  3.  Shirley  Baxter,  Jack 
|  Berch  Club.  Leading  Clubs:  League  1.  Dennis 
j  Morgan  Club — 950  points.  Gene  Autry  Club  650, 
Nelson  Eddy  (Nicholin)  600.  League  2.  Ladd 
I  (Pearl)  700,  MacDonald  (Farrington),  Alan  Ladd 
I  (Kee)  600.  League  3.  Sinatra  (Ling)  950,  Como 
jl    (Staley)  850,  Duryea  (Grant)  350. 


SWEET  MOMENT 

. .  .forLustre-Creme" 
Dream  Girls  Only 


SWEET,  INTIMATE  MOMENT  of  the  dance 
.  .  .  mutually  enchanting  to  you  and  that 
"Sweet  Guy"  you  love  ...  as  his  lips 
brush  caressingly  against  your  hair. 


MANY  A  BRIDE  with  "Dream  Girl"  hair 
can  tell  you  there's  every  reason  to  prefer 
Lustre-Creme  Shampoo.  Not  a  soap,  not  a 
liquid,  Lustre-Creme  is  a  dainty,  new  cream 
shampoo  that  lathers  richly  in  hard  or  soft 
water.  (No  special  rinse  needed.)  Created  by 
famed  cosmetic  specialist,  Kay  Daumit,  to 
give  hair  new,  three-way  loveliness: 

(1)  Makes  it  fragrantly  clean,  free  of 
dust,  loose  dandruff;  (2)  restores  its 
natural,  gleaming  sheen;  (3)  leaves  it  soft, 
easy  to  manage. 

Lustre-Creme's  instant,  billowy  lather  is 
a  rare  blend  of  secret  ingredients — plus 
gentle  lanolin,  akin  to  the  natural  oils  in  a 
healthy  scalp.  Try  Lustre-Creme  Shampoo! 
Be  utterly,  shining-sweet  for  sweet 
moments  ...  be  a  "Dream  Girl", 
a  lovely  Lustre-Creme  Girl! 


NO  ANXIETY  besets  you 
after  the  music  stops.  How 
nice  to  know  your  hair's 
witchery  lingers  on  after  the 
dance  .  .  .  haunting  your 
escort's  memory  with  its 
shimmering  brightness  ...  its 
fragrant  softness.  Such  trust 
you  rightly  placed  in  your 
Lustre-Creme  Shampoo  and 
its  magic  gift  to  your  hair  of 
three-way  loveliness.  You 
know  your  hair's  gleaming 
highlights  are  love  lights  .  .  . 
and  when  he  murmured 
"Dream  Girl,"  you  know  he 
didn't  mean  "maybe." 


K*>TH  LANOUN 


For 


Now  in  Tubes  as  well  as  Jars  .  .  .  Lustre-Creme  gives  you  your  choice  .  .  .  for  home 
or  travel  use  .  .  .  and  for  the  convenience  of  the  entire  family.  Four-oz.  jar  $1.00, 
or  in  smaller  sizes,  jars  or  tubes,  49^  and  25?L  Rekindle  your  hair's  highlights  .  .  . 
bring  out  its  true  beauty  .  .  .  with  Lustre-Creme  Shampoo.  In  tubes  or  jars  at  all 

Cosmetic  Counters.  Kay  Daumit,  Inc.  (Successor),  919  N.  Michigan  Avenue,  Chicago,  III. 


Betty  Anderson,  lovely 
Powers  model,  her  jewels 
by  Cartier,  her  fingertips 
glowing  with  Dura-Gloss 
vibrant  new  shade 
Camellia. 


■MO— 

DURA-GLOSS 


DURA-GLOSS  NYLON 
4mMc  BRUSH 


A  Dura-Gloss  first! 
This  magic  wand  you 
wave  to  create  exquisite 
fingertip  grooming.  The  new  brush 
is  stream-lined,  slenderized.  Swiftly, 
surely,  you  stroke  on,  each  time, 
a  perfect  application.  No  blurred 
edges.  No  smearing  over  the 
fingers.  No  having  to  correct  with 
remover.  No  worry  over  peeling 
or  chipping  due  to  overlapping. 

Color  range  for  costume  change 

Dura-Gloss  in  18  fashion-right 
shades  lets  you  vary  your 


DURA-GLOSS 
non-smear 

remover 

A  Dura-Gloss  first! 
Pour  a  little  remover 
on  a  bit  of  absorbent 
cotton.  Hold  the  cotton 
over  the  nail  for  a 
few  seconds.  Instantly, 
the  polish  is  trans- 
3  the  cotton. 


Creamy-sm  oth,  long-lasting 
Dura-Gloss  lipstick  in  5  harmonizing 
shades.  Never  oily  nor  dry.  39(4* 

Dura-Gloss  polish  still  only  10(** 
Dura-Gloss  remover,  10^*  and  25fS* 
*plus  tax 


1 1948,  Lorr  Laboratories,  Paterson,  N.  J.  •  Founded  by  E.  T.  Reynolds 


DURA-GLOSS 

contains  the  magic  ingredient . . .  CHRYSTALLYNE 


SECOND  HONEYMOON— BY  VIRGINIA  WILSON 

(Continued  from  page  34) 


destructive  fashion,  like  all  infants. 

Then  why  the  second  honeymoon?  The 
answer  is  simple,  and  lies  in  the  separation 
that-  occurred  between  them  last  year. 
f-  YouVe  got  to  know  these  two  pretty 
well  to  understand  their  reasons,  both  for 
the  separation  and  the  reconciliation.  They 
I  aren't  easy  people  to  get  to  know  well. 
Mark  says  himself  that  he's  never  had 
close  friends;  since  he  was  thirteen  years 
old,  he's  been  on  his  own.    Also,  he  got 
'  plenty  of  kicking  around  on  his  way  up. 
Even  now  he  says,  "Trust  people,  and  eight 
times  out  of  ten  you'll  be  sorry." 

It  was  hard  for  him  to  let  down  his  barrier 
of  reserve  when  he  got  married.  If  he  and 
Annelle  disagreed  about  something  impor- 
tant, he  would  retreat  into  himself,  refuse 
j  to  discuss  it.    One  of  the  most  important 
I  things  that  has  happened  since  their  recon- 
'  ciliation  is  that  now  he  finds  he  can  talk 
|  things  over,  and  it  has  helped  them  both. 

Annelle  is  such  a  completely  different 
'  type  that  it  took  her  a  long  time  to  under- 
stand Mark.  She  had  been  a  co-ed  at  Texas, 
pretty,  popular,  with  a  devoted  family.  She 
had  been  completely  sheltered.  But  she 
thought  she  knew  a  great  deal  about  life. 

"I've  read  books  about  it,"  was  her  stock 
answer  when  Mark  would  say  flatly  that  she 
didn't  know  what  she  was  talking  about  on 
a  certain  subject.  That  was  the  difference 
between  them.  Her  answers  came  from 
I  books  and  his  from  experience. 

But  they  loved  each  other,  and  they  got 
along.    Until  somehow  everything  began 
falling  apart.    Little  things.    Then  bigger 
things.    Mark  not  coming  home  when  he 
was  through  work  for  the  day.  Annelle 
.  knowing  something  was  wrong  but  not 
knowing  what  to  do  about  it.    Before  the 
|  Hollywood  world  quite  knew  what  had 
i  happened,  the  Stevenses  had  separated. 
Annelle  didn't  begin  doing  the  night 
clubs  every  night  with  the  young  men 
about  town  who  tried  to  date  her.  Just  be- 
cause Mark  was  involved  with  someone 
else  didn't  mean  she  had  to  be.  She  let  him 
see  the  baby  at  regular  intervals,  but  she 
was  always  absent  on  these  occasions. 

crying  on  the  inside  ... 

So  that  was  the  way  it  was  on  the  outside. 
But  inside  Annelle,  things  were  different. 
Mark  meant  the  whole  world  to  her.  She 
could  tell  herself  firmly  that  she'd  get  over 
it.  But  lying  alone  at  night,  all  of  a  sudden 
the  tears  that  you've  kept  back  all  day  are 
rolling  down  your  face,  so  fast  and  sense- 
lessly because  crying  doesn't  help. 

Somehow,  in  those  sleepless  nights,  An- 
nelle came  to  an  understanding  of  Mark 
she'd  never  had  before. 

Mark  suffered  just  as  much  in  his  own 
way.  He  had  made  the  kind  of  mistake 
men  have  been  making  since  the  beginning 
I  of  time.  But  in  his  case,  gossip-hounds 
gave  him  rough  going.  He  was  a  celebrity, 
and  celebrities  shouldn't  make  mistakes. 

One  of  the  toughest  moments  Mark  ever 
had  to  face  was  when  he  saw  Annelle  for 
the  first  time  since  their  parting.  He  had 
asked  himself  desperately  what  he  would 
say  or  do.  But  when  two  people  in  love 
come  together  again,  all  the  sorrow  and 
heartache  disappear. 

It  wasn't  the  kind  of  reconciliation  where 
you  make  up  a  set  of  rules  and  say,  "Now 
if  you  ever  do  this  or  that  again,  we're 
i  through."   It  wasn't  like  that  at  all. 

They  talked  things  out,  of  course.  An- 
nelle saw  that  Mark  would  be  less  re- 
served now,  less  preoccupied.  That  he 
would  let  her  help  a  little,  when  she  could. 
■Mark  realized  that  Annelle  had  finally  dis- 


covered books  can't  teach  you  everything. 

So  they  went  back  to  being  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Stevens,  with  their  baby  who  looked  like 
Mark,  and  the  convertible  that  was  An- 
nelle's  most  prized  possession.  She  never 
got  into  it  without  remembering  the  day  it 
arrived. 

About  two  weeks  before  the  baby  was 
due,  Mark  had  said  one  morning,  "Annelle, 
the  car's  knocking.  I'm  going  to  take  it 
down  and  see  what's  wrong." 

"You're  crazy.    It  purrs  like  a  kitten." 

Mark  had  to  grin.  The  car  was  a  second- 
hand job  he  had  bought  just  before  his  first 
date  with  Annelle.  It  had  never,  in  its  best 
days,  purred  like  a  kitten,  but  Annelle  was 
sentimental  about  it. 

"Well,  I'll  just  have  them  check  it  any- 
way," he  said  mildly. 

He  went  off  and  came  back  several  hours 
later  and  honked  the  horn.  Annelle  who 
was  busily  cleaning  out  bureau  drawers, 
said,  "Of  course,  he  couldn't  come  in!"  But 
she  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it  and  let 
out  a  shriek.  Because  there  was  Mark  in 
the  driver's  seat  of  the  sweetest,  neatest, 
prettiest  convertible  a  girl  ever  laid  eyes  on. 


^HOLLYWOOD 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 

•  Strong,  silent,  dead-pan  Gary 
Cooper  was  in  a  group  listening  to  a 
joke  told  by  gag  writer  Eddie  Moran. 
"Gary  seemed  to  like  your  story,"  a 
friend  said  afterwards. 

"He  loved  it,"  replied  Moran. 
"Didn't  you  notice,  he  became  al- 
most hysterical — he  said  'Hah.'  " 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


He  climbed  out,  very  casually.  "It's  yours, 
you  know.    Sort  of  a  present." 

"Oh,  Mark!  It's  so  beautiful,  I  can't  be- 
lieve it!"    And  then  she  burst  into  tears. 

Her  husband  surveyed  her  in  perplexity. 
"Maybe  you  don't  like  the  color." 

"I  love  it,  you  dope.  But  I  couldn't  drive 
such  a  beautiful  car,  looking  all  clumsy  the 
way  I  do  now.  I'm  going  to  wait  till  the 
baby  comes." 

And  wait  she  did,  which  may  have  been 
just  as  well,  since  Annelle's  driving  has 
been  known  to  get  her  five  tickets  in  three 
months.  The  Beverly  Hills  police  are,  she's 
convinced,  unfair  to  women  drivers. 

Don't  think  for  a  minute  that  because  the 
Stevenses  are  back  together  again,  they 
have  given  up  arguing.  They'll  never  do 
that  till  the  day  they  die. 

Mark  is  given  to  making  sensational 
statements,  perhaps  as  much  to  see  what 
reaction  he  gets  as  because  he  means  them. 

"I  hate  women,"  he  announced  one  day 
when  they  had  guests. 

There  was  a  startled  silence,  with  every- 
one wondering  if  the  Stevenses  were  about 
to  break  up  again.  Annelle  broke  it.  "I 
hate  men,"  she  declared  enthusiastically. 
"I  think  they're  beasts." 

The  guests  by  now  realized  that  this 
wasn't  anything  personal,  and  they  all 
joined  in.  Nobody  ever  wins  these  argu- 
ments, but  it's  fun  trying. 


Mark  has  very  little  sympathy  for  the 
hundreds  of  young  actors  who  hang  around 
Hollywood,  moaning  that  they  have  never 
"gotten  the  breaks." 

One  of  them  came  up  to  him  the  other 
day.  "Say,  Mark,  you  certainly  got  up  on 
top  overnight.   Wish  I  could  do  that." 

Mark  thought  of  all  the  years  when  he 
had  gone  without  meals,  worked  all  night 
in  third-rate  radio  stations,  borrowed 
money  for  coffee  and  doughnuts — anything 
just  to  be  working  in  show  business. 

"What  are  you  doing  about  it,  kid?"  he 
asked.  "Do  you  go  to  the  Actors'  Lab?  Do 
you  try  to  get  radio  parts?" 

"Oh,  I'm  not  interested  in  the  Lab  or 
radio,"  the  young  man  informed  him.  "I 
just  want  to  be  a  picture  star." 

Mark  wished  him  luck  and  walked  off. 
But  he  made  a  silent  bet  with  himself  that 
the  actor  would  never  be  a  star  if  he  lived 
to  be  a  million. 

small  but  sweet  .  .  . 

Mark  himself  has  been  busy  as  sixteen 
bees  with  pictures.  The  Snake  Pit,  for  in- 
stance. If  you  read  the  book  you  know  that 
the  part  of  the  husband,  which  Mark  plays, 
isn't  one  of  the  biggest  parts.  But  he  has  his 
own  philosophy  on  these  things. 

"Most  important,  it's  going  to  be  a  good 
picture,"  he  says.  "I  want  people  to  say, 
'Mark  Stevens?  Oh  yes,  he  was  in  The 
Snake  Pit.  That  was  a  good  picture.'  Then 
they'll  come  and  see  my  next  one." 

Before  he  and  Annelle  got  together  again, 
he  knew  he  was  going  to  make  Street  With- 
out A  Name.  It  was  to  be  based  on  an  FBI 
case,  and  he  had  heard  that  some  of  the 
scenes  were  to  be  made  in  Washington, 
D.  C.  When  the  reconciliation  took  place 
that  suddenly  seemed  important.  It  would 
be  wonderful  to  take  Annelle  along.  She 
was  a  natural  born  sight-seer  and  she  had 
never  been  to  Washington.  He  asked  her, 
at  last,  if  she  would  like  to  go. 

"Mark,  I'd  adore  it.  Imagine  seeing  the 
White  House  and  the  Capitol!" 

"There's  a  catch,  dear.  It  would  mean 
your  being  away  from  the  baby  for  Christ- 
mas. Maybe  you  wouldn't  want  to — "  His 
dark  eyes  were  inscrutable,  as  always.  He 
wouldn't  try  to  influence  her. 

She  didn't  hesitate.  "Mark,  of  course  I'm 
going.  I  want  to  be  with  you  for  Christmas. 
Mark  Richard  is  too  young  to  know  what 
it's  all  about  anyway.  And  nurse  has  looked 
after  him  pretty  efficiently  ever  since  he 
was  born." 

So  they  went  to  Washington  and  Mark 
played  complicated  scenes  for  the  FBI  pic- 
ture. Scenes  like  the  one  where  he  has  to 
walk  along  a  line,  his  gun  in  its  holster, 
then  whip  it  out,  shoot  five  rounds,  reload, 
and  shoot  five  more,  all  within  twenty  sec- 
onds. Mark  did  it  in  fifteen  to  everyone's 
surprise,  including  his  own. 

While  all  this  was  going  on,  Annelle  was 
happily  "seeing  Washington."  She  came 
home  at  night  as  full  of  information  as  a 
guide  book. 

Speaking  of  books,  Annelle  claims  Mark 
takes  his  reading  matter  a  little  too 
seriously.  It  seems  that  for  forty-eight 
hours  or  so,  he  becomes  whatever  character 
he's  reading  about  at  the  moment.  She 
used  to  be  mildly  astounded  when,  after  an 
evening  with  Dickens,  Mark  would  go 
around,  very  Uriah  Heep,  rubbing  his  hands 
together  obsequiously,  and  saying  at  inter- 
vals, "I'm  a  lone,  lorn  creature." 

They  left  Washington  just  before  Christ- 
mas to  spend  the  holiday  with  the  Buddy 
Clarks  on  Long  Island.  For  days,  Mark 
had  been  going  around'  looking  harassed. 


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"What's  the  matter,  dear?"  Annelle 'asked 
for  the  tenth  time  the  night  they  were  to 
fly  over  to  New  York. 

Mark  looked  at  her  desperately.  "If  you 
must  know,"  he  burst  out,  "your  Christmas 
presents  haven't  come.  I  ordered  them  sent 
to  Washington  and  they  should  have  been 
here  a  week  ago.  And  now  we're  going 
to  New  York!" 

His  expression  was  so  woebegone  that 
Annelle  had  to  laugh. 

"Don't  worry,  honey.  We'll  get  them 
eventually.  And  being  with  you  is  enough 
Christmas  present  for  me,  anyway." 

The  doorbell,  with  a  nice,  dramatic  sense 
of  timing,  chose  that  moment  to  ring.  A 
bellboy  came  in,  three-quarters  hidden  be- 
hind an  elephant-sized  package.  Mark 
rushed  over,  took  one  look  and  said,  "Well, 
thank  the  Lord!  They  made  it!" 

Annelle  stared  at  the  package,  her  eyes 
wide  as  a  six-year-old's.  "But  Mark,  what 
on  earth  can  it  be?   It's  so  big!" 

It  was,  Mark  explained,  several  different 
things.  And  they  couldn't  possibly  take  a 
package  that  size  on  the  plane.  So  he  opened 
it  and  began  flinging  gilt  and  scarlet  and 
silver  and  blue  packages  about  the  room 
till  it  looked  like  a  Christmas  window  in  a 
Fifth  Avenue  store. 

There  were  eight  of  them,  all  together. 
Mark  would  rather'  give  a  present  than  eat 
a  meal — and  plenty  of  times  in  the  old,  lean 
days  he  had  done  just  that.  "Open  the 
two  big  ones,"  he  said.  "You  can't  get  them 
into  the  suitcases,  when  they're  in  boxes." 

Christmas  can't  wait  .  .  . 

Annelle  looked  at  him  in  horror.  "Open 
them  before  Christmas!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Why  Mark  Stevens,  I  wouldn't  do  that  for 
anything.  I  want  to  open  them  Christmas 
morning!" 

"Listen,  dear,"  Mark  spoke  patiently.  "It 
just  isn't  physically  possible,  with  all  the 
other  stuff  we  have,  to  take  those  two  big 
boxes  along.    You'll  have  six  others  to  . 
open  on  Christmas." 

"But  this  big  blue  one  is  my  favorite!" 
Annelle  protested,  clutching  it  to  her  pro- 
tectively.  "It's  so  beautiful!" 

It  was,  too.  Shiny  royal  blue  paper,  wide 
silver  ribbon,  and  a  huge  silver  cone  stuck 
in  the  knot.  Reluctantly,  she  pulled  the 
blue  paper  apart.  But  her  reluctance 
changed  to  a  little  shriek  of  excitement 
when  she  saw  the  name  on  the  white  box. 

"Mark,  it's  from  that  wonderful  shop 
where  everything  is  custom-made!"  Now 
she  couldn't  open  the  box  fast  enough.  She 
gasped  in  awed  delight  as  she  lifted  out  a 
white  crepe  housecoat  with  a  striking  pale 
blue  band  across  the  breast  and  sleeves. 

"Oh,  darling,  how  heavenly.  And  look, 
it  has  a  hood  all  lined  in  blue!  Oh,  Mark!" 
She  dashed  over  and  kissed  him,  then 
dashed  back  to  the  housecoat.  "But  will  it 
fit?"  Her  wool  dress  was  off  in  a  second 
and  the  housecoat  was  on.  Annelle  has  a 
really  spectacular  figure,  and  Mark's  wolf 
whistle  wasn't  kidding. 

"You  sent  me  there  to  get  those  shorts 
just  so  they'd  have  my  measurements!"  she 
cried.  "Honestly,  sometimes  you're  just  too 
smart  to  live!" 

The  other  box  turned  out  to  be  from  the 
same  shop.  It  contained  black  dinner  pa- 
jamas, as  formal  in  their  own  way  as  the 
most  elaborate  dinner  gown.  They  had  a 
gold  and  blue  motif  cut  out  at  the  neck  just 
low  enough  to  be  interesting. 

"Darling,  you  have  the  most  perfect 
taste,"  his  wife  told  him.  "These  will  be 
perfect  for  dinner  parties  at  home.  I  think," 
she  added  meditatively,  "I'll  give  one  the 
week  we  get  back." 

Mark  laughed.  "I  really  bought  them  for 
you  to  wear  washing  the  car.  You  know 
those  old  dungarees  just  don't  look  right!" 

"Oh  you,"  she  said,  grinning.  "Come  kiss 
me." 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 

Dear  You: 

Some  of  you  have  been  asking  for 
behind-the-scenes  information  on  what 
goes  on  in  the  Fashion  Department. 
Where  do  we  get  the  clothes  we  show? 
How  do  we  get  hold  of  the  scarves  and 
gloves  and  shoes  and  jewelry  we  dress 
up  our  dresses  with?  How  does  it  work, 
anyway? 

Well,  in  the  first  place,  we  work  three 
months  or  more  in  advance.  While  you 
are  doing  your  Christmas  shopping  and 
stamping  the  snow  from  your  boots — 
we  are  thinking  of  hearts  and  flowers 
spring  themes,  and  the  office  is  draped 
three  deep  in  sheers,  prints  and  pastel 
cottons.  Likely  as  not,  there's  a  string 
of  white  summer  beads  dangling  from 
one  typewriter — and  a  bevy  of  straw 
bonnets  parked  on  top  of  the  file  case. 
And  of  course,  just  as  you  are  splashing 
about  in  the  ocean  in  the  briefest  of 
bathing  suits — we  are  looking  at  fur 
coats  and  tweed  suits. 

As  to  where  we  get  clothes  in  the  first 
place,  the  answer  is  Seventh  Avenue, 
New  York's  garment  center.  Any  day, 
every  day,  we're  riding  the  elevators 
in  Seventh  Avenue's  skyscrapers — dash- 
ing in  and  out  of  showrooms  to  pick  prize 
clothes  with  you  in  mind.  A  showroom 
is  a  room  where  a  manufacturer  exhibits 
the  fashions  his  designer  has  created  for 
the  coming  season. 

The  showrooms  are  definitely  cn  the 
swanky  side — with  thick  carpets,  soft 
lights,  fresh  flowers,  shining  mirrors — and 
a  generally  delicious  air  of  glamor.  They 
are  lined  with  little  booths,  each  with  a 
table,  chairs,  pads  and  pencils.  We  park 
ourselves  in  one  of  these,  assume  our 
best  bargain-hunting  air  and  say,  "Bring 
on  your  cutest  playsuits  at  your  lowest 
prices." 

In  come  the  models  (and  are  they 
gorgeous  gals!)  wearing  the  pick  of  the 
manufacturer's  line.  We  eagle-eye  each 
garment.  We  make  frantic  notes.  We 
look  for  fashion  rightness,  good  work- 
manship, fine  fabric,  general  come- 
hitherness — and  low  price.  Finally  we 
pick  our  favorite  one  of  all.  And  that's 
the  one  we  photograph  for  you.  As  for 
the  actual  photographing — that's  a  pro- 
duction in  itself.  In  a  later  letter,  we'll 
tell  you  all  about  what  goes  on  behind 
what  goes  on  in  front  of  the  camera! 
Yours  for  fun  in  fashion, 

Connie  Bartel 


a  typical  Carole  Kino;  girl 


DRESSES  FOR  JUNIORS 


"LA  BELLE"  .  .  .  Look  pretty,  please!  In  this  Carole  King 
Original  of  Savoy  spun  rayon.  Junior  sizes  9  to  15. 
Under  $13.00.  Exclusively  at  one  fine  store  in  your  city. 
For  name  of  store,  write  Carole  King,  17th  and 
Washington,  St.  Louis  3,  Missouri. 


ff  feminine 


to  the* 


tip 


your 


toes 


?9 


For  these  reasonably  priced,  shoes, 
write  for  the  name  of  your  dealer 
PETERS  SHOE  COMPANY,  SAINT  LOUIS 


MY  SISTER  AND  I 

(Continued  jrom  page  44) 


music)  and  painted  murals,  and  all  the 
kids  who  worked  with  us  are  famous  now. 

Father's  friends — Chevalier,  George  Ar- 
liss — came  to  our  shows.  Madeleine  Car- 
roll saw  Ida  in  her  earliest  parts  there. 

The  act  I  remember  most  vividly  was 
violently  acrobatic.  Ida  was  playing  Dick 
Whittington,  and  I  was  playing  the  cat 
(our  ancestors  having  been  famous  animal 
imitators,  I  was  carrying  on  the  tradition). 
At  one  point,  Ida  was  supposed  to  pick  me 
up  by  a  foot,  and  swing  me. 

This  particular  night,  she  picked  me  up, 
swung  me,  and  let  me  go. 

I  landed,  howling,  in  the  middle  of  the 
audience,  and  damaged  the  lap  of  some 
lady  more  than  I  damaged  myself.  I  guess 
nothing  could  have  hurt  me  then. 

But  the  days  of  our  little  theater  were 
numbered.  Ida  was  given  a  Paramount  con- 
tract, and  she  and  Mummy  went  off  to 
America.  I  was  only  nine  at  the  time,  but 
from  then  on,  my  life  and  Ida's  life  were 
sharply  split. 

After  she  and  Mummy'd  left,  and  Daddy 
and  I  had  waved  them  off,  and  come  home, 
he  looked  at  me.  . 

"Rita,"  he  said  casually,  "how  would 
you  like  to  vacation  in  Spain?" 

My  breath  caught,  and  Daddy  smiled. 

suddenly  it's  spain  .  .  . 

So  we  went  to  Spain,  because  Daddy 
wanted'  to  do  research  for  a  book  he  was 
planning.  Everything  about  the  trip,  the 
country,  the  people,  excited  me.  It's  hard 
to  describe  childhood  impressions,  and 
mine,  remembered  now,  are  simply  a  maze 
of  shifting  lights  and  colors. 

I  must  have  nearly  burst  with  it  all, 
because  I'd  find  Daddy  looking  at  me  a 
little  strangely  at  times  when  he  saw  my 
reactions,  but  I'm  sure  he  understood  them. 

Mostly,  I  got  excited  by  the  music.  "May 
I  study  Spanish  dancing?"  I'd  beg. 

"No,"  he  said.  "Certainly  not.  You  will 
keep  on  with  your  ballet  work."  Daddy  was 
a  classicist;  there  wasn't  any  doubt  of  it. 

We  came  home  to  England,  and  I  kept 
on  with  my  ballet — I  was  studying  with 
Espinoza,  the  Ballet  Russe  teacher — and 
we  heard  from  Mummy  regularly,  and  from 
Ida  scarcely  at  all. 

The  year  Ida  and  Mummy  returned — to 
do  a  picture,  and  to  see  Daddy — I  was 
thirteen.  And  this  time,  when  they  sailed 
for  America,  I  went  with  them. 

That  was  1937.  I  went  to  live  with  Ida 
and  Mummy  at  the  Ravenswood  Apart- 
ments in  Hollywood,  and  when  I  consider 
what  Ida  tolerated  from  me,  I  realize  she 
must  have  had  intensely  strong  family 
feeling.  She  tried  to  encourage  me  to  act. 

"I  can  help,"  she'd  say.  "I  know  people." 

"I'm  not  interested  in  acting,"  I'd  in- 
form her  coldly.  "I'm  interested  in  horses." 
All  I  wanted  was  to  own  horses. 

After  I  got  over  wanting  to  own  horses, 
I  started  dancing  again.  I  went  with  Mitch 
Leisen's  Revue,  and  I've  been  away  from 
them  most  of  the  time  since. 

I  go  to  see  Mummy  and  Ida,  and  they're 
glad  when  I  come,  but  I  think  when  the 
sound  of  clicking  castanets  and  beating 
heels  are  gone  again,  they're  secretly  re- 
lieved. Although  they  don't  completely 
agree  with  my  choice  of  careers,  they  don't 
object,  because  in  our  family  each  one 
makes  his  own  decisions. 

I've  been  looking  this  over,  and  it  seems 
to  me  to  be  too  much  of  Rita,  and  not 
enough  of  Ida,  but  we've  been  apart  so 
much,  that  I  can  only  tell  her  story  by 
filtering  the  events  of  her  life  through 
the  memories  of  my  own. 

From  Mitch's  group,  I  went  into  concert 


with  Antonio  Triana,  my  teacher,  and  in 
those  years,  Ida  was  married  to  Louis 
Hayward,  a  guy  I  adored.  I  was  sorry  when 
they  divorced;  they  were  a  charming 
couple. 

During  the  war,  Ida  and  I  worked  to- 
gether for  the  first  time  since  we  were 
kids.  We  did  camp  shows  all  over  the 
country. 

There  was  one  funny  night  at  the  Holly- 
wood Canteen.  My  partner  and  I  did  a 
straight  Spanish  number,  and  then  Ida 
and  Bob  Hope  followed  us,  and  bur- 
lesqued it.  Ida'd  fly  into  Bob's  arms,  and 
he'd  bang  her  on  the  head  with  an  old 
castanet.    It  brought  the  house  down. 

Ida  has  a  ridiculous  sense  of  humor; 
she  has  a  sentimental  side,  too,  though 
she  won't  admit  it.  I'm  thinking  now  of 
The  Corn  is  Green.  The  whole  thing  is 
recent  enough  to  be  fresh  in  my  mind. 
I'd  decided,  after  a  lot  of  talk,  and  a  lot 
more  dancing,  that  I  was  pretty  tired. 
Maybe  acting  wasn't  a  bad  idea.  There 
was  a  part  coming  up  in  the  new  Bette 
Davis  movie — the  part  of  the  young 
Cockney  girl,  and  I  was  set  to  try  out  for  it. 

"We'll  work,"  Ida  said,  and  we  did.  She 
stood  by,  right  through  the  test,  and  we 
saw  it  run  off  later.  It  was  the  only  test  of 
mine  I'd  ever  glimpsed  that  didn't  make 
me  shrink  down  in  the  seat,  and  Ida 
grinned,  and  squeezed  my  hand.  We  were 
feeling  high. 

The  job  fell  through,  for  me.  It  was 
just  one  of  those  things,  and  it  was  Ida 
who  broke  up  over  it.  I  ended  up  trying 
to  comfort  her.  "Don't  worry,  darling,  it 
doesn't  matter,  really  it  doesn't — " 

To  prove  it  didn't  matter,  I  got  myself 
a  cockney  part  in  the  play  John  Loves 
Mary,  which  was  coming  to  New  York. 

"You  can  do  it,"  Ida  said,  and  I  knew 
I  could  if  she  thought  so.  There's  no  quick 
praise  given  in  our  family.  Mummy  was 
never  a  stage -mother  with  either  of  us, 
and  Daddy  never  said  anything  was  good, 
either.  "You're  learning,"  he'd  say,  if  he 
was  terribly  pleased. 

Well,  I  came  to  New  York  with  John 
Loves  Mary,  but  it  was  no  use.  I'm  too 
nervous  to  be  an  actress:  I  can't  keep  still. 
I'd  go  around  dancing  between  scenes, 
and  then  I'd  be  sure  that  the  rest  of  the 
cast  was  staring  at  me,  and  saying,  "This 
girl  is  neurotic." 

matter  of  the  mind  .  .  . 

I  developed  laryngitis,  and  I'm  still  not 
sure  it  wasn't  psychic.  Ida  phoned,  alarmed, 
and  I  told  her  I  was  fine,  and  it  was  the 
absolute,  insane  truth.  I  was  sick,  I  was 
completely  alone  in  New  York,  but  I  was 
out  of  the  play,  and  tickled  to  death. 

Maybe  my  family's  right,  and  I'm  crazy. 
Anyway,  I  went  back  to  dancing.  I  did 
three  concerts  at  Carnegie  Hall  with  a  full 
symphony  orchestra,  and  now  I'm  at  El 
Chico,  here  in  Greenwich  Village,  and  I'm 
wondering  if  my  sister  is  really  going  to 
get  married,  the  way  the  papers  say. 

The  phone  will  ring  one  of  these  days, 
and  then  I'll  know. 

I'll  be  seeing  Ida  soon  again,  too,  and 
maybe  I'll  get  there  on  a  Sunday,  and  be 
in  time  for  a  Lupino  Sunday  night. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  evening,  every- 
body'll  take  his  or  her  shoes  off,  and  get 
up  and  dance.  And  mother  will  out-dance 
everybody.  She'll  do  "Tea  For  Two,"  and 
if  she's  in  a  really  silly  mood,  she'll  imitate 
me  doing  a  Spanish  dance. 

And  in  between  bursts  of  laughter,  Ida 
will  give  me  a  look,  and  say,  "Hello, 
baby,"  and  I'll  know  I'm  home.  Or  at  least 
as  home  as  a  character  like  me  ever  gets. 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY 
MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

(Prices  on  merchandise  may  vary 
throughout  country) 

Perky  Frox  rayon  gabardine  bolero  dress 
with  polka  dot  cummerbund,  collar  and 
cuffs  worn  by  Laraine  Day  in  the  full  color 
photograph  (page  65) 

Detroit,  Mich.— The  Ernst  Kern  Co. 
Kansas  City,  Mo. — The  Jones  Store  Co., 

Junior  Colony  Shop,  Second  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y—  Macy's,  Deb  Shop, 

Third  Floor 
Oakland,  Calif. — -Kahn's 
Providence,  R.  I. — Shepard  Co. 

Carousel  Frocks  jacket  dress  with  striped 
bow  and  cuffs  (page  66) 
Also,  Rox  Frox  two-tone  crepe  dress  with 
medallion  belt  (page  70) 

At  Dixie  Shops  in:  Chattanooga,  Tenn. 

Kansas  City,  Mo. 
Little  Rock,  Ark. 
Richmond,  Va. 
Salt  Lake  City,  Utah 

Meadowbrook  Jrs.  striped  rayon  jersey  and 
butcher  linen  all-around  pleated,  capelet 
dress  (page  67) 

Boston,  Mass. — Conrad's,  Junior  Dept., 
Basement 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Hearn's,  Junior  Dept., 

Second  Floor 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Gimbel  Bros.,  Junior 

Dept.,  Subway  Store 

Plutzer  Prize-Winner  rayon  sheer  print 
dress  with  marquisette  neckline  and  harem 
pockets  (page  68) 

Boston,  Mass. — Conrad's,  Dress  Dept., 
Basement 

Detroit,  Mich. — Winkelman  Bros.  Ap- 
parel, Inc. 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Macy's,  Budget 
Dresses,  Fourth  Floor 

Leslie  Fay  rayon  jersey  Merry-Go-Round 
print  dress  with  flounced  skirt  (page  69) 

Chicago,  111— Carson,  Pirie  Scott  &  Co., 
Budget  Dept.,  Fourth  Floor 

Des  Moines,  la. — Younkers,  Budget  Shop, 
Second  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Saks-34th,  Inexpen- 
sive Dresses,  Fifth  Floor 

San  Francisco,  Calif. — Macy's,  Moderate 
Priced  Dresses,  Third  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Lothrop, 
Misses'  Dresses,  Third  Floor,  North 
Building 

Jay  Day  rayon  gabardine  double-breasted 
suit  dress  with  silver  buttons  (page  72) 

Miami,  Fla. — Hartley's,  Budget  Dress 
Dept. 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Bloomingdale's,  Jr. 
Dresses,  Basement 

Barbette  two-piece  printed  rayon  double 
peplum  dress  (page  72) 

Buffalo,  N.  Y— J.  N.  Adam  Co.,  Daytime 

Dresses,  Third  Floor 
New   York,   N.  Y. — John  Wanamaker, 

Moderate   Price   Dress   Dept.,  Third 

Floor 

Philadelphia,  Pa. — John  Wanamaker, 
Moderate  Price  Dress  Dept.,  Third  Floor 

San  Francisco,  Calif. — The  Emporium, 
Suburban  Shop,  Second  Floor 

Star  pin  on  pages  65,  70,  72,  by  Coro 


lj  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed,  write: 
Fashion  Editor,  Modern  Screen,  149 
Madison  Ave.,  New   York  16,  N.  Y. 


n 


0  BODES  ABOUT  IT 

Stays  up  without  stays 


A  tiny  waist  is  the  thing  for  Spring,  and  rounded  hips,  too,  so 
take  a  tip  and  begin  your  wardrobe  with  a  new  "Perma-lift"* 
Girdle.  Lightweight  and  thrillingly  youthful,  this  miracle 
girdle  is  made  entirely  without  bones,  yet  it  won't  wrinkle, 
won't  roll  over,  won't  bind — yes,  it  stays  up  without  stays. 
In  style,  too,  it  will  comfortably  nip  your  waist — round  your 
hips — give  you  that  important  new  look.  Insist  on  a  com- 
fortable "Perma-lift"  Girdle  with  "stay-up"  smartness  and 
control.  At  better  stores  everywhere,  $5.95  to  $12.50. 
Try  a  companion  "Perma-lift"  Brassiere  too,  America's  favorite  Bra  with 
"The  Lift  that  never  lets  you  down." 

*"trrma-UJt"  and  "Hickory"  art  trademarks  of  A.  Stein  &  Company  tReo.  D.  S.  Pat.  Off.). 


PAIN  DAYS 

CAN  BE 

PLAY  PAYS 


RELIEVES  FUNCTIONAL 

PERIODIC  PAIN 

CMMP$-H[ADACH[-"BLtl[S" 

"What  a  difference 
Midol 
makes" 


EASES  HEADACHE 


84 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  23) 


To  The  Victor:  Viveca  Lindfors,  former  wife  of  a  French  collaborationist,  comes  to 
Dennis  Morgan  for  help.  Adventure  with  gunmen  and  the  couple's  falling  in  love  follows. 


TO  THE  VICTOR 

Who  wins  a  war?  Any  war?  The  victors? 
Not  necessarily.  Take  three  demobilized 
American  soldiers  in  Paris.  They  were  on  the 
winning  side,  weren't  they?  And  now  look  at 
them.  They  are  playing  the  Black  Market, 
betraying  their  own  country  as  well  as  the 
starving  people  of  Europe.  Their  names  are 
Paul  (Dennis  Morgan),  Gus  (Tom  D' Andrea) 
and  Steve  (Douglas  Kennedy). 

Paul,  perhaps,  is  a  little  different  from  the 
others.  At  least  it  is  to  him  that  our  story 
happens.  A  girl,  Christine  (Viveca  Lindfors), 
comes  to  him  for  help.  Not  because  he's  Paul, 
but  because  death  is  close  behind  her  and 
she  needs  someone,  anyone,  for  protection. 
She  is  the  former  wife  of  France's  best  known 
collaborationist,  Lestracs,  and  is  supposed  to 
appear  in  court  to  testify  against  him  in  a  war 
guilt  trial.  But  two  of  his  suporters  are  deter- 
mined that  she  shall  not  live  to  do  it.  They 
are  Nikki  (Anthony  Caruso)  and  Firago 
(Eduardo  Ciannelli). 

When  she  tells  Paul  this  story  he  considers 
it  about  ninety-nine  and  six-tenths  sheer  fiction 
— until  Nikki  takes  .a  couple  of  shots  at  them. 
Paul  finally  catches  up  with  Nikki,  but  can't 
do  much  except  punch  him  in  the  jaw. 

Inspector  Beauvais  (Victor  Francen)  who 
is  in  charge  of  the  witnesses  for  the  trial, 
sends  Christine  off  to  Normandy.  With  her 
goes  her  old  friend,  Pablo  (Konstantin 
Shayne),  a  musician  she  has  known  since 
childhood.  Pablo,  however,  is  not  much  pro- 
tection. It  is  Paul,  seeing  Christine  board  the 
train,  who  spots  Nikki  and  Firago  getting  on 
too.  At  the  last  moment,  Paul  climbs  aboard 
himself.  He  manages  to  get  rid  of  the  two 
gunmen,  and  he  and  Christine  and  Pablo  go 
on  to  Normandy. 


There  Paul  and  Christine  fall  in  love.  It's 
a  queer  sort  of  love,  reluctant,  with  no  hope 
for  the  future.  And  Nikki  and  Firago  are  still 
on  the  trail,  which  results  in  as  much  action 
as  you  could  wish  for. 

The  new  Swedish  discovery,  Viveca  Lind- 
fors, is  worth  seeing. — War. 


JASSY 

A  century  ago  lots  of  people  had  prejudices 
against  gypsies,  especially  ones  like  Jassy 
(Margaret  Lockwood)  who  have  second 
sight.  But  to  Barney  Hatton  (Dermot  Walsh) 
there's  nothing  wrong  with  Jassy  except 
fright,  and  he  takes  her  home  to  protect  her. 

His  mother  accepts  her  as  a  "between 
maid"  in  their  great  house,  Mordelaine.  But 
Papa  Hatton  has  an  unfortunate  weakness  for 
cards  and  dice.  By  next  day  Mordelaine 
belongs  to  an  unpleasant  character  named 
Nick  Helmer  (Basil  Sydney).  The  only  way 
Nick  could  ever  have  an  ancestral  home 
would  be  by  winning  it  at  cards.  What  he 
does  have,  however,  is  a  beautiful  daughter, 
Dilys  (Patricia  Roc). 

Dilys  is  spoiled  and  imperious,  but  that's 
the  way  she  has  been  brought  up.  She  goes 
to  a  select  boarding  school  for  young  ladies, 
but  spends  most  of  her  time  meeting  a  man 
whose  regiment  is  stationed  nearby. 

Meanwhile,  the  Hatton  family  have  moved 
from  Mordelaine  to  a  small  house.  Jassy  is 
by  now  in  love  with  Barney,  although  he 
doesn't  realize  it.  His  mother  does,  and  gets 
Jassy  another  job,  which  happens  to  be  maid 
at  the  school  where  Dilys  is.  Dilys  takes  ad- 
vantage of  Jassy's  being  from  her  home-town 
and  persuades  her  to  leave  a  window  open 
at  night  so  school  rules  won't  interfere  with 


Jassy:  Margaret  Lockwood,  maid  at  a  girls' 
school,     disregards     rules    for     Patricia  Roc. 


her  exciting  romance. 

This  naturally  leads  to  their  both  being 
thrown  out  on  their  pretty  little  ears.  Dilys 
takes  Jassy  home  with  her  and  introduces  her 
to  her  father  as  "a  friend  from  school."  Old 
Nick  falls  in  love  with  her,  which  complicates 
matters  since  Jassy  is  still  in  love  with  Bar- 
ney, especially  since  she  is  now  back  in 
his  neighborhood.  Just  to  make  things  even 
more  confusing,  Dilys  flirts  with  Barney  until 
he  decides  he's  in  love  with  her. 

Jassy  begins  to  believe  that  Barney  loves  his 
old  home,  Mordelaine,  more  than  he  cares  for 
any  woman.  If  she  married  Nick,  she  could 
persuade  him  to  give  her  Mordelaine  for  a 
wedding  gift.  Then  she  could  give  it  to  Bar- 
ney and  he,  at  least,  would  be  happy.  Only 
none  of  it  works  out  quite  as  she  had  thought. 
— Univ. 

ATLANTIS 

You've  heard  about  the  dream  world  of 
Atlantis — the  world  under  the  desert  that 
many  men  lost  their  lives  seeking?  The  world 
that  no  one  was  quite  sure  of,  but  that  souls 
were  sacrificed  for?  As  the  picture  opens,  two 
men  are  dying  of  thirst  in  the  desert  because 
of  Atlantis.  Their  native  guide  is  already 
dead,  but  Andre  St.  Avit  (Jean  Pierre  Au- 
mont)  and  Morhange  (Dennis  O'Keefe)  are 
still  barely  alive.  - 

A  storm  fills  the  gulley  where  they  are 
lying,  and  suddenly  they  are  in  as  much 
danger  of  drowning  as  they  were  of  dying 
of  thirst.  Some  Tuaregs  come  along,  bundle 
them  on  their  horses  and  take  them  to  the 
lost  land  of  Atlantis.  So  they  arrive  at  their 
destination,  but  trouble  and  bitterness  are 


Does  Toisy  Martin 

expect  too  much  of  a 

^WOMAN? 


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85 


Avoid  underarm 
irritation . . . 


AC 


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Atlantis:  Jean  Pierre  Aumont,  stranded  in  the  desert,  is  taken  to  the  dream 
world  of  Atlantis  where   Maria   Montez  is  queen — and   rules  his  heart. 


ahead.  The  queen  is  Antinea  (Maria  Mon- 
tez) and  there  is  something  very  strange  and 
a  little  morbid  about  this  woman.  Morhange 
finds  the  embalmed  body  of  the  leader  of  a 
former  expedition  in  one  of  the  caves  near  her 
palace. 

But  by  that  time  St.  Avit  is  madly  in  love 
with  her.  He  will  hear  no  word  against 
her  and  is  violently  jealous.  Perhaps  she  is 
in  love  with  him,  too.  It's  hard  to  tell  about 
women.  At  least  she  definitely  prevents  his 
leaving  and  gradually  fills  him  with  insidious 
propaganda  against  Morhange. 

Somehow,  St.  Avit  gets  a  peculiar  idea  in 
his  mind.  Because  Antinea  has  cast  her  spell 
over  him,  he  believes  that  Morhange,  too,  is 
in  love  with  her.  And  when  he  is  left  alone 
with  his  old  friend,  he  takes  out  his  dagger 
and  kills  him. 

It's  a  question  whether  a  man  ever  gets 
over  the  influence  of  a  woman  like  Antinea. 
St.  Avit  goes  back  to  France  eventually,  but 
no  one  believes  his  story.  Perhaps  it  isn't  true. 
I  don't  know. — U.A. 


T-MEN 

Eagle-Lion  has  produced  an  exciting  docu- 
mentary in  T-Men.  This  story  of  the  Treas- 
ury Department's  hunt  for  counterfeiters  oozes 
smugglers,  Secret  Service  men,  and  sinister 
figures  in  Turkish  baths.  It  begins  with  the 
assignment  of  a  couple  of  T-men,  O'Brien 
(Dennis  O'Keefe)  and  Genaro  (Alfred  Ry- 
der) to  a  case.  It  ends,  naturally,  when  the 
case  is  solved,  but  you'd  be  surprised  at  all 
that  happens  in  between. 

Okay,  let's  surprise  you.  O'Brien  and  Ge- 
naro go  first  to  Detroit.  They  learn  every  last 
detail  of  local  crime  history  and  then,  repre- 
senting themselves  as  being  just  out  of  jail, 
get  rooms  at  a  place  known  by  the  police  as  a 
hide-out  for  gangsters.  The  scheme  works  and 
they  are  soon  in  touch  with  the  local  mob. 

It  doesn't  take  long  for  them  to  learn  that 
someone  called  "The  Schemer"  in  Los  Angeles 
is  the  one  to  see.  Leaving  Genaro  in  Detroit 
to  avert  suspicion,  O'Brien  flies  to  the  Coast 
and  manages  to  pick  up  the  trail  of  "The 
Schemer"  (Wally  Ford)  in  his  favorite  haunt 


— a  steam-filled  Turkish  bath. 

This  fat  man  with  the  shifty  eyes,  spots 
O'Brien  following  him.  He  gets  a  couple  of  the 
boys  to  beat  him  up.  But  later,  when  they 
check  on  his  Detroit  background  and  get  the 
word  that  he's  known  there  as  a  criminal, 
they  let  him  talk  to  the  man  next  higher  up, 
"Shiv"  (John  Wengraf). 

Back  in  Detroit,  Genaro  has  a  bad  time  for 
a  while.  But  at  last  he  is  able  to  get  away 
and  join  O'Brien  in  Los  Angeles,,  who  by 
now  has  found  out  that  the  gang  there  is 
making  counterfeit  money  on  an  exceptionally 
good  grade  of  paper,  but  with  inferior  plates. 
He  sells  them  the  idea  that  he  can  get  them 
better  plates — and  he  can,  too,  straight  from 
the  Treasury  Department. 

There  are  scenes  from  here  on  that  add  to 
the  spectacular  quality  of  the  picture.  A  heart- 
breaking moment  when  Genaro  meets  his  wife 
(June  Lockhart)  and  has  to  deny  that  he 
knows  her.  The  horrible  death  of  "The 
Schemer."  I  think  you'll  find  T-Men  a  defi- 
nite thriller. — Eagle-Lion. 


T-Men:  Dennis  O'Keefe, 
tracks  down  counterfeiters  for 


government 
the  Treasury 


man, 
Dept. 


THE  "BISHOP'S"  WIFE 

(Continued  from  page  24) 


spaces,  before  he  could  finally  come  to 
terms  again  with  his  life. 

But  now  it  was  1948,  and  the  sun  was 
shining  outside,  and  this  girl  was  mar- 
velous-looking. 

In  the  few  weeks  that  followed,  he  found 
out  more  about  her.  She  was  27,  she'd 
been  married  once  to  a  Swedish  business- 
man, and  divorced;  she  spoke  an  enchant- 
ing brand  of  English —  "Oh,  I  know  she 
sounds  good,"  he  says,  "but  she  doesn't 
make  sense,  you  know." 

Their  romance  was  quiet,  and  private. 
Even  David's  closest  friends  thought  the 
whole  relationship  casual.  They  noted 
that  David  and  Hjordis  had  lunched  with 
David's  first  wife's  father,  Mr.  William 
Rollo,  but  they  attached  no  significance  to 
the  fact,  and  David  and  Hjordis  each  con- 
tinued to  be  seen  with  other  people. 

flowers  for  the  fair  .  .  . 

That  David  thought  Hjordis  was  lovely, 
there  wasn't  much  doubt.  There's  a  story 
he  likes  to  tell  about  the  painter,  Vasco 
Lazzollo,  who  was  strolling  down  Curzon 
Street  on  his  way  to  a  party  at  Sir  Alex- 
ander Korda's.  An  old  flower-seller  on  the 
corner  stopped  him,  and  offered  her  first 
bunch  of  early  spring  flowers.  He  bought 
them,  smiling.  "I  shall  give  these  to  the 
first  really  beautiful  woman  I  meet — " 

Later,  at  the  party,  some  of  the  guests 
noticed  Hjordis  holding  flowers,  but  only 
a  few  knew  why. 

•The  same  way  only  a  few  people  knew 
about  the  approaching  wedding.  Two  days 
before  the  ceremony,  David's  old  friends, 
Mrs.  Audrey  Pleydell  Bouverie,  sent  tele- 
grams to  his  intimates.  "Do  come  and 
have  a  drink  with  David  Niven  and  Hjordis 
Tersmeden  who  are  being  quietly  married," 
the  wires  read. 

They  came,  and  had  a  drink  (a  lethal 
mixture  of  schnapps  and  champagne)  and 
pronounced  it  a  wonderful  wedding  party. 
Hjordis  was  wearing  a  long,  pale  blue 
dress,  and  a  close-fitting  blue  feather  hat, 
and  she  and  David  both  were  beaming 
brightly. 

They  kept  right  on  beaming  through 
days  of  interviews  with  the  press,  ring- 
ing telephones,  packing  suitcases  at 
Claridge's  Hotel,  where  they  were  stay- 
ing. They  were  still  beaming  as  they 
sailed  for  America.  Because  when  you're 
very  happy,  it  always  shows. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

While  a  salesgirl 
was  waiting  on 
another  customer 
I  was  enjoying 
myself  by  smelling 
the  lovely  scents 
on  display  at  the 
perfume  counter. 
One  particularly 
expensive  perfume 
in  a  very  chi-chi 
bottle  caught  my 
fancy.  "Mmm  ...  I  love  this  one!"  I 
exclaimed  to  the  lady  who  had  just 
walked  up  beside  me.  "Here,  smell. 
Doesn't  it  make  you  feel  just  like  a 
movie  star?"  She  sniffed  experimen- 
tally and  said  with  a  hint  of  amuse- 
ment in  her  voice,  "Well,  that's  hard 
to  say.  Just  how  do  you  think  it  feels 
to  be  a  movie  star?"  I  turned  and 
looked  at  the  lady  carefully  for  the 
first  time.  It  was  Greer  Garson! 

Corrinne  Giblin, 

Los  Angeles,  California 


^c2aU4^ju  dLuwto  •  •  ♦  est 


I" 


/."FROM  OFFICE-CLAMOUR  to  evening- 
glamour!  It's  easy  if  you  start  the  day  in  a 
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And  you'll  be  thrilled  to  discover  new 
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the  last  dab.  Never  gritty.  (Even  if  you 
leave  the  cap  off  for  weeks.) 


2.  "SHED  THE  JACKET  at  dinner  time! 
Add  jewelry,  gloves  and  real  flowers  for 
elegance.  Then  start  the  evening — confi- 
dent that  you  look  your  best.  Confident 
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Yet,  Odorono  is  so  safe  and  gentle — 
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Name- 


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L^ty—- 


.Zone  State. 


mmg  shoulder!- 


Too  many  snacks! 

That's  the  only  mystery  about 

where  bulges  come  from. 

Count  calories,  as  Lizabeth  Scott  does, 

and  you'd  be  amazed 

at  the  excess  food  you've  been  eating! 

by  CAROL  CARTER 


slender  hope: 


■  We've  been  reading  about  the 
psychology  of  the  Plumpy-Dump 
here  lately  and  it's  very  interesting.  It 
goes  like  this :  a  young  lady  (we'll  say, 
although  it  applies  to  young  men  too) 
enjoys  eating  a  little  too  well.  Real 
rich  things — chocolate  meringue  pie, 
layer  cake  with  thick  icing,  candy  bars, 
She  gets  fat  on  all  sides.    This  makes  her 
very  sad.   She  mopes  and  doesn't  exercise. 
She  says  to  herself,  "Oh,  shucks,  I'm  so  fat 
I'm  not  pretty  anyway.  Nobody  loves  me.  I 
might  as  well  spend  my  lonely  life  eating 
my  head  off!"  So  she  eats  another  piece  of  choco- 
late cake  to  console  herself.  She  gets  fatter 
and  fatter  and  sadder  and  sadder. 

That's  the  sad  Plumpy-Dump.  There 
are  jolly  ones  too,  but  they  day-dream  just  as 
wistfully  of  the  slick  figures  they'd  have 
if  their  too,  too  solid  flesh  would  only  melt. 

Once  in  a  while  metabolism  goes  on 
toot  and  misbehaves  or  there's  some 
medical  reason,  but  almost  always 
overweight  is  due  to  over-eating.  Wave 
aside  your  favorite  gooey  delights, 
get  yourself  a  calorie  chart  and 
be  faithful  to  it  for  a  while. 


■  Look  no  further.  We've  got  a 
swell  booklet  on  reducing  we'd  like 
to  send  you.  Just  send  10c  and  a 
stamped,  self -addressed  envelope 
to  Service  Department,  MODERN 
SCREEN  149  Madison  Ave.,  New 
York,  16,  N.  Y. 


AIN'T  SHE  SWEET ! 

(Continued  from  page  47) 


like  a  dream.  As  Pat  opened  the  door 
for  her,  Mbs.  Freeman  said  innocently: 

"You  know,  Pat — you  in  your  tuxedo, 
and  Mona  in  that  white  dress — the  two  of 
you  look  like  you've  just  stepped  off  a 
wedding  cake." 

That -was  a  joke,  too.  But  lightning  was 
striking  inside  Pat  Nerney. 

He  got  behind  the  wheel,  stepped  on 
the  starter  and  they  headed  toward  the 
hills  on  the  other  side  of  Sunset  Boule- 
vard. Then  he  heard  himself  saying,  "We 
are  going  to  get  married!" 

A  paralyzed  look  traveled  between  the 
two. 

Pat  exclaimed,  hoarsely,  "Good  Lord, 
what  have  I  said?" 

Mona  was  scared  silly.  "I  don't  know, 
Pat,"  she  whispered.  "What  have  you 
said?" 

Everything  turned  a  little  incoherent. . . . 

Aside  from  the  fact  that  it  was  much 
too  early  to  be  returning  from  a  party, 
Mona's  ever-loving  parents  needed  only 
one  look  to  know  what  had  happened.  Pat's 
mussed  hair,  the  glow  of  lipstick  that  had 
been  rubbed  in  more  than  it  had  off,  and 
the  kids'  dazed  eyes  were  a  giveaway. 

Somebody   yelled,  "Congratulations!" 

A  week  later,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pat  Nerney 
were  shaking  hands  with  Father  Con- 
cannon  on  the  steps  of  the  Good  Shepherd 
Church,  and  Mona  felt  as  though  she  were 
standing  apart  from  the  scene,  observing 
it  all. 

"Now—"  the  thought  flashed  through 
her  mind,  "I  know  why  I  left  Pelham." 

why  mono  left  home  .  .  . 

Pelham  is  not  a  particularly  good  place 
to  leave.  It  is  in  Westchester,  one  of  the 
nicer  suburbs  of  New  York.  Mona  had 
come  there  from  Baltimore,  Maryland, 
with  her  family.  She  attended  Pelham 
Memorial  High  School,  appeared  in  one 
important  play,  being  sent  off  to  heaven 
on  piano  wire  in  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 

She  was  in  her  unlucky  thirteenth  year, 
so  far  as  her  debut  into  the  acting  world 
was  concerned.  She  was  playing  Little 
Eva,  and  for  the  "going  to  heaven"  scene, 
a  motion  picture  projection  machine  was 
supposed  to  flash  moving  clouds  and  fall- 
ing snow  upon  the  darkened  stage,  from 
which  Eva  was  to  make  a  fast  trip  to 
heaven  via  piano  wire. 

"I'm  frightened  to  death,"  Mona  ex- 
claimed to  Uncle  Tom,  just  before  the  big 
scene.  They  were  trying  to  put  on  her 
costume,  and  in  the  flurry  of  things,  Mona 
had  forgotten  her  underneath  skirt.  When 
she  reached  the  stage  and  began  to  be 
pulled  to  heaven,  her  skirt  flew  apart, 
revealing  over  her  gym-suit,  the  harness 
that  held  the  piano  wire.  The  audience 
roared.    Mona  suffered. 

But  she  wasn't  nearly  as  agonized  as 
the  special  effects  men.  They'd  put  the 
film  in  upside  down.  The  clouds  traveled 
the  wrong  way — against  the  wind,  and  the 
snow  fell  up!  What  with  such  stark  trag- 
edy, plus  two  Great  Danes  who'd  just  come 
in  and  sat  when  they  were  supposed  to 
have  been  running  across  the  stage,  with 
a  phonograph  record  barking  for  them, 
the  audience  staggered  out  into  the  night 
in  complete  hysteria.  And  thereafter, 
Mona  shuddered  at  the  barest  suggestion 
of  an  acting  career. 

She  .  reckoned,  however,  without  her 
guardian  angel — or  her  uncle,  Thad  Shar- 
rits.  Thad  was  the  sort  of  uncle  every 
girl  should  have.  Old  enough  to  know 
something,  young  enough  to  start  some- 
thing. He  took  her  to  a  museum  in  New 
York  one  day.    After  that,  they  went  for 


Do  men  see  thrilling  // 


enriched  creme 

SHAMPOO 


Gefi 


tie' 


LIQUfP  CfcEME 

...so  smooth  fo  use! 


YES,  you  can  thank  the  plain,  old- 
fashioned  hen  for  making 
Richard  Hudnut  Shampoo  sooth- 
ing, caressing,  kind-to-your-hair. 
Because  this  grand  new  shampoo 
contains  real  egg  in  powdered  form! 
Now — a  shampoo  that  acts  gently  to 
reveal  extra  hair  beauty.  Now— a 
new  kind  of  shampoo  created  for 
patrons  of  Hudnut's  Fifth  Avenue 
Salon  .  .  .  and  for  you! 

A  New  Kind  of  Hair  Beauty  from 
a  World-Famous  Cosmetic  House 


Not  a  .dulling,  dry- 
ing soap/Contains 
no  wax  or  paste. 
Richard  Hudnut 
Shampoo  is  a 
sm-o-o-c-th  liquid 
creme.  Beauty- 
bathes  hair  to 
"love-lighted"  per- 
fection. Rinses  out 
quickly,  leaving  hair 
easy  to  manage, 
free  of  loose 
dandruff.  At  drug  and 
department  stores. 


89 


What  a  feeling  of  confidence 
and  self-assurance  this  Tampax  Pflffffff 
gives  to  a  woman  on  those  bad 
days  of  the  month.  She  goes  about  abso- 
lutely free  from  the  worries  connected 
with  the  external  type  of  sanitary  protec- 
tion. Her  Tampax  is  an  internal  absorbent. 
It  can  neither  be  seen  nor  felt  when 
in  place! 

Dressing  in  the  morning,  she  dons  no 
harness  of  belt-pin-pad.  Therefore  she 
carries  no  bulk  to  act  as  a  reminder.  No 
ridges  will  show  nor  edges  chafe.  No 
odor  to  be  feared  because  odor  cannot 
form  with  Tampax.  Then  how  can  she 
help  feeling  more  like  her  usual  self — 
daintier,  more  relaxed,  more  active? 

An  invention  of  a  doctor,  Tampax  is 
made  of  highly  absorbent  cotton  firmly 
stitched — and  it's  encased  in  applicators 
for  easy  insertion.  Quick  to  change.  No 
trouble  to  dispose  of. . .  .Join  the  millions 
now  using  Tampax.  Sold  at  drug  and 
notion  counters  in  3  absorbency-sizes 
(Regular,  Super,  Junior).  Average  month's 
supply  fits  into  your  purse;  the  economy 
box  holds  4  months'  average  supply. 
Tampax  Incorporated,  Palmer,  Mass. 


by  the  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


a  walk  down  along  Park  Avenue. 

They  stopped  in  front  of  an  office  build- 
ing, and  Uncle  Thad  said,  "I've  got  to 
see  a  man  in  here.    Mind  coming  along?" 

Mona  didn't  mind  a  bit.  Uncle  Thad 
was  an  actor,  and  it  would  be  nice  to 
catch  a  glimpse  behind  the  scenes. 

What  happened  next  came  so  fast  that 
she  didn't  have  time  to  be  frightened. 

She  was  shaking  hands  with  a  man  by 
the  name  of  Powers,  who  was  saying, 
"You're  right;  she'd  be  a  very  good 
model!" 

"What  is  it  like  to  be  a  model?"  Mona 
asked  Uncle  Thad  as  they  commuted  home 
that  night. 

"My  dear  young  lady,"  Thad  replied, 
"I  haven't  the  slightest  idea,  but  you  are 
going  to  find  out." 

She  did.  ' 

Because  she  didn't  have  experience,  she 
began  first  with  catalogue  work.  A  girl 
doesn't  have  to  do  much  but  wear  clothes 
in  this  beginner's  chore,  but  it  helps  her 
to  learn  how  to  pose.  Mona's  first  im- 
portant experience  as  a  model  was  as 
hilarious  as  her  Little  Eva  debacle. 

"They  asked  me  to  take  off  my  dress, 
so  I  did,  and  stood  there  in  a  slip,  until 
somebody  wrapped  a  raincoat  around  me. 
Then,  bundled  up,  on  a  nice  wet  day,  I 
was  taken  to  Grant's  Tomb  to  have  my 
picture  taken.  There  was  supposed  to  be 
wind,  but  there  wasn't,  so  lead  weights 
were  attached  to  the  rain  coat  to  flare 
out  the  skirt. 

a  flair  for  humor  .  .  . 

"It  flared  out  all  right.  The  coat  ripped 
right  up  the  back,  and  there  I  was,  trying 
to  look  properly  dignified  in  front  of  the 
great  General's  tomb  while  a  big  audience 
of  people  gawked  at  my  pink  satin  rear 
and  laughed  themselves  silly." 

Once,  Mona  posed  as  a  happy  bride 
welcoming  home  her  naval  lieutenant 
husband,  and  she  has  never  forgotten  the 
incident  because  of  what  happened  after- 
wards. 

"The  boy  was  handsome,  and  very  nice, 
and  his  name  was  Bob  Hutton. 

"Bob  was  acting  and  modeling  and  mak- 
ing a  try  for  Hollywood.  Some  months 
afterward,  he  signed  his  contract  and  was 
on  his  way  west.  I  learned  later  that  he'd 
tried  very  hard  to  interest  talent  scouts 
in  me,  which  was  very  nice,  since  we'd 
never  dated." 

When  they  at  last  met  in  Hollywood, 
Mona,  walking  through  the  Paramount 
gate,  stepped  aside  for  a  neat  convertible, 
which  stopped  abruptly.  A  man  stuck  his 
head  out  and  yelled,  "Welcome  home,  wifie 
— now  come  on  over  and  meet  my  real 
wife."    This,  of  course,  was  Mr.  Hutton. 

She  got  to  Hollywood  through  Uncle 
Thad,  again,  who  introduced  her  to  Jack 
Shallit,  a  talent  scout  for  Howard 
Hughes.  Before  Mona  could  catch  her 
breath,  pictures  were  taken,  airmailed  to 
the  coast,  and  turned  into  one  of  those 
contracts  which  tell  you  how  you  are 
going  to  earn  two  thousand  dollars  a  week 
— until  you  look  closer  at  the  small  type 
and  discover  it's  only  an  option. 

A  check  for  four  hundred  dollars  was 
attached. 

Mona  will  never  forget  that.  The  four 
hundred  was  for  acting  lessons,  so  she 
enrolled  for  a  course  at  Finch  Junior  Col- 
lege in  New  York,  but  when  she  tried  to 
study  acting,  it  seemed  just  too  ridiculous. 
It  was  that  Little  Eva  complex  of  hers. 

So,  on  the  first  year  of  her  option  she 
received  $400.  On  the  second  year,  the 
option  was  "picked  up,"  and  she  was  off 
to  Hollywood.  But  still  no  salary — -ex- 
penses only.  Fortunately,  by  the  time 
Mona  arrived  on  the  coast,  Paramount  was 
interested. 

Paramount  was  not  going  to  sleep  easy 
on  its  corporate  structure  without  Mona 


Freeman,  but  could  Mona  Freeman  get 
a  release  from  Howard  Hughes? 

Mona  went  to  see  Hughes.  She  asked 
for  her  contract  back. 

"No!"  said  Mr.  Hughes. 

"Yes!"  said  Miss  Freeman. 

There  were  other  words,  most  of  them 
turbulent. 

She  was  pretty  miserable  when  she  went 
back  to  her  mother's  apartment,  but  in  a 
couple  of  days  it  was  all  over.  She'd 
reckoned  without  her  -new  agents,  MCA. 
The  phone  rang,  and  somebody  said  she 
was  now  under  contract  to  Paramount. 
Would  she  come  right  over  and  make 
a  test  for  Double  Indemnity  with  Fred 
MacMurray? 

She  came  over  all  right,  only  to  be  told 
she  was  too  young  for  the  part. 

Curiously  enough,  after  being  "too 
young"  for  Fred  MacMurray,  Mona  be- 
came Jimmy  Dunn's  girl  in  That  Bren- 
nan  Girl. 

In  that  picture,  she  was  a  girl  trying 
to  be  good  in  a  cruel  world.  She  liked 
the  story  and  everyone  in  the  cast,  and 
she  also  made  a  discovery  about  herself. 
If  she  does  the  normal  thing  and  learns 
her  script  well  the  night  before,  she  starts 
forgetting  her  lines.  Nothing  seems  to  go 
right.  But  if  she  waits  until  morning  and 
then  goes  to  work  on  the  dialogue,  every- 
thing's like  clockwork.  In  That  Brennan 
Girl  she  blew  up  in  her  lines  exactly 
three  times,  which  is  some  sort  of  a  record. 

Mona's  being  "too  young"  for  picture 
after  picture  developed  in  her  a  philos- 
ophy which  she  labels  her  "no  burning 
desire  department."  If  she  gets  the  part, 
she's  thrilled  to  pieces;  if  she  doesn't,  she 
convinces  herself  that  she  was  never  up 
for  it  in  the  first  place.  She  might  not 
have  been  able  to  use  this  unique  disap- 
pointment quencher  when  it  came  to 
Bing  Crosby's  Connecticut  Yankee,  if  she 
hadn't  already  been  well  on  her  way  to 
motherhood. 

She  sent  Bing  a  wire:  I'd  be  just  the 
girl  for  the  part,  if  you  could  use  a  plump 
princess. 

He  wired  back:  If  you  were  the  moth- 
er of  twins,  you  still  wouldn't  look  old 
enough. 

Making  her  first  few  pictures,  Mona  was 
frightened  stiff,  until  Bill  Russell,  the 
Paramount  director,  convinced  her  that 
she'd  never  make  any  progress  if  it 
weren't  for  that  "all  gone"  feeling. 

the  big  tease  .  .  . 

She  gets  along  best  when  she's  being 
kidded  unmercifully.  After  Junior  Miss 
started,  Bill  Perlberg,  the  producer,  be- 
gan teasing  her  by  telling  director  George 
Seaton  she  was  to  have  everything  she 
wanted.  They  brought  her  makeup  kit 
out  before  she  needed  it.  They  served 
luncheon  to  her  with  a  flourish,  and  one 
day  when  she  complained  that  she  couldn't 
see  a  cue  light,  Seaton  stopped  the  re- 
hearsal by  saying  that  what  Miss  Freeman 
undoubtedly  needed  was  a  blue  cue  light. 
The  scene  began  again  a  few  minutes  later, 
and  sure  enough,  on  flashed  a  bright  blue 
cue  light.  Mona  laughed  so  hard  she 
broke  up  the  scene. 

Freeman's  really  a  pixie.  Her  husband 
knows  this.  Her  various  undertakings  fill 
him  with  dread.  She,  herself,  considers  her 
greatest  triumph  in  the  field  of  personal 
plottings  of  one  kind  or  another,  the  ex- 
perience with  John  Nerney  when  he  re- 
turned from  overseas. 

She  showed  John  a  picture  of  Kay  Scott, 
with  whom  she'd  worked  at  Paramount. 
"She  caught  the  bouquet  at  my  wedding." 

Under  protest  he  really  didn't  mean, 
John  took  Kay  to  a  party.  Two  weeks 
later  they  decided  to  marry. 

John  and  Kay  said  they  were  going  to 
beat  Pat  and  Mona  in  the  matter  of  rais- 
ing a  family,  and  right  off  they  took  the 


lead.  They  have  a  little  girl  named  Troy, 
eight  months  old,  while  Mona's  blessed 
event  is  still  new  enough  to  be  the  main 
topic  of  conversation. 

"Pat  wanted  a  boy,"  Mona  says,  pen- 
sively. "He  says  that  when  they  brought 
me  back  from  the  delivery  room  and  he 
told  me  we'd  had  a  baby  girl,  I  mumbled, 
'You're  kidding!' 

"I  think  there  must  have  been  a  plot 
afoot.  At  my  baby  shower,  Betty  Hutton 
gave  me  a  gold  chain  of  seven  atta  pearls. 
Usually,  there  are  only  three,  but  Betty 
sort  of  lost  her  head  because  she  was  so 
sure  there'd  be  a  baby  girl. 

"Then  there  was  a  wonderful  musical 
chair  from  Joan  Caulfield,  and  a  beautiful 
carriage  net  from  Diana  Lynn.  'Mousie' 
(Mrs.  Bill)  Powell  gave  me  the  silver 
picture  frame  to  be  engraved  with  all  of 
the  baby's  information,  and  she  flatly  pre- 
dicted a  girl.  So  did  Ann  Sothern,  when 
she  presented  me  with  a  portable  wash- 
ing machine.  Besides,  Ann  told  me,  she 
j  was  letting  me  have  Mrs.  Wilson,  who 
has  been  taking  care  of  her  two-and-a- 
half-year-old  Patricia.  After  all,  Mrs. 
Wilson  was  used  to  little  girls." 

Mona  says  that  all  of  her  experiences 
in  Hollywood  are  put  in  the  shade  by  the 
adventure  of  motherhood. 

While  waiting  for  the  blessed  event, 
Mona  worried  more  about  Pat  than  she 
did  about  herself.  Two  weeks  before  the 
baby's,  arrival,  she  was  rushed  to  the  hos- 
pital on  a  false  alarm. 

stork  alarm  .  .  . 

She  called  Pat  and  told  him  she  was 
going  to  the  hospital.  He  yelled  that  he'd 
be  right  over.  When  he  came  he  was 
loaded  with  presents,  including  a  brace- 
let with  a  gold  whistle  on  it  so  she  could 
blow  a  loud  toot  when  the  baby  arrived. 
She  knew  that  there  couldn't  be  another 
false  alarm — they  just  couldn't  afford  an- 
other of  Pat's  shopping  sprees. 

On  the  evening  of  the  big  event,  they 
were  having  dinner  when  Pat  declared 
that  the  time  had  come.  Over  Mona's  pro- 
tests, he  drove  her  to  the  hospital,  and  by 
12:49  a.m.  he  was  right! 

Now  there's  another  Mona  Freeman  in 
Hollywood.  They  had  decided  to  call,  the 
baby  Karen  (Kelly)  Nerney,  but  Pat  in- 
sisted that  Kelly  could  be  a  later  addition, 
along  with  Michael,  and  that  the  names 
would  be  fine  for  twins. 

Talking  of  babies,  Mona  says: 

"I  can't  imagine  a  girl  growing  up  with- 
out a  brother.  My  own  brother,  Peter, 
is  an  aeronautical  engineer.  He  was  al- 
ways trying  to  sail  a  model  plane  out  of 
a  tree  and  falling  down  on  his  head. 

"I  was  two  years  younger  than  Pete, 
and  I  couldn't  understand  why  he  was 
such  a  nut  about  planes,  but  still  I  skinned 
my  knees  plenty  of  times  climbing  across 
fences  to  retrieve  his  models. 

"After  he  pushed  me  off  a  raft  so  I'd 
learn  to  swim  one  summer,  and  then  had 
to  drag  me  in  more  dead  than  alive,  I  de- 
cided that  we  loved  each  other  but  it  was 
no  use  trying  to  keep  up  with  him." 

Mona  Freeman,  the  first,  is  going  back 
to  pictures,  but  nevertheless  she  plans  to 
have  a  lot  more  family  to  fill  up  the  big 
house  she  and  Pat  are  building  on  a  hill. 

"Pat's  plans  are  a  lot  more  important 
than  mine,"  Mona  declares.  "He's  going 
to  have  his  own  automobile  agency  soon, 
and  he's  not  interested  in  the  picture  busi- 
ness. Of  course,  after  the  arrival  of  the 
baby,  it's  taken  him  a  little  time  to  get 
back  to  earth." 

The  day  after  the  big  event,  a  cus- 
tomer stuck  his  head  into  Pat's  office  at 
the  Nerney  agency  and  asked,  "When  are 
you  going  to  deliver  my  new  Ford?" 

"Deliver  your  Ford?"  Pat  yelled.  "Who 
cares  about  that — I've  just  delivered  a 
baby!" 


Soaping  dulls  hair- 
Halo  glorifies  it! 


Yes,  "soaping"  your  hair 
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shampoos  hides  its  natural 
lustre  with  dulling  soap  film 


•  Halo  is  made  with  a  new  patented  ingredient.  Halo — not 
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SAME  OLD  JOAN 

(Continued  from  page  36) 


"Joan  Caulfield's  father."  "There  he  is," 
the  kids  hiss  as  he  emerges  from  his  apart- 
ment house.  "Ask  him  if  she's  home.  Ask 
him  for  her  picture."  A  couple  have  even 
asked  him  for  his  autograph.  "Why 
couldn't  she  just  be  a  secretary  or  some- 
thing?" Mr.  Caulfield's  been  heard  to  de- 
mand. 

Even  the  devoted  Betty  mutters  occa- 
sionally. Thursday  is  maid's  night  out  at 
the  Caulfields',  and  Betty  gets  dinner.  "If 
it  weren't  for  her,"  she  yaps  to  her  mother, 
"we  could  go  out  to  dinner.  Her  and  her 
blasted  fans." 

As  a  general  rule,  though,  Betty  loves 
Joan  dearly.  She  read  in  a  magazine  that 
Gene  Tierney's  younger  sister  had  made 
Gene  a  skirt  for  her  dressing  table,  and 
Betty  got  to  thinking.  No  sooner  thought 
than  done.  When  Joan  walked  into  the 
room  that  she  and  Betty  share  in  the  New 
York  apartment,  there  it  was.  A  wonder- 
ful white  organdy  skirt  for  a  double-size 
dressing  table,  no  less,  and  two  dreamy 
bedspreads  to  match,  for  the  twin  beds. 

Joan,  who's  not  much  on  tears,  cried 
when  she  saw  them. 

"B — but  you  can't  sew,"  she  kept  blub- 
bering. 

sob-fest  .  .  . 

"I  took  lessons,"  said  Betty.  "I'm  an 
exquisite  sewer.  I'll  turn  in  my  thimble, 
however,  if  you're  going  to  cry."  Then 
Joan  was  sloshing  on  Betty's  brand  new 
perfume.  Joan  was  holding  Betty's  new 
earrings  up  to  her  own  ears.  Joan — point- 
ing to  the  picture  of  one  of  Betty's  flames — 
was  saying,  "Who's  that  weasel?"  And  it 
was  Betty's  turn  to  bawl  with  relief  and 
joy,  because  Joan  so  obviously  hadn't 
changed  at  all. 

At  home,  Joan  Caulfield  is  hardly  a 
queen  bee.  Except  for  labors  of  love  like 
Betty's  sewing  and  steak  for  her  first  night 
home,  Joan  is  just  the  middle-sized 
daughter.  (Betty,  who's  a  New  York 
actress,  is  the  baby.  Mary,  who  is  married 
and  lives  in  North  Carolina,  is  the  oldest.) 
Joan  is  still  reminded  to  put  on  her  rub- 
bers, and  told  what  time  she  should  be  in 
bed.  Her  beaux  must  be  approved  by  "the 
board" — that's  mother,  and/or  pop.  Not 
that  they  ever  really  put  a  foot  down.  Their 
methods  are  much  subtler.  F'rinstance. 

After  she'd  been  in  the  East  a  week  or 
two,  a  very  smooth  lad  came  to  the  apart- 
ment to  take  Joan  out.  "Be  home  early," 
her  father  told  her,  with  his  there's- 
another  -  one  - 1  -  don't  -want-for-a-son-in- 
law  look. 

"That  was  a  nice  sophisticated  send-off," 
Betty  said,  after  Joan  had  left. 

"Didn't  like  him,"  Mr.  Caulfield  said. 

"Neither  did  I,"  announced  little  Mrs. 
Caulfield  crisply. 

"The  gold-dust  twins,"  said  Betty.  "How 
men  continue  to  besiege  us,  with  you  two 
looming  in  the  background!" 

Joan  never  went  out  with  the  boy  again. 
"I  didn't  have  a  happy  minute,"  she  con- 
fided to  Betty,  "thinking  of  their  faces." 

"Don't  let  this  go  to  your  head,"  is  Joan's 
mother's  theme  song.  "This"  can  be  any- 
thing from  an  invitation  to  dine  with  the 
eminent  stage  producer  George  Abbott 
who  really  discovered  Joan,  to  winning 
the  tennis  doubles — which  Joan  did  this 
year — at  the  Beverly  Hills  tennis  club. 
It's  not  likely  that  anything  ever  will  go 
to  her  head.  For  one  thing,  her  family 
just  wouldn't  let  it.  After  Joan  made  Blue 
Skies,  you'll  remember  that  the  papers 
were'  loaded  with  kind  words  about  her. 
The  columnists  sang  hymns  to  her.  The 


morning  she  read  that  she  was  "ravishing," 
"incredibly  beautiful,"  and  "a  Technicolor 
dream,"  there  was  a  note  in  the  mail  from 
Betty.  "Loved  Blue  Skies,  but  did  you 
have  to  keep  giving  that  elaborate  smile?" 

The  other  day  Joan's  mother  was  telling 
her  sister  about  the  way  Joan  was  mobbed 
when  she  went  to  have  her  hair  done  at 
Saks.  She  wasn't  telling  it  in  a  bragging 
fashion  at  all,  but  in  the  slightly  breath- 
less, wide-eyed  way  she  has.  "Those 
women  just  gathered  around  her  and 
stared,"  she  said.    "Joan  nearly  died." 

"There's  no  pleasing  me,"  Joan  spoke 
up.  "Because  two  days  later  I  was  ignored 
at  the  Stork  Club,  and  I  nearly  died  again, 
only  on  a  much  larger  scale." 

Joan  had  been  to  the  theater  with  Lew 
Ayres  that  night,  and  they  stopped  off  at 
the  Stork  for  supper.  The  waiter  took 
them  to  a  small,  inconspicuous  table.  Not 
a  flash  bulb  flashed  in  their  direction.  "I 
really  know  Sherman  quite  well,"  Joan 
murmured  uneasily.  "I've  been  coming 
here  ever  since  I  was  a  tot." 

"I  know  him,  too,"  said  Lew.  "Known 
him  forever."  Presents  were  showered  on 
all  the  surrounding  tables.  Champagne, 
perfume,  orchids.  Joan's  sister  Betty  came 
in  with  one  of  her  swains  and  was  in- 
stantly handed  a  Stork  Club  lipstick. 

"It'll  all  come  at  the  end,"  Joan  told 
Lew.  "You'll  see.  I'll  get  a  huge  bottle 
of  Chanel  No.  5,  and  you'll  get  a  hand- 
painted  tie.  And  there'll  be  no  check,  of 
course." 

They  were  bowed  out  eventually,  pres- 
entless,  Lew  having  paid  the  somewhat 
colossal  bill  right  out  of  his  own  pocket. 
It  was  just  one  of  those  nights.  Some 
stuffier  gals  wouldn't  tell  that  one  on 
themselves,  but  after  the  initial  blow  had 
passed,  it  began  to  tickle  Joan. 

It  tickles  Betty  that  Joan  still  gets  stage 
fright.  While  Joan  was  East,  Miss  Turner, 
the  headmistress  of  Beard's  School  in 
Orange,  New  Jersey,  invited  Joan  to  speak 
at  the  Christmas  Pageant.    "Don't  let  it  go 


"HOLLYWOOD 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


•  The  ideal  story,  from  the  press 
agent's  angle,  mentions  all  the  people 
and  products  he  is  working  for.  It 
goes  something  like  this  one,  which 
was  an  actual  press  release. 

A  bell  rang  at  the  Alfred  Hitch- 
cock residence  and  "Hitch"  beat  the 
maid  to  the  phone. 

A  voice  asked:  "Is  this  Alfred 
Hitchcock  who  directed  The  Thirty- 
Nine  Steps,  Rebecca,  Lifeboat,  Spell- 
bound  and  The  Paradine  Case  for 
David  0.  Selznick?" 

Hitchcock  answered,  "Yes,  this  is 
Hitchcock." 

"Oh,  I'm  sorry,"  the  caller  said, 
"I  have  the  wrong  number." 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


to  your  head,  dear,"  Mrs.  Caulfield  said 
automatically.  "But  isn't  it  lovely?"  Joan 
was  thrilled,  but  terrified.  "Imagine 
speaking  in,  that  big  gymnasium!  What'll 
I  say?"  she  kept  saying. 

"You're  positively  gibbering,"  Betty  said. 

Going  over  in  the  car  that  Paramount 
put  at  her  disposal  the  day  of  the  Pageant, 
Joan  took  her  nail  polish  off  and  put  it 
back  on  twice. 

"Miss  Turner  will  scream  when  she  sees 
my  red  nails,"  she  kept  telling  Betty.  "But 
when  I  take  it  off,  my  hands  look  so  dish- 
panny."  (Nail-polish  had  been  tabu  when 
Joan  was  at  Beard's.) 

"All  right,  all  right,  leave  it  on,"  Betty 
said  at  least  five  times. 

"Miss  Turner  will  scream!"  Joan  wailed, 
finally,  but  left  it  on. 

Miss  Turner  did  not  scream,  as  it  turned 
out,  and  Joan's  warm  little  speech  to  the 
shining-eyed  students  couldn't  have  been 
better  received,  and  it  was  really  a  won- 
derful day.  Joan  sat  at  her  old  desk  and 
saw  all  the  teachers  she  had  known  and  was 
touched  beyond  words  that  classmates  of 
hers  who  had  gotten  the  word  that  Joan 
was  coming  to  Beard's  had  dropped  every- 
thing and  come  over  to  see  her.  The  girls 
quizzed  Joan  about  Hollywood. 

quiz-kid  .  .  . 

"Who  is  really  nice  out  there?"  Made- 
leine Mead  wanted  to  know,  and  Laura 
Broidrick  was  curious  about  all  the  big 
parties,  and  Lyn  Riker  wondered  whether 
Joan  had  ever  met  her  own  secret  dream - 
guy,  Bob  Taylor. 

"Who's  nice?"  Joan  mused.  "Why,  I 
wouldn't  know  where  to  start.  Bill  Hol- 
den  and  his  wife  Brenda  Marshall  are  two 
of  the  swellest  guys  I  know. 

"And  Van  and  Evie  Johnson  are  two 
more  nice  ones.  Then  there  are  Bing  and 
Bob  Hope.    June  and  Dick  Powell — " 

"How  about  Bob  Taylor?"  Lyn  prodded 
her  again. 

"Everyone  loves  that  guy,"  Joan  said, 
and  Lyn  subsided,  beaming. 

While  Modern  Screen's  photographer, 
Bert  Parry,  was  taking  pictures  of  Joan, 
Madeleine  cornered  Betty  Caulfield.  "Has 
she  really  changed  any,  Betty,  'way  down 
deep?  Is  she  still  as  unassuming  as  she 
used  to  be?" 

"She  really  is,"  Betty  said,  soft-eyed. 
Then  she  pulled  herself  together.  "And 
just  as  stubborn,  too.  Maybe  more  so.  She 
won't  even  do  the  New  Look,  if  you'll 
notice."  (Betty  likes  it.  Can't  get  her 
clothes  long  enough.  Not  Joan.)  "And  she's 
still  impossible  to  please,  guy-wise.  I've 
brought  some  big,  beautiful  men  to  meet 
her,  but  no  sale.  'Stop  casting  for  me, 
chum,'  she  tells  me.  'They're  not  my  type'." 

"What  is  her  type?" 

"Oh,  she  wants  someone  who  isn't  too 
obvious.  Someone  completely  unphony, 
who  is  what  he  is  and  doesn't  apologize 
for  it  or  brag  about  it.  Someone  instinc- 
tively kind  and  good,  and  with  a  sense  of 
humor  to  boot.  You  know,"  she  finished 
with  a  sly  glance  at  Joan,  who  had  on  her 
listening  look,  "a  great  big  Rover  boy." 

Joan  turned  away  from  the  photographer 
for  just  a  second  and  stuck  her  tongue  out 
at  Betty.  Actually,  though,  Betty's  descrip- 
tion of  Joan's  type  is  pretty  accurate. 

Just  before  Joan  left  Beard's  to  go  back 
to  the  city,  Madeleine  touched  her  arm. 
"Joan,"  she  said.  "Remember  my  brother, 
Jimmy?" 

"Do  I!"  Joan  breathed.  "He  was  heaven." 

"He's  dying  for  a  date  with  you,"  Made- 
leine said.    "Joan,  could  you  ever — " 

"Oh,  Madeleine,"  sighed  Joan.  "Imagine 
that  dream  wanting  a  date  with  me." 

And  that's  when  Madeleine  knew  for 
sure  what  everyone  discovers  sooner  or 
later,  that  Joan  Caulfield  doesn't  change. 
That,  come  movie  stardom  and  mink  coats, 
she's  the  same  old  Joan. 


VIVECA  LINDFORS 

starred  in 

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J 


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POPULAR 

ALL  DRESSED  UP  WITH  A  BROKEN  HEART—  *Buddy  Clark  (Columbia);  *Peggy 
Lee  (Capitol);  Eddy  Howard  (Majestic);  Alan  Dale  (Signature);  Alan  Gerard 
(National) 

"Not  an  old-timer!  Not  a  Latin  tune!  Not  a  novelty!  But  a  real  honest-to-goodness 
walloping   new   ballad!"   So   say  the   publishers   in   their  ads — but   it  still  sounds 
like  an  awful  lot  of  tunes  that  were  written  when  Mom  was  a  flapper. 
BEG  YOUR  PARDON — *Frankie  Carle  (Columbia);  Francis  Craig  (Bullet);  Larry  Green 
(Victor);  Eddy  Howard  (Majestic);  Art  Mooney  (MGM) 

Two  Southern   bandleaders,   Francis  Craig  and   Beasley  Smith,  gave  this  opus  to 
a  big  NYC  publisher  in  March,   1947;  then  the  ,pub  got  busy  with  Peg  O'  My 
,  'Heart  and  forgot  it.  Meanwhile  Craig  had  leapt  from  Nashville  to  national  juke- 

box fame  with  his  Near  You.  So  they  dug  Beg  Your  Pardon  out  of  the  dust — 
and  Craig  has  shown  Tin  Pan  Alley  that  lightning  can  strike  twice! 
OOH!  LOOKA  THERE  AIN'T  SHE  PRETTY— *Buddy  Greco  (Musicraft);  *Fats  Wal- 
ler  (Victor);   Benny  Goodman   (Capitol);  Charioteers   (Columbia);  Larry  Clinton 
( Decca ) 

The  little  Greco  group  revived  this  rhythmic  tidbit,  which  Waller  waxed  in  1940. 

Can't  understand  it — tune  was  written  by  Carmen  Lombardo! 
PIANISSIMO — **Perry  Como  (Victor);  *Buddy  Clark  (Columbia);  *Bob  Carroll  (Decca); 

Mindy    Carson     (Musicraft);     Bob    Houston     (MGM);    Sam    Browne  (London) 
YOU'VE  CHANGED— **Mary  Osborne  (Aladdin);  *Frankie  Laine  (Atlas);  Harry  James 

(Columbia);  Anne  Shelton  (London). 

My  idea"  of  o  really  pretty  tune.  Nothing  happened  with  it  in  1941,  in  spite  of 
the  James  recording,  but  now  they're  reviving  it,  and  boom,  it's  a  plug  song. 
Carl  Fischer,  pianist  and  musical  director  on  a  lot  of  Frankie  Laine's  best  records, 
wrote  it. 

HOT  JAZZ 

LOUIS  ARMSTRONG — *l  Want  a  Little  Girl  (Victor) 
BABS'  THREE  BIPS  AND  A  BOP— 1280  Special  (Apollo) 

Bebop  singing  sounds  like  Hawaiian  mixed  with  double  talk,  but  after  a  few  hear- 
ings it  becomes  good  fun  and  even  good  music — Tony  Scott's  clarinet  solo  is,  anyway. 

CHARLIE    BARNET — *  Jubilee  Jump  (Apollo) 

Nice  non-beboppish  swing,  with  some  pretty  Barnet  soprano  sax  on  the  second 
side,  Deep  Purple. 

TADD   DAME  RON — *The  Squirrel  (Blue  Note) 

Fine  arranger,  who's  written  for  Dizzy  and  Sarah  Vaughan,  heads  a  recording 
sextet  with  some  real  gone  Fats  Navarro  trumpet. 

HARRY    JAMES— East  Coast  Blues  (Columbia) 

James  on  a  jazz  kick,  playing  some  acceptable  horn,  then  turning  over  the  spot- 
light to  trombonist  Ziggy  Elmer. 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

CASBAH — For  Every  Man  There's  a  Woman:  **Peggy  Lee-Benny  Goodman  (Capitol); 

Tony  Martin  (Victor).  What's  Good  About  Goodbye:  *Tony  Martin  (Victor);  *Dick 

Haymes  (Decca).  It  Was  Written  In  The  Stars:  *Tony  Martin  (Victor);  Dick  Haymes 

(Decca).  Hooray  For  Love:  Tony  Martin  (Victor) 
IF  WINTER  COMES — Theme:  Freddy  Martin  (Victor);  Johnnie  Johnston  (MGM) 
KISS  OF  DEATH — Sentimental     Rhapsody:     *Tommy     Dorsey     (Victor);     *Les  Brown 

(Columbia) 

Originally  based  on  a  theme  from  Street  Scene.  Audrey  Young  makes  her  disc 

debut  with  Dorsey  on  this  one. 
THREE  DARING  DAUGHTERS — The  Dickey  Bird  Song:  *Larry  Clinton  (Decca);  Freddy 

Martin  (Victor);  Blue  Barron   (MGM);  George  Olsen  (Majestic) 
YOU  WERE  MEANT  FOR  ME — Title   Song:  *Leslie  Scott-Coleman   Hawkins  (Victor); 

♦Claude  Thornhill    (Columbia);   Connee   Boswell    (Decca);   Art   Mooney  (MGM); 

George  Olsen  (Majestic) 

Latest  Hollywood  conception  of  how  a  bandleader  and  his  boys  live  is  less  phony 
than  most,  brings  back  some  pleasant  tunes  of  the  twenties:  I'll  Get  By,  If  I 
Had  You,  Ain't  Misbehavin' ,  Ain't  She  Sweet,  And  don't  forget  that  Oscar 
Levant,  whose  acting  almost  steals  the  show  from  Jeanne  Crain  and  Dan  Dailey, 
has  some  wonderful  classical  piano  work,  including  a  recent  album,  on  Columbia. 


LIFE  WITH  ESTHER 

(Continued  from  page  55) 


childhood  toys  and  treasures.  I'd  riffled 
through  the  album,  listened  to  the  Wil- 
liams family  struggles  frankly  and  humor- 
ously told  by  Esther.  We  went  on  down 
to  the  shipyards  where  Esther's  dad  was  a 
painter  foreman.  I  watched  Esther  hug  him 
in  his  spattered  overalls  before  she  swung 
the  champagne  on  the  nose  of  a  ship  he'd 
helped  paint.  I  never  saw  any  girl  so 
happy  and  proud  of  her  parents.  There 
wasn't  one  ounce  of  pose,  pretense  or 
glamor  in  the  whole  day,  and  when  I  left 
I  thought,  "There's  a  real  person!"  I've 
never  changed  that  impression. 

When  Esther  and  Ben  Gage  decided  to 
get  married,  she  was  a  lot  farther  up  the 
ladder  to  fame,  and  for  her  wedding  re- 
ception she  needed  a  house  larger  than 
her  tiny  family  home  to  hold  all  the 
friends  she'd  made.  I  offered  her  mine.  At 
the  same  time,  a  wealthy  movie  friend 
offered  Esther  his  big  mansion.  Mine  was 
just  a  modest  house.  That's  exactly  the 
reason,  though,  that  Esther  chose  it. 

"I  want  to  have  the  same  kind  of  wed- 
ding I'd  have  if  I  wasn't  in  pictures,"  she 
said.  That's  just  what  she  had — in  a  quiet 
little  Westwood  Village  church — and  I, 
never  saw  a  lovelier  bride.  I  was  her  only 
attendant,  and  that  reminds  me  of  another 
blush  I'll  have  to  confess. 

Esther  has  one  fault,  and  that's  being 
the  late  Miss  Williams.  She  worries  about 
it.  So  she  made  a  resolution.  "One  thing  I 
won't  be  is  late  for  my  own  wedding!" 

waiting  at  the  church  .  .  . 

Well,  the  party  had  all  gone  ahead  to 
the  church  and  I  was  to  drive  Esther  over. 
Esther  was  ready  and  waiting,  but  me,  I 
was  so  nervous  I  couldn't  fix  my  hair. 
Then  I  couldn't  back  out  the  car.  So  I 
made  Esther  late  at  her  wedding. 

Excuse,  please,  if  I  ramble,  but  that's 
what  I've  been  doing,  it  seems,  ever  since 
I  met  Esther  Williams.  (I'm  pecking  this 
out  with  one  hand  and  packing  my  bags 
with  the  other  for  a  new  p.a.  tour  with 
Esther.) 

I  remember  one  time  in  Washington, 
D.  C,  Esther  and  I  were  having  dinner  at 
the  Mayflower  Hotel.  The  headwaiter  trot- 
ted over  with  a  note.  "Dear  Esther,"  it 
read.  "I  met  you  once  in  Hollywood  on  the 
set  with  Clark  Gable.  I  hope  you  remem- 
ber me."  The'  name  at  the  end  didn't 
click  in  Esther's  memory,  but  she  sent 
word  for  him  to  come  over  anyway. 

They  chatted  a  while — mostly  about 
what  he  was  doing — and  then  Esther  re- 
membered her  imminent  date  at  the  Capi- 
tol Theatre.  "I've  got  to  leave  now,"  she 
told  him.  "Maybe  you'd  like  to  come  over 
and  see  the  show." 

"No,"  said  the  young  man  rudely,  "I 
don't  think  so.  Frankly,  I  don't  like  you 
in  pictures." 

Esther  said,  "Really?  Why  not?"  and 
stayed  around  risking  her  stage  act  to 
listen  to  his  reasons.  I'm  afraid  I'd  have 
slapped  his  sassy  face  and  left. 

I've  been  all  over  the  country  with 
Esther  and  I've  yet  to  see  her  get  in  a  jam 
with  a  mob  of  admirers. 

I've  never  known  anyone  with  a  talent 
for  pleasing  people  such  as  Esther  owns. 
She  was  a  solid  hit — and  still  is — at  army 
hospitals.  Half  the  time,  in  the  war  days, 
the  boys  didn't  know  who  she  was  in 
Hollywood  or  care.  But  they  loved  the  girl 
who  breezed  in  saying,  "My  name's  Esther 
Williams.  You've  never  heard  of  me  prob- 
ably. What's  your  name?"  and  proceeded 
to  make  them  go  on  about  themselves. 

She  likes  to  wind  up  her  hospital  visits 
by  inviting  the  boys  to  swim  a  race  with 


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her  in  the  pool.  In  one  hospital  recently, 
she  let  the  crippled  convalescents  thrash 
by  her  and  touch  her  out,  so  they  could 
glow  for  weeks  after  having  "beat  Esther 
Williams."  On  the  other  hand,  I  remem- 
ber a  time  she  reacted  very  differently,  and 
that  was  perfect  psychology,  too. 

We  were  at  a  big  army  camp's  pool,  and 
when  Esther  invited  some  GI  to  race  her, 
a  muscular,  streamlined  soldier  stepped 
out  just  a  little  too  quickly,  already  in  his 
swim  shorts.  I  didn't  notice  the  expression 
on  his  face  or  the  ripple  of  suppressed 
excitement  that  went  around  the  crowd, 
but  Esther  did. 

They  plunged  into  the  water  and 
streaked,  neck  and  neck,  both  stroking  like 
champs.  I  was  surprised  to  see  Esther 
tackle  the  race  so  seriously.  She  always 
liked  the  boys  to  win.  But  not  this  time. 
She  was  out  of  training  for  race  swimming 
but  she  was  giving  it  everything  she  had. 
She  won — by  an  eyelash — and  I  never 
heard  such  a  roar  of  applause  and  delight 
at  her  victory  as  came  from  those  kids.  I 
was  puzzled,  but  not  Esther. 

Panting  and  dripping  from  the  feat,  she 
whispered  to  me.  "I  had  to  win  this  one. 
The  boys  framed  me.  That  guy  was  a 
champ  himself."  How  she  sensed  the  set- 
up that  quickly  I'll  never  know.  But  she 
did.  And  by  busting  their  frame-up  joke 
wide  open  she  made  them  love  her  twice 
as  much.  That  girl  seldom  misses. 

rank  prejudice  .  .  . 

Esther  could  always  fracture  the  Army's 
Important  Brass  thoroughly  when  they 
tried  to  monopolize  her.  "Oh,  Sir,"  she 
could  say  so  innocently.  "I'm  sorry,  but  I 
never  speak  to  anyone  higher  than  a  ser- 
geant. It's  the  sergeants  who  are  winning 
the  war,  isn't  it?"  They  usually  grinned, 
"I'm  afraid  so,"  and  retreated. 

When  you  buzz  around  with  Esther 
Williams,  you  not  only  meet  the  people, 
you  know  all  about  them.  Wherever  she 
is,  Esther  hears  of  the  elevator  operator's 
sciatica,  the  chambermaid's  grandchild,  the 
bellboy's  bad  luck  in  the  Fifth  Race.  At 
home  it's  the  same  way:  she's  hep  to  the 
private  lives  of  her  milkman,  paper  boy — 
whoever  comes  in  contact  with  her.  That's 
part  of  the  natural,  curious  friendliness 
I've  been  talking  about,  but  it's  been  de- 
veloped a  lot  since  Esther  married  Ben. 

I  knew  Ben,  it  so  happened,  a  good  dozen 
years  before  he  married  Esther.  He  used 
to  live  with  a  bunch  of  airline  guys  and  I 
used  to  publicize  planes  instead  of  pic- 
tures. Ben's  a  big  hunk  of  good-looking, 
good-humored,  extrovert  man — almost  as 
tall  (but  not  quite)  as  this  Carlile  sky- 
scraper. He's  the  type,  he'll  admit,  who 
will  emcee  any  street  corner,  and  often 
has.  I  was  on  Broadway  off  42nd  Street 
one  night,  with  Esther  and  Ben,  watching 
the  bright-lighted  advertising  displays. 
Ben  started  talking  about  them — to  the 
world  in  general — and  Esther  matched 
every  funny  crack  with  a  comeback,  until 
we  had  a  crowd  blocking  the  sidewalk 
yards  deep. 

Last  November,  on  their  second  wedding 
anniversary,  Esther  beat  her  nimble  brains 
out  to  edge  up  even  with  the  gagmaster 
she'd  married.  Ben  took  off  for  golf  that 
afternoon  with  his  pals,  and  Esther  went 
to  work.  She  had  her  dad  paint  a  flock  of 
picket  signs  "Surprise,"  "Happy  Anniver- 
sary," "First  Two  Years  Were  The  Hardest" 
and  so  forth,  rallied  all  of  the  Gage  first 
team  (I  made  it) ,  gave  us  kazoos  to  make 
music,  and  ringed  us  around  the  18th  green 
at  the  Brentwood  Golf  club.  When  Ben 
came  up,  he  was  greeted  by  the  anniver- 
sary works.  Esther  trundled  out  her  last 
sign  while  a  waiter  trundled  out  cham- 
pagne. Ben  had  to  have  an  anniversary 
swallow  first.  The  sign  confronting  him 
then  read,  "Now  go  ahead  and  putt!"  He 
putted  and  he  missed! 


Esther  slaves  on  every  picture  she 
makes.  I  know  because  I've  watched.  In 
Fiesta,  for  instance,  learning  those  com- 
plicated bullfight  routines.  In  every  picture 
where  there's  been  a  water  ballet. 

One  of  Esther's  proudest  days  was  the 
day  she  came  tripping  into  my  office  dur- 
ing This  Time  For  Keeps.  Her  eyes  were 
puffed  and  weepy  looking,  but  she  was 
practically  shouting  Hosannahs.  I  didn't 
get  it. 

"What  goes  on?"  I  asked.  "Do  you  feel 
good  or  do  you  feel  bad?  Make  up  your 
mind." 

"I  feel  wonderful,"  beamed  Esther.  "Mel, 
I  just  cried."  I  said  I'd  done  that  too.  It 
wasn't  exclusive.  "But,"  explained  Esther, 
"don't  you  see?  I  cried  before  the  camera. 
I  really  acted  in  a  scene!"  I  knew  what 
she  meant,  and  what  it  meant  to  her. 

Esther  tosses  thought  and  energy  into 
everything  she  does.  Last  Christmas  she 
personally  doped  out  and  shopped  for  over 
100  presents,  none  of  which  would  have 
been  right  for  anybody  else  except,  the 
person  who  got  it.  I  have  a  gold  cigarette 
lighter  dangling  from  my  dress,  the  like  of 
which  there's  nowhere  about  because 
Esther  designed  it.  I  smoke  but  she 
doesn't.  Esther  has  watched  me  hunt  for  a 
match  so  many  times  she  had  a  lighter 
made  attached  to  a  husky  shamrock  pin 
that  would  take  ingenuity  to  pry  from  my 
dress.  She's  always  calling  me  up  from 
somewhere.  "Found  something  that  looks 
just  like  you,  Mel,"  she'll  say,  and  before 
I  know  it  a  delivery  boy  is  pounding  on 
the  door.  She's  generous  with  everyone 
except  herself. 

Esther  buys  most  of  her  clothes  at  a 
$19.95  dress  shop  in  Beverly  Hills,  but 
what  she  does  to  them  is  something.  I've 
never  known  any  one  with  such  an  amaz- 
ing clothes  sense.  Once  we  were  both 
caught  in  that  feminine  dilemma  of  "noth- 
ing to  wear,"  and  went  shopping  at  a  very 
expensive  store.  I  stopped  at  the  junior 
department  to  get  my  daughter,  Gay,  a 
dress  and  Esther  went  on  upstairs.  Pretty 
soon  she  was  down  with  no  dress  and 
storming,  "Holy  smoke!  The  prices  on 
things  up  there!"  She  started  running 
through  the  numbers  in  the  "junior"  shop. 
I  said  she  wouldn't  find  anything  there, 
but  Esther  muttered  she'd  look  anyway. 

junior  miss  ... 

She  walked  away  with  a  $39.50  dress  that 
looked  a  dream  on  her,  and  that  night, 
with  all  the  $300  custom-stitched  crea- 
tions about,  I  can  testify  no  one  looked 
prettier  than  Mrs.  Gage.. 

Esther's  always  summoning  me  over  to 
make  a  lampshade  into  a  hat,  or  vice  versa. 
It's  her  favorite  indoor  sport.  Or  she's 
tasted  a  fancy  dish  at  a  restaurant,  guessed 
what's  in  it,  and  wants  to  see  if  she  can 
whip  it  up  at  home.  I  wouldn't  call  her 
a  pot-and-pan  girl  (although  she  does  her 
own  cooking  and  does  it  darned  well). 
Matter  of  fact,  Belle,  her  housemaid, 
"walks  into  chaos  every  morning,"  as 
Esther  says.  A  failing  she  shares  with  me 
is  tossing  things  around  and  leaving  them 
lie.  Maybe  that's  why  we're  such  good 
traveling  companions;  we're  both  sloppy. 

But  I  don't  know  of  a  home  that's 
warmer  with  living  than  Ben  and  Esther 
Gage's.  Esther  would  rather  be  there  than 
anywhere.  She'd  rather  be  knee  deep  in  a 
home  project — papering  the  bedroom,  re- 
doing the  garden,  de-ticking  her  cocker 
pup,  installing  some  antique  in  a  new 
corner  or  even  steaming  up  the  kitchen — 
than  lunching  at  the  Ritz. 

Esther  and  Ben  see  more  of  a  radio 
crowd  than  a  movie  crowd — radio's  his 
field.  They  lean  toward  hot  poker  parties, 
and  by  now  Mrs.  Gage  can  bluff  with  the 
best  of  'em.  If  there's  a  crowd  and  an 
occasion,  the  Gages  will  go  out  to  dance, 
but  left  alone  they  wouldn't  think  of  leav- 


ing  their  own  fireside.  I've  never  known 
Esther  to  refuse  to  attend  a  charity  affair, 
though.  Somehow  or  other  she  also  finds 
time  to  be  civic  and  show  up  at  Town 
Meetings  out  Pacific  Palisades  way.  They 
(Ben  and  Esther)  both  know  all  their 
neighbors,  and  last  Christmas  they  all 
gathered  to  kibitz  while  Ben  was  up  a 
tree  (and  no  kidding)  on  one  of  his 
projects,  lighting  a  huge  pine  in  their 
yard.  Esther  served  everybody  egg-nog, 
which  made  Ben  wild,  because  he  couldn't 
get  down  from  the  branches  to  taste  it! 

"Mom"  and  "Pop"  as  they  sometimes  call 
themselves  (and  when  they  feel  like  an 
extra  touch  of  whimsy  it  becomes  "Darling 
Baby  Girl"  and  "Darling  Baby  Boy")  have 
their  future  pretty  soundly  plotted.  (You 
can  tell  from  their  nicknames  that  it  in- 
cludes children.)  Esther  and  Ben  are  both 
suckers  for  kids — anybody's  kids.  Esther 
rose  above  her  disappointment  when  she 
lost  a  baby  last  year,  because  Esther's  own 
mother  long  ago  equipped  her  to  face  the 
most  discouraging  buffets  of  fate.  But  the 
Gages  will  have  a  family;  you'll  see. 

They're  both  hardheaded  and  practical. 
They've  been  sinking  much  of  their  money 
into  real  estate.  A  house  in  Acapulco, 
Mexico,  built  to  rent  in  the  resort  season, 
brings  them  a  tidy  income.  They've  also 
acquired  an  island  in  Chain  of  Lakes, 
Michigan,  where  Ben  used  to  spend  his 
vacations  as  a  kid,  and  they  hope  to  de- 
velop that  into  a  paying  resort  someday. 
They  have  mutual  career  plans,  too. 
They're  nuts  to  try  one  of  those  Mister 
and  Missus  radio  programs  together. 

proof  of  the  pudding  .  .  . 

A  columnist  called  them  the  other  day 
with  one  of  those  old  stand-by  separation 
rumors  columnists  just  have  to  print  now 
and  then  to  keep  happy.  Esther  and  Ben 
were  painting  the  kitchen. 

"Look,"  yelled  Esther,  waving  her  brush 
vigorously  and  spattering  Ben  from  head 
to  toe.  "I'm  painting  the  kitchen.  Now 
do  you  think  I'd  be  putting  in  this  much 
work  for  my  husband  if  I  was  ready  to 
leave  him?" 

Esther  can  be  as  blunt  as  a  board,  like 
that,  and  then  as  sentimental  as  the  sap- 
phires she  and  Ben  give  each  other  on 
every  intimate  occasion — and  just  as  true 
blue,  incidentally. 

When  my  husband,  Ken,  left  for  over- 
seas with  the  Navy,  Esther — newly-mar- 
ried herself — came  to  stay  with  me  three 
weeks  until  I  got  used  to  that  empty  house. 
Whenever  I've  been  in  trouble,  Esther's 
been  around.  When  I  get  any  compliments 
for  what  I've  done  for  her,  I  can  honestly 
retort,  "Esther's  done  far  more  for  me." 

I've  felt  like  braining  Esther  a  time  or 
two  myself,  I'll  confess.  Last  summer,  for 
instance,  I  stood  numb  and  frozen  at  the 
airport  in  Los  Angeles — although  it  was 
an  extra  hot  California  night — and  watched 
a  huge  airplane  circle  and  circle  the  land- 
ing field.  A  DC-6  was  coming  in  from 
Mexico  City  on  its  inaugural  flight  to  Los 
Angeles.  Esther  was  on  that  plane,  and  the 
plane  couldn't  come  down.  Something  was 
wrong  with  the  landing  gear. 

I  sweated  that  out  for  a  full  half-hour, 
while  my  mind  raced  with  thoughts  I 
didn't  dare  think.  Finally  things  straight- 
ened out,  the  plane  sat  down  and  out 
poked  Esther's  familiar  sunny  face — fresh 
as  a  daisy.  Me,  I  was  a  wreck. 

I  was  glad  and  I  was  mad  at  the  same 
time.  "Darn  you,  Williams,"  I  almost 
snapped.  "Don't  you  ever  dare  scare  me 
like  that  again!"  It  wasn't  her  fault,  of 
course,  and  the  gay  grin  shifted  quickly 
into  an  understanding  one.  But  it  would 
be  hard  for  me  to  imagine  Hollywood 
without  Esther  Williams — something  like 
a  sky  without  the  sun.  That's  the  way 
you  get  when  you're  exposed  to  her  for 
very  long. 


Love-quiz 


. . .  For  Married  Folks  Only 


WHY  DOES  HE  AVOID  HER  EMBRACE? 

A.  Because  he  is  no  longer  happy  in  their  marriage,  constantly  makes 
excuses  to  avoid  the  romantic  intimacy  of  their  honeymoon. 

Q.  What  has  she  done?  Is  it  really  all  her  fault? 

A.  It  is  not  so  much  what  she  has  done  as  what  she  has  neglected 
.  .  .  and  that  is  proper  feminine  hygiene. 

Q.  Can  neglect  of  proper  feminine  hygiene  really  spoil  a  happy  marriage  ? 

A.  Yes,  and  the  pity  of  it  is,  every  wife  can  hold  her  lovable  charm 
by  simply  using  "Lysol"  disinfectant  as  an  effective  douche. 

Q.  Can  this  purpose  be  accomplished  by  homemade  douching  solutions? 

A.  No... salt,  soda  and  similar  makeshifts  do  not  have  the  proved 
germicidal  and  antiseptic  properties  of  "Lysol"  which  not  only 
destroys  odor  but  is  effective  in  the  presence  of  organic  matter. 

Q.  Why  does  this  husband  not  tell  his  wife  why  he  avoids  her? 

A.  Because  he  feels  that  a  woman  should  know  these  important 
facts  . . .  and  use  every  means  in  her  power  to  remain  glamorous, 
dainty  and  lovely  to  love.  He  resents  her  neglect  of  such  funda- 
mentals as  correct  feminine  hygiene  which  is  achieved  so  easily 
by  regular  douching  with  "Lysol"  brand  disinfectant. 

DON'T  TAKE  CHANCES  with  married  happiness  .  .  .  safeguard  your  complete 
daintiness  . . .  use  only  "Lysol"  in  the  douche  ...  it  is  not  only  effective,  but  kind 
to  delicate  tissues. 


Check  with  your  doctor 

Many  physicians  recommend 
"Lysol,"  in  the  proper  solution, 
for  Feminine  Hygiene.  Non-caus- 
tic, gentle,  scientifically  correct. 


"Lysol"  brand  disinfectant  is  so 
economical,  safe,  pleasant  to 
use.  Follow  simple  directions  for 
correct  douching  solution,  non- 
injurious  to  delicate  membranes, 
deodorizing  and  efficient. 


For  Feminine 
Hygiene— always  use 


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98 


IF  THIS  ISN'T  LOVE 

(Continued  from  page  16) 


finest  Rubber  7fef£ 


to  give  it  a  try — despite  her  objections. 

She  picked  up  the  phone  in  her  room 
and  asked  to  be  connected  with  "Mr. 
Power." 

A  very  wide-awake  voice  answered, 
"Hello." 

Linda,  embarrassed  and  thin-voiced, 
said,  "Hello,  Mr.  Power,  this  is  Linda 
Christian  speaking." 

"Linda  Christian?"  Tyrone  exploded. 
"Where  are  you?" 

"Here,  in  Rome,"  Linda  replied. 

Tyrone's  voice  was  full  of  amazement. 
"What  in  the  world  are  you  doing  here?" 

"In  fact  I'm  right  in  the  same  hotel  with 
you,"  Linda  went  on.  "And  on  the  same 
floor.  I  came  abroad  to  place  my  sister  in 
school  in  Lausanne,  Switzerland." 

"But  this  is  wonderful!"  Tyrone  said 
excitedly.  "Please  come  over  and  have  a 
drink  with  me." 

Linda,  Ariadna  and  Mr.  Minghelli  ac- 
cepted his  invitation. 

The  four  sat  and  sipped  fine  Italian  ver- 
mouth until  the  grey  dawn  curled  around 
the  rooftops  of  Rome,  and  all  four  forgot 
sleep,  fatigue — everything  except  the  charm 
and  friendliness  within  Tyrone's  beautiful 
antique  Florentine  apartment. 

friends  from  home  .  .  . 

That  is  how  the  Power-Christian  ro- 
mance began,  simply — as  a  motorist  from 
California,  seeing  a  California  license  plate 
somewhere  far  from  home,  will  honk  his 
horn,  wave  down  his  fellow  home-stater 
and  introduce  himself. 

Of  course,  Linda  and  Tyrone  weren't 
exactly  strangers.  They  had  met  in  Holly- 
wood, long  before,  but  were  no  more  than 
speaking  acquaintances. 

Now  they  had  three  days  in  Rome — to- 
gether and  gay — but  it  could  have  been 
South  Africa,  Spain  or  Tibet  for  vagabonds 
like  Linda  and  Tyrone.  They  visited  the 
Fontana  de  Trevi,  Rome's  famous  wishing 
fountain,  and  threw  Italian  coins  into  it 
(there's  a  legend  which  insists  that  any- 
one who  tosses  a  coin  into  the  water  will 
return  to  Rome).  They  danced  and  sang 
and  motored  and  just  played  tourist.  They 
sat  and  talked  and  held  hands  in  Rome's 
most  crowded  restaurant. 

They  weren't  selfish  in  their  personal 
happiness,  though.  They  made  personal  ap- 
pearances for  charities,  visited  the  sick  and 
war-wounded  and  gave  of  their  own  per- 
sonal money,  to  relieve  the  financial  stress 
of  worthy  people.  A  short  time  before,  in 
Amsterdam,  Linda  had  learned  of  the 
hundreds  of  Dutch  people  stranded  in  the 
Netherlands  East  Indies  without  funds  for 
the  return  trip  to  Holland,  and  had  paid 
the  boat  fares  for  100  of  these  people  from 
her  own  bank  account!  (She'd  also  given 
most  of  her  clothes  to  various  old  school 
friends  all  over  Europe.) 

Linda  tells  me  that  Tyrone  has  refused 
to  permit  any  publicity  to  be  released 
concerning  his  personal,  charitable  acts  in 
Rome  and  therefore  she  doesn't  feel  free 
to  speak  of  them,  only  to  say  that  she  saw 
these  generous  gestures  with  her  own  eyes 
and  began  to  say  to  herself,  At  last,  here  is 
a  man  with  everything ,  yet  he  takes  time 
to  think  about  those  who  have  so  little, 
and  to  do  something  to  help  them! 

"And  that  is  how  I  began  to  love  Tyrone, 
I  know,"  Linda  told  me,  in  this  exclusive 
interview  for  Modern  Screen,  from  her  bed 
in  the  home  of  her  mother  and  step-father, 
Doctor  and  Senora  Jose  Alvarez  Amez- 
quita,  in  the  beautful  Lomas  de  Chapul- 
tepec  district  of  Mexico  City.  She'd  been 
confined  to  bed  for  several  days  with  a 
recurrence  of  malaria.  The  malaria  was 


originally  contracted  in  South  Africa  in 
1941,  when  Linda's  ship  (bringing  her 
to  Mexico  from  Palestine,  where  she  had 
been  living  with  her  family)  stopped  there. 

But  we're  losing  the  romantic  thread. 
Getting  back,  it  is  necessary  to  explain  that 
neither  Linda,  nor  Tyrone,  recognized  their 
sense  of  pleasure  in  being  together  as 
love,  while  they  were  in  Rome.  One  day, 
they  were  walking  along  one  of  Rome's 
main  thoroughfares,  and  they  saw  a  beau- 
tiful ring  in  a  jeweler's  window.  Linda 
admired  it  and  Ty  made  a  mental  note. 
Next  day,  he  secretly  bought  the  ring,  but 
didn't  give   it  to  Linda — not  then! 

Ty's  schedule  called  for  him  to  leave 
Rome  three  days  after  he  "found"  Linda, 
and  he  definitely  didn't  want  to  go.  But  he 
had  to  leave  for  Eire,  and  two  weeks' 
location  on  a  new  picture.  Linda  couldn't 
go  because  her  father  was  due  in  from 
Palestine  (where  he  is  a  big  oil  operator) 
to  see  his  two  daughters. 

So  Linda  and  Tyrone  kissed  goodbye, 
and  then,  for  the  rest  of  Ty's  globe - 
girdling  goodwill  flight,  cables  and  long- 
distance phone  calls  came  to  Linda  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night. 

"Mr.  Power  calling  from  Eire!"  .  .  . 
"Mr.  Power  calling  from  London!"  .  .  . 
"from  Newfoundland!"  .  .  .  "from  Van- 
couver!" .  .  .  and,  finally,  from  Los  Angeles. 

Linda  couldn't  believe  that  Tyrone  was 
really  serious.  She  told  me,  "I  fought 
against  taking  Tyrone  seriously,  from  the 
very  beginning,  because  I  couldn't  bring 
myself  to  believe  that  he  wasn't  just  being 
charming  when,  almost  from  the  first,  he 
said  lovely  things  to  me." 

I  pictured  Tyrone  and  Linda  together. 
Knowing  the  two  of  them  as  well  as  I  do, 
each  with  his  own  wealth  of  personal 
magnetism,  I  can  imagine  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  one  to  take  his  eyes  off  the 
other  for  a  moment. 

Soon,  Linda  went  on,  "I  tried  to  make 
myself  believe  that  it  was  merely  the  ex- 
citement of  Rome  and  of  this  sudden, 
unexpected  meeting  so  far  from  home,  and 
one  night  when  Tyrone  told  me  some- 
thing which  indicated  his  growing  affection 
for  me,  I  accused  him  of  just  'talking.' 

"Oh,  he  was  furious!"  Linda  said.  "And 
he  was  hurt." 

surprise!  .  .  . 

Linda  had  promised  to  wire  Tyrone  the 
exact  time  of  her  arrival  in  Hollywood  on 
her  return  from  Europe,  but  she  fooled 
him.  She  sneaked  into  town  a  day  earlier, 
registered  at  the  Bel  Air  Hotel,  spent  the 
afternoon  at  the  beauty  shop,  and  called 
Ty  in  the  evening. 

"Hello,  how  about  dinner?"  she  asked 
over  the  telephone  when  he  answered 
her  ring. 

"You  little  devil!"  he  howled,  "why  did 
you  do  this  to  me?  I  was  just  leaving  the 
house  to  go  to  the  airport  to  meet  you!" 

So,  the  romance,  born  in  Rome,  began  to 
grow  in  Hollywood.  Tyrone  and  Linda 
didn't  go  out  much,  spent  most  of  their 
time  together  in  the  evenings  in  Tyrone's 
new  house,  looking  at  Ty's  motion  pictures 
which  Linda  hadn't  seen.  Fact  is,  Linda  is 
ten  years  younger  than  Tyrone,  and  has 
spent  all  her  life  in  Europe  and  in  Mexico,  j  I 
with  the  exception  of  short  periods  in 
Hollywood.  She  never  was  a  movie  "fan," 
so  she'd  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing  a 
Power  picture.  (P.S. — She  thinks  he's  only 
"breathtaking"  on  the  screen!) 

She  made  her  first  plane  flight  with  Ty 
at  the  controls,  during  her  10-day  stay  in 
Hollywood  in  December.  They  flew  from 
LA.  to  Palm  Springs,  and  Ty  gave  Linda 


her  first  flying  lesson  on  that  short  trip. 

It  was  during  Linda's  brief  Hollywood 
stay  that  she  and  Tyrone  knew,  for  cer- 
tain, that  they  were  in  love.  They  liked 
the  same  books,  the  same  philosophers,  the 
same  sports  and  the  same  music.  Both  are 
sun-lovers,  both  are  "bubbly"  on  the  sur- 
face, but  earnest  underneath. 

When  I  served  as  unit  publicist  for  Sol 
Lesser's  Tarzan  and  the  Mermaids  on 
location  in  Acapulco,  Mexico  last  July, 
(the  film  in  which  Linda  portrays  a  mer- 
maid) I  found  myself  very  impressed  by 
j  her. 

I  watched  Linda  throughout  six  weeks 
|  of  the  toughest  kind  of  motion  picture 
j  making,  in  the  oven-heat  of  tropical 
]  Acapulco,  and  I  didn't  hear  her  complain 
I  once  of  arising  at  4  a.m.,  going  through 
hours  of  hairdressing,  makeup  and  ward- 
:  robe,  working  a  full  day  in  the  broiling 
heat,  swimming,  diving  in  muddy  lagoons, 
I  or  "stunting"  on  rough  rocks. 

I  grew  to  know  and  to  admire  Linda 
-  Christian,  as  I  believe  my  old  friend  Tyrone 
!  knows  and  loves  her! 

i  Linda's  beautiful  mother,  Blanca  Rose 
j  Welter  de  Amezquita,  now  lives  in  Mexico 
City,  as  do  Linda's  two  brothers,  Eddie, 
16,  and  Jerry,  23 — and  Linda  had  to  spend 
Christmas  with  her  family.  Tyrone  was 
tied  up  with  picture  commitments,  so  he 
couldn't  leave  Hollywood.  Linda  flew  to 
Mexico  City  on  December  21st,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  receive  a  shower  of  telephone 
calls  from  Ty. 

"The  upstairs  telephone  is  in  my  room," 
Linda's  mother  told  me,  "but  Mr.  Power's 
calls  wouldn't  let  me  sleep  at  night,  so 
Linda  and  I  changed  rooms." 

Asked  about  her  impression  of  Tyrone, 
Linda's  mother  said,  "Oh,  he  is  a  won- 
derful boy!  A  fine  man!" 

"And,"  Linda  added,  in  an  aside  to  me, 
"Tyrone  is  the  only  man  I  have  ever 
known  of  whom  my  mother  approved — 
for  me!" 

Ty  didn't  like  being  alone  without  Linda 
in  Hollywood  for  Christmas,  but  he  told 
her,  via  long-distance:  "I'll  be  in  Mexico 
two  days  before  New  Year's,  darling,  and 
I'm  bringing  your  Christmas  gifts  then — 
wait  for  me,  Puss!" 

Not  only  did  Linda  wait,  but  her  entire 
family — mother,  step-father,  brothers  and 
relatives — waited  to  have  Christmas  with 
Tyrone  when  he  arrived. 

It  was  a  wonderful  day,  that  belated 
Christmas  in  the  lovely  home  of  Linda's 
parents  in  Lomas  de  Chapultepec.  Ty  was 
shy,  yet  natural  and  poised.  He  wanted 
Linda's  family  to  like  him,  but  he  didn't 
have  to  worry  about  that!  They  loved  him! 

The  ring  which  Linda  had  admired  in 
the  window  of  the  jewelry  shop  in  Rome 
was  Tyrone's  principal  Christmas  gift  for 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

While  visiting  the 
20th  Century-Fox 
commissary,  I  saw 
Mark  Stevens  at 
a  table  near  mine. 
He  got  up  and 
went  over  to  speak 
to  a  friend  across 
the  room.  Sud- 
denly, someone 
called  out  Mark's 
name,  and  as  he 
■looked  up,  a  piece  of  cream  pie  hit 
him  right  in  the  face!  Everyone  burst 
out  laughing.  And  Mr.  Stevens,  him- 
self, joined  them  as  he  licked  the  pie 
from  his  face.  It  was  like  an  old  time 
movie,  and  Mark  behaved  like  a  real 
good  sport. 

Pat  Hibbs 
Glendale,  Calif. 


her.  Of  platinum,  it  features  two  double 
rows  of  diamonds  on  the  ring's  top,  the 
diamonds  paralleling  a  center  band  of 
square-cut  rubies,  the  three  strips  of  gems 
forming  three  concentric  circles.  Inside  are 
engraved  the  words:  "With  all  my  love, 
Tyrone." 

Linda  gave  him  a  heavy  gold  medallion 
impressed  with  the  figure  of  the  Virgin  of 
Guadalupe,  patron  saint  of  Mexico.  On 
the  reverse  side,  spelled  out  in  diamonds, 
is  the  word,  "TUA,"  which,  in  Italian, 
means  "yours."  (To  remind  Ty  of  their 
meeting  in  Rome.) 

Came  New  Year's  Eve,  and  Linda  and 
Tyrone  served  as  maid-of-honor  and 
gentleman-of -honor  at  the  wedding  of 
Linda's  aunt.  That  was  the  first  event  of 
the  big  night,  and  Tyrone  was  deeply  im- 
pressed. The  cathedral  was  bathed  in  can- 
dlelight, the  music  invaded  the  soul,  and 
Tyrone  held  Linda's  hand  throughout  the 
ceremony. 

food  for  thought  .  .  . 

"For  a  long  while  after  the  service,  he 
didn't  have  much  to  say,"  Linda  told  me, 
"so  I  knew  he  was  moved  within  himself 
and  was  thinking,  as  I  was.  Later,  we  all 
went  to  our  house  for  a  big  family  dinner." 

After  dinner,  Linda,  Tyrone  and  the 
family  had  their  Christmas.  Ty  had  brought 
gifts  from  Hollywood  for  everyone  and 
they  all  had  presents  for  him.  The  pack- 
ages were  opened  around  the  Christmas 
tree,  in  good  old  family  style.  Then, 
everyone  waited  for  12  o'clock  to  arrive. 

"After  'Auld  Lang  Syne'  was  sung,  and 
the  'Happy  New  Year'  wishes  and  em- 
braces were  over,  Tyrone  and  I  slipped  out 
to  be  alone  together  for  a  little  while," 
Linda  explained  to  me  later. 

"We  walked  to  the  car,  which  was  parked 
in  front  of  the  house,  and  Tyrone  opened 
the  door  on  my  side.  I  got  in,  and  Tyrone 
took  my  hand  in  his,  and  we  looked  up 
at  the  clear,  cold  skies  filled  with  stars. 
It  was  a  marvelous  moment." 

A  few  days  later,  Linda  and  the  family 
flew  to  Acapulco  in  Ty's  plane.  They 
moved  into  the  beautiful  Hotel  de  las 
Americas  and  settled  down  for  a  few  days 
of  rest.  Linda  and  Ty  went  deep-sea  fish- 
ing, and  laughed  and  baked  in  the  sun 
until  they  were  brown  as  Indians.  They 
paddled  on  paddleboards  to  far,  isolated 
beaches.  They  tried  goggle-fishing  (with 
harpoons) .  And  at  night  they  danced  under 
the  big,  lantern-like  stars,  beneath  the 
palms. 

Then  came  a  cable  from  Hollywood  call- 
ing Ty  back  to  the  20th  Century -Fox  lot 
to  start  work  in  his  new  film,  Black 
Magic.  Linda  accompanied  Tyrone  as  far 
as  Mazatlan,  but  she  had  to  return  to  Mex- 
ico for  firm  conferences.  And,  back  home, 
she  was  hit  with  the  malaria  wobbles. 

Being  tied  up  with  the  motion  picture 
industry,  both  Tyrone  and  Linda  are  hav- 
ing a  difficult  time  keeping  even  a  small 
part  of  their  personal  lives  or  future  plans 
to  themselves,  and  the  one  thing  they  do 
not  discuss  is  their  possible  marriage. 

Living  in  Mexico,  as  I  do,  I've  had  no 
opportunity  to  talk  with  Tyrone  about  his 
feeling  for  Linda.  However,  knowing  her 
to  be  a  girl  of  rare  intelligence  and  utmost 
discretion,  I  am  certain  that  she  would 
not  have  given  me  her  confidence  con- 
cerning Tyrone's  personal  reactions  to  her 
if  she  were  not  sure  that  she  could  speak 
for  him. 

As  for  Linda's  love  for  Tyrone,  it  is 
summed  up  in  this  statement  to  me: 

"Tyrone  is  the  most  unselfish,  most  won- 
derful man  I  have  ever  known.  I  watched 
him  with  the  poor  and  the  strangers  in 
Rome,  never  thinking  of  himself.  I  saw 
the  depth  of  his  character.  He  is  the  first 
man  I  have  ever  considered  marrying!  He 
is  the  first  man  I  have  met  whom  I  should 
like  to  see  as  the  father  of  my  children." 


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THEY  WAKE  IIP  DREAMING 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


years  of  movie  career;  I  can  take  it  or  leave 
it,"  she  said.  "I  like  you  more  than  any 
person  I've  ever  known.  I  can't  talk  about 
love  lightly!" 

She  was  cut  off,  before  he  could  kiss  her, 
even,  by  their  cue  to  go  on.  Later  that 
night,  and  for  many  nights  after,  they 
talked  about  themselves,  their  personali- 
ties and  individual  idiosyncrasies.  They 
were  in  love,  but  they  were  cautious.  At 
least  Dale  was.  At  the  end  of  a  week  of 
probing  talk,  they  both  felt  sure  that  this 
was  no  foolish  romance.  The  only  question 
in  Roy's  mind  had  been  whether  Dale  would 
want  to  take  on  the  responsibilities  of  a 
ready-made  family,  but  she  was  the  first  to 
say  that  any  independent  career  (inde- 
pendent of  Roy,  that  is)  would  be  impos- 
sible for  her  if  they  married. 

They  agreed  a  career  tied  in  with  his 
would  be  something  she  could  manage,  but 
they  knew  that  was  problematical,  since 
Republic  had  substituted  another  leading 
lady  in  Roy's  recent  pictures. 

If  the  studio  heeds  the  demands  of  the 
fans,  and  asks  Dale  to  come  back  to  work, 
she  will  play  again  with  Roy.  All  other  job 
offers  will  be  refused. 

united  we  stand  .  .  . 

"We  know  that  it  will  be  no  family  if  the 
children  are  in  one  place,  Roy  in  another, 
and  I  off  in  still  another,"  is  the  way  Dale 
puts  it.  "If  we  work  together,  and  have  to 
go  on  location,  we'll  do  our  darnedest  to 
take  the  kids  along." 

Dale's  step -mother  role  was  something  to 
consider  back  there  in  Chicago  when  Roy 
popped  the  crucial  question,  but  the  prob- 
lem was  made  simpler  by  the  fact  that  Dale 
had  been  close  to  the  whole  family  for 
three  years.  "I'd  been  friends  with  Roy,  Ar- 
lene,  his  kids  and  folks,"  Dale  says.  "Then, 
last  summer  Roy  began  taking  me  out 
some.  I'd  spend  time  with  the  kids  at  their 
house,  they'd  come  over  to  my  house — " 

About  Roy,  Dale  says:  "He's  one  of  the 
fairest  people  I've  ever  seen.  When  he 
works  he's  no  ham,  he  doesn't  hog  the 
scenes,  he  has  none  of  the  so-called  Holly- 
wood temperament.  Until  last  summer  he 
was  more  like  my  brother — I  knew  him 
that  well.  He's  easy-going,  lots  of  fun, 
and  a  good  guy — the  kind  of  man  we  have 
back  home  in  Texas." 

When  Dale  left  home  ten  years  ago,  and 
embarked  on  a  singing  career,  her  aim  was 
New  York,  and  a  Broadway  show.  She 
started  in  radio  in  Louisville,  Kentucky, 
then  she  went  to  Dallas.  Chicago  was  next, 
and  that's  where  movie  scouts  found  her. 
In  this  period  she  met  a  new  (for  her,  at 
least)  kind  of  man.  The  smooth-tongued, 
sophisticated,  dinner-jacket  type  who  made 
her  think  she  was  really  living. 

But  time  and  Roy  Rogers  eventually 
swung  her  around  full  circle  to  the  sort 
of  guy  she'd  known  back  home  in  Texas. 

"All  Roy  talks  about  right  now  is  coon 
dogs,"  Dale  said  recently.  "But  I  like  him. 
He's  real." 

Plans  for  their  wedding  trip  were  kept 
quiet  because  Dale  and  Roy  were  tired  of 
all  the  speculating  that  had  gone  on  in  the 
newspapers  about  their  romance. 

"We  just  weren't  going  to  let  anyone 
high-pressure  our  private  lives,"  Dale  says. 

But  when  they  returned  from  the  tour 
with  Roy's  rodeo,  last  November,  they 
announced  their  engagement.  Then  Roy 
went  to  work  in  a  movie,  and  Dale  started 
searching  for  a  house.  Roy's  children  were 
being  looked  after  by  a  lovely  lady,  Mrs. 
Christensen,  the  mother  of  one  of  Roy's 
best  friends.  The  children  and  Mrs.  Chris- 
tensen lived  up  at  Roy's  grain  and  fruit 


ranch  on  Lake  Hughes,  60  miles  from 
Hollywood.  Roy  himself  couldn't  make  the 
60  miles  every  night  so  a  lofr  of  the  time 
he  bunked  at  his  horse  ranch  which  is 
nearer  to  town. 

Frantic  weeks  of  house -hunting  finally 
turned  up  a  fine  old  place  that  had  be- 
longed to  the  late  Noah  Beery.  Luckily,  it 
meets  the  requirements  of  the  new  Rogers 
family.  There  are  six  bedrooms  and  six 
baths,  and  a  basement  playroom  that  runs 
the  length  of  the  house.  After  Roy  has 
panelled  this  room  himself  in  the  best 
Western  tradition,  using  wooden  pegs, 
they'll  be  able  to  give  informal  parties 
there. 

Twenty-two  years  old,  the  house  stands 
on  a  fine  hill  overlooking  town,  practically 
within  roping  distance  of  Hollywood  and 
Vine.  Yet  there's  a  feeling  of  seclusion 
about  the  place,  with  its  two  acres  of 
ground,  and  with  quail  and  rabbits  scut- 
tling beneath  the  pine  trees  and  across  the 
flagstone  paths. 

The  house  bought,  Roy  and  Dale  could 
turn  their  thoughts  toward  their  wedding 
plans.  They  agreed  that  it'd  be  a  quiet 
ceremony  without  fanfare,  but  where  could 
they  honeymoon  out  of  the  spotlight?  A 
pile  of  travel  folders — Sun  Valley,  Hawaii, 
Acapulco,  Mexico — still  lie  on  a  table  in 
Dale's  house.  Everything  sounded  lovely 
except  that  in  all  of  those  resorts  they'd 
run  into  the  movie  crowd  vacationing.  This 
time  they  wanted  a  change. 

Then  Bill  Likins,  a  big  cattle  man,  flew 
in  from  Oklahoma.  He  breeds  show  cattle, 
and  comes  to  J-iOS  Angeles  frequently  for 
the  shows.  Roy  and  Dale  had  become  his 
friends  when  they'd  stayed  at  his  Flying  L 
Ranch  a  couple  of  years  ago  when  they 
were  on  location  for  Home  In  Oklahoma. 

"Come  to  the  Flying  L,"  he  said  now. 
"We'll  give  you  a  plain  and  lasting  little 
old  Oklahoma  wedding." 

oh,  what  a  beautiful  wedding  .  .  . 

About  fifty  persons  attended  the  cere- 
mony. Roy's  handsome  manager,  Art  Rush, 
was  best  man;  Mrs.  Rush  was  Dale's 
matron-of-honor.  Dale's  family  drove  up 
through  sleet  and  snow  from  Italy,  Texas 
(near  Dallas).  And  Wayne  Morris  and  his 
wife  who  happened  to  be  visiting  nearby, 
came  over.  The  Governor,  Roy  Turner, 
was  there,  too — he  has  the  adjoining  ranch, 
and  Roy  and  Dale  had  got  to  know  him 
during  the  shooting  of  Home  In  Oklahoma. 
All  the  other  guests  were  local  people — 
cowboys  and  plain  Oklahoma  folk,  "Like 
my  own  people,"  Dale  says. 

A  photographer  was  flown  from  Repub- 
lic Studios,  so  that  the  public  wouldn't 
be  entirely  deprived.  But  that  was  the 
only  concession  to  fame  and  glamor  that 
Roy  and  Dale  were  willing  to  make  on  this 
precious,  private  day  of  theirs. 

They  were  married  in  front  of  a  mistle- 
toe-bedecked fireplace  in  the  main  room  of 
the  ranchhouse  by  a  young  Oklahoma  City 
minister.  It  was  a  double  ring  ceremony. 
The  minister  wore  the  garb  of  a  pioneer 
parson — cutaway,  flowing  black  tie  and 
black  cowboy  boots.  Dale  was  in  pale  blue, 
a  wool  dressmaker  suit,  a  blue  hat  and  lots 
of  veiling.  She  carried  an  old-fashioned 
bouquet  of  pink  roses  and  blue  forget-me- 
nots.  Roy  wore  a  navy  blue  cowboy  suit 
with  a  plain  white  shirt,  cowboy  boots, 
and  a  light  blue  cowboy  tie.  After  the 
ceremony  he  changed  his  white  shirt  for 
a  checkered  one. 

A  quartette  of  cowboys  sang  "I  Love 
You  Truly"  just  before  the  ceremony  be- 
gan, and  took  up  with  cowboy  numbers 
as  soon  as  it  was  over.  The  buffet  supper 
celebration    went    on    until    well  after 


midnight,  into  the  new  year.  Roy  and  Dale 
spent  about  a  week  at  the  Flying  L,  then 
traveled  down  to  Texas  to  visit  Dale's 
parents.  One  night,  there  in  Texas,  she  and 
Roy  went  raccoon-hunting  with  some  of 
the  young  men  from  her  hometown. 

"We  started  at  10  o'clock  in  the  eve- 
ning," Dale  recalls,  "and  walked  until 
1 : 45  in  the  morning  when  we  finally  found 
our  car  again.  After  the  first  three  miles 
pushing  our  way  through  brush  and  try- 
ing to  hurdle  the  creeks,  we  built  a  fire. 
It  was  freezing.  We'd  lost  two  of  our  coon 
dogs  by  then  and  hadn't  had  a  shot  at  a 
thing.  But  it  was  fun.  I'd  never  hunted 
like  that  before.    We  were  both  happy." 

When  they  had  warmed  up  a  bit,  they 
continued,  each  holding  a  flashlight,  the 
dogs  ahead,  running  the  trail. 

"All  we  heard  when  we  stopped  to  listen 
was  that  continuous  ahoooo  from  the  dogs. 
Never  the  sharp  bark  that  means  they 
have  an  animal  up  a  tree." 

It  was  a  terrible  chase,  they  crossed 
and  recrossed  streams.  "Finally,  I  couldn't 
make  the  jumps  any  longer  and  Roy  would 
pick  me  up  and  carry  me  across.  The  dogs 
kept  running — we  kept  following."  Dale 
smiles.  "That's  cowboys." 

two  of  a  kind  .  .  . 

Dale  can  take  it.  She  may  not  be  able 
to  keep  up  with  Roy  in  every  situation, 
but  she  tries.  And  actually,  he  likes  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  femininity  and  helpless- 
ness. The  day  they  arrived  back  from  their 
honeymoon,  he  was  carrying  her  coat 
as  they  stepped  off  the  train.  He  was 
shepherding  her  protectively  through  the 
crowds  when  suddenly,  she  discovered  she 
had  misplaced  her  wallet.  He  laughed  and 
knew  just  where  to  go  to  see  about  having 
it  traced.  She  was  mortified,  of  course. 

But  then  she'd  been  mortified  practi- 
cally the  whole  first  day  they'd  worked  to- 
gether at  Republic  four  years  ago.  She 
had  told  everybody  she  could  ride.  They 
believed  her  because,  though  she's  uncom- 
monly pretty,  she's  straight-talking,  cap- 
able-looking, and  she  comes  from  Texas. 

Well,  she  didn't  fall  off  the  horse  or  any- 
thing. But  one  look  at  this  new  leading 
lady  trying  to  manage  her  horse  as  she 
sang,  and  Roy  knew.  He  was  heard  to  ob- 
serve that  day,  "This  is  going  to  be  some 
saddle-battle."  It  was.  She  felt  awkward, 
and  her  pants  split  a  little,  and  one  of  the 
caps  she'd  had  made  for  her  teeth  fell  off 
and  a  horse  walked  on  it. 

Now  she  rides  quite  well.  She  and  Roy 
have  never  ridden  together  for  fun. 
They're  too  busy  working.  Their  relaxa- 
tion hours  so  far  have  been  spent  mostly 
with  the  children  (Cheryl,  7,  Linda,  AVz, 
Dusty,  18  months)  up  at  the  Lake  Hughes 
Ranch.  Roy  has  a  projector  and  they  show 
movies — their  own,  sometimes — and  they 
all  sing.  Dale  and  Roy  do  a  lot  of  harmon- 
izing while  driving.  Cowboy  songs  mostly. 
Dale  writes  a  lot  of  their  numbers. 

Manager  Art  Rush,  who  knew  Dale  even 
before  he  knew  Roy,  says  Dale  will  make 
a  swell  hostess,  mother  and  house  man- 
ager. "She's  capable  and  businesslike, 
humorous  and  beautiful.  Everybody  likes 
Dale.  People  talk  about  the  All-American 
cowboy.  Well,  Dale  Evans  is  my  idea  of  the 
All-American  cowgirl.  I  know  this  for  sure 
— Roy's  a  terribly  lucky  guy." 

According  to  Rush,  Roy  knows  he's 
lucky.  "He's  very  much  in  love.  You  can 
see  it.  He  holds  her  hand,  he's  attentive, 
he's  a  lovebird." 

And  here  is  how  Dale  talks  about  this 
thing.  "Too  few  people  like  the  people  they 
marry.  They  get  all  full  of  the  sudden 
electric  emotions  they  call  love  and  that 
wears  off  in  time  unless  you  really  like 
and  admire  each  other.  I've  liked  and 
respected  Roy  since  the  day  I  first  met  him. 
He  was  my  friend.  Now,  on  top  of  all  that, 
it's  love." 


The  custom  of  vaginal  douching  is  so 
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And  you  certainly  will  want  to  know 
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.Pity  those  old-fashioned  women 
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witnesses  of  time  long  gone  by,  she  told 
me  a  story  different  from  the  ones  she  tells 
the  townspeople.  The  stranger,  she  said, 
must  of  course  already  know  how  Monetta 
is  faring  nowadays.  She,  Mrs.  Cornwall, 
would  tell  me  the  truth  about  the  struggles 
of  the  Dallas  kid  Monetta  had  been  a  few 
years  ago. 

Monetta's  father,  the  postal  clerk,  Roy 
Darnell,  and  his  wife  Margaret,  had  four 
children.  The  girl  known  today  as  Linda 
Darnell  was  christened  Monetta  Eloyse, 
and  she  was  chosen  by  her  mother  to  sat- 
isfy an  old  ambition.  It  seemed  that  Mar- 
garet, who  had  been  a  most  beautiful 
young  woman,  had  tried  her  luck  in  Hol- 
lywood, one  time.  Mrs.  Cornwall  said  she'd 
gone  there  when  Undeen,  Linda's  older 
sister,  was  a  baby.  It  was  about  1914.  What 
happened  in  Hollywood,  Mrs.  Cornwall 
didn't  know  for  sure.  "I  think  she  did  get 
as  far  as  taking  part  in  a  parade,  or  some- 
thing. But  that  was  all.  No  movies.  She 
called  Roy  to  take  her  home." 

,-evenge  is  sweet  .  .  . 

Back  in  Oak  Cliff  again,  Mrs.  Darnell 
rarely  spoke  of  her  adventure,  but  she 
began  a  long-range  plan  of  getting  even 
with  Hollywood.  Picture  this — a  postal 
clerk's  wife  living  in  utter  modesty  some- 
where in  Texas,  vowing  to  avenge  her  own 
rejection  by  Hollywood.  Even  the  street 
she  lives  on  is  named  Hollywood  Avenue, 
and  it  is  a  daily  reminder  and  prod  to  this 
determined  woman. 

First,  Margaret  Darnell  chooses  Undeen 
for  the  role  of  Cinderella,  but  Undeen  is 
headstrong,  and  gradually,  as  the  years  go 
by,  the  mother  turns  to  the  next  child, 
little  Monetta.  Monetta  is  five  years 
younger  than  Undeen.  And  this  girl  is 
different.  She  is  willing,  she  will  do  what 
her  mother  wants. 

So  the  trek  begins.  The  sallies  out  of 
Oak  Cliff,  to  Dallas,  five  miles  away.  Dal- 
las, glittering  land  of  promise.  A  small 
girl  is  taught  to  dance,  given  elocution 
lessons,  taught  to  act,  taken  to  amateur 
shows. 

She's  taken  to  the  sumptuous  Baker 
Hotel  each  time  a  Hollywood  talent  scout 
sets  up  temporary  headquarters  there.  Mrs. 
Darnell  is  always  first  in  line,  seeking  an 
appointment,  the  small  Monetta  at  her 
side. 

Through  all  this,  Roy  Darnell,  the  postal 
clerk,  helped,  and  said  little.  He  had  a 
Chevrolet,  and  he  drove  his  wife  and  child 
around — to  the  movie  theater  which  was 
holding  an  amateur  show,  to  a  local  hall, 
to  Dallas. 

It  never  occurred  to  him  that  he  was 
making  a  sacrifice,  foregoing  hours  of  badly 
needed  rest  at  home  after  a  hectic  day.  He 
was  only  doing  his  duty — maybe  his  wife 
was  right,  and  the  kid  had  a  chance  to 
make  something  of  herself. 

He  was  always  in  tight  circumstances 
financially,  what  with  four  children,  and 
Monetta  being  groomed  for  stardom.  Every 
penny  counted;  he  even  felt  guilty  about 
going  down  to  the  movies  on  an  occasional 
evening,  until  the  time  he  drew  the  lucky 
number  on  a  Bank  Night,  and  came  home 
with  $964! 

That  helped. 

Monetta  grew  up,  went  to  high  school, 
modeled  in  Dallas  department  stores,  was 
the  cheer  leader  with  the  high  school  band. 
"Her  uniform  was  white,  trimmed  with 
purple,"  Mrs.  Cornwall  told  me.  "And 
she  looked  like  a  picture.  Why,  people 
stopped  dead  in  their  tracks  when  they 
saw  the  band  coming  up  the  street. 
Monetta  had  a  smile  for  everybody — you 


couldn't  but  take  to  her." 

As  Monetta  got  older,  other  people  joined 
in  pushing  her  on.  There  was  Billy 
Thompson,  a  reporter  on  the  Times  Herald 
— he  saw  that  Monetta's  pictures  appeared 
in  print.  Monetta  Darnell,  the  popular 
majorette,  Monetta  Darnell,  the  Texanita, 
clothes  modeled  by  Monetta  Darnell.  She 
was  a  local  girl,  so  editors  were  pleased  to 
publish  stories,  and  a  local  congressman, 
Hatton  M.  Summers,  even  wrote  a  letter  of 
recommendation  to  a  Hollywood  studio 
about  her. 

Mrs.  Cornwall  told  me  all  this,  and  then 
sat  back  in  her  armchair,  eyes  twinkling. 
"If  at  first  you  don't  succeed — "  she  said. 
"That's  the  motto  of  my  story.  Margaret 
Darnell  kept  trying — " 

But  there  was  something,  I  thought,  this 
old  lady  had  overlooked,  or  left  out.  What 
was  missing  in  this  picture  was  someone 
who  thought  of  the  central  figure  as  a 
normal  young  girl,  not  as  a  candidate  for 
fame.  I  visualized  Margaret  Darnell  car- 
rying out  her  long-range  campaign,  com- 
pletely absorbed  by  one  passionate  thought: 
stardom  for  Monetta.  And  the  pliable 
youngster,  following  orders.  Yet  some- 
body, somewhere  along  the  road,  must 
have  befriended  Monetta  just  for  herself 
alone. 

I  was  still  groping  for  a  clue  which 
would  help  complete  the  picture,  when  I 
met  a  man  who  knew  the  answer.  He  said 
what  I  should  have  guessed,  that  Mrs. 
Cornwall,  herself,  had  befriended  Monetta, 
that  it  was  at  her  house  Monetta  found  en- 
couraging answers,  when  bewildered  by 
things  her  young  mind  could  not  compre- 
hend. This  was  the  reason  a  Hollywood 
star  named  Linda  Darnell,  on  most  of  her 
visits  to  Dallas,  stayed  with  Mrs.  Corn- 
wall, rather  than  at  the  finest  hotel  in 
town. 

It  was  not  by  accident  that  I  met  the 
man  who  rounded  out  my  story  for  me.  I 
had  gone  to  look  for  him,  and  I  knew 
where  to  go — to  the  Terminal  Annex  of 
the  Dallas  Post  Office.  I  had  been  given 
a  name:  Roy  Thompson.  And  his  status: 
postal  clerk. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


Good    Housekeeping,  pleose. 


Was  he  there? 

Third  floor,  ask  at  the  counter. 
On  the  third  floor,  men  were  sorting 
mail.  Roy  Thompson  came  out  from  be- 
hind some  metal  racks,  a  little  man  with  a 
beaming  round  face,  chewing  an  unlighted 
cigar.  Yes,  he  was  Roy  Darnell's  closest 
buddy.  Yes,  Roy  Darnell  used  to  work 
here. 

He — Thompson — obtained  the  foreman's 
permission  to  come  out  with  me,  and  as 
we  stepped  into  the  bright  sunlight,  and 
the  hustle  of  Dallas'  downtown,  I  discov- 
ered I  was  once  again  in  the  world  of  folks 
who  had  made  the  story  of  Linda  Darnell 
their  own.  This  section  of  that  world  was 
exclusively  inhabited  by  Unce  Sam's  postal 
clerks. 

The  other  postal  clerks  in  Dallas  were 
proud  of  Roy  Darnell.  They  remembered 
his  devotion.  They  remembered  when  his 
family  (Margaret's  plan  having  at  last 
succeeded)  left  for  Hollywood,  that  Roy 
Darnell  stayed  on  alone  in  the  little  house, 
took  care  of  it  himself.  A  year  later,  when 
his  child  came  home  in  triumph,  he'd 
attended  the  banquet  in  her  honor,  and 
then,  the  festivities  over,  he'd  resumed 
his  chores,  but  he'd  been  lonely,  so  he'd 
asked  for  a  transfer  to  Los  Angeles. 

He'd  been  told,  "If  you  go,  you  forfeit 
your  seniority,  and  start  as  a  clerk — "  and 
he'd  said,  "That's  okay,  chief,  I  don't 
mind — "  and  he'd  gone  to  Los  Angeles  to 
start  again  as  a  substitute  postal  clerk. 

Yes,  the  postal  clerks  in  Dallas  and  Oak 
Cliff  were  proud  of  Roy  Darnell.  And  they 
were  proud  of  his  daughter.  To  them,  the 
postman's  daughter  making  good  was  proof 
of  the  "little  man's  bigness."  What  could 
be  more  conclusive  than  a  live  example,  a 
buddy's  daughter? 

They  felt  that,  without  Roy,  Linda  would 
never  have  succeeded,  and  while  they 
didn't  give  it  much  thought  as  they  leaned 
over  the  sorting  tables,  the  comforting 
knowledge  was  there,  just  the  same,  and 
it  made  them  feel  good. 

As  Roy  Thompson  and  I  fought  our  way 
up  Commerce  Street,  he  said,  "Do  you 
think  20th  Century-Fox  is  paying  her 
enough?  They  ought  to  give  her  a  share 
of  the  profits,  or  a  bonus,  or  something, 
for  this  picture,  Forever  Amber — and  in- 
crease her  salary!"  He  looked  at  me  anx- 
iously. 

Roy  Thompson,  the  postal  clerk — after 
30-odd  years  of  service,  he  was  being  paid 
$60  a  week,  but  he  didn't  think  it  was 
right  for  Linda  to  be  making  less  than  a 
fortune.  He  and  the  fellows  at  the  Ter- 
minal Annex  wanted  Linda  to  be  treated 
right. 

I  had  an  appointment  with  John  Rosen- 
field,  drama  editor  of  the  Dallas  Morning 
News,  for  three  o'clock,  and  Roy  Thomp- 
son walked  me  over  to  the  newspaper 
office,  still  talking.  He  was  telling  me  that 
Roy  Darnell  had  two  brothers,  Bryant  and 
Earl,  both  postal  clerks,  too,  and  fine  men. 
Had  kids  of  their  own,  nice  breed.  Earl 
was  foreman  at  the  Dallas  office's  Terminal 
Annex. 

postal-politics  .  .  . 

"You  know,"  Thompson  said,  "Roy  was 
here  a  short  while  ago — came  home  on  his 
vacation.  Went  rabbit  hunting.  I  used 
to  tell  Mrs.  Darnell  she  didn't  know  how 
nice  a  man  she  had.  She'd  say:  You  postal 
clerks  always  stick  up  for  each  other,  don't 
you?'  Roy  kept  his  feet  on  the  ground. 
Without  him,  the  project  would  never  have 
worked." 

Thompson  walked  more  slowly  now.  "He 
wouldn't  take  money  from  Linda,  you 
know.  Linda  wanted  him  to  retire,  but  he 
said  his  pension  hadn't  come  up  yet.  It 
will,  next  year.  He's  put  in  36,  37  years 
of  service.  He'd  like  to  have  gone  on  pro- 
viding for  his  kids,  no  matter  how  little  he 
makes.    That's  the  sort  of  guy  he  is.  I'll 


bet  he  goes  on  sorting  mail  thinking  the 
kids  may  still  need  him. 

"Linda's  like  him.  As  soon  as  she  could, 
she  set  aside  $30,000  for  the  education  of 
the  two  younger  Darnells,  Monte  and 
Sunny  Boy  (Roy,  Jr.)  and  she  fixed  it 
so  she  could  never  touch  any  of  the 
money  herself." 

Thompson  spoke  then  of  the  Linda  Dar- 
nell movies  he'd  seen.  "Twice,  she  came 
home  to  attend  premieres.  Two  years 
ago,  it  was  for  Fallen  Angel — she  looked 
like  a  princess,  in  a  glistening  white 
gown — " 

His  voice  trailed  off,  came  back.  "She 
stayed  in  the  Presidential  suite.  Roy  Dar- 
nell's kid  .  .  ." 

When  I  left  Roy  Thompson,  I  went  up 
to  the  third  floor  of  the  Dallas  Morning 
News  where  the  drama  editor,  John  Rosen- 
field,  was  waiting  for  me.  He  was  a  bulky 
man,  and  he  smoked  the  cork-tipped  kind 
of  cigarettes. 

"I  contributed  nothing  to  Monetta's  suc- 
cess," Mr.  Rosenfield  told  me,  chuckling. 
"Mrs.  Darnell  did  it  all.  I  gave  the  girl 
good  notices  when  she  deserved  them, 
but  I've  done  the  same  for  thousands  of 
people." 

scouting  through  dallqs  .  .  . 

Ivan  Kahn,  the  20th  Century-Fox  talent 
scout,  Mr.  Rosenfield  said,  used  to  come 
through  Dallas  once  a  year.  He'd  recog- 
nized Monetta's  potentialities,  but  he  was 
waiting  for  her  to  grow  up.  He  finally 
called  her  to  Hollywood  for  a  screen  test, 
when  she  was  fifteen,  but  she  was  still  too 
young,  and  she  came  home  again,  and  went 
back  to  school.  As  far  as  Mrs.  Darnell  was 
concerned,  the  fiasco  meant  nothing.  A 
mere  postponement. 

In  reality,  Monetta's  chances  were  slim. 
Then  it  happened — Jesse  Lasky,  veteran 
Hollywood  producer,  launched  a  nation- 
wide "Gateway  to  Hollywood"  amateur 
contest. 

That  Mrs.  Darnell  registered  Monetta  for 
the  Dallas  auditions  goes  without  saying. 
Monetta  won  first  place  in  the  Southwest, 
went  to  Hollywood  again,  and  lost  out  in 
the  finals.   She  came  home  a  second  time. 

The  telegram  from  20th  Century-Fox 
summoning  Monetta  back  to  Hollywood 
for  the  third  and  final  time  arrived  as  a 
dramatic  climax  to  Lasky's  option,  which 
had  run  out  at  midnight  the  previous  day. 

Mrs.  Darnell  and  her  daughter  again 
went  west;  it  was  April,  1939,  and  now 
Monetta  passed  her  screen  test,  and  was 
signed. 

"That's  the  story,"  John  Rosenfield  said. 
"Dallas'  own  success  story."  He  grinned, 
as  though  he  were  thinking  about  the 
strange  ways  of  destiny.  Then,  glancing 
up  at  the  etching  of  Sarah  Siddons,  hang- 
ing on  his  wall,  he  shrugged.  He,  savant, 
and  authority  on  the  stage  and  screen 
(and  a  man  who  had  thought  Monetta 
Darnell  only  averagely  talented,  reason- 
ably pretty)  had  been  put  to  shame  by  the 
obsession  of  a  postman's  wife. 

"Linda  completed  her  education  at  the 
20th  Century-Fox  studio  school,"  he  said, 
"but  she  wanted  to  graduate  from  Sunset 
High,  as  a  member  of  her  old  class.  She 
couldn't  get  the  time  off." 

His  smile  was  wry.  "The  glitter  of  Hol- 
lywood couldn't  replace  for  her  what  she 
had  lost,  when  she'd  been  earmarked  for 
the  Great  Experiment.  I  guess  she  felt  if 
she  could  have  recaptured  it  by  sheer  pre- 
tense of  still  belonging  to  the  happy  crowd 
of  local  youngsters,  her  life  might  have 
been  complete. 

I  thanked  Mr.  Rosenfield  for  his  help, 
and  walked  out,  and  got  into  the  elevator. 
Downstairs,  in  the  lobby,  Roy  Thompson 
had  been  waiting,  and  now  he  rose  from 
his  chair  by  the  reception  desk,  and  came 
toward  me. 

"How  was  it?"  he  asked  eagerly. 


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(Continued  from  page  39) 


such  hope  at  the  time.  Though  Gail  had 
been  a  truly  beautiful,  peaches-and-cream 
baby,  and  when  she  was  born  I  dared  to 
dream  fabulous  things  for  her  future. 

Later,  when  Gail  and  I  were  spending  a 
winter  with  friends  in  California,  I  noticed 
her  growing  taller  and  slimmer;  but  with 
the  height  came  a  new  problem.  She 
walked  with  her  head  down.  She  didn't 
know  it  yet,  but  she  was  beginning  to  be 
very  pretty.  I  used  to  say,  "What  are  you 
trying  to  hide,  with  your  head  down  like 
that?" 

I  don't  think  Gail  knew  she  was  beauti- 
ful until  after  we'd  come  to  California  to 
live  and  she  was  going  to  Santa  Monica 
High.  Her  classmates  began  to  call  her 
Hedy.  She  told  me  about  it  and  I  said 
fine,  why  not  part  her  hair  in  the  center 
and  make  it  inescapable?  She  thought  I 
was  out  of  my  mind.  However,  from  that 
day  forward  she  began  to  take  more  in- 
terest and  pride  in  her  appearance — locked 
herself  in  her  room  and  worked  with  her 
hair  from  morning  till  night.  Though  I 
must  say  that  the  results  were  almost 
imperceptible — she  wasn't  then  and  never 
has  become  a  glamor  girl. 

miss  modesty  .  .  . 

People  sometimes  ask  me  how  I've  man- 
aged to  keep  a  very  pretty  girl  from 
having  her  head  turned.  My  answer  is 
made  simple  by  the  fact  that  Gail  is  not 
the  kind  that  is  affected  by  her  looks. 
She  doesn't  invite  attention,  and  is  actually 
plain  both  in  the  way  she  dresses  and  in 
the  way  she  acts.  Only  this  morning  she 
came  into  my  room:  "Mother,  I've  decided 
I'm  not  going  to  wear  earrings  any  more." 
She's  serious. 

She  continues  to  fix  her  own  hair,  still 
uses  baby  soap  and  when  it  comes  to 
makeup,  lipstick  is  as  far  as  she'll  go. 
For  the  longest  time  she  wouldn't  use  per- 
fume and  I  hoped  she'd  change  her  mind. 
I  like  it  and,  well,  it's  fun  to  get  dressed 
up  and  wear  perfume  and  when  Gail  be- 
came an  actress  I  thought  at  last  she'd 
begin  to  enjoy  glamoring  up  a  bit.  "Oh, 
Mother,"  delivered  with  a  downward  in- 
flection, is  all  the  response  I  got  to  my 
suggestions. 

After  she  got  the  Paramount  contract 
and  the  studio  would  call  her  in  for  a  con- 
ference about  a  script  with  a  director  or 
producer,  I'd  beg  her  to  dress  up:  "Look 
like  a  movie  star  for  a  change,"  I'd  say. 

"You're  the  one  who  needs  to  grow  up, 
Mother,"  she'd  say.  "This  is  the  way  I 
looked  when  Paramount  sent  for  me  in 
the  first  place.  I  never  tried  to  wow  them 
with  wardrobe,  why  start  now?" 

The  root  of  it  all,  I  suppose,  is  that  Gail 
doesn't  know  what  to  do  with  attention 
directed  toward  her  in  exaggerated  quan- 
tities. In  high  school  the  boys  began  to 
make  a  minor  fuss  over  her  but  she  held 
them  off.  She  felt  more  secure  with  one 
boy  at  a  time,  and  discouraged  the  rest. 
When  she  went  to  Paramount  (at  17)  she 
had  what  the  girls  call  a  steady.  They 
were  a  mighty  unsophisticated  pair. 

I'd  hear  about  school  dances  from  other 
girls.  Never  from  Gail,  because  she  never 
went.  "How  about  having  a  little  party 
before  the  next  dance?"  I'd  say,  hoping 
this  might  break  the  ice  and  get  her 
started. 

"Now  Mother,  don't  push  me,"  she'd 
say.  "I  don't  like  dances."  I  never  did  learn 
whether  she  was  afraid  nobody  would  cut 
in  on  her  or  whether  too  many  would. 
But  do  you  know  her  idea  of  a  wonderful 
time  while  the  others  were  at  the  dance? 
To  go  over  and  help  her  boy  friend 


Simonize  his  car!  That,  to  her,  was  fun! 

She  didn't  even  start  going  to  dances 
until  three  years  ago  (when  she  was  19) 
and  never  felt  she  needed  a  formal  eve- 
ning dress  until  last  year. 

Earlier,  her  interest  in  clothes  was  lim- 
ited to  what  would  be  good  at  the  rink. 
They  lived  at  the  roller  and  ice  rinks. 
But  even  here  she  failed  ever  to  get  very 
elaborate.  There  is  the  story  of  the  time 
she  entered  a  waltzing  contest  at  the  Pasa- 
dena ice  rink — she'd  taken  prizes  in 
previous  contests — and  I  discussed  with 
her  beforehand  what  she  would  wear.  She 
shrugged;  the  whole  question  was  of  no 
importance.  But  I  went  out  shopping  any- 
way, thinking  that  something  showy  was 
in  order  for  a  waltz  contest.  I  bought  a 
beautiful  full  skirt  and  went  over  to  a 
friend's  house  in  Pasadena  and  we  worked 
up  a  blouse  and  some  other  things.  Then 
I  telephoned  Gail  to  meet  us  at  the  rink 
a  half  hour  early. 

We  waited  and  waited.  That  little  devil 
came  in  at  the  last  moment — on  purpose — 
too  late  to  change  into  our  dazzling 
creation.  She  took  the  prize  wearing  a 
plain  little  number  made  of  calico. 

The  clothes  situation  is  only  a  minor 
part  of  a  larger  problem  I  have  with  Gail 
— to  help  her  to  grow  up  and  adjust  to  the 
pressures  of  a  career  in  motion  pictures. 
In  terms  of  her  own  inner  emotional  de- 
velopment, she  was  not  ready  for  such  a 
demanding  career  at  17.  She  was  young 
for  her  age,  and  on  top  of  that  she  had 
had  no  acting  preparation.  If  Gail  had  had 
coaching  first,  it  might  have  helped  her 
confidence,  but  I  seriously  doubt  that  she 
ever  would  have  developed  the  stamina 
and  perseverance  to  plan  and  carry  out 
a  theatrical  career.  Go  knocking  on  doors 
to  get  a  job.  for  example.  The  only  way 
it  could  have  happened  to  Gail  was  the 
way  it  happened.  They  came  to  her. 

The  result  has  been  worry,  nerves  and 
at  times  sheer  panic.  It's  interfered  with 
her  eating;  she  has  a  nervous  stomach 
today  and  her  appetite  flees  whenever 
anyone  mentions  mealtime  or  tries  to  make 
her  eat  by  the  clock.  She  works  up  an 
appetite  by  visiting  the  kitchen  to  see  and 
smell  what's  cooking.  She  resists  meals 
with  the  family,  and  wants  to  take  every- 
thing to  her  room.  I  don't  approve,  but 
I  think  the  best  policy  is  the  indirect 
approach.  We  got  her  a  little  snack  bar 
for  Christmas,  put  it  up  in  the  playroom. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


'Ma!" 


Last  night  Guy  Madison  came  over  and 
they  roasted  a  chicken,  made  a  salad  and 
had  a  cozy  dinner  at  the  snack  bar,  with 
candles  burning.  It  looks  like  the  start 
of  improvement. 

I'm  confident  at  last  that  Gail  is  begin- 
ning to  meet  adult  responsibilities.  Her 
reaction  to  my  serious  illness  last  year 
was  the  first  of  her  attempts  to  face  things. 
When  I  entered  the  hospital  she  de- 
veloped an  inability  to  step  past  the  hos- 
pital doors  and  come  to  visit  me.  "The 
smell  of  hospitals  makes  me  sick,"  she 
said.  What  she  meant  was  "I  can't  face 
mother's  being  so  ill." 

When  I  came  home,  she  apparently 
hoped  I  would  take  up  normally  again  and 
the  whole  problem  would  be  over.  There 
was,  of  course,  a  long  convalescence  still 
to  follow.  I  think  it  wasn't  until  I  broke 
down  and  cried  one  day  that  she  saw 
that  she  had  a  duty  in  the  situation.  Sud- 
denly she  took  over  all  my  usual  jobs — 
and  did  beautifully. 

forewarned,  but  not  forearmed  .  .  . 

It  had  been  just  before  all  this  that  the 
studio  made  the  mistake  of  calling  up  and 
telling  Gail  two  weeks  in  advance  that 
they  had  booked  her  onto  a  radio  program. 
Well,  that  child  worried  and  fretted  and 
worked  up  such  an  anxiety  in  her  mind 
that  at  the  last  moment  she  was  a  wreck 
and  unable  to  go  through  with  the  show. 

Her  daddy  is  the  same  sort  of  nervous 
worrier,  walks  the  floor  until  he's  all  worn 
down  when  the  big  moment  arrives. 

Today  Gail  is  less  afraid  of  crowds  and 
new  people.  Age  and  experience  are  begin- 
ning to  give  her  a  certain  composure.  On 
her  first  trip  to  New  York  a  few  years 
ago,  she  wouldn't  leave  the  hotel  room, 
but  things  have  changed.  She's  learned 
that  her  publicity  goes  ahead  of  her,  a 
great  many  of  the  strangers  she  meets  al- 
ready know  that  she  used  to  skate  a  lot, 
that  she  collects  dolls,  is  good  at  archery 
and  riding,  and  that  she's  shy.  In  this 
sense,  becoming  a  star  makes  the  world 
a  more  friendly  place. 

In  Hollywood  she's  met  so  many  people 
now  that  when  she  goes  to  a  huge  party, 
like  one  at  Atwater  Kent's,  she's  likely  to 
know  three  quarters  of  the  guests.  That 
helps.  Still,  I  don't  think  she  really  likes 
those  big  parties.  With  her,  it's  business; 
she  knows  she's  expected  to  go  around  to 
important  social  functions. 

I'm  certain  that  one  day,  suddenly  per- 
haps. Gail  will  be  a  woman,  strong  and 
confident.  But  marriage  for  her,  I'm  sure, 
is  a  long  way  off.  If  the  man  in  her  life- 
should  turn  up  now,  I  doubt  she  would 
know  it.  She's  not  interested  and  she's  not 
ready.  Until  she  can  meet  the  ups  and 
downs  of  life  with  equanimity,  she  won't 
make  much  of  a  wife.  The  problems  of  her 
career  are  all  that  she  can  manage  just 
now. 

Meanwhile,  Gail  loves  her  home  and  my 
guess  is  she  will  stay  with  us  until  she 
marries— and  that  might  not  be  until  she's 
thirty  years  old.  There's  no  reason  for 
her  to  move  into  a  place  by  herself;  she 
has  all  the  freedom  she  wants  with  us. 
I've  never  watched  and  clocked  and  pried 
at  her.  She  doesn't  have  to  call  up  from 
parties  and  report  to  me.  A  lot  of  mothers 
make  a  great  mistake  by  prying  into  their 
daughters'  affairs.  They  hound  them  right 
out  of  the  door  and  into  the  arms  of  the 
first  man.  Early  marriages  made  in  re- 
bellion against  parents  often  fail,  and 
presto,  the  child  is  back  home  again  with 
all  the  old  problems  and  a  flock  of  new 
ones,  too.  Early  marriages  have  been 
especially  fashionable  recently  because  of 
the  war.  Many  mistakes  were  made. 

Gail  can  take  care  of  herself;  it  would 
be  silly  of  me  to  try  to  check  up  on  her. 
I've  never  worried  about  her,  even  when 
she  went  to  the  movies  alone.  She  likes  to 


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Marie  Hammel,  New 
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go  alone,  even  to  this  day.  Recently  one  of 
her  beaux  called  up  and  asked  me  where 
Gail  was.  I  told  him  she'd  gone  to  the 
movies  alone. 

"Alone,"  he  said.  "What  a  strange  girl. 
She  should  have  told  me;  I'd  have  loved 
to  take  her."  He  just  didn't  understand 
she  wouldn't  have  gone  with  him.  She 
wants  to  put  all  her  concentration  on  the 
movie.  Even  when  she  goes  with  me,  she 
sits  alone. 

Many  mothers,  I  gather,  make  a  grave 
mistake  by  rushing  at  all  new  young  men 
who  come  to  take  their  daughters  out, 
trying  to  find  out  about  the  boy's  family 
background,  and  habits.  My  own  policy 
is  to  trust  each  boy  to  the  utmost — I  don't 
ask  questions.  For  one  thing,  I  don't  feel 
my  daughter  is  too  good  for  this  one  and 
too  good  for  that  one.  She's  no  queen,  no 
sample  of  female  perfection,  she  doesn't 
have  to  have  the  best  man  in  the  world. 
After  all,  who  knows  who  is  the  best 
man  in  the  world? 

If  I  have  any  complaint  to  make  as  a 
mother,  I  guess  it's  that  my  children  forget 
sometimes  that  their  home  is  not  a  hotel. 
Though  I  know  they  are  both  concentrated 
on  their  careers,  and  though  I  feel  my 
job  now  is  to  run  the  house  to  suit  their 
needs,  when  things  go  wrong  with  the 
service,  I'd  appreciate  a  little  sympathy 
and  tolerance.  I  have  two  very  different 
characters  to  deal  with.  My  son,  George, 
Jr.,  grew  up  and  took  on  responsibilities 
early.  Since  he  was  14,  I've  been  able  to 
go  to  him  with  my  problems.  I  could  never 
do  that  with  Gail.  Before  George  was  20 
he  was  away  from  home  months  at  a  time 
playing  in  dance  bands  and  experiencing 
the  customary  hard  knocks.  Then  he  went 
to  war.  Now  he's  back  living  at  home  but 
very  caught  up  in  his  work.  He  plays  at 
a  local  nightclub  with  a  trio,  The  Three 
Bachelors,  which  he  organized  and  man- 
ages. His  life  is  full,  his  work  hard,  his 
hours  irregular.  Rehearsals,  recordings, 
business  conferences  get  him  up  out  of 
bed  frequently  before  he's  had  adequate 
rest.  Sometimes  he  is  compelled  to  sleep 
in  split  shifts. 

Running  a  house  in  an  orderly  fashion 
to  suit  the  schedules  of  two  show  busi- 
ness careers  takes  a  lot  of  planning.  I 
do  mine  in  bed  when  I  awake  in  the  wee 


small  hours.  I  have  systems  for  everything 
and,  on  the  whole,  they  work.  There  is 
food  constantly  in  the  oven  and  I  can 
produce  a  hot  meal  any  time,  day  or 
night.  I  can  usually  say  just  where  any 
suit,  dress  or  shirt  is,  and  when  it  will 
be  back  from  the  cleaners'  or  laundry.  I 
am  practised  at  dealing  with  temperament, 
nerves  and  despair. 

How  do  I  like  this  role  I  play?  You 
know  I  love  it.  I  enjoy  my  children's 
success.  I  myself  once  dreamed  of  becom- 
ing an  actress.  Gail  says  it  all  sounds 
too  corny  to  be  true  and  I  shouldn't 
mention  it,  but  it  does  happen  to  be  true. 
I  lived  in  a  tiny  town  in  Pike  County, 
Illinois,  one  of  seven  children.  I  was  an 
orphan  at  nine.  When  finally  I  got  up  to 
the  big  city — Chicago — I  had  to  take  the 
first  job  that  would  pay  me  a  living.  I 
sold  California  fruit  in  a  little  store,  and 
wore  a  little  black  dress  and  a  white  cap 
and  my  hair  was  coal  black  and  I  guess 
I  was  a  type. 

Anyway,  one  day  the  thing  that  a  Pike 
County  orphan  in  the  big  city  could  dream 
about  but  shouldn't  expect  to  happen, 
did  happen.  A  man  from  the  old  Essanay 
Studios  in  Chicago — they  were  making 
pictures  with  Gloria  Swanson  there  then — 
saw  me  and  suggested  I  come  along  with 
him  to  the  studios,  and  he  would  try  to 
get  me  a  screen  test.  I  thought  maybe  a 
little  country  girl  had  no  business  getting 
mixed  up  with  the  movie  crowd.  And  I 
was  afraid  if  I  asked  for  time  off,  I'd  lose 
my  job. 

I  never  took  the  test.  I've  thought  about 
what  I  missed  many,  many  times  since 
then. 

The  story  of  my  husband  is  similar.  He 
was  playing  in  a  dance  band  when  I  met 
him,  but  after  we  were  married  and  started 
a  family,  he  gave  up  the  work  he  loved  to 
go  into  business  where  he  thought  he 
would  have  greater  security.  So  here  we 
are,  thirty  years  later,  our  son  is  a  mu- 
sician, our  daughter  an  actress.  Every- 
thing we  missed  we  are  experiencing 
through  them.  We  know  how  fortunate 
they  are.  Whenever  either  of  them 
drops  into  a  sulk,  we  say,  "Count  your 
blessings." 

We  have  plenty. 

We  know  we  are  a  lucky  family. 


EASTER  BENEDICTION 

(Continued  from  page  30) 


on  the  Heath.  There  were  masses  of 
children,  romping  and  playing  with  their 
dogs — people  everywhere. 

A  bank  holiday  it  was,  and  a  school 
holiday  that  lasted  for  six  weeks.  There 
was  such  gladness  everywhere.  The  air 
was  clear  and  bright.  You  could  see  for 
miles.  The  earth  was  warm  and  sparkling. 

There  was  a  sense  of  freedom  in  the  air, 
of  taking  time  off  to  relax  and  play.  Some 
people  went  to  Switzerland,  some  to  the 
South  of  France.  One  time  we  went  to 
Devonshire.  I  liked  best  to  stay  home. 

One  year  we  spent  the  whole  Easter 
holiday  at  our  house  in  the  country.  I'll 
never  forget  it.  Howard  and  I  had  the 
whooping  cough. 

One  day  we  went  for  a  long  walk  ex- 
ploring the  woods  back  of  our  house. 
On  the  way  home  we  stopped  to  fish  for 
tadpoles  in  a  ditch  some  workmen  had  cut. 
The  ditch  was  about  a  foot  wide  and  five 
feet  deep  and  full  of  black  muddy  water 

Howard  had  a  tin  can  almost  full  of 
minnows,  but  what  we  wanted  were  tad- 
poles. Suddenly  I  saw  one  and,  with  a 
squeal  of  delight,  I  lurched  forward  to 
catch  it — and  down  I  went,  headfirst  into 
that  deep,  narrow  ditch.  I  struggled  to 


breathe,  and  swallowed  mud  and  water. 

The  next  thing  I  knew  Howard  was  pull- 
ing me  out  feet  first  and  was  gouging  the 
mud  out  of  my  mouth  so  I  could  breathe. 
Then  he  yelled  for  Mother. 

I  was  too  heavy  for  Mother  even  to  lift, 
but  that  day  she  gathered  me  up  in  her 
arms  and  ran  with  me  to  the  house.  I 
was  put,  clothes  and  all,  into  a  hot  bath. 
The  doctor  was  sent  for  and  he  said  if 
Howard  had  waited  to  call  for  help  (in- 
stead of  pulling  me  out  first)  \  would 
have  been  gone  in  another  instant! 

I  remember  how  lovely  it  was,  later,  to 
be  tucked  all  warm  in  bed!  And  how 
wonderful  it  was  to  be  alive!  I  remember 
how  proud  I  was  of  Howard  when  every- 
one was  making  a  great  fuss  over  him  and 
calling  him  a  hero. 

That  Easter  was  especially  beautiful  to 
Howard  and  me.  We  had  our  first  baby 
lambs  for  pets,  and  baby  rabbits  and 
guinea  pigs,  and  our  cow  had  a  baby  calf 
and  we  saw  it  born.  And  we  came  home  and 
asked  Mother  all  sorts  of  questions 
and  she  told  us  the  truth,  and  from  then 
on  we  felt  quite  grown  up. 

I  remember  that  same  year  Mother  was 
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me  go  near  her,  as  she  wasn't  to  be  dis- 
turbed. We  had  to  keep  very  quiet. 

I  was  in  the  garden  under  her  bedroom 
window,  playing  with  Bunty,  my  dog.  He 
ran  into  the  rose  garden  and  I  after  him. 
I  scratched  my  hand  on  a  rose  thorn  and 
it  hurt.  I  stopped  to  look  at  the  rose  and 
I  wondered  how  it  could  hurt  me,  it  was 
so  beautiful! 

And  then  I  realized  that  it  didn't  hurt 
any  more — that  I  had  forgotten  about  the 
hurt  in  thinking  about  the  rose  and  how 
beautiful  it  was! 

Then  I  broke  it  off  and  ran  up  to  Moth- 
er's room  to  tell  her  about  it.  I  opened 
the  door  and  slipped  in.  She  had  her  eyes 
closed  and  looked  very  ill.  I  stood  there 
beside  her;  I  was  frightened  at  first.  Then 
a  lovely  feeling  came  over  me. 

I  suddenly  knew  that  Mother  was  just 
as  perfect  as  the  beautiful  rose  I  had  in 
my  hand,  because  God  had  made  her  per- 
fect, just  as  he  had  made  the  rose  perfect. 

She  opened  her  eyes  and  smiled  and 
held  out  her  arms  to  me. 

I've  never  forgotten  those  thoughts  God 
gave  to  me  about  the  roses,  because  they 
made  Mother  well.  And  several  times 
since  then  they  have  helped  me. 

Easter  to  me  is  symbolic  of  all  those 
things — a  renewal  of  our  faith,  our  hopes 
and  our  aims.    A  lifting  up  of  our  hearts. 

No  matter  how  hard  or  dark  the  long 
winter  has  been,  Easter  and  the  Spring 
bring  us  each  a  season  of  renewal. 

Here  in  America  we  have  so  much  to  be 
grateful  for,  so  much  to  live  for!  We  have 
the  best  of  everything,  and  our  hearts 
should  be  so  full  of  gratitude,  not  only  for 
what  we  have,  but  for  what  we  are  able 
to  give  to  a  world  so  sadly  in  need. 

Just  as  centuries  ago,  the  Resurrection 
of  Jesus  served  to  uplift  the  thoughts  of 
His  disciples  and  His  followers,  just  so 
should  that  same  Resurrection  of  Jesus 
serve  to  uplift  our  thoughts  to  the  need  of 
all  the  hungry  and  war-weary  people  all 
over  the  world. 

Last  summer,  Mother  and  I  went  back 
to  visit  our  friends  in  England  and  we 
took  as  many  parcels  of  food  and  clothing 
as  we  were  allowed  to  take.  It  gave  us  the 
most  wonderful  feeling  of  supplying  a 
need,  a  glorious  feeling  of  being  able  to 
pass  on  to  someone  else  some  of  the  good 
things  God  had  given  to  us. 

And  it  was  so  wonderful  to  find,  wher- 
ever we  went,  a  terrific  sense  of  life — not 
death — even  with  the  people  who  had  lost 
so  many  loved  ones!  Their  sense  of  sorrow 
and  loss  had  been  overshadowed  by  a 
wonderful  sense  of  life — life  that  isn't 
snuffed  out  by  death,  but  life  that  goes  on 
being  life,  and  is  near  us,  right  where  we 
are! 

This  is  what  Easter  means  to  me. 


"HOLLYWOOD 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


•  Charles  Boyer  signed  to  play  the 
part  of  Ravic  in  Arch  of  Triumph 
with  the  promise — both  to  himself 
and  the  studio — of  doing  an  out- 
standing acting  job. 

"If  I  don't,  there'll  be  just  one 
thing  left  for  me  to  do,"  said  Boyer. 
"And  that  is:  Back  to  the  Casbah!" 

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I  REMEMBER  BARBARA 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


in  The  Long  Night  as  it  came  hot  from  the 
cameras.  I  knew  she  was  a  winner. 

Her  personality  is  a  study  in  contrast,  a 
delightful  combination  of  adolescence  and 
maturity. 

I  was  on  the  set  one  morning  when  Bar- 
bara, dressed  as  a  1910  teen-ager,  came  off 
the  stage,  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette. 

Two  lady  visitors  were  standing  behind 
me.  One  gasped  and  said,  "Look  at  that 
young  girl!  Smoking!" 

•  George  Stevens,  who  teases  Barbara 
unmercifully,  chose  that  particular  mo- 
ment to  come  over,  take  the  cigarette  away 
from  her  and  lecture  on  the  evils  of  tobacco 
for  the  very  young. 

There  are  several  children  in  the  cast 
who  have  to  go  to  school  on  the  set.  George 
framed  Barbara  beautifully.  He  told  the 
teacher  she  was  under  age,  but  had  delu- 
sions, and  would  pull  a  married-woman- 
with-daughter  routine. 

The  teacher  led  her  off  firmly,  the  next 
day,  and  George  had  to  rescue  her. 

stage-daughter  .  .  . 

Barbara  decided  to  proue  she  was  a  dig- 
nified matron  by  bringing  her  child  to  the 
set  for  a  visit.  The  dignified  matron  act 
flopped  because  Susan  giggled  during  a 
scene,  and  sent  her  mother  scurrying  for 
the  nearest  exit. 

Life  began  for  Barbara  twenty-five 
years  ago  in  a  narrow  brownstone  house 
in  the  East  Fifties  of  New  York.  She. re- 
members nothing  remarkable  about  her 
early  days  except  that  she  thought  her  sis- 
ter Joan,  six  years  older  than  she,  dis- 
gustingly intellectual  with  her  nose  always 
stuck  in  a  book.  Barbara  used  books  to 
prop  doors  open. 

Their  father,  Norman  Bel  Geddes,  was 
at  his  peak  as  a  theatrical  production  de- 
signer and  had  a  studio  on  the  ground 
floor  of  the  brownstone.  It  was  always 
filled  with  smoke  and  fascinating  people. 

When  she  was  about  seven,  her  parents 
separated.  She,  her  mother,  and  Joan 
went  to  live  in  a  big  house  in  Millburn, 
New  Jersey.  Barbara  went  to  day  school, 
and  was  a  rebel  when  it  came  to  studying. 

Their  mother  died  when  Barbara  was 
sixteen.  She  spent  the  next  year  at  school 
in  Putney,  Vermont,  "feeling  very  much 
alone,  inclined  to  over-dramatize  myself, 
and  thinking  I  was  in  love  with  a  new  boy 
every  other  week."  Her  grades  scraped 
the  bottom  of  the  barrel,  and  she  was  sent 
to  a  girls'  school  in  Tarrytown,  New  York, 
the  next  year. 

Surprisingly  enough,  it  worked  wonders. 
She  might  even  have  become  a  brilliant 
student,  if  she  hadn't  left  Andrebrook  be- 
cause she  wanted  to  be  an  actress.  She  was 
a  pretty  independent  kid  and  when  she 
told  her  father  she  wanted  to  go  on  the 
stage,  he  tried  to  talk  her  out  of  it,  but 
wound  up  by  helping  her  get  a  start. 

Barbara  achieved  modest  success  in  a 
staggering  array  of  flops.  Critics  panned 
the  plays  but  spoke  kindly  of  the  new 
young  actress.  Then,  after  playing  Claudia 
in  Eastern  stock,  she  made  a  dismal  trip  to 
Hollywood,  supposedly  to  star  in  Guest  in 
the  House  but  lost  out  on  the  part,  and 
came  home. 

At  this  point,  romance  entered  the  pic- 
ture— not  the  dreamy  schoolgirl  kind 
either.  This  was  for  keeps.  At  a  party, 
she  saw  a  tall,  blond,  blue-eyed  guy  she'd 
met  the  year  before  at  another  party. 
She  hadn't  liked  him  very  much  the  first 
time,  a  mystery  she's  never  been  able  to 
explain.  His  name  was  Carl  Schreuer  and 
he  was  a  young  electrical  engineer  who 


was  working  at  the  time  for  the  Navy. 

They  had  a  mad,  gay,  three  months  of 
going  steady — every  evening  at  the  Stork 
Club,  El  Morocco  and  the  rest  of  the  plushy 
night  spots.  There  were  no  long  serious 
talks  about  the  future  or  art  or  anything 
significant.  She  didn't  try  to  cook  him  any 
dinners;  she  wasn't  a  good  cook.  They'd 
close  up  whatever  club  they  happened  to 
be  in  at  the  moment,  drive  to  the  apartment 
where  Barbara  lived  with  her  father  and 
forget  to  go  in  because  they'd  be  listening 
to  an  all-night  disc  jockey. 

There  was  a  wedding  at  the  beautiful 
little  St.  Thomas  Church  on  the  block  with 
the  Museum  of  Modern  Art,  a  champagne 
supper  at  the  Marguery  and  a  wild  dash 
to  Grand  Central  Station  for  the  train  that 
took  them  to  Lake  Placid,  and  the  tiny  inn 
where  they  spent  their  honeymoon. 

Susan  was  born  the  day  after  their  first 
wedding  anniversary,  January  25,  1945. 
Carl  and  Barbara  lived  in  a  hotel  until 
just  before  Susan  arrived,  but  they  decided 
that  was  no  place  to  raise  a  child,  so  they 
moved  to  an  apartment  in  the  80's. 

What  made  it  more  exciting  was  that 
Joan,  Barbara's  sister,  married  to  Barry 
Ulanov  who  is  editor  of  Metronome,  had 
her  baby  at  the  same  time  and  they  had  fun 
swapping  fibs  about  their  offspring.  For 
five  months,  Barbara  was  busy  being  a 
mother  exclusively. 

Then  Deep  Are  the  Roots  was  given  her 
to  read.  It  had  guts  and  she  said,  "That's 
for  me."  This  play  had  the  right  combina- 
tion, and  for  the  first  time  instead  of  being 
a  success  in  a  flop,  she  was  a  success  in 
a  hit. 

One  noon,  she  was  at  Dinty  Moore's 
having  a  snack  before  a  matinee.  She  was 
feeling  resentfully  uncomfortable  because 
a  couple  of  men  she  thought  were  tourists 
were  gawking  at  her,  talking  behind  their 
hands,  and  gawking  again.  The  next  thing 
she  knew,  a  waiter  brought  her  a  note. 
This  was  really  too  much,  she  told  herself. 
The  wdlves!  Womanly  curiosity  got  the 
better  of  her  so  she  read  the  note.  They 
were  trying  to  make  a  date  with  her  all 
right.  They  were  Ben  Hecht  and  Charles 
MacArthur,  and  they  wanted  her  for  their 
new  play  if  she  was  an  actress.  When  she 
told  them  she  was  in  the  show  down  the 
street  they  withdrew  their  offer,  saying 
they  couldn't  possibly  afford  her.  The  note, 
framed  in  black,  hangs  in  her  library. 

gruesome  twosome  .  .  . 

Barbara  and  I  met  for  the  first  time 
shortly  after  she  arrived  in  Hollywood. 

The  next  time  I  saw  her  I  didn't  recog- 
nize her.  It  was  at  a  costume  party.  She 
and  Carl  had  done  themselves  up  as  Gravel 
Gertie  and  B.  O.  Plenty,  and  they  looked 
gruesome.  Barbara  had  gone  to  infinite 
pains  with  her  outfit.  She  blacked  out 
several  teeth,  wore  a  long,  stringy  wig  and 
halves  of  ping-pong  balls  for  eyes.  Hank 
Fonda  had  helped  her  make  the  eyes.  I  was 
being  very  swank  and  freezing  in  sequin 
tail  coat  and  shorts.  When  Barbara  identi- 
fied herself,  she  complained  bitterly  that 
everyone  looked  so  elegant  and  here  she 
was,  hideous.  "I've  always  been  a  frus- 
trated comedienne,"  she  said,  giving  me  a 
horrible,  gap-toothed  grin  that  would  have 
scared  even  Dick  Tracy.  Needless  to  say, 
she  was  the  sensation  of  the  party. 

She  adores  games,  and  inveigles  every- 
one near  her  into  playing  them.  Hank 
Fonda  taught  her  to  play  Last  Face  when 
they  made  The  Long  Night.  That's  the  one 
where  you  sneak  up  on  someone,  stick  out 
your  tongue,  then  turn  and  run  like  a  deer. 


Hank  always  managed  to  Last  Face  Bar- 
bara, and  she's  been  trying  to  get  even 
ever  since,  if  not  with  him  then  with 
someone  else. 

We'd  been  playing  a  crazy  orange  game 
at  her  house  one  evening.  With  a  lemon, 
because  Barbara  was  all  out  of  oranges. 
She  handed  me  the  lemon  as  I  left,  trying 
to  butter  up  her  producer,  I  suppose.  Then 
she  snuck  out  of  the  house,  ambushed  and 
Last  Faced  me.  I  was  caught  with  my  dig- 
nity down,  and  the  only  way  to  restore  it 
was  to  make  a  lipstick  face  on  the  lemon, 
run  up  and  ring  the  doorbell,  drop  the 
lemon  and  get  away  fast — but  exhausted. 

When  there's  a  relaxing  period  between 
scenes  on  the  I  Remember  Mama  set,  all 
the  activity  somehow  seems  to  center 
around  Barbara.  She  was  playing  hide 
and  seek  with  the  kids  one  day  when  she 
found  there  were  some  visitors  on  the  set. 
She  was  so  taken  aback  that  she  really 
went  and  hid.  We  practically  had  to  send 
a  party  of  Indian  trackers  after  her. 

We  were  on  location  at  a  San  Fernando 
Valley  ranch  for  about  two  weeks  and  the 
company  organized  two  baseball  teams 
and  played  during  the  lunch  hour.  Barbara 
was  cheer-leader  for  George's  team  and 
Irene  Dunne  for  hers.  And  the  cheers  they 
made  up  were  even  quainter  than  the  early 
1900  costumes.  The  whole  thing  had  a 
somewhat  nightmarish  quality,  aided  and 
abetted  by  Oscar  Homolka,  who  plays 
Uncle  Chris  in  the  picture,  wandering 
around  in  the  long  flannel  nightgown  he 
was  wearing  for  his  death  scene,  looking 
as  though  he  thought  everybody  else  was 
crazy. 

But  don't  get  the  idea  that  Bel  Geddes 
is  a  dizzy  kid  who  wants  to  play  all  the 
time.  When  she  gets  tied  up  in  knots 
over  a  scene  nothing  else  matters,  she's 
serious  and  intense. 

I've  seen  some  Broadway  imports  who 
didn't  take  to  Hollywood,  and  vice-versa. 
Barbara  really  belongs.  "But  I  thought," 
she  told  me,  "Hollywood  would  be  mad 
and  hectic.  Big  Parties.  Red  mink  carpets 
rolled  out  for  me.  Lights  in  the  sky.  I 
wasn't  at  all  sure  I  was  going  to  care  for 
all  the  fanfare. 

"And  you  know,  Harriet,"  she  said, 
"nobody  rolled  out  even  an  imitation- 
rabbit  carpet,  or  so  much  as  turned  on  a 
flashlight." 

I  doubt  that  she  minded. 

She  talks  about  getting  in  her  own  house, 
which  isn't  built  yet.  She  and  Carl  bought 
a  level  lot  at  the  top  of  Bel  Air,  and  they 
have  the  most  sensational  view  in  Southern 
California.  Barbara  thinks  it's  silly  to  have 
a  modern  home  with  all  those  windows 
and  nothing  to  look  at  through  the  win- 
dows. 


Before  they  bought,  she  and  Carl  looked 
for  a  ready-built  home,  snooping  around  in 
empty  houses,  peering  in  through  the 
shrubbery  at  some  intriguing  place  that 
said  "no  trespassing"  and  feeling  very 
devilish. 

One  night  at  her  house  I  accused  Bar- 
bara of  being  a  traitor  to  womankind.  She 
was  dressed  in  a  shin-length,  ballerina- 
style  black  number  that  definitely  had  the 
"New  Look."  (Actually  it's  an  old  look  if 
ever  I  saw  one.)  "But  I  like  the  new 
fashions,"  she  said,  just  as  if  I  weren't  her 
producer  and  she  wasn't  a  bit  scared  of  me. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  she  looked  cute  as  a 
speckled  pup,  but  it  would  have  been 
against  the  rules  to  say  so.  She  and  I  haye 
worked  up  an  elaborate  ritual  of  insult. 

You  can  always  get  an  argument  out 
of  her,  whether  it's  about  the  new  fashions, 
or  who  has  the  best  tennis  serve,  or  how 
to  open  a  can  of  beans.  All  you  have  to  do 
is  express  a  viewpoint.  She'll  take  the 
other  side  just  for  fun. 

She's  always  about  to  go  on  a  diet  but 
never  quite  makes  it.  We  were  having  a 
non-diet  lunch  one  day  along  toward  the 
end  of  the  picture.  She  said  to  me  wasn't 
it  customary  for  the  producer  to  give  a 
party  for  the  company  on  the  last  day  of 
shooting.  I  said  not  necessarily — as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  the  stars  often  tossed  a  farewell 
shindig  for  everybody  on  the  picture 
including  the  producer. 

Nothing  came  of  that  part  of  the  conver- 
sation, but  Barbara  did  say  would  I  come 
over  for  dinner  next  week.  I  said  that 
would  be  fine,  that  she  owed  me  a  dinner. 
She  looked  at  me  with  what  would  pass  for 
wide-eyed  surprise  if  you  didn't  know 
La  Bel. 

"Do  you  really  think  I  do?" 

I  told  her  obviously  she  did,  since  she'd 
been  at  my  house  last. 

She  said  all  right,  when  would  I  come, 
the  house  looked  terrible,  those  new  drapes 
she  bought  were  just  awful,  the  cook  was 
off  next  week  and  wouldn't  it  be  more  re- 
laxing for  me  if  we  had  dinner  at  my  house. 
I  told  her  it  wasn't  my  fault  that  she  didn't 
like  her  drapes,  I  wasn't  planning  to  eat 
the  drapes,  and  a  dinner  away  from  home 
in  any  surroundings,  however  primitive, 
was  a  welcome  change. 

It's  hard  to  resist  kidding  Barbara  be- 
cause she  takes  it  as  well  as  she  hands  it 
out.  There  is  no  kidding,  however,  about 
the  fact  that  she  has  a  wonderfully  natural, 
fresh  and  appealing  quality  on  the  screen, 
and  that  she  has  real  impact  as  an  actress. 
She  is  for  my  money  (after  tax  deduc- 
tions, of  course)  the  most  important  new 
find  in  a  good  many  years. 

In  brief,  she's  one  of  the  reasons  pro- 
ducing a  picture  can  be  fun. 


ALIAS  SAM  SPADE 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


Five  minutes  later  the  pilot  stuck  his  head 
out  of  his  cabin  up  forward  again.  "We've 
picked  up  a  hell  of  a  tailwind,"  he  an- 
nounced.  "If  it  holds,  we're  set." 

It  held.  The  briny  never  got  that  plane- 
load, including  our  intrepid  sergeant,  How- 
ard. When  the  war  ended,  radio  got  him, 
and  he  became  that  famous  sleuth  of  the 
air  waves,  Sam  Spade.  But  since  he  had 
only  one  crook  a  week  to  catch  on  this 
program,  he  had  lots  of  extra  time  and 
filled  it  out  by  playing  romantic  heroes 
opposite  some  of  our  loveliest  movie  queens 
on  various  radio  shows.  He  made  love  to 
them  in  a  unique,  rich,  baritone  voice — the 
kind  of  voice  that  breaks  your  heart  be- 
cause you  imagine  its  owner  to  be  tall, 
dark  and  interesting,  and  when  you  catch 
sight  of  him  at  an  actual  broadcast  he  turns 


out  to  be  short,  pallid  and  painfully  woeful. 

But  that's  why  Howard's  voice  was 
unique.  Its  owner  was  tall,  dark  and 
promising.  Things  like  that  get  around  in 
Hollywood  and  the  first  thing  Howard 
knew  he  had  a  movie  contract  to  play 
the  ex-soldier  convict  in  Brute  Force  with 
Burt  Lancaster. 

"Well!  Well!"  said  Howard,  properly 
staggered. 

Between  the  Howard  Duff  of  today  and 
the  Howard  Duff  who  was  born  in  Bremer- 
ton, Washington,  and  raised  in  the  north 
end  of  Seattle  as  a  child,  there  are  great 
differences.  As  a  friend  of  his  says,  "He  is 
six  feet  tall  now,  has  dark  brown  hair  and 
gray-blue  eyes.  But  as  a  kid  he  was  under- 
sized, had  straw-colored  hair  and  was 
always  getting  one  or  the  other  of  his 


THE  NORMAL  WAY 
TO  REDUCE 

MELT  FAT 


Take  Off  Pounds-Take  Off  Inches 


REDUCE 

In  the  Privacy  of  Your  Home 

HOLLY  BATH 

NO  DRUGS! 
NO  LAXATIVES!  j 
NO  EXERCISE! 

Why  not  relax  while  re- 
ducing? Lose  weight  the 
easy   way,   with   this  new 
pleasant,  harmless  method.  «"», 
No  longer  need  you  torture 
yourself  with  violent  exer-  M"s 
cises,  or  take  the  risk  of 
dangerous   drugs    And  no 
more  starvation  diets.  Just  r",ei 
take   a    warm,  soothing 
HOLLY  BATH,  resting  and 
relaxing  for  15  minutes.  By 
following  the  pleasant,  «»' 
healthful   HOLLY  BATH 
method,  you  will  be  de- 
lighted and  amazed  at  the 
way  your  fat   and  bulges  **" 
just  seem  to  melt  away. 

EASY!  HARMLESS! 

If  you  are  normally  overweight,  the 
more  you  use  the  HOLLY  BATH  method, 
the  more  weight  you  lose.  Why  not  re- 
duce the  same  way  so  many  Hollywood 
film  stars  do — the  same  way  used  by  the 
most  expensive  and  exclusive  Hollywood 
Reducing  Salons  —  the  easy,  harmless, 
pleasant  HOLLY  BATH  way.  Say  good- 
bye to  your  fat  and  bulges — to  your  heavy 
waistline  and  hips  — at  a  trifling  cost 
The  HOLLY  BATH  method  is  an  amazing 
new  way  to  reduce  superfluous  fatty 
tissues  on  most  all  parts  of  the  body. 

A  large  size  jar  of 
Special  Formula  HOLLY 
BATH  Body  Cream  and 
"Body  Beautiful"  will  be  included  ab- 
solutely free  with  your  order  for  HOLLY 
BATH.  To  achieve  best  results,  this 
Special  Formula  HOLLY  BATH  Body 
Cream  should  be  used  after  each  HOLLY 
BATH 

Satisfaction  Guaranteed 
or  Your  Money  Refunded! 
10  DAY  NO  RISK  TRIAL! 

Use  the  HOLLY  BATH  method  for  10 
days  at  our  expense.  If  you  are  not  de- 
lighted with  the  loss  of  weight,  if  you 
don't  look  and  feel  better — return  the 
unused  portion  and  your  money  will  be 
refunded  in  full 

CLIP  AND  MAIL  COUPON  TODAY! 


Please  send  me  postpaid,  one  package  of  HOLLY 
BATH  and  large  jar  of  special  formula  HOLLY 
BODY  CREAM  with  "Body  Beautiful."  I  enclose 
$5.00  cash,  check  or  money  order.  If  I  am  not 
delighted  at  the  results  in  10  days  X  may  return 
the  unused  portion  for  a  full  refund.  (Cali- 
fornlans  add  21/2%  Sales  Tax). 


Name  

Address. 


City  Zune  State  

NOTE:  If  ordered  C.O.D.  send  no  money,  pay 
postman  $5.00  plus  postage  and  C.O.D  charges 


loo 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

ALFRED  RYDER, 
who  scores  so 
heavily  as  Joe  in 
T-Men,  was  born 
in  New  York  City 
on  Jan.  5,  1919. 
He  is  5'  WVz"  tall, 
has  brown  eyes 
and  hair,  and  is 
unmarried.  Al 
hails  from  the 
stage,  can  be 
reached,  at  Eagle-Lion  Films,  Holly- 
wood, California. 

ARLENE'  DAHL, 
Rose  of  My  Wild 
Irish  Rose,  was 
born  in  Minne- 
sota on  Aug.  11, 
1925.  She  has 
dark  hair  and 
green  eyes,  is  5'  7" 
tall,  weighs  122 
lbs.  Will  next  be 
seen  in  The  Three 
Musketeers,  and 

can  be  reached  at  M-G-M,  Culver 
City,  Calif. 

JIM  DAVIS,  the 
villain  of  Romance 
of  Rosy  Ridge, 
was  born  in  Dear- 
born, Missouri, 
on  Aug.  26.  He 
is  6'  3"  tall,  weighs 
195  lbs.,  and  has 
blue  eyes  and 
brown  hair.  Big 
break  comes  as 
Bette  Davis'  lead- 
ing man  in  Strange  Meeting.  Write 
to  him  at  Warners,  Burbank,  Calif. 

Pearl  Hollander,  B'klyn:  Here  are  the 
top  ten  males  and  females  in  the  MOD- 
ERN SCREEN  POLL  lor  this  year: 
Larry  Parks  (the  Winnah),  Sinatra, 
Crosby,  Mitchum,  Ladd,  Power,  Gable, 
Wilde,  Johnson,  Peck.  And,  Turner, 
Bergman,  Grable,  Temple,  Allyson, 
Bette  Davis,  Stanwyck,  Crawford,  Hay- 
worth,  and  Ann  Sheridan.  The  ten  box- 
office  champs  (Motion  Picture  Herald 
Poll)  are:  Crosby,  Grable,  Bergman, 
Gary  Cooper,  Bogart,  Hope,  Gable, 
Peck,  Colbert,  and  Ladd.  Previous 
year's  winners  are  NOT  available. 

Rita  R.,  Cinn.:  Jo  Ann  Julian,  Box  964, 
Columbus,  Ohio,  has  the  Burt  Lan- 
caster Club.  Pauline  Schwartz,  1015 
Gerard  Ave.,  Bronx,  N.  Y.,  has  David 
Farrar's.  Betty  Brewer,  9328  Holmby 
Ave.,  L.  A.,  Calif.,  has  Marshall  Thomp- 
son's. 

FREE  OFFER:  ACADEMY  AWARD 
LIST  SINCE  ORIGIN,  and  HOW  TO 
START  A  FAN  CLUB.  Send  self- 
addressed,  stamped  envelope  to  Bev- 
erly Linet,  address  below. 
Have  a  question  on  your  mind?  Send 
it  to  Beverly  Linet,  INFORMATION 
DESK,  MODERN  SCREEN,  149 
Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y .,  to- 
gether with  a  self-addressed,  stamped 
envelope. 

SPECIAL  OFFER 

SUPER-STAR  INFORMATION 
CHART — 1946-'47  (10c)— A  new  edi- 
tion of  the  chart  that's  a  32-page  pocket 
encyclopedia  of  fascinating  data  on  all 
your  favorite  stars.  100  additional 
names  never  before  listed!  Please  send 
10c  in  coin  to  Service  Dept.,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue,  New 
York  16,  N.  Y. 


eyes  smacked  black  or  purplish-green." 

Getting  his  eyes  smacked  during  his  kid 
street-gang  fights  in  Seattle,  Howard 
learned  the  rudiments  of  acting.  "Where 
I  lived,"  he  points  out,  "if  you  could  man- 
age to  act  as  if  you  were  tough  you  would 
only  get  into  fights  with  other  kids  who 
also  looked,  or  maybe  were,  tough.  But 
if  you  tried  to  sneak  around,  everyone 
would  hit  you,  from  softies  on  up." 

So,  for  self-preservation,  Howard  kept  on 
acting  tough  and  did  so  well  that  one  day 
he  found  himself  leader  of  his  own  gang. 
Which  was  fine,  until  a  certain  street  foot- 
ball game  in  which  Howard  was  not  only 
tackled  by  the  opposing  team,  but  by  a 
passing  delivery  truck  as  well.  Score:  two 
broken  legs  and  long  days  indoors  for 
Howard,  during  which,  in  pure  despera- 
tion, he  begged  his  father  to  teach  him 
how  to  play  chess.  But  when  he  had 
learned  the  game,  a  dismaying  thought  hit 
him:  "Gee!  What  will  the  gang  think  when 
they  hear  about  this?" 

He  worried  until  one  afternoon  when  the 
kids  came  to  visit  and  were  standing  about 
his  bed.  Sitting  up  and  sticking  his  chin 
out,  he  told  them  about  the  chess  playing. 

"Not  only  that,"  he  added.  "All  you  guys 
gotta  learn  how  to  play  because  I  need 
action.  I'm  gonna  take  you  on,  one  by 
one!" 

high-school  orator  .  .  . 

By  the  time  Howard  was  ready  to  enter 
high  school,  which  was  in  the  middle  of 
the  depression  'thirties,  he  thought  he 
might  like  to  pick  up  something  on  public 
speaking.  A  friend  advised  him  to  take  a 
course  called  "Oral  Expression." 

He  found  he  liked  to  talk  on  his  feet.  He 
talked  all  through  his  first  three  years,  and, 
as  a  senior,  was  chosen  to  debate  on  capital 
punishment.  Howard  was  supposed  to 
be  pro-capital  punishment  but,  somehow, 
found  himself  quoting  the  famous  "Quality 
of  Mercy"  passage  from  The  Merchant  of 
Venice.  This  lost  him  the  debate  but  won 
him  the  lead  part  in  the  school  play,  Tre- 
lawney  of  the  Wells. 

It  was  at  this  point  that  he  decided  he 
would  like  to  become  an  actor.  Where- 
upon, as  soon  as  he  graduated,  he  offered 
himself  to  the  theater  only  to  be  immedi- 
ately accepted  by  the  Bon  Marche  depart- 
ment store,  as  a  stock-boy.  Three  days  of 
this,  and  he  went  off  to  join  the  Seattle 
Repertory  Playhouse  in  his  spare  time.  He 
didn't  get  any  salary  but  he  got  lots  of 
experience.  Every  night  he  would  soak 
up  new  lines  and  every  day  he  would 
deliver  them,  with  gestures  and  in  his  best 
stentorian  voice,  to  the  inanimate  wax 
models  he  was  draping  in  the  store  win- 
dows. After  a  while,  talking  to  a  silent 
audience  like  this  reminded  him  of  radio 
announcing,  and  he  thought  it'd  be  inter- 
esting to  take  a  crack  at  that.  But  by  the 
time  manhood  had  come,  and  he  was  old 
enough  to  apply  for  an  announcer's  berth, 
there  were  no  openings  in  Seattle.  There 
were  openings  in  San  Francisco,  according 
to  rumor,  and  Howard  saved  up  rail  fare 
and  twenty  dollars  over  to  make  the  jump. 

One  fine  day  he  showed  up  at  a  small 
San  Francisco  station  where  he  was  inter- 
viewed. 

"There  is  a  lot  of  foreign  activity  and 
we're  going  to  try  out  some  extra  news 
broadcasts,"  said  the  station  manager. 
"How  are  you  on  pronouncing  the  names 
of  European  cities  and  statesmen?" 

This  was  no  time  to  quibble,  Howard  de- 
cided.   "Great!"  he  said. 

The  manager  pointed  to  a  large  map  of 
Europe  on  the  wall.  "Just  had  that  put  up 
today,"  he  said.  "Go  over  and  read  off  the 
names  of  some  of  those  cities.  Start  in 
Russia  and  work  into  Poland  and  Rou- 
mania." 

Howard  walked  over  to  the  map  with  an 


uneasy  stomach.  His  first  difficulty  came  in 
locating  Russia.  After  that  he  tried  to  find 
a  town  with  an  easy  name  to  start  with 
but  everyone  he  looked  at  read  worse  than 
the  one  before. 

The  name  of  the  town  he  picked  was 
Dniepropetrovsk.  To  this  day  he  doesn't 
know  how  he  pronounced  it,  except  that 
he  spoke  loudly.  He  went  on,  calling  out 
Zinovievsk,  Sverdlovsk,  Krasnodar  and  a 
few  dozen  choice  others.  A  cry  from  the 
manager  stopped  him  finally. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Howard, 
fearfully.   "Was  I  wrong?" 

"How  would  I  know?",  replied  the  radio 
man  irritably.  "I  forgot  I  didn't  know  a 
thing  about  it  myself!" 

Howard  got  the  job,  but  two  weeks  after 
he  started  he  was  fired.  The  program  just 
wasn't  pulling  any  listeners. 

When  America  entered  the  war,  Howard 
was  playing  "The  Phantom  Pilot,"  on  a 
kiddies  program.  He  had  forgotten  all 
about  international  matters.  But  a  post- 
man reminded  him  with  a  very  official  in- 
vitation to  represent  his  country  on  such 
battlefronts  as  were  available  where  he 
was  nicely  trained  for  the  job. 

One  of  his  big  moments  occurred  on  Iwo 
Jima  when  he  ran  across  a  captured  Jap 
who  had  been  a  next  door  neighbor  to 
Tokyo  Rose,  who  was  even  then  broad- 
casting daily  to  the  G.  I.'s.  Howard  pre- 
pared a  special  broadcast  on  Tokyo  Rose, 
replete  with  dramatic  effects,  for  relay  to 
the  mainland  as  well  as  for  consumption 
of  the  fighting  forces.  Just  as  they  were 
about  to  go  on  the  air  a  detachment  of 
marines  arrived  looking  for  his  star  actor 
— the  captured  Jap. 

"But  you  can't  take  him  now,"  protested 
Howard.    "We're  about  to  broadcast!" 

"He's  leaving  right  now,"  said  the  ma- 
rine officer. 

"How  can  you  say  that?"  pleaded  How- 
ard. "Haven't  you  ever  heard  that  the 
show  must  go  on?" 

"Sure,"  came  the  answer.  "But  there's 
only  one  show  going  on  around  here  that 
counts.    The  war." 

Well,  when  that  show  was  over — and 
Howard  was  in  it  for  almost  five  long  years 
— he  hustled  right  back  to  Hollywood  and 
The  Phantom  Pilot  again.  That's  when 
Bill  Spier,  who  produces  Sam  Spade,  got 
the  idea  that  Howard  was  his  man. 

He  is  content  and  happy  now;  only  one 
thing  really  bothers  him — a  fear  of  high 
places.  He  is  looking  for  a  hilltop  house 
and  is  going  to  spend  so  much  on  it  that 
he'll  just  have  to  get  over  his  phobia  in 
order  to  make  his  investment  worthwhile. 

to  live  alone?  .  .  . 

That  brings  up  another  matter.  Is  he 
going  to  live  up  there  all  alone,  a  single 
man?  He's  a  little  cagey  about  that  ques- 
tion. Once  there  was  a  flash  that  he  was 
engaged  to  Yvonne  de  Carlo,  but  by  the 
time  people  got  around  to  investigating  it, 
the  engagement  was  off. 

More  recently,  he  has  been  seen  escort- 
ing other  young  ladies.  There  was  one  star 
whom  he  wanted  very  much  to  meet  in 
Hollywood,  but  before  it  could  be  arranged, 
he  had  to  leave  for  New  York  where  The 
Naked  City  was  to  be  shot. 

A  couple  of  weeks  later,  in  New  York, 
he  was  seated  in  a  restaurant  when  he 
heard  his  name  called.  Turning  around 
xhe  saw  a  friend  coming  up  with  a  girl. 
You  guessed  it — she  was  the  girl  Howard 
had  missed  meeting  in  Hollywood. 

Who  was  she?  Howard  won't  say.  But 
one  night,  after  he  got  back  to  Hollywood 
and  was  rehearsing  another  Sam  Spade 
show,  he  was  asked  to  think  up  a  name 
for  a  new  character.  And  people  who 
tuned  in  the  show  that  night  heard  the 
new  character  introduced  as  Dr.  Gardner 
— Dr.  A.  V.  A.  Gardner,  to  be  exact! 


SHE  FRAMES  some  of  America's  most  FAMOUS  FACES 


Noted  hat  designer 


agrees 

" EXPERIENCE  IS  TOE  BEST  TEACHER 

...in  making  a  hat. ..in  choosing 
a  cigarette,  too!" 


"Sonnet  Bonnet"  is 
as  emphatically  American 
as  the  Pilgrims'  original. 
Mary  Goodfellow 
concocted  this  1948 
version  of  white  lacy 
straw  and  cabbage  roses. 


"Gibson  Girl  Sailor" 
comes  a  little  after  Easter 
.  .  .  with  your  favorite 
shantung  or  linen. 
A  multicolor  straw  that 
carries  its  audacious 
bow  knowingly. 


'4E<aster  Coquette,"  of  which 
Mary  Goodfellow  says; 
"Experience  has  taught  me 
that  the  hat  must  be  made  for 
the  face,  for  the  woman 
.  .  .for  the  occasion." 


"/  learned  from  experience  that  coot,  mild 

Camels  suit  me  best!" says  Mary  Goodfellow 

Mary  Goodfellow  studied  music  and  fine  arts  in  Paris  . . . 
stayed  to  learn  the  "hat  business."  Some  years  . . .  and  much 
experience  later  . . .  we  find  her  here  at  the  left  in  her 
Manhattan  salon,  creating  bonnets  for  American  Beauties. 
"My  cigarette?"  queries  Miss  Goodfellow.  "A  choice  of 
experience  too  .  .  .  Camel !  I  tried  many  different  brands  . . . 
and  I  learned  from  experience  that  Camels  suit  me  best ! " 


Let  your  frT-Zone"  tell  you  why! 
T  for  Taste... 
T  for  Throat.. 


ore  people  are  smobitig 
than  ever  before  f 

YOU  MIGHT  or  might  not  recognize  a  Mary 
Goodfellow  hat,  but  you'd  recognize  her 
cigarette  .  .  .  Camel. 

And  wherever  you  turn,  you'll  find  more  and 
more  people  smoking  Camels  than  ever  before ! 

Why?  Let  your  "T-Zone"  tell  you.  (That's  T  for 
Taste  and  T  for  Throat.)  Let  your  taste  tell  you 
about  Camel's  marvelous  flavor.  Let  your  throat 
discover  that  wonderful  Camel  mildness  and 
coolness.  See  for  yourself  why,  with  smokers  who 
have  tried  and  compared,  Camels  are  the 
"choice  of  experience." 

According  to  a  Nationwide  survey: 

More  Doctors  Smoke  Camels 
than  any  other  cigarette 

When  113,597  doctors  from  coast  to  coast  —  in  every  field  of  medicine 
—  were  asked  by  three  independent  research  organizations  to  name  the 
cigarette  they  smoked,  more  doctors  named  Camel  than  any  other  brand  ! 


that's  your 
proving  ground 
for  any 
cigarette.  ^ 
See  if  Camels 
don't  suit  your 
"T-Zone" 
to  a  "T." 


Wh  e  missing  Bergman  pictures! 

modern  screen 


©C1B  129301 


Yvonne  De  Carlo 

in  Marston  Production's 

"CASBAH" 

A  Universal-International  Release 


Pan-Cake*  Make-Up 
and 

Face  Powder 
color  harmonized 
to  your 
natural  skin 
*   color  tones 


Amber! . .  .wonderfully  beautiful, wonder- 
fully different. .  .a  flattering,  glamorous  new 
color  tone  created  by  the  genius  of  Max 
Factor  Hollywood  in  both  Pan- Cake  Make-Up 
and  Face  Powder.  Whatever  your  natural 
skin  tone  there's  an  Amber  shade  for  you... a 
dream  color  to  give  you  new  radiant  beauty. 

New  glamour  awaits  you  tonight.  Choose 
the  shade  of  Pan- Cake  Make-Up  and  Face 
Powder  for  your  skin  color  tone... see  for 
yourself  how  much  lovelier  you  will  look. 

AMBER  NO.  1 

FOR  FAIR  AND  CREAMY  SKINS 

AMBER-ROSE 

FOR    MEDIUM  SKINS 

AMBER  NO.  2 

FOR  DEEP  OLIVE  SKINS 
ALSO  NINE  OTHER  COLOR  HARMONY  SHADES  AVAILABLE 


'Pan-Cake  (trademark)  means 
Max  Factor  Hollywood  Cake  Make-Up 


'OX 


Color  Harmony  Make-Up. . .  pan-cake  brand  make-up  •  powder  •  rouge  •  lipstick 


RON  RANDELL  -  WILLARD  PARKER 

Screenplay  by  to«#llb  MocFarlan*  and  St.  Clair  McKelway 

Directed  by  HENRY  IEVIN  •  A  CASEY  ROBINSON  PRODUCTION 


/ 


■ 


Advertisement 
*         ★         ★         ★  * 

Don't  be 
Half-safe! 

by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 

At  the  first  blush  of  womanhood  many  mys- 
terious changes  take  place  in  your  body.  For 
instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under  your 
arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type  of  perspi- 
ration you  have  never  known  before.  This  is 
closely  related  to  physical  development  and 
causes  an  unpleasant  odor  on  both  your  per- 
son and  your  clothes. 

There  is  nothing  "wrong"  with  you.  It's  just 
another  sign  you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a 
girl  ...  so  now  you  must  keep  yourself  safe 
with  a  truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers —Underarm  odor  is  a  real  handi- 
cap at  this  romantic  age,  and  the  new  cream 
deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially  to  over- 
come this  very  difficulty.  It  kills  this  odor 
on  contact  in  2  seconds,  then  by  antiseptic 
action  prevents  the  formation  of  all  odor  for  i 
48  hours  and  keeps  you  shower-bath  fresh. 
It  also  stops  perspiration  and  so  protects 
against  a  second  danger— perspiration  stains. 
Since  physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  can  now  cause  your  apocrine  glands 
to  fairly  gush  perspiration,  a  dance,  a  date, 
an  embarrassing  remark  may  easily  make 
you  perspire  and  offend,  or  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  are  not  alike  — so  remember 
—  no  other  deodorant  tested  stops  perspira- 
tion and  odor  so  completely  yet  so  safely  as 
new  Arrid.  Its  safety  has  been  proved  by 
doctors.  That's  why  girls  your  age  buy  more 
Arrid  than  any  other  age  group.  In  fact,  more 
men  and  women  everywhere  use  Arrid  than 
any  other  deodorant.  It's  antiseptic,  used  by 
117,000  nurses. 

Intimate  protection  is  needed  —  so  protect 
yourself  with  this  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears.  This  new  Arrid 
is  never  gritty  or  grainy,  will  not  crystallize 
or  dry  out  in  jar.  The  American  Laundering 
Institute  has  awarded  Arrid  its  Approval 
Seal  —  harmless  to  fabrics.  It  will  not  rot 
clothing.  And  it's  safe  for  the  skin  —  non- 
irritating  —  can  be  used  right  after  shaving. 

Don't  be  ha  If- safe.  During  this  "age  of  ro- 
mance" don't  let  perspiration  problems  spoil 
your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe  — be  Arrid-safe! 
Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get  Arrid  now  at  your 
favorite  drug  counter  —  only  39^  plus  tax. 


v 

MAY,  1948 

modern  screen 

stories 

THE  FATHER'S  DOING  NICELY.  THANK  YOU!  '.  by  Dana  Andrews  24 

NOW  IT  CAN  BE  TOLD  (Frank  Sinatra)  by  Quentin  Reynolds  27 

PETER  (Peter  Lawford)  by  Lady  May  Lawford  28 

CROWN  PRINCESS  (Shirley  Temple)  by  Hedda  Hopper  30 

AUDREY  FACES  LIFE  (Audrey  Totter)  by  Arthur  L.  Charles  32 

DOUBLE  TROUBLE  by  Susan  Hayward  34 

A  MOTHER'S  DAYS  (Bing  Crosby)  by  Catherine  Crosby  36 

COME  INTO  MY  PARLOR   by  Gregory  Peck  38 

CLOSE-UP  (Joan  Crawford)  by  Norbert  Lusk  40 

JOHNNY  ON  THE  SPOT  (John  Garfield)....  by  Virginia  Wilson  42 

"WHY  WE  LEFT  EACH  OTHER"  (Cornel  Wilde)  by  Ida  Zeitlin  44 

PARIS  ALBUM  by  Jean-Pierre  Aumont  46 

ACCENT  ON  OXFORDS  (Dorothy  McGuire)  by  David  Chandler  48 

THE  MISSING  BERGMAN  PICTURES!  (Ingrid  Bergman)   50 

".  .  .  AND  THE  LIVIN'  IS  EASY"  (Bob  Mitchum)  by  Carl  Schroeder  54 

I'M  JUNE'S  GUARDIAN  ANGEL  (June  Allyson)  by  Maggie  McCarthy  56 

STORY  OF  A  KISS  (Burt  Lancaster)  by  Howard  Sharpe  61 

features 

TO  OUR  READERS   4 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons  6 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "The  Paradine  Case"   14 


departments 

REVIEWS  by  Virginia  Wilson  16 

INFORMATION  DESK  by  Beverly  Linet  25 

FASHION  by  Constance  Bartel  67 

BEAUTY:  "The  Schoolgirl  Complexion"  by  Carol  Carter  90 

THE  FANS  by  Shirley  Frohlich  92 

MUSIC:   "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  108 

COVER  PORTRAIT  OF  INGRID  BERGMAN 
BY  NICKOLAS  MURAY 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor  HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


-  TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
ISABEL  SCHLEYEN,  assistant  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  information  desk 
CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 

GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 

BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 

DON  ORNITZ.  staff  photographer 

BERT  PARRY,  n.  y.  staff  photographer 

JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 

GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 

IRENE  TURNER,  research  editor 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  149  Madison  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 

Vol.  36,  No.  6,  May,  1948.  Copyright,  1948,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  149  Madison  Ave..  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada,  international 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for. the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in 
U.  S.  A.  and  Canada  $1.80  a  year;  elsewhere  $9.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930, 
at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for 
the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


*         *         *         *  * 


WALTER  SLEZAK  •  Gladys  cooper  •  Reginald  owen  •  *«  b»  COLE  PORTER 

TCPUMIPMflD  Screen  Play  by  Based  on  the  play  by  Dance  Direction  by 

Color  by  ItUnlllUULUK  *  ALBERT  HACKETT  and  FRANCES  GOODRICH   *   S.  N.  BEHRMAN    *   ROBERT  ALTON  and  GENE  KELLY 

Directed  by  VINCENTE  MINNELLI  •  Produced  by  ARTHUR  FREED  •  A  METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


0 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  particles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safely!" 


MTER-Thanks  to  Colgate  Dental  Cream 


THE  LAST  TIME  I  bragged  about  an  issue  of  Modern  Screen  was  ! 
way  back  in  January,  1947.  Since  then,  I've  been  almost  too  busy.  1 
Tracking  down  the  lost  Bergman,  for  instance.  Probably  you  never 
even  knew  she  was  lost,  but  Henry  and  I — we  got  the  lowdown.  Ever 
since  we  ran  Ingrid's  life  story  in  August,  1943,  we've  known  there  was 
a  cache  of  Bergman  art  in  Sweden.  We  talked  about  it.  1943,  we  talked.  , 
1944,  we  talked.    1945,  we  were  still  talking.   This  year,  I  turned  to 
Henry  Malmgreen.    "Look,"  I  said,  "you  being  an  old  Swede,  why 
don't  you  fly  to  Stockholm  and  bribe  the  royal  family?"   So  he 
went,  he  snooped,  and  he  came  back  with  a  fistful  of  pictures  and  a 
story  even  I  don't  believe.    All  about  how  he  outwitted  policemen, 
tortured  embassy  guards  till  they  talked,  etc.    Still,  he's  happy  with 
his  story,  I'm  happy  with  the  pictures,  and  we  hope  you'll  be  the  same. 

I  JUST  LOOKED  in  my  memo  book.  It  says,  "Delacorte,  don't  stop 
bragging  after  Bergman;  go  on."  So  I  will.  Take  this  "Who's  Who  in 
Hollywood"  magazine,  compiled  by  the  editors  of  Modern  Screen. 
It  has  a  thousand  names,  a  thousand  faces.  If  you're  curious  about 
Vladimir  Sokoloff  or  Maria  Ouspenskaya  "Who's  Who"  is  your  dish. 
Besides,  this  is  the  first  edition  in  eight  years;  it'll  take  eight  more 
before  we  have  the  strength  to  do  another. 

AND  I'M  STILL  not  finished  bragging.  Because  it  isn't  every  day  a 
big  shot  like  Quentin  Reynolds'll  get  excited  enough  to  drop  Alida  Valli 
and  pick  up  a  typewriter  for  MS.  You  know  Reynolds — war  cor- 
respondent for  Collier's,  lecturer,  big  battler  for  ideals.  Well,  he 
wrote  the  script  (with  Ben  Hecht)  for  Miracle  of  the  Bells.  That's  [ 
where  Valli  comes  in — and  Frank  Sinatra — and  our  story.  Quentin 
fought  to  get  Frankie  the  Father  Paul  role  in  Miracle  and  he  tells 
you  why  on  page  27.   MS  motto:   Get  it  from  the  horse's  mouth. 

AND  WHILE  I'M  on  that  tack,  take  a  look  at  the  gem  of  a  piece 
we've  got  by  Mrs.  Catherine  Crosby.  She  says  it  may  be  true  what 
they  say  about  Dixie,  but  they've  got  Dixie's  old  man  all  wrong. 
Bing's  not  lazy.  Bing  did  have  a  singing  teacher — and  anything  you  I 
read  about  him  in  the  papers  is  more  than  likely  untrue.  Anything 
•you  read  about  him  in  MS,  though — ah,  that's  a  different  story.  .  .  . 

ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE 


with KIERON  MOORE*  SALLY  ANN  HOWES  (permission  of  the  J.  Arthur  Kank  Organization] 
a*«*^JULIEN  DUVIVIER  •  A  London  Film  Production  •  Released  by  20th  Century-Fox 


LOUELLA 
PARSONS 


Roy  and  Dale  Rogers  were  happy  newlyweds  at  Look  Award 
Party.  London's  offered  them  $15,000  per  week  for  appear- 
ance at  Palladium.  Cheryl,  7,  may  act  in  Bob  Hope  movie. 


Roz  Russell  (with  hubby  Fred  Brisson)  won  Look's  prize,  as 
outstanding  actress,  for  Mourning  Becomes  Electro,  also 
holds  the   Motion   Picture  Society's  non-divorce  citation. 


■  Mrs.  Mark  Stevens  now  says,  "I  realize  that 
Hedy  Lamarr  did  not  break  up  our  marriage 
when  Mark  and  I  separated  the  first  time.  No 
one  ever  breaks  up  a  marriage  when  fwo 
people  want  to  stay  married." 

These  wise  and  sage  words  were  told  me 
by  Annelle  after  the  Stevens  reconciliation 
failed  to  take  and  they  not  only  parted  for  the 
second  time — she  is  going  through  with  a 
divorce. 

There  is  no  longer  a  chance  in  the  world 
that  they  will  get  back  together. 

But,  if  anything  good  ever  comes  of  a  di- 
vorce, I  think  it  is  that  Mark's  wife  is  no 
longer  bitter  about  their  parting.  The  first 
time,  she  was  almost  hysterical  in  her  de- 
nunciation of  Hollywood.  She  was  convinced 
that  if  she  and  Mark  had  never  come  here. 


they  would  have  been  happy  forever.  She  is 
a  Southern  girl  and  a  non-professional  and  in 
that  first  big  heartache,  she  unfairly  blamed 
everything  and  everyone  she  could  for  their 
parting. 

But  now  she  knows  it  isn't  a  town  or  a 
career  that  comes  between  people.  "It's  the 
people  who  fail,"  she  says,  a  little  sadly. 
*        *  * 

I'm  not  blaming  Frank  Sinatra  for  the  antics 
of  his  fan  club  in  San  Francisco,  but  if  it  is 
humanly  possible  for  him  to  do  something 
he  should  take  action  with  these  misguided 
zealots. 

All  right,  so  they  adoooore  Frankie  and 
think  he  is  the  One  and  Only.  That  is  no 
excuse  <or  their  disgraceful  conduct  staging 
minor  riots  against  every  other  popular  singer 


who  tries  to  make  a  theater  appearance 
there. 

What  happened  to  Kathryn  Grayson  and 
Johnnie  Johnston  was  disgraceful.  They  were' 
heckled  in  the  lobby  of  their  hotel  by  teen- 
agers chanting  "We  want  Frankie,  we  want 
Frankie." 

It  was  even  worse  when  they  arrived  at 
the  Golden  Gate  Theatre.  The  Sinatraites 
were  getting  so  out  of  hand  that  the  theater 
manager  had  to  call  the  police  and  have 
them  clear  the  entrance  to  the  house.  Luckily, 
few  of  them  got  inside  to  spoil  Johnnie's  and 
Kathryn's  performance. 

But  the  little  Grayson  girl  had  such  a  case 
of  the  jitters,  she  refused  to  leave  her  dressing 
room  between  shows. 

I  know  that  Frankie  doesn't  want  this  kind 


Bob  Mitchum  and  Barbara  Bel  Geddes,  who'll  be  co-starred  in  Blood 
on-4he  Moon,  were  table-mates  at  the  Look  Party,  held  at  Crystal  Room 
of  Beverly  Hills  Hotel.  Bob  denied  he  and  wife  Dot  were  separating. 


Most  romantic  twosome  at  Crystal  Room  shindig  were  Howard  Duff  and 
Ava  Gardner.  Ava  copped  Look  Award  for  being  "rising  young  star  of 
1947,"  although  columnist  Lois  Andrews  called  her  "sloppy"  off-screen. 


When  Lon  McCallister  turned  up  with  Ann  Blyth  at  the  Crystal  Room 
affair,  he  spiked  rumors  of  his  serious  romance  with  Peggy  Ann  Garner. 
Ann's  excited  over  a  lead  in  Bill  Powell's  Mr.  Peabody  and  the  Mermaid. 


Jane  Powell  and  Elizabeth  Taylor  exchanged  pleasantries  with  Gov.  Earl 
Warren  of  Calif.,  at  Look's  banquet.  Janie's  going  to  announce  her 
engagement  to  Tom  Batten  in  2  years — when  she's  21.   Liz  was  16  in  Feb. 


of  demonstration  any  more  than  the  authorities 
and  his  real  admirers  but  I  am  afraid  he  is 
going  to  have  to  do  something  definite  to 
stop  it. 

*        *  * 

Bets  are  there  is  no  real  romantic  interest 
between  Deanna  Durbin  and  Vincent  Price 
although  they  are  seen  together  frequently. 
Her  real  new  "heart"  is  said  to  be  Charles 
David,  a  young  man  who  looks  amazingly 
like  her  first  husband,  Vaughn  Paul.  I  under- 
stand the  new  beau  is  a  writer. 

Well,  they  say  we  gals  fall  for  the  same 
type  over  and  over,  and  maybe  it's  true. 

I  am  beginning  to  be  convinced  that  I  have 
the  most  devastating  effect  on  Jane  Wyman. 
When  I  arrived  early  at  Joan  Crawford's 
sensational  party  for  Noel  Coward,  at  Le 


Papillon,  Jane  was  standing  in  the  entrance 
to  the  cocktail  room.  One  look  at  me  and  she 
turned  and  dashed  out — not  to  return  for  the 
entire  evening — as  though  Beelzebub  was 
after  her. 

On  another  occasion,  at  a  party,  she  burst 
into  tears  when  I  came  in! 

Of  course,  it  is  all  because  she  knows  how 
I  feel  about  her  divorce  from  Ronald  Beagan. 
If  ever  a  lady  was  mixed-up,  it  is  this  one. 

But,  thank  Heavens,  my  entrance  didn't 
have  such  a  frightening  effect  on  the  299  other 
guests,  who  rallied  around  for  what  Joan 
called  her  "one  party  of  the  year"  invited  to 
meet  her  honored  guest,  her  old  friend,  Noel 
Coward. 

Even  though  Joan  had  taken  over  the  swank 
new  Beverly  Hills  night  club  for  the  occasion, 


her  personal  touches  in  such  good  taste,  were 
noted  everywhere.  I  have  never  seen  such 
flowers — white  orchids  and  red  camellias 
were  the  chief  decor — and  Joan  must  have 
corralled  every  bloom  in  town. 

That  girl  is  graciousness  and  charm  itself 
as  a  hostess  and  she  is  very  witty.  Her  famed 
guest  of  honor  might  well  have  written  some 
of  her  best  bon  mots  himself.  She  is  also 
a  lady  who  makes  up  her  own  rules,  for  only 
Joan  would  have  had  the  daring  to  seat  the 
man  of  her  heart,  Greg  Bautzer,  on  her  right — 
and  Noel,  on  her  left — and  have  invited  two 
of  her  ex-husbands,  Franchot  Tone  and  Doug- 
las Fairbanks  Jr.  to  attend! 

I'm  sure  you  must  have  read  a  great  deal 
about  this  party  for  it  attracted  great  interest. 
Imagine  George  Burns,  Jack  Benny  and  Robert 


DeLong  Bob  Pins  hold  your  hair  as  firmly 
as  a  thriller  holds  your  attention  . . . 
The  Stronger  Grip  DeLong  boasts  about  is 
no  mere  slogan  dreamed-up  by  ad-writers 
. . .  It's  a  fact  as  cold  and  hard  as  the 
high-carbon  steel  that  goes  into  these 
quality  bob  pins  . . .  Try  them  and  see  how 
much  better  DeLong  Bob  Pins  stay  in 
your  hair,  how  much  longer  they  keep  their 
strength  and  springy  action . . .  You'll 
never  go  back  to  the  wishy-washy  kind  of 
bob  pin  that's  in  your  hair  one  minute  and 
in  your  lap  the  next.  Always  remember— 


Stronger  Grip 

•  Won't  Slip  Out 


YOUR  FAVORITE  VARIETY  STORES  ARE  FEATURING 
DE  LONG  BOB  PINS  DURING  NATIONALLY  ADVER- 
TISED BRANDS  WEEK.  APRIL  9-19. 


Taylor  as  m.c's  and  such  high-powered  stars 
as  Judy  Garland,  Dinah  Shore  and  Celeste 
Holm  obliging  with  song  after  song,  with  Noel 
Coward  giving  with  a  new  number. 

An  interesting  little  sidelight  of  romantic 
goings-on  was  furnished  by  Diana  Lynn,  who 
came  in  with.  Bob  Neal  and  sat  right  next  to 
Fred  Clark  who  is  her  escort  whenever  she 
and  Bob  get  in  those  frequent  tiffs  of  theirs. 
But  what  had  everyone  giggling  is — the  girl 
with  Clark  looked  exactly  like  Diana! 

It  would  take  the  rest  of  this  column  to  list 
who  was  there  but  a  few  highlights  were  .  .  . 
Clifton  Webb,  the  fashion  plate,  in  a  plum 
colored  dinner  jacket  .  .  .  June  Allyson  in  an 
almost  too-modest  dinner  gown,  a  blouse 
effect  with  long  sleeves  and  a  Peter  Pan 
collar  (Junie,  are  we  going  to  have  to  go  back 
to  reminding  you  to  dress  up  more?)  .  .  . 
Barbara  Stanwyck's  beautiful  un-ashamed 
gray  hair  in  a  new  short  cut  .  .  .  Mary 
Livingstone  Benny's  new  diamond  ring  that 


looks  like  diamond  netting  .  .  .  the  startling 
blue  of  Mrs.  Ray  Milland's  gown,  and  John 
Hodiak,  surprising  a  lot  of  people  by  making 
some  of  the  wittiest  remarks  of  the  evening. 
I  never  knew  he  had  such  a  terrific  sense  of 
humor. 

*        *  * 

The  Hollywood  invalids  at  Palm  Springs  ! 
were  certainly  on  the  glamorous  side.  One 
week-end,  soaking  up  the  sun  around  the  \ 
pool  at  the  Racquet  Club  were  the  Errol  | 
Flynns,  Clark  Gable,  the  Paul  Lukases,  Ava 
Gardner,  June  Haver  and  Jane  Russell. 

Errol  Flynn  who  had  been  so  sick  his  boss 
didn't  know  when  he  would  be  able  to  return  ! 
to  finish  Adventures  of  Don  Juan  improved 
so  rapidly  in  the  desert  that  he  tossed  a  ' 
party  for  his  ailing  co-workers  before  he  left,  i 

He  and  Nora  had  cocktails  in  their  bunga- 
low and  thought  up  a  hundred  amusing  gags. 
They  borrowed  an  operating  table  from  the 
local  hospital  and  used  it  for  a  cocktail  table. 


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want  to  know  how  you  feel  about  the  stars.  You  know  how  we  feel  about  you! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  May  issue?  WRITE  THE 
NUMBERS  I,  2  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES. 


Now  It  Can  Be  Told  (Frank 

Sinatra)  by  Quentin  Reynolds .  .  □ 

The  Father's  Doing  Nicely,  Thank 
You!  by  Dana  Andrews  □ 

Crown  Princess  (Shirley  Temple) 
by  Hedda  Hopper  □ 

Peter  by  Lady  May  Lawford  □ 

And  The  Liviri  Is  Easy  (Bob 

Mitchum)  «.  □ 

Story  Of  A  Kiss  (Burt  Lancaster)  □ 

Johnny  On  The  Spot  (John 

Garfield)  □ 

Double  Trouble  (Susan  Hayward)  □ 

Audrey  Faces  Life  (Audrey  Totter)  □ 


"Why  We  Left  Each  Other" 

(Cornel  Wilde)  □ 

Come  Into  My  Parlor  by  Gregory 
Peck   □ 

Accenr  On  Oxfords  (Dorothy 

McGuire)   □ 

The  Missing  Bergman  Pictures! .  □ 

Close-Up  (Joan  Crawford)  □ 

Paris  Album  by  Jean  Pierre 

Aumont  □ 

A  Mother's  Days  (Bing  Crosby)  by 

Catherine  Crosby   □ 

"I'm  June's  Guardian  Angel"  (June 

Allyson)  by  Maggie  McCarthy  □ 
Louella  Parsons'  Good  News ....  □ 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues:  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,   in   order  of  preference  

What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  


My  name  is.  . 
My  address  is 
City  


Zone . 


Stote. 


  I  am   years  old 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT..  MODERN  SCREEN 
149  MADISON  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


"Alive  or  dead . . 

I  want  that 
man!  He  knows 
too  much!" 


"All  I  want  is 
his  arms  around  me! 


'Only  I  know  whether  he's 
guilty ...  or  innocent!" 


'Next  to  his  wife . . , 
I  know  him  "best 


"I'll  get  him... 
before  the  cops  do!' 


"Nothing  on  earth 
can  ever  make  me 

tell  them  what  I 
know  about 
him!" 


THE  BIG  CLOCK 


RAY 


MILLMD 

CHARLES 

LAUGHTON 


wkh  Maureen  O'Sullivan  •  George  Macready  •  Rita  Johnson 

and  Elsa  Lanchester  •  Harold  Vermilyea  •  p  roduced  by  Richard  Maibaum  •  Directed  by  JOHN  FARROW 

Screen  Play  by  Jonathan  Latimer  •  Based  on  the  Novel  by  Kenneth  Fearing  •  A  Paramount  Picture 


Down  by  the  swimming  pool  at  the  Racquet  Club  the  sun  is 
hot  and  the  decoration  is  former  Powers  model  Candy  Tox- 
ton  with  Tony  Martin.  Candy's  signed  an  M-G-M  contract. 


It's  a  love  game  when  Bob  Stack  takes  to  the  tennis  courts  at  Charles  Farrell's  Racquet 
Club  in  Palm  Springs.  Bob  also  loves  to  water-skate — it's  an  invention  of  his  own. 
Puts    light    cork    soles    on    his    feet,    ties    rope-line    +o    motorboat    and    hangs  on! 


LOUELLA  PARSONS'  GOOD  NEWS 


Rory  Calhoun  and  Vera-Ellen  (left)  took  in  tennis  matches 
at  Los  Angeles  Tennis  Club,  then  went  to  Ciro's  where  they 
chatted  with  Peggy  Lee  who  opened  singing  engagement. 


There  were  wheel  chairs  to  hold  all  the 
guests  and  thermometers  were  all  over  the 
place  serving  as  place  cards. 

Well.  I'm  glad  Errol  feels  well  enough  to 
be  kidding  like  that  because,  believe  me,  he 
was  a  very  sick  boy. 

*  *  & 

The  funniest  crack  of  the  month  was  pulled 
by  John  Wayne.  Someone  asked  him  how  he 
liked  making  Tycoon  with  Laraine  Day 
right  at  the  height  of  the  Day-Durocher  matri- 
monial tangle. 

Leo  was  on  the  set  constantly  and  always 
seemed  to  be  on  hand  while  the  love  scenes 
were  being  shot. 

"It  was  tough,"  admitted  John,  "every  time 
I  kissed  Laraine,  Durocher  looked  like  some- 
body had  just  stolen  third  base." 

*  *  * 

Close-Up  of  Rory  Calhoun:  He  rests  his  chin 
against  the  hair  of  the  girls  he  dances  with 
...  He  doesn't  like  his  dates  too  tall.  Vera 
Ellen  is  the  favorite  of  the  moment.  ...  He 
•likes  to  buy  clothes  for  the  ladies  he  admires, 
an  unusual  trait  in  any  gent.  He  just  gave 
Vera  a  ballerina  skirt  made  of  suede  with 
matching  bag  and  gloves.  He  has  also  bought 


her  several  charming  hats.  ...  He  drives  his 
friends  mad  eating  lemons.  And  peels  them 
just  like  they  were  oranges.  .  .  .  For  some 
reason  he  is  convinced  that  he  needs  more 
self-discipline  and  does  a  lot  of  things  he 
doesn't  like  such  as  taking  ice  cold  showers, 
eating  "health"  vegetables,  taking  walks,  be- 
ing polite  to  dreadful  bores  and  reading 
books  that  do  not  interest  him.  A  psychiatrist 
might  find  all  this  interesting.  .  .  .  He  gets  in 
an  argument  at  the  drop  of  a  hint  that  Van 
Johnson  is  "through"  as  a  big  favorite.  He 
considers  Van  a  top  actor  who  will  go  on  to 
even  finer  acting  heights  now  that  the  "hys- 
teria" about  him  is  over.  ...  In  the  daytime 
he  "slops"  around  in  sweaters  and  old  slacks, 
but  is  always  perfectly  groomed  at  night.  He 
is  the  hostess'  delight  in  being  agreeable 
even  about  donning  black-tie  in  the  evening. 
.  .  .  He  has  a  charming,  confidential  speaking 
voice  that  makes  everything  he  says  sound 
intimate.  One  ex-flame  of  his  said,  "Rory  can 
say  'it's  a  nice  day'  and  it  sounds  like  he 
had  said,  'I  love  you'." 

*        *  * 
That  gay,  giddy  girl  June  Havoc  gave  the 
fun  party  of  the  month — a  sort  of  belated 


wedding  party,  as  it  were.  When  she  and 
Bill  Spier  were  married,  they  had  no  time  to 
invite  their  friends  to  a  shindig  bi»t  they 
certainly  made  up  for  it  when  they  DID  get 
around  to  having  a  celebration. 

June  and  Bill  borrowed  Mitch  Leisen's 
studio,  hired  a  hot  jazz  band  and  summoned 
their  playmates.  What  a  party!  Some  of  the 
most  dignified  people  in  our  town  were 
competing  in  the  dance  contests. 

The  old  "Charleston"  was  brought  back 
with  a  vengeance.  Some  of  the  younger  fry 
didn't  know  how,  but  that  didn't  keep  them 
from  getting  up  and  shaking  a  mean  leg.  I  re- 
membered the  steps  you  bet — and  did  a  little 
contesting  myself. 

Honesty  compels  me  to  report  that  two 
couples  were  better — Gene  Tierney  and  Cesar 
Romero  and  Mrs.  Van  Heflin  (who  is  cute 
enough  to  be  on  the  screen  herself)  and  Billy 
Daniels. 

The  "sweetheart  waltz"  was  won  by  Anne 
Baxter  (is  that  girl  thin  and  glamorous  these 
evenings?)  and  John  Hodiak.  Robert  Mont- 
gomery who  is  always  very  dignified,  sat  on 
the  sidelines  and  applauded  loudly. 

It  was  one  of  those  parties  that  go  on  until 


\  w  *     \   K  i  \  i 


It 


'J'      /  / 

11  / 


SI, 


Cl 


tth 


'A  Pretty, 
Baby 


4' 


4: 


5  h  *'  yV*| 


t/ 


5? 


from. 
Dixie 

ft 


DIRECTED  BY 


JAMES  V.  KERN 


SCREEN  PLAY  BY  PETER  MILNE  •  SUGGESTED  BY  A  STORY  BY  JOE  UURIE.  JR.  •  MUSIC  ARRANGED  AND  ADAPTED  BY  RAY  HEINDORF 


PRODUCED  BY 

WILLIAM  JACOBS 


11 


LOUELLA  PARSONS' 
GOOD  NEWS 


At  premiere  of  Cass  Timberlane,  Spencer  Tracy  and  son  John  got  Con- 
grats. That  night  a  John  Tracy  Clinic  short  subject  dealing  with  deaf  kids 
was  run  off,  received  good  notices.  Made  with  co-op  of  Disney  Studios. 


Latest  about  Bob  Topping  and  Lana  is  they'll  marry  after  his  divorce 
from  Arline  Judge  is  final.  They've  been  avoiding  nightclubs  lately, 
but  Lana  came  out  for  Cass  Timberlane  with  Bob  and  new  diamonds. 


the  sun  comes  up.  At  midnight,  Chinese  food 
was  served  and  it  was  delicious. 

Gene  Tierney  came  to  the  party  with 
Charles  Feldman,  the  producer-agent — and 
thereby  hangs  a  story.  She  is  dividing  her 
dates  now  between  Charlie  and  her  ex-hus- 
band, Oleg  Cassini,  and  it's  hard  to  say  which 
one  will  win  out.  Speaking  of  Oleg,  I  don't 
think  he  helped  his  chances  any  with  that 
nightclub  fist  fight  with  Xavier  Cugat. 

It  is  amusing  that  Sam  Wanamaker  and 
Lilli  Palmer,  so  romantic  in  My  Girl,  Tisa 
are  not  each  other's  favorite  co-stars.  The 
temperature  on  the  set  was  definitely  chilly. 
But  it  wasn't  the  great  feud  it  was  publicized. 

Sam,  himself,  denied  to  me  that  he  had  said 
he  wouldn't  make  another  picture  with  Lilli. 
It  isn't  that  bad.  But  I  don't  think  either  will 
break  out  in  tears  if  they  aren't  teamed  again. 

The  reason  I  mention  this  is  because  it  is 
amusing  that  actors  who  don't  seem  to  get 
along  together  on  the  set,  freguently  make 
wonderful  screen  lovers.  I  suppose  it  is  be- 
cause they  have  to  try  extra  hard  that  the 
result  is  usually  so  good. 

On  the  other  hand,  I've  known  of  times 
when  a  couple  of  players  had  a  private  yen 
for  each  other  and  the  scenes  on  the  screen 
were  only  lukewarm.  In  their  cases,  it  is 
because  they  have  to  "hold  back." 


Fashion  Tips  Hot  From  "Hollywood:  Rita 
Hayworth  dresses  up  man-tailored  blouses 
with  cuff  links  and  studs  made  of  jeweled 
flowers.  .  .  .  Merle  Oberon's  pale  blue  and 
pink  woolen  dinner  gowns  are  so  attractive. 
Yes,  the  same  weight  wool  your  bathrobe  is 
made  of.  .  .  .  Lana  Turner  has  earrings  made 
up  of  her  gold  initials — L  on  one  ear,  T  on  the 
other.  .  .  .  Leather  accessories,  bracelets  and 
earrings  are  popular  with  the  younger  set — 
very  smart,  too,  and  at  one  'teenth  of  the  cost 
of  gold.  .  .  .Diana  Lynn  pins  gay  little  bunches 
of  artificial  Spring  flowers  on  her  handbags. 
More  and  more,  among  the  younger  girls, 
Diana  is  becoming  a  fashion  leader.  She  orig- 
inates, seldom  copies  fads. 

*        *  * 

Dana  Andrews  got  you-know-what  from 
his  bosses  for  having  that  little  run  in  with 
the  police  after  he'd  had  an  extra  cocktail. 
But  there  is  something  so  absolutely  likeable 
about  this  guy,  you  just  can't  stay  mad  at 
him  long,  even  when  he's  naughty. 

Even  the  traffic  cops  had  to  laugh  at  his 
antics  and  the  hardboiled  desk  sergeant  had 
to  wipe  the  smile  off  his  face  when  Dana 
flatly  refused  to  leave  the  jail  "until  my  wife 
comes  and  gets  me." 

But,  oh  boy — does  he  suffer  from  remorse? 


He  is  bending  backward  being  good  these 
days.  *        *  * 

And  speaking  of  nice  boys — they  don't 
come  any  better  than  John  Agar,  that  fine  boy 
Shirley  Temple  is  married  to.  And  I  think  he 
has  a  brilliant  future  on  the  screen.  He 
makes  a  surprisingly  good  debut  in  Fort 
Apache  opposite  Shirley. 

But  I  liked  him  best  of  all  when  he  came 
over  to  my  house  to  be  interviewed  for  a 
Sunday  story.  He  is  so  frank  and  unassuming. 
He  told  me,  not  at  all  abashed,  about  the  way 
they  handle  their  finances.  He  pays  all  the 
grocery  bills  and  keeps  up  the  expense  of 
running  the  home  Shirley  owned  years  before 
they  were  married. 

"But  I  can't  afford  to  buy  her  clothes  yet," 
he  grinned.  "That's  an  item  a  little  beyond  my 
bank  account." 

*        *      •  * 

Gloria  De  Haven  and  John  Payne  are  so 
happy  with  their  new  baby  boy,  Tom.  Oh 
rather,  Thomas  John.  Even  though  the  last 
name  is  spelled  differently,  they  hope  the 
baby  will  grow  up  to  be  as  great  as  the 
famous  "Age  of  Reason"  Thomas  Paine.  John 
tells  me  that  little  Cathy  is  thrilled,  and  goes 
around  chanting,  "Kaki  Payne's  baby  Tommy 
(Continued  on  page  92) 


EAGLE  LION  FILMS  PRESENTS 


13 


"the  paradine 
case" 


■  Alfred  Hitchcock,  sorcerer  of  suspense,  has 
added  another  link  of  celluloid  witchcraft 
to  his  delightful  chain  of  cinema  magic  in 
The  Paradine  Case — as  valid,  intelligent  and 
exciting  a  film  as  you  are  likely  to  see  in  a 
year  of  movie-going. 

Nothing  in  the  way  of  top-flight  thriller 
material  has  been  left  out — the  hot  clashes  are 
there,  the  cold  moments  of  fear,  the  mystery, 
the  scenes  of  normal  tenderness  and  humor, 
the  crescendos  of  eerie  tension.  All  are  blended 
skillfully  and  carefully  and  with  the  matchless 
Hitchcock  sense  of  tempo — his  daring  to  be 
slow  when  drama  calls  for  a  legato  passage,  his 
reportorial  economy  of  words  and  motion 
when  the  truth  of  a  scene  dictates  tautness  and 
brevity. 

The  Paradine  Case  is  the  story  of  a  woman 
who  did  or  did  not  (I  won't  spoil  it  for  you) 
murder  her  blinded  husband,  and  it  takes  her 
from  the  oddly  tranquil,  controlled  moment 
of  her  arrest  to  the  feverish  hour  of  the  jury's 
decision,  up  and  down  a  dozen  scenic  railway 


curves  of  bravery,  deceit,  despair  and  anger. 
It  also  is,  even  more  vitally,  the  story  of  the 
lawyer  who  defended  her,  becoming  fascinated 
by  her  beauty  and  strangeness,  and  of  the 
lawyer's  wife  who  finds  herself  in  the  resulting 
emotional  dilemma. 

And  all  the  other  major  and  -minor  charac- 
ters in  this  human  charade — which  could  have 
been  extracted  from  any  newspaper  of  our 
day — are  drawn  by  Hitchcock  (master  of  cast- 
ing as  well  as  of  suspense)  with  an  expertness 
that  gives  the  picture  an  almost  literary ' 
majesty  beyond  the  fascination  of  dexterous 
cinema  entertainment. 

He  has  put  Charles  Laughton  in  the  role  of 
a  powerful,  wickedly  humorous,  mildly  lech- 
erous and  infinitely  sadistic  judge,  and  Ethel 
Barrymore  as  his  frightened  wife.  He  has 
given  Ann  Todd  magnificently  directed  scenes 
as  the  pained  but  understanding  wife  of  the 
hero,  and  endowed  Gregory  Peck  with  new 
facets  of  strength  and  maturity  as  the  attorney 
for  the  defense. 


Valli,  the  newcomer?  She  is  a  good  choice 
for  the  mysterious  Mrs.  Paradine,  coming  as 
she  does  a  fresh  personality  to  the  American 
public.  She  is  both  beautiful  and  unusual- 
looking — in  fact,  she  has  half  a  dozen  faces, 
depending  upon  the  lighting  of  the  scene  and 
the  arrangement  of  her  hair.  Sometimes  she 
looks  like  Hedy  Lamarr,  sometimes  she  could 
be  Dorothy  Lamour's  sister,  often  she  bears  a 
strong  and  haunting  resemblance  to  Garbo. 
She  is  always  photographically  fascinating ; 
whether  she  will  hold  as  an  actress  may  depend 
upon  how  often  she  is  gifted  with  the  equiva- 
lent of  Mr.  Hitchcock's  overflowing  bag  of 
directorial  tricks. 

The  other  foreign  surprise  in  the  picture, 
Louis  Jourdan,  is  a  handsome  and  effective 
actor,  a  fine  gift  to  the  local  public.  He  and 
Charles  Coburn  and  Joan  Tetzel  and  Leo  G. 
Carroll  are  just  a  few  of  the  valuable  ingredi- 
ents in  a  brilliant  and  satisfying  composition. 

Go  to  see  it ! 


UNIVERSAL-  INTERNATIONAL  presents 

JOAN  FONTAINE 

Unforgettably  Matched  for  Love  with 

LOUIS  JOURDAN 

Romantic  New  Star  of  'The  Paradine  Case' 


MADY  CHRISTIANS  •  MARCEL  JOURNET  •  ART  SMITH  •  CAROL  YORKE  -  Screenplay  by  Howard  Koch 
From  the  Story  by  Stefan  Zweig  -Produced  by  JOHN  HOUSEMAN  -Directed  by  MAX  OPULS  •  A  RAMPART  4  PRODUCTION 


15 


Rinse 

Highlights 
and  Color 

into  your  hairl 


16 


BLONDES! 


Four  of  Marchand's  twelve 
"Make-Up"  Hair  Rinse  shades 
are  created  just  for  you!  Now 
you  can  get  the  very  color  effect 
you  want  .  .  .  whether  it  is  to 
highlight  your  natural  hair  shade 
or  add  a  coppery  tone. 


BRUNETTES,  BROWNETTES,  REDHEADS! 

There  are  special  Marchand  Rinse  shades  for 
you,  too.  The  color  chart  on  the  Marchand 
package  shows  you  which  shade  to  use  for  the 
particular  effect  you  desire. 

GLORIOUS  HIGHLIGHTS!  Every  Marchand 
Rinse  removes  dulling  soap  film  and  leaves 
your  hair  softer  and  easier  to  manage.  It  does 
so  much  more  than  just  lemon  or  vinegar  .  .  . 
gives  your  hair  sparkling  highlights  plus  color ! 

SAFE,  EASY  TO  USE!  After  each  shampoo 
simply  dissolve  the  rinse  shade  in  warm  water 
and  brush  or  pour  it  through  your  hair !  Not 
a  bleach,  not  a  permanent  dye,  Marchand's 
"Make-Up"  Hair  Rinse  is  made  of  govern- 
ment-approved colors  that  wash  off  readily. 


6  RINSES 

2  RINSES 

Plus  tax 


By  the  Makers  of  Marchand's  Golden  Hair  Wash 


1  

1  MOVIE 

BY  VIRGINIA  WILSON 

i 

\ 

^REVIEWS  j 

MIRACLE  OF  THE  BELLS 


Leave  cynicism  behind  when  you  go  to  see 
Miracle  Of  The  Bells.  It's  a  story  of  sacrifice, 
love  and  prayer  and  it  doesn't  belong  to  the 
world  of  wisecracks  and  wise  guys.  Yet, 
curiously,  its  hero,  Dunnigan  (Fred  Mac- 
Murray),  comes  from  just  that  world.  He's  a 
Broadway  press  agent  and  he  doesn't,  in  the 
beginning,  believe  in  anything  or  anybody 
but  ten  percent. 

That  is  before  he  meets  Olga  (Valli).  Olga 
is  just  a  kid  from  a  little  mining  town,  trying 
to  get  a  job  in  a  New  York  chorus.  She  can't 
dance,  but  there  is  a  strange,  luminous  qual- 
ity about  her  that  makes  Dunnigan  notice  her 
immediately.  He  has  strolled  in  to  see  the 
director,  and  he  says  "Why  don't  you  give 
that  kid  on  the  end  a  break?"  So  Olga  gets 
a  job. 

It's  a  year  before  Dunnigan  sees  her  again. 
This  time  it's  Christmas  Eve  in  a  small  mid- 
west city.  Olga  is  playing  stock  and  Dunnigan 
is  doing  an  advance  publicity  job.  Their  meet- 
ing is  accidental,  as  their  meetings  are  al- 
ways to  be,  but  with  the  odd  stirring  of  fate 
behind  it. 

It's  accidental,  too,  that  Dunnigan  is  eventu- 
ally able  to  make  Olga  a  Hollywood  star.  If 
a  temperamental  foreign  star  had  not  sud- 
denly walked  out  on  the  part  of  Joan  of  Arc, 
producer  Harris  (Lee  Cobb)  would  never 
have  tested  an  unknown  for  Joan.  Dunnigan 
sells  him  on  Olga.  She  plays  the  role  with 
that  same  predestined  quality  that  Joan  her- 
self must  have  had — it  shines  from  her  eyes 
and  it  foretells  not  only  fame,  but  death. 

Olga  dies  the  day  the  picture  is  finished. 
She  has  known  she  was  dying  and  even  at 
the  end  she  doesn't  seem  to  mind.  But  she  has 
a  last  request.  She  wants  to  be  buried  in 
Coaltown,  where  she  was  born.  She  thinks 
it  might  somehow  help  the  tired,  worn  people 
there  to  know  that  one  of  them  went  on  to 
fame — and  came  back  to  them  again. 

But  after  Olga's  death,  Harris  decides  not 
to  release  the  picture.  So  there  will  be  after 
all,  no  fame  for  Olga  or  for  Coaltown.  Unless 
Dunnigan  can  find  a  way.  Or  unless  there's 
a  miracle.  .  .  . 

Frank  Sinatra  plays  a  Catholic  priest  with 
simple  sincerity.  Lee  Cobb  is  excellent  as  the 
Hollywood  producer. — RKO 


Frank  Sinatra  plays  Father  Paul,  a  sincere 
young  priest  in  Coaltown,  USA.  It  is  in  his 
modest     church     that     the     miracle  occurs. 


Fred  MocMurray,  cynical  press  agent,  bolly- 
hpos  the  Polish  beauty,  Alida  Valli,  to  star- 
dom, but  she  dies  before  she  can  taste  success. 


At  dinner  after  the  Maryland  Hunt — Mrs.  Nicholas  R.  du  Pont 


Such  a  wonderful,  different  facial  mask!"  says 
charming  Mrs.  Nicholas  R.  du  Pont,  of  the  famous 
Wilmington  family.  "No  smothery  20-minute  wait 
for  results— the  1-Mihute  Mask  of  Pond's 
Vanishing  Cream  brightens  up  my  complexion  in 
one  minute!  Makes  my  skin  look  clearer  and  glowy 
right  away!  Smoother,  too,  with  a  soft,  silky  finish 
that  takes  make-up  to  perfection." 

Always  have  a  1-Minute  Mask  when  you  want  to 
look  your  best!  Get  a  big  jar  of  Pond's  Vanishing 
Cream  today.  You'll  use  it  constantly — for  1-Minute 
Masks  .  .  .  for  light,  non-greasy  powder  base  .  . .  for 
wonderful  smoothing  hand  cream.  Send  to  Pond's, 
9-E,  Clinton,  Connecticut,  for  free  sample  tube. 


Incredibly  Easy 


1 -minute  quick!  Use  that  one 
minute  pause  to  make  magic 
on  your  hands,  too!  Stroke 
your  still  creamy  fingertips 
over  your  hands  and  elbows. 
Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  is 
satin-smoothing!  Not  greasy 
or  sticky! 


2.  Revive  your  late  afternoon 
complexion  to  new  beauty  for  the 
evening!  Smooth  a  cool,  white  Mask 
of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  over 
your  face — except  eyes. 

2.  "Keratolytic"  action  of  the  Cream 
loosens  stubborn  dirt  and  dead  skin 
flakes.  Dissolves  them  off!  After  just 
one  minute,  tissue  off  clean! 

3.  Your  face  looks  lighter,  clearer, 
sparkling — and  exquisitely  smoothed 
for  make-up.  Always  before  you  go"" 
out — "re-style"  your  complexion 
with  a  1-Minute  Mask  of  Pond's 
Vanishing  Cream  I 


So  I  clause*/  *fc> 

SweetHe art  Soap's 


•  Invite  springtime  romance! 
Begin  SweetHeart's  Floating  Lift 
Care.  Night  and  morning,  mas- 
sage your  face  one  minute  with 
SweetHeart's  extra  lather.  Rinse 
with  warm— then  cold  water.  Skin 
is  cleansed  .  .  .  stimulated  . 
more  radiant! 


•  A  SweetHeart 
complexion  is 
real  date  bait! 
So  waste  do  time 
in  envy.  Adopt 
Jane's  glorious 
beauty  care 


•  "And  my  delicate  skin  thrives  on  this 
SweetHeart  Care,"  says  Jane.  "For  it  reveals  the 
clear,  sparkling  look  that  photographs  radiantly." 

Your  skin  may  have  a  cover  girl  look  when 
you  change  to  Floating  Lift  Care.  For 
SweetHeart's  pure,  mild,  exquisitely  fragrant 
extra  lather  has  a  gentle  floating  lift.  Countless 
bubbles  bathe  the  outer  pore  openings  . . .  lift  off 
—float  away  — dirt  and  dry  skin  flakes. 

Your  skin  looks  smoother,  fresher,  lovelier— 
and  the  delicate,  alluring  SweetHeart  fragrance 
completes  your  glamour.  Floating  lift  that  gives 
such  wonderful  beauty  help  has  been  proved  by 
pictures  taken  through  the  microscope. 

"The  Soap 
that AGREES 
with  Your  Skin  i  \ 


•  For  tub  and  shower,  you  can  now  also 
get  the  new,  large  bath  size.  SweetHeart's 
extra  lather  with  its  floating  lift  is  marvelous. 


Scudda  Hoo!  Scudda  Hay!:  Farm  boy  Lon 
McCallister  drives  stubborn  mules  for  June 
Haver's    father    in    breath-taking  Technicolor. 

SCUDDA  HOO!  SCUDDA  HAY! 

All  of  you  who  loved  Lon  McCallister  and 
June  Haver  in  Home  in  Indiana  will  be  thrilled 
to  find  them  reunited  in  Scudda  Hoo.'  Scudda 
Hay.',  a  truly  beautiful  Technicolor  film  with 
a  heart-warming  story  to  tell.  Lon  McCallis- 
ter, as  Snug  Dominy,  lives  on  a  farm  with  his 
dad,  Milt  Dominy  (Henry  Hull),  his  impos- 
sible stepmother,  Judith  Dominy  (Anne  Re- 
vere), and  an  obnoxious  stepbrother,  Stretch 
(Robert  Karnes),  who  has  nothing  in  common 
with  Snug  but  a  tremendous  yen  for  Rad 
McGill  (June  Haver).  When — following  a 
particularly  heated  set-to  with  Judith,  Milt 
Dominy  leaves  home  to  go  back  to  the  sea — 
Snug  get  a  job  as  hired  hand  for  Rad's  father, 
owner  of  a  brand  new  mule  team.  Seems 
that  McGill  can't  do  a  thing  with  the  mules, 
and  he  sells  them  to  Snug,  who,  with  a  Scudda 
Hoo!  and  a  Scudda  Hay!  (that's  mule  talk 
for  giddy-yap  and  whoa)  can  practically  get 
them  to  jump  through  hoops.  With  the  help 
of  a  kindly  neighbor,  Tony  Maule  (Walter 
Brennan),  Snug  trains  the  mules  well,  even- 
tually is  able  to  earn  fifteen  dollars  a  day 
hauling  logs  with  them. 

Unfortunately  he  doesn't  make  as  good  time 
with  Rad  as  he  does  with  the  mules,  and 
there  are  moments  when  you'd  like  to  give 
her  a  hot-foot  or  something  to  make  her  see 
the  light.  She  sees  it  eventually,  but  we're 
not  telling  how. 

For  photography  that  honestly  takes  your 
breath  away,  for  those  priceless  shots  of 
June  in  a  bathing  suit,  for  that  McCallister 
grin — you've  got  to  see  Scudda  Hoo!  Scudda 
Hay!  And  don't  say  we  didn't  warn  you — 
your  small  fry  will  come  away  wanting  a 
mule  team  for  pets! — 20th-Fox. 

THE  BIG  CLOCK 

Ray  Milland  is  cutting  down  on  his  drink- 
ing. He  was  a  complete  alcoholic  in  Lost 
Weekend.  In  The  Big  Clock  he's  just  a  guy 
who  likes  to  spend  an  evening  now  and  then 
drinking  apple  brandy  sidecars.  I  expect  him 
to  have  become  a  complete  teetotaller  by  his 
next  picture. 


The  Big  Clock:  Crime  magazine  editor  Ray  Mil- 
land  wants  to  vacation  with  his  wife  Maureen 
O'Sullivan,    but   murder    keeps    him    at  home. 

As  George  Stroud,  he  gets  into  plenty  of 
trouble  through  those  sidecars.  Almost  loses 
his  wife  and  his  job,  not  to  mention  his  life. 
You  see,  George  works  for  Earle  Janoth 
(Charles  Laughton),  head  of  the  vast  chain 
of  Janoth  magazines.  And  when  you  work  for 
Janoth,  anything  can  happen. 

George  is  editor  of  Crimeways  magazine. 
He  is  also,  as  it  happens,  an  expert  on  tracing 
missing  people.  Sort  of  a  hobby  of  his,  and 
one  that  Janoth  has  used  to  advantage  fre- 
quently. But  never  the  way  he  wants  to  use 
it  now. 

I.  guess  I'd  better  start  at  the  beginning. 
George  is  all  set  to  go  on  a  month's  vacation 
with  his  wife.  Georgette  (Maureen  O'Sulli- 
van). As  usual,  at  the  last  moment  Janoth 
wants  him  to  begin  a  new  assignment.  This 
time  George  rebels.  He  flies  into  an  eighteen- 
carat  rage  and  tells  Janoth  to  go  to  the 
devil.  Then  he  goes  out  and  starts  on  the 
apple  brandy  sidecars.  He  has  company  both 
in  his  anger  at  Janoth  and  in  his  drinking. 
Janoth's  girl  friend,  Pauline  (Rita  Johnson), 
has  quarrelled  with  the  great  man,  too*. 

It's  too  bad  for  George  that  he  spends  that 
evening  with  Pauline  and  the  sidecars.  Be- 
cause next  morning  Pauline  is  dead,  and 
Janoth  asks  George  to  use  his  talent  for  find- 
ing missing  people  to  trace  the  man  she  was 
with  the  night  before.  There  are  various 
clues  and  witnesses.  Witnesses  who  describe 
in  some  detail  a  man  who  looks  exactly  like 
George. 

Among  the  clues  are  an  oil  painting  of 
two  hands,  a  sundial  with  a  green  ribbon  tied 
around  it,  and  a  watch  that  stopped  at  the 
wrong  time.  Gradually  the  web  tightens 
around  George,  who  is  trying  desperately  to 
find  the  real  murderer.  Highly  uncomfortable 
for  George  but  exciting  for  the  audience. — Par. 

THE  SAINTED  SISTERS 

You'll  love  the  sainted  sisters,  from  your 
first  glimpse  of  them  riding  along  in  a  buggy, 
smoking  small,  lady-like  cigars.  The  sisters, 
Letty  (Veronica  Lake)  and  Jane  (Joan  Caul- 
field)  are  wanted  by  the  New  York  police 
and  they  are  trying  to  get  over  the  Canadian 


^Uvt/$  winning  smile 

turns  an  idea  into  a  career  — 

The  smile  that  wins 
is  the  Pepsodent  Smile ! 


Marjorie  Groat,  Career-wife,  is  first  to  wear 
the  latest  fashions  in  Madison,  Wisconsin  — it's  her 
job!  Marjorie  was  a  freshman  at  the  University  of 
Minnesota  when  she  met  Bill  .  .  .  and  wedding  bells 
ended  her  school  days.  When  they  settled  in  Madi- 
son, Marjorie  decided  that  "Manchester's,"  one  of 
the  leading  department  stores,  needed  a  fashion 
modeling  staff.  The  store  management  agreed.  Now 
Marjorie's  winning  smile  is  very  much  in  evidence 
as  she  trains  new  models,  plans  and  appears  in 
fashion  shows.  It's  a  Pepsodent  Smile!  "I  always 
use  Pepsodent,"  Marjorie  says.  "It's  the  best  tooth 
paste  I've  found  for  brightening  teeth!" 


Wins  3  to  1 


over  any  other  tooth  paste ! 


People  all  over  America  agree  with  Marjorie 
Groat.  New  Pepsodent  with  Irium  is  their 
3-to-l  favorite  for  brighter  smiles!  Just  re- 
cently, families  from  coast  to  coast  com- 
pared delicious  New  Pepsodent  with  the 
toolh  paste  they  were  using  at  home.  By 
an  average  of  3  to  1,  they  said  New  Pepso- 
dent tastes  better,  makes  breath  cleaner 
and  teeth  brighter  than  any  other  tooth 
paste  they  tried! 

For  the  safety  of  your  smile  use  Pepsodent 
twice  a  day —  see  your  dentist  twice  a  year! 


ANOTHER  FINE  PRODUCT 
OF  LEVER  BROTHERS  COMPANY 


This  is  the  Fable  of  Mrs.  Gray 
and  the  WASHDAY  REBELLION..  . 

Mrs.  Gray  was  a  careful  housekeeper — except  on  WASHDAY. 
Any  SOAP,  real  or  imitation,  that  made  SUDS  suited  her.  .  .  . 

When  neighbors  whispered,  "TATTLE-TALE  GRAY,"  she  wasn't  worried. 
Even  when  best  friends  mentioned  FELS-NAPTHA  SOAP, 
she  ignored  them.  .  .  . 

One  day  Mrs.  Gray  hung  out  her  HALF-CLEAN  WASH  and  went 
inside  to  REST.  Suddenly  she  looked  out  the  window — 
and  was  HORRIFIED!  ...  she  was  being  PICKETED!  Her  neglected 
clothes  demanded  BETTER  WASHING  CONDITIONS! 

Mrs.  Gray  hustled  the  INDIGNANT  PICKETERS  down  to  the  LAUNDRY.  .  . 
for  some  COLLECTIVE  BARGAINING.  Then  she  flew  to  the  'phone. 
Ordered  LOTS  and  LOTS  of  FELS-NAPTHA.  In  a  RUSH.  .  .  . 

Next  day  Mrs.  Gray's  WASH  swung  gayly  on  the  LINE- 
CLEAN  and  WHITE— just  like  her  neighbors' ! 

Moral — Don't  let  your  wash  line  become  a  pic 
Change  to  golden  Fels-'Njxptha — bar  or  chips, 

Golden  bar  or  Golden  chips- 

FELS-NAPTHA  knisksTattle-Tale  Gray" 


The  Sainted  Sisters:  Blackmailers  Veronica  Lake 
and  Joan  Caulfield  are  discovered  by  Barry 
Fitzgerald  in  bright  comedy  of  love  and  money. 


border  before  they're  caught.  Such  a  fuss 
over  their  having  collected  twenty-five  thou- 
sand dollars  from  an  elderly,  married  wolf 
who  had  been  making  passes  at  Jane!  Black- 
mail, the  police  called  it,  which  was  very 
narrow-minded  of  them. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  the  sisters  reach 
a  little  town  called  Grove  Falls.  And  three 
things  happen.  Their  buggy  catches  on  fire, 
the  horse  runs  away,  and  there's  a  thunder- 
storm. The  girls  think  they're  lucky  when 
they  find  a  deserted-looking  house  with  an  un- 
locked front  door.  They  pick  out  a  bedroom. 
Letty  takes  the  twenty-five  grand  out  of  her 
bustle  (this  is  back  in  1895,  I  forgot  to  say) 
and  they  settle  down  for  the  night. 

But  the  house  isn't  really  deserted.  Its 
owner,  Robbie  McCleary  (Barry  Fitzgerald), 
hears  sounds  and  appears  in  a  nightshirt, 
clutching  a  large  revolver  cautiously  in  his 
hand.  He  sees  the  girls,  and  the  money.  He 
has  also  seen  the  circulars  put  out  by  the 
police  about  two  beautiful  blonde  sisters  who 
are  wanted  for  blackmail.  Robbie  decides  to 
try  a  little  blackmail  himself. 

He  takes  charge  of  the  money.  Then  he  an- 
nounces that  the  sisters  are  to  stay  there 
and  keep  house  for  him.  And  furthermore  he 
thinks  that  tomorrow  morning  he'll  have  his 
breakfast  in  bed! 

Letty  fumes,  but  she's  going  to  stay- and  get 
that  money  back.  Jane,  as  usual,  does  what 
Letty  says.  They  both  almost  perish  of  frus- 
trated rage  when  they  learn  that  Robbie  is 
giving  chunks  of  their  money  away.  Various 
deserving  citizens  are  suddenly  enabled  to 
buy  a  cow,  or  pay  their  rent,  or  whatever 
their  immediate  problem  is.  And  Robbie 
blandly  tells  them  the  sisters  are  responsible. 
No  wonder  the  whole  town  starts  regarding 
them  as  saints.  All  but  handsome  young  Sam 
Stoaks  (George  Reeves)  who  regards  them 
as  two  pretty  girls  and  can't  make  up  his 
mind  which  one  he's  in  love  with. 

This  is  one  of  the  brightest  comedies  to 
emerge  from  Hollywood  in  some  time.  And 
it's  nice  to  see  George  Reeves  back  on  the 
screen.  William  Demarest,  Beulah  Bondi  and 
Chill  Wills  are  also  in  the  cast. — Par. 

A  MIRACLE  CAN  HAPPEN 

Here  is  whimsy  at  its  most  whimsical.  Toss 
logic  and  reason  to  the  four  winds  when  you 
buy  your  ticket  to  A  Miracle  Can  Happen, 
because  you  won't  be  needing  them  for  a 


A  Miracle  Can  Happen:  Hank  Fonda  and 
Jimmy  Stewart,  two  jive-happy  boys,  are  being 
"sent"  by  the  juke-box  version  of  Harry's  music. 


couple  of  hours.  When  we  tell  you  that  this 
is  the  story  of  one  day  in  the  life  of  a  roving 
newspaper  reporter,  the  thing  sounds  quite 
sensible,  but  actually  it  isn't  sensible  at  all. 

To  begin  with,  roving  reporter  Oliver  Pease 
(Burgess  Meredith)  is  obviously  quite  mad. 
He  just  has  that  look.  His  question  for  the 
day  (suggested  by  wife  Martha — Paulette 
Goddard)  is  "Has  a  child  ever  influenced 
your  life?"  And  this  might  be  harmless 
enough,  were  the  people  Oliver  interviews  not 
quite  so  odd.  They  are  jive-happy  Jimmy 
Stewart  and  Henry  Fonda;  confidence  men 
Fred  MacMurray  and  William  Demarest;  and 
Hollywood-ites  Dorothy  Lamour  and  Victor 
Moore. 

Their  three  answers  to  Oliver's  question  are 
told  in  flashback  style  with  amusing  and 
sometimes  hilarious  results.  The  Stewart- 
Fonda  sequence,  written  by  John  O'Hara,  is 
by  far  the  funniest,  and  these  boys  walk 
away  with  this  star-studded  job  by  the  simple 
expedient  of  exquisite  under-playing.  Their 
voices  are  quiet.  They  throw  away  lines. 
And  they  absolutely  kill  the  people.  It  is  only 
unfortunate  that  their  episode  is  the  first  of 
the  series.  If  it  were  the  last,  you  would 
leave  your  seat  feeling  that  you'd  been  vastly 
entertained  instead  of  feeling  vaguely  let 
down.  Perhaps  the  truth  of  it  is  that  this  spotty 
script  just  isn't  worthy  of  the  stars  involved. 
Nevertheless  it  is  a  lot  of  fun  and  full  of 
surprises  and  Stewart  and  Fonda  make  it 
more  than  worth  the  toll.- — U.  A. 

FORT  APACHE 

There's  a  very  cute  young  couple  in  Forf 
Apache,  played  by  a  very  cute  young  couple 
named  Shirley  Temple  and  John  Agar.  There 
are  also  John  Wayne,  Henry  Fonda,  Victor 
McLaglen  and  various  other  familiar  faces. 

Henry  Fonda's  face  isn't  as  familiar  as 
usual,  since  he  is  cast  as  a  middle  aged  man 
with  greying  hair  and  a  mustache.  This  char- 
acter. Colonel  Thursday,  we  took  to  be  based 
on  history's  General  Custer,  but  we  could  be 
wrong.  Not,  however,  as  wrong  as  Colonel 
Thursday,  who  is  wrong  about  everything 
throughout  the  picture. 

He  doesn't  belong  in  a  place  like  Fort 
Apache,  where  the  personnel  is  made  up  of 
hard-bitten  Indian  fighters.  Thursday  is  furious 
at  having  been  sent  there  from  Washington 
and  makes  no  effort  to  conceal  it.  Fortunately, 


newToni  creme  shampoo 


gives  you 


SOFT-WATER 
SHAMPOOING 


RINSES  AWAY  DANDRUFF  INSTANTLY 


LEAVES  HAIR  SMOOTHER,  SHINIER 


sa- 


lt's another  hair  beauty  miracle  by  Toni! 
"Soft-water  shampooing"  with  new  Toni 
Creme  Shampoo.  An  amazing  new  kind  of 
shampooing  that  brings  out  all  — yes,  all  the 
shimmering  highlights,  all  the  glorious  natu- 
ral sheen  of  your  hair. 

"Soft-water  shampooing"  gets  your  hair 
cleaner,  shinier  than  any  soap  or  soap  sham- 
poo you've  ever  used.  And  rinses  away  un- 
sightly dandruff  instantly.  Your  hair  is  easier 
to  manage.  Your  permanent  looks  its  loveli- 
est. Today,  enjoy  "  soft -water  shampooing" 
with  new  Toni  Creme  Shampoo. 


Wm  SHAMPOf 


ASK  FOR  TONI  CREME  SHAMPOO -IT'S  NEW! 


21 


ST  E  RE  D  ■ 

sake 


DIAMOND  RINGS 


Dear  as  your  dreams  for  tomorrow  .  .  .  eternal  as  the 
promise  you  share  ...  is  love's  most  cherished  symbol  ...  a  genuine 
registered  Keepsake  Diamond  Ring.  Only  one  diamond  in  hundreds  meets  the 
exacting  standards  of  excellence  in  color,  cut  and  clarity  which  Keepsake 
has  maintained  through  six  decades.  Identify  Keepsake  by 
the  name  in  the  ring,  and  the  words,  "guaranteed  registered  perfect 
gem"  on  the  tag  ...  as  illustrated.  Let  comparison  prove  that 
a  Keepsake  gives  you  higher  quality  and  greater  value 
than  an  ordinary  ring  of  the  same  price. 

Better  jewelers  are  Keepsake 
Jewelers.  Prices  from 
$100  to  $5000. 


C.  BETHEL  Ring 
Also  $300 
Wedding  Ring 
Man's  Diamond  Ring  100.00 
Available  at  $75  to  200  to 
match  all  engagement  rings 


OS  natural  gold, 
lude  Federal  tax. 


All  rings  illustrated  available  in  while 
Rings  enlarged  to  show  details.  P 

Look  for  the  name  "Keepsake'  in  the  ring,  and  require 
the  Keepsake  Certificate  of  Guarantee  and  Registration. 


KEEPSAKE  DIAMOND  RINGS,  A.  H.  Pond  Co.,  Inc. 
120  E.  Washington,  Syracuse  2,  New  York 

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City  ,.   msc  5-iS 


Fort  Apache:  Shirley  Temple,  the  Colonel's 
daughter,  falls  in  love  with  Lieut.  John  Agar. 
Father  disapproves,   but  Agar  proves  worthy. 

his  pretty  daughter,  Philadelphia  (Shirley 
Temple),  is  more  tactful,  and  she's  soon  very 
popular.  Especially  with  young  Lieutenant 
O'Rourke  (John  Agar).  The  Colonel  disap- 
proves, since  O'Rourke  is  the  son  of  an  en- 
listed man. 

Thursday  is  a  stubborn  and  ambitious  offi- 
cer. He  asks  advice  from  Captain  York  (John 
Wayne),  veteran  Indian  fighter  but  he  doesn't 
take  the  advice  when  he  gets  it.  Oh,  no — he 
knows  too  much  himself.  He'll  manage  the 
post  the  West  Point  way,  and  the  heck  with 
everybody. 

He  does  listen  to  York  about  the  thing,  how- 
ever. The  Indian  chief,  Cochise,  has  taken  all 
his  people  over  the  Mexican  border.  The  gov- 
ernment wants  them  to  come  back,  and  if 
Thursday  can  achieve  this,  he  thinks  it  will 
impress  the  boys  back  in  Washington.  So 
when  York  offers  to  go  and  see  Cochise  per- 
sonally, and  ask  him  to  come  back  on  peace- 
ful terms,  Thursday  accepts  the  offer. 

York  succeeds  in  his  mission,  with  the  help 
of  interpreter  Beaufort  (Pedro  Armendariz). 
Cochise  agrees  to  come  back — on  certain 
terms.  But  Colonel  Thursday  doesn't  believe 
in  making  terms  with  Indians,  and  this  time 
he's  wrong  once  too  often. — RKO 

LETTERS  FROM  AN  UNKNOWN 
WOMAN 

Louis  Jourdan,  the  sensational  French  actor 
of  The  Paradine  Case  plays  opposite  Joan 
Fontaine  in  this  new  picture.  It's  a  tragic 
story  of  a  woman's  love  for  a  man  who  never 
knows  she  loves  him.  It  begins  when  Lisa 
Berndle  (Joan  Fontaine)  is  only  fifteen',  in 
Vienna,  in  1890. 

Lisa  may  be  only  fifteen  but  she  can  fall 
in  love — and  does,  with  a  handsome  young 
man  of  24,  Stefan  Brand  (Louis  Jourdan). 
Stefan  is  a  well-known  pianist,  also  a  well- 
known  connoisseur  of  women.  He  pays  no 
attention  whatever  to  the  somewhat  awkward 
young  girl  who  eyes  him  longingly. 

Lisa  is  very  sad  when  her  mother  (Mady 
Christians)  says  they  are  going  to  move  to 
Linz.  But  there's  nothing  she  can  do  about  it 
ui  til  she  is  eighteen.  Then  she  moves  back  to 
Vienna  and  gets  a  job  as  a  model.  She 
spends  her  time  off  standing  in  front  of 
Stefan's  apartment  house. 


Letters  From  An  Unknown  Woman:  Sensational 
French  actor  Louis  Jourdan  stars  opposite  Joan 
Fontaine  in  a  tragic  story  of  unrequited  love. 

Lisa  has  now  turned  into  a  real  beauty  and 
it  doesn't  take  long  for  Stefan  to  notice  her. 
It  would,  however,  probably  have  been  better 
for  her  if  he  hadn't.  Because  the  affair  that 
ensues  convinces  Lisa  that  he  is  the  man  she 
will  ever  love,  while  Stefan  hurries  off  to 
Milan  and  forgets  all  about  her. 

Lisa  eventually  has  a  child  and  names  him 
Stefan,  but  never  lets  his  father  know  that 
he  exists.  After  all,  she  has  her  pride.  The 
next  eight  years  are  hard  for  her  but  at  last 
she  marries  a  quiet,  kindly  man  much  older 
than  she.  Then  she  runs  into  Stefan  at  the 
Opera  and  while  he  is  obviously  interested 
in  her  as  a  beautiful  woman,  finds  that  he 
doesn't  even  remember  her. 

This  recurrent  pattern  runs  through  the  rest 
of  Lisa's  life  until  at  last  Stefan  receives  a 
"letter  from  an  unknown  woman." — Univ.-Int. 

RUTHLESS 

Perhaps  you  have  to  be  ruthless  to  amass 
a  really  enormous  personal  fortune.  Perhaps 
you  have  to  use  people  and  then  kick  them 
out  of  your  way.  Perhaps  you  have — in  the 
end — to  be  alone  with  your  money  and  to 
wonder  why  it  ever  seemed  so  important. 

At  least  you  do  if  you  are  Horace  Verdig 
(Zachary  Scott).  When  Horace  was  a  boy  his 
father  was  a  drunkard  and  his  mother  was 
a  bitter,  poverty-stricken  woman  with  no  feel- 
ing left  even  for  her  son.  From  that  back- 
ground, Horace  pulls  himself  up  to  become 
one  of  the  richest  and  most  influential  men  in 
the  country. 

It  starts  when  he  rescues  Martha  Wilding 
(Diana  Lynn)  from  drowning.  Horace's  one 
friend,  Vic  (Louis  Hayward),  tells  Martha's 
family  all  about  it.  And  then  Horace  himself 
quietly  manuevers  them  into  semi-adopting 
him. 

Horace  has  no  particular  interest  in  Martha 
until  he  realizes  that  Vic  is  in  love  with  her. 
Then  he  takes  her  away  from  Vic  just  to 
prove  that  he  can.  Later,  he  discards  both 
Martha  and  her  family  because  they  can  no 
longer  be  of  help.  He  has  gone  on  to  greener 
fields  and  if  Martha  is  silly  enough  to  let 
her  heart  be  broken,  that's  hardly  a  concern 
of  his.,-  (Continued  on  page  89) 


See  lustrous,  natural  'UHPI/El/OffR?  in  your  hair 


not  a  soap- a  smooth 
LIQUID  CR£ME 


IN  bygone  days,  lovely  women 
used  egg  with  shampoo.  Now, 
again,  the  lowly  egg — just  the  right 
amount,  in  powdered  form — helps 
make  Richard  Hudnut  Shampoo 
soothing,  caressing,  kind  to  your 
hair!  But  the  egg  is  in  a  luxurious 
liquid  creme  .  .  .  that  helps  reveal 
extra  glory,  extra  "love-lights."  Try 
this  new  kind  of  shampoo  .  .  . 
created  for  patrons  of  Hudnut's 
Fifth  Avenue  Salon  .  .  .  and  for  you! 

A  New  Kind  of  Hair  Beauty  from 
a  World-Famous  Cosmetic  House 


Not  a  dulling,  dry- 
ing soap.  Contains 
no  wax  or  paste. 
Richard  Hudnut 
Shampoo  is  a 
sm-o-o-o-th  liquid 
creme.  Beauty- 
bathes  hair  to 
"love-lighted"  per- 
fection. Rinses  out 
quickly,  leaving  hair 
easy  to  manage, 
free  of  loose 
dandruff.  At  drug  and 
department  stores. 


23 


Dana's  had 
four  kids  of  his  own 
so  he  should 
know.  You've  got 
to  keep  calm; 
you  have  to  rest,  and 
when  the  crisis 
comes  you  need  a 
wife  like  Mary 
to  pull  you  through ! 


Before  Acapulco  trip,  Dana  (of  Deep  Water)  talks  to  two-week-old  daughter  Sue. 


u 


e  tattler's  iiii!  n 


■  Nothing  unusual  took  place  the  day  my 
daughter  Susan  was  born.  Everything  was 
normal.  Mary  got  to  the  hospital  at  four 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  two  hours 
later,  there  was  Susan — eight  pounds  and 
ten  ounces  of  her.  (But  as  prompt  as  she 
was,  she  was  a  slow  poke  compared  to 
Stephen,  our  two-year-old  who  got  himself 
born  ten  minutes  after  we  arrived  at  the 
hospital). 

As  I  say,  nothing  unusual  happened  with 
Susan's  birth.  It  could  have,  but  she  didn't 
take  advantage  of  a  certain  situation. 
Originally,  I'd  thought  Mary  would  go  to 


the  same  hospital  in  Santa  Monica  where 
she'd  gone  to  have  Stephen.    But  instead, 
she  decided  on  St.  Joseph's  this  time. 
"Why?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  she  replied,  sort  of 
dreamily.  "For  one  thing,  it's  just  across 
the  street  from  Walt  Disney's  studio 
and  all." 

I  gave  this  considerable  thought,  but  it 
still  didn't  make  sense  to  me.  Why  St. 
Joseph's,  even  if  it  was  across  from  Dis- 
ney's? No,  it  didn't  make  sense  unless — 
(and  I  realized  that  women  often  got 
warm,  fanciful  little  notions  at  times  like 


this) — unless  she  was  thinking  that  the 
baby  might  get  bored  during  her  first  few 
hours,  and  by  just  yelling  out  the  window 
would  be  able  to  bring  both  Donald  Duck 
and  Mickey  Mouse  chasing  right  over. 

This  wasn't  Mary's  reason,  but  it  goes 
to  show  you  my  mental  condition  at  the 
time.  And,  anyway,  as  I  say,  Susan  ignored 
this  opportunity  as  she  ignored  everything 
else  for  the  first  few  days — including  her 
father. 

I  guess  all  parents  know  that  if  there  is  a 
youngster  already  in  the  family  when  the 
new  baby  is   (Continued  on  page  84) 


24 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

SAM  W  ANA- 
MAKER,  who  de- 
buts in  My  Girl 
Tisa,  was  born  in 
Chicago,  on  June 
14,  1919.  He  is  5' 
WW  tall,  weighs 
160  lbs.,  has  dark 
brown  hair  and 
hazel  eyes.  He's 
married  to  Char- 
lotte Holland,  and 
they  have  one  child.  Write  to  him 
at  Warners,  Burbank,  California. 

TIM  HOLT  was 
born  in  Beverly 
Hills,  California, 
on  Feb.  5,  1918. 
He  is  5'  11"  tall, 
weighs  165  lbs., 
and  has  brown 
eyes  and  hair.  You 
can  write  to  him 
at  RKO  Pictures, 
Hollywood,  Cali- 
fornia. 

BILL  CALLA- 
HAN, Zanuck's 
newest  discovery 
(and  dancing  star 
of  the  Broadway 
hit  Call  Me  Mis- 
ter) was  born  in 
Bronx,  N.  Y.,  on 
Aug.  23,  1926. 
He  is  5'liy2"  tall, 
weighs  160  lbs., 
and  has  blue  eyes 
and  light  brown  hair.  He's  quite  sin- 
gle. Deluge  him  with  mail  at  20th 
Century-Fox,  Box  900,  Beverly  Hills, 
for  a  photo  and  personal  answer. 
This  column  predicts  he'll  be  the  No.  1 
Star  of  Tomorrow.  Irma  Schonhorn, 
646  Willoughby  Avenue,  Brooklyn, 
N.  Y.,  has  his  fan  club, 

Roberta  Broth,  B'klyn:  Don  Castle  was 
born  in  Beaumont,  Texas,  Sept.  29.  He's 
6'  tall,  weighs  162,  and  has  brown  eyes 
and  hair.  Write  him  at  Monogram  Pic- 
tures, Hollywood.  Buddy  Pepper  has 
given  up  pix  for  a  while.  He  wrote  the 
successful  Don't  Tell  Me,  and  his  new- 
est songs  are  Now  You've  Gone  and 
Hurt  My  Southern  Pride,  Nobody  But 
You,  and  That's  The  Way  He  Does  It. 
Yes,  you  and  all  their  many  other  fans 
can  still  keep  writing  to  Warners  to 
cast  the  now  grown  up  BILLY  AND 
BOBBY  MAUCH  in  bigger  and  better 
parts. 

Keep  on  sending  those  questions,  with 
a  self-addressed,  stamped  envelope,  to 
Beverly  Linet,  Information  Desk, 
MODERN  SCREEN,  149  Madison 
Avenue,  N.  Y.  C.  /  have  the  answers 
wait  in'  for  you. 

SPECIAL  OFFER 

HERE  IT  IS  AT  LAST!  (And  well 
worth  the  waiting  for!)  The  brand  new 
1948-49  Super  Star  Information  Chart, 
completely  revised,  containing  info  on 
500  of  your  all-time  favorites,  PLUS 
100  NEW  STARS  never  before 
charted,  including  Howard  Duff,  Ri- 
cardo  Montalban,  Valli.  Over  10,000 
facts  in  all;  a  must  for  every  movie- 
goer. Send  10c  and  a  business  size 
self-addressed,  stamped  envelope  to 
THE  SERVICE  DEPT.,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y., 
16,  for  your  copy. 


HEAVENLY  CLOSE-UP 
. . .for  Lustre-Creme" 
Dream  Girls  Only 


•v 


YES,  HEAVENLY,  to  move  as  one  person 
...  to  the  strains  of  enchanting  music. 
That  Wonderful  Man  holding  you  close 
.  .  .  his  cheek  against  your  hair. 


HOW  REASSURING  to  know  your 
hair  weaves  a  lasting  enchantment 
not  to  be  broken  when  you  leave 
his  arms.  Those  moments  his 
face  touched  your  soft,  fragrant, 
gleaming  tresses  .  .  .  how  thrilling 
he  found  them  .  .  .  how  sweetly 
haunting  still!  And  you — how 
happy  and  thankful  you  are,  for 
Lustre-Creme  Shampoo  and  the 
new,  three-way  loveliness  it  gives 
your  hair!  Your  heart  stands  still 
when  he  says:  "Dream  Girl,  that 
gorgeous  hair  rates  a  bridal  veil." 


MANY  A  BRIDE  with  soft,  glamorous, 
Dream  Girl  hair  is  singing  the  praises  of 
Lustre-Creme  Shampoo.  Not  a  soap,  not 
a  liquid,  Lustre-Creme  is  a  dainty  new, 
lavishly  lathering  cream  shampoo.  Created 
by  famed  cosmetic  specialist,  Kay  Daumit, 
to  give  hair  new  three-way  loveliness: 
(1)  Makes  it  fragrantly  clean,  free  of 
dust,  loose  dandruff;  (2)  highlights  every 
strand  with  a  lovely  glistening  sheen; 
(3)  leaves  your  hair  soft,  easy  to  manage. 

Lustre-Creme's  instant,  billowy  lather 
is  a  rare  blend  of  secret  ingredients — plus 
gentle  lanolin,  akin  to  the  natural  oils 
in  a  healthy  scalp.  Use  Lustre-Creme 
Shampoo  to  bring  out  the  full  natural 
beauty  of  the  hair  ...  to  safeguard 
your  "close-up"  glamour.  Be  a 
Dream  Girl  ...  a  lovely 
Lustre-Creme  Girl! 


sham  p 


0* 


NOW  ill  Tubes  as  Well  as  Jars  .  .  .  Lustre-Creme  gives  you  your  choice  ...  for  home 
or  travel  use  .  .  .  and  for  the  convenience  of  the  entire  family.  Four-oz.  jar  $1.00, 
or  in  smaller  sizes,  jars  or  tubes,  490  and  250.  Rekindle  your  hair's  highlights  .  .  . 
bring  out  its  true  beauty  .  .  .  with  Lustre-Creme  Shampoo.  In  tubes  or  jars  at  all 

cosmetic  Counters.  Kay  Daumit,  Inc.  (Successor)  919  N.  Michigan  Avenue,  Chicago,  III. 


You  can  say  "yes" 


to  Romance 


Veto  says  "no" 
to  Offending! 


Veto  says  "no" 

—  to  perspiration  worry  and  odor! 

SOFT  AS  A  CARESS .  . .  EXCITING . . .  NEW—  Veto  is 
Colgate's  wonderful  cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy, 
always  smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you  lovely  all  day! 
Veto  stops  underarm  odor  instantly  .  .  .  checks  perspiration 
effectively.  And  Veto  lasts  and  lasts — from  bath  to  bath ! 
With  Veto,  you  feel  confident  .  .  .  sure  of  your  own  exquisite  daintiness. 


Veto  says  ••no"-  lo  harming  skin  and  clothes! 


Trust  ulivuys  to  Veto 


SO  EFFECTIVE. .  .YET  SO  GENTLE—  Colgate's  lovely 
cosmetic  deodorant,  Veto,  is  harmless  to  normal  skin. 

Harmless,  too,  even  to  your  filmiest,  most  fragile  fabrics. 
For  Veto  alone  contains  Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  ingredient  to  make 
Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant  can  be  like  Veto! 
So  trust  ahvays  to  Veto — if  you  value  your  charm! 


if  you  value 
your  eh  arm! 


■  Your  editors  tell  me  they  are  calling 

this  one:  "Now  It  Can  Be  Told."    I  don't  agree! 

I  don't  think  it  should  be  told  at  all.  I'm 
sure  I'm  going  to  regret  every  word 
of  it.    But  just  try  and  keep  me  from  telling! 

What  I  have  to  say  concerns  Frank  Sinatra 
and  a,  columnist  whose  attack  on  Frank  has  gone 
unchallenged  until  this  moment — not  because  there 
were  no  answers — but  because  sometimes 
the   best    answer    to   nonsense    is  silence. 

In  general,  this  columnist  announced  that 
Frank  after  having  practically  been  a 
member  of  Lucky  Luciano's  mob — and  after 
having  incited  bobby-soxers  to  the  spiciest 
forms  of  juvenile  delinquency — needed  "delousing." 
That's  the  word  he  used.  Delousing. 

To  delouse  him  deluxe,  his  mobster  friends 
(including  me)  conspired  to  ease  him  into  flie 
Father  Paul  role  in  M trade  of  the  Bells. 

That's  what  the  man  said. 

Of  course  there  were  a  couple  of  things  this  columnist 
neglected  to  mention.    For  one,  nobody 
could  have  forced  the  producer  of  Miracle  of  the 
Bells  to  have  hired  Frank.    For  another,  Frank 
wouldn't  let  himself  even  think  about  the  part  until  his 
church  had  given  its  okay.    After  you  read 
the  facts,  decide  for  yourself  if  it  isn't  time 
somebody  told  the  truth. 

It  all  started  at  a  party  Mark  Hellinger 
was  giving  foi  restaurateur  Toots  Shor,  who  was 
visiting  Hollywood.  {Continued  on  page  96) 


now 
it  can 
be 
told 

by  quentin  reynolds 

A  columnist  sneered, 
"Sinatra?    He  needs  to  be 
'deloused',"  and  no  one 
said  anything.   But  Quent 
Reynolds  has  a  liking 
for  the  truth,  and  now  he 
sticks  out  his  neck 
to  tell  it. 


Frank's ''first  dramatic  role— Father  Paul  Tn  Miracle  of  the  Bells.{ 


27 


Even  in  Hollywood  where 
anything  goes,  this  seems  strange: 
Lady  May  Lawford,  born  of 
the  aristocracy,  rearing  a  son 
to  the.  tune  of  English 
gardens  and  The  Good  Book — her  boy, 
Peter,  steeping  himself  in  the 
Americana  of  jazz  and  bobby-sox  .  .  . 
MODERN  SCREEN  brings  you 
the  story  of  a  movie  actor  whom 
millions  know.  But  not  until 
you've  read  what  follows  will  you 
really  understand  Peter  Lawford. 


■  When  people  ask  me  to  speak  of  my 
son,  Peter,  I  sometimes  wonder  where  to 
begin. 

It  is  as  though,  knowing  him  too  well, 
I  can  not  see  him  in  broad  defining  terms. 
A  purely  objective  reporter  could  prob- 
ably sum  Peter  up  in  a  few  minutes.  He 
walks  thus,  he  talks  thus,  he  has  eyes  this 
color. 

But  for  me,  Peter  is  the  sum  of  a  mil- 
lion little  ways  and  habits  and  traits,'  and 
it  is  hard  to  know  which  ones  to  talk 
about. 

Peter  has  a  very  fixed  and  determined 
character.  Having  once  made  up  his  mind 
to  a  thing,  nothing  can  change  him. 

That  comes  from  his  early  training. 

I  remember  when  he  was  a  small  boy, 
and  he  came  to  me  one  day.  "I  think  I 
will  go  to  the  circus,"  he  said.  I  told  him 
he  might. 

A  little  later,  he  came  to  me  again.  "The 
nurse  and  the  other  boys  are  going  to  the 
swimming  pool,  and  I  think  I  will  change 
my  mind,  and  go  with  them/' 

"No,  my  dear,"  I  said,  "for  in  so  doing, 
you  will  destroy  something  you  can't  see, 
which  is  your  character.  The  circus  it 
must  be." 

I  suppose  it  was  a  difficult  lesson  for  a 
child,  but  I  think  a  good  one. 

Peter,  who  spoke  only  French  until  he 
was  five  years  old,  had  a  passion  for 
guide-books.  When  we  traveled  to  mu- 
seums and  cathedrals,  he  would  always 
have  a  guide-book,  and  he  would  look  up 
all  the  buildings. 

I  had  been  (Continued  on  page  108) 


Pete,  star  of  On  An  Island  With  You,  would  -feel  lost  without  his  records. 
Here,  Jackie  looks  over  Stan  Kenton  album.  Below,  in  Sir  Sidney's  formal 
garden,  the  boys  qet  lowdown  from  Pete's  dad  on  care  of  chrysanthemums. 


1 1  p 


crown 
princess 

Oi  er  the  radio  came  the  flash: 
"1  >  Shirley  Temple,  a  7-lb.  girl."  But 
Lii  da  Susan's  more  than  a 
ba  >y — she's  heiress  presumptive 
to  all  the  love  a 
coi  ntry  has  given  her  mother. 

by  hedda  hopper 


■  It  must  have  been  around  nine 
that  morning  when  the  wires  started  crackling. 
Into  newsrooms  up  and  down  the  country, 
and   out  again   over   the   radio  networks: 
"To  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Agar  (Shirley  Temple), 
a  daughter  at  7:15  AM.     Weight,  7 
lbs.  6  oz.    Name,  Linda  Susan." 

That  was  the  formal  announcement, 
but  most  of  us  weren't  very  formal 
about  it.   "Hey,  have  you  heard?"  we  yelled. 
"Our  Shirley's  a  mamma!" 

Our  Shirley.   There  you  had  the  story 
in  a  nutshell.    Not  just  Hollywood's 
Shirley,  but  America's. 

Plain  as  though  I  could  see  it,  I  knew  what 
was  happening  right  this  very  minute. 
Switchboards  cluttered  with  calls. 
Newshawks  (me  included)  wait- 
ing to  pounce  on  the  smallest  detail. 
Gifts  and  flowers  and  messages  pouring  in  from 
friends  who  knew  Shirley  and  friends  who'd 
never  seen  her  except  on  the  screen. 
From  coast  to  coast,  a  happy  stir  and 
commotion,  all  centered  on  a  girl  lying 
in  a  quiet  hospital  room. 

Less  than  twenty  years  ago  in  the  same 
hospital,  this  girl  had  been  born  to  Ger- 
trude and  George  Temple.  They  called 
her  Shirley  Jane,  and  no  flashes  went  out 
that  day.   Except  to  a  very  small  circle,  Shirley 
Jane  was  just  another  vital  statistic. 

Some  four  years  later  she  danced  into  our 
hearts  to  stay.    Now  the  child  we've  loved 
like  no  other  had  a  child  of  her  own.   I  sat 
at  my  desk,  remembering  how  she  looked  as 
Little  Miss  Marker.   How  she  looked  in  her 
wedding  gown,  floating  down  the  aisle  toward  her  Jack. 
And  something  caught  in  my  fool  throat  ... 

That  was  Friday,  January  30th.    On  the 
following  Wednesday,  I  took  off  for  the 
Mardi  Gras  in  New  Orleans,  and  I  got  back 
home  the  morning  of  St.  Valentine's  Day. 
In  the  afternoon  I  drove  up  to  see  Shirley. 
Knew  you  couldn't  wait. 

Being  of  another  generation,  I  expected 
to  find  her  in  bed.    Or  at  least  on  a  couch. 
Not  at  all.   With  a  baby  exactly  fifteen  days 
old,  there  she  stood  on  the  doorstep  to 
greet  me.    In  a  black  skirt  and  white  silk 
blouse.   A  Kelly-green  ribbon  round  her  hair 
to  match  the  one  at  her  throat. 

"Shirley,"  I  said,  "you  look  like  a  Valentine 
yourself." 

"Kind  of  a  chubby  one,"  she  laughed. 

"Honey,  two  weeks  won't  take  off  what 
it  took  nine  months  to  put  on — " 

Came  the  chuckle  that's  hardly  changed  in 
sixteen  years.    "Never  thought  of  it  that  way." 

This  was  my  first  visit  to  Shirley's  house. 
"What  would  you  like  to  see  first?"  she  asked. 

"Are  you  kidding?"  (Continued  on  page  62) 


30 


i 


■  If  you  possess  a  radio,  you  have  heard 
Audrey  Totter  at  one  time  or  another. 
She  was  the  dialect  queen  of  the  soap- 
operas,  the  much  publicized  "Girl  With 
1000  Voices." 

She  does  not  use  them  any  more.  Her 
own  husky,  slightly  insinuating,  straight- 
forward voice  seems  to  match  the  neat, 
healthy  body,  the  soft  blonde  hair,  the  un- 
wavering blue  eyes  and  the  amused,  knowl- 
edgeable quirk  at  the  corners  of  her  mouth. 
You  feel  that  she  has  always  been  aware, 
and  unafraid. 

She  was  twelve,  the  day  the  circus  came 
to  Joliet.  Her  first  circus,  it  was;  she  went 
to  see  it  with  a  girl  friend,  not  bothering 


to  mention  the  fact  to  her  parents.  And 
as  the  gaudy  pageant  unfolded  beneath  the 
great  tent,  she  thought  that  here  at  last 
was  all  the  glamor  and  color  she  had  ever 
imagined. 

Unconsciously  she  compared  the  life 
these  performers  must  lead  with  her  own 
existence.  Mr.  Totter  had  come  to  America 
from  Austria  to  be  a  priest.  A  few  months 
after  his  arrival,  he  met  the  beautiful  Ida 
Woodman,  fell  desperately  in  love  with 
her  and  got  married.  He  took  a  job  as  a 
streetcar  conductor  because  he  thought  he 
could  learn  English  quicker  that  way.  It 
paid  him  enough  to  keep  his  family  in 
comparative  security,  and  he  did  not  get 


another  job  even  after  he  lost  his  accent. 

But  in  the  small,  six-room  frame  house  in 
Joliet,  his  two  sons  and  his  two  daughters 
were  raised  with  kind  strictness,  as  befitted  j 
the  family  of  a  man  who  had  almost  joined 
the  Church.  Audrey,  the  oldest,  had  been 
taught  all  the  virtues,  and  she  had  often 
heard  her  father's  stated  opinions  of  girls 
who  went  on  the  stage. 

"Yes,"  he  would  say,  at  dinner,  "being 
an  actress  is  just  as  bad  as  being  a — " 

"John!"  Mrs.  Totter  would  interrupt, 
with  a  warning,  glance  at  the  girls. 

Now,  watching  the  glittering  circus  acro- 
bats on  their  high  wires  and  swings,  Audrey 
remembered  that.    But  she  saw  that  the 


32 


Totter' s  an  ex-soap 


opera  queen  with  a  husky 


voice  and  a  knowing 


look  that  says:  "I'm  not  afraid." 


But  every  time  she  falls  in 


love,  life  can  be  devastating! 


By  ARTHUR  L  CHARLES 


Audrey,  being  groomed  as  another  Turner,  visits  Bob  Taylor's 
dressing-room.  They're  co-starring  in  High  Wall.  She'll  do 
Saxon  Charm  next.  Romance  Dept.:  Nick  Raye  has  the  edge. 


lovely  girls  hanging  by  their  teeth  high 
above  the  sawdust  rings  had  long  blonde 
curls  that  tossed  back  from  their  heads. 
She  had  long  blonde  curls,  and  a  nearly 
complete  set  of  strong,  white  teeth. 

"Jane,"  she  whispered  to  her  little  friend, 
"I'm  going  to  join  the  circus!"  Forthwith, 
when  the  show  had  ended,  she  sought  out 
the  manager  of  the  outfit  and  offered  her 
services.  The  manager  telephoned  her 
father.  Her  father  came  and  took  her  home. 

There  was  a  scene,  and,  in  the  end,  a 
compromise. 

"If  you  will  promise  riot  to  run  away 
again,"  her  father  said,  "until  you  have 
finished   high   {Continued   on   page  75) 


a  u d  rey 
aces 


33 


■  Sometimes  I  look  at  Tim  and  Greg  and 
the  realization  comes  over  me  like  a  wave, 
"Me — with  twins!"  I  can  still  hardly  be- 
lieve it. 

Jess  was  the  first  not  to  believe  it, 
though.  I  had  gone  to  the  doctor  for  an 
X-ray,  and  had  left  Jess  sitting  in  the  car. 
When  I  came  out  of  the  office,  I  walked 
slowly  toward  him.  "Hello,"  I  said,  "you 
father  of  twins,  you!" 

He  grinned.  "Stop  kidding  me.  I  can't 
take  it." 

"I  am  not  bandying  words,  nor  speaking 

34 


in  idle  jest,"  I  told  him  grandly.  "That's 
what  the  doctor  said.    Move  over." 

Jess  shot  out  of  the  car  and  bounded  up 
the  doctor's  office  steps.  He  came  back  a 
minute  later,  looked  at  me,  and  exhaled. 
"Gee,"  he  said.  Which  I  thought  was  put- 
ting it  rather  mildly. 

Mother  was  surprised,  too,  but  not  en- 
tirely. Her  own  mother  had,  among  sundry 
other  offspring,  a  pair  of  twins. 

"Oh,  my  poor  baby!"  she  wailed  when  I 
had  phoned  the  news.  "You  would  be  the 
.one  to  get  them!" 


For  my  part,  I  considered  my  doctor  off 
his  trolley.  After  the  whole  thing  was  over 
and  Jess  tiptoed  into  my  hospital  room,  I 
looked  at  him  somewhat  foggily  and  said, 
"Well?" 

"You're  the  mother  of.  two  fine  boys," 
he  announced. 

I  giggled  weakly.    "Jess!    Stop  kidding 

me!" 

"I'm  not.    They're  wonderful." 
"Well,  get  me!"  I  said.  "Mother  of 
twins !" 

Of  course  it  {Continued  on  page  65) 


To  avoid  a  fraternal  fracas,  Tim  and  Greg  have  two  of  each 
toy.  Right  now  their  preference  is  for  footballs.  Susan  •  rushes 
home  from  work  on  Tap  Roots  to  coach — and  her  word  is  law! 


Barker  twins,  at  3,  are  separate  personalities.  Greg  is 
the  actor;  Tim  has  good  singing  voice.  Jess  and  Susan 
are  careful  that  boys  never  feel  one  is  the  favored  child.' 


With  twins,  your  prob- 
lems come  in  pairs:  you've  got 
two  hungry  mouths  to  feed, 
two  howling  savages  to  tame. 
But  you  can  wreak  a 
small  revenge — you've  also 
got  two  piggy  banks  to  rob! 


Official  holidays 
grow  blurred,  except 
for  one  or  two  .  .  . 
the  time  the  kids  took  "the 
picture"  .  .  .  the 
time  Bing  slept  on  the 
fence  .  .  .  but 
holidays  didn't  matter; 
every  day  was  Mother's  Day 
with  her. 


M 


Catherine  Crosby,  mother  of  7,  including  Emperor  Walts  star  Bing. 


a 


mother's  days 


by 

Catherine  crosby 


■  Curiously  enough,  one  of  my  warmest  Mother's 

Day  memories  goes  back  to  before  the  children  were  even  born;  back  to 
the  day  when  their  father  and  I  knew  we  had  established  a  home 
for  them;  a  place  warm  and  livable,  and  I  could  close  my  eyes  and 
imagine  them  there. 

It  was  the  same  home,  though  we  lived  in  several 
Washington  towns  in  our  earlier  married  life,  and  then  settled 
in  Spokane.   There  we  lived  in  the  north  end  of  the  city, 
close  to  St.  Aloysius  Church  and  Gonzaga  University.    All  around  us 
were  young  married  couples,  congenial  and  all  of  a  sort  in  tastes, 
economic  position  and  general  outlook.  Nobody  was  wealthy. 
Everybody  was  happy. 

It  was  against  this  background  that  my  youngsters  grew  up,  and,  while 
raising  seven  healthy  children  is  by  no  means  something  that 
happens  accidentally,  I  will  always  split  credit  with  the  community 
and  the  good  people  in  it.   It  was  a  fine  place  with  many  activities 
that  made  for  good  living.   Mother's  Day?   I  don't  know  about  the  official 
holiday,  but  if  you  are  speaking  of  plain  everyday  Mother's  Days, 
I  had  thousands  of  happy  ones  there. 

Like  most  families  we  can  tell  a  good  bit  of  our  history  by  snapshots 
taken  from  time  to  time  and  there  is  one,  a  mite  faded  and  peeling 
off  at  the  edges  now,  that  reminds  me  of  a  typical  "Mother's  Day," 
even  if  it  wasn't  that  by  the  calendar.  With  the  help  of  their 
dad,  the  children  were  going  to  surprise  me  with  this  photograph,  a  group 
picture  of  themselves.    Everyone  was  to  be  up  early,  get  dressed  quickly, 
assemble  in  the  yard — and  Dad  would  {Continued  on  page  105) 


36 


Photos  by  Gus  Gale 


come 
into 
my 

panor.. 

by  gregory  peck 


Had  to  uproot  some  of  the  trees — interfered  with  our  baseball  games. 


■  What  does  a  guy  know  about  a 
house?  That's  my  problem.  Describe 
your  house,  Greg,  you  say  to  me,  and 
I  start,  "Well,  there's  a  lot  of  red  and 
blue — "  and  my  wife  butts  in,  "Coral 
and  turquoise-*-"  It  sounds  better 
when  she  tells  it. 

Anyhow,  we've  got  this  long,  ram- 
bling place — it's  white,  it's  brick,  it's 
beautiful — and  I  don't  use  Pond's. 
We've  got  a  view  of  the  coastline  that 
Winslow  Homer  would  have  envied. 

We  bought  our  house  last  year,  and 
it's  only  partly  decorated.  We  were 
going  to  build  originally,  and  then 
Greta  came  home  this  day,  and  she 
said,  "What  a  place  I  saw.  Plain,  but 
wonderful." 

I  stared  her  down.  I  know  my  wife. 
"How  much?" 

She  told  me. 

I  stared  her  down  some  more.  "Too 
much." 

"But  you  have  to  see  it,"  she  said 
wistfully. 

Naturally,  I  am  now  living  in  the 
house.  So  are  my  wife,  our  two  chil- 
dren, Jonathon  and  Stephen,  our  Jesse, 
who's  a  combination  cook  and  house- 
keeper, and  a  gardener  named  Joe. 

Oh,  yeah,  we  have  a  swimming  pool. 
A  movie  star  wouldn't  be  caught  dead 
without  one.  Most  movie  stars 
wouldn't  be  (Continued  on  page  85) 


"After  Gentleman's  Agreement  and.  Paradine  Case 


y  man  again. 


38 


Joan,  always  the  actress  .  .  . 
pressing  camellias  in  a  book  .  .  . 
weeping  over  kidney  beans  .  .  . 
washing  dogs  with  lilac-scented  oil 
These  are  the  ways 
editor  Lusk  remembers  his 
Crawford,  last  of  the 
fiery  Hollywood  queens. 
By  NORBERT  LUSK 


close 


This  ivas  Joan  when  she 
first    met    Lusk,    in  '28. 


40 


■  Once  I  was  indifferent  to  Joan  Craw- 
ford. When  we  met  early  in  her  ca- 
reer, she  disappointed  me.  I  was  a  mag- 
azine editor  -then  and  a  little  vain,  and 
Joan  Crawford  had  asked  me  to  breakfast 
at  a  New  York  hotel  in  company  with  her 
press  agent.  But  all  she  seemed  to  have 
to  say  was  that  she  preferred  to  wash  her 
own  hair  because  she  couldn't  bear  to  have 
it  touched.  She  could  stand  having  it 
waved  by  other  hands  though,  and  did  I 
know  she  had  freckles? 


There  was  also  the  matter  of  fruit  juice. 
It  seemed  that  the  essence  of  grapefruit 
and  lemon  had  to  be  mixed  just  so,  she 
told  the  waiter.  Why  in  heaven's  name 
doesn't  she  carry  a  measuring  cup  with 
her  and  blend  the  juices  drop  by  drop?  I 
asked  myself  impatiently.  True,  her  legs 
and  ankles  were  delightful  below  the  very 
short  skirt  of  the  period,  and  she  had  a 
propulsive  personality  on  the  screen.  But 
as  a  conversationalist — and  a  hostess — she 
lacked  what  we  shall  politely  call  aware- 


ness. The  impression  I  got  was  not  good. 

Unfortunately,  I  couldn't  get  Joan 
Crawford  out  of  my  mind.  Being  in 
charge  of  a  magazine,  and  film  reviewer 
as  well,  I  saw  every  picture  she  made,  ex- 
amined nearly  every  photograph  she  had 
taken  and  probably  read  every  interview 
she  gave.  I  was  not  kind  in  my  criticisms, 
never  understanding  how  an  undecided 
young  actress  might  be  trying  to  make 
headway  in  the  face  of  terrific  competition. 
Nor  could  I  guess  how  frantically  she 


was  working  to  improve  herself  in  one 
gulp,  so  to  speak,  that  she  might  all  of  a 
sudden  make  up  for  a  childhood  as  miser- 
able as  might  be  found  in  a  novel  by 
Dickens. 

I  saw  Joan  Crawford  only  as  a  pub- 
licity-mad minor  actress  winning  cups  at 
dance  contests,  collecting  dolls,  and  crazy 
to  be  interviewed  on  any  subject  that 
would  enable  her  to  strike  a  dramatic  at- 
titude. She  was  a  symbol  of  the  dance- 
mad  era  of  the  (Continued  on  page  109) 


41 


"Take  down  everything 
he  says,"  our  editors  ordered. 
So  here's  Garfield — 
how  he  talks,  thinks,  lives  .  .  . 
Garfield,  the  big  guy 
who  worries  about  little  guys — 
because  he  was  once  one  himself 
By  VIRGINIA  WILSON 


He  and  Robbe  have  been  married  16  years,  have  two  kids:  David,  4,  and 
Julie,  2.  Since  Body  and  Soul,  fixed  fights  are  known  in  the  trade  as 
"John  "Garfields."  John's  next  may  be  based  on  diary  of  Brooklyn  cabbie. 


For  his  appearance  in  the  experimental  play,  Skipper 
Next  to  God,  John  received  $60  a  week.  He'll  net  half 
a  million  for  Gentleman's  Agreement,  Body  and  Soul. 


■  The  man  at  the  table  had  dark  hair,  and  eyes 
that  sized  you  up  in  a  split-second.  The  eyes 
made  me  slightly  nervous,  until  the  man  smiled. 
His  smile  said,  "Relax,  we're  friends." 

It's  not  easy  to  interview  John  Garfield.  He'll 
talk  about  anything  except  himself,  and  this  story 
was  supposed  to  be  about  Garfield.  I  told  him  so. 

"That  puts  me  on  the  spot,"  he  said,  rubbing 
his  forehead.  "I  never  can  think  of  things  to  say." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,"  I  said  hopefully.  "I'll 
just  ask  you  a  whole  lot  of  questions  and  that 
will  make  you  think  of  things." 

It  did,  too.  Only  every  question  would  make 
him  think  of  something  that  happened  to  some- 


body else.  Not  that  John  wasn't  trying  to  co- 
operate. He  just  didn't  seem  to  have  any  ego 
whatever.  Ego  or  no  ego,  though,  he  has  very 
deep  and  sincere  convictions.  These  convictions 
are  about  a  number  of  matters. 

These  convictions  are  the  reason  he  has  been 
appearing  in  Skipper  Next  To  God — the  Ex- 
perimental Theater's  production.  John  came  to 
New  York  last  fall  wanting  to  do  a  Broadway 
play.  But  the  script  that  interested  him  most 
wasn't  going  to  be  produced  on  Broadway  at  all. 
There  would  be  no  large  salary;  in  fact,  there 
would  be  practically  no  salary  at  all.  But  here 
was  a  play  which  John  (Continued  on  page  103) 


Here  is  the 

Cornel  Wildes'  story  told 

frankly  at  last.  It's  about 

two  fine  people  battling  Hollywood 

— where  the  odds  are  the 

most  dangerous  in  the  world! 

BY  IDA  ZEITL1N 


"why 
we  left  each  other 


Cornel  completed  three  oils  between  scenes  of  Walls  of  Jeri- 
cho, donated  them  to  Movie  Star  Art  Exhibit.  He's  happy  wife 
Pat  has  come  through  "a  very  depressing  period  in  her  life." 


■  I  sat  in  the  cafe  on  the  TC-Fox 
lot,  waiting  for  Cornel  Wilde,  and 
wishing  I  was  anywhere  else. 

I'm  no  greenhorn,  I've  been  at  this 
game  for  years.     But  today  was 
different.    I'd  been  sent  to  find  out  what 
lay  at  the  roots  of  Cornel's  recent 
troubles.   There'd  been  plenty  of  stories — 
all  based  on  hearsay  and  speculation,  what  this 
friend  had  heard  and  that  associate  believed. 
But  I  was  supposed  to  get  it  straight. 

Well,  you  can't  say,  "Hi,  chum,  why  did  you 
and  your  wife  separate,  and  how  are  things 
now?"    Not  unless  you're  prepared  to 
be  told  it's  none  of  your  business — a  viewpoint 
your  editor  finds  unwholesome.  No, 
you've  got  to  be  subtle.  Round 
and  round  went  my  head. 

Then  along  came  '  Cornel,  with  apologies 
for  being  late.  For  my  part,  I  groaned 
to  myself,  you  could  have  been  later.   As  a 
matter  of  fact,  you  could  have  stood  in  bed. 

I  dragged  out  my  notebook.    "This  is  a 
tough  assignment." 

He  grinned.  "About  Pat  and  me?  I'll  talk." 

From  then  on,  it  wasn't  Cornel  sitting  beside 
me,  but  an  angel.    Before  he  got  through, 
I  knew  that  the  Wilde  story  had  been 
told  for  the  first  time — frankly,  intelligently,  and 
with  no  holds  {Continued  on  page  98) 


44 


e  drumming  up  trade 
for  my  play. " 


by  jean  p/erreaa moot 


■  I  have  a  friend  who  takes  pictures. 
Not  for  a  living;  nothing  so  useful  as  that. 
No,  this  is  a  friend  who,  if  you  are 
showing  a  guest  your  library,  you  will  find 
this  friend  lying  on  top  of  your  bookcase 
on  his  stomach,  taking  your  picture. 
The  most  he  ever  hopes  for  is  to  snap 
your  picture  when  your  mouth  is 
open,  your  eyes  are  shut,  and  your  teeth 
are  out.   My  teeth  are  attached, 
so  there  is  not  too  much  he  can  do  to 
me,  but  he  tries.   He  tried  all  over 
Paris,  and  when  I  returned  to  New  York, 
my  old  friends  Al  and  Henry  said, 
"These  are  cute  pictures — may  we  use 
some  of  them?" 

And  what  could  I  say? 
That  my  friend  is  a  pest,  and  you  will 
encourage  him?   Of  course  I  could  not. 
So  here  you  have  the  pictures. 

After  finishing  Atlantis,  I  left  for 
Europe  last  June  8th.  Almost  a  year 
has  passed  since  then — a  few  hundred 
days,  a  few  hundred  units  of  time,  and 
where  they  have  gone,  I  am  afraid 
to  think,  because  so  much  has  happened, 
and  it  seemed  to  happen  so  fast. 

It  was  a  lovely  spring  day,  that  June 
eighth,  and  the  Hudson  was  looking 
very  green,  and  even  though  I  knew  the 
boat  was  headed  for  London,  I  was 
already  (Continued  on  page  100) 


46 


"An  outdoor  aperitif 
at  the  Cafe  de  la  Paix. " 


accent  on  oxfords 


"but 


be 


■    "I'm   sorry,"   said   Hazel  Flanagan, 
one   of   the   studio's  best  hair-do  people, 
about  this  one  I'll  bet  you're  wrong."  < 

The  young  man  with  the  red-blonde  hair 
shuddered  imperceptibly,  and  waved  his  comb 
at  Hazel.  "You'll  see.    She'll  look  at  us  like 
we're  monkeys  in  a  zoo.    All  these  theater 
people  got  ideas  about  Hollywood  and  there's 
nothing  we  can  do  to  change  them.  She'll 
telling  us  how  to  run  our  business.  You'll 
wish  you  were  dead." 

Hazel  stopped  fussing  with  a  bottle  containing 
a  greenish  substance.    "She's  a  nice  girl," 
she  insisted.    "Probably  scared  to  death." 

A  harried   messenger   from   the  publicity 
department  burst  into  the  room.   "Make  like 
you're  excited,"  said  the  messenger.    "She's  on  her 
way.    And,  Hazel,  ask  her  who's  been  doing 
her  hair.   I  got  an  enemy  I'd  like  to  send  there." 

"See  what  I  mean?"  the  young  man  said, 
triumphant. 

A  moment  later  she  stood  before  them.  She  wore 
flat  shoes  suitable  for  scaling  the  Matterhorn,  a 
skirt  and  shirt  covered  by  a  suitably  ancient 
camel's  hair  coat.    She  looked  like  a  suburban 
young  matron. 

"This,"    said    the   messenger,    "is  Dorothy 
McGuire,"  and  fled. 

The  young  man  whispered  something  about 
an  appointment,  and  also  fled. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  Miss 
McGuire  asked  Hazel,  with  the  voice  of 
someone  who  has  come  prepared  for  outlandish  , 
rites.  "  {Continued  on  page  100) 


She  hacked  her  own  hair  with 

a  razor,  and  scoffed  at  glamor.  "McGuire 

won't  go  Hollywood,"  people  said — 

but  Hollywood  went  all  out  for  Dot  McGuire! 

By  DAVID  CHANDLER 


48 


Between  pictures  Dorothy  stays  at  home,  in  a  barn  along  the  Hudson; 
she  and  husband  John  Swope  remodeled  it.  Following  up  Gentle- 
man's Agreement,  "McGuire's  doing  A  Doll's  House  for  Selzniclt. 


MODERN  SCREEN  flew  to 
Sweden  and  brought  back  this  rare 
collection  of  photos.  Through  them 
the  exciting  beginnings  of  an 
actress  can  be  glimpsed.  And  the 
veil  of  mystery  surrounding  Ingrid's 
early  life  is  finally  parted  .  . . 


CHILDHOOD  OF  A  GODDESS:  This  photo  certainly  gives 
hint  of  future  glory.  Although  she  acted  before  a  mirror 
home,  Ingrid  (rt.)  was  extremely  shy,  hated  school  recitatio 


the 

missing  bergman 


pictures! 


DRAMATISK  TEATERNS  ELEVSKOLA:  Ingrid  (on  couch  arm)  en- 
raged dramatic  school  board  when  she  left  for  movie  career. 
Frank  Sundstrom  (seated  rt.)  is  last  year's  import  to  Hollywood. 

INGRID'S  WEDDING  DAY:  In  a  church  in  northern  Sweden, 
2 1 -year-old  Ingrid  wed  Aron  Peter  Lindstrom,  then  a  dentist. 
This    is   first   time    the    rare    photo    has    been  published. 


■  Ever  since  Modern  Screen  published 
the  life,  story  of  Ingrid  Bergman  (way  back  in 
August,  '43)  we  have  been  aware  that 
there  existed  in  her  native  Sweden  a  great 
treasure    of   early   Bergman  pictures 
which  no  American  reader  has  ever  seen. 
We  wrote  letter  after  letter,  s.ent  cable 
after  cable,  to  film  and  publicity  offices  in 
Stockholm,  but  we  got  no  results.  We 
thought  perhaps  the  Swedes  felt  a  proprietary 
interest  in  the  young  Bergman,  and  were 
unwilling  to  part  with  the  photographs  for  that 
reason,  but  this  only  piqued  our  curiosity 
further.    For  the  strange  story  of  how 
Editor  Malmgreen  flew  to  Stockholm  on  a 
quest  that  seemed  quite  as  fantastic  as  the 
pursuit  of   Captain   Kidd's  treasure,  turn  to 
page  4  in  this  issue. 

But  the  story  that  needs  telling  here — 
the  story  to  which  our  pictures  testify — is 
of  a  woman  whose  past  has  been  singularly 
de-emphasized  by  the  American  press. 

It  is  flattering  to  our  American  sense  of 
superiority  to  imagine  that  Ingrid  Bergman 


MADONNA  AND  CHILD:  An  intimate  photo  of  Ingrid  and  Pia,  this  is  the  first  (and  to-date  A  WOMAN'S  FACE:  In  the  film  A  Woman's  Face, 
the  last)  authorized  for  publication.  When  Selznick  called  Sweden  to  offer  U.  S.  career,  the  Bergman  you  know  today  had  finally  emerged. 
Ingrid  pleaded  busy.   "Business"  was  having  daughter.    Pia,  now  9,  is  in  Joan  Of  Arc.      Crawford  did  American  version  of  the  picture  in  1941. 


Bergman — then  and  now — has  only  been 
enhanced,  and  re-established. 

To  round  out  our  pictures,  we  asked 
Stig  Almqvist,  a  leading  Stockholm  journa- 
list, to  write  an  article  about  Ingrid  as  she 
was.  Here,  in  his  own  words,  is  that  article: 

"We  learn  from  Hollywood  that  Ingrid 
Bergman  is  defying  certain  established  cus- 
toms and  r.ules  of  that  movie  city  by  con- 
stantly refusing  to  discuss  her  private  life 


the 

missing  bergman 
pictures! 


came  here  a  gauche,  green  country  girl. 
Actually,  she  turned  her  back  on  a  Euro- 
pean film  career  of  a  brilliance  perhaps 
matched  only  by  Garbo's. 

To  see  these  pictures  is  to  open  the  gate 
into  an  enchanted  garden  of  the  past,  and 
to  discover  there  a  Bergman  who  ceased 
to  exist  when  she  first  set  foot  on  these 
shores.  The  mystery  surrounding  the  lost 
Bergman  is  gone,  but  the  loveliness  of 


52 


FIRST  STEP  TO  GLORY:    In  1934,  Swedish  critics  panned  !9-yr.-old  Ingrid.  Later,  she  got  medal  from  King  Gustav  for  great  acting! 


with  the  press.  Oh,  we  recognize  that 
perfectly:  Even  before  1939,  during  her 
rising  as  a  star  in  Swedish  films  nobody 
could  accuse  her  of  any.  over-eager 
co-operativeness,  but  if  there  were  any 
hard  feelings  in  the  beginning,  surely 
they  disappeared  very  quickly.  Whether 
it  would  have  gone  quite  as  smoothly, 
had  the  Swedish  journalists  been  as 
diabolically  inquisitive  as  their  American 


colleagues,  I  do  not  know.'  Neither  is 
the  Swedish  public  so  prying  about  the 
private  business  of  the  stars  as  the 
Americans  seem  to  be.  It  never  happens 
in  this  country  that  an  actor  or  actress 
publicly  discusses  her  love  affairs,  ro- 
mances, divorces  etc.,  and  when  Ingrid 
Bergman  restricted  her  talkativeness 
still  some  degrees — e.g.  by  refusing  to 
answer  all  round  inquiries  about  this 


and  that  from  ladies'  weeklies — the 
interviewers  very  soon  accepted  her 
wish  to  be  left  in  peace.  The  fighting 
got  a  bit  harder  when  it  came  to  photo- 
graphing her  home  and  little  Pia.  The 
Swedes  simply  love  seeing  popular  per- 
sonalities photographed  in  their  private 
surroundings  and  with  their  little  chil- 
dren. For  a  couple  of  years  Ingrid's 
private  life  (Continued  on  page  82) 


S3 


FOUR-YEAR-OLD  CHRIS  GETS  THE  COMICS  READ;  JOSH,  AGED  SEVEN,  READS  THEM  HIMSELF. 


Likes  to  loaf  in  the  sun, 
likes  his  wife,  likes  to  polish  his  kids' 

shoes.  What  does  losing  a  fortune 
mean  to  this  Mitchum  fellow? 

BY  CARL  SCHROEDER 


BOB  IOF  RACHEL  AND  THE  STRANGER)  CHIEF  ENGINEER  ON  JOSH-CHRIS  LINE. 


and 


the 
livin 


■  "Man  down  at  the  stage  door  says  you  owe  him  $5." 

"Nope,"  said  Bob  Mitchum,  putting  down  his  copy  of  the  San  Francisco 
Chronicle.    "I  don't  owe  anybody  $5.    Go  back  and  ask  him  again — 
maybe  he  owes  me  five." 
1  Mitchum's  man  closed  the  dressing-room  door.  In  three  minutes  he  was  back. 

"Man  still  says  you  owe  him  five." 

"Okay,  let's  go  see  him."   Mitchum  picked  his  big  feet  off  a  coffee 
table,  hitched  up  his  blue  jeans'  and  went  down  to  see  the  fellow 
at  the  stage  door. 

"Uh-uh,"  he  said.   "Never  saw  you  before.   Don't  owe  you  any  money." 
The  man  was  big.   He  took  a  deep  breath. 
A  cloud  of  smoke  blew  past  Mitchum's  ears. 

"Maybe,"  said  the  man,  carefully,  "it  wasn't  five.   Maybe  it  was  ten." 

"Sure,"  Mitchum  replied  evenly.  "But  then  again,  I  said  no. 
You  got  big  ears.  You  can  hear  a  small  no — or  maybe  you  need  another  answer." 

"Yeah."  The  man's  huge  head  slid  forward.   He  blew  some  more  smoke 
at  Mitchum.    "Yeah,  there's  a  gym  across  the  street.    I  don't  go  for  no  alley 
stuff,  but  if  I  went  around  and  around  with  you  in  a  ring,  probably  you'd 
remember  what  you  owe  me." 

"Look,"  Bob  said,  "if  you  need  five  or  ten,  I'll  give  it  to  you — but  don't  act 
like  a  collection  agency.   And  if  you  need  some  exercise,  I'll  give  you  that, 
too — but  not  right  now  because  I'm  due  on  the  stage." 

With  that,  he  turned  on  the  heel,  walked  up  the  steps  to  the  wings,  and  on  to 
face  the  audience. 

"There's  the  guy,  still  waiting,"  Bob's  Man  Friday  pointed  out  as  he  came 
off  the  stage  and  they  emerged  into  the  side  street  back  of  the  theater.    "Let's  just 
ignore  it." 

"Yeah."    Bob  tossed  off  the  one  word.    Then  he  walked  across  the  street  and 
into  the  gym.    He  took  off  his  shirt.    The  big  man,  following  behind 
did  the  same  thing.  (Continued  on  page  79) 


55 


i'm  june's 
guardian  angel 

A  secretary  types  letters  and  tells 
people  you're  out.  But  Allyson's 
right  hand,  McCarthy,  has  other  duties;  she's 
clothes-advisor,  fudge  partner,  and 
keeper  of  too  many  kitchen  curtains! 


/ 


8:30  A.M.  Hair  and  makeup  finished,  June  has  a  second  break- 
fast in  her  dressing  room,  with  secretary  Maggie  McCarthy. 
Maggie  feeds  cue  lines  from  script  of  The  Three  Musketeers. 


9:00  A.M.  The  girls  report  for  work,  Maggie  remaining  on  side- 
lines. Like  all  stars'  sees,  Mag  keeps  track  of  June's  parapher- 
nalia, runs  errands  when  her  boss  can't  leave  the  sound  stage. 


■  Being  star-struck  is.  a  funny  thing.  I  remember  when 
I  was  a  little  girl,  and  my  mother  worked  at  M-G-M,  she'd 
occasionally  take  me  out  there  with  her.  I'd  stand  around 
and  stare  at  Joan  Crawford  or  Clark  Gable  until  some 
superior  grown-up  -came  along  and  said,  "Maggie,  shut 
your  mouth." 

After  a  while,  I  grew  up  myself,  and  I  figured  I  was 
pretty  sophisticated,  but  I  still  got  a  kick  out  of  reading 
movie  gossip  and  watching  movie  people.  I  don't  care 
what  the  columnists  say  about  the  nice  normal  lives  stars 
live — there's  an  aura  of  glamor  surrounding  a  star  that's 
bound  to  excite  us  outsiders. 

Fortunately,  I  married  a  guy  who  didn't  say,  "Maggie, 
shut  your  mouth."  More  than  that  McCarthy  (that's 
my  husband)  worked  at  M-G-M.    It  was  fate,  I  guess. 

One  night,  he  came  home  grinning.  "June  Allyson's 
secretary's  leaving." 

"That  so?"  I  said,  leaping  to*  plot  a  campaign. 

For  a  wonder,  it  worked.  Bob  (that's  my  husband 
again)  took  me  out,  introduced  me,  said  a  couple  of  words 
and  beat  it.  My  knees  took  it  from  there.  I  made  a  hor- 
rible impression,  and  June  felt  so  sorry  for  me,  she 
gave  me  the  job. 

Get  me,  Maggie  McCarthy,  hobnobbing  with  movie  stars. 
And  did  I  pick  a  cute  one.  You  probably  know  as  much 
about  the  Way  June  looks  as  I  do.  But  the  way  she  is, 
that's  something  else. 

I  remember  her  when  we  were  getting  her  scrapbooks 
in  order.  We  spread  things  out  on  the  floor,  in  front  of 
the  open  fire.  We  had  books,  and  clippings,  and  bottles 
of  paste  and  scissors,  and  June  was  sitting  there  looking 
at  a  little  yellow  piece  of  paper,  and  her  blonde  hair  was 


falling  over  her  face,  and  she  was  a  million  miles  away. 
After  a  while,  she  handed  me  the  paper.  It  was  a  review 
of  Best  Foot  Forward,  the  Broadway  musical  she'd  got 
her  big  break  in,  and  it  was  funny  to  read  it,  and  to 
realize  she'd  been  a  star  back  in  1942. 

Her  press  collection  was  tremendous.  She  showed  me 
her  favorite  story — one  from  Modern  Screen  called  "Is 
It  True  What  They  Say  About  Junie?"  Then  she  tossed 
me  a  couple  she  wasn't  so  partial  to.  "This  one  says  I 
love  parties,  never  go  home,  and  drag  my  husband  around 
until  he's  so  tired  he  falls  asleep  in  the  car." 

I  looked  startled.  I  was  new  enough  so  I  didn't  know 
exactly  how  I  was  expected  to  react.  June  shook  her 
head  solemnly.  "And  it's  true,  too — every  word  of  it." 

We  were  still  giggling  when  I  found  the  fantastic  Sunday 
feature  item  that  claimed  June  had  been  divorced  twice, 
and  had  two  children  she  never  talked  about. 

"  'At's  me,"  she  said  happily.  "Every  time  I  have  a 
child,  I  get  more  close-mouthed." 

We  were  friends,  from  that  moment  on. 

You  should  see  hard-hearted  old  June  answering  her 
fan-mail,  a  tender  glow  in  her  eyes,  and  what  I  tell  her 
is  a  half-witted  smile  on  her  lips.  We  found  a  letter  six 
months  old  once — it  had  slipped  down  behind  a  lot  of 
other  things.  It  was  from  a  woman  whose  little  girl  was 
ill,  and  she  wanted  to  know  if  June  would  write  the  child 
a  note. 

June  was  horrified.  "Six  months!  What  will  I  do? 
What  can  I  do?" 

"Look,"  I  said,  "the  child's  probably  well  and  blooming 
by  now,  and  the  mother's  forgotten  the  whole  business — " 

It  ended  up  with  June  sending  the  child  a  picture,  auto- 


i'm  june's  guardian  angel 


HBBBHHHHMBHHHnfliHBiHHHSBHIHHMR^'^,^  ~ 
1:00  P.M.  Dashing  back  to  the  dressing-room  for  lunch, 
Maggie  (who's  switched  to  more  comfortable  costume) 
has  difficulty  keeping  up  with  her  super-charged  charge. 


2:00  P.M.  In  the  afternoon,  Maggie  settles  down  to  routine  duties. 
Her  work-shop  is  in  a  quiet  corner  "of  the  Publicity  Building  at 
M-G-M.  For  office  wear,   Mag's  in  conventional  skirt  and  blouse 


graphed,  a  letter,  apologetic,  and  also  writing  a  painstaking 
explanation .  to  the  mother.  Little  Miss  Conscience,  we 
call  her.  She's  got  this  terrific  sense  of  right  and  wrong, 
and  she'll  forgive  anybody's  mistakes  before  she'll  forgive 
heir  own.  Take  me — I've  slipped  up  a  couple  of  times, 
and  pot  her  on  the  spot.  She  doesn't  hold  a  grudge. 
There  was  the  time  the  John  Paynes  had  an  anniversary 
party,  and  June  was  sick  and  couldn't  go.  I  thought  she'd 
phoned  regrets,  she  thought  I'd  phoned  regrets,  and  the 
fact  was,  nobody  phoned.  Next  day_  after  the  party, 
June  read  the  papers,  and  groaned. 

I'm  sure  she  felt  like  firing  me.  It  was  bad  enough 
being  sick,  without  having  added  troubles.  But,  after 
that  first  groan,  I  never  heard  about  the  episode  again. 

Maybe  you'd  like  to  hear  what  some  of  my  duties 
are,  aside  from  correspondence.  Let's  take  a  recent 
Thursday  .  .  . 

June  had  to  sit  for  stills,  that  particular  morning,  and 
she'd  gone  off  to  the  studio  in  a  sweater  and  slacks  because 
she  knew  Wardrobe  would  supply  her  with  clothes  for  the 
sitting. 

When  I  showed  up,  she  was  in  trouble.  "I  want  to  go 
shopping  this  afternoon,  and  I  won't  have  time  to  go 
home  and  change — " 

I  got  it.  You  can't  suggest  to  that  paragon  of  neatness 
that  she  might  go  shopping  in  slacks;  she'd  faint.    So  I 


hustled  myself  right  over  to  her  house  to  pick  out  a  suit. 

She's  got  nice  clothes,  naturally.  She's  given  all  her 
Old  Look  ones  away,  though — except  her  mink  coat; 
that's  being  re-made.  Don  Loper  and  Howard  Greer 
design  most  of  her  things;  she's  got  a  Loper  suit  I'm  in 
love  with — it's  Donegal  tweed,  with  a  red  blouse  and  a  red 
lining — but  I'm  getting  lost. 

Anyway,  I  picked  her  out  a  suit,  and  went  back  to  the 
studio. 

While  she  got  into  it,  she  muttered  some  words  about 
furniture.  "I'm  tired  of  waiting  for  that  decorator," 
she  said.  "The  den's  had  two  love  seats  and  a  table 
for  months — " 

"But  it'll  be  beautiful  some  day,"  I  said. 

She  said,  "I  can't  wait.  I'm  going  to  Sloan's." 

That  was  that.  I  drove  her  to  Sloan's.  She'd  given 
me  a  list  of  shopping  to  do  that  afternoon,  presents  for 
people  on  the  set,  because  her  picture  was  finishing.  After 
I  dropped  her,  I  was  to  get  busy  with  the  list. 

"What's  tonight?"  she  asked  suddenly. 

I  looked  at  my  memo  pad,  when  we  stopped  for  a  light. 
"Dinner  at  the  Richard  Quines'." 

"Hmm,"  she  said.  "It's  Richard's  birthday.  I've  got  his 
present,  but  he  needs  a  cake.  I  wonder  if  Susan  knows 
it's  Richard's  birthday." 

"Probably,"  I  said  wittily.  "He's  her  husband." 


58 


6:00  P.M.  Studio  day  over,  June  and  Mag  get  together  in  friendly 
fashion  at  home,  to  finish  the  day's  mail.  June  dictates  an  out- 
line of  what  she  wants  to  say,  then  Mag  types  it  for  her  okay. 


"You're  wrong,  kid,"  she  said.  He's  my  husband." 

By  the  time  we  got  our  Richards  straightened  out, 
we  were  at  Sloan's,  and  we  parted. 

The  next  morning,  I  arrived  at  June's  house  along 
with  the  furniture  van.  A  couple  of  men  got  out  and 
started  to  carry  tables  and  chairs  and  lamps  up  the 
drive  and  into  the  house.  June  was  watching  bright- 
eyed.  But  after  the  things  had  all  been  put  down  in 
the  den,  and  the  men  had  driven  off,  her  eyes  were  not 
so  much  bright  as  bewildered.  "Somehow,"  she  said 
thoughtfully,  "somehow  this  all  looks  ghastly." 

We  proceeded  to  switch  things  around.  Still  terrible. 
We  sat  down,  dolefully.  "You  know,"  June  said, 
"these  things  are  exactly  the  same  as  the  things  the 
Jackie  Coopers  have,  and  their  place  is  darling." 

"Maybe  you  could  switch  places,"  I  said. 

"Maybe  I  could  cry,"  she  said. 

The  problem  was  elementary.  The  furniture  was 
small,  and  Early  American,  the  den  was  large,  and 
Tudor. 

When  Richard  came  home,  he  gasped,  cried  out,  and 
acted  generally  pained,  and  the  stuff  went  back  next 
day,  every  stick  of  it. 

June  and  Richard  are  marvelous  together,  they  enjoy 
the  same  things,  they  go  through  periods  of  staying 
home  every  night  interspersed  {Continued  on  page  107) 


6:30.  P.M.  Restless  June  is  the  first  to  suggest  they  quit  work  for 
a  few  hands  of  a  new  trick  card  game.  June  is  wild  with  excitement 
over  new  games,  wins  every  time  because  she  concentrates  so  hard. 


7:00  P.M.  Time  to  dress.  Mag  helps  June  make  up  her  mind  about 
clothes;  does  much  of  her  shopping.  After  a  debate,  June  decides  not  to 
change,  as  they  are  dining  informally  with  Dick,  and  Mag's  husband,  Bob. 

9:00  P.M.  Favorite  evening  diversion,  aside  from  showing  movies,  is 
cooking  up  a  mess  of  fudge  for  the  boys.  It's  a  set  routine,  with  hus- 
bands not  permitted  in  the  kitchen  until  the  chocolate  morsels  are  done. 


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60 


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The  kiss  meant  they  should  have  met  hefore 

this  starlit  night  in  Italy.  The  kiss  meant 
that  Burt  and  Norma  belonged  together  .  .  . 

by  HOWARD  SHARPE 


story  of  a  kiss 


Burt  (of  All  My  Sons)  and  his  wife,  Norma  Anderson,  met  in 
Italy.  He  was  a  soldier,  she,  a  USO  entertainer.  Married  on  Dec. 
28th,  '46,  the  Lancasters  live  in  Westwood  with  their  baby,  Bill. 


■  The  French,  who  have  a  phrase 
for  almost  everything  (but  particularly  for  that 
which  concerns  the  heart)  refer  to  frus- 
tration in  love  as  chagrin  d 'amour — and  it  was 
this  that  Burt  Lancaster  suffered  that 
summer  night  in  Monte  Catini  Ferme.  Italy  was 
still  a  battleground,  and  this  hilly  spa,  this 
Mount  Catini,  one  of  the  few  oases  of 
peace  on  the  continent.  There  was  a  large 
custard  moon  in  the  sky,  with  the  cypress  and 
oleander  trees  silhouetted  against  it.  A 
gentle  breeze  enlivened  the  soft  air. 
And  here,  on  the  edge  of  his  barracks  cot, 
sat  T4  Lancaster,  alone,  while  hundreds  of  kilo- 
metres away,  also  alone  (he  hoped)  was  Norma 
Anderson,  she  pf  the  golden  hair,  the 
deep  blue  eyes,  the  pinup  figure. 

He  had  met  Norma  a  few  weeks  before.  Now, 
sitting  here  with  only  a  mental  portrait 
of  her,  and  the  memory  of  her  voice  in  his  mind 
he  recalled  that  day  clearly  .  .  . 

The  particular  Special  Services  unit  to 
which  he  was  attached  had  been  stationed  at 
Monte  Catini  for  three  years.  It  had 
produced  Stars  and  Gripes,  acknowledged  as 
the  best  show  of  its  kind  staged  in  Italy. 
The  company  had  a  surplus  of  talent,  an 
eighteen-piece  orchestra,  and  now,  at  least  for  one 
performance,  it  was  to  have  the  loan  of  a 
blonde  comedienne  from  Naples  USO. 

"Her  name's  Norma  Anderson,"  the  top- 
kick  told  Burt  in  the  orderly  room,  "and  some- 
one's got  to  take  charge  of  her  while  she's 
here,  show  her  around,  see  that  she's  happy.  Think 
you  can  manage?"  (Continued  on  page  93) 


61 


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leaves  your  hair  more 
beautiful         3  / 


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Shasta — the  beauty  cream  shampoo. 

NEW!  Fragrant,  satiny  Shasta  cream- 
cleanses  your  hair  .  .  .  beautifies  your 
hair  all  3  ways — as  no  soap — bar  or 
liquid — will!  In  one  Shasta  shampoo, 
your  hair  will  have 

•  that  lustrous  "alive"  look! 
•  that  sm-o-o-oth  as  satin  look! 
•  that  soft,  caressable  look! 

YES — ALL  THREE!  Yet  your  hair  has  "body" 


— it's  not  limp,  not  dried  out.  Shasta  is 
safe,  kind  to  hair.  Makes  mountains  of 
lather  even  in  hardest  water.  Removes 
flaky,  unlovely  dandruff,  too.  And 
doesn't  spill  or  run  into  eyes. 

Hurry!  For  more  beautiful  hair  all 
three  ways — get  Shasta.  Convenient 
sizes.  All  toiletries  counters. 


Procter  &  Gamble's 
Beauty  Cream  Shampoo 


CROWN  PRINCESS 


{Continued  from  page  30) 

"That's  what  I  thought.  Well,  she's  asleep 
but  I  guess  we  can  take  a  peek." 

She  led  the  way  to  the  nursery,  which 
used  to  be  the  guest  room.  Only  the  baby's 
furniture  is  new,  and  the  point  d'esprit 
curtains,  very  full  and  ruffled  and  looped 
back  with  huge  perky  blue  bows.  Other- 
wise, they  didn't  re-decorate,  and  a  glance 
tells  you  .why.  Nothing  could  be  more 
appropriate  than  the  broad-striped  blue- 
and-white  paper,  the  ceiling  of  pink  rose- 
buds against  a  white  background,  the  cut- 
out frieze  of  rosebuds  all  around.  If  this 
wasn't  done  from  the  start  with  a  baby 
in  mind,  I'll  eat  six  of  my  hats. 

In  the  white  bassinet  her  parents  picked 
out  together,  Linda  Susan  lay  sleeping. 
The  little  face  was  adorable,  topped  by 
soft  silky  brown  hair  with  no  curl  in  it. 

"She  can't  do  this  to  us,  Shirley.  It's 
got  to  curl." 

"Well,  I'm  working  on  it.  Keep  fluffing 
it  up  every  day.  But  if  it  wants  to  be 
straight,  it  can." 

Does  the  baby  resemble  her  mother? 
Mrs.  Temple  thinks  so.  So  does  the  doctor 
who  brought  Shirley  into  the  world. 
Shirley  and  Jack  haven't  made  up  their 
minds  yet.  Every  morhing  they  fly  in  to 
see  if  she's  changed. 

Actually,  they  think  she  looks  like  both 
of  them. 

There  were  toys  all  over  the  room,  yet 
it  wasn't  cluttered.  Some  sat  on  top  of  the 
chest  of  drawers,  some  filled  the  shelves  of 
the  built-in  bookcase.  On  the  floor  by  the 
bassinet  stood  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
objects  I've  ever  seen — a  two-foot  replica 
of  a  London  hansom  cab,  drawn  by  a 
wooden  horse.  Heaped  with  orchids,  David 
O.  Selznick  had  sent  it  to  Linda. 

"I  wish  I  could  show  you  her  clothes," 
said  Shirley.  "Such  lovely  things  from 
fans  all  over  the  country,  and  everything 
useful.  But  I'd  have  to  open  the  closets, 
and  that  might  wake  her.  Sounds  funny, 
but  even  when  she's  asleep,  she  seems 
to  know  if  you're  looking  at  her." 

So  we  left  her  to  sleep  in  peace,  while 
Shirley  showed  me  through  the  rest  of 
the  house.  I  don't  propose  to  linger  over 
details.    You  readers  of  Modern  Screen 


♦HOLLYWOOD 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


•  It's  not  always  easy  for  a  star  to 
live  up  to  the  he-man  reputation  of 
his  screen  roles.  Douglas  Fairbanks, 
Jr.  relates  such  an  experience  when 
during  the  war  he  was  in  charge  of  a 
landing  operation.  Faced  with  a 
high  castle  wall,  he  commanded, 
"Scale  the  wall!" 

But  the  men  stood  back  politely, 
waiting  for  Fairbanks  to  show  his 
best  wall-vaulting  technique.  Where- 
upon Fairbanks  changed  operational 
plans  and  commanded,  "Break  down 
the  door!" 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


probably  know  more  about  the  place  than 
I  do,  and  it's  the  baby  you  want  to  hear 
about  now.  But  before  going  on,  there's  one 
point  I'd  like  to  make.  People  have  a  way 
of  referring  to  the  Agars'  "dollhouse." 
Why,  I  don't  know.  There's  nothing  re- 
motely dollish  about  .it.  It's  a  beautiful 
grown-up  French  provincial  house  for 
grown-up  people. 

"Just  big  enough,"  says  Shirley,  "for  one 
maid  to  take  care  of.  And  that's  all  I 
want." 

It's  also  as  gracious  a  home  as  I've  ever 
stepped  foot  in.  The  living  room's  huge, 
yet  so  tastefully  done  that  it's  intimate 
as  well.  They  call  it  their  five-in-one. 
Shirley  points  to  the  fireplace.  "There's  our 
sitting-room."  To  the  table  down  at  the 
other  end,  which  seats  them.  "There's  our 
dining-room."  To  the  piano  and  radio. 
"That's  the  music  room."  To  the  little  table 
set  in  a  big  window  that  looks  out  over 
the  valley  to  the  sea.  "Breakfast  room. 
Turns  into  a  cardroom  at  night." 

"And  where  do  you  like  to  be  inter- 
viewed, Mrs.  Agar?" 

"Depends  what  I'm  being  interviewed 
about.  My  daughter?  Just  any  place  at 
all." 

It  was  late  on  Thursday  night  when 
Shirley  phoned  Dr.  Bradbury  and  told  him 
how  she  felt.  The  doctor  thought  it  might 
be  some  little  time  yet. 

"Better  take  one  of  those  nembutals  I 
left  you.  If  it  puts  you  to  sleep,  fine.  If 
the  baby's  coming,  it  won't  put  you  to 
sleep.  Oh,  and  tell  Jack  to  take  one.  It'll 
keep  him  less  jumpy." 

"That,"  said  Jack,  "is  what  I  call  a  con- 
siderate man." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  were  both  be- 
ginning to  drowse  when  suddenly  Shirley 
sat  upright  and  reached  for  the  phone. 
Which  brought  Jack  upright  too. 

"What  did  he  say?" 

"Hospital." 

Her  bag  had  been  packed  for  days. 
Jack  slid  the  car  out  softly— no  sense 
getting  the  family  all  hot  and  bothered 
at  2  a.m. — and  they  drove  to  Santa  Monica. 
Once  she  was  put  to  bed,  Shirley  felt  a 
little  foolish.  Nothing  was  happening.  For 
a  couple  of  hours  she  kidded  back  and 
forth  with  the  nurse,  then  she  quit  kid- 
ding. After  a  while  they  knocked  her  out. 
She  didn't  even  know  when  the  baby  was 
born. 

while  papa  slept  .  .  . 

As  for  Papa  Agar,  here's  where  the 
script  takes  a  twist.  Far  from  pacing,  he 
was  so  sound  asleep  in  the  waiting  room 
they  could  hardly  wake  him.  Yes,  the 
nembutal  dood  it.  Never  having  taken  a 
sleeping  pill  in  his  life,  it  laid  him  out 
cold.  First  thing  he  knew,  a  nurse  was 
shaking  his  shoulder. 

"Wake  up.  You've  got  a  darling  little 
girl." 

He  shot  off  the  couch.  "How's  Shirley?" 
"Fine." 

"Can  I  see  her?" 

"Not  yet,  she's  still  under.  But  Miss 
AgarH  be  ready  for  a  visit  pretty  soon." 

"Miss  Agar — "  It  started  sinking  in. 
"You  mean  my  baby!" 

Between  then  and  11  o'clock,  Jack  did 
his  pacing.  Phoned  both  grandmas,  and 
paced.  Took  his  first  dazzled  look  at  his 
daughter,  and  paced.  Called  the  studio 
as  he'd  faithfully  promised,  and  paced. 
Shirley  was  just  sleeping  it  off,  said 
the  doctor,  absolutely  nothing  to  worry 
about.  Jack  wasn't  worried,  not  much.  Felt 
like  walking,  that's  all.  Before  Shirley 
came  out  from  under,  he'd  covered 
miles. 

But  at  last  they  said  she  was  awake  and 
he  tiptoed  in  and  Shirley  smiled  at  him 
and  gave  him  the  news.  "It's  a  girl,  Jack." 

"I  know.  I  saw  her." 

"How  does  she  look?" 


"Gorgeous."  He  touched  her  hair.  "Tired, 
honey?" 
"Uh-uh.  Hungry." 

He  could  have  whooped  for  joy.  Just 
the  same,  hungry  or  not,  her  eyes 
were  closing  and  the  nurse  motioned 
Jack  to  go.  But  he  was  relaxed  now. 
Went  home  and  slept  off  the  rest  of  his 
nembutal. 

Shirley  had  a  lovely  time  in  the  hos- 
pital. Felt  well,  saw  her  husband  and 
baby  every  day,  and  her  room  was  a 
garden. 

She  didn't  feel  much  like  reading,  but 
had  the  radio  on  a  lot  and  got  plenty  of 
giggles  out  of  the  broadcasts.  Bob  Hope's, 
for  instance,  when  he  emceed  the  Look 
Awards  and  suggested  a  special  award 
to  Shirley  Temple  for  being  the  youngest 
producer  in  Hollywood.  And  Gabriel 
Heatter's.  Don't  pin  me  down  to  the  exact 
wording,  but  it  went  somethig  like  this: 
"There's  good  news  tonight.  News  about 
commodities,  news  about  Shirley  Temple 
and  Babe  Ruth.  Commodities  are  down. 
Shirley  Temple  has  a  baby  girl  and  Babe 
Ruth  will  be  53  on  Friday—" 

But  it  was  Winchell's  Sunday  night  sign- 
off  that  really  started  something.  Again 
I  don't  remember  it  exactly.  But  he  warned 
the  nurses  not  to  get  mother  and  child 
mixed  up.  "Make  sure,"  he  said,  "that  you 
know  which  is  the  baby." 

A  few  minutes  later,  in  comes  the  head 
nurse.  "Mrs.  Agar,  you  know  there's  not 
the  smallest  chance  of  our  getting  your 
baby  mixed  up  with  anyone  else's." 

"Of  course  not.  What  put  that  in  your 
head?" 

"Walter  Winchell  just  made  some  such 
statement  over  the  air.  I  thought  you  might 
have  heard  it — " 

"I  did  hear  it."  She  wanted  to  laugh, 
but  the  nurse  was  too  deeply  distressed. 
"Did  you  hear  it  yourself?" 

"No,  the  others  told  me." 

"Well,  they  got  it  a  little  wrong.  You 
come  in  at  8:30,  and  we'll  listen  to  the 
re-broadcast.  You'll  see  it's  okay." 

Not  till  she  heard  the  sign-off  with  her 
own  ears  did  the  head  nurse  breathe 
freely. 

One  of  Shirley's  hospital  memories  has 
sorrow  in  it.  The  switchboard  of  course 
was  flooded,  but  the  doctor  had  said  not 
to  take  too  many  calls.  Jane  Withers  was 
one  of  the  few  people  she  talked  to. 


Shirley  didn't  know  of  the  sudden  death 
of  Jane's  father. 

"But  her  voice  sounded  strange,  and  I 
asked  her  was  anything  wrong.  Then  she 
broke  down  and  told  me—"  After  a  mo- 
ment or  two,  Shirley  went  on.  "Imagine 
thinking  of  me  in  the  midst  of  her  trouble. 
Do  you  know  Jane,  Hedda?  She's  such  a 
sweet  girl  and  has  such  a  wonderful 
husband — " 

My  mind  flew  back  to  that  feud  stuff  the 
papers  used  to  dish,  when  both  girls  were 
under  contract  to  Darryl  Zanuck. 

"Shirley,"  I  said,  "apropos  of  nothing 
at  all,  you  kids  have  twice  as  much  sense 
as  your  so-called  elders.  Now  tell  me 
about  yourself.  I  still  can't  get  over  your 
being  up  and  around." 

"That's  how  they  seem  to  work  it  now- 
adays. Only  thing  the  doctor  said  not  to 
do  was  climb  stairs.  Makes  it  nice,  because 
we  haven't  any  stairs  to  climb.  Pretty 
soon  I'll  be  starting  ,on  the  housework 
again.  There's  nothing  like  housework  to 
help  you  get  your  figure  back." 

"Who  takes  care  of  the  baby?  I  haven't 
seen  hide  nor  hair  of  a  nurse  around." 

"Well,  there's  a  two-room  suite  over  the 
garage,  and  the  nurse  lives  there.  We  don't 
really  need  her  much  till  night  time,  be- 
cause I  like  to  do  everything  myself. 
You  know,  before  my  baby  was  born,  I 
was  always  scared  to  pick  up  a  little  baby. 
But  with  your  own,  it  all  seems  to  come 
naturally.  The  minute  I  hear  a  sound,  I'm 
in  there.  I  give  her  her  bottle,  I  love  to 
bathe  her,  and  changing  her  is  just  noth- 
ing at  all.  Even  Jack  can  change  her — " 

"You  mean  he's  not  scared?" 

"No,  no  more  than  I  am.  And  of  course 
we're  forever  hanging  over  that  bassinet. 
Can't  get  to  look  at  her  enough.  Then  at 
night  the  nurse  takes  over.  Sleeps  right 
in  the  room  with  her." 

The  baby  isn't  named  after  anyone.  They 
just  picked  Linda  Susan  because  they 
liked  it.  Both  grandmas  are  knitting  like 
mad,  and  the  fan  mail's  tripled.  One  letter 
was  unique.  From  a  girl  in  the  middle 
west  named  Linda  Susan,  born  January 
30th  at  7:15,  and  just  16  when  the  Agars' 
Linda  Susan  arrived. 

Nine  fans  out  of  ten  write:  "I'm  so 
glad  it's  a  girl.  I  hope  she'll  be  another 
Shirley." 

"How  do  you  and  her  pop  feel  about 
that?"  I  asked. 


That'll  be  seventy-five  dollars  for  the  wall  and  eighty-five  cents  admission. 


(see  answer  below) 


One  Permanent  Cost  *15  the  TOM  only  *2 


It's  amazing!  Yes,  and  it's  true.  A  Toni 
Home  Permanent  is  every  bit  as  lovelv 
as  an  expensive  beauty  sbop  wave.  The 
Toni  twins  show  it  — and  you  can  prove 
it  today.  But  before  buying  the  Toni  kit 
you'll  want  to  know  — 

Will  TONI  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that 
will  take  a  permanent,  including  gray, 
dyed,  bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 

Must  I  be  handy  with  my  hands? 

Not  at  all!  If  you  can  roll  your  hair  up 
on  curlers  you  can  give  yourself  a  smooth, 
professional-looking  permanent  with  Toni. 
Just  by  following  the  easy  directions. 

How  long  will  it  take  me? 

Waving  time  is  only  2  to  3  hours.  And 
during  that  time  you're  free  to  do  as 
vou  please. 

How  long  will  my  TONI  wave  last? 

Your  Toni  wave  is  guaranteed  to-  last 
just  as  long  as  a  S15  beauty  shop  perma- 
nent—or your  money  back. 

Which  Twin  has  the  TONI? 

Lucerne  and  Suzanne  McCullough  are 
well-known  New  York  artists.  Suzanne,  at 
the  right,  has  the  Toni. 


New  Hair-Beauty  Booklet  For  You! 

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St.  Paul,  Minn. 


"We  want  her  to  be  Linda  Susan.  But 
as  far  as  acting's  concerned,  she'll  have 
to  decide." 

"Did  you  give  your  consent  at  the  age 
of  three?" 

The  dimples  twinkled.  "That  I  don't 
quite  remember.  All  I  know  is  I  loved 
every  minute  of  it." 

I'd  heard  tales  about  contracts  and 
manufacturers'  bids.  Well,  the  contracts 
were  just  gags.  But  long  before  the  baby 
came,  a  doll  company  wrote,  asking  per- 
mission to  make  a  special  doll — boy  or 
girl — and  name  it  after  the  Agars'  first- 
born. This  they  promptly  turned  down. 
No  commercials  for  their  baby,  said  Shir- 
ley and  Jack. 

"But  you  had  a  doll  named  after  you," 
I  heckled. 

"Not  till  I  was  old  enough  to  fall  in 
love  with  it." 

I  might  have  known  better  than  to  spar 
with  her.  At  8,  she  had  reporters  eating 
out  of  her  hand.  Her  humor  never  seems 
to  fail  her,  even  though  I  did  get  my  wrist 
slapped  at  one  point — sweetly  but  firmly. 
Thought  I  was  being  so  devilish  clever 
too.  Told  her  this  sad  little  story  about 
when  my  son  was  born  many  years  ago, 
and  how  people  asked  what  my  husband 
had  given  me.  "Nothing,"  I  said.  'Is 
he  supposed  to?"  They  were  shocked. 
Seems  they  got  diamond  bracelets  and 
such — 

"Ever  since  then  I've  been  curious  about 
what  other  husbands  give  their  wives." 

If  I  hadn't  been  so  busy  talking,  I'd  have 
known  from  her  impish  look  that  she  saw 
right  through  me.  "Well,  Jack  sent  me 
beautiful  flowers  and  my  favorite  candy." 

"But  I  mean  the  real  present." 

"The  real  present's  between  my  husband 
and  me.  I  won't  tell  anyone." 

You  can't  say  I  didn't  try,  girls.  And 
I  admire  her  for  not  telling. 

We  talked  about  pictures.  I  screamed 
with  laughter  over  the  title  of  her  next 
one.  What  Every  Young  Bride  Should 
Know. 

"Are  you  supposed  to  be  a  living 
example?" 

if  i  knew  then  ... 

"Today,  yes.  But  when  I  was  married,  I 
guess  I  didn't  know  so  much.  Just  thought 
I  did,  like  you  do  when  you're  17." 

"How  old  are  you  now,  50?" 

"Almost  20,  Miss  Hopper,  and  the  mother . 
of  a  growing  child." 

In  this  Selznick  picture,  which  won't 
get  started  for  a  while  yet,  she'll  have  two 
leading  men — Guy  Madison  and  a  certain 
John  Agar.  As  it's  lined  up  now,  Guy 
gets  her  and  Jack  loses  out.  I  told 
her  how  John  Ford  had  buttonholed 
me  not  long  ago  to  rave  about  Jack  in 
Fort  Apache. 

"Shirley,  I  can  see  it  all  five  years  from 
now.  Three  names  on  a  marquee.  Temple, 
Agar,  and  little  Miss  Linda  Sue — " 

When  I  got  up  to  go,  Shirley  took  me  to 
the  door. 

It's  a  miracle,  I  decided,  driving  home 
from  Shirley's  house  in  my  car.  I  thought 
of  some  others  we'd  loved  as  children 
who  shall  be  nameless.  Married  and 
divorced,  married  and  on  the  rocks  again. 
But  here  was  the  queen  of  them  all,  with 
the  world  at  her  feet  since  babyhood. 
Helping  with  the  housework,  because  she 
didn't  want  more  than  one  maid.  Caring 
for  her  baby.  Cherishing  her  husband. 
Keeping  her  head  and  her  sense  of  values. 
Staying  sweet.  A  miracle,  yes,  if  you 
wanted  to  call  it  that — character  and  back- 
ground and  fine  training. 

Mentally  I  tipped  my  hat  in  three 
directions.  To  Shirley.  To  Gertrude  and 
George  Temple.  To  America,  whose  in- 
stinct in  picking  its  symbols  is  sound. 

Then  I  tipped  it  again — for  luck — to 
the  little  crown  princess. 


99 


I 


with  (atna^ion 
Milk 


DOUBLE  TROUBLE 

{Continued  from  page  34) 


seemed  ages  before  I  saw  them,  as  they'd 
arrived  much  earlier  than  expected  and 
were  immediately  installed  in  incubators. 
But  when  finally  I  did,  there  was  no  doubt 
that  they  were  Jess's  and  mine.  Tim's 
hair,  what  there  was  of  it,  was  blond,  and 
he  looked  like  a  miniature  of  Jess.  Greg 
was  topped  with  reddish  fuzz  and  looked 
like  me.  I  won't  elaborate  on  my  feelings 
at  that  moment,  or  I'll  break  down  and 
weep. 

Anyway,  the  day  we  brought  them  home 
from  the  hospital,  Jess  drove  as  though 
the  roads  were  made  of  eggs.  The  nurse, 
who  sat  in  back  with  the  babies  mumbled 
something  about  getting  home  before  her 
arteries  hardened. 

In  those  first  days,  Jess  and  I  pretended 
to  each  other  that  we  weren't  nervous 
about  our  new  responsibility.  Jess,  of 
course,  didn't  have  too  much  trouble — he 
has  a  stack  of  brothers,  and  sons  are  the 
only  thing  Jess  could  have  or  understand. 
All  he  had  to.  worry  about  was  not  drop- 
ping them  on  their  heads.  Me,  I  didn't 
understand  boys,  and  I  had  two  unpredict- 
able young  Indians.  I  buried  my  nose  for 
hours  on  end  in  books  on  child  care  cour- 
teously supplied  by  the  State  of  Cali- 
fornia. 

There  have  been  problems,  naturally, 
but  as  the  months  have  slipped  by,  I've 
found  that  motherhood,  even  with  twins, 
rolls  off  my  back  quite  easily.  It's  simply 
a  question  of  learning  what  not  to  do. 

Don't  take  them  both  shopping,  for  in- 
stance. I  approached  this  problem  with 
caution,  taking  one  at  a  time  on  a  prelimi- 
nary test  flight.  Timothy  was  angelic  from 
start  to  finish,  so  I  tried  it  with  Gregory. 
That  went  off  all  right,  too.  So  I  tried  a 
duet.  That  was  bad.  Two  small  boys  try- 
ing to  open  the  car  doors  while  I  cruised 
the  curves  of  Hollywood  highways!  After 
that,  two  small  boys  wrecking  the  toy  de- 
partment in  a  large  store. 

My  son  Timothy,  for  instance,  sat  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  banged  away  at 
the  linoleum  with  a  toy  truck. 

"Ha,"  he  said.   "Me  bang  it." 

I  whispered  a  terrifying  reprimand,  only 
to  become  aware  that  Gregory  was  out  of 
sight  again. 


"HOLLYWOOD 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


°  In  the  early  stages  of  his  Holly- 
wood career,  Peter  Lorre  was  prom- 
ised an  important  part  in  a  picture, 
but  the  producer  suddenly  changed 
his  mind.  Lorre  wanted  to  beg  him 
to  reconsider  and  went  to  the  pro- 
ducer's office. 

Groping  for  words,  he  just  stood 
there,  glaring.  After  a  minute  of  this, 
the  producer  got  as  scared  as  Lorre's 
future  cinematic  victims.  "Stop  star- 
ing at  me  like  that,"  he  yelled.  "You 
can  have  the  part." 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


Wl 


.... 


\ 


Here's  news 


for  mothers 


cioned  quality-  widely  useu 

MUk.  '  .     ra  Carnation  formula  for  your  baby. 

Also,  ask  for  the   vei  Both 
Depc  !x-5,0»nomowoc,W.s. 


th\  milk  eyjry  doctor  knows 


From  Contented  Cows" 


ooh  look . . . 


how 


high  ft 


SHOES 


For  these  reojonobly  priced  shoes, 
write  for  the  name  of  your  dealer 
PETERS  SHOE  COMPANY,  SAINT  LOUIS 


"Where's  your  brother?" 

Timothy  stared  ruefully  at  the  stilled 
truck.    "With  underwear,"  he  offered. 

In  the  lingerie  department  I  found  Greg, 
modeling  a  size  34  slip. 

"Just  like  mama's"  he  was  explaining  to 
a  captivated  audience. 

I  gathered  up  the  Barker  brothers,  and 
left,  defeated. 

My  sons  are  adept  at  picking  up  adult 
words.  Maybe  too  adept.  We  had  guests 
for  dinner  one  evening,  and  when  the  meal 
was  over,  we  settled  down  in  the  den. 
Gregory  had  taken  the  nutcracker  from  a 
bowl,  along  with  a  hazel  nut,  and  was  put- 
ting all  his  strength  into  the  matter  of 
breaking  the  shell.  Accustomed  to  the 
easy  give  of  almond  shells,  he  was  per- 
plexed. He  pushed  and  forced  until  his 
face  was  as  red  as  his  hair,  then  he 
exploded. 

"Damn!"  he  roared. 

We  all  shot  to  attention  as  though  Eisen- 
hower himself  had  blown  a  bugle  in  the 
next  room. 

"Now,  where  do  you  suppose — "  I 
started. 

Jess  looked  at  me  with  a  Mephistophe- 
lean grin.  "I  can't  imagine,"  he  said,  and 
turned  to  our  guests. 

We  lead  a  double  life  around  this  house. 
There  was  double  diapering  and  double 
concentrated  liver,  and  now  it's  double 
bicycles  and  double  footballs.  This  makes 
for  a  minimum  of  confusion,  but  I  some- 
times wonder  if  it's  necessary  with  toys, 
as  the  boys  share  their  things  with 
astounding  generosity.  (That  was  brag- 
ging, but  I  can't  help  it.  One  of  the  re- 
wards of  having  twins,  to  me,  at  least,  is 
that  lovely  affection  and  loyalty  between 
them.)  From  the  breakfast  room  one 
morning,  Jess  and  I  watched  them  playing 
in  the  garden.  Tim  had  come  into  the 
house  for  a  cookie,  when  a  little  girl  from 
the  neighborhood  joined  Greg.  She  picked 
up  Tim's  football  from  the  grass,  and  Greg 
took  it  from  her,  gently  but  firmly.  She 
looked  surprised. 

"That's  Tim's  football,"  he  said.  "You 
wait  and  ask  him  when  he  comes  out."  He 
must  have  sensed  her  disappointment,  be- 
cause he  peered  into  her  face  and  then  he 
said,  "Here,  you  take  mine.  Not  Tim's 
though." 

I  waved  a  hand, vaguely  across  the  table 
at  Jess.  "Give  me  your  handkerchief.  I 
think  I'm  going  to  cry." 

like  damon  and  pythias  .  .  . 

When  one  of  the  twins  is  sick,  the  other 
will  stay  close  by  and  amuse  his  brother, 
and  if  we  take  only  one  and  not  the  other 
when  we  leave  the  house,  the  chosen  one 
protests  the  solo  trip.  "Why  didn't  you 
bring  brother?  He's  a  good  boy."  The 
two  boys  are  affectionate  with  people  in 
general,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  from  the  point 
of  health,  they  overdo  it  to  my  way  of 
thinking.  They  are  forever  wanting  to  kiss 
everybody,  but  Jess  and  I  have  explained 
that  kisses  are  special,  for  mommy  and 
daddy  only.  Nevertheless,  when  guests 
are  leaving  the  house  the  boys  look  up  at 
us  hopefully.  "Kisses?" 

"No  kisses,"  we  say.  "Just  shake  hands." 

Another  advantage  of  having  twins  is 
that  sometimes  I  can  work  one  against  the 
other  to  attain  an  end.  For  instance,  when 
modern  screen  phoned  that  they  wanted  to 
come  out  and  take  pictures,  Timothy  came 
up  with  a  stalemate. 

"Don't  want  to  pose  today,"  he  an- 
nounced. 

Oh,  fine,  I  told  myself.  How  can  you 
make  a  three-year-old  look  pleasant  for  a 
camera?    I  turned  to  Greg. 

"How  about  you?  Do  you  want  to  pose 
for  pictures  today?" 

He  lit  up,  bless  his  little  heart.  "You  bet." 

"Very  well,  then.  Gregory  can  be  in  all 
the  pictures  and  Timothy  will  sit  in  a 


corner  and  watch." 

It  worked.   "Me  pose,"  said  Timothy. 

Jess  and  I  have  trained  ourselves  so 
that  now  it's  almost  automatic— if  I  pat 
Tim  on  the  head,  Jess  contributes  a  pat  to 
Greg.  It's  awfully  important,  to  my  way 
of  thinking,  that  one  boy  doesn't  feel  the 
other  is  favored.  Some  people  have  noticed 
that  I  give  Tim  a  slight  edge  where  affec- 
tion is  concerned  (always  when  Gregory 
is  not  around),  and  this  is  true.  I  can't 
put  it  into  words,  but  I've  known  somehow, 
ever  since  they  came  home  from  the  hos- 
pital, that  Timothy  is  more  sensitive  than 
Greg  and  needs  more  understanding  and 
affection.  Gregory  is  of  tougher  fibre  and 
seems  quite  happy  to  go  jogging  along  on 
his  own. 

I'm  only  too  conscious  that  there's  never 
been  a  mother  in  history  who  doesn't  con- 
sider her  children  as  something  different, 
but  my  two  are  different.  I've  watched 
them  with  other  children,  and  they  seem 
to  stand  out  as  tougher  little  human  beings, 
resilient,  full  of  bounce  and  zest.  They 
also  have  a  sweet  quality  I  think  unusual 
in  kids  so  young.  I  remember  the  day  I 
took  them  to  see  Santa  Claus  in  a  depart- 
ment store.  When  their  turn  came,  they 
took  longer  than  the  other  children  and 
asked  for  everything  except  embroidery 
cotton.  Sensing  selfishness,  I  took  them 
aside  later. 

"Well,"  I  said.  "That  was  quite  a  list. 
If  you're  asking  so  much  from  poor  old 
Santa  Claus,  what  are  you  going  to  leave 
by  the  fireplace  for  him?" 

They  thought  this  one  over  very  care- 
fully, and  came  up  simultaneously  with 
the  answer. 

"Our  piggy  banks." 

I  melted.  Their  piggy  banks  are  some- 
thing quite  special  in  their  lives,  and  this 
suggestion  smacked  of  considerable  sacri- 
fice. I  told  Jess  about  it,  and  Christmas 
morning,  in  place  of  the  tiny  banks  the 
boys  had  left  on  the  hearth,  they  found 
two  huge  ones,  clinking  heavily  with  coins. 

"You  see,  men,"  Jess  told  them,  "when 
you  are  kind  and  give  to  others,  you  al- 
ways receive  kindness  in  return." 

I  don't  know.  Mother  probably  had  a 
point  when  she  was  so  taken  aback  at  the 
news  of  twins,  but  I  can't  think  what  it 
was.  Nothing  more  wonderful  could  have 
happened  to  a  girl  like  me. 


Marsha  Hunt  .  .  . 

Eagle-Lion  star  you'll  soon  see  in 
"Raw  Deal."  Marsha's  finally  indulging 
in  a  long-time  yen  to  do  a  Broadway 
play,  and  we  tracked  her  down  in  New 
York  in  the  middle  of  rehearsqls  for 
"Joy  to  the  World."  It's  a  comedy 
about  Hollywood,  and  judging  from 
the  scene  we  got  a  peek  at,  very  funny. 

Marsha  poses  for  Modern  Screen  in 
a  plaid  cotton  junior  dress  which  we 
consider  an  out-and-out  raving  beauty. 
Did  you  ever  see  such  glorious  colors? 
Did  you  ever  see  anything  perter  than 
the  big  chin-whisker  bow,  or  smarter 
than  the  hip  cuff  (straight  from 
Paris!)?  The  new  longer  jacket  buttons 
snug  with  lustrous  smoke  grey  buttons, 
and  gives  you  a  lovely  line  at  the  waist 
and  hips.  The  beautifully  full  skirt  falls 
in  soft  wide  pleats.  And  the  super 
plaid  is  fine  Dan  River  cotton,  exclu- 
sive in  this  pattern  with  Doris  Dodson. 
Washable,  of  course.  What  a  dress  for 
your  vacationl 

You  can  have  it  also  in  shaded  tones 
of  coral  and  mulberry;  or  blue  and 
brown.  Junior  siies  9-15. 
By  Doris  Dodson  About  $14.95. 

FOR  WHERE  TO  BUY  turn  to  page  80. 


in  Dan  River's  silky  iridescent  pearly  grey  chambray. 
Darling  tucked  bosom,  outlined  with  a  curve  of  white  pique — and  echoed  with  a  petticoat  edge 
on  the  full  circle  skirt.  Tiny  pearl  buttons  on  bosom.  Also  iridescent  brown  or  green.  10-18. 
By  Majestic  .  .  .  About  $14.95.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page  80.  .        d  %ofoi.  /JCMty,  ^llUHl 


68 


[jWlzUl  dbwt  Lc^wi 

In  this  issue,  which  is  aimed  to  dress 
you  for  the  gayest,  datingest,  most  "hav- 
ing a  wonderful  time"  summer  you  ever 
had — we  put  the  accent  on  cottons. 

We're  crazy  about  cottons — and  from 
the  look  of  things,  so  is  everybody  else. 
We  picked  our  cottons  from  all  over  the 
country — from  New  York  and  Califor- 
nia, from  Saint  Louis  and  Milwaukee. 
And  we're  proud  as  anything  that  every 
one  of.  them  is  a  Dan  River  cotton. 

Every  January  when  the  swanky  Fifth 
Avenue  stores  show  resort  clothes  for 
Bermuda,  Palm  Beach,  Nassau  and  other 
luxury  spots — what  do  you  suppose  lots 
of  the  veddy,  veddy,  smartest  play 
clothes  are  made  of?  That's  right,  Dan 
River  cotton. 

So  listen.  Way  back  last  June  (yes, 
we  mean  June,  1947 )  — when  we  looked 
ahead  to  summer,  1948 — we  decided 
then  and  there  that  we  wanted  your 
summer  clothes  to  be  made  of  the  finest 
fabrics  going.  But,  of  course,  we  wanted, 
them  to  be  priced  sweet  and  low — as 
usual. 

So  we  flew  out  to  Saint  Louis — impor- 
tant market  for  cute  junior  clothes.  First 
we  tackled  Alice  Topp,  top-designer  for 
Doris  Dodson.  Could  she  make  us 
(make  you,  we  mean)  a  knockout  two- 
piece  dress — in,  say,  a  Dan  River  plaid? 
At  a  price  that  wouldn't  hurt?  She 
could.  She  did.  Marsha  Hunt  wears  it 
on  page  67.  Then,  just  for  good  meas- 
ure, she  threw  in  the  darling  middy 
torso  dress  on  page  70 — also,  of  course, 
in  Dan  River  cotton. 

Next,  we  cornered  Grace  Durocher, 
whose  Carole  King  designs  you  write  us 
you  love.  This  time  we  wanted  a  dark 
cotton — because  they're  so  darn  smart — 
and  so  practical.  How  about  it?  Mrs. 
Durocher  not  only  said  okay — but  she 
talked  Dan  River  into  weaving,  just  for 
her,  the  really  luscious  satin  stripe  cot- 
ton on  page  71.  Satin  stripe  cottons  are 
in  the  upper  brackets  as  cottons  go.  And 
wait  until  you  see  the  colors  in  this  one. 
Pale  blue,  dark  green,  and  raspberry! 

The  scene  shifts  to  June  Bently,  in 
Milwaukee.  This  time  we  wanted  a  cot- 
ton suit — a  junior  suit  to  make  a  girl 
feel  ready  for  all  comers  in  town.  The 
loot— the  trim  little  striped  number  in 
Dan  River  Cordspun  on  page  73. 

So  it  went.  We  wigwagged  fran- 
tically to  California,  where  everybody 
lives  in  wonderful  sports  clothes — and 
came  up  with  Koret  of  California's 
casual  plaid  skirt.  We  peeked  over  de- 
signer Aurora  Elroy's  shoulder  as  she 
dreamed  up  the  sweet  silvery  chambray 
dress  on  the  opposite  page.  And  we 
wound  up,  tired  but  happy,  with  the 
easy  to  get  into^  eyelet-front  cotton  coat 
dress,  on  page  74. 

They're  all  yours!  — C.  B. 


Doris  Dodson's  sun-dress  with 
fitted  bolero.  In  hunter  green 
with  raspberry,  red  with  lime, 
brown  with  gold.  9  to  15.  About 
$17.00  at  Oppe  nbeim  Collins, 
ew  York;  Kaufmann's,  Pitts- 
burgh; Stix,  Baer  &  Fuller,  St. 
uis;  Frost  Bros..  San  Antonio. 


adorable  middy  dress  with  torso  lines  to  show  your  young 
slimness.  Buttons  point  up  the  hip  cuff  (high  fashion!) — and  repeat  at  shoulder.  In  Dan 
River's  cool  mint-green  striped  chambray.  Also  red,  brown,  navy  stripes.  Sizes  7-15. 
By  Doris  Dodson  .  .  .  About  $12.95.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page 


pale  shining  blue  cross  stripes — on  dark  green,  shadow- 
striped  with  raspberry  ...  in  a  beautiful  Dan  River  plaid  exclusive  with  Carole  King.  Yoked 
and  tabbed  shoulders;  jewelry  neckline.  Also  wine  or  brown  plaid,  both  delicious.  Sizes  9-15. 
By  Carole  King  .  .  .  About  $14.95.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page 


71 


slimmer — and  an  impertinent  bow  in  back.  Dan  River  plaid  with  lavender,  blue  or  beige  pre- 
dominating. Sizes  10-16.  Smooth  rayon  jersey  "Traveller"  shirt — in  scads  of  colors.  By  Koret 
of  California  . . .  Skirt,  $5.95  . . .  Shirt,  $3.50.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page  80.  & 


co  keep  you  cool,  collected  and  confident  all  summer!  Crisp 
striped  suit  with  dazzling  white. pique — and  a  pleated  peplum»that  goes  all  the  way  around. 
In  Dan  River's  nifty  Cordspun — gun  metal,  brown  or  green.  Junior  sizes  9-15. 
By  June  Bently.  .  .  .  About  $14.95.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page  80.   I  JkQlfawi  fltftltyl 


.  buttoned  down  the  front  with  little  carved 
buttons.  Pique  collar  and  bow;  eyelet  cuffs.  Easy  to  get  into;  easy  to  launder;  and  fresh  as 
the  breeze  on  the  beach!  Dan  River  cotton  in  blue,  brown,  red  or  black  stripes.  Sizes  9-15. 
By  Aronoff  and  Richling  .  .  .  About  $10.95.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page  80.  & 


AUDREY  FACES  LIFE 

(Continued  from  page  33) 


school,  you  may  then  be  an  actress." 

"If  you  still  want  to,"  amended  Mrs. 
Totter. 

"Ill  still  want  to,  all  right,"  Audrey  said. 
Above  her  head,  John  and  Ida  exchanged 
glances  of  triumph. 

But  they  were  wrong.  One  thing  ob- 
sessed her  during  her  high  school  years. 
Dramatics.  At  graduation  time,  she  was 
ready  to  take  her  parents  up  on  their 
promise. 

They  had  completely  forgotten  it.  "But 
there  is  nothing  we  can  do,"  Ida  reminded 
her  husband.  "It  was  made  in  good  faith. 
Audrey,  how  will  you  pay  for  this  dramatic 
school?" 

"I've  got  a  job  in  Chicago.  Selling  wax." 

Actually,  she  never  got  to  dramatic 
school.  She  dropped  by  Ian  Keith's  reper- 
tory playhouse  one  day,  read  for  a  part, 
and  got  it. 

It  was  a  magnificent  year,  crowded  with 
excitement  and  work  and  laughter,  and 
finally,  love.  She  had  moved  to  a  theatrical 
boarding  house,  inhabited  by  ex-vaude- 
villians,  and  found  them  enchanting. 

plenty  of  atmosphere  .  .  . 

Almost  perpetually  "between  engage- 
ments," they  had  the  manners  of  dukes. 
There  was  the  ex-Hamlet,  with  elastic- 
sided  shoes,  a  concession  to  corns.  There 
was  the  ex-Toast  of  52nd  Street  (speak- 
easy era)  with  her  corn-colored  hair,  her 
defiantly  purple  mouth,  her  black  net 
stockings. 

There  was  Hazel  Hazlam,  who  in  a  way 
adopted  Audrey,  became  her  second 
mother  and  teacher,  spending  hours  each 
day  coaching  her  in  voice  and  diction  and 
technique.  And  there  was  Johnny. 

Audrey  had  been  in  almost  every  scene, 
that  particular  evening,  and  when  she 
came  out  of  her  dressing  room  at  eleven- 
thirty  she  was  tired.  By  the  time  she 
reached  her  boarding  house,  she  had  only 
one  thought  in  mind:  a  quick  cup  of  coffee, 
brewed  on  a  hot  plate. 

But  as  she  put  her  key  in  the  lock  the 
front  door  opened  and  a  young  man  walked 
into  her.  She  was  unprepared  for  this,  and 
sat  down  abruptly  on  the  porch.  The  young 
man  picked  her  up  casually,  and  said, 
"That's  what  you  get  for  being  in  a  hurry. 
Are  you  in  a  hurry?" 

She  said,  "Yes,  I  am.  I  want  my  coffee 
and  I  want  to  go  to  bed.  Goodnight." 

"But  there's  coffee  in  the  lunchroom 
around  the  corner,  and  I  want  some,  too." 

She  observed  him  critically.  A  thin,  good 
face.  She  didn't  know  how  to  be  coy.  "We'll 
go  to  the  lunchroom,"  she  said. 

She  fell  in  love  with  Johnny,  not  that 
night,  but  gradually,  on  succeeding  nights, 
while  he  read  aloud  to  her  the  novel  he 
was  writing,  and  later  when  together  they 
read  the  sides  of  his  new  play.  She  liked 
his  wit,  his  essential  brilliance.  When  he 
kissed  her,  she  liked  that,  too.  This  was 
first  love,  incomparable  and  consuming, 
and  she  had  no  doubt  that  she  would  mar- 
ry him  when  there  was  enough  money. 

In  the  late  winter  of  that  year  she  went 
home  to  visit  her  family  for  a  few  days. 
She  had  meant  to  stay  for  two  weeks,  but 
missing  Johnny  was  a  kind  of  mental  and 
physical  pain.  She  cut  her  visit  and  went 
back  to  town,  her  heart  singing. 

When  she  walked  in  the  boarding  house, 
Hazel  Hazlam  was  waiting  for  her.  Hazel 
looked  ill.  She  took  Audrey  to  her  own 
room,  got  out  a  bottle  of  brandy  and  a 
glass,  filled  the  glass  and  held  it  out. 

Audrey  took  it,  puzzled.  "You  know  I 
don't  drink." 


a  typical  Carole  Kino;  cjirl 


DRESSES  FOR  JUNIORS 


"CITY  WISE". . .  Polished  in  manner,  no  matter  how  high 

the  temperature  soars,  this  Carole  King  Original 

of  plaid  gingham.  Junior  sizes  9  to  15.  Under  $11.00. 

Exclusively  at  one  fine  store  in  your  city. 

For  name  of  store,  write  Carole  King,  Dept.  A, 

1641  Washington,  St.  Louis  3,  Missouri. 


75 


BY  THE 
MAKERS  OF 
STARDUST 
FASHION  -WEAR 


ENTER  THE  STARDUST  CONTEST . . .  Pictured  is  lovely  Joan  Murray,  winner  of 
the  last  Stardust  Beauty  Contest,  now  a  Walter  Thornton  Pin  Up  Girl.  Enter 
our  1948  Contest  now.  YOU  may  be  (he  lucky  winner  of  $500  first  prize  or 
27  other  awards!  Just  send  recent  non-returnable  photo,  with  height,  weight, 
bust,  waist  and  hip  measurements  before  May  31,  1948.  Decisions  of  famous 
beauty  judges  are  final.  Mail  entry  to  P.  0.  Bo*  65.  Murray  Hill  Station.  N  Y. 


IN  THIS 


mr  ] 


FIGURE  MAGIC  FOR  YOU 


MAGIC  STITCH"  BRA 


direct  from  Hollywood! 

INVITE  ROMANCE!  Follow  the  lead 
of  Hollywood  beauties!  Wear  the 
amazing  new  MAGIC  STITCH  Bra 
especially  designed  to  give  YOU  an 
exciting  YOUNG  bustline! 

Fashioned  in  gleaming  rayon  satin.  Fully 
adjustable.  New  PLUNGING  neckline.  The 
special  MAGIC  STITCH  gives  NATURAL  sup- 
port, insures  complete  comfort.  Order  todayl 
Colors:  WHITE  TEAROSE  BLACK 
A  CUP  (32  to  36)    B  CUP  (32  to  38) 


USE  THIS  CONVENIENT  ORDER  BLANK 


{  HEDY  OF  HOLLYWOOD,  Dept.  60. 

I  62S3  Hollywood  Blvd.,  Hollywood  28,  Calif. 
I 

I  Please  send  me  MAGIC  STITCH  Bras 

'  (S2  each).  I  enclose  payment  Mail  C.O.O  


SAVE  MONEY  and  TIME  by  sending  payment 
with  order.  We  pay  postat,  You  save  C.O.D. 
fees.  Our  money-back  guarantee  protects  you. 
Or,  if  you  prefer  WE  MAIL  C.O.D. 


HEDY  off  Hollywood 


Dept. 60,  6253  Hollywood  Blvd., 
Hollywood  28,  Calif. 


■  A  CUP 

■  (Draw  c 


32  34  36  B  CUP  32  34  36  38 
ircle  around  desired  CUP  and  bust  size) 


Indicate  first  and  second  choices  of  color: 


WHITE. 
NAME_ 


.  TEAROSE_ 


.  BLACK. 


STREET  &  NO.. 

[ 

I  CITY  

r.  _______ 


.ZONE  STATE_ 


""It's  just  in  case."  Hazel  paused.  "I've 
taught  you  how  to  keep  from  being  a  ham 
for  almost  a  year  now.  That's  why  the  only 
thing  I  can  do  is  give  this  to  you  straight. 

"Johnny  died  this  morning  of  pneu- 
monia." • 

Somehow,  it  seemed  better  to  get  away, 
then.  She  auditioned  for  a  Chicago  radio 
station,  and  became  a  radio  actress. 

Later,  she  played  in  stock,  and  in  San 
Francisco,  a  scout  from  Warners  saw  her, 
asked  her  to  make  a  test,  and  she  did,  and 
it  stank,  and  she  went  on  with  the  com- 
pany. Until  at  last  it  folded,  and  she  found 
herself  in  New  York,  without  a  job. 

"The  war  was  on,  full  blast.  Broadway 
was  still  Broadway,  albeit  dimmed  out. 
Audrey  sat  at  a  table  in  the  Copacabana, 
with  her  escort. 

After  a  bit,  six  gentlemen  gravitated  to 
her  table,  and  were  introduced,  and  sat.  No 
one  knew  anyone  else;  there  was  silence. 

Audrey  cleared  her  throat,  and  tried  to 
be  amusing. 

But  it  wasn't  till  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  when  the  party  broke  up,  that 
Audrey's  stories  paid  off.  One  of  the  men 
who  had  been  roaring  brought  forth  a 
sheaf  of  cards. 

s  "These  all  belong  to  big  advertising 
execs,"  he  told  her,  scribbling  hastily  a 
magic  sentence,  initialed,  on  the  back  of 
each  one.  "Just  take  them  in  and  say  I 
sent  you.  You'll  have  a  job.'' 

"This  is  strictly  baloney,"  Audrey 
thought,  tucking  them  away.  But  she  had 
never  been  so  wrong  in  her  life.  Because 
the  next  week,  still  out  of  a  job,  she  went 
to  see  the  first  man  whose  name  appeared 
on  the  first  card  she  pulled  from  the  stack. 
And  he  hired  her. 

At  which  point  she  met  David. 

There  was  nothing  especially  romanti 
about  their  meeting.    She  was  introdu 
to  him  at  21. 

mystery  voice  .  .  . 

She  was  engaged  to  him  by  the  time  a 
Metro  talent  director,  listening  to  his  radio 
one  evening,  said,  "I  wonder  if  that  Totter 
gal  has  anything  to  go  with  that  voice  and 
that  talent?"  The  talent  director  forth- 
with wired  his  New  York  office  to  take 
a  look  at  her.  The  answering  telegram 
said  merely,  Re:  Totter.  Wow! 

But — after  7  weeks,  Audrey  said  to  David, 
"I've  put  Hollywood  out  of  my  mind." 

"That's  bad,"  he  said.  "You  see,  I  was 
just  informed  today  that  I'm  being  moved 
to  the  Hollywood  office." 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said. 

"Maybe  the  test  will  come  through — " 
Distractedly  she  ripped  a  menu  card 
into  small  pieces.  "It's  got  to,  now." 
And  it  did. 

In  the  green  and  gold  and  red  living 
room  of  the  apartment  she  shared  with 
her  friend,  Sandra  Rogers,  Audrey  sat  one 
day  last  week,  staring  at  the  wall. 

"Whom  are  you  having  dinner  with  to- 
night?" Sandra  said. 

"Lew  Ayres  phoned." 

There  was  a  short  silence.  "Speaking  of 
men,"  said  Sandra,  "and  nobody  was.  You 
never  told  me  what  happened  to  that  boy 
you  were  engaged  to.  David,  I  mean." 

"It  was  just  one  of  those  things,"  Audrey 
said.  "I'll  tell  you  some  day  when  I  can 
do  it  without  breaking  something."  She 
laughed.  "After  all,  I  should  complain?" 

Sandra  started  counting  on  her  fingers, 
and  reciting  men's  names.  By  the  time 
she'd  come  to  "Cary  Grant,  Art  Ford,  Nick 
Raye,  Lew  Ayres — "  Audrey  stopped  her. 

"Jolly  fellows,  all  of  them,"  Audrey  said. 
"And  guess  what — Modern  Screen's  run- 
ning a  story." 

"You're  on  the  Modern  Screen  poll?" 

"If  I'm  not,"  she  said  grimly,  "I  will  be. 
Watch  little  Audrey's  smoke." 

Where  there's  smoke,  there's  Totter. 


Now's  the  time  to  think  about 
buying  summer  shoes.  We  love 
them  'cause  it's  the  one  time 
of  the  year  we  can  really 
pretty  up  our  feet  with  won- 
derful gay  colored  shoes. 
These  very  open  flat  wedge 
sandals  come  in  red,  yellow, 
green,  light  blue,  beige  and 
white.  Made  of  butcher  rayon 
with  a  linen-like  finish.  Sizes 
4  to  9  in  medium  width,  and  5 
to  9  in  narrow  width.  By 
"Oomphies."  About  $5.95.  You 
can  buy  them  at  Marshall  Field 
&     Company,     Chicago,  III. 


be, 


Flowers  to- bloom  on  your  toes! 
What  fun  to  wear  a  bright  em- 
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hand-made  hemp  shoes.  That 
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ankle  strap  couldn't  be  more 
flattering.  Terrific  colors  — 
gold,  red,  green,  beige,  black 
and  white.  Sizes  5'/2-9  in  nar- 
row width,  ;4-9  in  medium 
width.  Abouf  $5.95.  By  "Hey- 
Tees."  Order  from  Du  Barry 
Direct,  Inc.,  441  Blake  Avenue, 
Brooklyn  12,  New  York. 


Wedding  gown  in  white  and  pale  gold  brocade,  designed 
by  Eta,  inspired  by  the  15th  century  tapestry  "The  Nobie 
Life"  on  exhibition  in  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art- 


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iSTrftde  Murk  R*if. 


the  new  WHIRLIGIRL 

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Saves  you  money  —  makes  you 
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FLOF  DA   FASHIONS,  SANFORD    74f  FLORIDA 

Send  No  Money—  f,,ease  send„   

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this   it  one   time  you    ■  (You  may  enclose  purchase 

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I  


MODERN  SCREEN 
IS  ON  THE  AIR! 


Be  sure  to  listen  to  Movie  Matinee,  a  new  kind  of  quiz 
show — -unlike  anything  else  you've  heard  before.  Hear 
Johnny  Olsen,  famous  emcee,  quiz  contestants  about 
movies  and  movie  personalities  in  this  gay  program  pro- 
duced in  cooperation  with  Modern  Screen. 
Movie  Matinee  is  broadcast  from  the  stage  of  New 
York's  Palace  Theater  every  weekday  and  from  the 
Longacre  Theater  on  Saturday.  Don't  miss  the  show 
when  you  are  in  New  York. 


Listen  to  Movie  Matinee  on  your  Mutual 
Broadcasting  System  station — Saturdays, 
11:00-11:30  A.M.,  Eastern  Standard  Time. 


On  Monday  through  Friday  Movie  Matinee 
can  be  heard  over  Station  WOR,  New  York, 
3:00-3:30  P.M.,  Eastern  Standard  Time. 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 

Dear  You: 

Last  month  we  rattled  on  about  how 
we  go  about  collecting  fashions  we  think 
you'll  like — and,  if  you're  interested, 
here's  the  inside  info  on  how  we  photo- 
graph them. 

All  we  can  say  is,  shooting  fashion 
pix  is  something  like  a  cross  between 
staging  a  circus  and  running  an  obstacle 
race.  With  accent  on  the  obstacle. 

Take  our  color  photographs  of  movie 
stars,  for  instance.  We  get  a  tip,  let's 
say,  that  Fama  Starr  is  coming  to  town. 
Quick  like  a  flash,  we  call  the  New  York 
office  of  her  studio.  Can  Miss  Starr  pose 
for  us?  Well,  the  studio  thinks  it's  a 
fine  idea,  but  it  really  couldn't  say.  Too 
early  to  tell.  Miss  Starr  is  interested  in 
reading  some  play  scripts — and  on  top 
of  that  she  has  a  lot  of  shopping  to  do 
— and  she  did  mention  something  about 
spending  a  week  in  Bermuda.  Call  in 
about  a  week. 

We  call  back — roughly  a  dozen  times. 
Finally,  we  get  a  date  for  fitting  the 
dress  on  Monday — and  a  date  for 
photographing  it  on  Thursday.  Monday 
we  stagger  to  the  star's  hotel,  clutching 
the  dress  we'd  like  to  have  Miss  Starr 
model.  We  open  it  up.  Very  pretty,  says 
Miss_  Starr — but  probably  it's  going  to 
be  a  little  short-waisted.  We  help  Miss 
Starr  clamber  into  it — and  she's  right. 
It  is  short-waisted.  Very.  Luckily — it  just 
happens  that  we  have  another  dress  with 
us,  as  an  alternate.  This  one,  thank 
heaven,  fits — and  Miss  Starr  looks  like 
a  dream  in  it. 

But — it's  blue,  and  Miss  Starr  dotes 
on  pink.  Could  we  get  it  in  pink?  Nothing 
to  it,  we  assure  Miss  Starr  .  .  .  with  a 
confidence  we're  far  from  feeling. 

We  race  back  to  our  office  and  call 
the  manufacturer  of  the  dress.  And 
where  do  you  think  he  is?  Up  the  street 
at  his  office?  Not  at  all.  He's  in  Florida 
— or  Chicago — or  Dallas.  We  burn  up 
the  long-distance  and  finally  connect 
with  him.  We  explain  that  Miss  Starr 
loves  his  dress,  but  she'd  like  to  model 
it  in  pink.  Her  hair,  you  know. 

Pink!  explodes  the  manufacturer.  But 
he's  featuring  it  in  blue.  We  beg,  we 
plead,  we  break  him  down.  Okay — he 
says  grudgingly — but  they'll  have  to 
make  it  up  specially.  It'll  take'  a  week. 
We  postpone  our  date  with  Miss  Starr 
and  reflect  miserably  that  press  time  is 
getting  uncomfortably  close. 

Well,  you  get  the  drift.  Somehow, 
with  the  aid  of  airmail,  special  delivery, 
and  a  last  minute  break  (about  time!) 
.from  Lady  Luck  —  we  actually  get 
Fama  Starr,  the  pink  dress,  the  acces- 
sories, and  ourself  all  in  the  same  place 
at  the  same  time.  The  tights  are  set  up 
— Miss  Starr  shows  her  famous  teeth — 
and  click!— we've  got  our  picture. 

But  don't  get  us  wrong.  We  still  think 
there's  no  business  like  fashion  business. 

— Connie  Bartel 


". . .  AND  THE  LIVIN'  IS  EASY" 

(Continued  from  page  55) 


The  big  man  climbed  into  the  ring  and 
called  for  gloves.  Bob  did  too.  Some- 
body rang  a  bell.  The  big  man  shot 
across  the  ring.  Bob  ducked  and  looked 
up.  He  saw  a  whole  acre  of  chin.  In 
less  time  than  a  man  can  write  it,  he 
straightened  out  a  right  hand. 

The  floor  of  the  ring  came  up  and 
smacked  the  big  man  in  the  face.  As 
though  cued  on  by  a  director,  two  police- 
men climbed  through  the  ropes,  picked 
up  the  big  one,  along  with  his  shirt  and 
tie,  and  dragged  him  to  the  waiting  Maria. 

"You  are  a  louse,"  Bob  said  to  his  Man 
Friday.    "You  called  the  bluecoats." 

"Huh,"  snorted  Bob's  bodyguard.  "The 
guy's  been  lifting  fives  and  tens  off  actors 
around  here  for  about  six  months.  When 
he  wakes  up  in  the  pokey,  maybe  he'll 
remember  nobody  owes  him  anything." 

It  was  all  a  trivial  incident.  Happens 
all  the  time  to  actors.  Not  very  often  to 
Bob  Mitchum,  because  a  man  can  usually 
see  that  this  boy  with  the  sleepy  look, 
the  hawk  nose  and  the  dead  pan  is  no- 
body to  fool  with.  He's  got  good  sense 
about  almost  everything  but  money. 

That's  true,  and  I  know  it,  because  I 
can  remember  Bob  when  he  had  one  suit 
of  clothes  to  his  name.  He  had  the  first 
and  last  month's  rent  paid  on  a  $60  apart- 
ment, a  little  provender  in  the  kitchen 
for  the  wife  and  offspring,  and  enough 
money  in  his  pocket  to  last  until  next 
pay  day — if  he  didn't  take  a  taxicab  but 
stuck  to  the  Sunset  Boulevard  bus. 

"Saw  you  in  G.I.  Joe,"  I  said.  "Good." 

"Thanks." 

"After  you  get  out  of  the  army,  going 


to  stick  with  pictures?" 

"Huh!"  he  shrugged.  "I  just  came  out 
here  for  the  weather." 

"Careful  guy,  aren't  you?" 

"Nope.  Careless." 

He  said  that.  And  he  was  so  right. 

Bob  Mitchum  has  more  than  one  suit 
of  clothes  to  his  name  today.  At  least 
three,  he  has,  but  the  tux  in  his  closet 
belongs  to  the  studio.  Owns  a  house,  too. 
Worth  $22,000,  maybe.  Automobiles,  two. 
Mark  that  down  as  another  $3,000. 

Money  in  the  bank? 

Eighteen  dollars  about  six  weeks  ago. 
Doesn't  owe  any  guy  $5,  but  if  you  check 
into  his  account  with  the  government — 
oh,  what  an  aching  head! 

Maybe  Bob  is  $50,000  in  the  red.  May- 
be $100,000.  How'd  he  get  there?  Well, 
it's  quite  a  story,  and  I  know  of  no  other 
actor  who  would  so  calmly  admit  that  he 
was  closer  to  the  Motion  Picture  Relief 
House  than  to  the  gold  at  Fort  Knox. 

When  we  talked  about  it,  Bob  grinned 
and  said,  "My  own  fault.  I  didn't  give  it 
away  in  thousand-dollar  tips  to  night 
club  captains.  I  just  took  a  few  people's 
word  for  what  to  do  with  money.  Shucks, 
boy,  I'm  no  expert.  So  one  day  I  dis- 
cover that  I've  made  several  haystacks 
full  of  money,  but  there  isn't  any  around. 

"So  the  news  gets  out.  So  a  magazine 
editor  sends  a  sharp  boy  like  you  up  here 
to  find  out  what's  happened.  What  am  I 
going  to  tell  you,  that  it's  just  a  silly  ru- 
mor? All  I  can  say  is  that  I  didn't  pay 
much  attention  to  what  was  going  on. 
How  are  you  doing?" 

"Bob,"  I  said.    "I  understand  that  you 


went  into  Dore  Schary's  office  a  little  while 
ago  and  asked  him  to  tear  up  your  con- 
tract, told  him  that  you  wanted  to  work 
for  $100  a  week." 

"Yeah,"  he  said.  "I  did  that.  I  also 
told  him  I  wanted  four  months  off  every 
year  to  do  what  I  pleased.  He  just 
grinned.  He  knew  I  meant  it.  But  he 
also  knew  I  knew  that  I  wouldn't  get 
away  with  it.    Too  bad."    He  sighed. 

I  sighed,  too,  changing  the  subject.  "It 
was  tough  getting  up  this  hill." 

"Yeah,  everybody  complains.  Friend  of 
mine  said  to  me,  'Boy,  get  wise.  Move  to 
Bel  Air.'  'Huh,'  I  said  to  him,  'I  can  not 
have  just  as  much  money  living  off  San 
Fernando  road  as  I  can  not  have  living 
off  Sunset  Boulevard — and  up  here  there's 
no  room  for  a  swimming  pool.' " 

The  guy  has  a  way  of  throwing  re- 
porters. 

"Look,"  I  said. 

"All  right,"  he  sighed.  "My  wife's  going 
to  walk  in  here  in  a  couple  of  minutes. 
When  she  walks  up  to  me  and  kisses  me 
a  good  one,  it's  an  act.  We've  got  two 
children — Chris,  aged  4,  and  Josh,  aged  7. 
They  go  to  Mocambo  every  night." 

I  took  a  drink. 

The  front  door  opened.  In  the  Mitchum 
mansion,  the  front  door  opens  on  the 
living-room.  A  pretty  girl  walked  in.  She 
walked  over  to  Bob.  She  kissed  him,  satis- 
factorily. 

"You  see,"  Bob  said.  "It's  just  an  act. 
Tomorrow  you'll  pick  up  the  papers  and 
read  that  we're  incompatible." 

I  raised  my  glass. 

(Continued  on  page  81) 


Pretty  as  a  picture..* seductive,  too! 
Miss  Beall  Baldwin  wears  Lovable 
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No  wonder  it's  the  world's  most  popular 
bra— priced  at  only  about  $1 .75. 


In  rayon  satin,  nude,  black 
or  white,  with  lastex  insert. 


YOU'LL 
LOOK 
LOVELY 
TOO,  IN  A 


BRASSIERE 


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1  thread  (equivalent) 

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•k  Very,  very  sheer 

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More  of  those  fine  Gaylord 
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Try  three  or  more  pairs — you'll  do  as  all 
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SHADE 


Please  send  pairs  ol  Seam-tree 

NYLONS.  I  will  pay  postman  77*  ( or  3 
pairs  lor  12.25)  plus  small  C.O.D.  Charges. 

II  prepaid  we  pay  postage.  Money-bach  guarantee 
{Print  name  and  address  along  margin  .  . 


SIZE 


NO  DULL  DRAB  HAIR 

When  You  Use 

4  Purpose  Lovalon 

Easy  and  quick  to  use  after  a  shampoo, 
LOVALON  Hair  Rinse  does  4  things  to 
give  YOUR  hair  beauty  and  glamour: 

1.  Adds  rich,  beautiful  color  to  hair. 

2.  Brings  out  lustrous  highlights. 

3.  Rinses  away  shampoo  or  soap  film. 

4.  Leaves  hair  soft,  easy  fo  manage. 
Does  not  permanently  dye  or  bleach  . .  . 
harmless,  odorless.  Goes  on  easily,  stays 
on,  washes  off  when  you  wish.  Your 
choice  of  12  shades.  Try  LOVALON  today. 

251  and  10*!  sizei 
at  drug,  dept. 
and  10c  stores 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY 
MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

(Prices  may  vary  throughout  country) 

Doris  Dodson  two-piece  plaid  dress  worn 
by  Marsha  Hunt  in  the  full  color  photo- 
graph (page  67) 

Boston,  Mass. — R.  H.  White's,  Fashions, 

Second  Floor 
Brooklyn,    N.    Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 

Half  Pint  Shop,  Second  Floor 
Chicago,  111. — Mandel  Brothers,  Fourth 

Floor. 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 
Half  Pint  Shop,  Second  Floor 

San  Francisco,  Calif. — Hale  Brothers, 
Debuteen  Shop,  Second  Floor. 

Washington,  D.  C— Frank  R.  Jelleff  Inc., 
Junior  Cotton  Shop,  Fifth  Floor 

Gloves  made  to  order  by  Lucienne  Harang 

Majestic  pretty-girl  chambray  (page  68) 

New  York,  N.  Y— McCreery's,  Sport 

Dresses,  Fourth  Floor 
Roanoke,  Va. — Irving  Saks,  Inc., 
Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Lothrop 

Doris  Dodson  hip-cuff  cotton   (page  70) 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 
Half  Pint  Shop,  Second  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 
Half  Pint  Shop,  Second  Floor 

San  Francisco,  Calif. — Hale  Bros.,  Debu- 
teen Shop,  Second  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C— Frank  R.  Jelleff  Inc., 
Junior  Cotton  Shop,  Fifth  Floor 

Carole  King  satin-stripe  plaid  (page  71) 

Baltimore,  Md.— Hochschild,  Kohn  &  Co., 
Young  Baltimorean  Shop,  Sepond 
Floor 

Boston,  Mass. — Jordan  Marsh  Co.,  Fourth 
Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Gimbels,  Junior  Dept., 

Third  Floor 
Pittsburgh,     Pa.— Joseph     Home  Co., 

Junior  Miss  Dept.,  Third  Floor 
Washington,  D.  C— The  Hecht  Co. 

Koret  of  California  jersey  shirt  (page  72) 

Lewiston,    Me.— T.    J.    Murphy  Co., 

Sportswear,  Street  Floor 
Miami,   Fla.— The   Style   Shop,  Blouse 

Dept.,  Main  Floor 
Washington,  D.  C— The  Hecht  Co. 

Koret  of  California  plaid  cotton  playskirt 
(page  72) 

Long  Beach,  Calif. — Career  Girl,  Spe- 
cialty Sportswear  Shop 

San  Francisco,  Calif. — The  Emporium, 
Sportswear  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C— The  Hecht  Co. 

June  Bently  town  cotton  suit  (page  73) 

Boston,  Mass. — Jordan  Marsh  Co. 
Chicago,  111. — Chas.  A.  Stevens  &  Co., 

Junior  Deb.  Dept.,  Fifth  Floor 
Denver,  Colo.— The  May  Co. 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Macy's,  Debutante 

Shop,  Third  Floor 
Washington,  D.  C— The  Hecht  Co. 

Aronoff  &  Richling  scalloped  eyelet  cotton 
(page  74) 

At  Diana  Stores  in:  Jacksonville,  Fla., 
Macon,  Ga.,  Memphis,  Tenn.,  West 
Palm  Beach,  Fla.,  Wilmington,  N.  C. 

At  Peggy  Hale  Stores  in:  Atlanta,  Ga., 
Birmingham,  Ala.,  Columbus,  Ga., 
Knoxville,  Tenn.,  Raleigh,  N.  C. 

Or  order  direct  from  Diana  Stores,  320 
W.  40th  St.,  New  York  18,  N.  Y.  . 


If  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed,  write: 
Connie  Bartel,  Modern  Screen,  149 
Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


(Continued  from  page  79)  "I  drink  to  you, 
1    Mrs  Mitchum — and  I  brought  my  own 
bottle." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  sweetly.  "Thank 
you  on  both  counts." 

"Bob,"  I  asked.  "How  much  money  do 
you  make?" 

"I  don't  make  any.  We  had  a  set  of 
fine  old  engravings  in  the  basement,  but 
a  gardener  we  had  swiped  them." 

"All  right.  How  much  do  you  earn?" 

"Nobody's   going   to   approve   of  this. 
They  called  me  'in'  as  they  say  in  this 
business  (when  I  was  making  Rachel  and 
the  Stranger)  and  'upped'  me  to  $3,000 — 
I    with  an  eight-week  vacation  thrown  in." 

"Boy,  you're  rolling  now." 

"Yeah — five  years  in  the  business,  and 
I'm  right  back  on  the  beach." 

"I'm  tired  of  your  griping.  I'd  like  to 
earn  $3,000  a  week." 

"Well,  go  ahead.    It's  a  free  country." 

"Not  me.  I  don't  want  to  live  like  an  actor." 

"All  right — I'd  like  to  live  like  a  pub- 
lisher.   Let's  call  up  New  York  and  buy 
Modern  Screen." 
j       "What'll  we  do  with  Al  Delacorte?" 

"Let  him  come  out  here  and  live  like 
an  actor.  Say,  when  are  you  going  home?" 

"Maybe  never.    I  like  it  here." 
!       "All  right,  I'll  tell  Dotty  to  put  on  an- 
other pork  chop  tonight." 

He  got  up,  lazily,  and  drifted  into  an- 
other room.  Pretty  soon  he  was  back 
with  three  pairs  of  shoes.  Big  shoes,  little 
shoes,  and  quite  tiny  shoes.  Gravely,  he 
set  to  work  polishing  them. 

"Some  time  I  had  when  we  went  up  to 
Eugene,  Oregon,  on  location  for  Rachel 
and  the  Stranger.  Sometimes  I  get  lone- 
some for  the  family  when  I'm  out  around 
I  acting,  so  I  talked  the  studio  into  letting 
the  whole  gang  come  along.  We  rented 
a  house,  and  the  first  thing  I  know,  Dor- 
othy says  the  stove  is  dirty.  So,  like  a 
chump  I  say  I'll  clean  the  stove.  Oh  well, 
it  only  took  a  few  hours. 

nice  work,  if  you  can  get  it  .  .  . 

|  "Huh — what  do  you  think  of  a  woman 
like  that?  I  told  her  she'd  feel  bad  if  she 
came  out  to  the  set  and  watched  me  mak- 
ing love  to  Loretta  Young.  Funny  thing 
about  movies,  you  get  paid  for  such  pleas- 
ant work." 

Mitchum  is  unimpressed  with  himself 
as  an  actor,  even  though  he  takes  the  busi- 
ness of  acting  seriously. 

After  signing  his  new  contract,  he  said  to 
his  wife,  "Honey — I'm  going  to  take  my 
eight-week  vacation  and  go  somewhere. 
Got  to  re-establish  my  perspective." 

Dorothy  said,  "Sure,  Bob,  go  ahead." 

So  Bob  took  off.  He  prowled  around 
back  East,  visiting  friends,  looking  up  rel- 
atives. When  he  reached  Birmingham,  the 
studio  got  in  touch  with  him. 

"Some  talkers  they  got,"  Bob  mused. 
"A  guy  kept  saying  that  ten  thousand  is 
ten  thousand,  and  that's  what  I'd  get  if 
I  went  to  San  Francisco  to  do  a  personal 
appearance.   So  I  said  okay,  and  hung  up." 

Then  he  looked  in  his  pocket.  He  had 
exactly  eight  cents.  He  called  up  the 
|  theater  man  who  played  RKO-Radio  Pic- 
tures. The  fellow  was  very  nice  about  it. 
Sent  a  car  after  him.  Picked  up  a  plane 
ticket.  A  few  hours  later,  Bob  was  in  San 
Francisco,  ready  to  go  on  stage. 

"Okay,"  he  said  to  the  stage  manager, 
"where's  the  script?" 

"Script?    Haven't  you  got  one?" 

"Nope — a  guy  said  he'd  send  one  up 
from  Hollywood." 

"Well,  it's  not  here." 

"Okay,  lemme  talk  to  that  comedian." 

Mitchum  and  the  comedian  began  to 
J  talk.  The  comedian  threw  gag  lines  at 
him  for  ten  minutes  straight  until  they 
found  a  couple  of  routines  Bob  knew. 
Then,  with  a  minute  left,  they  walked  on 
|    and  did  an  act. 


"Awful,"  Bob  said,  when  it  was  over. 

The  house  record  for  attendance  was 
smashed  to  bits  in  the  next  two  weeks. 

His  wife  and  children  think  he's  as 
terrific  as  audiences  do,  too. 

Recently,  Bob  took  Chris  to  the  Zoo. 
Chris  was  a  little  afraid  of  the  lion. 

"No  use  being  scared  of  him,  he's  a  big 
sissy,"  Bob  said.  "Go  ahead,  roar  at  him." 

So  Chris  roared,  a  four-year-old's  roar. 

The  lion  roared  back. 

Bob  roared.  Chris  roared.  The  lion 
looked  confused.  He  bowed  his  majestic 
head,  ambled  over  to  a  corner  of  the  cage, 
sprawled  out  and  looked  moody. 

Recently,  also,  there  was  what  is  known 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Bob  Mitchum  as  "the 
late  war."  The  conflict  was  short  and 
exciting.  It  seems  that  the  children  in 
the  neighborhood  had  become  divided  into 
"the  good  kids"  and  "the  bad  kids." 

"We've  got  a  problem,  Bob,"  Mrs.  Mitch- 
um reported  one  night  when  Josh  came 
home  with  a  lump  the  size  of  a  baseball 
on  his  head,  and  wouldn't  say  how  it 
happened. 


Next  day,  Mrs.  Mitchum  went  shopping. 
She  returned  with  a  dozen  noise-making 
six-shooters,  complete  with  holsters.  Also 
some  neat-looking  hats.  Then  she  went 
to  call  on  some  friends.  That  afternoon, 
she  drove  up  to  the  house  with  a  half- 
dozen  children  in  the  back  seat  of  the 
convertible.  They  were  the  nucleus  of  a 
group  that  was  to  reform  the  "tough 
guys."  They  weren't  mothers'  pets.  They 
were  just  a  gang  who  were  finding  out 
that  there  was  more  fun  in  hiking,  hold- 
ing meetings  and  getting  acquainted  with 
their  parents  than  in  seeing  how  much 
property  they  could  tear  down.  Inside  of 
a  week,  only  one  tough  guy  remained  in 
the  other  group,  and  when  he  discovered 
nobody  was  paying  any  attention,  he  joined 
the  Mitchum  gang  too. 

Somehow,  it's  difficult  to  feel  too  sorry 
for  Bob  Mitchum,  the  actor  who  lost  a 
hundred  thousand  dollars  somewhere.  •  Af- 
ter all,  he  has  a  house  on  a  hill  that's  paid 
for.  The  kids  have  shoes.  And  he  can 
still  say,  "I  just  came  out  here  for  the 
weather." 


imagine!  it's  only 


99 


"Arrow  to  His  Heart" 
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COTTON  CHAMBRAY 


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Pink,  maize  or  aqua  woven 
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ANN  LEWIS  SHOPS  •  218  WEST  40th  STREET  •  NEW  YORK  18,  N.  Y.  •  Dept.  132 
PLEASE  SEND  ME  "ARROW  TO  HIS  HEART"  AT  $6.99 

SIZE   COLOR   SECOND  COLOR  CHOICE  


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SATISFACTION  GUARANTEED  OR  MONEY  REFUNDED 


BOHES  ABOUT  IT 

Stays  up  without  stays 

Light  and  lovely  is  this  little 
"Perma-lift"  *  Pantie  and  it's 
made  without  a  single  bone.  In 
style,  too,  it  will  comfortably  nip 
in  your  waist — round  your  hips — 
give  you  that  important  new  look. 
Best  of  all,  it  won't  roll  over, 
won't  wrinkle,  won't  bind — yet 
it  stays  up  without  stays.  The 
all-elastic  leg  sections  control 
comfortably,  yet  it  won't  ride  up, 
even  when  worn  without  hose 
supporters.  At  smart  stores  every- 
where—$5.95  to  $12.50.  Enjoy 
a  "Perma-lift"  Brassiere  also, 
America's  favorite  Bra  with  the 
"Lift  that  never  lets  you  down." 

*"Perma'lift"  and  "Hickory"  are  trademarks  of 
A.  Stein  &  Comvany  (Beo.  V.  S.  Pat.  Off.) 


THE  MISSING  BERGMAN  PICTURES 

{Continued  from  page  53) 


was  hotly  coveted  stuff,  and  many  a  jour- 
nalist and  photographer  exhausted  his 
energy  trying  to  force  the  entrance  doors 
of  Ingrid's  villa.  But  by  and  by  the  Swed- 
ish press  learned  this  was  quite  useless. 

It  must  be  emphasized  that  Ingrid  at  an 
age  of  only  17  or  18,  developed  a  remark- 
able cleverness  about  keeping  intruding 
people  at  a  distance  without  hurting  their 
sensibility  or  pride.  She  did  it  unshakably 
firmly,  but  with  a  disarming  smile. 

Otherwise  Ingrid  would  certainly  not 
have  enjoyed  that  immense  popularity  in 
Sweden  that  she  had  acquired  before  leav- 
ing for  Hollywood.  In  1937,  the  Swedes 
voted  her,  for  the  first  but  not  the  last  time, 
their  most  popular  star,  with  a  majority 
that  was  overwhelming. 

This  was,  happily,  before  the  autograph 
hunting  had  begun  to  set  in  fully,  and 
Ingrid  could  move  freely  everywhere,  in 
streets,  in  restaurants,  at  first  nights,  with- 
out being  gazed  at  by  a  pushing  crowd. 
Still,  her  fan  mail  was  the  biggest  in 
Sweden,  and  she  managed  her  professional 
affairs  very  smartly,  well  aware  of  how  her 
popularity  could  be  turned  into  money. 
For  every  picture  she  made  in  1938  and 
1939,  she  would  easily  stipulate  say  25,000 
crowns,  a  very  high  salary  by  Swedish 
standards  before  the  war.  Making  three 
films  a  year,  she  was  one  of  the  highest 
paid  women  in  Sweden. 

a  natural  for  the  movies  .  .  . 

From  the  very  moment  Ingrid  entered 
the  movie  business,  after  one  year  in  the 
Royal  Dramatic  Theater  School,  it  was 
quite  clear  that  she  belonged  there,  and 
that  she  knew  it.  The  first  day  she  worked 
in  her  first  picture,  she  astonished  veteran 
actors  by  her  very  definite  opinions  about 
what  should  be  done  and  how,  and  after 
a  couple  of  months  she  took  the  reins  in  a 
way  that  grew  with  every  new  production. 
She  decided  supremely  on  what  parts  she 
wanted,  on  scripts,  directors,  photographs, 
partners,  clothes  and  publicity  in  a  way 
that  would  have  been  remarkable  in  an 
actress  of  twice  her  age  and  experience. 

Old  troupers  among  her  friends  can  tell 
you  that  they  never  had  seen  such  prac- 
tical competence  in  a  newcomer.  And  in 
front  of  the  camera  she  displayed  the  same 
kind  of  superlative  sureness:  her  acting 
was  clear,  transparent,  flawless;  you  could 
read  in  her  face  as  in  an  open  book.  And 
her  freshness  was  breathtaking. 

The  Swedish  people  took  Ingrid  to  their 
hearts  as  a  charming  embodiment  of 
human  qualities  they  always  have  held  in 
very  high  esteem — good  breeding,  perfect 
taste  and  culture.  They  were  completely 
satisfied  with  her  sound,  distinct  acting  and 
radiant  appearance  and  cared  very  little 
for  the  absence  of  high-running  emotions 
and  passions.  Already,  Ingrid  Bergman 
was  set  on  a  pedestal. 

Her  life  as  a  woman,  wife  and  mother, 
Ingrid  Bergman  has  kept  wide  apart  from 
career.  She  met  her  husband,  Aron  Peter 
Lindstrom,  now  a  renowned  professor  of 
surgery,  when  she  was  only  15,  and  he  25 — 
a  young  dentist  with  a  future,  prominent  as 
a  scientist,  good  tennis  player,  boxer,  skier 
and  swimmer.  They  continued  to  meet  oc- 
casionally during  four  years.  Theirs  was  no 
whirlwind  courtship,  but  a  warm  friend- 
ship growing  into  a  mutual  understanding 
and  a  feeling  of  belonging  together. 

Aron  Peter  Lindstrom  came  from  the 
North,  from  the  province  of  Medelpad,  land 
of  big  forests  and  rapid  rivers.  His  father, 
66  years  old  then  and  still  a  giant,  was  a 
master  gardener,  a  horticulture  expert  in 


government  service,  living  in  the  com- 
munity of  Stoede,  near  a  little  lake  among 
the  mountains.  There,  Aron  Peter  Lind- 
strom married  film  star  Ingrid  Bergman, 
on  the  10th  of  July,  1937.  The  white  rural 
church  gleamed  in  a  summer  sun. 

A  couple  of  years  earlier,  the  officiating 
clergyman  had  prepared  Ingrid  for  her  con- 
firmation. The  wedding  of  Sweden's  most 
popular  film  star  was  a  pure  family  affair. 
No  royalty,  no  guests  even  from  the  Stock- 
holm film  colony,  only  the  bridegroom's 
kinsfolk  from  the  neighborhood,  people  of 
magnificent  stature  who  made  stern  de- 
mands of  a  young  woman)  who  insisted  a 
young  woman  must  have  virtue,  perfect 
behavior,  and  beauty  as  well.  Never  had 
they  seen  a  bride  who  so  perfectly  as  In- 
grid Bergman  fulfilled  their  demands  in 
every  respect.  And  on  this  day  Ingrid 
played  no  movie  part,  she  was  every 
inch,  and  deep  in  her  young  heart,  her  real, 
delightful  self.  For  once,  she  had  allowed 
a  couple  of  photographers  to  cover  her 
great  day,  and  mingling  with  serious 
churchgoers  they  got  many  charming  pic- 
tures of  the  lovely  bride  and  the  handsome 
bridegroom. 

At  the  end  of  the  day,  at  sunset,  the 
young  Lindstroms  waved  goodbye  to 
Stoede  and  turned  Peter's  little  car  towards 
the  South.  They  traveled  in  Germany  and 
France,  visiting  old  towns,  studying  art 
and  architecture,  enjoying  a  culture  that 
a  few  years  later  was  destroyed  by  war. 

They  returned  to  Stockholm,  to  hard 
work  and  a  three  room  flat — which  they,  as 
their  incomes  increased,  exchanged  for  one 
of  the  finest  homes  in  Stockholm,  a  100- 
year-old  villa,  once  occupied  by  great 
poets  and  prominent  philosophers.  The 
house  is  situated  in  an  old  park,  Djurgar- 
den,  and  hidden  behind  thick  vegetation. 

In  the  year  1937,  Ingrid  Bergman's  idols 
among  actresses  were  Greta  Garbo,  Elisa- 
beth Bergner  and  Viennese  Paula  Wessely. 
Hardly  could  she  have  dreamed  then,  that 
she  would  be  second  to  none  of  them. 

Ingrid    Bergman's    career    in  Swedish 


MODERN  SCREEN  TAKES 
THE  AIR 

Like  quiz  shows?  We've  got  a  brand 
new  idea  in  radio  quiz  programs  es- 
pecially designed  to  test  the  skill 
of  movie  fans.  It's  called  "Movie 
Matinee,"  and  we  think  it's  something 
different — and  terrific.  On  each  show, 
M.  C.  Johnny  Olson  asks  questions 
based  on  the  files  of  Modern  Screen — 
questions  about  Hollywood,  about 
your  favorite  stars.  In  addition,  a 
scene  from  a  famous  movie  is  re- 
enacted,  and  you're  asked  to  identify 
the  picture.  Sound  like  fun?  Here's 
how  to  tune  in:  If  you  live  in  New 
York  and  vicinity,  you  can  hear  the 
show  Monday  through  Friday  after- 
noons, from  3  to  3:30  on  WOR.  Or  you 
can  come  down  to  the  Palace  Theater 
on  Broadway  (where  the  broadcast 
originates),  see  it,  even  participate 
as  one  of  the  contestants — and  even 
win  some  of  those  grand  prizes.  If  you 
live  outside  the  New  York  area,  you 
can  hear  the  show  over  the  Mutual 
Network  every  Saturday  morning,  11 
to  11:30  (EST).  And  one  more  thing 
— when  you  hear  the  program,  drop 
us  a  line  and  let  us  know  what  you 
think  of  it!  We're  anxious  to  hear 
from  you. 


legitimate  theater  was  brief.  She  entered 
the  Royal  Dramatic  Theater  School,  that 
venerable  institution  (some  of  its  pupils 
have  been  Greta  Garbo,  Signe  Hasso, 
Viveca  Lindfors,  Mai  Zetterling)  and  there 
her  professors  found  her  keen,  talented 
and  charming.  But  soon  she  gave  them 
much  worry.  Every  off  hour  the  young 
lady  sneaked  away  to  Stockholm's  film 
studios,  and  that  was  not  considered  cor- 
rect behavor  within  these  stern  walls,  two 
centuries  old  and  saturated  with  rigorous 
traditions.  At  the  end  of  Ingrid's  first 
year,  the  conflict  burst  open;  Ingrid  was 
forbidden  further  movie  making. 

Ingrid  made  a  quick  decision,  openly 
announcing  her  intention  of  launching  a 
career  in  the  movies,  and  the  theater  bade 
her  a  definite  and  indignant  farewell.  It 
was  made  distinctly  clear  that  the  reck- 
less young  pupil  should  never  in  her  life 
think  of  entering  Sweden's  Royal  Dra- 
matic Theater  again,  except  as  a  ticket 
buyer.  Today,  the  same  board  of  direc- 
tors that  eleven  years  ago  growled  so 
angrily  would  jump  with  joy  at  the  slight- 
est possibility  of  getting  her  to  star. 

stage  triumphs  .  .  . 

In  the  winter  of  1937,  Ingrid  returned  to 
the  stage  for  a  short  period.  First,  at  the 
Comedy  Theater,  in  a  French  play  The  H 
Hour,  and  then,  a  few  weeks  later,  at  the 
Oscar's  Theater  in  Jean  by  Hungarian 
comedy  writer  Ladislaus  Bus-Fekete.  She 
had  a  triumph.  Eric  Wettergren,  the  direc- 
tor of  Sweden's  National  Museum,  wrote: 
"A  great  victory  was  won  by  Ingrid  Berg- 
man. She  was  the  young  Primavera  in 
person,  flowers  coming  out  in  her  traces." 

To  that  kind  of  out-of-date  lyrical  ec- 
stasy an  old  theater  lover  was  inspired  by 
this  young  artist.  In  the  present  genera- 
tion of  actors  there  is  nobody  to  match  her, 
and  in  vain  I  am  searching  in  my  memory 
for  a  similar  combination  of  nobleness, 
cool  naturalness  and  fiery  spirit. 

Greta  Garbo  never  appeared  on  the 
stage.  Her  radiation,  never  equalled,  was 
purely  "photogenique,"  emotional,  enig- 
matic. Whilst  Ingrid  Bergman  is  real,  rea- 
sonable and  wise,  Greta  Garbo  was  irra- 
tional, romantic  and  tragic — a  doomed 
woman,  victim  of  love,  a  lonely  creature. 
The  Swedes  loved  her  because  she  ex- 
pressed their  own  dreams  and  made  their 
own,  vague  longing  seem  justified — she 
represented  escapism  from  an  over-ration- 
alized world.  Ingrid  Bergman  means 
effectiveness,  clear  thought,  action. 

In  the  opinion  of  most  Swedes,  I'm  sure 
that  Greta  Garbo  is  the  greater  of  the  two, 
and  many  of  us  are  inclined  to  explain 
Bergman's  unprecedented  success  as  a 
coincidence,  pointing  out  that  Ingrid  in  a 
remarkable  way  meets  the  needs  of  our 
tormented,  modern  world.  Many  Swedes 
are  certainly  ready  to  admit  that  Berg- 
man is  a  more  accomplished  actress — but 
they  hasten  to  emphasize,  too,  that  should 
the  most  competent  Swedish  talent  in 
Hollywood  of  today  be  nominated,  they 
believe  Signe  Hasso  has  that  talent. 

Every  Bergman  picture  is  a  big  hit  in 
Sweden.  We  are  now  anxiously  awaiting 
Joan  of  Arc. 

We  in  Stockholm  hope  that  she  herself 
will  bring  that  picture — or  Arch  of  Tri- 
umph— here  for  a  gala  opening.  Her  native 
town  would  give  her  a  tremendous  recep- 
tion. Her  return  would  be  a  public  event, 
with  riots  at  her  arrival,  as  many  crowds 
as  we  expect  at  our  King's  90th  anniver- 
sary, June  16th,  editorials  in  the  papers, 
official  honors,  Stockholm  gone  wild! 

But  "far  from  the  madding  crowd"  In- 
grid could  find  refuge  among  her  old 
friends  from  stage  and  screen.  They  would 
love  to  see  her  again,  to  exchange  memo- 
ries and  experiences  and  wish  her  with  all 
their  hearts  a  happy  continuation  of  a 
brilliant  career. 


shampoo  life 

into  your  hair  with . . . 

Emulsified  Lanolin 


creme  shampoo 

FAVORITE  OF  BEAUTICIANS 


It  took  Helene  Curtis,  world's  leading  authority 
on  hair  beauty,  to  create  this  completely  new 
hind  of  shampoo.  Its  EMULSIFIED  LANOLIN, 
nature's  own  oil,  prevents  dryness,  sets  hair 
magically  aglow  with  new  life.  Leaves  hair 
soft  and  thrilling  to  the  touch  ...  yet 
amazingly  easy  to  manage.  That  is  why 
professional  beauticians  use  this  shampoo  most. 
Even  in  hard  water,  it  bursts  instantly  into  oceans 
of  rich,  fleecy  bubbles.  Its  deep-down  cleansing  action 
removes  dandruff.  Not  a  soap — leaves  no  film;  needs 
no  after-rinse.  Beauticians  will  tell  you  "Helene  Curtis" 
means  highest  quality. 


twice  as  much  for  your  money. .  .five  full  ounces  60c 
full  pound ,  family  size  . . .  $~J  ^  Q 

AT  YOUR    BEAUTY    SHOP,  DRUG,  DEPARTMENT  STORE 


ARE  YOU  INTERESTED  IN  AN 


mfimdle 


Improvement? 


mW  SIMPLE, 


Is  any  American  woman  in  this  year  1948 
going  to  deny  herself  the  benefit  of  a 
genuine  improvement  in  living — 
especially  in  regard  to  personal  dainti- 
ness and  monthly  sanitary  protection?... 
Not  if  she  listens  for  a  minute  to  the 
praises  of  Tampax — designed  by  a  doctor 
to  be  worn  internally,  without  any  need 
for  belts,  pins  or  external  pads.  No  odor. 
No  chafing.  No  telltale  bulges  or  ridges". 
It's  wonderful! 

Tampax  follows  a  well-known  medical 
principle — internal  absorption — and  its 
use  is  now  made  possible  to  women 
generally  by  means  of  a  patented  appli- 
cator containing  pure  surgical 
cotton,  very  absorbent  and 
efficient.  Your  hands  need 
never  touch  the  Tampax  and 
you  cannot  feel  it  when  in 
place. 

You  can  wear  Tampax  in 
shower — or  tub.  It  changes 
quickly,  disposes  easily.  Average  month's 
supply  slips  into  purse.  Ask  for  Tampax 
at  drug  or  notion  counters.  It's  really  the 
last  word!  Comes  in  3  absorbencies  — 
Regular,  Super,  Junior.  Act  now — pre- 
pare for  next  month.  Tampax  Incorpo- 
rated, Palmer,  Mass. 


Accepted  for  Advertising 
by  the  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


THE  FATHER'S  DOING  NICELY,  THANK  YOU 


(Continued  from  page  24) 


expected,  great  tact  must  be  used.  Kids 
can  be  very  sensitive.  Like  our  Stephen, 
for  instance.  A  few  weeks  before  Susan 
was  born,  I  came  back  from  location  shots 
in  Canada  for  The  Iron  Curtain  and  took 
Stephen  on  his  first  visit  to  a  zoo.  After- 
ward, he  announced  that  unless  the  new 
baby  was  a  baby  elephant  or  a  baby 
giraffe  he  wasn't  going  to  like  him! 

"Stephen,  I'm  afraid  that's  quite  impos- 
sible," I  said. 

"A  baby  bear,  then?"  he  asked,  sadly. 

That  gave  me  an  idea.  As  soon  as  I 
could,  I  took  Stephen  back  to  the  zoo.  In 
my  mind  was  a  plan  to  unsell  him  on  the 
bear,  and  sell  him  on  one  of  the  smaller 
monkeys.  And  from  that  I  was  going  to 
switch  him  to  a  baby  chimpanzee.  And  in 
that  way,  following  up  the  line  of  evolu- 
tion, I  figured  I  could  finally  sell  him  on  the 
idea  of  accepting  a  human  baby. 

But  the  plan  bogged  down  with  the 
chimp.  Stephen  wouldn't  go  past  that  point 
in  the  chain.  At  that,  when  I  first  saw 
Susan,  right  after  she  was  born,  I  began 
to  think  that  Stephen,  who  preferred 
chimpanzees,  was  going  to  be  the  only  one 
not  disappointed! 

q  woman's  prerogative  .  .  . 

It  was  Stephen's  sister,  Kathy,  who 
taught  me  that  a  few  months  can  make  a 
lot  of  changes  in  the  attitude  of  a  woman. 
When  Kathy  learned  that  there  was  to  be 
a  new  baby  in  the  family,  she  was  just  five 
years  old.  Her  only  request  was  that  the 
baby  be  a  girl. 

Do  you  suppose  then  that  she  was  happy 
when  Susan  turned  out  to  be  Susan?  No. 
By  that  time,  Kathy  had  grown  to  be  five 
and  a  half,  and  had  decided  that  boys 
weren't  so  bad  after  all,  and  there  might 
be  some  advantages  to  being  the  only  girl. 

About  the  only  thing  I  really  have 
against  Kathy  (and  even  this  I  have  for- 
given her)  is  that  she  spoiled  a  pet  scheme 
of  mine  about  two  months  before  Susan 
was  due.  I  don't  exactly  believe  in  pre- 
natal influence  or  any  of  that  stuff,  but  I 
got  an  idea  that  it  would  be  nice  if  the 
baby  was  born  with  a  liking  for  her 
father's  favorite  hobby — sailing,  so  before 
she  was  born,  four  of  us  set  out  for  a  little 
sail  in  our  55-footer,  "Katharine."  There 
was  Mary,  Kathy,  myself  and  a  guest — 
Ethel  Barrymore.  It  was  a  sparkling  day, 
but  things  didn't  come  off  as  I  had  planned 
at  all.  We  just  couldn't  convince  Miss 
Barrymore  that  Kathy  knew  her  way 
around  a  boat. 

"That  child  is  going  to  fall  into  the 
ocean,"  she  announced.  Suddenly  I  began 
to  worry  myself.  Even  though  I  was  certain 
Kathy  was  a  careful  sailor,  I  could  feel  the 
influence  of  that  strong  Barrymore  pres- 
ence cutting  down  my  confidence.  Suppose 
these  fears  communicated  themselves  to- 
our  unborn  child?  I  swung  the  wheel 
around  and  headed  for  home. 

While  prospective  fathers  have  a  difficult 
time,  I  am  not  blind  to  the  fact  that  moth- 
ers-to-be have  rough  going  occasionally  as 
well.  Take  Mary  now,  when  we  first  knew 
that  Susan  was  on  the  way.  I  remember 
her  coming  home  peeved  one  afternoon. 

"I  am  surprised,"  she  said.  "I  am  sur- 
prised and  mortified  at  the  fashion  experts!" 

This  was  serious.  As  little  an  expert  as 
I  am,  I  know  that  women  who  are  going  to 
be  mothers  should  be  kept  happy. 

"I  went  to  a  dozen  shops,"  she  continued, 
"and  in  not  one  of  them  was  I  able  to  find 
a  maternity  dress  with  the  'new  look!' " 

If  the  dress  industry  is  listening,  I  hope 
that  a  word  to  the  wise  will  be  sufficient. 


But  Mary  didn't  let  the  incident  depress 
her  for  long.  That's  Mary  for  you.  When 
I  first  met  her  we  were  both  acting  in  a 
play  at  the  Pasadena  Playhouse.  I  had  the 
role  of  the  boy  who  never  got  her.  With 
any  other  girl  I  wouldn't  have  minded,  but 
with  Mary  I  just  couldn't  stand  it.  I  kept 
trying  to  re-write  the  play  every  time  I 
saw  her.  Finally,  when  the  run  was  over, 
we  fixed  up  a  new  act,  complete  with 
orange  blossoms,  minister,  a  ring  and 
weeping  relatives. 

Ours  was  like  any  other  wedding,  but 
with  one  difference.  No  wedding  picture 
was  taken.  You  see,  I  was  getting  ready 
for  a  western  film  at  the  time  and  had 
been  ordered  by  the  studio  to  grow  a  beard. 
It  had  been  sprouting  for  three  weeks 
when  I  showed  up  for  the  wedding.  Mary 
took  one  look  and  made  an  announcement. 

"I'll  go  through  with  the  marriage,"  she 
said.  "But  I'll  be  darned  if  I'll  pose  for  a 
picture  with  all  that  moss  on  your  face!" 

Later  on,  when  the  picture  I  was  grow- 
ing the  beard  for  started  shooting,  the 
director  decided  there  were  too  many 
actors  with  beards.  He  looked  us  over  and 
called  to  me. 

"You  with  the  fungus!   Shave  it  off!" 

There  are  a  thousand  little  things  an  in- 
fant depends  on  his  father  to  take  care  of 
for  him.  Things  to  watch  out  for.  A  good 
example  is  what  happened  when  we  had 
an  extra  room  built  onto  the  house  for 
Susan's  nursery.  It  was  finished  two  days 
before  Mary  was  due  to  bring  her  home 
from  the  hospital.  When  I  inspected  it  I 
realized  that  there  was  a  smell  of  fresh 
paint  in  the  air.  I  called  it  to  the  attention 
of  the  painter. 

"Don't  you  think  we  ought  to  do  some- 
thing about  it  before  my  wife  brings  the 
baby  home?"  I  asked. 

"Naw,"  he  said. 

But  I  did.  I  wasn't  taking  any  chances. 
I  hung  a  canary  in  a  cage  in  the  nursery. 
Then  before  I  let  Susan  be  brought  inside 
when  she  reached  home,  I  peeked  in,  half- 
expecting  to  see  the  canary  limp  and  dead 
on  the  bottom  of  his  cage.  But  he  was  on 
his  perch,  singing  away,  so  I  knew  every- 
thing was  okay. 

crafty  pop  .  .  . 

Yes,  you  have  to  use  your  head  in  order 
to  be  a  successful  father.  Take  this  busi- 
ness of  trying  to  get  a  few  minutes  alone 
with  your  newborn  baby.  You  keep  getting 
chased  out  with  excuses  about  it  being  the 
baby's  feeding  time,  or  her  sleeping  time, 
or  her  bath  time.  Never  time  for  Pop. 
But  there  is  a  way  of  beating  this  if  you're 
smart.  Just  get  out  of  bed  about  two  in 
the  morning  and  sneak  into  the  nursery. 

There  is  nothing  my  Susan  likes  better 
than  to  stuff  her  hand  or  foot  into  her 
mouth  and  then  listen  to  her  old  man.  But 
don't  get  caught  at  at. 

Babies  today,  you  see,  are  brought  up 
according  to  a  strict  schedule.  As  soon  as 
Susan  got  home  we  all  fell  under  the 
authority  of  the  baby  expert,  otherwise 
known  (to  Stephen  at  least),  as  Dr.  Peety 
Trishan. 

He  carries  a  small,  black,  rubber  ham- 
mer, and  mostly  he  is  tapping  all  over 
Susan  with  it  when  I  see  him. 

Well,  all  this  ought  to  give  a  fellow  a 
fairly  good  idea  of  what  he  faces  in  father- 
hood. Any  of  you  reading  it  are  welcome 
to  whatever  you  find  helpful.  But  I  should 
add  that  if  you  are  really  a  prospective 
father,  your  best  friend  is  a  strong,  calm, 
confident  wife.  If  your  wife  is  like  this, 
rely  on  her.    She'll  pull  you  through. 


COME  INTO  MY  PARLOR 

(Continued  from  page  38) 


caught  dead  within  mine.  It's  very  plain. 
It's  got  a  fence  around  it — to  keep  out 
children  (so  they  won't  drown)  and  wind 
(so  we  won't  freeze).  There's  a  plain  flag- 
stone path,  a  plainer  diving  board,  and  a 
lot  of  water. 

Now  I  come  to  the  hard  part — for  me, 
anyhow.  The  inside.  Decoration,  I  don't 
know  about.  We  wanted  the  living-room 
to  be  practical,  and  Greta  and  I  thought  a 
big  circular  couch  around  the  fireplace 
would  be  pretty  nice.  We  talked  this  over 
with  a  decorator  named  Theor  Ackershott, 
and  we  ended  up  with  a  vast  scarlet  three- 
sides-of-a-rectangle  sort  of  sectional 
couch  all  backed  with  wooden  cabinets 
out  of  which  we  have  small  jungles  grow- 
ing. Very  effective.  It's  also  tremendously 
comfortable.  In  the  center  of  the  couch 
sections,  we've  got  a  big  coffee  table,  and 
a  jungle's  growing  out  of  that  too. 

There  are  a  couple  of  things  we're  partial 
to  in  that  room.  There's  a  head  sitting  on 
a  stand  in  the  corner — I  think  it's  ivory, 
and  Greta  and  I  found  it  one.  night  in 
Chinatown.  There  are  some  book-ends 
made  out  of  a  pair  of  Jonathon's  shoes  that 
he  wore  during  the  war  when  shoes  were 
rationed.  He  grew  so  fast  we  couldn't 
keep  him  shod;  we  had  to  cut  the  toes  out 
of  this  pair  so  he  could  get  them  on — 

Let's  see  now.  We've  got  a  loggia.  That's 
a  nice  room.  Big,  and  it  opens  onto  the 
lawn  out  back,  and  it's  got  a  linoleum  floor. 
A  loggia's  practical.  It's  almost  as  much 
outside  as  it  is  inside,  but  it's  sheltered. 
A  linoleum  floor's  practical  too;  we're 
partial  to  them  because  the  boys  can 
whang  their  toys  down  without  wrecking 
stuff  and  consequently  we  don't  have  to 
whang  the  boys.  Don't  think  we're  dull,  but 
the  loggia's  all  coral  and  turquoise  too, 
and  tropical  plants. 

We've  got  a  simple  mahogany  dining 
room,  and  in  a  little  alcove  off  this  room 
there's  a  carved  oak  cabinet  we  both  like 
very  much.  It's  about  the  only  piece  we 
brought  with  us  when  we  moved.  We've 
got  a  painting  hanging  over  it.  The  paint- 
ing's "Two  Girls  in  a  Cafe"  by  the  young 
American  artist,  Robert  Phillips.  It's  grace- 
ful, a  little  reminiscent  of  Renoir. 

I  have  a  den,  too.  With  a  desk  made  to 
my  specifications.  Lots  of  leg  room  under 
the  drop  leaf,  and  in  the  den  I  keep  my 
camera  equipment  and  a  lot  of  other  stuff 
Greta  doesn't  want  kicking  around  the 
(Continued  on  page  87) 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Recently,  Billy  De 
Wolfe  made  a  per- 
sonal appearance 
at  the  Paramount 
Theater  in  San 
Francisco.  Sud- 
denly, he  inter- 
rupted his  act  and 
said,  "Will  the 
little  blonde  girl 
in  the  fourth  row 
move  up  here  to 
the  first  row?  Your  brother  has  a 
seat  for  you  now."  It  seems  that  the 
pair  had  come  in  twenty  minutes  or 
so  before,  but  there  was  only  one 
front  seat,  so  the  sister  let  her  brother 
have  it.  Mr.  De  Wolfe  had  witnessed 
this  little  scene  from  the  stage,  and  he 
personally  escorted  the  girl  to  her 
front  row  seat. 

Wanda  Jean  Thompson 
San  Bruno,  California 


9>  o'clock  in  the  wonmng ! 


if 


/.  "HERE'S  HOW  I  manage  desk-to-danc- 
ing dates,"  says  this  smart  career  girl.  "I 
wear  a  basic  dress  to  the  office — with  the 
simplest  of  simple  accessories.  And,  of 
course,  I  rely  on  new  Odorono  Cream  to 
keep  my  dress  free  of  perspiration  stains 
and  odor."  One  dab  of  Odorono  in  the  A.M. 
keeps  you  dainty  a  full  24  hours. 

And  wait  till  you  see  how  creamy-smooth 
Odorono  stays  in  the  jar.  Never  gritty 
(even  if  you  leave  the  cap  off  for  weeks). 


2.  "WHEN  DATE  TIME  COMES,  I  'dress 
up'  my  basic  dress  with  a  circular  organdy 
overskirt.  Add  jewelry  for  glitter,  gloves 
and  flowers  for  glamour.  And  I'm  set  for 
an  evening  of  fun.  I'm  confident  of  my 
charm  all  evening  too — thanks  to  new 
Odorono  Cream."  Because  the  Halgene  in 
Odorono  gives  more  effective  protection  than 
any  deodorant  known. 

Yet  stainless  Odorono  is  so  safe  and 
gentle — you  can  use  it  even  after  shaving. 


onono  Oieom  safeG} 
sloj>s  jpenzpinaUon  and  odon 


^atch  the  lads 


^ftoSe  flair  ha* 
^arm,HchCOl^ 


&  Don't  put  up  with  dull,  mousy 
hair  a  moment  longer.  Let  Nestle 
Colorinse  give  your  hair  the  warm, 
rich  color,  silken  sheen  and  beauti- 
ful highlights  that  no  shampoo  done 
could  possibly  give.  Absolutely  safe, 
washes  out  with  shampooing. 

Remember  —  when  you  ask  f  or  "  Colorinse  " — be 
sure  to  insist  on  the  genuine  NESTIE  COLORINSE. 


COLORINSE 


LOOK  FOR  NESTLE  COLORINSE 
in  your  favorite  variety  store 
during  National  Brands  Week 
April  9-19,  1948. 


Jane  Powell, 

young  M-G-M  star,  is 

one  of  the 

lucky  chicks  with  a 

smooth  skin, 

but  if  you  have  any 

youthful  skin 

troubles,  read  this 

and  cheer  up! 

By  CAROL  CARTER 


-the 

Schoo\ 
girl 

complexion 


■  The  complexion  that's  "growing  up"  can  be  a  great  trial  to  you  teen-agers 
who  may  be  grieved  and  disgusted  at  the  way  your  skin  breaks  out.  Doctors 
pretty  generally  agree  that  skin  eruptions  and  acne  are  caused  by  a  com- 
bination of  circumstances,  all  of  which  contribute  to  the  overactivity  and 
disturbances  of  oil  glands  so  common  during  youth.  Cleanliness  is  important 
in  helping  correct  the  condition;  so  is  diet.  Also,  there  may  be  a  slight 
glandular  upset  about  which  you'll  have  to  see  the  doctor.  Outdoor  exercise 
is  fine.  Eight  or  nine  hours  of  sound  sleep  in  a  well-aired  room  helps.  If 
possible,  adopt  a  philosophical  attitude  toward  your  "affliction."  That 
means,  don't  worry  unduly  about  it — your  skin  really  can  be  improved — but 
do  concern  yourself  enough  to  take  the  necessary  steps  toward  improving 
your  complexion. 

Be  tireless  in  scrub-duty.  Bathe  as  often  as  possible.  Shampoo  your  hair 
twice  a  week,  both  to  keep  it  looking  lovely  and  also  to  improve  your  com- 
plexion. Remember  that  it's  skin  openings  plugged  up  with  excess  oil  that 
cause  your  troubles  so  wash  your  face  thoroughly  several  times  a  day  and 
go  very  easy  on  make  up  (except  for  lipstick)  until  your  skin  is  healed. 
And  don't  pick!    It's  dangerous  and  just  makes  things  worse. 

Frown  on  sweets  and  fried  foods,  or  foods  high  in  fats.  Chocolate  is 
an  especially  guilty  trouble-maker.  Gnaw  celery,  carrots,  raw,  green  vege- 
tables, apples  and  fresh  fruit.  Drink  plenty  of  milk  and  water.  Eat  whole 
grain  cereals,  lean  meat  (except  pork),  lots  of  cooked  vegetables. 

*       *  * 

•  We  have  a  dandy  skin  examination  chart  supplied  to  ns  by  a  facial  expert 
which  we  want  you  to  have.  Just  enclose  a  large  stamped,  self-addressed  en- 
velope and  write  to:  Carol  Carter,  MODERN  SCREEN,  149  Madison  Ave., 
New  York  16,  N.  Y.  After  filling  in  the  chart  from  us,  return  it  to  the 
expert  for  FREE  amlysis. 


(Continued  from  page  85)  rest  of  the  house. 

It's  a  comfortable  house,  and  I  like  that. 
I'm  a  big  one  for  sitting  up  all  night  read- 
ing, talking — anything  but  turning  in  the 
way  I  should.  One  reason  why  I  hate  to 
get  up  before  noon.  "Sloth,"  my  wife  says. 
"Give  you  a  T-shirt  and  a  magazine,  and 
you'd  never  go  to  work." 

She  wrongs  me,  but  she  rights  me  too. 
Even  better  than  magazines,  I  like  kids. 
I  throw  my  one-year-old  son  Stephen 
into  over-stuffed  chairs  and  catch  him 
as  he  bounces  out.  That's  my  half-witted 
idea  of  a  good  time.  I  also  like  to  prove 
to  my  four-year-old  son  Jonathan  that  I 
can  fly  a  kite  better  than  he  can.  A  lot  of 
people  claim  this  isn't  much  of  a  fight, 
but  I  don't  care. 

Those  kids.  They're  terrific.  We're  re- 
decorating a  room  for  them  in  our  wing  of 
the  house;  right  now  they  sleep  in  a  little 
room  in  the  servants'  wing  so  Jesse  can 
see  to  their  needs  at  night.  We'll  move 
them  as  soon  as  Stephen's  old  enough  to 
sleep  out  of  a  crib. 

The  other  day,  I  was  sitting  in  the 
loggia  with  Greta.  Our  Siamese  cat  named 
Monkey  was  sitting  there  too,  and  so  was 
our  white  police  dog  named  Perry,  who's 
big  enough  to  terrify  a  polar  bear,  and  so 
was  Troxy,  a  mutt  Dorothy  McGuire  casu- 
ally brought  over  and  dropped  one  time. 
It  was  pretty  smart  of  Dorothy  at  that. 
Troxy  had  nine  children  three  days  later. 

Anyhow,  Greta  and  I  and  Monkey  and 
Perry  and  Troxy  and  her  family  were 
sitting  around,  as  I  said,  when  Jonathan 
came  wandering  in  with  two  beagles. 

"Where'd  they  come  from?"  I  said. 

Jonathan  smiled  angelically.  Now  I'm 
feeding  those  two  hounds. 

I'm  trying  to  think  what  I've  left  out 
about  our  house  and  our  household.  The 
bar  comes  to  my  mind.  That's  a  large 
place  with  a  very  chi-chi  bar  decorated 
by  the  former  tenants.  When  we  get 
through  with  it,  it'll  be  plain  wood,  and 
much  better-looking. 

The  master  bedroom  overlooks  the 
swimming  pool,  and  it's  a  compromise  be- 
tween masculine  and  feminine  taste.  That's 
what  I  say  now.  Originally  it  was  pink 
and  blue  and  ghastly.  "You  think  I'm 
going  to  sleep  in  there?"  I  asked  my  poor 
cringing  wife.  She's  only  about  five  feet 
tall,  so  she  gave  in  first.  The  room's  now 
sort  of  tan  and  cream. 

Very  pleasant.  But  the  most  pleasant 
thing  of  all  is  the  roof.  On  clear  days,  I 
go  up  and  sit  on  that  roof  and  stare  at 
that  ocean,  and  think  long  unimportant 
thoughts  and  Greta  comes  out  on  the  lawn 
and  catches  sight  of  me  and  hollers,  "You 
all  right?" 

And  I'm  all  right.  I'm  fine. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

When  Eddie 
Bracken  made  a 
personal  appear- 
ance at  the  Earle 
Theater  in  Phila- 
delphia, he  held  a 
mass  interview 
backstage  for  high 
school  editors.  I 
was  among  those 
present,  as  the 
questions  were 
flying  a-mile-a-minute  at  Mr. 
Bracken.  Obviously  thinking  of  all 
the  glamor  gals  that  Eddie  has  wooed 
on  the  screen,  one  fellow  asked,  "To 
whom  do  you  like  to  make  love  the 
most?"  This  question  didn't  put  Eddie 
on  the  spot  because  he  quickly  an- 
swered, "My  wife,  son,  my  wife!" 

Fred  Gable 
Philadelphia,  Pa. 


mm  vm  s-Tvu^ 


LITTLE  LULU  S(My9  Compare  tissues— compare  boxes— and  you'll  see 
why  7  out  of  10  tissue  users  like  Kleenex  better  than  any  other  brand !  For  no 
other  tissue  gives  you  all  the  advantages  of  Kleenex.  Soft!  Strong!  Pops  up! 


Amazing 
color-control 


toast-test 

Only  the  Proctor  Automatic 
Toaster  can  pass  it 


It's  America's  most  beautiful  toaster 
. . .  but  that's  not  all.  Underneath 
its  gleaming  chromium  finish  is 
an  amazingly  accurate  toasting 
mechanism. 

Prove  it  yourself.  Toast  a  slice  of 
bread  in  the  new  Proctor ...  it 
comes  up  appetizingly  browned 
as  set.  Now,  re-toast  the  same  slice. 
Ordinarily  you'd  expect  it  to  be 
burnt  to  a  crisp.  But  in  the  Proctor 
it  pops  up  again,  little  if  any  darker. 

An  amazing  proof  of  the  Proctor's 
toasting  accuracy.  You  can  even 
rewarm  cold  toast  safely.  See  it  at 
your  Proctor  Dealer's.  Fair  Trade 
Price  $22.00,  Federal  excise  tax 
included. 


PROCTOR 

Automatic  76p-up  Toaster/ 

PROCTOR  ELECTRIC  CO.,  PHILADELPHIA  40,  PA. 


the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


THE  WINNERS!  We  always  wjnd  up  an 
MSFCA  contest  with  mixed  emotions.  We're 
happy  because  we  have  winners  to  announce. 
We're  sad  because  everybody  can't  win. 
(They  tell  us  you  just  don't  run  a  contest 
that  way.)  And  we're  a  little  dizzy  from 
having  to  select  the  "best"  from  so  many  won- 
derful entries.  Our  Writing  Contest  is  no  ex- 
ception. We  never  realized  there  are  so  many 
wonderful  potential  writers  in  MSFCA  clubs! 
But  we  know  you're  anxious  for  the  results: 

First  prize  ($10):  Lee  Garber,  prexy  of  the 
Official  Mel  Torme  Club.  Second  prize  ($7.50):' 
Gladys  Hagblom,  vice-prexy  of  the  Teddy 
Walters  Club  (for  her  article  on  Frank  Sina- 
tra). Third  prize  (tied;  $5  each):  Donna 
Meyer,  June  Allyson  Club,  and  Kay  McGowan, 
v.-p.,  Jean  Pierre  Aumont  Club. 

4th-8th  prizes  ($3  each)  Virginia  Keegan, 
v-p„  Club  Crosby;  Dorothy  Dillard,  Original 
Jeanette  MacDonald  Club  (Glenna  Riley, 
prexy);  Marilyn  Sclater,  prexy,  Roddy  Mc- 
Dowall  Club  (for  her  piece  on  Patrice  Mun- 
sel);  Pat  Maben,  prexy,  Dan  Duryea  Club; 
Ellen  Couglin,  Frankie's  United  Swooners. 

Lee's  article  on  Mel  is  really  a  magnificent 
job — and  you'll  all  have  a  chance  to  see  for 
yourselves  when  we  print  it  in  a  future  FANS 
column.  Congratulations  to  the  lucky  ones 
and  thanks  to  all  participants! 

all  fans  on  deck  .  .  . 

NEWS:  The  first  annual  Nelson  Eddy  Music 
Club  (Rita  and  Jo  Mottola,  co-prexies)  Con- 
vention is  being  held  April  11-12  in  Boston, 
Mass.  .  .  .  The  Gene  Autry  Club  is  celebrat- 
ing its  10th  anniversary  .  .  .  Sleepy  Hollow 
Clubbers  signed  up  35  new  members  at  their 
9th  Anniversary  party  at  ABC's  Hayloft  Hoe- 
down  broadcast.  .  .  .  Now  that  Jack  Smith  has 
adopted  a  six-year-old  Dutch  girl  (under  the 
Foster  Parents  Plan),  his  clubbers  are  getting 
together  to  adopt  two  more  orphan  children. 
Selma  Carlson's  and  Delores  Feeney's  clubs 
are  working  hard  on  this  project,  and  Ronald 
Farrington's  club  is  offering  free  yearly  mem- 
berships to  the  first  20  Smithereens  who  con- 
tribute $5  or  more  to  this  cause  .  .  .  How'd 
you  like  to  join  a  really  International  Club — 
with  headquarters  in  Alexandria,  Egypt?  Its 
prexy  is  Henry  Ascar,  18,  Zahra  Street,  and 
it's  called  simply,  the  Movie  Fan  Club.  Hon- 
oraries  include  Betty  Grable,  Ronald  Reagan, 
Gregory  Peck  (American);  Stewart  Granger, 
Jean  Kent  (British)  and  Renee  Saint  Cyr 
(French)!  Their  first  project  is  selecting  the 
film  "bests"  of  1947  .  .  .  Pat  Semenetz  is  the 
happiest  wedding  guest  we've  ever  heard  of. 
She  was  present  when  her  honorary  Janis 
Paige  was  married  to  Richard  Martinelli  .  .  . 
Beulah  Hedrick,  new  prexy  of  the  Edward 
Ashley  Club,  is  offering  a  best-selling  book  to 
everyone  who  brings  in  two  new  members  .  .  . 
the  International  Reno  Browne  Fan  Club 
(Reno's  dad  is  personally  underwriting  this 
club)  now  has  990  members — all  over  the 
world.  Marcy  MacRae  is  prexy  .  .  .  Vic 
Damone  gave  a  party  in  the  Paramount 
Building,  N.  Y.,  for  the  local  flock  .  .  .  Warren 


SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 

GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


Douglas  has  promised  his  clubbers  he'll  wear 
the  tie  they  gave  him  for  Christmas  in  his 
next  movie  .  .  .  Louise  Erickson  Clubbers 
(Elsie  Ellovich,  prexy)  have  adopted  a  French 
war  orphan,  Georgette  Francois,  5  .  .  .  Ad- 
mission to  meetings  of  the  Tony  Trankina 
Fan  Club  (Anne  Bogard,  prexy)  is  two  cans 
of  food — donated  to  various  charities  .  .  . 
Martha  Dietz'  Johnny  Long  Club  is  holding  a 
bake-sale  to  raise  money  for  the  treasury  .  .  . 
Mary  Susan  Leonard,  prexy  of  the  only  Shir- 
ley Temple  Club,  would  like  to  welcome  all 
presidents  of  unofficial  Temple  clubs  to  her 
organization.  She'll  also  buy  back  issues  of 
journals.  Her  address  is  Box  428,  Kingsport, 
Tenn.  .  .  .  Each  member  of  Hermina  Levitt's 
Stuart  Foster  Club  will  receive  a  current 
Foster  recording  at  the  end  of  the  year.  Club 
has  merged  with  Bobbie  Meltzer's. 


7TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 
(3rd  Lap) 

New  Prizes!  There's"  still  lots  of  time  to  enter 
the  current  MODERN  SCREEN  TROPHY  CUP  CON- 
TEST. So  get  in  there  and  start  writing  articles 
for  your  journals.  Artists!!  We  have  prizes  for 
covers,  and  art  work.  TANGEE  TRIP  Kits,  just 
wonderful  for  traveling.  PONDS'  wonderful 
DREAMFLOWER  bath  sets!  Also,  LA  CROSSE 
"LOOK  TWICE"  pink  ribbon  lipstick  and  polish 
combos.  And  all  you  journal  editors,  sharpen  your 
scissors!  We  have  those  marvelous  EBERHARD 
FABER  HARMATONE  DELUXE  pen  and  pencil  sets 
to  award  each  month.  We've  got  subscriptions  to 
SCREEN  ALBUM  and  FRONT  PAGE  DETECTIVE! 
And  don't  forget,  there  are  three  Trophy  Cups 
for  the  winning  clubs. 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners:  (100  points 
each)  Marguerite  Ford,  "Italian  Films,"  Ed's 
(Ashley)  Edition.  Lillian  Menichini,  "New  York 
City,"  Mason  Mirror.  Janice  Binder,  "Editorial," 
Carson's  Collection.  Judy  Gordon,  "Adventure 
Trails,"  Ladd  (Bellino).  Doris  Pyle,  "Miracle  of 
the  Bells,"  Fan's  Fancies  (Sinatra,  Pacilio). 
Jeanne  Holder,  "What  the  Doctor  Ordered,"  Tol- 
erantly Yours  (Sinatra,  Minnitti).  Candid  Camera 
Winners:  First  Prize,  (100  point:)  Martha  Kay 
(Duryea;  Maben).  Others:  (50  jits)  Ellyn 
Sachs,  Frankie  Laine  Fan  Club.  Ginny  Wilson, 
Rise  Stevens  Club.  Alice  Meyers,  Glenn  Vernon 
C.  (Olsen).  Georgia  Eustice,  Rand  Brooks  Club. 
Nelda  Clough,  Charles  Korvin  Club.  Best  Jour- 
nals: (500  points)  League  I:  Sinatra  (Watson). 
League  2:  Ladd  (Bellino).  League  3:  (tied)  Mac- 
donald  Carey,  Basil  Rathbone,  Jan  Clayton,  Mel 
Torme.  Best  Editors:  (250  points)  League  1:  Mar- 
garet and  Joy  Nicholin  (Nelson  Eddy).  League 
2:  Loretta  Verbin  (Jack  Carson).  League  3: 
Joanne  Julian  (Burt  Lancaster).  Best  Original  Art 
Work:  (150  points)  Veronica  Czarnikowski,  Jol- 
son  Journal.  Most  Worthwhile  Activities:  (250 
points)  League  1:  Nelson  Eddy  Club  (Mottola) 
presented  35  to  American  Red  Cross.  League  2: 
Musical  Notes  Club  gave  $15  to  Cancer  Drive 
and  15  to  support  War  Orphan.  League  3:  Stuart 
Foster  (Levitt)  adopted  French  Orphan.  Great- 
est Membership  Increases:  (100  points)  League  1: 
Reno  Browne.  League  2:  Damone  (DiGirolamo), 
Sleepy  Hollow.  League  3:  Virginia  Field.  Best 
Covers:  (250  points)  League  1:  Bing  Crosby 
Club.  League  2:  Jack  Carson  Club.  League  S.- 
Jan Clayton  Club.  Best  Correspondents:  (50 
points)  League  1:  Ruth  Ness,  Bing  Crosby  Club. 
League  2:  Gerry  Kee,  Alan  Ladd  Club.  League 
3:  Dorene  Granade,  Helen  Gerald  Club. 

Leading  Clubs  in  Lap  3.  League  1:  Nelson  Eddy 
(Nicholin),  950  points.  Dennis  Morgan,  950  points. 
Frank  Sinatra  (Watson)  700  points.  League  2: 
Jack  Carson,  700  points.  Alan  Ladd  (Bellino),  700 
points.  Alan  Ladd  (Pearl),  700  points.  League  3: 
Sinatra  (Ling),  950  points.  Clayton,  850.  Conte, 
850. 

*  *  * 

ATTENTION:  To  obtain  your  copy  of  fhe 
new  MSFCA  Fan  Club  Chart — listing  over 
350  official  fan  clubs,  send  10c  in  coin 
and  a  stamped  (3c),  self-addressed  envelope 
(A"  x  9")  to  Service  Dept.,  MODERN  SCREEN, 
149  Madison  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16. 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  23) 


He  is  meeting  the  right  people  now — the 
important  people.  Like  Susan  Duane  (Martha 
Vickers),  whose  family  is  prominent  in  bank- 
ing circles.  It  doesn't  take  Horace  long  to 
become  engaged  to  Susan.  And  since  he  is 
a  bright  young  man  who  knows  when  to  talk 
and  when  not  to,  he  soon  becomes  prominent 
in  banking  circles  himself.  Oh  it  isn't  done 
in  a  day  or  a  month  or  a  year.  But  before 
too  long,  Horace  has  a  Wall  Street  office  of 
his  own.  He  never  does  get  around  to  mar- 
rying Susan.  But  he  still  sees  Vic,  his  one 
friend.  In  fact,  Vic  works  for  Horace's  firm  in 
some  South  American  deals.  He  still  thinks 
Horace  is  a  great  guy. 

But  gradually  Vic,  along  with  Buck  Mans- 
field (Sydney  Greenstreet),  his  wife  (Lucille 
Bremer)  and  a  few  others  find  that  Horace 
isn't  great — only  dangerous.  Once  again 
Horace  has  his  eye  on  a  girl  Vic  loves.  It's  an 
explosive  situation — and  it  explodes  quite 
thoroughly. — Eagle-Lion 

ALL  MY  SONS 

The  New  York  Drama  Critics'  prize-winning 
play  comes  to  the  screen  in  a  beautifully-cast, 
beautifully-produced  movie  that  will  hold 
your  interest  as  few  movies  have  held  it. 
Burt  Lancaster  is  such  heaven  to  look  at 
that  you  won't  care  whether  he  can  act  or 
not,  but  he  can.  Like  mad.  And  Eddie  Robin- 
son isn't  pretty,  but  he  sure  knows  his  stuff. 
Mady  Christians  is  magnificent  in  the  subtle, 
taxing  mother  role.  Howard  Duff  is  flawless. 
And  Louisa  Horton — a  gal  with  the  most 
disturbingly  lovely  speaking  voice  since  Jean 
Arthur — is  so  real  you  keep  feeling  that 
you've  known  her  always. 

This  is  basically  a  love  story — Chris  Kell- 
er's (that's  Burt)  and  Ann  Deever's  (that's 
Louisa)  love  story — but  it  is  no  simple  boy 
meets  girl  affair.  You  see,  the  Deevers  lived 
next  door  to  the  Kellers  for  years  and  years, 
and  Ann  was  engaged  to  Chris'  brother 
Larry,  who  has  been  missing  for  three  years. 
Larry's  mother  (Mady  Christians)  refuses  to 
believe  that  he  is  dead,  and  she  is  violently 
opposed  to  Chris'  romance  with  Ann.  There 
is  conflict  from  yet  another  quarter.  During 
the  war,  Joe  Keller — Chris'  father — (Eddie 
Robinson)  and  Herbert  Deever — Ann's  father 
— (Frank  Conroy)  were  partners  in  a  pros- 
perous factory  involved  in  war  work.  Twenty- 
one  plane  crashes  were  traced  to  defective 
cylinders  shipped  out  of  their  plant,  and  at 
the  ensuing  trial  Joe  was  acquitted  and 
Deever  was  convicted  and  is  still  in  jail. 
George  Deever  (Howard  Duff),  Ann's  brother, 
opposes  the  romance  because  he  feels  that 
Keller  is  at  least  as  guilty  as  their  own 
father,  and  that  the  Keller  money  is  blood- 
stained. In  addition,  there  is  the  conflict  be- 
tween Chris  and  his  father  (and  this  one 
really  tears  you),  arising  out  of  Chris'  reluc- 
tant suspicion  that-  his  father  is  living  a  lie. 

In  this  movie  you  will  find  no  extravagantly 
furnished    sets,    no    fabulous    costumes,  no 


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89 


Poor  witness,  Clara . . .  Tears  smeared  her  mascara . . . 


SOFT  AND  GENTLE... 
STRONG  AND  ABSORBENT 

©1948,  Sitroux  Inc. 


II ' 

\JI* 


Tissual 


ILLUMINATED 


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LIGHTER"^    CIGARETTE   CASE      FLASHLIGHT  COMPACT^ 


Hollywood  Styled  For  The  Stars  .  . . 

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who  see  it  .  .  .  and  its  five  clever  built-in  features  will  make 
you  the  envy  of  all  your  friends.  Let  other  girls  fumble  and 
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And  no  more  crushed  cigarettes  or  match  troubles  for  you 
either,  because  of  Glamor  Kit's  built-in  Cigarette  Case  and 
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mad  about  the  space-saving,  no-bulge,  illuminated  5-in-l 
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All  My  Sons:  Burt  Lancaster,  Mady  Christians 
and  Edward  G.  Robinson  in  a  stirring  drama 
involving  war-profiteering  and  family  betrayal. 


Technicolor.  But  you  will  find  superb  acting. 
You  will  find  unforgettable  scenes,  like  the 
violent  one  in  which  Chris,  in  an .  agony  of 
disillusionment,  almost  strangles  his  father, 
the  creepy  one  in  which  Mrs.  Keller  finds 
Ann  playing  the  piano  which  no  one  has 
played  since  Larry  was  reported  missing, 
the  gentle  love  scene  on  a  high  hill  over- 
looking the  city  lights  that  is  done  with  such 
wonderful  restraint.  Don't  go  into  the  theater 
in  the  middle  of  this  one.  It's  a  film  to  see 
straight  through,  and  then  maybe  over  again. 
— Univ.-Int. 

UNDER  CALIFORNIA  SKIES 

TRIGGER  KIDNAPPED 
Smartest  Horse  In  Pictures  Held  For  Ramsom! 

Honest,  that's  what  happens  in  the  new 
Roy  Rogers  picture,  and  it's  only  surprising 
that  someone  hasn't  thought  of  it  before.  It 
all  begins  when  Roy  decides  to  go  home  to 
his  ranch  for  a  vacation  from  Hollywood. 
Cookie  (Andy  Devine),  his  foreman,  and  Bob 
Nolan  and  the  Sons  Of  The  Pioneers  are  there 
to  meet  him.  They  even  kid  him  a  little  about 
the  movies  he  makes  .  .  .  how  come  he  never 
runs  out  of  bullets,  and  things  like  that. 

Roy  soon  finds  that  there's  trouble  brewing 
near  his  ranch.  A  very  tough  gang  is  round- 
ing up  wild  horses  there,  and  selling  them 
to  slaughter  houses.  They  aren't  always  too 
particular  about  the  horses  being  wild,  either. 
Also,  their  methods  are  completely  brutal, 
so  much  so  that  Roy  gets  in  a  knockdown, 
drag-out  fight  with  one  of  the  men  about  it. 

The  gang's  boss.  Pop  (George  H.  Lloyd), 
now  has  an  idea  for  something  that  would 
pay  off  better  than  slaughtering  horses.  He 
and  his  assistant,  Lije  (Wade  Crosby),  de- 
cide to  kidnap  Trigger.  They  send  Ed,  who 
had  the  fight  with  Roy,  to  do  the  actual  job, 
during  Roy's  anniversary  celebration,  and  Ed 
gets  Trigger  successfully  away.  They  hide 
him  in  a  deserted  barn  in  the  mountains. 

Lije's  ten  year  old  step-son,  Ted  (Michael 
Chapin),  is  living  at  Roy's  ranch,  because  of 
Lije's  neglect  and  cruelty.  He  worships  Roy 
and  Trigger,  and  he  suspects  that  maybe  his 
stepfather  had  something  to  do  with  the  kid- 
napping. It's  a  tough  spot  for  a  boy  to  be  in. 
He's  terrified  of  the  "gang"  but  more  than 
anything  in  the  world  he  wants  Roy  to  get 
Trigger  back. 

When  Ed  is  murdered  for  trying  to  "sell 


I  Under  California  Skies:  Roy  Rogers  tries  to 
|  recover  the  stolen  Trigger  with  aid  of  Jane 
!    Frazee,  Andy  Devine,  young  Michael  Chapin. 

|  out"  to  Roy,  young  Ted  comes  to  a  decision, 

I  He'll  get  Trigger  back  by  himself.  Of  course 

|  as  it  turns  out,  he  does  need  a  little  help 

:  from  Roy! — Rep. 

SITTING  PRETTY 

[      Here's   a  light-hearted  movie  with  abso- 
I  lutely  nothing  between  the  lines  but  laughter, 
I  and  it's  good  fun  to  the  last  clinch.  Harry 
J  and  Tacey  King  (Robert  Young  and  Maureen 
I  O'Hara)  parents  of  three  dynamos  of  sons 
|  and  owners  of  a  colossal  Great  Dane  are,  for 
obvious  reasons,  hard  put  to  get  domestic  help 
I  of  any  kind.  The  last  straw  takes  place  the 
|  night  Harry  and  Tacey  are  invited  to  the 
boss's  (Ed  Begley)  house  for  dinner.  After 
calling  every  sitter  in  the  community  of  Hum- 
mingbird Hill,  they  finally  resort  to  Ginger 
(Betty  Ann  Lynn),  a  scatter-brained,  flirta- 
tious dish  with  a  crush  on  Harry.   They  get 
through  dinner  at  the  boss's,  but  during  the 
evening  their  prying  neighbor,  Mr.  Appleton 
(Richard  Haydn),  drops  over  with  the  in- 
formation that  riotous  doings  are  afoot  at  the 
Kings'.    Harry  and  Tacey  dash  home,  find 
Ginger  and  throngs  of  her  cronies  jitterbug- 
ging  while  the  three  young  Kings,  including 
the  baby,  peer  at  them  over  the  banisters. 

That  does  it.  In  desperation,  Tacey  puts  an 
ad  for  a  resident  baby  sitter  in  the  Saturday 
Review-  of  Literature,  is  stunned  and  de- 
lighted to  receive  a  reply  from  an  intelligent- 
sounding  person  called  Lynn  Belvedere.  Tacey 
hires  her  by  telegraph,  then  knocks  herself  out 
making  the  maid's  room  into  a  perfect  bower 
— frilly  dressing  table  skirt,  freshly-cut  flowers, 
the  works.  Lynn  turns  out  to  be  a  man  (Clif- 
ton Webb),  and  what  a  man.  Within  twenty- 
four  hours  he's  taught  the  kids  Yogi,  and 
what's  even  more  amazing,  he's  taught  them 
manners.  Furthermore,  he  has  subdued  the 
mush-throwing  baby! 

Eventually,  there  are  complications,  of 
course.  Harry  goes  out  of  town  on  a  business 
trip  and  the  Winchell-minded  Mr.  Appleton 
starts  a  scandal  about  Tacey  and  Belvedere 
that  practically  costs  Harry  his  job  in  the 
town's  leading  law  firm.  Trouble  brews  and 
brews,  and  Tacey  goes  home  to  mother,  and 
Harry  and  the  kiddies  pine.  But  you  never 
for  a  minute  doubt  that  the  ending  will  be 
happy,  which  it  is,  and  that  last  scene  is  one 
of  the  cutest  in  the  whole  business.  Go  see, 
and  take  the  kiddies. — 20th-Fox. 


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GOOD  NEWS 

(Continued  jrom  page  12) 


Payne."  He  also  says  that  Gloria  had  a  tre- 
mendous appetite  while  she  was  pregnant, 
ate  mashed  potatoes  and  ice  cream  vora- 
ciously, and  laughed  when  people  chastened 
her.  She's  betting  she'll  be  down  to  a  hun- 
dred pounds  in  a  month,  though.  By  the  way, 
the  Paynes  have  a  new  nurse.  Gloria  went 
to  the  door  one  afternoon  when  the  bell  rang, 
and  five  minutes  later,  she  came  back  and 
announced  to  John  that  she'd  just  hired  some- 
one. It  was  plain  old  feminine  intuition  be- 
cause Gloria  didn't  know  anything  about  the 
woman,  but  John  says  Wilma  is  the  finest 
nurse  in  the  world. 

Another  charming  party  given  for  Noel 
Coward  (he  was  certainly  THE  honored  guest 
of  the  month)  was  for  cocktails  at  the  hilltop 
home  of  the  Jules  Steins.  Jules,  one  of  the 
wealthiest  and  best  known  agents  in  America, 
and  his  beautiful  wife,  Doris,  brought  out  so 
many  people  who  do  not  usually  accept  party 
invitations. 

Bette  Davis,  for  one.  I  bet  that  girl  doesn't 
attend  one  big  party  a  year.  But  she  arrived 
early  and  stayed  late — so  she  must  have  had 
a  good  time. 

Her  hair  was  worn  so  severely — pulled 
straight  back  from  her  face,  no  curl,  with  a 
severe  bun  in  the  back.  Her  dress  was  simple, 
too — a  maroon-colored  shirtmaker  style. 

Barbara  Bel  Geddes,  that  up  and  coming 
young  star  who  is  so  wonderful  in  /  Remem- 
ber Mama,  has  the  reputation  for  not  caring 
much  about  clothes.  But  she  was  certainly 
chicly  done  up  in  a  black  chiffon  cocktail 
dress  with  a  wonderful  full  skirt. 

Deborah  Kerr,  in  a  tiny  black  and  white 
check  taffeta,  trimmed  with  velvet  bows,  is 
just  about  the  happiest  girl  in  Hollywood.  She 
says  she  doesn't  know  what  she  talked  about 
before  her  baby  was  born. 

Of  course,  the  English  crowd  was  out  full 
force — the  Ronald  Colmans,  Reginald  Gardi- 
ners  and  Clifton  Webb. 

Well,  another  month — another  time  to  say 
goodbye.  But  first,  I  thought  you  might  be 
interested  in  knowing  who  seems  to  be 
attracting  the  most  attention  in  Hollywood  and 
who  YOU  are  most  interested  in.  How  do  I 
know?  From  your  letters,  of  course. 

The  actor  you  mention  the  most  in  my  mail 
is — Larry  Parks! 

Coming  along  very  fast  in  the  race  is  Glenn 
Ford.  Surprised? 

Wanda  Hendrix  is  a  girl  you  want  to  know 
more  and  more  about — so  I  will  give  you  a 
"Close-Up"  of  her  next  month. 

Pete  Lawford,  who  had  been  running  in 
second  spot  via  the  postman,  gave  way,  this 
.month,  to  Glenn  Ford. 

Dana  Andrews  and  Frank  Sinatra  are  still 
hot  and  heavy  in  the  race  along  with  Alan 
Ladd. 

So,  keep  on  writing — your  letters  are  en- 
lightening  as   well   as  interesting. 


STORY  OF  A  KISS 

(Continued  from  page  61) 


"I  don't  know  why  you  always  shove 
these  tough,  dull  jobs  my  way,"  Burt 
grumbled.  "All  the  time  having  to  take 
time  off  from  my  reading  and  playing 
checkers  with  the  fellas,  just  to  spend 
my  time  with  some  good-looking  dame — ■ 
what  is  it  you  want?  A  touch?  I've 
only  got  twenty  till  payday,  but  you're 
welcome  to  half  of  it." 

"You  get  this  one  for  free,  pal,"  the 
sergeant  said.  "Although  of  course  if 
you'd  happen  to  be  free  Friday  night, 
when  I  have  both  a  date  and  Charge  of 
Quarters — " 

"Okay.  I  pull  your  C.Q.  Friday.  Where 
do  I  meet  this  Anderson?" 

"At  the  airport.    1300.    Take  a  jeep." 

But  he  had  not  expected  her  to  be  gay 
and  intelligent  as  well  as  beautiful.  She 
was  a  New  Yorker,  as  he  had  been  orig- 
inally, and,  it  transpired,  she'd  worked 
for  CBS  and  NBC  before  the  war.  Then 
she  had  simply  got  sick  of  the  whole 
civilian  deal  and  joined  up.  "And  here," 
she  finished,  "I  am." 

"In  the  flesh,"  Burt  added,  admiringly. 
"You'll  knock  'em  in  the  aisles."  He  had 
already  done  his  own  tumbling  act. 

no  time  for  romance  .  .  . 

They  didn't  have  much  time.  Monte 
Catini  is  only  four  kilometres  north  of 
Florence,  and  they  jeeped  there  so  she 
could  see  the  city.  After  the  show  (at 
which  she  knocked  'em  in  the  aisles,  all 
right)  he  took  her  for  a  long  walk  around 
Monte,  until  they  found  and  climbed  the 
hill  above  the  town. 

They  sat  side  by  side  for  a  time  under 
a  scarlet  oleander  tree,  and  talked,  of 
course,  of  themselves.  Burt  told  her  a 
little  of  his  life,  being  as  honest  as  he 
could.  He  told  her  of  his  childhood  in 
one  of  the  toughest  sections  of  New  York, 
painting  a  picture  of  poverty  without  be- 
ing sentimental  about  it.  He  told  her  of 
his  years  as  an  acrobat  with  a  small  circus 
and  carnival,  and  he  mentioned  his  mar- 
riage, which  hadn't  worked  out,  and  he 
spoke  of  his  restless  ambition,  his  fiercely 
partisan  feeling  for  the  underdog,  the  op- 
pressed and  forgotten. 

It  seemed  that,  at  least  in  terms  of  per- 
sonality and  character  and  point  of  view, 
they  were  of  a  kind,  these  two.  There 
was  also  between  them  (and  both  had 
known  it  from  the  beginning)  a  vital 
spark  of  awareness,  an  intangible  excite- 
ment— 

So  that  when  he  kissed  her  it  was  not 
just  a  casual,  first-time,  exploratory  kiss; 
it  was  more  a  confirmation  of  a  past  they 
should  have  spent  together,  and  a  promise 
for  the  future. 

They  were  in  love  from  that  moment. 

Now,  sitting  bored  and  dejected  on  his 
narrow  army  bed,  Burt  recalled  the  other 
times  they  had  spent  together:  the  times 
he  had  stretched  his  weekend  passes  to 
the  limit  and  beyond  in  order  to  get  to 
Naples  for  a  few  hours  with  Norma.  He 
remembered  the  evenings  they  had  shared, 
and  grew  suddenly  frantic  with  longing. 

A  private  came  trotting  in.  "Hey,  Lan- 
caster, there's  somebody  to  see  you  in  the 
orderly  room." 

"Okay."  He  turned  and  walked  list- 
lessly down  the  company  street.  In  his 
pocket  was  Norma's  wire,  saying  that  she 
had  been  ordered  back  to  the  States,  was 
leaving  today  by  plane;  that  she  loved 
him;  that  she  would  write. 

He  went  inside.  Norma  sat  swinging 
her  legs  over  the  edge  of  the  table,  chat- 
ting with  the  C.Q. 


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She  managed  to  keep  Burt  from  saying 
anything  until  they  were  outside.  Then 
she  said,  "I've  only  got  a  few  hours.  The 
plane  I  was  supposed  to  catch  was  de- 
layed, and  there  won't  be  another  one 
until  tomorrow  night.  So  I  took  the  chance. 
I  had  to  see  you." 

"You  darling." 

"This  is  one  last  night — let's  pretend  it's 
just  like  any  other.  And  have  fun.  Let's 
do  Florence,  hit  the  high  spots,  forget 
I'm  going  home.  We'll  make  it  something 
to  remember  until  you  come  home,  too." 

And  they  did.  It  was  a  memorable 
night,  compounded  of  laughter  made  poign- 
ant by  the  underlying  knowledge  that 
they  would  not  see  each  other  again  for 
months.  Burt  got  back  to  the  post,  found 
an  unoccupied  pile  of  mattresses  in  the 
supply  room,  and  went  to  sleep. 

He  heard  from  her  again  two  days  later, 
astonishingly  enough,  by  telephone. 

"How  was  the  trip?"  Burt  asked,  when 
she'd  identified  herself.  "And  how  did 
you  get  a  call  through  from  New  York 
in  wartime?" 

lover's  return  .  .  . 

"I'm  not  in  New  York,"  she  said  dis- 
mally. "I'm  still  in  Naples.  There  was 
a  slight  hitch." 

"Wonderful!  Then  I'll  see  you  this 
weekend." 

"Afraid  not,"- she  said.  "The  hitch  was 
that  the  plane  you  put  me  on  reached  the 
airport  here  just  as  the  plane  I  was  sup- 
posed to  catch  took  off  from  the  other 
runway.  So  everybody  was  sore,  and  I'm 
stuck  here  for  another  three  weeks.  Fur- 
thermore, I'm  in  the  jug." 

"Why,  the  stinkers!"  Burt  said.  "Just 
because  you  slip  away  for  an  hour  or  two 
to  say  goodbye  to  your  future  husband! 
But  wait  a  minute — how  can  you  be  phon- 
ing me  from  the  jug?" 

"Well,  actually  I'm  just  restricted  to 
quarters.  But  I  can't  leave  or  see  anyone 
and  I'm  definitely  in  disgrace." 

"I'll  come  there,  then.  We  can  work  it 
out  some  way." 

"You'll  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  Then 
we'll  both  be  in  a  spot." 

"I  don't  care.    If  you  don't." 

There  was  a  pause.  "Well — " 

The  company  commander  was  definitely 
not  in  a  good  mood  that  Friday  afternoon. 
"Listen,  Lancaster,"  he  said,  fingering  the 
bag  under  his  right  eye,  "this  is  still  an 
army  and  you're  part  of  it.  Look  at  last 
weekend.  What  the  hell  d'you  think  it'll 
do  to  the  morale  of  the  other  men  if  I  let 
you  take  off  again  tomorrow?  No." 

"Is  that  your  last  word?"  asked  Burt. 

"That's  it." 

"Fair  enough,"  said  Burt.  He  left  at 
midnight,  in  one  of  the  company  jeeps. 
He  was  stopped  just  outside  Florence  and 
escorted  back  to  Monte  Catini. 

The  CO  this  time  was  in  an  icy  rage. 
He  said,  "You've  done  this  sort  of  thing 
before  and  I've  written  it  off  because  this 
is  a  special  service  outfit  and  not  GI  and 
you're  a  good  man.  Now  I'm  bored  with 
this.  You'll  stay  in  quarters  for  a  couple 
of  weeks." 

Norma  reached  him  by  phone  again  the 
next  morning.  "So  you  decided  against 
it,"  she  said. 

"I  wish  I  had."  He  explained.  "But 
I'll  try  again  next  weekend,  and  this  time 
I'll  make  it  by  plane.  They  won't  think 
of  that." 

Meanwhile  they  had  to  talk,  and  the 
phone  system  between  Naples  and  Flor- 
ence was  loaded  with  priority  calls.  When 
Norma  rang  him  on  Monday,  he  said, 
"Woman,  you're  working  miracles.  I 
haven't  been  able  to  clear  a  call  through 
to  you  since  the  last  time  we  talked,  and 
I've  tried  every  hour,  on  the  hour." 

A  voice  speaking  English  with  a  thick 
Italian  accent  broke  in.    "Thees,"  it  said, 


"is  the  operator.  The  girls  on  thees  board 
are  all  weeth  you,  and  we'll  clear  your 
calls  from  thees  end.  Signorina,  please 
talk  only  three  meenutes." 

"An  audience,  hey?"  Burt  said. 

"Let's  give  the  darlings  their  money's 
worth,"  said  Norma. 

So  he  began:  "Love  of  my  life,  do  you 
remember  the  night  under  the  oleander—" 
and  continued  in  the  same  vein  for  pre- 
cisely three  minutes,  unblushingly.  When 
he  paused,  the  operator  came  in  again, 
with  a  giggle. 

"You  may  have  three  meenutes  more, 
Signor,"  she  said. 

She  could  not  meet  him  at  the  pier  in 
New  York,  when  he  arrived,  but  the  first 
moment  he  could  get  free  he  went  to  see 
her  at  her  office.  She  was  now  secre- 
tary to  radio  producer  Ray  Knight,  who 
worked  in  a  suite  at  the  Royalton  Hotel. 
They  decided  to  taxi  up  to  the  sidewalk 
cafe  at  the  St.  Moritz,  and  lunch  at  one 
of  the  little  open-air  tables  behind  the  box 
hedge  on  Central  Park  South. 

With  the  salad,  Norma  said,  "You've 
been  a  little  quiet.  At  least  you're  think- 
ing about  something,  and  you  haven't  told 
me.    Do  you  want  to?" 

He  reached  out  and  covered  her  hand 
with  his.  "It's  probably  nothing,"  he  said, 
"but  a  guy  I  used  to  know,  a  Hollywood 
guy,  was  in  the  elevator  at  the  Royalton 
when  I  rode  up.  We  started  to  talk,  and 
he  said  something  about  my  going  to 
Hollywood.  For  a  screen  test.  Silly, 
isn't  it?" 

"Why?" 

"I  mean — me  in  pictures.  How  do  you 
like  that?" 

She  hesitated.  "I'd  like  it.  For  you. 
But — I  don't  think  I'd  see  you  again." 

"Are  you  crazy?" 

"No.  That's  the  way  it  works."  Her 
voice  held  a  certain  sadness,  but  her  smile 
did  not  falter. 

"I'm  not  going,  of  course." 

"Of  course  you  are.  And  of  course 
you'll  be  the  biggest  thing  in  Hollywood. 
I  ought  to  know.  Now,  shall  we  have  a 
bottle  of  wine  to  celebrate?" 

In  the  fall  of  1946,  Burt  and  Norma 
drove  once  more  to  50  Central  Park  South 
— in  the  rain,  this  time — and  sat  inside  in 
the  Cafe  de  la  Paix  because  the  sidewalk 
tables  were  closed  against  the  weather. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


Oh  good  heavens,  Gertrude,  Aren't  you  sup- 
posed to  be  wearing  a  blouse,  or  something? 


They  ordered  hot  buttered  rums,  and 
omelettes  and  salad,  and  Norma  said, 
"Well,  I  was  both  right  and  wrong  wasn't 
I?" 

"That's  a  fair  average,"  he  told  her. 

"I  mean  about  what's  happened  to  us. 
I  was  right  about  your  making  the  grade 
in  Hollywood." 

"I'm  not  sure  yet,"  he  said.  "There've 
been  lots  of  flashes  in  the  pan,  in  that 
town.  One  or  two  lucky  pictures,  then 
nothing.  But  let's  not  talk  shop.  Wouldn't 
you  rather  think  about  getting  married?" 

"I  am  thinking  about  that.  It's  the  thing 
I  was  wrong  about.  You  came  back—" 

He  stared  for  a  long  time  into  his  glass, 
twisting  it  slowly  between  his  fingers.  "A 
lot  happened,"  he  said  finally.  "I'm  in  the 
chips,  and  if  I  handle  it  right  I've  got  a 
good  thing  in  Hollywood.  But  I'm  no  mil- 
lionaire by  a  long  shot — you  start  low, 
out  there,  and  I  was  broke  to  begin  with. 
I  don't  have  too  much  to  offer  you;  I 
haven't  a  decent  house,  and  dad's  coming 
to  live  with  me,  and  now  that  Bill's  gone, 
I'll  probably  want  his  wife,  Ruth,  to  come 
out  too.  I  work  pretty  hard  every  day,  all 
day.  Being  my  wife  will  be  a  more  com- 
plicated setup  than  we  thought  a  year  ago. 
But  if  you  still  feel  the  same — " 

"I  still  feel  the  same,"  she  said.  She 
raised  her  glass.  "Here's  to  the  rough  life!" 

And  it  was  summer  again,  a  dry,  frag- 
rant California  summer;  and  the  two  of 
them  had  lost  two  hours  (which  was  rare 
for  them)  in  a  night  club.  They  took  deep 
breaths  as  they  emerged,  and  looked  ap- 
preciatively at  the  star-filled  sky. 

"It  beats  me,"  said  Burt,  "why  we  ever 
do  it." 

"We  won't  much  longer,"  Norma  said. 
"At  least  for  quite  a  while.  I  suppose  I 
should  choose  a  nice  dramatic  situation 
for  the  announcement,  but  my  timing's  a 
little  off  anyway.  We're  going  to  have  a 
baby,  I  should  think  sometime  before 
Christmas." 

At  that  point,  another  car  darted  in 
front  of  them  and  for  thirty  seconds  Burt 
coped  with  his  traffic  problem.  Then  he 
said,  thoughtfully,  "You  know,  1947's  my 
year." 

The  Lancaster  house  in  Westwood  is 
a  comfortable,  eleven-room  affair  with  a 
big  garden.  It  is  a  house  designed  for  a 
tight  family  group  who  want  to  live  well, 
but  not  in  the  grand  style. 

completing  the  family  circle  .  .  . 

It  was  here  that  Ruth  Lancaster  came  to 
live,  too,  just  before  little  Bill  (named  for 
Burt's  brother,  and  Ruth's  husband)  was 
born.  Burt  had  two  purposes  in  mind  when 
he  asked  her  to  come  and  stay  with  his 
family.  One  was  that  Bill  had  always 
talked  of  her  as  one  of  the  most  efficient 
homemakers  he  had  ever  seen. 

Also,  Burt  felt  that  Ruth  needed  the 
household.  She  was  young  and  pretty. 
Her  year  of  mourning  was  finished.  This 
would  mean  a  change  for  her,  a  new  life, 
another  beginning.  .  . 

Thus  at  dinner,  a  few  nights  after  Norma 
and  Bill  came  home  from  the  hospital, 
Burt  sat  at  his  table  carving  the  prime 
rib  roast  that  Ruth  had  cooked,  watching 
his  father  happily  at  work  on  a  big  salad, 
smiling  at  Norma,  and  thinking  of  little 
Bill,  secure  and  sound  and  healthy,  up- 
stairs in  the  nursery.  In  Burt's  pocket  was 
his  allowance  for  the  week,  a  few  dollars 
doled  out  to  him  that  afternoon  by  Ruth. 
All  My  Sons  was  finished,  and  looked  good. 
He  would  produce  Kiss  the  Blood  Off  My 
Hands  himself,  shortly.  Three  other  pic- 
tures were  scheduled  for  the  year. 

"What,"  asked  Norma  suddenly,  "are 
you  grinning  about?  Private  joke?" 

"No  joke,"  Burt  said.  He  put  an  enor- 
mous slab  of  beef  on  her  plate  and  passed 
it  over.  "Just  happy." 


Are  you  in  the  know  ? 


lac  3K  M 


What  will  help  improve 
your  voice  ? 

□  More  volume 

□  Two  volumes 

□  Whistling 

Let  your  sound  effects  be  listen-worthy. 
Want  to  get  rid  of  a  rasp?  Twang?  High- 
pitched    "little    girl"    voice?    This  daily 


breathing  routine  helps:  Lie  flat  on  the 
floor;  park  two  "volumes"  on  your  dia- 
phragm. Take  20  deep  breaths.  The  rising 
of  the  books  shows  you're  breathing  cor- 
rectly, for  a  richer  quality  of  voice.  You 
can  always  "breathe  easy"  on  difficult  days 
.  .  .  confident  that  Kotex  and  those  flat 
pressed  ends  prevent  revealing  outlines.  (Try 
all  3  sizes  of  Kotex.  Discover  the  one  for  you!) 


A  smooth  gal's  fancy 
lightly  turns  to  — 

□  Thoughts  of  going  steady 

□  Dreams  of  prom  bids 
D  Shoes  of  gold 

Her  brain  may  be  tuckered  with  date  data, 
but  a  smooth  gal's  tootsies  sparkle  plenty! 
This  season,  there's  a  gold  rush  — for  san- 
dals with  that  Midas  touch.  They're  un- 
tarnishable.  Smart  for  prom-prancing  or 
any  girl-meets-guy  occasion.  Whatever  the 
crowd  plans,  breeze  along  (even  on  "those" 
days) —comfortably.  For  the  new  Kotex 
gives  napkin  softness  such  as  you've  never 
known  before.  Dreamy  softness  that  holds 
its  shape.  And  mind  you,  Kotex  is  the  nap- 
kin made  to  stay  soft  while  you  wear  it! 


For  graduation,  would  you 
give  him  — 

□  Sporfs  equipment 

□  A  magazine  subscription 

□  His  pet  platter 

Your  present  needn't  be  strictly  plush. 
Make  it  a  simple  but  thoughtful  token,  like 
any  of  the  above.  He's  fairway-frantic?  Buy 
a  few  good  golf  balls.  Or,  sign  up  for  his 
favorite  magazine.  You  could  give  him  a 
disc  he's  dizzy  about.  And  come  commence- 
ment, join  the  festivities —"calendar"  time 
or  no.  Remember,  Kotex  has  an  exclusive 
safety  center  for  extra  protection  that  vetoes 
nagging  cares.  Moreover,  your  new  Kotex 
Sanitary  Belt  is  adjustable;  all-elastic.  It's 
so  comfortable!  Doesn't  bind! 


More  ivome/7  c/?oose  SCOTEX* 
f/ian  a//  of/?er  sa/7/Yary  na/?/:/hs 


*T.  M  .  REG.  U.  S.  PAT.  OFF. 


95 


new... 

TRUE  COLOR  LUSTRE 


featured  iris  the  Constance  Bennett 

Projection  "Smart  woman, 

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NOW  IT  CAN  BE  TOLD 

(Continued  from  page  27) 


Frank  Sinatra  and  I  were  talking  casually, 
and  suddenly  he  said,  "You  and  Ben  Hecht 
are  two  very  lucky  guys." 

"Lucky?"  I  didn't  know  what  he  was 
talking  about. 

"Well,  you're  writing  the  script  of  The 
Miracle  of  the  Bells,"  he  said.  "That's  a 
pretty  wonderful  book.  And  that  Father 
Paul — I'd  give  my  right  arm  to  play  that 
part." 

"But  you're  a  crooner,  Frankie,"  I  re- 
minded him.  "In  our  picture  Father  Paul 
is  a  humble  little  priest  who  gets  kicked 
around.  He's  not  even  the  Bing  Crosby 
type  of  priest  who  gets  laughs." 

"He's  a  real  priest,"  Sinatra  said.  "The 
kind  I  knew  as  a  kid.  But  you're  right, 
they'd  never  let  me  play  a  serious  role. 
Mr.  Lasky  would  probably  bust  out  laugh- 
ing." (Jesse  Lasky,  who  produced  Miracle 
of  the  Bells,  had  signed  Fred  MacMurray 
to  play  Dunnigan,  the  press  agent;  he  had 
signed  Valli  to  play  Olga;  he  had  Lee  Cobb 
to  play  the  part  of  Harris,  the  Hollywood 
producer,  but  he  hadn't  been  able  to  find 
anyone  to  play  Father  Paul.  He  had  tested 
about  forty  actors  for  the  part.  None  had 
been  able  to  project  the  humility  and  spir- 
itual quality  of  the  little  priest.) 

casting  a  crooner  .  .  . 

"A    crooner,"    Frankie    said  bitterly. 

"You  look  something  like  Father  Paul 
at  that,"  I  said,  thinking  out  loud.  "Those 
high  cheekbones  of  yours  give  you  a  Polish 
look.  Father  Paul  was  Polish.  Hey,  Ben," 
I  yelled. 

Across  the  room,  Hecht  and  Toots  Shor 
were  back  somewhere  in  1924  talking  about 
Rogers  Hornsby  and  the  time  he  hit  .424. 
Hecht  came  over. 

"What  about  Frank  for  the  part  of 
Father  Paul?"  I  asked  him. 

"Most  of  his  scenes  would  be  with  Fred 
MacMurray,"  Hecht  said  thoughtfully. 
"Good  contrast  in  size.  Frank's  voice  too 
would  be  a  contrast  to  MacMurray's." 

"You  mean  it?"  Sinatra  asked  eagerly. 

"Let's  phone  Jesse,"  Hecht  said.  He 
dialed  the  number  and  we  waited.  Sinatra 
was  swallowing  nervously.  As  a  rule, 
writers  of  a  script  have  nothing  to  do  with 
casting.  But  Jesse  Lasky  is  a  different 
kind  of  producer.  When  he  answered  the 
phone,  Hecht  said,  "Reynolds  and  I  have 
an  idea  for  you.  Maybe  we've  hit  on  some- 
thing. What  would  you  think  of  using 
Frank  Sinatra  in  the  Father  Paul  part?" 

"Well,  now — "  Lasky  was  wide  awake 
and  he  hadn't  "bust"  out  laughing.  "I 
never  thought  of  that.  The  kid  can  act. 
I  saw  his  short,  The  House  I  Live  In.  I 
wonder — I  wonder  if  the  public  would 
accept  Frank  in  a  non-singing  role?" 

"If  he  was  good  in  the  part  they'd  accept 
him."  Hecht  said. 

"Then  there's  the  question  of  money," 
Lasky  went  on. 

Sinatra  heard  Lasky.  "Tell  him  I'll  play 
it  for  nothing,"  he  yelled.  "Ask  him  to  give 
me  a  test,  that's  all.  Just  give  me  a  chance." 

"I  heard  that,"  Lasky  chuckled.  "Of 
course  I'll  test  him." 

At  the  studio,  they  put  Frank  Sinatra 
into  clerical  garb  for  the  test.  The 
grips,  the  electricians,  the  carpenters  and 
a  few  assistant  directors  gathered  around 
to  watch,  prepared  to  laugh.  The  thought 
of  Frank  playing  the  part  of  a  humble, 
self-effacing  clergyman  did  seem  a  little 
silly.  But  when  Director  Irving  Pichel  (far 
from  convinced  himself)  called,  "Let  'em 
roll,"  and  Frank  began  the  test  scene, 
the  smiles  disappeared.  This  was  a  new 
Sinatra  to  those  who  were  watching.  You 


could  see  that  he  had  studied  the  scene 
thoroughly.  The  "takes"  were  not  the 
usual  twenty-  or  thirty-second  affairs; 
Pichel  let  him  go  on  sometimes  for  two 
minutes  before  calling  "Cut."  The  next  day 
Lasky,  his  co-producer  Walter  McEwan, 
Pichel,  Hecht  and  myself  saw  the  test. 
This  was  the  Father  Paul  we  had  written 
into  the  script,  all  right.  Lasky  was  beam- 
ing.   But  he  was  still  worried. 

"I  just  don't  know  whether  or  not  people 
will  accept  the  kid  in  this  role,"  he  said 
thoughtfully.  "Will  the  church  think  it 
irreverent  to  have  a  crooner  play  a  priest?" 

"Ask  some  priests  to  see  the  test,"  I 
suggested.  Lasky  did  that.  He  asked  a 
friend,  Father  Walter  Schmidt,  Dean  at  j 
Santa  Clara  University,  to  look  at  the  test. 
The  Jesuit  watched '  it,  turned  to  Lasky 
and  said  simply,  "That's  Father  Paul  all 
right."  Word  got  around  Hollywood  that 
Sinatra  was  being  considered  for  the  role. 
Hecht  and  I  were  on  the  receiving  end  of 
a  lot  of  kidding. 

"Everyone  will  think  that  Frankie  is 
just  playing  it  to  show  that  he  can  do  any- 
thing that  Crosby  can  do,"  they  argued. 
"Bing's  fans  will  resent  it.  So  will  Bing." 

Bing,  who  has  always  been  one  of 
Frank's  greatest  boosters,  did  not  resent 
it.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Sinatra  asked 
Crosby's  advice.  Bing  thought  it  a  great 
idea.  There  is  a  strong  friendship  between 
the  two  men.  Frank  has  always  had  a 
great  admiration  for  Crosby.  Once  he  told 
me  that  his  two  kids  never  missed  Bing 
on  the  radio,  and  that  the  greatest  present 
he  could  give  them  was  a  Crosby  album. 

"Twenty  years  ago,"  Frank  said,  "when  \ 
we  were  kids,  we  had  some  pretty  rotten 
heroes.  When  we  played  cops  and  robbers 
everyone  wanted  to  be  a  robber.  It's  dif- 
ferent today,  thank  God.  Bing  is  a  hero 
to  my  kids.    Well,  I'll  settle  for  that." 

Still,  most  of  Lasky's  friends  tried  to 
urge  him  to  drop  his  fantastic  idea.  Frank's 
enemies  (everybody  who  makes  good  in 
Hollywood  has  enemies)  brought  up  inci- 
dents of  his  childhood  to  show  that  he 
wasn't  the  right  sort  to  play  a  priest. 

"I  was  kind  of  a  dead-end  kid,"  Sinatra 
admitted.  "I  did  plenty  of  things  as  a  kid 
that  I  look  back  on  with  shame.  I  guess 
that's  true  of  every  man." 

The  pressure  on  Lasky  increased.  Op- 
position even  came  from  Sinatra's  fans 


*H0LLYW00D 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


•  Dane  Clark  relates  that  on  a  trip 
East  by  air  he  sat  next  to  a  man  who 
was  flying  for  the  first  time.  At 
8,000  feet  altitude  the  airline  hostess 
passed  out  chewing  gum  with  the 
routine  instruction,  "For  your  ears." 
Half  an  hour  later  the  man  turned 
to  Clark  and  remarked,  "By  George, 
it  worked  all  right  but  you'd  think 
they'd  give  you  cotton.  It  ain't  so 
sticky." 

'front  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


around  the  country.  They  said  quite 
frankly  they  only  wanted  to  hear  Sinatra 
sing.  And  even  before  Sinatra  had  signed 
a  contract,  the  boys  who  make  their  living 
by  smearing  the  characters  of  others  glee- 
fully started  their  attacks  on  Frank.  But 
Lasky  wasn't  cowed.  Finally  he  went  to 
Father  McClafferty  of  the  Legion  of 
Decency.  He  showed  the  test  Sinatra  had 
made.  Father  McClafferty  thought  it  was 
great,  and  told  Lasky  that  the  church 
would  most  certainly  not  object  to  Sinatra 
playing  the  role.  And  finally  Lasky  signed 
Sinatra  to  play  Father  Paul. 

When  Sinatra  had  signed,  Hecht  and 
I  went  into  a  huddle  with  Lasky.  "Should 
Frank  sing  in  the  picture  or  should  he 
not?"  We  batted  that  question  back  and 
forth.  Finally  we  hit  on  an  idea.  In  the 
book  (and  in  our  script)  Olga,  the  girl, 
j  sings  an  old  Polish  folk  song.  It  is  a  song 
!  she  had  learned  as  a  child  in  Coaltown, 
j  where   the   action  takes   place.    In  our 
j  script  Hecht  and  I  had  merely  written  a 
line,  "Dig  up  old  Polish  folk  song;  at  this 
'  point  Olga  sings  it  to  Dunnigan." 

!  father  paul  sings  .  .  . 

Later  in  the  picture  we  had  written  a 
scene  in  which  Father  Paul  and  Dunnigan 
!  (Fred  MacMurray)  are  talking  in  the 
graveyard  where  Olga  is  to  be  buried.  Dun- 
nigan finds  himself  humming  the  old  Polish 
song  Olga  had  sung  to  him  two  years  be- 
fore. Father  Paul  recognizes  the  tune  and 
tells  Dunnigan  that  all  Polish-Americans 
know  that  song.  We  had  written  it  that 
way  before  Sinatra  had  been  thought  of 
tor  the  part.  Now  we  added  a  line  to  our 
script.  "Note  to  director:  At  this  point 
why  not  have  Father  Paul  hum  or  sing  the 
song  without  music?  See  how  it  goes." 

When  he  came  to  that  scene  Director 
Irving  Pichel  had  Sinatra  sing  the  old 
song  using  English  words.  It  was  merely 
an  experiment.  Neither  Lasky,  Pichel,  nor 
Sinatra  himself  was  convinced  that  it  was 
a  good  idea.  But  they  saw  the  rushes  of 
the  scene  that  night  and  Lasky  decided 
to  keep  it  in.  Frank  sings  the  song  very 
simply,  as  a  priest  would  sing  an  old  song 
of  his  homeland.    He  doesn't  "croon"  it. 

When  the  picture  was  finished  a  print 
was  flown  to  New  York.  Lasky  asked 
Father  Joe  Conner  of  Cliffside,  New  Jersey, 
to  bring  a  group  of  fellow  priests  to  view 
the  film.  I  sat  with  them  in  a  projection 
room  as  Miracle  of  the  Bells  told  its  story 
on  the  screen.  The  picture  ended.  The 
lights  went  up.  There  was  absolute  silence 
in  the  projection  room.  I  looked  at  the 
faces  of  the  priests.  It  was  obvious  that 
they  were  still  under  the  spell  of  the  story. 
We  all  got  up  and  walked  into  the  hall. 

"I  don't  mind  saying  the  picture  got  to 
me,"  one  of  the  priests  said,  blinking. 

"I've  never  seen  a  religious  subject 
treated  so  reverently,"  a  second  said. 

"Sinatra  was  wonderful,"  Father  Joe 
Conner  said.  "Somehow  he  managed  to 
project  the  humility  and  spirit  of  Father 
Paul.  He  made  Father  Paul  into  the  kind 
of  priest  all  of  us  would  like  to  be." 

"You're  satisfied  then  with  the  way 
Sinatra  played  it?"  I  asked. 

"How  can  anyone  not  be  satisfied?"  he 
said  simply.    "He  was  great — great." 

Sinatra  was  in  Hollywood  then.  He 
phoned  me  that  night  to  ask  how  things 
had  gone  at  that  initial  showing.  I  told 
him.  He  was  pretty  happy  about  it. 

As  a  co-writer  of  the  script,  I  was  pretty 
happy  myself.  So  was  Hecht.  It  is  hardly 
good  taste  for  anyone  connected  with  the 
making  of  a  picture  to  get  up  on  a  soapbox 
and  start  extolling  it.  But  talking  as  a 
movie  fan,  it  is  my  bet  that  Miracle  of  the 
Bells  will  establish  Sinatra  as  a  serious, 
sensitive  dramatic  actor  who  (if  he  wishes) 
will  never  have  to  gargle  a  low  note  again. 

Me?  I'm  proud  to  have  my  name  on  that 
picture. 


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What  a  sad  sight  to  see  beautiful 
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"WHY  WE  LEFT  EACH  OTHER" 

(Continued  from  page  45) 


barred.  He'd  dug  deep.  For  the  first  time 
I  saw  him  and  Patricia,  not  as  magazine 
faces  but  as  people,  getting  snarled  up  in 
emotions  like  the  rest  of  us.  For  the  first 
time  I  understood  what  had  happened 
between  them. 

This  might  have  been  a  sad  story.  It's 
still  sad  in  spots.  It's  a  story  that's  worth 
telling,  if  only  as  an  answer  to  the  $64 
question — what's  so  different  about  Holly- 
wood? Is  there  something  in  the  air  that 
breaks  people  up? 

In  many  cases,  yes.  In  the  case  of  the 
Wildes,  no.  It  didn't  break  them  up,  but 
it  rocked  their  boat  and  made  them  good 
and  seasick  for  a  while. 

To  get  the  picture  straight,  you'll  have 
to  go  back  ten  years  to  a  couple  of  kids 
hunting  jobs  on  Broadway.  Pat  was  17, 
Cornel  22.  They  met,  fell  in  love,  married, 
and  went  on  hunting  jobs.  And  there's  the 
first  point  to  bear  in  mind. 

"Why  doesn't  Pat  give  up?"  Hollywood 
nagged  later.  "Cornel's  doing  all  right. 
Why  does  she  think  she  has  to  act?" 

holly  wood  logic  .  .  . 

Well,  why  didn't  Bacall  give  up  when 
she  married  Bogart,  who  was  doing  even 
better?  Over  and  over  you  could  explain 
that  acting  was  no  whim  with  Pat,  that 
she'd  been  an  actress  before  she  met  Cor- 
nel. 

You  could  explain,  but  much  good  it 
did  you.  Hollywood  knew  better.  Now 
that  Cornel  could  buy  Pat  a  mink  coat, 
what  more  did  she  want? 

Through  all  the  years  of  economic  pres- 
sure, she'd  been  the  perfect  companion. 
It  wasn't  a  usual  marriage,  where  the 
husband  takes  off  in  the  morning  and  re- 
turns to  the  little  woman  at  night.  In  New 
York  they'd  be  working  in  the  theater — or 
not  working.  They'd  have  all  their  meals 
together,  go  job  hunting  together,  see 
movies  together.  This  constant  companion- 
ship drew  them  very  close,  made  them 
deeply  dependent  on  each  other.  Always 
broke,  always  worried,  still  being  together 
was  fun — the  only  fun  they  could  afford. 

Then  Warners  signed  Cornel,  and 
dropped  him  at  the  end  of  six  months. 
Tests  here,  tests  there,  but  never  a  sign  of 
a  bite.  Pat  had  a  miscarriage,  and  later  on, 
a  second.  Now  they  were  worse  than 
broke,  they  were  in  debt.  Both  developed 
nervous  stomachs.  Both  took  sedatives,  so 
they  could  sleep.  But  the  blacker  things 
looked,  the  closer  they  clung  to  each  other. 

In  the  end,  Cornel  got  his  contract  at 
Fox  and  all  looked  rosy,  but  not  for  long. 
The  reason  lay  in  a  certain  naivete  on 
Cornel's  part.  When  someone  asked  whether 
you  liked  a  picture,  he  thought  if  you 
didn't  like  it,  the  right  answer  was  no.  He 
made  enemies. 

Meantime  he  was  up  for  the  draft.  Re- 
jected because  of  a  back  injury,  he  thought 
he  might  be  called  for  limited  service. 
Along  with  this  ran  the  worry  of  being 
dropped  by  the  studio.  Only  one  good 
thing  happened.  Wendy  was  born. 

Then  came  A  Song  to  Remember.  For 
this  one  they  also  went  through  the 
wringer.  Cornel  had  been  tested  at  three 
other  studios  for  three  other  loanouts.  Re- 
sult: three  goose-eggs.  Why  should  the 
fourth  be  different?  Anyway,  Columbia 
had  nixed  him,  to  begin  with. 

Not  till  they  ran  out  of  other  people  to 
test,  did  they  test  Wilde.  The  first  test 
convinced  Buchman  and  Vidor.  But  he  had 
to  go  through  three  more  before  everyone 
else  on  the  lot  was  convinced. 

So,  fine,  Columbia  arranged  to  borrow 


him  from  20th  Century-Fox,  and  the 
Wildes  were  happy. 

Through  all  the  storms,  there  hadn't 
been  a  cloud  between  them.  Oddly 
enough,  it  was  the  good  breaks  that 
brought  the  personal  problems,  though  not 
right  away.  At  first  the  excitement  carried 
them  along.  How  would  the  picture  go 
over?  And  it  did  go  over,  and  then  an- 
other picture,  and  another.  Pat  missed  the 
daily  closeness  they'd  built  up  between 
them,  but  there  was  Wendy,  and  there  was 
the  promise  of  renewing  her  own  career. 

Eventually  she  signed  with  Fox  at  a 
very  good  figure.  Life  never  looked 
lovelier,  which  shows  you  how  wrong  you 
can  be.  Followed  what  may  well  have  been 
a  series  of  coincidences.  To  a  couple  of 
people  on  edge  they  seemed  more. 

Cornel's  still  a  scrapper  for  what  he 
believes  worth  a  scrap.  Good  parts  are 
worth  a  scrap.  With  Leave  Her  to  Heaven 
and  Centennial  Summer  behind  him,  he 
felt  he  could  now  protest  some  role  he 
didn't  like,  and  make  it  mean  something. 
A  part  came  up,  he  refused  it,  he  was 
placed  on  suspension.  Soon  thereafter,  Pat 
was  offered  what  they  both  thought  an 
inferior  part  in  an  inferior  story.  She 
turned  it  down,  she  was  placed  on  suspen- 
sion. That  made  everything  cosy,  and  put 
an  effective  stop  to  all  their  income. 

Eventually  these  matters  were  straight- 
ened out.  Cornel  started  the  first  version 
of  Forever  Amber.  By  the  time  it  was 
shelved,  Pat  was  being  considered  for  the 
second  lead  in  a  musical.  Suddenly  they 
threw  the  masculine  lead  to  Cornel. 

in  again,  out  again  .  .  . 

"I  don't  think  this  musical's  for  me,"  said 
Mr.  Wilde.  Meantime  Pat  had  made 
her  test.  Those  who  saw  it  were  impressed. 
Overnight,  they  decided  the  part  should 
be  played  by  a  foreign  girl.  Pat  was  out. 

By  now  they  were  both  pretty  upset. 
Justifiably  or  not,  they  began  to  feel  that,  I 
whatever  Cornel's  fusses  with  the  studio, 
Pat  would  be  caught  up  in  them.  She 
asked  for  her  release.  The  studio  talked 
her  down.  Not  till  fifteen  picture-less 
months  had  gone  by,  and  she  grew  in-! 
sistent,  did  they  agree  to  let  her  go. 

None  of  this  was  conducive  to  serene 
living.  Neither  was  the  background  of 
Hollywood  chatter. 

"He  keeps  pushing  her.  He  keeps  hound- 
ing directors  to  give  her  tests." 

Let  it  be  said  at  the  outset  that  these 
stories  had  no  foundation  in  fact.  Pat  and 
Cornel  are  people  of  taste  and  good  sense. 
Such  people  don't  trade  on  each  other's 
success.  But  the  stories  made  juicy  tidbits. 

They  went  on  even  after  Pat  left  Fox.  To 
make  a  clean  break  between  their  careers, 
she  switched  from  Cornel's  agent  to  Berg- 
Allenberg,    another    highclass    outfit.  It 
speaks  well  for  her  that  they  took  her 
on,  since  she's  one  of  the  only  two  people 
they  handle  who  aren't  stars.  After  Roses  I 
Are  Red  for  Sol  Wurtzel,  she  went  into; 
The  Fabulous  Texan  at  Republic.  Cornel  | 
stayed  away,  but  far  away  from  that  lot* 
Till  the  picture  was  finished.  Till  the  com- 
pany threw  a  party  and  invited  him  over. 

Promptly  the  papers  started  popping 
again. 

"Cornel  Wilde  was  on  the  set  at  Repub-| 
lie,  coaching  his  wife.  What  does  he  think 
directors  are  for  anyway?" 

How  he  could  coach  her,  with  the  film 
already  in  cans,  nobody  bothered  to  in- 
quire. Of  course  Pat  got  sore.  The 
daily  pricks  and  barbs  grew  a  little  diffi- 
cult to  take — the  constant  implication  thai 


somebody  else  was  responsible  for  any 
upward  step,  even  if  that  somebody  was 
your  husband. 

To  make  things  practically  perfect,  Cor- 
nel was  exhausted.  He'd  gone  rocketing 
from  picture  to  picture  without  a  breather. 
They  managed  to  pull  him  through  Home- 
stretch by  having  a  nurse  on  the  set  to 
give  him  shots.  Then  came  the  five-month 
workout  in  the  second  version  of  Forever 
Amber,  followed  by  It  Had  To  Be  You. 

So  here  was  Pat  with  her  psychological 
warfare  and  Cornel  with  his  utter  weari- 
ness, and  whenever  they  were  together, 
they  were  together  with  problems  instead 
of  fun.  The  tension  between  them  built 
for  about  a  year. 

So  they  came  to  a  highly  sensible  deci- 
sion. "Let's  separate  for  a  while  and  get 
a  line  on  ourselves — "  Wendy  was  away, 
which  made  this  easier.  She  spends  every 
summer  at  beaches  in  the  East  with  her 
grandparents,  because  it's  fun  for  them  all 
and  very  healthy  for  Wendy.  She  lives  in 
an  average  household,  then,  plays  with 
average  kids,  and  maybe  she  won't  grow 
up  with  the  notion  that  the  world  is 
bounded  on  four  sides  by  Hollywood.  Yet 
even  for  this  Pat  and  Cornel  have  been 
picked  on.  Bergman's  been  away  from 
her  daughter  for  lengthy  periods.  But  on 
Bergman  they  don't  pick. 

The  whole  point  of  their  separation  was 
that  they  never  intended  it  to  be  perma- 
nent. Still,  they  had  to  get  to  the  bottom 
of  the  trouble,  and  felt  they  could  work  it 
out  best  apart.  But  what  could  have  been 
easily  resolved  in  another  city  became  a  sen- 
sation here.  Far  be  it  from  me  to  sling  mud 
at  the  Hollywood  press,  I'm  part  of  it  my- 
self. It  just  happens  to  be  true  that  we're 
never  content  to  regret  the  regrettable; 
^e're  too  busy  blowing  up  headlines. 

Cornel  took  a  couple  of  weeks  for  a 
fishing  trip.  His  nerves  relaxed.  So  did 


ONE  DEATH  A  MINUTE 

DID  YOU  KNOW  that  one  American 
dies  every  minute  of  heart  disease  .  .  . 
that  one  out  of  every  three  deaths  in 
the  United  States  is  caused  by  dis- 
eases of  the  heart  and  blood  vessels 
.  .  .  that  heart  disease  is  the  leading 
killer  among  children  from  5  to  19? 
Shocking  facts — but  even  now  science 
is  waging  an  all-out  war  against  our 
No.  1  murderer.  The  New  York  Heart 
Association  needs  at  least  $500,000  to 
carry  on  its  program  of  research,  edu- 
cation and  community  service.  SAVE 
THE  CHILD-VICTIMS  .  .  .  prolong 
the  prime  of  life  .  .  .  protect  your 
heart  by  sending  contributions  to  the 
New  York  Heart  Campaign,  270  Park 
Avenue,  New  York  17. 


Pat's.  His  physical  condition  improved. 
Five  weeks  after  their  separation  they 
were  on  a  boat,  headed  for  Honolulu. 

Honolulu  was  no  second  honeymoon.  To 
fall  on  each  other's  necks  and  say,  "Dar- 
ling, I  love  you,"  would  have  been  pleasant 
and  got  them  exactly  nowhere.  They  were 
after  a  cure,  not  a  soothing  syrup.  They 
still  didn't  see  eye  to  eye  on  everything, 
but  at  least  they  were  working  together 
instead  of  at  cross-purposes. 

Finally  they  realized  it  was  Hollywood 
they  were  bucking,  and  that  they'd  be  just 
as  smart  bucking  Grant's  Tomb.  In  Holly- 
wood, one  of  you  may  be  working  while 
the  other  isn't.  That  you  can't  avoid.  And 
you  can't  stop  the  buzzers  from  buzzing, 
nor  the  columnists  from  printing  what 
they  please.  These  are  the  bills  presented 
for  success.  If  you  want  to  stay  in  Holly- 
wood— and  the  Wildes  did — you've  got  to 
ride  with  the  current. 


So  they  went  to  New  York,  and  places 
where  they'd  been  happy  together,  whose 
memories  greeted  and  warmed  them  and 
drew  them  close  again.  Nor  did  it  hurt  that 
by  now  Pat  had  two  pictures  under  her 
belt,  and  Cornel's  relations  with  the  studio 
had  been  ironed  out. 

Here  too  it  was  a  case  of  trying  to  see 
the  other  fellow's  viewpoint.  Cornel  saw 
that  when  you  worked  for  a  big  studio, 
every  picture  you "  made  couldn't  be  ex- 
actly what  you'd  like.  The  studio  has  a 
schedule  of  many  pictures,  for  which  they 
must  use  the  players  under  contract. 
That's  what  they  sign  players  for.  He  saw 
that  now  and  then  he'd  have  to  do  things 
he  might  not  be  crazy  about. 

In  turn,  the  studio  realized  that  what 
Cornel  did  was  more  important  to  him 
than  the  financial  loss  or  gain.  This  he  had 
proven.  The  suspensions  he'd  taken  had 
set  him  back  plenty. 

The  studio  made  a  further  concession. 
Wrote  into  his  contract  a  clause,  allowing 
him  six  months'  leave  to  do  a  play.  He'll 
take  his  leave  in  the  fall.  And  because  a 
good  play  for  two  people  is  hard  to  find, 
Pat  went  ahead  to  line  up  one  for  herself 
so  she  could  be  working  in  New  York  at 
the  same  time  as  Cornel,  so  that  they 
wouldn't  be  separated  for  long. 

The  minute  Walls  of  Jericho  was  fin- 
ished, Cornel  joined  Pat  and  Wendy  in 
New  York.  Pat  didn't  do  a  play  in  the 
East  after  all,  so  the  Wildes  will  come  back 
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PARIS  ALBUM 

(Continued  from  page  46) 


thinking  of  how  it  would  be  in  Paris. 

In  London,  there  was  work  to  be  done, 
and  I  like  to  work,  but  I  am  human.  In 
London,  there  was  an  epic  called  First 
Gentleman,  and  for  this  epic,  I  must  get 
myself  dressed  in  a  fancy  uniform  and  a 
sword,  and  I  must  smile  and  show  my 
teeth,  and  act  out  the  part  of  a  gentleman 
named  Leopold,  who  became  the  first  King 
of  Belgium. 

I  did  all  this.  It  was  good  to  be  working, 
as  a  matter  of  fact.  The  city  was  so  dis- 
ciplined, and  grey,  and  worn;  it  was  not  a 
city  where  a  man  could  eat  too  much  or 
rest  too  long  without  a  great  feeling  of 
guilt. 

I  worked,  and  missed  my  wife,  and  hoped 
she  would  be  able  to  get  over  soon,  and 
I  was  busy  and  lonely  by  turns. 

Then  there  came  a  break  in  my  shooting 
schedule,  and  I  was  given  a  few  days  off. 
I  went  to  Paris. 

Paris  is  as  different  from  London  as  the 
day  is  from  the  night.  The  people  are  free, 
and  happy  about  it.  You  see  this  in  the 
books,  in  the  clothes,  in  the  talk. 

As  for  me,  I  have  so  many  friends  in 
Paris,  and  so  many  relatives,  and  I  am 
even  in  love  with  the  way  the  sun  shines 
there  in  the  early  morning,  and  the  way 
the  fat  busses  waddle  down  the  streets, 
and  the  look  of  the  oldest,  shabbiest  build- 
ings. The  more  obvious  things — women 
selling  violets  on  the  sidewalks,  outdoor 
cafes,  bookstalls  by  the  river — these  are 
cliches  by  now,  but  all  still  there,  and  all 
still  marvelous. 

Paris  is  more  exciting  today  than  ever 
before.  There's  a  flow  of  vitality,  of  ideas. 
One  person  says  something  to  another,  the 
other  picks  it  up — and  whole  new  worlds 
are  born  for  the  space  of  an  hour  or  so. 
Sometimes  for  longer.  There  was  the  night 
I  was  having  dinner  with  my  old  friend, 
Marcel  Herrand.  We  had  talked  until  we 
were  tired,  but  we  were  stimulated  beyond 
our  fatigue  by  our  own  talk.  "I  wrote  a 
play,"  I  told  him.  "In  Hollywood.  The  hero 
isn't  a  hero — he's  a  liar,  a  phony  war- 
hero,  sex-crazy — " 

"I'd  like  to  read  it,"  Marcel  said,  and  I 
said  all  right,  still  talking.  "I  was  trying 
to  make  it  representative  of  post-war 
confusions  you  see  on  the  faces  of  ex- 
soldiers — " 

He  smiled.  "Such  a  large  order."  But  I 


left  the  play  with  him  when  I  returned  to 
London  to  continue  work  in  First  Gentle- 
man, and  one  day  he  phoned  me  in  Lon- 
don. 

"Jean,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  do  the  lead, 
I  will  produce  your  play." 

I  was  delighted  and  excited,  because  for 
ten  years,  I  had  not  been  on  the  French 
stage. 

By  the  time  my  wife,  Maria,  came  to 
London,  in  October,  I  was  worn  out  with 
rushing  across  the  Channel  every  week- 
end to  rehearse  my  play,  then  rushing 
back  to  London  to  make  the  movie.  I  was 
glad  when  First  Gentleman  was  through, 
and  Maria  and  I  could  go  to  Paris  and 
settle  down  more  or  less. 

The  night  my  play,  The  Emperor  of 
China,  opened,  I  was  frightened. 

"But  darling,"  said  my  wife,  "you're 
such  a  wonderful  actor — " 

"But  darling,"  I  said,  "suppose  I'm  such 
a  terrible  writer  that  nobody  notices  what 
a  wonderful  actor  I  am — " 

The  critics  were  kind.  They  liked  the 
play,  and  the  audience  seemed  pleased  too, 
and  that  was  even  more  important,  as 
Maria  pointed  out. 

After  the  performance,  we  went  to 
Maxim's  for  a  party,  and  being  emotionally 
drained,  I  remember  very  little,  only  that 
there  was  champagne  and  music  and  a 
girl  singer  in  a  white  dress,  and  I  had  al- 
most never  been  so  tired  or  felt  so  fine. 

Two  weeks  later,  Maria  had  to  go  back 
to  Hollywood,  and  after  that,  my  life  was 
routine.  The  play,  some  radio  work,  and  a 
few  interviews.  A  quiet  dinner  every  night 
in  a  small  restaurant  in  Montmartre  with 
my  brother  Francois,  or  my  friend  Claud 
Dauphin — 

On  Mondays  when  Emperor  of  China 
was  closed,  I  went  to  other  plays.  People 
want  comedy  now,  and  two  Moliere  re- 
vivals were  among  the  leading  successes  of 
the  season. 

There  is  not  much  more  to  tell.  I  came 
home  a  couple  of  months  after  Maria,  and 
she  and  I  are  planning  on  Paris  very  soon 
again,  maybe  in  July.  We  are  going  to  do  a 
Jean  Cocteau  movie  together  there,  a  ver- 
sion of  Jean's  play  Orpheus  and  we  hope 
to  take  our  baby  girl  over  with  us  this 
time. 

She  is  not  too  young  to  be  enchanted.  I 
shall  never  be  too  old. 


ACCENT  ON  OXFORDS 

(Continued  from  page  48) 


Hazel  could  say  nothing  for  staring  at 
her  charge.  "Who's  been  doing  your 
hair?"  she  choked. 

"Why,"  said  Dorothy  proudly,  "I  have. 
I  cut  it  myself  with  a  razor  blade." 

A  few  days  later,  one  of  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury-Fox's press  gentlemen  was  inter- 
cepted in  his  office  with  a  wild  look  in 
his  eye.  "Hey,"  somebody  said  mildly, 
"ain't  you  happy?" 

"Sure,  I'm  happy!"  he  exploded.  "I'm 
charmed,  I'm  enchanted,  I'm  damned  near 
infatuated.  I  am  sincerely  convinced  that 
my  present  client,  a  Miss  Dorothy  Mc- 
Guire,  of  whom  you  have  doubtless  heard, 
is  the  greatest  young  actress  in  America, 
but  I  don't  see  how  I  can  get  a  line  in 
print.  I  can't  get  her  to  wear  a  sweater. 
She  would  willingly  perish  before  being 
seen  in  a  bathing  suit,  she  hates  parties, 
nightclubs   and   gossip.     And   she  leads 


such  a  plain  life  that  she  can't  even  re- 
member what  she  did  yesterday.  I  be- 
lieve she  paints  as  a  hobby.  You  don't 
know  any  editor  who  would  want  to  re- 
plate  page  one  with  that  kind  of  hot  in- 
telligence, do  you,  son?" 

A  lot  of  wear  and  tear  could  have  been 
saved  those  first  days  if  Dorothy  had 
come  right  out  and  said  she  was  the  kind 
of  girl  who  didn't  fit  into  anybody's  pat- 
tern. She  made  her  own  pattern  and 
waited  quietly  till  people  discovered  it 
was  a  pretty  good  one.  She  became  a 
star  on  Broadway  by  the  simple  expe- 
dient of  turning  up  for  an  interview  with 
Rose  Franken,  the  author  of  a  play  called 
Claudia,  wearing  not  minks  and  sable  but 
the  inevitable  McGuire  skirt,  shirt  and 
polo  coat.  "There  is  Claudia!"  exclaimed 
the  worn-out  Miss  Franken.  And  Dor- 
othy was  on  her  way. 


Two  years  she'd  played  on  Broadway 
and  then  she  signed  a  piece  of  paper 
which  said  she'd  go  to  Hollywood  as  soon 
as  the  play  closed,  and  she  spent  a  lot  of 
time  telling  herself*  she  wasn't  going  to 
let  them  make  her  over  into  a  doll-face. 
She  became  a  problem  at  once:  She  sent  a 
sketch  of  a  snake-tight  long  dress  back 
to  her  producer,  Mr.  William  Perlberg, 
with  a  notation  that  not  only  Claudia  but 
Dorothy  McGuire  would  never  be  seen 
in  such  a  frock.  The  makeup  people  were 
strictly  informed  they  could  put  away 
their  eyebrow  tweezers,  and  that  Miss 
McG.  had  no  intention  of  putting  on  a 
mask  of  paint  for  the  cameras. 

The  interesting  thing  is  that  everybody 
agreed  with  her.  Everybody  respected 
her  integrity,  and  when  they  saw  her 
work,  they  knew  this  was  no  cutie  fetched 
from  before  a  soda  fountain,  given  a  fast 
three-week  coaching  and  tossed  to  the 
wolves,  but  a  real  actress. 

The  frightened  young  lady  did  her  daily 
stint  before  the  cameras  and  went  home 
to  an  apple  and  a  good  book.  She  had  a 
few  friends  in  Hollywood.  When  she  was 
thirteen  and  they  were  both  amateurs  in 
Omaha,  Nebraska,  she'd  played  with 
Henry  Fonda  in  Sir  James  Barrie's  A 
Kiss  for  Cinderella.  Her  first  California 
friends  tended  to  come  from  the  small 
circle  called  "the  Leland  Hayward  set." 
There  were  the  Haywards  themselves, 
Margaret  Sullavan,  the  then  Mrs.  H.,  Jim- 
my Stewart,  then  a  GI  on  his  way  up  to 
getting  chickens  on  his  shoulders,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Joseph  Cotten,  the  then-as-yet-un- 
married Buzz  Meredith,  the  Fondas.  Down 
the  street  lived  Ingrid  Bergman,  whom 
Dorothy  didn't  know  too  well,  but  whose 
attitude  about  being  herself  Dorothy 
admired. 

You  can't  say  the  girl  was  lonely.  She 
always  was  the  kind  who  was  glad  for 
a  free  evening  when  she  could  read.  One 
evening  her  phone  rang.  It  was  a  chap 
named  Swope  who'd  come  backstage  in 
New  York  when  she  was  doing  the  play. 
There  were  two  of  them,  brothers,  she 
remembered  after  she'd  asked  him  to  drop 
around.  One  was  named  Rod,  and  the 
other  was  John,  and  she  wasn't  sure 
which  one  this  was. 

When  he  did  drop  around,  she  played 
it  safe  all  evening  by  referring  to  him  as 
Mister  Swope. 

"Say,"  he  finally  said,  vaguely  irritated, 
"aren't  you  ever  going  to  call  me  John?" 
He  proposed  to  her  a  short  time  later 
and  they've  been  married  five  years. 

Claudia  was  out;  the  picture  was  a  hit. 
Nobody  had  plucked  off  McGuire's  eye- 
brows, and  she  hadn't  had  to  pose  for 
bathing  suit  art.  She  wasn't  so  scared 
any  more  about  working  in  a  new  me- 
dium, and  had  even  come  to  believe  that 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Some  years  ago, 
Jimmy  Durante 
made  an  appear- 
ance at  a  church 
benefit  in  Brook- 
lyn. When  he  ar- 
rived, he  was  met 
by  a  crowd  of 
fans.  They  fol- 
lowed him  to  the 
entrance  of  the 
hall  where  a 
young  boy  of  five  was  standing.  The 
boy  was  gazing  at  Mr.  Durante's  face 
as  if  it  were  a  mirage.  Finally,  Jimmy 
laughed,  bent  down  to  the  little  boy, 
and  pointing  to  his  nose,  he  said,  "Go 
ahead.  Touch  it.  It's  real,  believe  me." 
June  Fucci 
Brooklyn,  New  York 


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there  are  more  capable,  talented,  anony- 
mous people  working  in  pictures  than  are 
given  credit. 

Like  a  good  wartime  wife,  Dorothy  lived 
down  in  Phoenix  (where  John  had  set  up 
a  training  project  for  air  cadets)  when  she 
wasn't  making  pictures,  but  she  found 
time  to  make  The  Enchanted  Cottage,  an- 
other Claudia  picture,  A  Tree  Grows  in 
Brooklyn,  and  Till  the  End  of  Time.  By 
this  time  John  had  joined  the  Navy,  and 
Dorothy  moved  back  to  the  old  apartment. 
She  was  sure  of  herself  now.  She  liked 
Hollywood  and  didn't  care  who  knew  it. 

"You've  changed,  Dorothy,"  a  friend 
commented. 

"Of  course  I  have,"  Dorothy  said  firmly. 
"Only  fools  don't  change." 

When  they  gave  John  a  ruptured  duck 
and  told  him  he  could  take  off  his  uni- 
form, the  Swopes  decided  on  a  long  va- 
cation. They  went  back  east,  and  found 
an  old  barn  vp  on  the  Hudson  River. 
They  decided  they'd  remodel  the  place, 
and  just  stay  put  for  a  while,  and  they 
spent  a  year  turning  that  barn  into  a 
place  to  live.  Until  Dorothy  came  out  to 
make  Gentleman's  Agreement.  A  New 
York  friend  ran  into  her  in  Beverly  Hills 
just  before  she  started  the  picture. 
"  Where  "Ve  you  been,  Dorothy?"  he  asked. 

"Back  east,"  she  said,  excited  the  way 
she  always  gets  when  she  talks  about  the 
house.  "John  and  I  have  got  this  place 
in  Scarborough — " 

"Of  course,"  the  friend  interrupted  dryly. 

"What  do  you  mean,  'of  course'?" 

"Oh,  I  mean  that  now  you're  a  big  star, 
you've  got  houses  and  all  that  kind  of 
thing." 

"But  it  isn't  like  that.  It's  just  a  barn." 

Dorothy  has  pictures  to  prove  it,  too. 
They've  taken  this  vast,  Victorian  barn 
that  used  to  belong  to  a  now-abandoned 
mansion,  and  they've  turned  it  into  a 
kind  of  residence  that,  like  Dorothy  her- 
self, defies  all  the  rules  and  looks  good. 
The  kitchen  is  now  in  what  was  once  the 
carriage  stalls,  and  a  tool  shed  is  a  pan- 
try, and  you  have  to  go  outside  to  go 
upstairs,  but  people  who  come  calling 
can't  stop  admiring  the  place.  That  is, 
if  they  can  find  it.  A  few  months  ago, 
Jennifer  Jones  came  calling  and  sped 
right  past  the  place  up  to  the  uninhabited 
mansion  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  The 
Swopes  hopped  in  their  car  and  went  up 
the  hill  after  her.  They  found  Jennifer 
walking  through  the  ghostly,  cobwebby 
halls  of  the  old  house,  terrified. 

"I  knew,"  said  Jennifer,  "you  both  like 
things  very  unique,  so  I  thought  you'd 
decided  to  live  in  a  haunted  house." 

When  Dorothy  came  back  to  make 
Gentleman's  Agreement,  John  got  him- 
self a  job  as  technical  advisor  on  Mr. 
Blanding  Builds  His  Dream  House.  After 
all,  he  was  a  real  easterner  who  knew 
how  a  Connecticut  house  should  look. 

Dorothy  and  John  talked  so  much  about 
their  barn-house  that  people  were  always 
trying  to  get  them  to  buy  or  build  an- 
other house  out  here.  But  Dorothy 
wouldn't.  "I  can  only  stretch  my  loyalty 
so  far.  I'm  a  one-house  woman." 

The  closest  they  came  to  it  was  when 
they  met  a  young  architect  at  a  party, 
and  he  turned  out  to  have  the  same  ideas 
as  they  about  California  houses.  The  three 
of  them  had  a  wonderful  time  planning 
a  big  but  modest  open-style  place  cen- 
tered around  a  patio.  They  even  looked 
at  some  lots  in  the  $2,500  sector  near  the 
Douglas  plant,  which  ought  to  give  some- 
one an  idea  of  what  they  think  about  a 
"good  address"  and  all  that  sort  of  thing. 
The  whole  venture,  as  planned,  would 
come  to  about  $8,000,  including  the  lot. 
It  fell  through,  but  if  Dorothy  and  John 
ever  build,  this  is  just  about  where  they've 
set  their  sights. 

Meanwhile  they've  still  got  the  apart- 


ment the  studio  took  for  Dorothy  when 
she  first  came  out  here.  Her  real  home 
is  back  east,  though  something  happened 
last  summer  that  may  ultimately  involve 
keeping  her  away  from  the  barn  more 
than  she  likes  to  thmk  now. 

It  started  with  Gregory  Peck.  He  and 
Mel  Ferrer  and  Joe  Cotten  and  some 
others  had  put  their  heads  together  and 
they  came  to  her  and  said  in  effect, 
"What  about  doing  some  summer  theater?" 

She  said  sure,  so  they  all  went  to  visit 
David  O.  Selznick,  and  presented  him 
with  the  priceless  opportunity  to  drop  a 
wad  backing  a  summer  theater  down  at 
La  Jolla,  California. 

It  fell  to  Dorothy  to  do  three  plays 
from  Noel  Coward's  "Tonight  at  Eight- 
Thirty,"  and  all  the  things  the  cynics 
said  would  happen  did  happen.  There 
wasn't  adequate  rehearsal  time,  and  a 
couple  of  times  the  audiences  laughed  in 
the  wrong  places. 

"But  it  was  fun,"  Dorothy  says.  "Stand- 
ing up  there  and  not  quite  being  good 
enough  in  one  place  or  another.  It  was 
like  a  game,  just  as  if  we  told  the 
audience,  give  us  another  try  and  we'll 
be  all  right  again." 

In  any  case,  they  all  had  so  much  fun 
that  Dorothy  has  promised  to  be  part  of 
the  company  again  next  summer,  and 
Greg  Peck  and  Laraine  Day  took  Angel 
Street  on  the  road  for  a  few  weeks  this 
winter  so  they  could  pay  back  Selznick. 

Dorothy  likes  her  barn  and  she  likes 
pictures  and  she  likes  the  stage  and  she 
likes  living  in  California  and  she  wants 
them  all.  Sure,  she  admits,  it'll  take  some 
doing,  but  so  does  everything  in  life  that's 
worth  while.  "You  know  what  Walt 
Whitman  says,"  she  quotes.  "  'What,  do 
I  contradict  myself?  Very  well,  then,  I 
contradict  myself.' " 

It's  as  easy  as  that  when  you  know 
you  belong.  And  Dorothy  feels  she  belongs 
now.  The  other  day  a  lady  stopped  her 
in  the  market  where  she  shops,  and  this 
lady  declared  that  she  was  crazy  about 
the  McGuire  hairdo  and  wanted  to  know 
where  she  could  get  one  just  like  it, 

"I  do  it  myself,"  Dorothy  said  brightly. 
"Hack  it  off  with  a  razor  blade." 

"Thank  you,"  the  lady  said.  "That's  just 
the  way  I'll  do  it  from  now  on." 

Dorothy  figures  maybe  she  isn't  the  only 
one  who's  changed.  Maybe  people  have 
changed  too. 

MODERN  SCREEN 


Your  alarm  clock  is  ringing! 


JOHNNY  ON  THE  SPOT 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


felt  should  be  seen  by  the  public. 

It  was  by  a  young  Dutch  writer,  Van 
Hartog.  It  was  about  a  Netherlands  ship 
captain  who  has  a  boatload  of  Jewish 
refugees.  He's  promised  to  deliver  them 
to  a  place  where  they  will  not  be  perse- 
cuted. 

You've  never  seen  as  exciting  a  perform- 
ance as  the  one  John  gives  as  Captain 
Kuiper.  Eventually  the  play  moved  from 
the  Experimental  Theater's  downtown 
house  up  to  Broadway  and  more  success. 

I  had  seen  John's  terrific  performance  in 
Skipper  Next  To  God,  so  maybe  it's  no 
wonder  I  was  a  little  dazed  during  my  in- 
interview  with  him. 

I  asked  a  lot  of  questions,  and  some 
of  them  got  answered,  and  some  of  them 
got  side-tracked,  and  here  are  the  things 
I  learned  during  the  interview.  Remem- 
ber that  none  of  them  are  phony,  or  for 
publicity  purposes,  or  anything  but  the  real 
John  Garfield. 

There  was  a  time  at  Madison  Square 
Garden.  Joe  Louis  and  a  comparative  un- 
known named  Jersey  Joe  Walcott  were 
slugging  away  up  there  under  the  bright 
yellow  lights,  and  getting  nowhere  fast. 
The  champion  didn't  look  like  a  champion 
and  the  challenger  was  challenging. 

he  could  show  'em  how  .  .  . 

A  voice  said  disgustedly,  "Lord,  I  saw  a 
better  fight  than  this  in  a  movie  last  night. 
Body  and  Soul  was  the  name  of  it,  and  that 
guy  Garfield  could  take  over  either  of  these 
two  in  one  round." 

From  the  row  in  front  of  him,  a  dark- 
haired  man  turned  around. 

"Thanks,  pal,"  said  John  Garfield,  "but 
I'd  hate  to  try  it." 

John  has  no  illusions  about  his  ability 
to  step  in  the  ring  and  do  a  quick  one-two 
on  any  professional  fighter.  He  started 
studying  boxing  three  months  before  Body 
And  Soul  started,  and  kept  right  on  all  the 
while  they  were  shooting  it.  They  didn't 
do  the  fight  scenes  till  the  end,  in  case  John 
should  get  hurt. 

It  was  just  as  well,  because  he  was  on 
the  receiving  end  of  a  couple  of  very  tough 
punches — but  he  handed  out  some  of  the 
same. 

There's  been  considerable  comment  on 
the  convincing  reality  of  the  fight  scenes  in 
Body  And  Soul.  The  reason  is  simple.  The 
cameraman  decided  not  to  use  the  ordinary 
large  camera  mounted  outside  the  ring. 
Instead  he  used  a  tiny  hand  camera  and 
got  right  in  the  middle  of  things. 

"He  was  worse  off  than  I  was,"  John  told 
me,  grinning.  "Either  of  us  might  have 
landed  a  wild  punch  on  him." 

"How  did  you  happen  to  make  that  pic- 
ture?" I  asked  him.  "I  know  you  formed 
your  own  company  to  do  it  so  you  must 
have  been  really  interested." 

"I  was,"  he  said.  "I've  always  wanted  to 
make  a  picture  about  a  fellow  like  that. 
The  hero  didn't  necessarily  have  to  be  a 
prize-fighter,  but  he  had  to  be  a  guy  who 
had  got  too  far  too  fast.  He  gets  caught  in 
success  too  early  and  doesn't  know  how 
to  handle  it." 

"How  about  all  the  talk  that  boxing 
circles  didn't  like  it  because  it  made  the 
fight  game  look  crooked?" 

John  laughed.  "The  wildest  rumor  that 
went  around  was  the  one  about  that  La 
Motta  fight  that  was  supposed  to  be  fixed, 
just  about  the  time  the  picture  opened. 
They  claimed  we  arranged  it  for  publicity." 

Johnj  fortunately,  always  laughs  at 
rumors.  They  never  bother  him.  "You 
can  always  use  the  newspaper  to  wrap  a 


herring  in,"  he  says,  philosophically. 

You  see,  John  has  his  mind  on  things 
that  seem  much  more  important  to  him 
than  gossip.  His  interests  are  wide  arid 
varied.  That  is,  perhaps,  one  reason  why 
he  didn't  want  to  go  to  Hollywood  at  first. 
People  tend  to  get  one-track-minded  out 
there.  Robbe,  his  wife,  didn't  want  him  to 
go,  either. 

"You  belong  to  the  theater,"  she  told 
him,  and  meant  it  very  deeply. 

Fortunately  Robbe  has  a  sense  of  humor. 
She  claims  now  that  what  won  her  over 
was  the  time  a  big  executive  took  them 
out  to  dinner  and  talked  to  her. 

"Mrs.  Garfield,  don't  you  want  a  sable 
coat,  a  beautiful  house  in  Beverly  Hills  and 
a  swimming  pool?" 

"Who  wouldn't?"  said  Robbe  simply. 

"So,"  she  now  tells  you  wickedly,  "we 
went  to  Hollywood.  But  did  I  ever  get  the 
swimming  pool,  the  beautiful  house,  the 
sable  coat?  I  did  not.  I've  been  robbed!" 

It's  true  enough  that  they  have  never 
owned  a  house  in  Hollywood.  That's  partly 
due  to  John's  liking  to  move  every  six 
months  or  so. 

"Dates  back  to  when  I  was  a  kid.  My 
old  man  used  to  get  thrown  out  at  least 
once  every  six  months  for  not  being  able 
to  pay  the  rent." 

Then  there  was  the  war,  of  course,  with 
John  overseas  on  camp  shows,  and  later  in 
the  army.  But  some  day  soon  the  Garfields 
are  going  to  build  a  house  in  the  San  Fer- 
nando Valley  which  their  children  will  al- 
ways think  of  as  home.  The  children  being 
David,  who  is  almost  four,  and  little  Julie 
who  is  two. 

Since  most  of  John's  old  friends  call  him 
Julie,  his  daughter  is  known  as  Julie- 
poolie.  She's  intensely  feminine,  and  wor- 
ships her  brother  David  to  the  extent  of 
occasionally  being  a  nuisance.  David  is  the 
rugged  type.  A  while  ago  he  discovered 
that  it  was  fun  to  hit  people.  The  first  few 
times  they  let  him  get  away  with  it.  The 
next  time  he  got  a  thumping  whack  in  re- 
turn and  decided  it  wasn't  so  much  fun. 

When  John  came  to  New  York  last  fall 
for  his  return  to  the  stage,  he  brought 
Robbe  and  the  children  with  him.  The 
kids  really  got  a  kick  out  of  New  York. 
They  loved  the  big  stores,  and  when  the 
stores  palled,  they  went  to  Central  Park 
and  rode  on  the  ponies. 

disc-happy  .  .  . 

The  children  both  love  music,  although 
David  is  chiefly  fascinated  by  watching  the 
records  turn  over  on  radio  phonographs. 

"What  kind  of  music  do  you  like,  John?" 
I  asked  him  during  the  interview. 

He  laughed.  "Any  kind.  All  kinds.  I 
love  opera;  I  also  think  Nellie  Lutcher  is 
one  of  the  great  discoveries  of  all  time." 

"How  about  jive?  Fifty-second  Street 
sort  of  thing?" 

"I  love  that,  too.  You  know  a  picture  I 
want  to  make?  A  real  jazz  epic,  maybe 
starring  Lena  Home.  There  hasn't  been 
a  good  history  of  jazz." 

John  has  a  strong  sense  of  fair  play, 
which  is  exemplified  by  his  treatment  of 
his  fans. 

"What  do  you  do  when  a  whole  mob 
wants  your  autograph  at  once?"  I  asked. 

"There  are  only  two  things  I  can  do  and 
be  fair.  If  I  have  time  I  give  it  to  all  of 
them.  If  I  don't  have  time,  I  tell  them 
where  I'll  be  later.  We  make  a  date  to 
meet  there  and  I  do  the  job  then."  It  would 
no  more  occur  to  him  to  break  a  "date" 
like  that  with  the  kids  than  to  break  one 
with  his  wife. 


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He  and  Robbe  have  one  of  the  happiest 
marriages  in  Hollywood.  They  were  born 
just  twenty  blocks  apart  on  the  lower  East 
Side,  and  later  both  of  their  families  moved 
to  the  Bronx  where  John  and  Robbe 
eventually  met.  They  married  young,  and 
have  never  regretted  it. 

Occasionally  John  and  Robbe  quarrel. 
He  broods  about  it  for  a  while  and  then 
comes  around  with  that  disarming  smile. 

"Could  be  you  were  right." 

"Could  be  you  were,"  Robbe  admits. 
And  that's  that. 

Robbe,  who  combines  a  serious  turn  of 
mind  with  a  triple-edged  sense  of  humor, 
frequently  tells  him  he  ought  to  make  only 
really  worthwhile  pictures.  Big  and  in- 
tense. 

"Listen,  people  want  frothy  stuff  now 
and  then,"  John  argues.  "Wouldn't  you  get 
tired  of  a  solid  diet  of  roast  beef  and  want 
an  ice  cream  soda  once  in  a  while?" 

Robbe,  with  a  gleam  in  her  eye,  pursues 
the  argument,  but  she  has  frequently  been 
known  to  say  she  really  thinks  he's  right. 

restless  rembrandt  .  .  . 

John  has  two  hobbies — painting  and 
fishing.  He  paints  anything  that  he's  inter- 
ested in,  a  half-eaten  orange  Julie  has  left 
on  her  plate,  or  a  view  of  a  storm  at  sea. 
Usually  he  paints  when  it's  raining,  or 
when  he  can't  sleep  at  night. 

"I  don't  care  whether  it's  any  good  or 
not,"  he  says.  "Just  so  I  like  doing  it."  He 
keeps  right  at  it,  the  way  he  keeps  at 
everything.  Take  tennis  playing.  If  he 
plays  with  someone  who  beats  him,  he 
keeps  practicing  until  he's  able  to  win. 

He'll  fight  anytime  when  it's  necessary 
and  when  it  will  do  some  good.  Otherwise 
nothing  will  get  him  into  a  fight.  One  day 
he  was  about  to  enter  a  New  York  subway 
station.  A  heavy-set  man  with  the  battered 
face  of  a  professional  fighter  came  up  to 
him.  The  heavy-set  man  was  drunk. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  accusingly,  "you 
was  the  character  did  all  the  hot  fighting  in 
that  Body  and  Soul,  wasn't  you?" 

John  admitted  that  much,  cautiously. 

"So  you  think  you  can  fight!"  the  pug 
roared.  "Put  up  your  mitts.  Whatsa  mat- 
ter? You  scared?" 

"Frankly,"  John  said,  "yes,"  and  hopped 
a  nearby  cab.  Quite  possibly  he  could  have 
beaten  the  guy  to  a  pulp,  but  why  bother? 

It's  just  as  well  that  his  physical  condi- 
tion is  so  good  when  he  has  to  make  per- 
sonal appearances.  While  on  tour,  he  does 
radio  shows,  makes  speeches  for  various 
causes  he's  championing,  and  generally 
knocks  himself  out.  When  he  went  to  Bos- 
ton it  was  for  the  Community  Chest.  The 
Chicago  trip  was  for  the  Purple  Heart 
Fund. 

"I  like  those  disc  jockey  programs,"  he 
says,  grinning.  "You  can  ad  lib  all  over 
the  place!" 

Of  course  when  he  appears  on  a  regular 
program  as  the  star  of  a  play,  it's  a  differ- 
ent matter.  He  claims  playing  with  profes- 
sional radio  actors  scares  him  to  death. 

"You  should  have  seen  me  just  before  the 
Studio  One  program  began,  with  me  doing 
the  literary  agent  in  Let  Me  Do  The  Talk- 
ing. I  chain-smoked,  my  hand  shook  so  I 
could  hardly  hold  the  script,  and  I  told 
myself  I'd  give  up  radio  forever." 

When  John  goes  around  the  country,  he 
always  makes  a  point  of  talking  to  the  ex- 
hibitors in  the  various  cities. 

"They're  the  boys  who  know  what  the 
people  want,"  he  says.  "Their  answer  is 
simple.  Good  pictures.  And  it  doesn't  mat- 
ter whether  they're  light  or  serious." 

I  agreed  on  that.  Certainly  Gentleman's 
Agreement  and  Body  and  Soul  are  ex- 
amples, although  John  didn't  name  them. 
I  brought  up  Gentleman's  Agreement  my- 
self. 

"How  did  you  happen  to  take  such  a 


sweet 
and 

hot 


About  Goodbye: 
(Capitol);  Dinah 
Hooray    for  Love: 


Colum- 
Carmen 
Stewart 


by  leonard  feather 

**  Highly  Recommended 
*  Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

THE  BIG  CITY — Ok'l  Baby  Dok'l:  *Page  Cav- 
anaugh  Trio  (Victor);  Pied  Pipers  (Capi- 
tol); Xavier  Cugat  (Columbia);  Connie 
Haines  (Signature). 

CASBAH — What's  Good 
*Margaret  Whiting 
Shore  (Columbia). 

*Dinah  Shore  (Columbia);  *Johnny  Mer 
cer-Pied  Pipers  (Capitol).  See  also  last 
month's  listings. 

DAISY  KENYON — You  Can't  Run  Away  From 
Love:  Bob  Eberly-Russ  Morgan  (Decca). 

DREAM  GIRL — title  song:  *Les  Brown 
bia);  *George  Paxton  (MGM) 
Cavallaro  (Decca);  Freddy 
(Capitol);  Tex  Beneke  (Victor). 
Most  of  the  sound  track  of  this  song 
wound  up  on  the  cutting  room  floor.  It's 
a  good  song,  but  the  picture  is  about  a 
dreamy  girl  and  the  song  is  typical  girl- 
of-my-dreams  stuff;  doesn't  seem  to  fit. 
I  think  you'll  like  George  Paxton's  "new- 
sound"  band  with  the  oboes,  flutes,  Eng- 
lish and  French  horns  and  stuff. 

IF  YOU  KNEW  SUSIE — title  song:  Eddie  Cantor 
(Columbia);  Frankie  Masters  (MGM).. 
This  was  a  hit  when  Cantor  sang  it  in 
Kid  Boots  around  1925;  that's  when  he 
made  the  above  record.  Song  came  back 
in  Ziegfeld  Follies  pic  and  Anchors 
Away;  now  here's  its  fourth  lease  on  life 
in  the  new  Cantor  flicker. 

NIGHT  SONG— Who  Killed  'Er:  Hoagy  Car- 
michael  (Decca). 

SIGN  OF'THE  RAM— I'll  Never  Say  I  Love  You: 
*Clark  Dennis  (Capitol);  Horace  Heidt 
(Columbia);  Art  Kassel  (Mercury);  Kate 
Smith    (MGM);  Monica   Lewis  (Decca). 

TO  THE  VICTOR — You're  Too  Dangerous  Cherie: 
*Buddy  Clark  (Columbia);  Hal  Derwin 
(Capitol);  Freddy  Martin  (Victor). 

YOUR  RED  WAGON— **Count  Basie  (Victor); 
Jackie  Paris  Trio  (MGM);  Andrews  Sis- 
ters (Decca);  Starlighters  (Capitol). 


comparatively  minor  role,  John?" 

"I  don't  think  the  size  of  the  role  is  par- 
ticularly important.  I  knew  Darryl  Zanuck 
and  Moss  Hart  were  going  to  make  a  fine 
picture;  they  happened  to  want  me  for  the 
part  and  I  was  proud  to  do  it." 

"Some  people  wonder  whether  a  propa- 
ganda picture  like  that  does  any  good,"  I 
mentioned.  "I've  heard  them  say  that  it 
just  causes  more  trouble." 

John  snorted.  "I  suppose  if  they  were 
sick  they  wouldn't  go  to  a  doctor.  They'd 
just  keep  very  quiet  about  it  on  the  theory 
that  it  would  then  go  away.  It's  the  same 
idea.  I  don't  believe  in  straight  propaganda 
pictures  because  people  won't  go  to  see 
them.  But  if  you  can  combine  entertain- 
ment with  something  worth  saying,  I'm  all 
for  it." 

So  there  you  have  John  Garfield,  or  as 
much  as  I  know  about  him.  I  hope  it  makes 
you  think  he's  terrific,  the  way  I  do. 

P.S.  Oh  yes,  one  more  thing — what  he 
eats  for  breakfast.  Melon  and  coffee.  That's 
all. 


A  MOTHER'S  DAYS 

(Continued  from  page  36) 


snap  them.  I  was  not  to  know  what  was 
going  on  even  though  I  had  to  dress  half 
of  them  (pretending  to  be  curious  about 
why  they  insisted  on  their  "Sunday  best" 
even  if  it  wasn't  Sunday) ;  had  to  listen  to 
their  excited  chatter  (which  on  the  part 
of  the  younger  ones  was  a  complete  give- 
away of  their  plan);  and  then  orders  to 
each  other  on  how  to  pose,  completely 
exposing  their  secret. 

But,  even  if  the  surprise  element  was 
missing,  it  was,  and  is,  just  about  the 
nicest  present  a  mother  ever  got.  All  of 
them  (except  Bob  who  was  yet  to  be  born) 
are  in  the  picture;  Larry,  Ted,  Everett, 
Catherine,  Mary  Rose  and  Bing— just  about 
Bing,  I  might  add,  because  somehow  he 
had  gotten  his  newly-starched  shirt  rum- 
pled, and,  sort  of  conscious  of  it,  had  with- 
drawn to  one  side  of  the  group  so  that  he 
just  about  shows  in  one  corner  of  the  pic- 
ture. But  what  there  is  of  this  four-year- 
old  Bing  in  the  snapshot  is  all  smiles. 

I  think  that  it  was  right  after  this  picture 
was  taken  that  Bing  started  out  for  a 
playmate's  house  but  never  quite  got  there. 
He  climbed  the  back  fence  of  the  play- 
mate's garden  and  decided  to  rest  there, 
promptly  falling  asleep  where  we  found 
him  hours  later.  He  had  gotten  up  too 
early  for  the  picture. 

We  had  quite  a  bit  of  music  in  our  home. 
Both  of  my  daughters  played  the  piano, 
my  husband  the  guitar,  and  all  of  us  sang, 
including  this  boy  Bing,  always  singing 
around  the  house.  It  was  always  pleasant 
to  listen  to  him  until,  one  day,  nature 
caught  up  with  him  and  he  hit  his  first 
(and  I  think  last)  sour  note.  We  had  a 
little  discussion  with  him  and  suggested 
that  he  stop  singing  for  a  while  until  his 
voice  made  up  its  mind  on  how  it  was 
going  to  change,  just  how  low  in  pitch  it 
was  going  to  drop.  It  was  quite  all  right 
with  him.  It  meant  he  was  not  to  sing  in 
church  choir  any  more.  But  he  was  busy 
with  many  other  things;  baseball,  swim- 
ming, work  after  school  and  his  general 
home  chores.  And  when  it  was  time  to  sing 
again,  he  just  did  naturally. 

You  will  notice  that  I  didn't  say  he  was 
busy  with  school — because  that  never 
seemed  to  keep  him  busy.  His  work  there 
came  very  easily.  And  this  is  the  reason 
that  one  of  Bing's  first  attempts  to  enter- 
tain was  with  the  wrong  people  at  the 
wrong  time  ...  his  classmates  during 
school  hours.   Having  mastered  a  lesson 


*H0LLYW00D 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


•  Groucho  Marx  tells  about  his 
childhood  when  a  neighbor  com- 
plained to  his  mother  that  Groucho 
was  shooting  beans  at  him  whenever 
he  passed  down  the  alley. 

"Mamma  was  very  angry,"  says 
Groucho.  "She  said,  'Don't  ever  let 
me  catch  you  using  expensive  beans 
when  there  is  plenty  of  gravel  in  our 
window  box!'  " 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


in  a  brief  portion  of  the  allotted  time 
he  would  spend  the  rest  of  the  period 
amusing  the  other  pupils  with  whispered 
remarks  and  impromptu  pantomime.  I 
learned  about  this  via  a  note  from  his 
teacher  which  he  brought  home  and 
gravely  laid  in  my  hand.  It  stated1' that  if 
he  did  not  mend  his  ways  he  would  have 
to  be  dealt  with  by  the  principal. 

"Do  you  know  what  is  in  this  note?" 
I  asked.  "Yes,  Mom,"  he  replied.  "Then 
it's  up  to  you,  isn't  it?"  I  told  him. 

There  were  no  further  notes  for  weeks 
and  I  was  very  pleased  and  let  him  know 
it.  But  he  was  honest  and  confessed  that 
he  hadn't  stopped  and  had  been  caught 
again. 

"You  mean  you  had  to  go  to  the  princi- 
pal?" I  asked.  He  nodded.  "What  did  he 
do?"  I  wanted  to  know. 

"He  dealt  with  me,"  replied  Bing. 
"And  .  .  .?"  I  asked. 

"That's  all,"  said  Bing.  "I  think  I  get  the 
idea  now." 
a  son's  promise  .  .  . 

From  Larry  to  Bob,  all  my  children  keep 
in  close  touch  with  us,  and  in  the  case  of 
Bing  and  Bob,  whose  activities  are  covered 
so  much  in  newspapers  and  by  radio  news 
broadcasters,  it  has  been  quite  a  consola- 
tion, because  the  reports  are  not  always 
dependable,  particularly  those  of  the  "gos- 
sip" columnists.  When  he  first  started  in 
show  business  Bing  gave  me  a  promise  that 
you  can  call  a  good  "Mother's  Day"  pres- 
ent. He  said: 

"Mom,  pay  no  attention  to  what  you 
read  about  me  in  the  papers.  I'll  keep  you 
informed  of  anything  important.  If  it  says 
I'm  going  to  marry  Little  Orphan  Annie, 
broke  my  leg,  flew  around  the  world  or 
joined  the  Updike  Whittling  and  Tobacco 
Chewin'  Club — it  ain't  so  if  I  haven't 
written  you  about  it." 

And  it's  never  been  so.  Bing  is  prompt, 
methodical,  sticks  to  his  plans  and  sticks 
to  his  word.  If  he  goes  on  a  vacation  today 
and  tells  me  he  will  be  back  on  the  twenty- 
third  of  June,  for  instance,  I  can  depend 
on  it.  The  papers  may  report  that  he  has 
changed  his  plans,  that  he  is  flying  to  New 
York,  that  he  is  staying  longer,  but  on  the 
twenty-third  of  June,  Bing  is  back.  Neither 
of  us  even  mention  the  things  that  have 
been  said  in  the  paper.  He  didn't  write 
about  them.  They  never  happen. 

Any  mother  will  agree  that  this  sort  of 
dependability  is  a  fine,  year-'round  gift 
from  her  children.  Dependability  was  a 
necessity  in  our  house  with  seven  young- 
sters around  and  a  happy  life  only  possible 
if  everyone  followed  an  established  pattern 
of  family  routine.  The  older  children  had 
to  help  with  the  younger  ones  and  they 
had  to  try  and  not  be  an  expense  on  the 
family  purse.  When  their  clothes  and 
their  parties  became  an  item,  they  had  to 
seek  methods  of  earning  their  way  a  little 
to  help  out.  And  they  did.  When  it  comes 
to  Bing  he  had  a  quick,  early  understand- 
ing of  this  without  a  word  said  to  him. 

I  used  to  smile  at  the  popular  impression 
that  he  is  lazy,  careless  of  his  obligations, 
too  indifferent  to  work  hard.  Why  he 
wasn't  even  twelve  when  I  happened  to 
overhear  a  friend  of  his  suggest  that  Bing 
ask  me  for  money  to  go  to  a  show.  Bing 
demurred.  He  said  he  would  make  some 
money  on  an  after-school  job  the  next  day. 

"What's  the  difference?"  asked  the  other 
boy. 

"Oh,"  said  Bing,  "I  like  a  jingle  in  my 
pocket  that's  my  very  own." 

"Lazy?  When  he  decided  to  sing  with 
an  orchestra  that  some  of  the  local  boys 


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were  forming  it  was  necessary  that  he 
learn  to  play  an  instrument.  Since  the 
drummer  was  usually  the  singer  he  chose 
drums  too.  How  many  times  have  I  seen 
him  wrestling  with  his  big  drum  and  his 
hundred  and  one  traps  on  the  way  to  a 
dance,  and  coming  home  all  loaded  down 
with  them  and  so  sleepy  that  he  weaved 
back  and  forth. 

When  Bob  got  older  and  talked  about 
learning  an  instrument,  Bing  once  told 
him:  "Not  drums,  Bob.  Take  piano.  It's 
there  when  you  get  there." 

Drums  is  not  the  only  music  Bing 
studied.  He  was  never  a  half-way  fellow. 
When  he  started  to  sing  it  was  the  most 
natural  thing  in  the  world  to  seek  proper 
training.  The  world  likes  to  insist  that  he 
doesn't  know  one  note  from  another. 
People  come  up  to  him  today  and  tell  him 
that.  The  only  thing  left  for  him  is  to 
argue  differently  and  he  doesn't  argue. 
But,  if  I  have  to  say  it  in  a  small  voice  so 
as  not  to  disappoint  anyone,  Bing  took 
voice  as  a  youngster  from  a  teacher  who 
is  now  in  Hollywood  and  highly  regarded 
in  the  musical  world. 

"You  see,  Mom,"  explains  Bing,  "when 
they  talk  about  voice  training  they  mean 
study  in  Italy,  Paris  and  under  the  famous 
vocal  coaches  of  the  operatic  and  concert 
worlds." 

"But  how  could  you?"  I  demand.  "You 
had  to  earn  your  pay  all  the  time." 

"And  probably  a  very  good  thing,"  he 
replies.  "How  would  I  look  singing  opera 
opposite  some  of  our  heftier  sopranos?" 

Bing's  way  of  taking  things  easy  ac- 
counts for  much  of  the  wrong  conceptions 
about  him,  I  know.  That,  and  the  fact 
that  he  never  was  a  debater.  The  usual 
pictures  show  him  in  lounging  poses. 
Perhaps,  somebody  ought  to  take  a  movie 
of  Bing  walking  from  his  office  to  the 
studio  to  offset  these.  It  is  about  four 
miles  and  he  walks  it  often,  seeming  to 
be  taking  his  time,  but  covering  it  gen- 
erally in  about  an  hour. 

I  am  sure  every  mother  of  a  large  family 
will  agree  that  the  only  children  who  get 
particular  notice  are  those  who  sit  around 
and  get  under  one's  feet.  I  never  tripped 
over  Bing  as  a  child  or  found  him  in  my 
way  when  he  got  older.  He  was  up  and 
doing  all  the  time,  with  not  a  lazy  bone  in 
his  body.   That  is  a  permanent  Mother's 


Day  present  that  any  mother  of  a  lot  of 
youngsters  will  understand. 

Another  boon  to  such  a  mother  is  the 
child  who  isn't  always  requiring  help  or 
service.  My  children  were  brought  up  to 
"do  for  themselves,"  and  from  the  oldest 
to  the  youngest,  they  still  do.  Anyone  who 
works  with  Bing,  for  instance,  knows  that 
he  rarely  sends  or  asks  for  things.  He  just 
quietly  goes  and  gets  it  for  himself. 

Perhaps  this  is  why  I  have  never  re- 
ceived a  typewritten  letter  from  Bing — 
one  that  would  lead  to  suppose  that  his 
secretary  or  someone  else  wrote  it.  His 
letters  are  in  longhand,  written  by  himself, 
and  full  of  the  witty  and  interesting  things 
he  always  has  to  say  about  his  work  or 
play. 

But  there  is  one  popular  notion  about 
Bing  which  I  will  not  destroy;  his  dislike 
of  being  dressed  up.  That  he  was  born 
with  and  retains  today.  I  have  one 
"Mother's  Day"  memory  of  this  habit  I 
will  never  forget  ...  It  was  so  character- 
istic of  so  many  other  occurrences  like 
that  in  Bing's  life. 

He  was  about  three  and  a  half  years  old 
when  Mary  Rose  was  born,  and  after  that 
I  was  quite  ill  for  a  time.  Bing  was  wan- 
dering about  the  house  with  no  one  paying 
much  attention  to  him.  A  friend  who  was 
nursing  me  finally  decided  to  dress  him 
up  nicely  and  send  him  to  my  sister  whose 
home  was  only  a  few  blocks  away. 

When  he  was  all  shined  and  spruced  up 
she  started  him  off  and  phoned  my  sister 
that  he  was  coming.  Bing  walked  to  his 
aunt's  home  faithfully — but  in  the  gutter 
all  the  way,  and  managing  to  tumble  about 
in  the  dirt  as  well. 

My  sister  had  no  idea  of  what  he  had 
done  and  was  surprised  that  we  would  let 
a  child  out  in  the  street  in  such  a  filthy 
condition.  She  bathed  him,  put  him  in  bed 
for  a  nap,  and  had  his  clothes  cleaned  and 
dried  by  the  time  he  was  ready  to  go  home. 
Bing  walked  all  the  way  home — once 
again  in  the  gutter  and  once  again  a  sight 
when  he  toddled  into  the  house. 

Now  we  were  surprised  at  my  sister. 
How  could  she  let  him  get  that  way?  Not 
till  we  all  got  together  and  questioned 
Bing  in  the  bargain  did  we  get  to  the 
truth. 

He  just  never  liked  starch  and  fuss  and 
frills.  He  still  doesn't. 


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I'M  JUNE'S  GUARDIAN  ANGEL 

{Continued  from  page  59) 


with  periods  of  hitting  every  shindig  in 
town,  and  fortunately  the  identical  mood 
seems  to  hit  them  at  the  identical  time. 

Here's  a  week  from  June's  date  pad. 

Sunday:  Golf  with  the  Sidney  Lanfields 
and  the  Ben  Hogans.  Home  in  the  evening. 

Monday:  Fitting  for  slacks.  Lunch  at 
the  studio  with  Chuck  Walters,  director  of 
Good  News.   Home  in  the  evening. 

Tuesday:  Tests  all  day  for  Three  Mus 
keteers.    Evening  preview  of  The  Bride 
Goes  Wild  in  Huntington  Park. 

Wednesday:  Dentist.  Lunch  with  Joan 
Crawford.  Dinner  at  home  with  the  Rob- 
ert Montgomerys  and  the  Tony  Owens. 

Thursday:  Discussion  with  Jane  Loring 
about  Three  Musketeers.  Don  Loper 
fashion  show.   Home  in  the  evening. 

Friday:  Visit  Benny  Thau  at  the  hospi- 
tal. Visit  Richard  on  the  set  of  Pitfall 
Home  in  the  evening. 

Saturday:  Start  Three  Musketeers,  work 
all  day.  Attend  Joan  Crawford's  party  for 
Noel  Coward. 

A  happy  medium  sort  of  week. 

June  likes  sports,  and  she's  a  maniac 
about  football.  I  went  to  a  game  w^k  her 
last  fall,  and  she  jumped  up  and  down  so 
much  she  fell  and  tore  her  stockings  and 
made  her  knees  bleed. 

"You  must  have  had  a  grand  time," 
Richard  said  drily,  after  she'd  come  home 
all  bruised  and  battered. 

She  looked  at  him,  so  bland  and  inno- 
cent. "They  put  me  in  the  game  in  the 
last  quarter.   Too  bad  you  missed  it." 

That's  my  boss.  When  she's  fond  of  you, 
she'll  make  you  a  grilled  ham  and  cheese 
sandwich  and  you  have  to  act  like  she's 
handing  you  war  bonds;  those  sandwiches 
are  a  specialty. 

And  if  she's  feeling  particularly  domes- 
tic, she'll  get  out  those  pesky  curtains. 

Oh,  those  curtains.  The  Powells  have 
fifteen  kitchen  windows — count  'em,  fif- 
teen— and  Mrs.  Powell  has  to  decide  to 
make  the  curtains  herself.  She  could  live 
in  the  curtains  if  she  wanted  to,  I  had  to 
get  so  much  material.  It's  heavy  white 
pique,  and  supposedly  all  fifteen  curtains 
will  be  trimmed  with  very  wide  red  rick- 
rack,  if  we  find  the  right  rickrack. 

As  it  is,  she's  still  on  the  pique  kick. 
She  sits  there  stabbing  herself  with  the 
needle,  the  picture  of  incompetence,  and 
Richard  says,  "My  little  woman,"  and  I 
say,  "My  little  boss,"  and  June  acts  injured. 

"You  wait,"  she  says.    "You  just  wait." 

So  we're  waiting.  And  it  couldn't  be  for 
a  nicer  kid. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

My  buddy  and  I 
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108 


PETER 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


teaching  him  Scripture,  but  once  he  was 
old  enough  to  read,  I  got  him  a  Bible  of 
his  own. 

"Do  you  see  this  fat  book?"  I  said.  "This 
is  a  guide  book." 

He  wanted  to  know  what  kind  pi  guide 
book. 

"It  is  a  guide  book  for  your  life  to  come, 
and  everything  in  that  life  that  you  want 
to  know.  The  language  is  old,  and  different 
from  ours,  but—" 

"I  don't  understand,"  Peter  said. 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you  know  I  only  give 
you  meat  once  a  week — " 

"Is  that  in  the  guide  book?" 

I  turned  up  Genesis  for  him,  and  showed 
him  the  portion  about  eating  the  "fruits  of 
the  earth."  "Whenever  you  are  miserable, 
Peter,  look  in  this  book,  put  the  words  into 
your  own  language.  If  you're  ever  per- 
plexed, apply  the  rules  you  find  here — " 

Peter  has  profited  from  that  early  teach- 
ing. He  puts  himself  automatically  ki 
everyone  else's  place;  he  is  kind,  he  is 
dependable. 

Of  course,  I  was  lucky;  I  had  only  the 
one  child  to  train,  and  plenty  of  time.  If 
a  woman  had  ten  children,  she  couldn't  do 
it. 

And  speaking  of  the  Bible,  and  faith, 
reminds  me  of  a  strange  instance,  long 
ago.  For  four  years,  as  a  tiny  child,  Peter 
suffered  from  hay  fever  to  the  point 
where  he  cried  every  time  he  saw  flowers. 

hay  fever  blues  .  .  . 

I  was  at  a  party  one  evening,  and  I  met 
a  friend  who  said,  "You  seem  to  be  wor- 
ried." 

"Worried?"  I  said.  "I'm  frantic.  I  have 
the  sweetest  little  boy  you've  ever  seen, 
-but  he  sits  at  home  and  cries,  and  won't 
go  out  of  the  house."  And  then  I  told  the 
girl  the  reason  why. 

She  suggested  Christian  Science,  and  I 
thought,  why  not?  We  had  tried  all  the 
medicines,  and  all  the  doctors. 

Nothing  did  any  good,  so  I  sent  him  to  a 
Christian  Science  practitioner.  One  after- 
noon several  weeks  later  he  came  into  the 
house  with  an  enormous  bunch  of  pinks. 

He'd  been  out  with  the  nurse,  and  I  was 
furious.  "What  a  fool  that  woman  is!"  I 
thought.  "The  child  will  be  hysterical 
tonight." 

Peter  noticed  my  distress,  and  smiled  at 
me.  "It's  all  right,  Mother,"  he  said.  "We've 
trodden  on  the  devil.  He  doesn't  dare 
come  in  these  pinks." 

It  was  completely  beyond  my  under- 
standing. 

We  put  the  flowers  in  a  vase — it  was  the 
first  time  we'd  had  flowers  in  the  house 
for  years — and  when  Sir  Sidney  came 
home,  he  turned  on  me  reproachfully.  "Do 
you  call  that  being  considerate?"  he  asked 
me.  He  could  scarcely  believe  my  news. 
But  Peter  has  never  had  hay  fever  since 
that  time. 

Peter  is,  I  believe,  instinctively  good. 
In  later  years,  I  have  "loosed  him  and  let 
him  go,"  as  the  Bible  says,  and  without  any 
fear  of  his.  turning  on  me.  I  never  worry 
about  his  choice  of  companions.  He  knows, 
and  marvelously  well,  how  to  deal  with 
people. 

'One  foggy  evening,  some  weeks  ago, 
Peter  was  startled  as  he  drove  up  to  the  j 
house  to  find  two  damp  and  shivering  fig- 
ures huddled  on  the  doorstep.  Closer  in- 
spection proved  them  to  be  teen-agers  who 
had  been  waiting  for  hours  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  him.  After  bringing  the  young- 
sters into  the  house,  Peter  left  the  lectur- 
ing to  me  while  he  telephoned  their  ? 
parents,  who,  at  that  point,  were  frantic.  ' 


He  then  bundled  them  into  his  car  and 
drove  them  home— but  not  before  each  of 
them  drank  a  cup  of  steaming  chocolate. 

Peter  is  a  completely  normal  person.  He 
likes  to  dance,  he  likes  nice  clothes,  he 
likes  to  look  at  flowers  in  the  garden, 
though  he  knows  very  little  about  them. 
Like  any  man,  he  can't  find  anything  un- 
less it's  dangling  from  the  end  of  his  nose. 
And  these  days,  his  nose  is  always  buried 
in  that  leather-covered  book.  That  script 
of  Julia  Misbehaves.  It  seems  to  take  the 
dickens  of  a  lot  of  study. 

Peter's  neatness  is  an  obsession;  if  one 
coat  is  out  of  order  in  his  closet,  he  notices, 
and  since  our  French  maid  panders  to  him, 
he  is  spoiled. 

He  never  walks  (in  America,  I'm  certain 
the  next  generation  is  going  to  be  born 
without  legs)  but  he  does  work  out  in  a 
gymnasium,  when  he  gets  an  hour  off. 

And  while  he  may  have  excellent  taste 
in  decorating  modern  interiors,  I  rue  the 
day  I  listened  to  him  concerning  my  old 
treasures. 

Most  of  our  things  were  in  England,  of 
course,  and  it  seemed  logical  to  Peter  that 
we  should  sell  them  there,  rather  than 
bring  the  lot  over  here.  I  let  14  Persian 
carpets  go  for  $400,  and  then  I  felt  terrible. 

There  were  a  few  articles  I  could  not 
bear  to  part  from,  so  we  did  have  some 
boxes  sent.  In  the  shipment  were  two 
tall-legged  tables,  Ming  period,  from  the 
Empress  of  China's  summer  palace,  and 
there  was  also  a  Ming  vase. 

When  they  came,  Peter  sniffed  haughtily. 
"Send  them  to  auction,  or  junk  them." 

I  was  considering  these  courses  of  action, 
when  the  appraiser  for  the  insurance  com- 
pany showed  up.  "The  tables  are  worth 
$3000  minimum,  the  pair,"  he  said.  "The 
vase,  $3500." 

My  son  simply  said,  "Hmm.  I  didn't 
know  we  had  all  that  junk." 

Among  the  boxes,  Peter  found  a  picture 
of  me  when  I  was  seventeen,  and  needless 
to  say,  he  didn't  recognize  me. 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "that's  a  very 
good-looking  girl." 

I  was  never  pretty;  I  don't  kid  myself, 
but  I  did  enjoy  that  comment. 

The  painting  from  England  that  thrilled 
me,  though,  was  one  of  my  husband,  done 
many  years  ago.  "That's  my  idea  of  a 
good-looking  man,"  I  remember  telling 
Peter.  Peter's  sweet,  but  he'll  never  look 
like  that. 

When  Peter  entertains,  it's  on  a  modest 
scale.  Occasionally,  he  has  a  cocktail  party; 
most  of  his  parties  are  held,  though,  when 
I  am  out,  or  in  bed. 

He  and  a  few  of  his  friends  will  come 
back  after  the  movies,  or  the  fights,  and 
there'll  be  beer  and  cokes  in  the  icebox, 
and  cake  and  cookies.  The  doors  can  be 
shut  off  between  the  two  ends  of  the  house, 
and  Sir  Sidney  and  I  never  hear  the  noise 


at  all.  Our  only  stipulation  is  that  the 
young  people  must  clean  up,  and  they're 
good  about  that.  When  I  get  up  in  the 
morning,  to  make  breakfast,  there's  not  a 
crumb  out  of  place. 

Peter  gave  a  little  farewell  party  after 
Good  News,  for  some  of  his  friends  in 
the  cast,  last  year.   I  shall  never  forget  it. 

It  seems  he  invited  a  couple  and  they 
arrived  with  their  baby.  (My  husband  and 
I  knew  nothing  of  this,  we  having  retired 
early.) 

At  twelve  o'clock  I  heard  screams,  and 
I  shook  Sir  Sidney. 

"What  do  you  hear?" 

"Terrible  shrieks  from  Peter's  room," 
he  said. 

I  rushed  to  Peter's  room,  and  found  an 
infant.  I  got  Peter  on  the  phone  exten- 
sion. "Come  and  remove  this  child,"  I 
said. 

He  came  running.  "Poor  little  thing,"  he 
said,  picking  the  baby  up  in  his  arms.  "So 
frightened." 

-  "Poor  little  thing!"  I  said.  "Where  did  it 
come  from?" 

The  next  morning,  Peter  was  terribly 
apologetic.  "I'm  sorry  you  were  disturbed, 
but  if  your  friends  bring  their  baby,  what 
do  you  do  with  it?" 

He  loves  children;  they  fascinate  him. 
When  he  was  a  little  boy  in  Honolulu,  he 
once  stole  a  baby! 

It  was  twelve  years  ago  (we'd  been 
there  for  a  year,  in  a  hotel  cottage,  and 
Peter  had  lived  mostly  in  the  water). 

Honolulu  in  the  early  morning  is  Para- 
dise. It's  beautiful.  You're  afraid  to  stay 
over  a  year,  because  the  Island  gets  you. 

Anyhow,  this  particular  morning,  I'd 
been  dreaming  about  Peter  as  a  tiny  boy. 
I  opened  my  eyes, .  and  on  the  bottom  of 
the  bed  there  was  a  little  two-year-old 
baby. 

I  touched  Sir  Sidney  in  the  next  bed. 
"Look,  look!" 

He  sat  bolt  upright.  "Good  heavens," 
he  said.   "Where  did  you  get  it?" 

"I  didn't  get  it!"  I  told  him  sharply. 
"Somebody  put  it  there  during  the  night." 

We  heard  a  great  shouting  outside,  and 
then  some  Hawaiians,  and  a  woman's  voice 
speaking  English.    She  sounded  alarmed. 

I  went  out  in  my  night-dress  with  the 
baby.  "Does  this  by  any  chance  belong 
to  you?" 

The  woman — she  lived  in  the  next  cot- 
tage—almost fainted  with  relief.  I  found 
out  later  that  the  Hawaiian  nurse  had  left 
the  child  in  the  play-pen  in  the  early 
morning,  and  Peter  had  thought  he  would 
like  it.  When  he  decided  to  go  for  a  swim, 
he'd  left  it  on  my  bed. 

I  scolded  him  about  it,  but  he  looked  at 
me  innocently.  "I  didn't  steal  it,  Mother. 
I  borrowed  it,"  he  said. 

That  was — that  is — my  son,  Peter. 
There's  no  one  else  quite  like  him. 


CLOSE-UP — BY  NORBERT  LUSK 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


Charleston,  and  the  Black  Bottom.  My 
disapproval  of  her  persisted.  From  time  to 
time  I  heard  that  she  cried  because  of 
my  harsh  judgments.  She  was  known  for 
her  easy  tears,  and  I  didn't  care  if  I 
caused  her  to  weep  some  more. 

Seven  years  later,  I  met  Joan  Crawford 
again.  Then  she  was  truly  famous,  darling 
of  the  fans,  box-office  plus.  Newspapers 
reported  a  near-riot  on  her  arrival  at 
Grand  Central  Station.  I  was  invited  to 
a  Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  party  for  her, 
and  I  went.  From  a  distance  I  saw  her,  a 
gaunt,  white-faced  celebrity  bearing  no 
resemblance  to  the  shallow,  plumpish  girl 
of  other  years. 


I  went  over  to  her,  we  sat  for  a  moment, 
and  talked  of  pictures  other  than  her  own. 
Then  she  was  called  away.  That  brief  en- 
counter was  a  milestone  for  me.  I  knew 
that  even  if  I  never  saw  Joan-  Crawford 
again  I  had  come  face  to  face  with  one 
of  my  ideals.  The  understanding  and  com- 
passion in  her  eyes,  the  simplicity  of  her 
gestures — they  belonged  to  a  star  who  was 
first  of  all  a  woman,  and  a  woman  with  a 
troubled  soul  and  a  mothering  heart. 

I  felt  she  must  not  go  back  to  Hollywood 
without  hearing  what  I  had  to  say,  so  I 
wrote  to  her.  "Too  long  have  I  been  a  blind 
black  sheep,"  I  said.  "Now  I  want  to  be 
a  white  sheep  and  follow  you  with  eyes 


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wide  open."  Immediately  came  a  reply,  and 
presently  we  were  together  for  a  long 
talk. 

Being  alone  with  Joan  Crawford  wasn't 
difficult.  She  held  no  grudge,  though  she 
herself  admitted  she  was  every  inch  the 
turbulent,  dramatic  actress  given  to  tears 
upon  reading  adverse  reviews  and  sar- 
castic comment.  Moreover  she  remem- 
bered every  item  of  disparagement  or 
praise,  with  quotes.  That  day  Joan  and  I 
parted  as  friends  between  whom  there  was 
an  understanding  that  went  beyond  words. 
Soon  came  the  first  of  hundreds  of  letters 
and  none  more  revealing  than  this: 

"Dear  Norbert  Lusk:  Since  I  can't  have 
you  knighted,  I've  seen  to  it  that  you  shall 
have  saint  in  front  of  your  name  when 
you  go  to  Heaven. 

What  I  am  about  to  say  comes  from  my 
heart.  I  want  you  to  believe  that. 

I  wanted  us  to  be  friends,  you  and  me. 
For  a  long  time  I've  wanted  that.  Because 
as  I  told  you,  you  have  no  enemies,  so 
whatever  stood  in  the  way  of  our  under- 
standing each  other  was  on  my  side. 

Please  believe  me  when  I  say  I  wanted 
your  friendship  for  its  own  sake,  and  not 
for  what  you  could  do  for  me  in  your 
magazine.  I  wanted  terribly  for  you  to 
know  that,  and  now  we  shall  never  men- 
tion it  again. 

My  heart  is  so  full  of  gratitude  and 
warmth!  I've  tried  to  write  and  thank 
you  dozens  of  times,  and  I  couldn't.  I  can 
only  say  that  your  opinion  means  so  much 
to  me,  that  with  your  friendship  and  let- 
ters I  want  to  work  harder  than  I've  ever 
worked.  I  want  you  to  be  so  very  proud  of 

Joan 

a  friend,  indeed  .  .  . 

Thirteen  years  have  passed  since  that 
letter,  and  I  have  come  to  know  Joan 
Crawford  very  well  indeed.  She  has  seen 
to  it  that  ours  is  an  absorbing  friendship, 
and  not  a  casual  one.  It  would  be  impos- 
sible for  her  to  be  casual  in  any  relation- 
ship, any  expression  of  herself  whatsoever. 

Perhaps  it  is  with  her  children  that  the 
full  force  of  her  character  is  most  evident. 

One  Christmas  Eve  I  said  to  Christina, 
who  was  8  then,  that  I'd  heard  she'd 
learned  to  play  the  piano  since  I'd  last 
seen  her,  and  would  she  please  play  for 
me?  She  got  a  fit  of  shyness,  and  said  she 
had  forgotten.  I  refused  to  believe  that  and 
told  her  so.  She  grew  more  shy  and  self- 
conscious  and  said,  "I  can't!"  Joan,  knit- 
ting as  usual,  took  in  every  word  until, 
annoyed  but  controlled,  she  said  -very 
sweetly:  "Don't  say  you  can't.  Don't  say 
you  can't  do  ana/thing.  Try!" 

Christina  was  obdurate.  Joan's  temper 
was  rising,  and  I  was  interested  in  seeing 
how  she  would  handle  the  situation.  "Let's 
go  to  the  piano  and  try,"  she  said.  The  child 
slowly  followed.  "But,  mother,  I  tell  you 
I've  forgotten,"  she  whimpered.  "You 
haven't  forgotten  this,"  insisted  Joan,  strik- 
ing a  note,  "nor  this,"  sounding  another. 
"Remember?"  By  now  Christina  had  her 
hands  on  the  keyboard  and  slowly,  tenta- 
tively played  "Silent  Night." 

After  dinner  Christopher  wanted  to  put 
out  candles  as  he  had  seen  grown-ups  do, 
snuffing  them  with  his  palm.  With  boyish 
bravado,  he  said  he  was  sure  he  could. 
Christina  said  she  was  afraid,  though.  Joan 
showed  them  both  how  easily  it  could  be 
done  if  you  acted  quickly.  The  boy  grinned 
delightedly  as  he  made  jabs  at  the  candle, 
but  the  girl  still  said  she  was  afraid,  and 
drew  her  hands  back,  tears  in  her  eyes. 

Again  Joan  took  charge.  "Be  afraid  of 
nothing,  Christina."  The  scene  at  the  piano 
was  repeated,  with  the  same  patience,  fix- 
ity of  purpose.  And  with  the  same  trium- 
phant ending  for  all  three. 

These  significant  little  episodes  took 
110  place  at  the  secluded  house  at  Mt.  Kisco, 


37  miles  from  New  York,  that  Joan  had 
rented  for  the  children  for  her  six  weeks' 
stay  in  the  city.  She  maintains  a  spacious 
apartment  overlooking  the  East  River  the 
year  round  for  her  occasional  visits,  but 
she'd  decided  the  children  should  have  a 
place  of  their  own  where  they  could  be 
out  of  doors  in  the  snow  she  had  prom- 
ised them  without  interference  of  inter- 
viewers and  photographers. 

Joan  is  a  maniac  housekeeper,  a  per- 
fectionist. Even  the  fringe  on  rugs  seem- 
ingly is  combed  every  day.  I  have  seen  her  , 
vexed  to  tears  over  a  trifle.  As,  for  ex- 
ample, kidney  beans. 

She  had  invited  me  and  a  couple  of 
others  to  what  she  said  would  be  a  light 
supper  so  we  could  catch  an  early  show  at 
Radio  City  Music  Hall.  Beans  heated, 
seasoned  and  mixed  with  chopped  green 
pepper  would  be  the  hot  dish,  with  salad 
and  dessert,  to  follow.  But  horrors!  The 
beans  were  served  as  a  salad  mixed  with 


she  was  meant 

for  us 

that's  why  she's 

our  june  cover- 

girl — 

jeanne  crain — 

modern  screen 

on  sale 

may  7 

other  vegetables.  "But  this  isn't  what  I 
asked  for,"  said  our  hostess  to  the  tempo- 
rary butler.  "I  wanted  them  hot,  a  very 
simple  thing  for  any  cook  to  do,  isn't  it?" 
She  was  so  annoyed  that  tears  came. 

That  night,  Dick  Leibert,  organist  of  the 
Music  Hall,  who'd  been  told  she  was  com- 
ing, played  a  favorite  air  of  hers  as  a 
welcome.  She  was  as  pleased  as  she  had 
been  vexed  before,  and  the  picture,  Our 
Town,  caused  her  to  weep  copiously  as 
she  sobbed  that  it  was  the  most  beautiful 
picture  she  had  ever  seen.  Fans  were 
waiting  for  her  as  we  came  out,  they  fol- 
lowed her  to  Fifth  Avenue.  "Hey,  Joan," 
yelled  a  passing  taxi  driver,  "don't  you 
ever  take  a  cab?" 

"Sure  I  do,"  she  yelled  back,  "But  there 
isn't  one  big  enough  for  us  all." 

Joan's  organized  energy  is  astounding. 
At  Christmas  time,  she  wraps  presents 
elaborately,  professionally,  till  the  room  in 
which  she  is  working  looks  like  the  interior 
of  a  shop.  A  present  from  Joan  Crawford 
is  something  to  see  regardless  of  what  is 
inside.  "But  it  wouldn't  be  Christmas  if 
I  didn't  do  it  all  myself,"  she  explains. 

"Angel  Queen,  where  does  it  all  come 
from — this  inexhaustible  furious  energy? 
From  God?"  I  ask. 

"Yes,"  she  answers  very  low. 

Getting  back  to  Joan's  housekeeping, 
which  I  really  believe  is  an  obsession,  she 
does  not  always  think  in  terms  of  canned 
beans.  When  all  is  running  smoothly,  as  in 
Hollywood,  she  sees  to  it  that  meals  are 
perfect.  Her  lovely  dining  room  is  walled 
with  hand-painted  flower  panels  under 
glass,  her  hot  plates  are  really  hot,  and 
cold  ones  icy.  The  table  gleams  with  silver, 
mostly  of  Swedish  design,  and  candles  are 
everywhere.  She  likes  place  cards  and 
individual  hand-written  menus  on  little 


silver  stands.  If  she  offers  roast  lamb,  it  i 
accompanied  by  three  sauceboats  contain 
ing  gravy,  currant  jelly  and  mint.  On  salad 
you  have  your  choice  of  mayonnaise 
French,  Russian  or  roquefort  cheese  dress 
ing.  Her  favorite  cake,  angel  food,  is  dec 
orated  with  spirals  of  whipped  cream,  eac 
rosette  covered  with  a  fresh  violet. 

As  might  be  expected  of  so  vital  and  out 
giving  an  actress,  her  emotions  are  easil 
roused,  her  feeling  for  the  dramatic  un 
curbed.   Take  the  incident  of  the  black 
cocker  spaniel  named  Inky. 

Joan  had  heard  that  a  cherished  dog  of 
mine  had  died.  She  telephoned  and  asked 
me  to  dinner.  I  went  to  her  house,  some 
one  ushered  me  into  a  small  reception 
room  and  closed  the  door.  The  only  other 
occupant  of  the  room  was  a  little  blac 
cocker  spaniel  with  a  huge  pink  bow. 
thought  him  a  dog  of  Joan's  that  I'd  not 
met,  till  I  saw  an  envelope  attached  to  his 
ribbon  addressed  to  me. 

Then  Angel  Queen  appeared  in  the 
doorway  glittering  but  tender.  "Are  you 
friends  yet?"  she  asked.  "It  will  be  hard 
for  you  at  first  but  oh!  so  much  better  in 
the  end.  Because,  you  see,  you  and  Inky 
were  meant  to  be  together.  I  knew  that 
as  soon  as  I  saw  him.  And,"  she  added 
gayly,  "I've  washed  him  myself  with  Mary 
Chess's  bath  oil.  White  lilac.  He  didn't 
smell  very  nice  when  I  got  him." 

"This  is  all  so  dramatic,"  I  said.  "Theyll 
can  take  everything  away  from  me  and  I'l« 
still  be  dramatic,"  she  said  with  truth. 

As  might  be  expected,  Joan  places  a  high 
sentimental  value  on  anything .  done  for 
her.  Give  her  but  one  white  camellia  and 
like  as  not  tears  will  come  "because  it  is 
so  beautiful"  and  she  will  later  press  it 
between  the  leaves  of  a  book  for  a  keep- 
sake. 

charmed  circle  .  .  . 

While  she  makes  a  cult  of  friendship, 
she  holds  her  friends  too.  In  1931,  she  and 
Helen  Hayes  became  acquainted  while  the 
latter  was  making  The  Sin  of  Madelon 
Claudet  at  Joan's  studio.  And  also  with 
Alfred  Lunt  and  Lynn  Fontanne  when  they 
were  filming  The  Guardsman  the  same 
year.   Today  one  notices  a  pair  of  baby 
skis  addressed  -  by  Miss  Hayes  to  Chris 
topher  under  the  Yuletide  tree.  Before  the 
evening  is  over,  the  Lunts  are  likely  to 
long-distance  affectionate  greetings  from 
wherever  they  happen  to  be.   It  is  tru 
that  no  one  would  willingly  let  these  fa 
mous,  charming  people  slip  outside  one' 
circle,  but  what  about  persons  of  whom 
you  have  never  heard  before  you  mee 
them  at  Joan's?  You  learn  they  date  from 
her  distant  past,  come  from  all  social  levels 

As  I  see  her,  she  is  an  actress  born,  no 
made.   And  she  passionately  loves  being 
an  actress.    "I'm  never  completely  func 
tioning    until    the    lights    are    on,  tha 
cameras  turning  and  I'm  acting,"  she  says. 
She  never  spoke  a  truer  word. 

Recently  a  friend  who  has  known  her 
since  her  first  day  with  Metro-Goldwyn- 
Mayer  in  1926  described  an  evening  with 
her:  "Joan  looks  wonderful,  she  now  has 
four  adopted  children,  we  saw  two  movies 
in  her  own  theater,  the  phone  rang  a  lot, 
scripts  arrived,  dinner  was  superb,  we 
toured  the  house  which  has  grown  as  Joan 
has  grown,  and  is  very  beautiful.  She's 
still  the  glamour  queen,  colorful,  tender- 
hearted, fiery,  happy,  sad,  the  one  and  only 
Crawford.  The  last  of  the  stars  with  th 
sweep  and  magnificence  that  many  used  t 
have. 

To  me  (rather  than  the  glamor  queen 
described — though  I  like  that  side  of  he  : 
too)  she  shines  as  a  friend,  consistent,  un- 
faltering. She  is  compensation  for  all  tha 
I  have  missed  in  other  stars,  consolatioi 
for  what  I  have  missed  in  myself.  Sob- 
erly I  call  her  Angel  Queen,  because  she 
has  been  that  to  me  for  thirteen  years. 


—  with  Maybelline 


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Smart,  modern  girls  and  women  are  realizing  that  made-up 
lips  make  neglected  eyes  appear  dull  and  drab  by  contrast. 

It's  so  easy  to  give  your  eyes  their  full  share  of  beauty- 
magic — with  MAYBELLINE  !  A  few  simple  brush  strokes  of 
this  famous  Mascara  will  make  your  lashes  look  naturally  dark, 
long  and  luxuriant.  And  it's  so  easy  to  shape  your  brows 
gracefully  with  the  soft,  smooth  Maybelline  Eyebrow  Pencil. 
Then  behold  the  difference!  Your  eyes  are  so  much  lovelier! 
Your  entire  face  is  more  attractive,  for  your  make-up  is  per- 
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So  never,  never  forget  to  accent  your  eyes,  daytime  or 
evening.  Only  be  sure  you  use  MAYBELLINE,  the  eye  make- 
up in  good  taste  —  preferred  by  smart  women  everywhere. 


WORLDS     FAVORITE     EYE  MAKE-UP 


STAN  MUSIAL 


Copyright  1948,  Liggett  &  Myers  Tobacco  Co. 


BLACKWELL 

CINCINNATI  REDS 


Chesterfield 


lie  Loves  of  Rita  Way  worth  by  Dorothy  Kily  alien 


scrBfin 


I 


What  a  wonderful,  glamorous  feeling — to  know 
you're  always  flower -fresh  and  talc- tempting! 
You'll  be  so  proud  when  he  whispers,  "Darling, 
you're  as  beautiful  as  a  bouquet  of  lilacs  ...  as 
velvet-smooth  as  a  gardenia!"  Yes,  Lander's  ex- 
citing Flower  Talcs  keep  you  definitely  dainty 
. . .  definitely  dangerous !  Gardenia  and  Sweet 
Pea,  Spicy  Apple  Blossom,  Lilac  and  Roses  . . . 
use  them  tonight,  if  you  want  to  be  the  only 
one  in  his  heart! 


THE  LANDER  CO.,  FIFTH  AVENUE,  N.  Y. 


S^ovvt  it  oil  twwlml-afc 


Clinch  that  bath-freshness  now— lest  your 
charm  and  chums  fade  away! 

THAT  HEAVENLY  bath!  You  feel  radiant... 
desirable.  Yet,  before  the  evening's  over, 
Cookie— you  may  be  guilty  of  underarm  odor. 
And  if  daintiness  deserts  you— men  may,  too. 

So  be  a  Mum  girl.  After  your  bath  washes 
away  past  perspiration,  give  underarms  Mum's 
special  protection  against  risk  of  odor  to  come. 


-  |i/idt  |ki 


urn 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


Safer  for  charm -Mum  checks  perspiration 
odor,  protects  your  daintiness  all  day  or  all  eve- 
ning. 

Safer  for  skin— Because  Mum  contains  no  harsh 
or  irritating  ingredients.  Snow-white  Mum  is 
gentle— harmless  to  skin. 

Safer  for  clothes  — No  damaging  ingredients 
in  Mum  to  rot  or  discolor  fine  fabrics.  Economi- 
cal Mum  doesn't  dry  out  in  the  jar.  Quick,  easy 
to  use,  even  after  you're  dressed. 


Advertisement 
*         ★         ★         ★  * 

Don't  be 
Half -safe! 


by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 


At  the  first  blush  of  womanhood  many  mys- 
terious changes  take  place  in  your  body.  For 
instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under  your 
arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type  of  perspi- 
ration you  have  never  known  before.  This  is 
closely  related  to  physical  development  and 
causes  an  unpleasant  odor  on  both  your  per- 
son and  your  clothes. 

There  is  nothing  "wrong"  with  you.  It's  just 
another  sign  you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a 
girl  ...  so  now  you  must  keep  yourself  safe 
with  a  truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers— Underarm  odor  is  a  real  handi- 
cap at  this  romantic  age,  and  the  new  cream 
deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially  to  over- 
come this  very  difficulty.  It  kills  this  odor 
on  contact  in  2  seconds,  then  by  antiseptic 
action  prevents  the  formation  of  all  odor  for 
48  hours  and  keeps  you  shower-bath  fresh. 
It  also  stops  perspiration  and  so  protects 
against  a  second  danger— perspiration  stains. 
Since  physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  can  now  cause  your  apocrine  glands 
to  fairly  gush  perspiration,  a  dance,  a  date, 
an  embarrassing  remark  may  easily  make 
you  perspire  and  offend,  or  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  are  not  alike  — so  remember 
—  no  other  deodorant  tested  stops  perspira- 
tion and  odor  so  completely  yet  so  safely  as 
new  Arrid.  Its  safety  has  been  proved  by 
doctors.  That's  why  girls  your  age  buy  more 
Arrid  than  any  other  age  group.  In  fact,  more 
men  and  women  everywhere  use  Arrid  than 
any  other  deodorant.  It's  antiseptic,  used  by 
117,000  nurses. 

Intimate  protection  is  needed  —  so  protect 
yourself  with  this  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears.  This  new  Arrid, 
with  the  amazing  new  ingredient  Creamogen, 
will  not  crystallize  or  dry  out  in  the  jar.  The 
American  Laundering  Institute  has  awarded 
Arrid  its  Approval  Seal— harmless  to  fabrics. 
Arrid  is  safe  for  the  skin— non-irritating— can 
be  used  right  after  shaving. 

Don't  be  half-safe.  During  this  "age  of  ro- 
mance" don't  let  perspiration  problems  spoil 
your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe  —  be  Arrid-safe ! 
Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get  Arrid  now  at  your 
favorite  drug  counter  —  only  39^  plus  tax. 


★        ★        ★        ★  ★ 


JUNE,  1948 


modern  screen 


stories 

HER  HEART  STOOD  STILL  (Loretta  Young)  by  Louis  Pollock  12 

CROWNING  MOMENT  (Ronald  Colman)  by  Prince  Michael  Romanoff  14 

IS  THE  LADY  A  HAS-BEEN?  (Greer  Garson)  by  Erskine  Johnson  27 

LIFE  BEGINS  AT  6:30  by  Glenn  Ford  28 

VIRTUE  PAYS  (Betty  Grable)  by  Hedda  Hopper  30 

LOVES  OF  RITA  (Rita  Hayworth)...  by  Dorothy  Kilgallen  32 

DOUBLE  LIFE  (Valli)  by  Inez  Robb  36 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  BOB  WALKER  by  Florabel  Muir  38 

SUSIE'S  DAY  OUT  (Alan  Ladd)   40 

THE  HOUSE  THEY  LIVE  IN  (Jeanette  MacDonald-Gene  Raymond) 

by  Helen  Ferguson  44 

OH,  THAT  ALICE!  (Alice  Faye)  by  Phil  Harris  48 

ALL  THE  THINGS  YOU  ARE  (Jeanne  Crain)  by  Paul  Brinkman  50 

JACKPOT!  (Jean  Peters)   52 

THE  GOOD  LIFE  (Susan  Peters)  by  Ida  Zeitlin  56 

PICTURES  OF  MOTHER  (Irene  Dunne)  by  Mary  Frances  Griffin  58 

YOU'RE  WELCOME  AT  CIRO'S  IF  .  .  .  (Kathryn  Grayson-Johnnie  Johnston) 

by  Herman  Hover  60 

"OR  WOULD  YOU  RATHER  BE  A  FISH?"  by  Ann  Blyth  64 


features 

TO  OUR  READERS   4 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons  6 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "Mr.  Blandings  Builds  His  Dream  House"   24 


departments 

REVIEWS....:  by  Virginia  Wilson  16 

FASHION  by  Constance  Bartel  73 

THE  FANS  by  Shirley  Frohlich  85 

INFORMATION  DESK  by  Beverly  Linet  96 

MUSIC  :J.'Sweet  and  Hot"      »  by  Leonard  Feather  98 

COVER  PORTRAIT  OF  JEANNE  CRAIN 
BY  L.  WILLINGER 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor  HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
ISABEL  SCHLEYEN,  assistant  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  information  desk 
CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 

GUS  GALE,  staff  photographer 

BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 

DON  ORNITZ,  staff  photographer 

BERT  PARRY,  n.  y.  staff  photographer 

JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 

GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 

IRENE  TURNER,  research  editor 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  un- 
der Label  Form  3579  to  261  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 

Vol.  37,  No.  1,  June,  1948.  Copyright,  1948,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  261  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in 
U.  S.  A.  and  Canada  $1.80  a  year;  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930, 
at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for 
the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


METRO -GOLDWYN-MAYER 
LIBERTY  FILMS 


FRANK  CAPRA'S 


STATE  OFTH 


Based  on  the  Play  by  Howard  Lindsay  and  Russel  Crouse 
Screen  Play  by  Anthony  Veiller  and  Myles  Connolly 
Associate  Producer  Anthony  Veiller 
Produced  and  Directed  by  FRANK  CAPRA 


Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer 
Picture 


ANOTHER  HIT  COMING  FROM  M-G-M:  CLARK  GABLE,  LANA  TURNER,  ANNE  BAXTER,  JOHN  HODIAK  in  "HOMECOMING" 


VACATION 


. .  .  with  a 


GREYHOUND 

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A  Greyhound  "Amazing  America  Tour"  is  all 
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a  few  examples.  Check  the  one  that  interests  you! 


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Includes  hotel  accommodations  and  T /  W 
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Douglas  Lodge,  Itasca  Lake  Park, 
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4  DAY  SAN  FRANCISCO  TOUR  &mf 

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town.  Greyhound  ticket  is  extra. 

NEW  ENGLAND  CIRCLE  TOUR  □.  COLONIAL 
VIRGINIA  □.  MONTREAL-QUEBEC  □.  GREAT 
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CANADIAN  ROCKIES  □.  COLORADO  SPRINGS  □. 
OLYMPIC  PENINSULA  □.  LOS  ANGELES  □.  SALT 
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Many  other  Greyhound  tours  are  available.  If  you 
have  a  special  trip  in  mind,  jot  down  your  desti- 
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MAIL  THIS  COUPON  FOR  TOUR  INFORMATION 

Fill  in  thiscoupon  and  mail  it  to:  GREYHOUND 
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MEDALS,  THAT'S  WHAT  I  like.  Decorations.  Glitter.  We  insist  that  all 
our  writers  be  worth  their  weight  in  lead.  Some  of  'em  are  boy  scouts,  some 
belong  to  Orphan  Annie  clubs — they've  got  badges  of  one  kind  or  another,  or 
they  don't  lay  a  finger  on  a  Modern  Screen  check  .  .  .  Anyway,  I  was  reading 
the  paper  a  while  ago,  and  I  noticed  an  item  about  this  Inez  Robb.  A  newspaper- 
woman. Medals  from  here  ...  to  there.  "You  see?"  I  said  accusingly  to  Henry. 
"If  you  could  read,  we  wouldn't  always  be  missing  out  on  stuff  like  this."  I 
called  Miss  Robb's  apartment,  and  someone  with  a  deep  voice  answered  the 
phone.  "Would  you  like  to  work  for  Modern  Screen?"  I  said.  "No,"  said  the 
deep  voice.  -"I'm  the  butler."  Later,  I  got  Miss  Robb — on  the  phone,  and  in 
the  magazine.  In  the  short  time  since  we've  printed  her,  she's  managed  to 
gather  a  couple  more  awards.  One  from  INS  for  covering  the  wedding  of 
England's  Princess  Elizabeth,  one  from  the  University  of  Missouri — the  School 
of  Journalism  there  gave  her  its  annual  prize.  In  Modern  Screen's  February 
issue,  she  wrote  up  the  royal  wedding;  this  month,  she  tells  you  about  the  new 
Selznick  star,  Alida  Valli.  If  you  want  to  send  Miss  Robb  a  medal  it's  okay  .  .  . 

YOU  EVER  HEARD  of  the  Quigley  box-office  poll?  It  seems  that  every  year, 
the  exhibitors  (theater  owners)  pick  the  movie  star  who's  made  the  most  money 
for  them  (the  exhibitors)  in  the  past  year.  They've  been  picking  Betty  Grable 
with  a  sort  of  deadly  monotony,  and  it  confused  me  a  little.  Could  a  woman 
with  a  minimum  of  husbands,  and  a  couple  of  kids  really  have  as  much  sex 
appeal  as  Lana  Turner?  The  answer  is  probably  no.  But  for  all-around  appeal, 
Betty's  got  every  other  girl  in  Hollywood  beat.  Hedda  Hopper  admits  that  in  this 
issue.  Women  like  Betty,  men  like  Betty,  children  like  Betty.  We  checked  back 
on  old  Quigley  polls  (first  brushing  off  the  old  Quigleys)  and  we  discovered  that 
Marie  Dressier  had  been  more  popular  than  Jean  Harlow,  and  that  folksiness 
makes  money.  Now  Henry's  practicing  a  drawl  that'd  frighten  Gabby  Hayes  .  .  . 

EVEN  A  HOMEBODY  like  Betty  Grable  occasionally  steps  out.  Hedda  says 
twice  last  year,  to  be  exact — and  one  of  those  two  times.  Betty  went  to  Ciro's. 
Herman  Hover,  Ciro's  owner,  likes  movie  stars,  and  vice-versa.  Take  Kathryn 
Grayson  and  Johnnie  Johnston,  two  of  Hover's  best  friends.  Nothing  they 
wouldn't  do  for  him.  When  Modern  Screen  wanted  to  shoot  pictures  of  a 
young  couple  on  a  Ciro's  spree,  they  volunteered.  Morning  of  the  big  day, 
Kathryn  went  to  the  doctor's.  "I  feel  terrible,"  she  said.  "You  feel  pregnant," 
he  said.  And  that  was  the  first  inkling  the  Johnstons  had  of  their  impending 
parenthood.  Kathryn  went  through  with  the  Ciro's  layout  anyhow,  while 
Johnnie  and  Herman  Hover  patted  her  on  her  brave  little  back  .  .  . 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE 


THERE  IS 
A  LOVE 
FROM  WHICH 

NO  IV! AN 


John  Galsworthy's 


The  greatest  of  Galsworthy's 
suspense  dramas  .  .  ,  surpassing 
itself  on  the  screen! 


^WILLIAM  HARTNELL 

NORMAN  WOOLAND  •  JILL  ESMOND  ■  FREDERICK  PIPER 
DIRECTED  BY  PRODUCED  BY 

JOSEPH  L  MANKiEWICZ  WILLIAM  PERLBERG 

Screen  Play  by  Philip  Dunne 


Shirley  Temple,  in  glamorous  coiffure,  attended  Louella's  dinner  with  hus-  On  her  27th  anniversary  with  the __Hearst  press,  Louella  Parsons  was 
band  Jack  Agar.  Late  in  March,  the  Agars  went  to  Chicago  for  opening  feted  by  her  friends  at  the  C-i  oanut  Grove.  Among  notables  present 
of  their  first  co-starring  pic,  Fort  Apache.  Proceeds  went  to  wounded  vets.      were  brand-new  Oscar-winner  Ronald  Colman  and  Claudette  Colbert. 


Louella  with  Governor  Warren  of  Calif.  Tribute  to  be  remembered  was  that  of  Harriet  Parsons:  "I  am  your  daughter,  mother,  and  also  your  friend." 


ouella  parsons'  food  news 


B  Let  me  tell  you  a  few  untold  stories  behind 
the  scenes  of  the  Academy  Awards — some 
amusing,  some  with  a  tear. 

Before  Rosalind  Russell,  that  gallant  loser, 
came  on  to  the  Mocambo  party  to  kiss  and 
congratulate  Loretta  Young,  she  went  home 
first  for  a  little  while  to  talk  with  her  mother. 

"I'm  sorry  if  I  have  brought  you  disappoint- 
ment," Roz  said,  holding  her  mother  close,  for 
there  were  tears  in  Mrs.  Russell's  eyes.  "But  I 
want  you  to  know  that  in  giving  me  you,  and  my 
husband,  and  my  boy  and  my  wonderful  life, 
God  has  given  me  more  awards  than  I  ever 
deserved." 

What  a  wonderful  gal! 


Never  in  my  memory  has  an  Academy  eve- 
ning been  as  gay.  There  were  parties  galore  for 
the  winners. 

Edna  Best  and  Nat  Wolfe  were  determined 
to  entertain  for  Ronald  Colman,  win  or  lose — 
and  their  invitations  read,  "Either  a  wake — or 
a  celebration."  Well,  my  friends,  it  WAS  a 
celebration  what  was  a  celebration  with  all 
Ronnie's  close  friends,  of  whom  I  am  proud  to 
be  included,  there  to  congratulate  him. 

Only  Benita  Colman  was  speechless  in  the 
milling  throng.  Shaking  her  head  from  side  to 
side,  the  only  thing  she  was  able  to  say  was, 
"Never  again  could  I  sit  through  all  that  un- 
certainty— never,  never  again." 


But,  believe  me,  Mr.  Colman  was  articulate 
enough  for  both  of  them.  One  of  the  first  things 
he  told  me  was,  "Bill  Powell  called  me  up 
from  Palm  Springs — the  first  congratulations  I 
received."  Theirs  was  another  case  of  two  close 
friends  competing  for  the  Oscar. 

$        *  .  * 

You  would  have  thought  I  had  won  some- 
thing the  way  I  was  all  over  the  town.  Before 
hitting  Ronnie's  party,  I  stopped  in  at  Darryl 
Zanuck's  fiesta  at  the  Mocambo  where  there 
was  much  toasting  to  Gentleman's  Agreement, 
the  prize-winning  movie,  going  on. 

Susan  Hayward,  one  of  the  nominees,  was  a 
dream  in  white  tulle — and  didn't  look  at  all 


Frank  Sinatra,  the  guy  who  eats  like  "a  condemned  man"  had  a- field  day 
at  Louella's  party.  Table-mate  Greer  Garson  may  go  to  England  this 
summer  for  costume  drama  M-G-M  plans  to  make  in  its  London  studio. 


Silent  screen  star  Sally  Eilers  and  George  T.  Delacorte,  publisher  of 
MODERN  SCREEN,  renewed  old  friendships  at  Louella's  celebration.  A 
complete  newsreel  of  the  party  was  made  as  a  surprise  by  Jack  Warner. 


Despite  rumors  of  separation,  Judy  Garland  and  husband  Vincente  Min- 
nelli  showed  up  together  at  Parsons  affair.  Judy's  film  schedule  is  non- 
stop, but  she's  found  time  to  write  poetry — book'll  be  published  soon. 


Louis  B.  Mayer  greets  Loretta  Young  and  husband  Tom  Lewis  at  Cocoanut 
Grove  party.  Loretta  was  overwhelmed  at  Academy  Awards  affair  when 
she  was  awarded  Oscar  for  performance  in  The  Farmer's  Daughter.  7 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  particles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safely!" 


L.VTF It-Thanks  to  Colgate  Dental  Cream 


Always  use 
COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM 

offer  you  eat  and  before 
every  date 


unhappy  that  she  hadn't  won.  "I  didn't  even 
expect  to  be  nominated,"  she  told  me. 

As  for  Loretta  Young,  the  whole  evening  was 
Christmas,  New  Year's  Eve,  Easter  and  all  the 
other  holidays  rolled  into  one.  I  almost  blub- 
bered myself  when  I  ran  into  Tom  Lewis,  the 
proudest  husband  in  the  world.  He  kept 
saying: 

"When  they  called  her  name,  she  paid  no 
attention.  I  said,  'Loretta,  it's  you.'  She  said, 
'It  can't  be'." 

Greta  and  Gregory  Peck  sat  next  to  me. 
Greg  said  he  felt  Ronnie  deserved  the  award. 

I  nodded,  "You've  got  time." 

"You  think  I'll  ever  win?"  he  laughed,  "I've 
been  nominated  three  times— always  the  best 
man,  never  the  groom!" 

Celeste  Holm  was  celebrating  two  ways.  It 
was  her  wedding  anniversary  as  well  as  her 
Oscar  night.  She  said  she  had  made  up  her 
mind  that  she  wasn't  going  to  get  the  award, 
just  so  she  wouldn't  be  disappointed.  "But" 
added  the  honest,  forthright  Celeste,  "I  would 
have  busted  into  tears!   I  did  cry  anyway." 

Ingrid  Bergman  pulled  me  to  one  side. 
"Wasn't  I  awful?"  she  whispered,  referring 
to  her  role  of  handing  a  special  award  to 
James  Baskett  (Uncle  Remus).  "I  became 
confused  and  couldn't  remember  my  English 
so  well.  I  couldn't  think  of  the  word  'industry' 
— of  all  words  to  forget  on  Academy  night!" 

And  I  have  to  tell  this  on  myself  (don't  tell 
my  daughter,  Harriet.)  As  we  were  leaving 
the  theater,  a  fan  on  the  sidelines  called  to 
me,  "That  was  a  beautiful  speech  you  made 
about  your  mother  at  your  anniversary  dinner." 
I  thanked  her  politely  and  didn't  tell  her  it  was 
my  daughter  who  had  made  the  speech! 
4        ir  * 

The  next  day  was  my  hour  for  thrills!  I  had 
all  the  top  winners  —  Loretta,  Ronnie,  Celeste 
Holm,  Edmund  Gwenn,  Danyl  Zanuck  —  and 
Academy  President  Jean  Hersholt  in  my  broad- 
casting studio  after  they'd  won  their  honors. 

That  Gwenn  is  the  cutest  little  guy  in  the 
world — and  in  his  seventies,  too.  Well,  he  is 
70  years  young,  I  can  tell  you.  He  surprised 
me  by  making  up  a  jingle.  He  quoted: 

"Jingle  bells,  jingle  bells,  jingle  all  the  way. 
Louella,  dear,  Louella,  dear,  this  is  a  wondrous 
day." 

After  the  broadcast,  Mr.  Santa  Claus  hurried 

away  to  attend  a  dinner  in  his  honor.  I've 

never  seen  anybody  as  happy  as  he  is  over 

Miracle  on  34th  Street. 

*        *  * 

Hollywood  has  hardly  been  out  of  a  beaded 
bib-and-tucker  all  month.  What  with  the  Acad- 
emy Awards,  some  outstanding  parties  and  my 
27th  anniversary  with  the  Hearst  newspapers 
celebration,  its  been  a  whirl. 

If  you  think  I'm  going  to  be  polite  and  talk 
about  my  party  last — you  don't  know  your 
girl! 

I  won't  go  into  the  details  so  thrillingly  cov- 
ered by  my  newspapers  and  other  publications, 
but  there  are  a  few  highlights  that  will  stay 
in  my  heart  forever: 

The  gold  plaque  in  Mr.  Hearst's  own  hand- 
writing— "for  a  good  job  well  done" — the  finest 
tribute  a  reporter  could  receive  from  the  great- 
est boss  in  the  world  .  .  .  Governor  Warren's 
amusing  comment  that  my  column  was  largely 
responsible  for  the  housing  shortage  in  Cali- 
fornia .  .  .  My  daughter,  Harriet's,  "I  am  your 


LOUELLA  PARSONS' 
GOOD  NEWS 


Like  other  winners,  "best  supporting  actress" 
Celeste  Holm  was  surprised  to  receive  Oscar. 
Her  prize  was  for  Gentleman's  Agreement. 


Ingrid  Bergman,  in  a  white  Grecian  gown, 
presented  James  Baskett,  star  of  Song  of 
the  South,   with   special   achievement  Oscar. 


Edmund  Gwenn,  Santa  Claus  of  Miracle  on 
34th  Street,  got  a  congratulatory  kiss  from 
Anne   Baxter,  an  Oscar  winner  of  last  year. 


ense 

scenes,hushed  scenes, 
scenes  of  held -breath 
escapades ;  all  this 
happens  because  of 
a  kiss  that  shouldn't 
have  happened ! 

DENNIS 
MORGAN 

in  a  role  more  thrilling  than 
any  he's  ever  had 


WARNER 

bros: 


with 


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WRITTEN  BY  RICHARD  BROOKS 


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daughter,  mother,  and  I  am  also  your  friend." 
.  .  .  the  hundreds  of  wires  from  old  friends 
.  .  .  Bob  Hope's  crack,  "Louella  has  made  a 
sewing  circle  of  the  whole  nation— without 
using  too  much  needle"  .  .  .  The  personal, 
sentimental  message  from  Bing  Crosby  put 
into  my  hand  just  before  I  left  my  suite 
for  the  Cocoanut  Grove  .  .  .  The  newsreel  com- 
piled as  a  surprise  by  Jack  Warner  and  pre- 
sented to  me  with  "the  fond  hope  that  you 
will  continue  to  re-live  this  wonderful  occasion 
whenever  the  mood  strikes  you"  .  .  .  The  wit 
and  heart  in  the  speech  of  my  husband,  Dr. 
Harry  Martin,  made  right  TO  me  instead  of 
into  the  microphone  .  .  .  the  warm  pressure  in 
the  hands  I  clasped  .  .  .  and  last,  but  far  from 
least,  the  special  song,  composed  by  Jimmy 
McHugh  and  Harold  Adamson: 

loueiia,  LouefJa,  Louella, 

Everybody  loves  you; 

Louella.  Louella,  Louella, 

And  Dr.  Mait'm,  too  .  .  . 

Press  agents  live  lor  your  column,  ' 

Everyone's  hustling  you. 

Oh,  how  we  love  you,  Louella, 

And  your  900  newspapers,  too. 


Whew!  Let's  take  a  little  time  off  between 
parties  to  gossip  a  little  about  other  things.  The 
Robert  Cummings'  new  daughter,  for  instance. 

When  Bob  called  the  hospital,  someone  said, 
"Congratulations.  You  are  the  father  of 
TWINS!" 

Poor  Bob,  who  didn't  know  whether  to  faint, 
or  yell  with  joy,  broke  all  speed  laws  getting 
to  the  hospital  where  someone  with  a  very  red 
face  explained,  "So  sorry,  Mr.  Cummings.  It 
is  another  Mr.  Cummings  who  has  twins.  You 
have  a  little  daughter!" 

Much  to  the  annoyance  of  some  better  known 
beauties,  the  two  girls  usurping  the  romance 
spotlight  are  Iris  Bynum  and  Linda  Christian. 

This  is  because  Clark  Gable  is  dating  Iris 
and  Tyrone  Power  is  exclusively  Linda's. 

With  Ty,  I  think  it  may  be  serious.  I  had 
heard  rumors  that  he  and  Linda  plan  to  be 
married  in  Italy  when  he  goes  there  to  make 
Prince  of  Foxes  early  this  Fall.  This  would  be 
before  Annabella's  California  divorce  is  final 
which  means  that  Tyrone  and  Linda  would  run 
into  the  same  complications  that  beset  Laraine 
Day  and  Leo  Durocher.  Ty  is  a  smart  boy.  I 
(Continued  on  page  I J  7) 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

We  never  get  fired  of  hearing  what  you  think  about  MODERN  SCREEN.  In  .fact, 
we  have  500  free  subscriptions  waiting  for  some  of  you  now.  That's  right — the 
July,  August  and  September  issues  belong  to  the  first  500  of  you  who  send  in  the 
questionnaire  below.    An  easy  way  to  speak  your  mind,  isn't  it?    And  fun,  too! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  June  issue?  WRITE  THE  NUM- 
-  BERS  I,  2,  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES. 


Her  Heart  Stood  Still  (Loretta 

Young)    □ 

Crowning  Moment  (Ronald 

Colman)   □ 

Is  The  Lady  A  Has-Been?  ( Greer 

Garson  )   □ 

Life  Begins  at  6:30!  (Glenn 

Ford)   □ 

Virtue  Pays  (Betty  Grable)  by  __ 

Hedda  Hopper  □ 

Loves  of  Rita  (Rita  Hayworth)  by 

Dorothy    Kilgallen  □ 

Double  Life  (Alida  Valli)  □ 

The  Mystery  Of  Bob  Walker  □ 

Susie's  Day  Out  (Alan  Ladd)  .  .  .  .  □ 


The  House  They  Live  In 

( MacDonald-Raymond )   □ 

Oh,  That  Alice!  (Alice  Faye)  □ 

All  The  Things  You  Are  (Jeanne 

Grain)   □ 

Jackpot!    (Jean  Paters)  □ 

The  Good  Life  (Susan  Peters)  .  .  □ 
Pictures  Of  Mother  (Irene  Dunne)  □ 
You're  Welcome  At  Ciro's  If 

( Kathryn  Grayson- Johnny 

Johnston)   :  O 

Or  Would  You  Rather  Be  A  Fish? 

(Ann  Blyth)  .  .  .   □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  news  Q 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?...  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues:  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  

What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  


My  name  is  

My  address  is  

City  Zone  State . 


I  am  years  old 


ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN 
261  FIFTH  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


Proud  husband  Tom  Lewis  and  L.  Young,  after  she  won  Oscar  for  The  Farmer's  Daughter. 


wok  .oW  its! 


■  There  was  no  car  waiting  for  the  tall  girl  with  light  brown  hair  and  the  man  with 
her,  who,  long  after  midnight,  walked  out  of  the  Shrine  Auditorium  in  Los  Angeles, 
the  night  of  the  Academy  Awards.  There  were  no  fans.  The  screaming  thousands 
who  had  earlier  crowded  the  bleachers  and  sidewalks,  keeping  two  hundred  police- 
men busy  holding  them  in  check,  had  gone  home  long  before. 

It  was  cold,  and  the  street  was  deserted  now.  The  girl  and  the  man  were  the  last 
people  to  leave.  The  two  of  them,  close  together,  couldn't  help  but  make  a  lonely 
looking  pair  against  that  dark,  forlorn  street,  and  it  was  a  strange  contrast  to  a 
scene,  not  long  before,  when  the  girl  had  stood  flushed  and  triumphant  on  a  spot- 
lighted stage  to  receive  the  plaudits  of  the  cinema  great  assembled  inside  the  theater. 

It  was  as  if  that  had  been  a  dream,  the  girl  thought,  and  this  was  reality.  But 
then  her  eyes  fell  on  something  the  man  was  holding.  That  was  no  dream — that 
was  Oscar  himself. 

Suddenly,  from  a  shadowy  corner  of  the  entrance  a  figure  detached  itself  and 
ran  toward  them — a  young  woman  holding  one  of  the  discarded  awards  programs, 
dozens  of  which  were  lying  about  on  the  sidewalk.  She  wanted  an  autograph. 
Across  the  street,  the  door  to  an  upper  balcony  of  a  house  was  flung  open,  and  a 
grey-haired  woman  stepped  out  to  lean  on  the  railing.  "I  prayed  for  you,"  she 
cried  out.    "That's  what  did  it,  honey,"  the  girl  called  back  happily. 

From  nowhere,  a  cab  shot  up  and  stopped  in  front  of  them  with  squealing  brakes, 
its  driver  calling  out  as  if  he  were  an  old  friend,  asking  if  he  could  drive  the  couple 
home.  {Continued  on  page  66) 

12 


Mow  Loretta  was 
holding  the  Oscar  and 
her  eyes  were 
bright  and  she  kept 
thinking.  "This 
must  be  a  dream." 

By  LOUIS  POLLOCK 


■ 


are,  LuX 
Gidsl 


"A  Lux  Girl?  Indeed  I  am!" 
says  this  famous  star 

Maureen  O'Hara  is  one  of  the 
hundreds  of  famous  screen  stars 
who  use  gentle  Lux  Toilet  Soap 
beauty  care.  "Thrilling  the  way 
it  leaves  skin  softer,  smoother!" 


star  of 
20th  Century-Fox's 
"SITTING  PRETTY" 


Here's  a  proved  complexion  care !  In  recent  Lux  Toilet 
Soap  tests  by  skin  specialists,  actually  three  out  of  four 
complexions  became  lovelier  in  a  short  time! 

"I  work  the  fragrant  creamy  lather  well  in,"  says 
Maureen  O'Hara.  "As  I  rinse  and  then  pat  with  a  soft 
towel  to  dry,  skin  takes  on  fresh  new  beauty!"  Don't 
let  neglect  cheat  you  of  romance.  Take  the  screen 

stars  „p.  Qfafc  flQ  fafa,/ 


13 


rownmg 
moment 


Ronnie  won  coveted  prize  for  Double  Life.  O.  DeHavilland  made  the  award. 


Each  moment  has  its  own 
private  eternity,  but  for  Ronald  Colman, 
one  will  stand  out  above  the 
rest  .  .  .  one  moment,  climaxing  25 
wonderful  years  of  stardom! 


by  prince  michael  rommmo 


■  When  it  was  announced  back  in 
February  that  Ronald  Colman  had  been 
nominated  for  an  Academy  Award, 
his  good  friend,  Michael  Roma- 
noff, Prince  of  all  Restaura- 
teurs, was  moved  to  dash  off  the 
following  tribute.    Now  that  Ron- 
nie has  actually  won  Hollywood's  highest 
award,  Prince  Mike's  charming 
little  piece  of  sentimentality  reads 
even  better.    Accordingly,  we  re- 
print it  word  for  word  as  it  was 
written  way  back  when  Ronnie  was 
still  a  long  shot! 

At  long  last,  Ronald  Colman,  57, 
has    been    nominated    for  an 
Academy  Award.    I  hope  Ronnie  gets 
it,  too,  not  only  because  he  and  Benita 
eat  regularly  in  my  restaurant, .  but 
because  his  superbly  sensitive  per- 
formance in  A  Double  Life  merits  an 
Oscar.    Moreover,  the  award  of  a 
statuette   to   Ronnie   would  serve 
somehow  as  a  crowning  achieve- 
ment, a  truly  fitting  climax  to  his 
quarter  of  a  century  in  the  cinema. 

Colman  has  been  on  film  since 
1922.    In  all  those  years,  he  has  led  a 
quiet,  exemplary  sort  of  British  life. 
In  Beverly  Hills,  this  is  no  small 
accomplishment.    Ronnie  has  avoided 
newspapermen  and  headlines  as  a  fox  . 
avoids  the  hounds;  he  has  never  double- 
dated  with  Peter  Lawford  or  Linda 
Christian;  he  has  never  been  in- 
volved in  a  paternity  case  except  with 
his  wife;  and  he  has  scrupulously 
stayed  out  of  the  courts,  except  for 
one  day  in  1932  when  he  sued  the 
lexicographer,  Mr.  Sam  Goldwyn,  for 
libel.    Ronnie  charged  that  Mr.  Gold- 
wyn's  corporation  had  caused  state- 
ments to  be  issued  which  "reflected 
upon  my  character  and  ability  as  an 
actor."-  These  statements  implied  that 
Ronnie  preferred  to  fortify  himself 
alcoholically  before   playing  love  scenes 
with  Mr.  Goldwyn's  leading  ladies. 

When  one  considers  some  of 
the  actresses   Mr.   Goldwyn   has  had 
under  contract  in  the  past,  one  can 
excuse  Mr.  Colman  his  prophylaxis,  even 
if  it  were  true,  which  it  wasn't.  The 
truth  of  the  matter  is  that  Ronnie  is  a 
complete    teetotaler,    always  has 
been.    And  the  upshot  of  the  suit 
was  that  he  refused  to  work  for  Mr. 
Goldwyn,   a  right  many  others  have 
since  exercised. 

Eventually,  Ronnie  joined  the  camp  of 
Darryl  Zanuck  and  Joseph  Schenck 
now  known  as  {Continued  on  page  101) 


Can  "toothpick"  pegs 
gain  beach  allure,  via  — 

□  Gooey  sundaes 

□  Bicycling 

□  Scanty  swim  suits 

Try  this  for  thighs— (and  pegs,  too)  that 
aren't  so  fully  packed:  Mooch  a  bicycle. 
Pedal  like  mad,  daily,  to  build  up  under- 
developed leg  muscles.  Meanwhile,  a  dis- 
creet dressmaker  bathing  suit  will  help 
keep  'em  beach-worthy.  It's  a  good  style 
for  your  particular  problem.  And  here's  a 
good  thought  for  problem  days:  Kotex 
comes  in  3  sizes  — giving  you  a  choice  of 
Regular,  Junior  and  Super.  So,  there's 
a  Kotex  napkin  just  perfect  for  you. 


Do  the  Crew  Cuts 
rate  you  — 

O  Affectionate 

□  Affected 

D  A  femme  to  follow 

Since  smooching  won't  improve  her  rating, 
a  gal  might  improve  her  conversation. 
Don't  keep  saying  "See?".  .  ."I  mean." 
And  only  a  dreep  would  dare  the  affected 
"Do  you  rafc-Ily?"  approach.  Shun  manner- 
isms. Be  yourself.  And  be  rated  a  femme 
to  follow.  You  can  always  be  your  own  gay 
self  when  calendar  qualms  are  off  your 
mind.  With  that  exclusive  safety  center  of 
Kotex  for  extra  protection,  there's  no  ceil- 
ing to  your  confidence! 


How  to  start  a 
modeling  career? 

□  Trek  to  the  big  city 

D  Take  a  charm  course 

O  Find  out  if  you're  qualified 

Modeling's  glamorous  .  .  .  but  gruelling. 
How's  your  health?  Disposition?  Can  your 
arches'  take  long  hours  of  standing?  You 
needn't  fly  far  afield  to  find  out.  Try  your 
wings  in  fashion  shows  at  your  local  de- 
partment store.  Good  training.  Tells  if 
you're  qualified.  On  "those"  days,  comfort 
counts.  Not  'til  you've  tried  new  Kotex  can 
you  appreciate  this  new,  suave  softness 
that  holds  its  shape.  It's  utter  — this  napkin, 
made  to  stay  soft  while  you  wear  it. 


'  When  can  a  girl  ask  for  a  date? 

□  Bui  never    □  In  Twirp  Season     □  How  desperate  can  you  get 


A  miss  can  stalk  her  man  — in  Twirp  Season. 
Anytime  you  and  your  gal  pals  declare  one. 
Call  for  your  dates,  give  'em  zany  corsages. 
Plans  can  include  a  dance  or  movies,  plus 
refreshments  — natch.  The  catch?  Twirp 
means  The  Woman  Is  Requested  to  Pay. 


At  certain  times,  choosing  Kotex  pays,  in 
self-assurance.  Why  not,  with  those  fiat 
pressed  ends  preventing  telltale  outlines? 
Thanks  to  this  secret  mission,  Kotex'  flat 
pressed  ends  help  so  many  girls  to  stay  in 
the  fun  .  .  .  serenely! 


More  women  c/roose  SCOTEX 
f/ian  a//  ot/ier  san/fary  na/?/c/hs 


Which 
deodorant  would 
y°u  decide  on? 

D  A  cream 
D  A  powder 
D  A  liquid 

Granted  you're  in  the  know  about 

7nl  7  ■  ■  ■  ,What  ab0Ut  Gr- 
ants for  napkin   use?   Fact  is 

while  creams  and  liquids  will  do 
for  everyday  daintiness -yet,  for 
those  days  a  powder  deodor- 
ant s  best -  sprinkled  freely  on 
sanitary  napkins.  That's  because 
a  powder  has  no  moisture-resist- 
ant base;  doesn't  slow  up  absorp- 
tion And  soft,  soothing  Quit 
Powder  is  made  especially  for 
napkin  use.  7  ■ 

Being  unscented,  Quest  De- 
odorant Powder  doesn't  just  mask 
odors.  Quest  destroys  them.  Safely 
Positively  To  avoid  offending,  buy 
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ON  A  PEDESTAL 


GOTHAM  i 

GOLD  STRIPE 


GOTHAM  GOLD  STRIPE  NYLONS 

HALF  TONE . . .  soft-spoken,  alluring, 
a  perfect  shade  to  wear  with  pastels 
and  prints.  Charming,  with  a  ring  of 
decorative  lace  just  below  the 
Gold  Stripe.  All  nylon  ...  30  denier. 
Buy  these  stockings  at  your  favorite 
store.  If  not  obtainable,  use  coupon. 

GOTHAM  HOSIERY  COMPANY,  INC. 

200  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 
Gotham  Hosiery  Company  of  Canada,  Ltd. 
Dominion   Square   Building,  Montreal 


GOTHAM  HOSIERY  COMPANY,  INC.,  DEPT.  M06 
200  MADISON  AVENUE,  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 
I  would  like  to  buy  the  stockings  illustrated 
"On  A  Pedestal."  Please  send  me,  through 
a  local  store,  one  pair  Gotham  Gold  Stripe 
"Friv-0-Lace"»  in  30  denier  HALF  TONE, 

Style  4304,  at  $1.65  a  pair.  My  size  is  

I  enclose  Check  □  or  Money  Order 
(Don't  send  stamps.) 


-STATE- 


Coupon  orders  filled  only  in  the  U.S.A. 


16 


TRADE  HAD 


MOVIE 


by  Virginia  Wilson 


Gene  Kelly,  a  versatile  actor,  arrives  in  San  Sebas- 
tian in  time  to  break  up  Spanish  beauty  Judy  Garland's 
wedding  to  the  unromantic  mayor.    She  joins  his  act. 


Actually,  Kelly  is  the  legendary  pirate, 
Macoco,  who's  been  missing  for  years 
— except  in  dreams  of  gals  like  Judy. 


THE  PIRATE 

Like  Judy  Garland  and  Gene  Kelly?  Like 
whopping,  great  musicals?  Like  technicolor? 
Good.  You're  all  set — this  is  for  you. 

The  Pirate  of  the  title  is  one  Macoco,  who 
is  a  legend  of  bravery  and  ruthlessness,  all 
over  the  blue  Carribean  Sea.  However,  noth- 
ing has  been  heard  of  him  for  years  now,  and 
he  is  recalled  only  in  street  urchins'  songs,  and 
the  dreams  of  romantic  young  Spanish  girls, 
like  Manuella  (Judy  Garland). 

Manuella  lives  with  her  Aunt  Inez  (Gladys 
Cooper).  From  Aunt  Inez'  point  of  view,  her 
niece  is  a  very  lucky  young  lady  indeed.  She 
is  engaged  to  Don  Pedro  (Walter  Slezak), 
the  mayor  of  the  town.  This  is  an  arrangement 
made  by  Aunt  Inez  and  a  battery  of  lawyers, 
without  consulting  Manuella.  "But  after  all, 
any  girl  would  want  to  be  the  mayor's  wife." 

This  statement  is  viewed  somewhat  doubt- 
fully by  Manuella.  Don  Pedro  is  in  his  forties, 
slightly  bald,  and  with  more  than  a  slight 
paunch.  Definitely  not  a  romantic  figure.  How- 
ever, the  wedding  is  all  arranged  for  next 


week,  and  the  trousseau  will  arrive  on  a  ship 
from  Paris  in  a  few  days. 

That  trousseau  is  what  precipitates  matters. 
Manuella  talks  Aunt  Inez  into  a  trip  to  the  port 
where  the  ship  comes  in.  After  all,  a  girl  can't 
just  let  her  trousseau  arrive  ungreeted,  can 
she?  So  off  they  go  to  San  Sebastian.  And 
on  the  ship  with  the  trousseau  is  an  actor, 
named  Serafian  (Gene  Kelly).  He  is  a  dash- 
ing young  rogue  with  a  ready  wit,  no  money, 
and  a  habit  of  calling  all  girls  "Nina."  Says 
it  simplifies  his  life. 

Serafian  meets  Manuella  and  persuades  her 
to  come  to  the  performance  he  and  his  troupe 
are  giving  that  night.  Serafian  is  a  hypnotist, 
among  other  things,  and  hypnotizes  her  into 
revealing  her  dreams  about  the  pirate,  Macoco. 
He  also  finds  out  that  she  is  to  marry  unro- 
mantic Don  Pedro  the  next  week.  Of  course 
Serafian  decides  to  interfere.  Before  long,  real 
and  false  Macocos  are  popping  up  like  jumping 
beans  and  eventually  there  is  a  wedding,  but 
it  isn't  Don  Pedro's. — M-G-M. 


WIN  HEARTS  . .  .WIN  LOVE  .  .  .WITH 


THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE 

Everything  happens  in  this  melodrama  — 
mostly  to  Eleanor  Parker,  who  handles  a  diffi- 
cult dual  role  with  skill  and  charm.  Here  you'll 
find  intrigue,  murder,  romance — and  a  surprise 
ending.  What's  more,  you'll  see  wonderful  cos- 
tumes, for  the  story  takes  place  in  London  in 
the  1850's.  It's  a  lovely  setting  for  Eleanor 
Parker's  fragile  beauty. 

When  Walter  Hartright  (Gig  Young)  goes  to 
Limmeridge  House  to  instruct  Frederick  Fair- 
lie's  (John  Abbott)  pretty  niece  Laura  (Elea- 
nor Parker)  in  the  arts,  he  has  no  inkling  that 
evil  things  are  a-foot  there.  One  glimpse  of 
the  motley  crew  comprising  the  household, 
however,  is  enough  to  set  him  wondering 
about  the  place. 

Frederick  Fairlie  turns  out  to  be  an  eccentric 
invalid  who  is  confined  to  his  room.  House- 
guests  Count  and  Countess  Fosco  (Sydney 
Greenstreet  and  Agnes  Moorehead)  strike  him 
as  an  extremely  odd  pair.  In  fact,  the  only 
normal  individual  in  sight  appears  to  be 
Laura's  cousin  and  companion  Marian  Hal- 
colmbe  (Alexis  Smith.) 

To  heighten  the  eeriness,  Walter,  on  his 
occasional  walks,  keeps  encountering  a  mys- 
terious woman  in  white — Ann  Catherick 
(Eleanor  Parker),  an  illegitimate  cousin  of 
Laura's  who  has  escaped  from  a  lunatic 
asylum — who  insists  that  Laura  is  in  grave 
danger.  As  it  turns  out,  cousin  Ann  knows 
what  she's  talking  about. 

How  Count  Fosco's  plot  to  kill  Laura  and 
get  her  money  is  foiled  makes  exciting  watch- 
ing, and  if  you  don't  get  lost  in  the  complexi- 
ties of  the  plot,  you  mystery  fans  will  have  a 
fine  scary  evening  for  yourselves. 

Here's  a  film  that  may  very  well  befuddle 
you,  with  all  its  wheels  turning  within 
wheels,  but  it's  a  cinch  it  won't  put  you  to 
sleep. 

Sidney  Greenstreet,  who  returns  to  his 
villainous  ways,  and  Agnes  Moorehead,  as 
his  wife,  give  outstanding  performances,  and 
the  cast  is  uniformly  good. — War. 


Try  Ava  Gardner's 


Sun  up! "Pretty  early  to  sparkle," admits 
lovely  Ava.  "But  I  count  on  Woodbury 
for  thorough,  deep  cleansing  that  tells 
my  skin . .  .'Time  to  wake-up-and-glow' ! " 


Sundown!  Ava  turns  on  the  glamour— a 
1000-watt  sparkle!  "A  romance  date 
means  a  Woodbury  beauty  date— to 
cleanse  and  smooth.  Skin  looks  dreamy  1" 


beauty-glow  cleansing 

"In  Seconds,  your  skin  looks 
Woodbury-wonderful  !"promises  Ava. 
"First,  massage  on  Woodbury 
Cold  Cream— its  rich  oils  cleanse  deep 
to  the  skin,  loosen  grimy  make-up. 
Tissue  off.  Pat  on  more  Woodbury  for 
smoothing— four  special  softening 
ingredients  leave,  skin  velvety. 
Tissue  again,  splash  with  cold  water. 
And  look!— your  skin  glows 
with  that  Always-Fresh  look!" 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

It  was  the  night 
of  the  big  Amer- 
ican National  The- 
atre and  Academy 
Benefit.  The  the- 
ater was  filled  to 
capacity.  All  the 
most  famous  tal- 
ent were  appear- 
ing in  their  most 
memorable  scenes. 
Everyone  except 
my  favorite  actor  seemed  to  be  on  the 
program.  It  was  toward  the  end  of 
the  show  when  Bert  Lahr  did  his 
famous  song,  "Woodman,  Spare  That 
Tree."  When  he'd  finished,  the  stage 
was  littered  with  wood.  The  emcee 
called,  "Come  on  out,  Skipper,  and 
sweep  this  up."  A  man  appeared 
with  a  broom  and  with  his  back  to 
the  audience  he  swept  the  wood  across 
the  stage.  Suddenly,  the  audience 
burst  into  wild  applause.  I  looked  at 
the  stagehand  through  my  opera 
glasses.  It  was  John  Garfield,  wear- 
ing his  seaman's  clothes  from  the  play, 
Skipper  Next  To  God! 

Geraldine  Shay 
New  York  City 


Another  Part  Of  The  Forest:  Dan  Duryea,  Ann 
Blyth  and  Fredric  March  as  the  evil  Hubbards. 

ANOTHER  PART  OF  THE  FOREST 

There  is  a  sinister  violence  to  the  people 
you  meet  in  Another  Part  of  the  Forest.  They 
are  the  same  family  as  in  The  Little  Foxes, 
at  an  earlier  stage  of  their  career.  They 
haven't  improved  with  youth. 

Much  of  their  folly  is  the  result  of  Marcus 
Hubbard's  (Fred  March)  character.  He  is  the 
head  of  the  family,  and  as  such,  is  feared,  but 
neither  respected  nor  admired.  During  the  Civil 
War,  Marcus  ran  what  we  would  call  a  "black- 
market"  in  salt.  Now  he  is  a  millionaire — and 
hasn't  a  single  friend. 

His  daughter,  Regina,  (Ann  Blyth),  always 
sides  with  Marcus  against  the  rest  of  the  fam- 
ily, but  it  is  not,  as  he  thinks,  out  of  love.  It 
is  partly  so  she  can  have  all  the  pretty  clothes 


she  wants  (she's  the  only  one  who  can  get 
money  out  of  Marcus),  and  partly  to  enrage 
her  brother  Ben. 

Ben  (Edmond  O'Brien)  hates  his  father  and 
Regina  with  a  subtle,  menacing  hatred,  far 
more  alarming  than  violence,  but  so  long  as 
Marcus  controls  the  purse-strings,  Ben,  who 
cares  for  nothing  but  money,  is  helpless. 

There  is  another  brother,  Oscar  (Dan 
Duryea),  who  doesn't  count  for  much  except 
to  be  used  as  a  pawn  by  one  Hubbard  against 
another  in  the  eternal  intrigue  that  goes  on 
among  them. 

Only  Lavinia  (Florence  Eldridge),  Marcus' 
wife,  takes  no  part  in  it.  The  rest  of  the  family 
pays  little  attention  to  Lavinia  anyway.  Ben  is 
occasionally  kind  to  her — usually  when  he  has 
some  subterranean  motive.  Oscar  is  too  in- 
volved in  his  affair  with  a  dance-hall  girl 
(Donna  Drake)  to  be  interested  in  what  hap- 
pens to  his  mother.  And  the  strong  will  of 
Regina  dismisses  her  as  a  nonentity. 

Eventually,  of  course,  all  the  Hubbards  find 
that  this  was  their  big  mistake.  That  Lavinia 
is  far  more  important  in  their  family  game  of 
chess  than  they  realize.  But,  by  then,  too  many 
things  have  happened. 

John  Dall  plays  a  pleasant  but  not-too-brigh* 
Confederate  Army  officer,  and  Betsy  Blair  is 
effective  as  his  bewildered  sister.  But  it  is  only 
the  Hubbard  family  who  really  counts. — Univ. 

1  REMEMBER  MAMA 

"And  most  of  all,  I  remember  Mama." 
It  is  the  high,  clear  voice  of  a  young  girl 
speaking.  The  girl  is  named  Katrine  (Barbara 


Bel  Geddes).  She  is  twenty  now,  and  looking 
back  to  the  days  when  she  was  growing  up. 
Remembering  all  the  warm,  happy — or  some- 
times heartbreaking — moments  in  the  life  of 
their  big  Norwegian  family.  But  most  of  all, 
remembering  Mama. 

Mama  (Irene  Dunne)  is  an  unforgettable 
character.  She  is  serene,  wise,  firm  at  the 
right  moments,  xmd  yielding  at  the  right  ones, 
too.  She  manages  her  husband  (Philip  Dorn), 
her  three  dauch;srs  and  one  son,  and  her  three 
sisters,  with  the  same  love,  generosity,  and 
determination. 

On  Saturday  nights.  Mama  gathers  the  fam- 
ily around  the  kitchen.  There  a  solemn  cere- 
mony takes  place.  Father's  salary  is  divided 
into  neat  little  piles — one  for  the  rent,  one  for 


I  Remember  Mama:  Barbara  Bel  Geddes.  is 
Katrine;  Irene  Dunne,  her  Norwegian  mother. 


gift  tfmt  bfimJcb  nwbe  tfwm 

The  intimate,  subtle,  flattering  gift  for  him  . . .  the  famous 
Kings  Men  Toiletries  in  permanent  containers  of  tasteful  splen- 
dour. Bearing  the  proud  heritage  of  the  finest  British  imports 
.  .  .  the  virile  fragrance  Imperiale  captures  the  spirit  of  the 
dauntless  Knight  riding  forth  to  tattle  singing  his  battle 
chant .  . .  returning  triumphant  bearing  spices  and  silks  and 
precious  jewels...  to. 
claim  the  gentle  favours 
of,  his  Lady  Love. 


3?oi/efoeeb  tit  'So/ct 

(fired  in  23  karat  gold) 
$5.00.  Matched  sets 
$10.00  to  $15.00. 


NOW.. .for  the 
first  time  from 


$1.00  and  $2.50.  Matched 
sets  from  $2.00  to  $7.50. 


Kiitf»$  men 


Trade  Mark 
IN  TREASURED  GOLD  AND  CRYSTAL 


PRODUCTS  OF  KINGS  MEN,  LTD.,  LOS  ANGELES:  11500  TENNESSEE  AVENUE,  IN  CANADA:  KINGS  MEN,  LTD.,  WINNIPEG   •   COPYRIGHT  1948  KINGS  MEN,  LTD. 


the  grocer,  one,  perhaps,  for  new  shoes  for 
Katrine,  or  a  notebook  for  Christine  (Peggy 
Mclntyre).  Or  maybe  even  a  little  pile  that 
would  make  it  possible  for  Nels  (Steve 
Brown)  to  go  to  high  school.  That,  Mama 
feels,  would  be  worth  sacrificing  for.  "Is  good," 
she  says  proudly,  "for  a  boy  to  vant  to  learn." 

There  is  another  member  of  the  family, 
whose  occasional  visits  to  San  Francisco  are 
accompanied  by  all  the  sound  and  fury  of  a 
one-man  band,  IJncle  Chris  (Oscar  Homolka) 
is  a  fierce-looking  man  with  a  bristling,  black 
moustache,  a  considerable  amount  of  money, 
and  an  inordinate  fondness  for  whiskey.  Also 
—  but  only  Mama  knows  this — the  kindest 
heart  in  all  the  world. 

When  Uncle  Chris  drives  perilously  up  to 
the  front  door,  loudly  tooting  the  horn  of  his 
new-fangled  automobile,  and  yelling  like  a 
drunken  banshee,  everyone  quails  except 
Mama. 

I  wish  I  could  tell  you  more  about  I  Re- 
member Mama  but  I  think  it's  only  fair  to  let 
you  see  for  yourself.  Irene  Dunne  and  Oscar 
Homolka  get  top  acting  honors,  but  everyone 
connected  with  the  production  deserves  the 
highest  congratulations. — RKO 

B.  F.'s  DAUGHTER 

In  a  slightly  white-washed  version  of  John 
Marquqnd's  best-selling  novel  of  the  war 
years  and  the  decade  preceding  them,  this 
one  alternately  beats  the  drum  for  the  liberals 
and  the  conservatives  and  winds  up  sitting 
neatly  on  the  fence.  B.  F.  Fulton  (Charles 
Coburn)  is  a  dough-heavy  industrialist  who 
worships  his  pretty  daughter  Polly  (Barbara 
Stanwyck).  He  has  given  her  everything 
money  can  buy,  and  she  should  be  pretty 
soft,  but  somehow  she  isn't.  When  she  meets 
Tom  Brett  (Van  Heflin),  an  unmoneyed,  un- 
pressed  young  Economics  professor  in  a 
smoke-filled  speakeasy,  she  knows  that  he's 
for  her,  and  it's  love  at  first  sight.  When  he  asks 
her  to  marry  him  in  one  of  the  film's  warmer 
scenes,  she  says  "yes,"  even  though  she  has 
been  engaged  to  ultra-conservative  Bob  Tasmin 
(Richard  Hart)  practically  all  her  life. 

Step  by  step,  Polly  builds  Tom  into  a  na- 
tional figure,  putting  not  only  her  heart  and 
soul  into  the  process,  but  also — unbeknownst 
to  Tom — her  moolah.  When  at  length  he  dis- 
covers that  Polly's  been  subsidizing  him  right 
from  his  very  first  lecture  contract,  he  is 
heartsick,  and  there  is  the  inevitable  crisis  in 
their  relationship.   On  his  deathbed,  B.  F. 


B.  F.'s  Daughter:  Barbara  Stanwyck,  in  title  role, 
weds  Professor  Van  Heflin,  builds  his  career. 


Soaping  dulls  hair. 
Halo  glorifies  it! 


Yes,  "soaping"  your  hair 
with  even  finest  liquid  or  cream 
shampoos  hides  its  natural 
lustre  with  dulling  soap  film 


•  Halo  is  made  with  a  new  patented  ingredient.  Halo — not 
a  soap,  not  a  cream — cannot  leave  dulling  film!  •  So  Halo  reveals 

the  true  natural  beauty  of  your  hair  the  very  first  time  you 
use  it,  leaves  it  shimmering  with  glorious  highlights.  •  Needs 
no  lemon  or  vinegar  after-rinse.  Halo  rinses  away, 
quickly  and  completely!  •  Makes  oceans  of  rich,  fragrant 
lather,  even  in  hardest  water.  Leaves  hair  sweet,  clean, 
naturally  radiant!  •  Carries  away  unsightly  loose  dandruff  like 
magic!  •  Lets  hair  dry  soft  and  manageable,  easy  to  curl! 
•  Buy  Halo  at  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


Halo  Reveals  the  Hidden  Beautq  of  Your  Hair 


enriched  creme 


SHAMPOO 


...Uxtirfousltf  smooth 


TT'5  jo  soothing,  so  caressing  .  .  . 

this  new  kind  of  shampoo.  The 
reason?  A  little  powdered  egg!  Yes, 
and  Richard  Hudnut  Shampoo 
brings  out  all  the  "lovelights,"  the 
glorious  natural  sheen  of  your  hair! 
Be  sure  to  try  this  luxury  shampoo, 
created  especially  for  patrons  of 
Hudnut's  exclusive  Fifth  Avenue 
Salon  .  .  .  and  for  you! 

A  New  Kind  of  Hair  Beauty  from 
a  World-Famous  Cosmetic  House 


Not  a  dulling,  dry- 
ing soap.  Contains 
no  wax  or  paste. 
Richard  Hudnut 
Shampoo  is  a 
sm-o-o-o-th  liquid 
creme.  Beauty- 
bathes  hair  to 
"love-lighted"  per- 
fection. Rinses  out 
quickly,  leaving  hair 
easy  to  manage, 
free  of  loose 
dandruff.  At  drug  and 
department  stores. 


Silver  River:  Ann  Sheridan,  Brrol  Flynn  and 
Thomas  Mitchell  in  a  drama  of  the  old  West. 

tells  Polly  to  fight  for  her  marriage,  and  with 
that  in  mind  Polly  joins  Tom  in  Washington. 

Unhappily,  Keenan  Wynn,  most  of  whose 
lines  couldn't  be  cornier,  is  thrown  away  in 
the  part  of  the  left-wing  reporter.  Margaret 
Lindsay,  however,  is  fine  as  Polly's  best  friend. 
Apples;  and  Spring  Byington  is  excellent  as 
Polly's  ineffectual  and  unaware  mama.  Peo- 
ple will  talk  and  talk  about  this  one,  and  you 
won't  want  to  miss  it. — M-G-M. 

SILVER  RIVER 

The  tall  gambler  on  our  left  with  the  wicked 
twinkle  in  his  eye  is  Mike  McComb,  (Errol 
Flynn).  Mike  has  had  quite  a  history.  He  was 
a  captain  in  the  Union  Army,  cashiered  for 
burning  up  a  wagonload  of  the  government's 
money.  He  did  it  to  keep  the  Rebels  from  get- 
ting it,  but  he  was  court-martialed  anyway. 

His  pal  here  on  our  right  is  "Pistol"  Porter, 
(Tom  D' Andrea)  and  he  does  anything  Mike 
tells  him  to,  which  is  sometimes  a  good  idea 
and  sometimes  not. 

Over  here,  the  beautiful  gal  in  the  shirt  and 
jeans  is  Miss  Georgia  Moore,  (Ann  Sheridan). 
Georgia,  at  this  point,  does  not  think  much  of 
Mike.  She  and  her  husband  had  a  lot  of 
machinery  they  had  arranged  to  have  deliv- 
ered to  their  Silver  River  mine.  But  before 
Georgia  realized  what  was  going  on,  Mike  had 
bought  the  concern  that  was  to  deliver  it.  And 
it  was  his  gambling  equipment  that  was  being 
delivered  to  Silver  River  instead. 

You  see,  Mike  has  been  pretty  bitter  since 
he  was  thrown  out  of  the  army.  His  motto  now 
is  "McComb  for  McComb."  If  anyone  gets  in 
his  way  it's  just  too  bad.  He  goes  on  the  make 
for  Georgia,  and  gets  exactly  nowhere.  May- 
be that's  why,  when  Mike  gets  set  up  as  a  real 
power  in  Silver  City,  he  buys  into  the  Silver 
River  mine.  Now  he  and  Stanley  Moore,  (Bruce 
Bennett),  Georgia's  husband,  are  partners.  So 
he  and  Georgia  are  partners,  too. 

No  one  ever  knows  how  much  coincidence 
there  is  to  Stanley's  prospecting  trip  into  the 
dangerous  Shoshone  Indian  country.  All  they 
know  is  that  Stanley  is  killed,  and  that  Georgia 
and  Mike  get  married  after  a  while. 

But  the  silver  empire  which  Mike  has  gradu- 
ally built  up,  is  beginning  to  fall  apart.  Old 
enemies  become  more  powerful.  Old  friends, 
like  his  lawyer,  John  Beck,  (Thomas  Mitchell), 
turn  against  him.  "McComb  for  McComb"  turns 
out  to  be  a  pretty  poor  slogan,  after  all. — War. 


Berlin  Express:  Robert  Ryan  and  Merle  Oberon 
star    in    a    lightning-paced    post-war  thriller. 


BERLIN  EXPRESS 

This  is  a  lightning-paced  drama,  as  timely 
as  a  news  flash,  with  a  message  the  world 
should  take  to  its  heart.  It  is  essentially  the 
story  of  one  man's  crusade  for  lasting  peace. 

Dr.  Heinrich  Bernhardt  (Paul  Lukas),  a  wise, 
middle-aged  German,  is  en  route  from  Paris 
to  Berlin  to  discuss  his  plans  for  a  unified 
Germany.  On  the  same  train,  also  on  their 
way  to  Berlin  for  various  reasons,  are  four 
young  men  of  different  nationalities,  thrown 
together  by  chance  and  by  mutual  admiration 
for  Lucienne  Mirabeau  (Merle  Oberon),  Dr. 
Bernhardt's  lovely  French  secretary.  They  are, 
Lindley  (Robert  Ryan),  a  G.  I.;  Sterling 
(Robert  Coote).  an  Englishman;  Maxim 
(Roman  Toporour),  a  Russian;  and  Perrot 
(Charles  Korvin),  a  bogus  Frenchman;  and 
they  start  the  overnight  trip  completely  at  odds, 
none  trusting  the  other,  none  liking  the  other. 

Early  in  the  trip,  an  attempt  is  made  to  as- 
sassinate Heinrich  Bernhardt  and  everyone  in 
his  car — including  the  oddly-assorted  foursome 
— is  taken  into  custody.  At  which  time  the 
four  men  grow  to  trust  each  other  even  less. 
They  seem  to  have  nothing  at  all  in  common 
except  deep  respect  for  Bernhardt,  and  it  is 
his  mysterious  disappearance  in  the  Frankfurt 
Station  that  begins  to  unite  them. 

Their  desperate  search  for  him  through  the 
ruins  of  Frankfurt  is  as  chill-making  as  any- 
thing we've  seen,  and  by  the  time  they  find 
him,  only  to  lose  him  again,  you'll  be  abso- 
lutely gasping  with  excitement.  Thrill  piles  on 
thrill  as  the  hunt  continues,  through  the  shady, 
out-of-bounds  night  club  district,  into  a  fright- 
ening, cavernous  old  brewery.  Take  a  spare 
set  of  fingernails  along  for  chewing  purposes 
— you'll  need  'em  in  this  noisy,  action-packed 
scene. 

If  you  want  to  know  whether  they  find  the 
doctor  alive,  and  which  of  the  four  guys  gets 
the  gal,  you'll  have  to  go  see  for  yourself. 
You  won't  be  sorry,  for  after  all  the  terror  and 
suspense,  there's  a  quiet,  hopeful  ending  at 
which  to  warm  your  fast-beating  heart. — RKO. 

WINTER  MEETING 

Bette  Davis  has  the  kind  of  part  which  suits 
her  best  in  Winter  Meeting.  On  the  surface, 
Susan  Grieve  is  a  prim,  spinsterish  young 
woman,  who  writes  poetry — very  dull  poetry. 
She  is  proud  of  her  New  England  ancestors, 
and  her  apartment  looks  like  a  Beacon  Street 
parlor.  But  underneath,  there  is  another  Susan, 


smile  wins  her  proudest  title  — 


The  smile  that  wins 
is  the  Pepsodent  Smile ! 


Wins  3  to  1 


Joan  Smith,  Beauty  Winner  over  20,000  girls— 
"America's  most  photogenic  girl"  in  a  recent  con- 
test—looks forward  to  a  new  title.  It's  the  proud 
"Mrs."  she  will  add  to  her  name  when  her  An- 
napolis Midshipman  fiance  graduates.  Joan,  a 
Bellmore,  L.  I.  girl,  is  reserving  her  most  radiant 
smile  for  this  year's  June -Week  festivities  at  the 
Naval  Academy.  For  then,  in  the  traditional  Ring- 
Dance  ceremony,  she  receives  her  engagement 
diamond.  Her  radiant  smile  will  be  a  Pepsodent 
Smile!  "Pepsodent's  my  tooth  paste  always,"  Joan 
says.  "There's  none  better!" 


over  any  other  tooth  paste ! 


People  all  over  America  agree  with  Joan 
Smith  in  preferring  New  Pepsodent  for 
brighter  smiles.  Families  from  coast  to 
coast  recently  compared  delicious  New 
Pepsodent  with  the  tooth  paste  they  were 
using  at  home.  By  an  average  of  3  to  1,  they 
said  New  Pepsodent  tastes  better,  makes 
breath  cleaner  and  teeth  brighter  than  any 
other  tooth  paste  they  tried! 

For  the  safety  of  your  smile  use  Pepsodent 
twice  a  day  —  see  your  dentist  twice  a  year! 


ANOTHER  FINE 
LEVER  BROTHERS  PRODUCT 


"Color's  bad, 
needs  F£L$-NA?TM* 


.  .  .  and  the  good  'doctor'  might  well  have  added 
— "or  it  won't  last  long". 

A  shirt  that  shows  Tattle-Tale  Gray  is,  actually,  a 
'sick'  shirt.  That  dingy  color  proves  there  still  is  dirt 
in  the  fabric.  Hard  rubbing  that  may  remove  dirt, 
surely  shortens  the  life  of  the  garment. 

Fels-Naptha  will  help  make  all  your  fine  linens  and 
delicate  things  last  longer.  This  mild  golden  soap, 
combined  with  Fels  naptha,  removes  imbedded  grime 
and  perspiration  stains  with  almost  no  rubbing 
or  bleaching.  It  brightens  colors,  keeps  all 
washables  fragrantly  clean  and  white. 

If  your  washes  suffer  from  Tattle-Tale 
Gray — try  the  Fels-Naptha 
'treatment'.  It  works! 


Idenbaror  Golden  chips. 
FELS-NAPTHA  banishesTattle-Tale  Gray9 


Winter  Meeting:  Spins+erish  Bette  Davis  un- 
expectedly meets,  falls  in  love  with  Jim  Davis. 

one  who  wants  to  fall  in  love,  to  experience 
life,  to  let  herself  feel  and  care,  and,  if  neces- 
sary, be  hurt. 

Most  people  don't  know  this  second  Susan 
exists.  Stacy  Grant,  (John  Hoyt),  a  wealthy 
man-about-town,  for  instance,  has  known  Susan 
for  five  years  and  has  not  the  slightest  idea 
of  what  she  is  like  underneath.  But  then, 
Stacy  is  too  self-centered  to  think  about  other 
people. 

At  the  moment,  he  is  feeling  rather  smug. 
He  and  Susan  and  a  young  man  named  Novak 
(Jim  Davis)  and  a  voluptuous  blonde,  Peggy 
Markham  (Janis  Paige)  are  having  dinner 
together  in  a  smart  restaurant.  Novak  was 
one  of  the  outstanding  heroes  of  the  war, 
and  even  now,  his  presence  creates  a  little 
furor  of  excitement.  Stacy  feels  mildly  pleased 
at  having  corralled  this  dinner  guest,  and  pro- 
vided Novak  with  as  obviously  desirable  a 
date  as  Peggy. 

It  is  therefore  a  considerable  shock  all 
around,  when,  at  the  end  of  the  evening, 
Novak  calmly  takes  Susan  home,  leaving  Stacy 
to  escort  a  furious  Peggy  out  to  Brooklyn. 
Susan  is  more  surprised  than  anybody,  and 
doesn't  know  how  to  deal  with  the  situation. 
But  Novak  persuades  her  to  relax  a  little  and 
"Let  the  Maguire  side  of  the  family  come  out 
for  a  while."  Gradually,  he  learns  more  about 
her.  That  she  hates  her  mother  because 
she  considers  her  responsible  for  the  suicide  of 
Susan's  father.  That  she  is  afraid  of  love  be- 
cause her  mother  followed  it  too  far. 

Susan  in  turn,  learns  why  Novak  feels  that 
he  really  isn't  a  war  hero  at  all.  Why  he  has 
not  gone  back  to  his  home  town  and  the  ac- 
claim that  awaits  him  there.  Oh,  they  both 
have  plenty  to  learn  about  each  other  and 
about  themselves. 

La  Davis  is  wonderful  as  always,  and  Jim 
Davis,  who  plays  Novak,  seems  to  be  quite  a 
discovery. — War. 

HAZARD 

The  whir  of  the  roulette  wheel,  the  click  of 
dice,  or  the  soft  riffle  of  falling  cards  may  not 
mean  a  thing  to  you.  Certainly,  they  are  some- 
thing you  can  take  or  leave  alone.  This  is  not 
true  of  Ellen  Crane  (Paulette  Goddard).  To 
her,  they  are  an  escape  from  the  unhappiness 
she  can't  face,  and  as  such,  she  just  musf  have 
them. 

Ellen  lost  her  husband  in  the  war,  and  ever 
since,  she  has  been  gambling  away  her  for- 
tune in  an  effort  to  forget.  This  time,  she  has 
gambled  herself  into  a  situation  she  is  not 
going  to  find  it  easy  to  get  out  of. 


Hazard:  Smooth  detective  Macdonald  Carey 
chases  Paulette  Goddard  across  the  continent. 


Lonnie  Burns,  (Fred  Clark),  who  has  a  fin- 
ger in  many  of  New  York's  rackets,  has  a 
check  Ellen  gave  him.  The  check  turned  out 
to  be  worth  as  much  as  a  laundry  slip.  "No 
Funds,"  the  bank  said,  succinctly.  So  Lonnie 
makes  Ellen  a  little  proposition.  They  will  cut 
for  high  card.  If  she  wins,  she  gets  the  check 
back.  If  she  loses,  she  has  to  marry  Lonnie. 

She  loses.  But  she  welches  on  the  bet,  and 
leaves  town  before  Lonnie  can  do  anything 
about  it.  What  he  aloes  do,  however,  is  hire 
the  smoothest  private  detective  you  ever  saw, 
off  screen  or  on,  to  find  her  and  bring  her  back. 

This  detective  is  named  Storm  (Macdonald 
Carey),  and  he  is  told  only  that  Ellen  gave  a 
bad  check  to  Lonnie. 

The  chase  that  follows  covers  most  of  the 
continent,  with  Ellen  stopping  off  for  a  fast 
game  of  roulette,  or  a  day  at  the  races,  here 
and  there.  Storms  catches  up  with  her  on  each 
of  those  occasions,  but  besides  being  the 
smoothest  private  detective,  he  is  also  the  un- 
luckiest.  EHen  always  gets  away  again,  until, 
after  an  extra  big  crap  game,  she  finally  lands 
in  a  Los  Angeles  jail. 

Storm  bails  her  out  and  they  start  East  in 
his  convertible,  and  grim  silence.  Neither  lasts 
very  long.  The  convertible  burns  up  when 
Ellen  tries  to  pull  another  fast  one,  and  the 
silence  is  broken  by  what  are  now,  obviously, 
lovers'  quarrels.  Eventually,  Ellen  finds  the 
truth  of  that  old  saw,  "Unlucky  at  cards,  lucky 
in  love." — Par. 

RELENTLESS 

This  is  a  something  -  for  -  everyone  deal. 
Enough  blood  and  thunder  for  Junior  and  his 
pop,  enough  love  interest  for  mom,  enough 
blazing  Technicolor  desert  sunshine  to  make 
us  all  leave  the  theater  with  first  degree 
(Continued  on  page  92) 


Relentless:  Blood-and-thunder  Technicolor  star- 
ring Robert  Young  and  Marguerite  Chapman. 


The  Most  Feminine 
Face  Powder  Color  Ever  Created 

NOW  One  Color  is  Intensely  Flattering  To 
All  Types  of  Skin,  Including  YOURS! 

66 


Here's  something  wonderfully  new 
and  different  in  a  shade  of  face  pow- 
der! A  color  that  is  so  truly  feminine 
it  not  only  flatters,  but  brings  you  a 
charm  that  is  entirely  new  and  com- 
pletely captivating. 

And  my  exciting  new  "Bridal  Pink" 
is  for  you,  because  I  have  tried  it  on 
every  skin-color  type  I  could  find,  and 
without  exception  every  girl,  every 
woman  who  wore  it,  instandy  found 
herself  more  interesting,  more  excit- 
ing than  ever  before. 

IF  you're  a  Blond,  "Bridal  Pink"  will 
intensify  your  blondness,  make  you 
look  more  feminine  than  ever. 

IF  you're  a  Brunei,  with  fair  skin . . . 
"Bridal  Pink"  glorifies  this  contrast 
with  a  new,  more  feminine  look. 


Jay  Thorpe  Original 

IF  you're  Brown-Haired,  with  a  me- 
dium skin . .  ."Bridal  Pink"  will  bring 
you  the  exciting  lift  of  new  femininity. 

IF  you're  Auburn-Haired,  with  a 
pale  complexion . .  ."Bridal  Pink"  will 
wake  up  your  skin,  giving  it  the  life 
and  warmth  of  real  live  femininity. 

Lady  Esther  "Bridal  Pink"  Now 
at  all  Good  Cosmetic  Counters 

Look  different  tomorrow!  Appear  with 
this  newly  beautiful,  more  feminine 
look.  See  how  your  face  fights  up  with 
instant  new  life  and  warmth.  Find 
out,  as  you  will,  how  much  more 
attractive  you  immediately  become. 

Lady  Esther  Face  Powder  is  sold  at 
the  best  stores  in  50<f  and  25tf 
sizes.  Get  your  box  of  Lady  Esther 
"Bridal  Pink"  today! 


1948  Lady  Esther  23 


dorothy 
kilgallen 

selects 

"mr.  blandings 
builds 
his  dream 
house" 


Cary  Grant,  Melvyn  Douglas  and  Myrna   Loy  view  the  beginnings  of  a  dream. 


24 


■  Accurate  imitation  of  life  can  be 
one  of  the  finest  forms  of  comedy — 
and  that,  I  think,  accounts  for  the 
superior  brand  of  hilarity  in  Mr. 
Blandings  Builds  His  Dream  House. 
A  custard  pie  in  the  face  is  classically 
humorous,  but  special — not  an  ex- 
perience universally  shared.  After 
all,  comparatively  few  audiences 
know  what  it  is  like  to  be  caressed  by 
a  plateful  of  meringue. 

But  let  a  man  on  the  screen  grope 
feebly  through  a  closet  crammed 
with  his  wife's  finery  and  falling 
boxes,  and  the  magic  of  recognition 
goes  to  work.  Joe  Doakes  nudges 
the  missus,  Aunt  Mabel  whispers 
"Just  like  Harry,"  and  the  laughter 
that  drowns  out  the  sound  track  is 
warm  and  sympathetic. 

That's  why  they  will  roar  merrily 
from  border  to  border  and  coast  to 
coast  at  Cary  Grant  as  Mr.  Bland- 
ings. Blandings,  the  would-be  home 
builder,  never  descends  to  improba- 
bilities or  slapstick.  In  the  entire 
enchanting  course  of  the  movie 
nothing  happens  to  him  that  has  not 
happened  to  millions  of  his  fellows — 
with  the  possible  exception,  of  course, 
of  the  fact  that  he  is  given  Myrna 
Loy  for  his  wife. 

How  many  mortals  have  started 
out  with  a  harmless  little  summer 
afternoon   idea   and   watched  with 


horror  as  it  grew  into  a  monster? 

Who  has  not  struggled  with  the 
baffling  vagaries  of  a  plumber,  a 
painter,  a  cement-mixer  or  a  well 
driller?  Who  has  not  paid  too  much 
for  a  dream? 

The  answer  is  very  few,  and  even 
these  will  find  Mr.  Blandings  a  warn- 
ing, an  instruction  and  a  delight. 

The  story  based  on  the  book  of 
the  same  name,  quite  obviously  also 
is  based  on  life.  It  is  simple  and 
funny.  An  apartment  dweller  gets 
the  urge  to  own  that  plot  of  land, 
that  hearth,  that  castle  with  closet 
space.  And  the  fun  begins.  Fun  for 
you,  that  is — not,  until  the  very 
end,  for  poor  handsome  Mr.  Bland- 
ings. 

The  proceedings  are  enlivened  with 
unusually  intelligent  dialogue,  en- 
hanced with  a  bright,  witty  musical 
score,  and  softened  with  the  charming 
blend  of  connubiality  and  romance 
that  Myrna  Loy  and  Cary  Grant 
seem  to  achieve  better  than  most. 
Melvyn  Douglas  is  admirably  off- 
hand as  their  unhelpful  but  attractive 
"best  friend."  H.  C.  Potter's  direc- 
tion is  respectful  of  character  de- 
lineation and  pace. 

It's  one  of  those  pictures  "for  the 
whole  family" — but  especially  for  a 
family  that  has  built  a- dream  house, 
or  expects  to  some  day. 


SHOW  THE  WORLD 

A  LOVELIER  SKIN!  ( 


BIGGER-LOTS  BIGGER! 


DELICATE, 
FLOWER-LIKE  PERFUME! 


'--'is 


BEVIES  OF  BEAUTIES 
\RE  SINGING 

ITS  PRAISES! 


O       Q  V 

CAMAY  J^y 


•5* 


CAMAY 
NOW  IN  2  SIZES! 


Use  Regular  Camay  for  your 
complexion— the  new  Bath-Size 
for  your  Camay  Beauty  Bath. 


MORE  LUXURY! 
MORE  LATHER! 


SAME  FINE, 
SMOOTH  TEXTURE! 


BE  LOVELIER-     |  ^ 
3  TO  TOI  >y 


6 


Everybody's  talking  about  the  new  Bath-Size  Camay.  Buying  it. 
Trying  it.  Praising  it  to  the  skies!  Because  this  bigger  Camay 
makes  every  bath  a  luxurious  beauty  treatment.  Bathe  with  it  every  day^ 
of  your  life— and  your  skin  will  be  lovelier  from  head  to  toe. 
And  you'll  rise  from  your  bath  just  touched  with  the  delicate, 
flower-like  fragrance  of  Camay,  the  Soap  of  Beautiful  Women! 


Because  Vet®  says  "No" 


Veto  says  "no"— 


Soft  as  a  caress  .  .  .  exciting  .  .  .  new — Veto  is 
Colgate's  wonderful  cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy, 
always  smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you  lovely  all  day! 
Veto  stops  underarm  odor  instantly  .  .  .  checks  perspiration 
effectively.  And  Veto  lasts  and  lasts— from  bath  to  bath!  • 
You  feel  confident  .  .  .  sure  of  exquisite  daintiness. 


Vet©  says  "no"— 


/ 


So  effective  ...  yet  so  gentle— Colgate's  lovely, 
new  cosmetic  deodorant,  Veto,  is  harmless  to  any  normal  skin. 

Harmless,  too,  even  to  your  filmiest,  most  fragile  fabrics. 
For  Veto  alone  contains  Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  ingredient 
to  make  Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant  can  be  like  Veto! 
So  trust  always  to  Veto  —  if  you  value  your  charm! 


\ 


TRUST  ALWAYS  TO  VETO  MJF  YOU  VALUE  YOUR  CRAR3H 


s  the  lady  a 


In  Hollywood, 

talk's  cheap,  and  some 

of  them  are  saying 

Garson's  all  washed  up. 

But  let's  take  a 

look  at  the  record  .  • . 

By  ERSKINE  JOHNSON 


been? 


■  She  stood  in  the  center  of  a 
crowded  courtroom  and  twisted  her 
handkerchief. 

It  was  one  of  the  most  dramatic 
scenes  she  had  ever  played,  and 
she  played  it  to  the  hilt. 

All   eyes   in   that   courtroom  • 
fastened  on  the  tall,  beautiful 
red-head,  as  she  told  the  story  of  a 
section  of  her  life.  A 
space  of  months  paraded  before  them 
as  she  unfolded  that  story: 

He  had  played  her  son  in  a 
picture.    They  had  fallen  in  love. 
She  was  older  than  he  was, 
but  that  didn't  seem  to  make  any 
difference. 

Women  in  the  courtroom  silently 
pulled  their  handkerchiefs  from  their 
purses  and  wiped  their  sentimental 
eyes  as  she  talked. 

She  told  the  court  that  it  was 
a  happy  marriage  up  to  a  point,  then 
something    had    gone    wrong,  the 
romance  had  soured,  and  now  she 
was  asking  for  a  divorce.   As  the  final 
justification  for  her  request,  she  said  that 
her  husband  had  told  her  she 
was  a  "has-been"  in  Hollywood. 

"A  has-been!"  The  phrase 
that  touches  a  Hollywood  heart  with 
a  cold  and  icy  hand  and  holds  it  in 
a  death  grip  of  fear. 

It  was  the  curtain  speech  of  her 
performance  in  the  court.    "He  told 
me  I  was  a  'has-been'." 

Now  (Continued  on  page  113) 


27 


1.  "That  crazy  collie  pup  of  mine,  Bill,  gets  the  papers  at  4  a.m.  2.  "I'm  an  hour  late  for  the  studio  already,  and  I  have  to  dash 
and  hides  them.  This  morning  they  were  right  under  the  camellia  upstairs.  I've  forgotten  my  shoes — and  my  script.  On  the  way  down, 
bush.  Very  uninspired,   Bill,   I    could   have   done   better  myself."      Pete  collars  me  for  a  good-bye  kiss.  Ah,  this  is  what  I  live  for  .  .  ." 


4.  "In  the  scene  we're  going  to  do  now,  we  ride  into  camp  after  5.  "It's  after  1.2,  the  weekly  poker  game  is  over  (I  lost),  and  I've  put 
the  last  battle  of  the  Civil  War  and  wreck  the  place.  So  you  in  a  call  to  Ellie,  who's  on  tour.  Now,  I'll  slip  my  favorite  symphony 
can  see  that  we've  got  to  do  it  rfght  the  first  time — or  else!"      on  the  record  machine,  get  a  good  book — and  wait  for  the  phone. v 


28 


3.  "Bill  Holden  and  I  are  waiting  for  them  to  get  ready  for  the 
big  courtroom  scene  in  The  Man  From  Colorado.  We  started  this 
game  first  day  of  shooting  and — excuse  me,  they're  calling  us  .  .  ." 


*.  "In  a  few  hours,  it'll  be  6:30  again,  and  I'll  be  starting 
all  over.  Right  now,  I've  got  to  learn  300  words  of  dialogue. 
But  I'm  feeling  very  good.    I've  just  been  talking  to   my  wife." 


at  6:30 


by 

glenn 
ford 


"You  actors," 
sighs  his  ex-bootcamp 
buddy.  "Sleep  til! 
noon  .  .  .  kiss  beautiful 
dames  .  .  ."  And 
Glenn  grins  wearily,  be- 
cause he's  been  up 
since  6:30  a.m. — and  the  only 
female  on  the  set  has 
four  legs  and  a  saddle! 


■  I  ran  into  an  old  Marine  Corps 
buddy  of  mine  the  other  day.  I'll  call  him 
Joe,  because  that's  not  his  name. 

Joe  and  I,  we  used  to  bunk  side  by  side 
in  boot  camp  and  every  gray  dawn, 
come  6:30  sharp  when  Little  Boy  Blue  cut 
loose  with  his  bugle,  we'd  groan  and  gripe 
somewhat  like  this: 

"Brother,  if  I'm  ever  a  civilian  again,  I'll  heave 
every  alarm  clock  I  meet  straight  out  the 
window,  roll  over  on  a  mattress  six  feet 
deep  and  sleep  every  day  until  noon!" 

When  I  saw  Joe,  the  other  day,  he  sounded 
sort  of  disillusioned.  "Fordie,"  said  Joe. 
"How're  you  making  with  that  dream 
of  ours,  pal?  Me,  I'm  back  at  the  old  desk, 
punching  the  clock  and  putting  in  my 
eight  hours  a  day.     But  you — say, 
you're  the  guy  who  really  made  it  work.  What 
a  life!  Sleeping  late,  lying  around  all  day, 
kissing  pretty  girls.  Nothing  but  fun,  and  they  pay 
you  for  it!   Chum,  give — how  do  you  do  it?" 

I  didn't  have  the  heart  right  there  to 
set  Joe  straight.  But  later  on  I  got  to  worrying. 
Suppose,  like  a  lot  of  other  people,  the  guy 
really  believed  all  that.   Right  .he  was,  of 
course — I'm   the   luckiest   ex-Marine   in  the 
world  to  be  back  making  pictures  in  Holly- 
wood. But  about  that  life  of  ease  stuff — 

Look,  Joe,  I  figure  the  only  way  I  can 
convince  a  character  like  you  is  to  set  a  watch  on 
myself  and  deliver  a  blow-by-blow  report." 
Maybe  it  will  make  you  feel  better  right  away  to 
know  that  my  Hollywood  reveille  is  still  that 
same  ghastly  hour.  It's  exactly 

6:30  and  I'm  waking  up  to  music.  No  bugle  like 
the  boot  barracks,  thank  the  Lord.  I've  slipped 
a  symphony  on  my  record  machine  be- 
fore I  blanked  out  last  night,  and  it's  wired 
to  an  electric  clock  to  start  playing  you 
know  when.  I've  got  an  {Continued  on  page  106) 


29 


The  James'  recently  celebrated  Yield's  4th  birthday.    Mama  Betty's  now  making  That  Lady  in  Ermine.    Baby  Jess,   I,  occupies  Harry's  lap. 


■  Sure,  people  go  for  glamor.  Sure,  they 
get  a  kick  out  of  Hollywood's  dazzling 
daughters.  Look  at  the  Harlows,  the  Hedy 
Lamarrs  .  .  .  They  make  the  headlines,  the 
columns,  they  fall  in  love  in  public.  And 
when  they  break  their  hearts,  the  public 
sighs  for  them. 

But  it  isn't  these  moon-touched  creatures 
who  hit  that  No.  1  box-office  slot,  year 
after  year.  It's  the  warmer,  more  human 
stars.  It's  the  boosters  of  family  life,  the 
solid  citizens.  Marie  Dressier  .  .  .  Shirley 
Temple  .  .  .  and  now  Betty  Grable. 

I  don't  have  to  tell  you  much  about 
Betty.  The  box  office  figures  prove  you 
know.  Still,  it's  possible  you've  been  tak- 
ing her  for  granted.  She's  your  girl,  she's 
terrific,  she  does  her  own  shopping,  she 
loves  her  own  husband — and  when  you  come 
right  down  to  it,  so  what?  A  lot  of  people 
love  their  husbands.    Happy  homes  aren't 


anything  new ;  they're  a  nice,  solid  tradition. 
That's  true,  of  course.  With  you.  With  me. 
How  about  with  movie  stars?  How  about 
steering  a  Grable  course  in  a  city  known  for 
its  poses,  its  easy  divorce — in  a  city  where 
women  deny  their  own  children,  and  there 
are  too  many  cooks  for  every  broth? 

When  I  get  through  telling  what  I  know 
about  Betty  Grable,  I  don't  think  you'll 
take  that  kid  for  granted  any  more. 

I'll  start  with  a  recent  afternoon.  I  was 
visiting  Betty  when  her  daughter  Victoria 
whirled  into  the  room,  and  Betty's  arms. 

Betty  hugged  her,  glowing.  "This  is  what 
I  live  for.  Is  there  really  such  a  thing  as  a 
studio?    Do  I  really  make  pictures?" 

I  grinned.  "There's  a  persistent  rumor 
around  town  that  you're  Hollywood's  big- 
gest female  star — you're  right  below  Bing 
Crosby." 

We  were  sitting  in  a  cozy  room,  warm 


with  wood  beams  and  panels,  a  huge  field- 
stone  hearth  and  fireplace,  deep  long  sofas 
and  chairs,  plenty  of  brass  and  pewter  and 
chintz  all  around.  "Our  living-room,"  Betty 
said,  "and  I  mean  it.  We  collect  here,  we 
always  eat  here — all  of  us.  Everybody's 
welcome — babies,  relatives,  guests,  servants, 
puppy  dogs."  ("Punky,"  the  French  poodle, 
bounded  in  just  then  to  prove  it,  and  sniffed 
•  around.)  "It's  likely  to  turn  into  anything 
at  any  time,"  sighed  Betty.  "Hallowe'en  it 
was  all  over  black  paper,  pumpkin  shells, 
and  witch  hats.  Christmas — what  a  won- 
derful mess !  Thanksgiving — cranberry 
stains,  apples,  turkey  crumbs.  And  tomor- 
row's Vicki's  birthday.  We've  got  to  doll 
it  up  again." 

/  was  thinking  of  the  Regency  rooms,  the 
Empire  rooms,  the  "Louis  Qiiinze"  rooms, 
decorators'  dreams  scattered  in  other  star 
homes  all  over  Beverly  Hills  and  Holly- 


virtue 


pays 


For  years,  exhibitors 

have  been  naming  Betty  Grable 

their  No.  I  money-maker 

— and  we've  been  wondering: 

Can  a  woman  with 

a  minimum  of  husbands  and 

couple  of  kids  have  more 

appeal  than  a  siren?  Hedda 

— and  the  box-office — say  yes ! 

by  hedda  hopper 


wood.  Rich,  immaculate,  cold,  and  un- 
touchable. 

I  looked  around.  Two  baby  buggies 
were  parked  side  by  side,  smack  in  the 
middle  of  the  place.  Vicki's  doll  house 
perched  importantly  on  the  best  table.  A 
stack  of  records — maybe  a  couple  of  thou- 
sand, cluttered  one  corner. 

Before  Vicki'd  raced  in,  I'd  been  watching 
the  James  girls  through  the  big  windows. 
One  in  pink,  one  blue,  they'd  been  playing 
in  the  sun  under  the  watchful  eye  of  their 
nurse;  Vicki  pushing  a  circus-painted 
merry-go-round,  Jessica  goggling,  entranced. 

"Mommy,"  Vicki  was  whispering  now, 
"can  I  stay  here  while  you  talk?" 

Betty  squeezed  her  close.  "You  certainly 
may,  darling.  You  can  always  stay  wher- 
ever Mommy  is." 

A  picture  flashed  to  my  mind.  A  cer- 
tain star  I  know.  {Continued  on  page  97) 


the  record  at  the  box-office: 


VIRTUE:  FIRST  GLAMOR:  A  POOR  SECOND 


Early  1930's:  The  name  of  platinum  beauty  Jean  Harlow  always 
figured  in  exciting  headlines.  Though  her  fans  were  legion  and 
fiercely  loyal,  it  was  plain  old  hard-trouping  Marie  Dressier 

who  outshone  her  as  No.  1  female  box-office  draw  of  her  day. 


Late  1930's:  America's  darling  was  Shirley  Temple,  all  purity 
and  light.  She  headed  money-makers  4  years  in  a  row.  Marlene 
Dietrich,  who  spelled  Sex  from  her  gold-dusted  curls  to  her 
satin  mules,  was  labeled  "box-office  poison"  by  movie  exhibitors. 


1940's:  Betty  Grable,  today's  biggest  money-coiner  among 
women  stars,  admits  her  home  and  family  come  first.  Linda 
Darnell,  who  has  had  to  sacrifice  some  personal  happiness 
for  a  glamor  career,  never  hit  the  very  top  box-office  brackets. 


by  dorothy  kilgallen 


Technicolored 
Venus  .  .  .  queen  of 
the  lot — yet  not  to 
be  envied!  That's 
how  Kilgallen 
sizes  up  Hayworth, 
the  lady  who's 
had  too  much  romance 
the  lady  who  hasn't 
found  love  ... 


■  Some  weeks  ago  a  Hollywood  writer  added  to  the  ever-piquant  chronicle  of  Rita 
Hayworth  this  salient  note: 

"Rita  is  so  anxious  to  get  away  early  this  summer  that  she  has  booked  passage  on 
five  different  boats." 

There  was  no  explanation  of  why  the  gentle  siren  of  the  Technicolor  cinema  yearned 
so  desperately  to  fly  from  her  land  of  milk  and  honey  and  mile-high  billing  and  boy- 
friends at  the  other  end  of  every  phone  call.  Perhaps  the  writer  felt  none  was  needed. 

But  a  short  time  after  that  announcement  a  reporter  visiting  the  set  of  a  Hayworth 
drama  asked  the  star  to  give  a  capsule  description  of  her  own  personality. 
"Are  you  gay,  vivacious,  sultry — how  shall  I  describe  you?"  he  inquired. 
Rita  smiled  wanly. 

"Just  describe  me  as  tired,"  she  replied. 

And  there  you  have  the  old  Hollywood  story.  {Continued  on  next  page) 


Genius:  glib,  colorful  "boy  wonder"  Orson  Welles  impressed  Rita  by  being  intellectual,  witty,  vivid,  opinionated — and  more  egotistical  than  any 
glamor  guy  she'd  ever  met.    (Above,  with  the  Errol  Flynns  on  their  yacht,  Zaca.  Lady  From  Shanghai  scenes  were  filmed  aboard  the  Zaca.) 


Playboy:  After  her  divorce  from  Welles,  Rita  played  the  Holly-  Master-mind:  Rita's  first  husband,  Ed  Judson,  was  a  slick  promoter  who 
wood  bachelor  field.  Steve  Crane,  Lana's  ex,  entered  the  pic-  picked  her  like  a  canny  horse-trader  picks  horseflesh.  He  changed  her 
ture  briefly,  never  meant  more  than  a  casual  evening  of  dancing.      hairline,  taught  her  to  wear  clothes,  handle  herself  like  a  glamor  girl 


34 


too  many  men  in  her  life.  Rita,  confused  and 
uncertain,  has  never  discovered  her  "type." 


Gorgeous  hunk:  About  her  romance  with  Victor  Mature  (now  mar- 
ried to  Dorothy  Berry),  Rita  said,  "He's  kind  and  considerate,  and 
he  makes  me  laugh.  When  I'm  with  him,  I'm  in  a  different  world." 


Gentleman-in-waiting:  Teddy  Stauffer,  Swiss  bandleader  who  danced 
attendance  on  Rita  when  she  was  abroad  and  crossed  the  ocean  to 
be  near  her,  was  deeply  smitten.    She  liked  him — but  that's  all. 


{.Continued,  from  preceding  page)  Aphrodite,  pin-up  girl, 
queen  of  the  lot — yet  not  altogether  to  be  envied. 

It  always  seems  more  than  faintly  silly  to  commiserate  in 
public  print  with  a  girl  who  has  youth,  beauty,  talent  and 
energy  and  is  worth  her  weight  in  cabochon  rubies.  Obviously 
it  is  more  than  a  little  difficult  to  make  the  average  Josephine 
shed  tears  of  sympathy  over  a  lass  like  that. 

But  the  truth  is  that  unless  you  consider  the  signing  of 
autographs  and  the  wearing  of  Paris  gowns  to  be  permanent 
and  sufficient  pleasures,  there  is  a  large  and  glamorous  group 
of  female  stars  in  Hollywood  who  are  frustrated  and  discon- 
tented and  not  to  be  compared  in  the  happiness  league  with 
average  women  of  slight  purse,  unremarkable  face  and  no 
fame  at  all. 

Hedy  Lamarr  is  one  of  them.  There  are  dozens  of  others. 
They  belong  to  an  unofficial  club  of  girls  who  don't  always  get 
the  men  they  want  and  don't  always  want  the  men  they, 
get. 

Rita  is  a  charter  member  of  the  club.  It  has  been  that  way 
since  she  was  in  her  teens. 


She  .was  quite  a  different  kind  of  siren  then — too  plump 
for  the  cameras,  too  gauche  for  speaking  roles,  too  badly 
dressed  and  too  unsure  to  make  an  impression  on  Hollywood's 
skin-deep  social  life.  Her  name  was  Margarita  Cansino  and 
she  was  definitely  the  Spanish-dancer  type.  Her  hairline 
grew  too  low  for  cinema  beauty,  her  makeup  was  obvious, 
her  diction  went  with  the.  general  ensemble. 

But  she  had  magnificent  legs.  They  were  what  the  20th 
Century-Fox  talent  scout  saw  when  he  signed  her,  and  those 
legs  were  filmed  over  and  over  again  for  pictures  in  which 
her  face  never  appeared. 

Then  Eddie  Judson,  the  first  man  in  her  life,  appeared  on 
the  horizon  and  changed  the  dancing-girl  Margarita  Cansino 
into  Rita  Hayworth.  Judson  was  a  slick  promoter  who 
picked  her  the  way  a  horse-trader  with  a  gambling  in- 
stinct picks  a  piece  of  horseflesh.  He  married  her  and  pro- 
ceeded to  bring  her  along  as  carefully  and  as  cleverly  as  any 
manager  training  a  prospective  challenger  for  a  prizefight 
title.  He  got  her  weight  down,  changed  her  hairline  and  her 
makeup,   invested   heavily   in    {Continued   on   page  71) 


35 


vcslli  is  sublime 


double 


■  Since  I  had  seen  none  of 
the  34  Italian  movies  in  which  Alida 
Valli  had  starred  before  arriving 
here  in  January,  1947,  I  boned  up  on  my 
subject  by  going  to  see  The  Paradine 
Case  before  setting  out  to  interview 
her.   I  came  away  from  the  theater  with 
the  impression  of  a  sultry,  brooding 
woman  who  might  easily  set  fire  to  the 
drapes  through  the  process  of  . 
spontaneous  combustion;  so  I  was  not 
prepared  for  the  reality  when  I  went 
to  call  on  Miss  Valli  the  following 
morning  at  the  Plaza  Hotel.  Because  Miss 
Valli,  in  person,  has  the  fresh,  scrubbed, 
school-girl  look  of  Ingrid  Bergman  off-stage. 

Miss  Valli  is  beautiful,  all  right. 
But  any  resemblance  between  her  off- 
screen self  and  the  smoldering  Mrs. 
Paradine  is  purely  coincidental  and  a  fine 
piece  of  acting.    In  fact,  Mrs. 
Paradine  is  still  a  source  of  amazement 
to  her  creator. 

"It  is  the  first  time  I  have  ever  played 
a  femme  fatale,"  she  said.   And  then 
Miss  ValU  lowered  her  voice,  as  if 
hopeful  that  the  confession  might  not 
prove  too  shocking. 

"You  know,  I  was'  the  Deanna  Durbin 
of  Italy  for  years." 

I  studied  this  Selznick  discovery,  amazed. 
Her  breakfast  coat  was  not  Star  stuff; 
it  was  a  plain  bathrobe  of  fine,  aqua  blue 
flannel,  cinched  around  her  neat  waist. 
And  it  did  not  cover  a  black  robe  de  nuit; 
it  covered  a  pair  of  old  white  silk 
pajamas  that  looked  as  if  they 
might  have  been  pinched  from  her  husband, 
pianist  Oscar  de  Mejo. 

Nor  are  her  manners  yet  off  the  Hollywood 
assembly  line.    She  began  drinking 
her  stone  cold  breakfast  coffee  without 
comment.    It  was  I  who  bellowed 
for  hot,  on  the  theory  Old  Marse  Selznick 
wouldn't  want  us  to  have  anything  but 
the  best.    And    {Continued  on  page  83) 


valli  is  simple  .  .  • 


He's  a  strange 

young  man,  Bob  Walker — dis- 
appears for  weeks, 
turns  down  beautiful  parts, 
and  people  whisper 
he's  still  in  love  with  his  ex- 
wife.    Like  Garbo,  Bob's 
becoming  a  mysterious  recluse 
another  Hollywood  legend  .  . 


By  FLORABEL  MUIR 

Special  Moderm  Screen  Reporter 


Ava  Gardner  and  Bob  get  along  fine  on  the  One  Touch  of  Venus  set,  but 
they're  "just  friends."  Bob  recently  disappeared  again;  just  walked  off 
the    set.     Studio    was    frantic    until    he    nonchalantly    strolled  back. 


■  Consider  the  mystery  of  Robert  Walker, 
one  of  the  strangest  men  in  Hollywood. 

He's  a  guy  with  a  million  romances,  but 
they  say  he's  still  in  love  with  his  ex-wife. 

He's  a  man  who  wants  to  act,  but  he's 
turned  down  parts  any  other  actor  would 
have  hocked  his  soul  for.  (A  lead  in  State 
of  the  Union,  for  instance.) 

He's  disappeared  for  long  stretches  at  a 
time,  and  neither  family,  friends  nor  studio 
could  track  him  down,  or  lure  him  back. 

He's  behaved  at  all  times  the  way  he's 


felt  like  behaving;  he's  never  conformed, 
he's  never  tried  to. 

He  went  straight  to  the  top,  stayed  there 
a  while,  and  then  very  calmly  walked  out. 

Nobody  in  Hollywood  understood 
Walker  but  that  wasn't  strange,  because 
Walker  didn't  understand  himself. 

A  few  months  ago,  he  went  to  the  head 
men  at  Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer.  "Take  me 
off  the  payroll,"  he  said.  "I'm  through 
with  movies  for  good." 

"Listen,  Bob,"  one  of  them  said,  "take 


some  -time  and  think  it  over.  Go  to  New 
York,  do  a  play — but  quit  talking  nonsense. 
Hollywood  is  where  you  belong." 

Walker  shook  his  head  stubbornly.  "Take 
me  off  the  payroll.  I'm  not  working,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  work." 

"You  can't  work  for  any  other  outfit," 
he  was  warned.  "Your  contract  belongs  to 
Metro." 

"I  understand  that.  I'm  not  asking  you 
to  tear  up  my  contract.  I  just  want  it 
clearly  understood  that  as  far  as  pictures 


38 


;  are  concerned  I'm  all  washed  up.  Through." 
It  was  shortly  thereafter  that  Frank 

j  Capra  sent  for  Bob  and  offered  him  the 

I  part  of  the  young  newspaperman  in  State 
of  the  Union.   He  wasn't  interested.  That 

I  was  a  break  for  Van  Johnson  who  was 
tickled  to  get  the  role.  Then  the  studio 
wanted  Bob  for  a  top  part  in  its  massive 
Technicolor  production  of  The  Three  Mus- 
keteers.  He  said  no  again. 

Now  Bob  has  one  very  close  pal  in  Hol- 
lywood.   He's  Jimmy  Henaghan,  a  bright 


young  man  with  a  bubbling  sense  of  humor, 
who  works  at  Paramount  breathing  life 
into  dead  scripts.  I  doubt  if  anyone  (out- 
side of  Bob's  father  and  mother  and  aunt) 
shares  Bob's  confidence  to  the  extent  that 
Jimmy  does.  When  it  looked  as  though 
Bob's  career  was  about  to  crack  up,  Jimmy 
felt  terrible. 

"Listen,  fella,  what's  eating  you?"  he 
asked. 

"I'm  just  sick  and  tired  of  playing  Pri- 
vate Hargrove,"  Bob  said.    "I'm  sick  of 


playing  a  callow  and  eager  young  man." 

"I  think  you're  crazy,"  Jimmy  said. 
"You're  a  great  actor.  Makes  no  difference 
what  role  you  play.  Look,  I've  got  a  sug- 
gestion. Try  comedy.  You  can  be  the 
new  Harold  Lloyd!" 

Bob  listened,  but  turned  away. 

"Guess  I'll  take  a  trip  back  home  to 
Utah,"  he  said,  and  that's  what  he  did.  For 
weeks  he  just  visited  around  with  relatives 
at  Ogden,  Utah,  seeing  boys  and  girls  he'd 
grown  up  with,  {Continued  on  page  105) 


.■Don1*  neea 

■MAM"  M«" 

baby-si«ers. 

m.mb»eA 

eare  .«  *.  «* 

self ..  S.  S«« 

pe«ed  «*  *•  l0<1<1 
ho*.  Mam° 


do 


y 


.     ^is  wife 

are  always  *  deat,  sw  dvx "Man       ,    do0t.  ^l 

Susie  said,  ^  Ben*  .       d  { 0  the 

»whv  1  caTl      i  or"  sweetly,  ana        oVie."       ,  He 
«"Wny,        v     dear,  s,v  -IS  no  m°v        bitterness.  * 

Susie  satd,  ^      t  honey,  *15  '     ^  some  brtt  He 

^  SbVUS  upon  ner  £ten  ** 

guessed  be  c             ie  irorn             itlt0  the  ttea 

just  ^  to  keep          bread  and  1              and  ieea  ^ 

^  I'  cSe  oi          and  ^  ^  ^dj*  t  t 

them  both  a  coup  schedule  J  ^a  d  »  after- 
glide  thtougn  be       ^  tatnself.            ^  nap 

6  "Fairy  stones,   *          ,erfl.  And  ^ 

n°°n'      Jed  good-^ud  it 


susie's  day  out 


6.  David  squirmed  like  an  eel  and  Alan's  hands  trembled — it  7.  Alan  asked  permission  first,  then  removed  teddy  bear  and 
was  his  first  attempt  at  baby-bathing.  Climax  to  the  bath  was  blocks  from  the  crib.  With  David  safely  out  of  the  way,  Lonnie 
a  quick  shower  under  the  faucet.  David  squealed  in  delight.      and  Dad  (who's  finished  Beyond  Glory)  headed  for  the  barn. 


42 


4.  Soup  was  on  again  but  David  complained.  Seems  he  wanted  5.  No  privacy  for  David  when  he  got  ready  for  his  bath.  Alana 
to  be  taken  care  of  before  Alana.  Dad  was  so  busy  all  day  (called  Lonnie)  and  Dad  helped  the  gentleman  disrobe.  Later, 
picking  up  toys  and  answering  questions,  he  forgot  to  eat!      four-year-old  Lonnie  massaged  her  brother's  feet  with  lotion. 


8.  The  lady  had  a  mind  of  her  own  and  wanted  to  skip  a  nap,  9.  After  both  kids  were  in  bed,  Sue  (visiting  Dinah  Shore) 
but  finally  decided  on  a  small  one  in  the  late  afternoon.  Last  got  a  phone  call.  It  was  Alan.  "Honey,"  he  said,  "everything's 
trick  was  to  make  Alan  brush  her  hair  before  she'd  retire.      under    control,    but    please    come    home."    P.S.    She  did. 


43 


"MacRaymond"  pool  clings  to  lower  terrace  (there  are  5  levels).  Twin  Gables,  ,n  exclusive  Bel-Air  section,  is  the  sam .  house 
Poolhouse  (background),  once  scene  of  swimming  parties  tor  to  which  Gene  brought  h.s  br.de  I  I  years  ago.  He  bought  and 
servicemen,    is    now    ideal    setting    for    informal    barbecues.      furnished  it  as  a  surpr.se  for  Jeanette,  who  loved  ,t  on  sight. 


44 


ouse  they  live  in 


Inviting  their  friends  to  dinner  is  faster  with  two  phones. 
Formal  dinners  are  usually  topped  off  with  Gene's  specialty, 
Cafe  Diablo  (coffee  and  brandy,  ignited  in  a  large  bowl.) 


Once  they  had  7  dogs;  now  there  are  two:  Trey  (above)  and  Misty. 
Their  horses,  Black  Knight  and  White  Lady,  are  farmed  out,  and  the 
horse   stalls   converted    into    Gene's   writing    room — "Fable  Stable." 


This  is  about  a 
house  with  a  heart  .  .  . 
Gene  Raymond  built 
it  for  his  Jeanette. 
There's  no  other  house — 
or  story — like  it 
in  all  the  world. 

BY  HELEN  FERGUSON 


■  See  the  house  on  the  page  at  your  left?  Looks  just  like  a 
house.  Not  ordinary,  maybe.  A  little  bigger,  a  little  more 
beautiful  than  a  lot  of  places.  But  you  couldn't  guess  its  secrets 
from  looking  at  it.  You'd  never  suspect  that  every  closet  had 
a  skeleton,  or  that  we'd  stolen  material  for  the  very  drapes,  or 
that  we'd  lied  and  cheated  for  months  to  make  it  all  come  true  . .  . 
It  began  one  night  when  Gene  Raymond  (my  first  male  star 
client  when  1  opened  my  publicity  office  in  Hollywood,  and  later 
my  good  friend)  was  talking  to  my  husband  Dick  and  me  about 
his  forthcoming  marriage  to  Jeanette  MacDonald. 

I  grinned.  "So  come  next  June,  Gene,  you'll  carry  your  bride 
across  your  threshold — " 

Raymond  looked  around  the  room.  "I  don't  have  a  threshold 
that  I  own,"  he  said  anxiously.  "I  ought  to  have."  The  next 
minute  he  came  up  with  the  big  idea.  He  went  home  spinning 
a  dream,  that  night,  and  my  husband  and  I  were  pledged  to  help. 

Gene  Raymond's  dream  sits  today  high  on  a  wooded  Bel-Air 
hill  above  the  twinkling  lights  of  Hollywood.    We  call  it  the 


45 


Gene's  bedroom  is  used  as  a  sort  ot  upstairs  study,  too.  The  walls  are 
panelled  in  a  satin-finished,  .  hand-hewn  wood,  ordered  by  Jeanette  to 
Gene's  taste.  Gene  caught  the  marlin   (over  fireplace)   off  Florida  coast. 


Jeanette  recently  remodeled  the  guest  rooms  into  a  suite  for  herself.  Quilted 
wall  covering  is  of  spun-glass  fabric,  as  is  matching  coral  and  silver  chair 
upholstery.  On  the  custom-made  desk  is  a  portrait  of  Jeanette's  late  mother. 


THE  HOUSE  THEY  1IVE  IN 

"MacRaymonds,"  though  Gene  and  Jean- 
ette call  it  "Twin  Gables."  It's  more 
than  just  a  house  and  always  will  be.  For 
eleven  years  (they'll  celebrate  that  anni- 
versary there  this  June)  to  me  it  has  been 
a  symbo}  of  a  man's  deep  desire  to  please 
the  woman  he  loves,  a  symbol  inspired 
by  that  woman.  To  me  the  house  is  Gene 
and  Jeanette  Raymond.  It's  a  house  with 
a  heart.  Pictures  can  indicate  its  beauty, 
but  can't  tell  the  story — the  wonderfully 
insane,  fabulous  story  of  how  Gene  per- 
sonally planned  and  furnished  it  for  his 
bride,  right  down  to  her  favorite  perfume - 
on  the  dressing  table,  and  kept  it  strictly 
secret  from  her  until  he  lifted  her  across 
its  threshold  in  the  most  romantic  real 
life  plot  of  Hollywood's  history. 

It  was  late  August  of  1936  when  Jean- 
ette and  Gene  became  engaged,  and  set 
their  wedding  for  the  following  June. 
During  the  next  ten  months,  I  connived 
with  Gene  to  deceive  my  best  friend,  his 
best  girl.  We  tricked,  tormented,  even 
stole  from  Jeanette.  We  broke  laws, 
dodged  friends,  lured  accomplices  into 
lives  of  crime,  worked  and  worried  our- 
selves down  to  skin  and  bones.  I  wouldn't 
go  through  it  all  again  for  nine  million 
dollars  and  the  Hope  diamond  thrown  in, 
not  for  anybody — except,  of  course,  Gene 
Raymond. 

He  called  me  one  day,  breathless. 
"Helen!  I've  got  the  house.  Come  up 
quick."  I  dropped  everything,  raced  to 
the  Bel-Air  address  he'd  told  me.  The 
house  was  Tudor  English  (basically  the 
kind  we'd  both  heard  Jeanette  say  she 
adored).  The  gardens  were  neglected,  but 
lovely.  I  walked  inside,  stopped  in  my 
tracks. 

It  was  just  wrong — everything  was 
wrong;  nothing  like  Jeanette.  But  it  had 
what  decorators  call  "possibilities,"  and 
Gene  saw  them.   He  said,  "I'll  buy  it!" 

"But  Gene,"  I  gasped,  "the  remodeling, 
the  decorating,  the  expense!"  My  knees 
wobbled. 

"Answer  me  a  question:  could  we  fix  it 
so  Jeanette  would  love  it?" 
"Yes,  but—" 

"Then  we'll  buy  it.   Nuts  to  expense!" 

We  bought  it.  That  is,  /  bought  it.  I 
had  to.  Let  Gene  Raymond's  name  be 
mentioned  in  the  real  estate  news,  and 
our  secret  would  be  out  right  then.  Mrs. 
Richard  Hargreaves  (that's  my  married 
name)  was  the    (Continued  on  page  94) 


A  The  classic  living-room  is  a  perfect  setting  for  two  musically- 
minded  people.  Gene  (now  making  Assignment  To  Danger)  has 
written  several  songs  which  Jeanette  sings  on  her  concert  tours. 


y  Bright  blue  brick  fireplace  in  the  charming  little  poolhouse  is 
in  sharp  contrast  to  the  warm  tones  of  Jeanette's  copper  collection. 
The  star  of  Three  Daring  Daughters  also  collects  antique  fans. 


■  Alice  "Sit-By-The-Fire"  Faye  we  call  her. 
It  takes  so  much  urging  to  get  her  out  of 
the  house  to  dinner  that  one  night  our  friends 
had  a  pipe  and  bedroom  slippers  waiting  for 
her  when  she  walked  in  their  door. 

She  hasn't  made  a  movie  in  three  years. 
She  still  has  a  contract  with  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury Fox ;  they  send  over  scripts  for  approval 
and  she  just  says:  "Get  lost,  script!"  Finally 
she  finds  one  she  likes — likes  a  lot.  But 
what  happens?  Maybe  you  read  about  it  in 
the  papers  back  there  a  few  weeks  before 
Christmas. 

We're  over  at  the  home  of  one  of  our 
writers,  playin'  The  Game  (that's  Park  Ave- 
nue charades)  when  it  happens.  Alice,  is 
on  her  feet  actin'  out  The  Wreck  of  the 
Hesperus  for  her  team.  They  don't  know 
what  her  line  is,  of  course,  and  she's  got  to 
do  it  all  in  pantomime.  They  guess  the 
first  word  fast,  get  stuck  on  wreck.  She 
twists  her  face  into  an  awful  expression  and 
goes  around  the  room  looking  all  beat  up. 
Tryin'  to  be  a  human  wreck. 

"The  witch  in  Snow  White"  someone  yells. 

This  is  so  far  off  Alice  changes  her  tack*. 
Now  she's  really  wreckin'  that  old  barge. 
With  every  roll  of  the  ship  Alice  is  tossed 
from  port  to  starboard  and  then  back.  Her 
team  doesn't  get  it. 

"A  lousy  ballet  (Continued  on  page  102) 


On  the  Fitch  Bandwagon,  Ann  Whitfield  'and  Jeanine  Roose 
sub  for  the  Harris  kids  who  are  still  too  young  to  radio-act. 
Waltec  Scharf  (opp.  pg.),  musical  director,  rehearses  Alice. 


Phil  looks  at  his  wife 

and  sighs.'  "Oh,  you  gorgeous  hunk 

of  talent,  what're  you  doin' 

here?"  He  can't  figure 

her.  "Alice,"  he  says,  "Hollywood's 

callin'  for  you!"  And  Alice  smiles, 

"But  honey,  I  want  to  stay  home." 


by 

paui 
brinkman 


Jeanne  Crain  (starred  in  Apartment  For  Peggy)  keeps  a  sketch-book  ot  Paul,  Jr. 


all  the  things  you  are 


!  1 


It  was  two  years 
ago;  the  band  was  play- 
ing softly;  Jeanne 
drifted  into  his  arms,  and 
their  song  was  telling 
it  all — the  way  Paul  felt 
then,  the  way  he  feels 
now — The  dearest  things  I 
knozv  are  what  you  are  .  .  . 


■  I  remember  the  night  we  became  engaged.  What 

a  formal  way  to  say  it.    I  looked  at  this  girl  in  her  soft,  pale 

dress,  and  my  arms  felt  shaky  around  her,  and 

none  of  the  phrases  Ronald  Colman  would  use  came  into 

my  mind.    So  I  said,  "I  love  you,"  which  she  already  knew, 

and  the  music  was  playing  "All  The  Things  You  Are," 

and  this  girl,  this  girl,  she  was  way  ahead  of  me. 

She  said,  "Nice  song,"  smiling  up,  and  I  thought, 
you'll  never  guess  how  nice,  and  then  I  thought,  but  maybe 
you  will.    Because  she  seemed  to  be  able  to  guess  everything 
else  about  me.    The  vocalist  with  the  band  was  singing 
softly.  A  bare  circle  of  floor,  a  dead-white  spot,  a  thin  figure,  and 
the  words  drifting  out . . .  "You  are  the  promised  kiss 
of  springtime  that  makes  the  lonely  Winter  seem  long.  .  .  ." 

And  that  was  funny.    That  wispy  song.    It  told  Jeanne 
everything  I  couldn't  say.   It  said  it  all. 

I'm  not  sure  but  what  I  owe  my  success  to  that  song.  I  was 
pretty  tongue-tied  myself,  but  my  girl  married  me. 

And  it's  funny  to  look  back  on,  two  years  later.  Because 
she's  still  the  kiss  of  springtime  to  me — and  much  more. 

I  can  be  sitting  in  my  office  dictating  a  letter  to  the 
president  of  a  chrome  plating   {Continued  on  page  112) 


51 


In  the  movies  you  can't  even 

count  the  odds,  they're  so  high.  But  every 

so  often  a  freak  thing  happens,  a 

kid  like  Jean  Peters  comes  along  .  .  . 


■  In  Hollywood,  there  are  a  mil- 
lion people  balancing  themselves  on  drugstore 
stools  waiting  to  be  discovered.  When 
they're  not  sitting  on  drugstore  stools,  they're 
killing  themselves  taking  lessons — sing- 
ing, dancing,  elocution.  They're  batting  their 
heads  against  the  wall.  It's  a  fever. 
They're  all  gamblers,  like  a  guy  who  plays  a  slot 
machine  every  day,  feeding  the  thing  all  his 
nickels,  feeling  each  time  that  this 
one'll  do  it. 

A  slot  machine'll  take  all  you  have  to  give  it, 
and  so  will  Hollywood,  and  by  the  time 
you  hit  the  jackpot  with  either  one,  you're 
usually  too  tired  to  care. 

So  we've  got  a  funny  story  to  tell 
you.  It's  about  a  girl  named  Jean  Peters,  who 
got  hers  without  even  trying. 

It  started  with  a  contest  at  Ohio  State  U.  A 
beauty  contest,  Jean  didn't  enter  her- 
self, even  though  her  figure  de- 
served an  honorary  degree.  She  wasn't  a  girl 
who  thought  much  about  her  looks.  She 
was  a  girl  who  liked  to  study  Educational 
Psych.,  and  she  pulled  down1  grade  A's  like  apples  . 
off  a  tree. 

She  had  a  pleasant  future  planned. 
She'd  teach  speech,  probably  right  here  at  Ohio 
State  where  the  wintry  campus  unrolled  slowly  like 
soft  white  linen,  and  the  buildings  cut  sharp 
edges  into  the  frosty  sky.  She'd  marry 
someone  she  could  talk  to  nights  before  a  fire- 
place .  .  .  he'd  understand  her  .  .  .  she'd 
be  happy  .  .  . 

But  the  other  girls  in  Baker  Hall  had  ideas. 
They  talked  about  the  (Continued  on  next  page) 


JUDGMENT  DAY:  Jean  wanted  to  teach  dramatics,  wasn't  inter- 
ested in  beauty  contests.  But  at  Columbus'  Palace  Theater,  she 
became  Miss  Ohio  State  with  score  of  95.  Runner-up  scored  82. 


GOODBYE,  OHIO  U.:  $250,  a  trip  to  Hollywood  and  a  screen  tesJ 
at  20th  Century-Fox  awaited  winner!  Roommate  Aden  Hurwit: 
helped  Jean  pack  for  Hollywood;  trip  was  during  Xmas  vacation. 


WHO'D  EVER  DREAM?:  At  airport,  Jean,  her  chaperone,  her  agent 
Paul  Robinson,  and  his  assistant  boarded  TWA  plane.  Little  did 
Jean  dream  that  Howard  Hughes,  head  of  TWA,  would  woo  her! 


LOOK  MA.  I'M  DINING!:  Arriving  in  L.A.,  Jean  was  swept  off  in 
a  limousine  to  the  Town  House,  a  fashionable  hotel.  Breakfast  in 
bed  and  a  hectic  week  of  posing  and  meeting  stars  followed. 


GILDING  THE  LILY:  When  there  were  no  more  people  to  meet,  Fox 
gave  Jean  her  test.  She  tried  on  a  blonde  wig,  got  false  eyelashes, 
one  of  Gene  Tierney's  glamorous  gowns;  learned  lines  for  two  hours. 


CINDERELLA  STEPS  OUT:  After  the  test,  Jean  dined  with  Vic 
Mature  at  La  Rue's,  then  he  took  her  to  Ciro's  where  she  met 
Desi  Arnaz.  Next  day,  Jean  went  to  the  races  with  Don  Ameche. 


jackpot 


contest  all  the  time.  "$250  in  cash,  a  trip  to  Hollywood, 
a  screen-test  at  Fox — "  the  murmurs  filled  the  building 
from  morning  till  night. 

There  were  267  girls  entered — Jean  among  them, 
though  she  didn't  know.  Her  room-mate,  Arlen,  had  sent 
off  her  name  and  her  picture. 

Jean  found  out,  one  afternoon,  when  she  picked  up  a 
paper  and  stared  at  her  own  face. 

She  went  tearing  up  to  the  room  she  shared  with 
Arlen.  Arlen  was  lying  across  one  of  the  beds,  studying 
the  snow  outside  the  window. 

"Hey,"  Jean  said.  "Hey,  dope!" 

"Oh,"  Arlen  said.  "You  saw." 

"Yes,"  Jean  said.  "I  saw.  You  must  be  crazy." 

Arlen  denied  this  vehemently.  "You'll  win,  easy." 

Jean  announced  that  she'd  lose,  easier,  and  they  pre- 
tended to  forget  the  whole  matter. 

But  studying  economics  was  hard  that  afternoon. 

And  then  the  contest  night  came,  and  she  was  standing 
backstage  at  the  Palace  Theater  in  Columbus  and  out 
front,  beyond  the  footlights,  (Continued  on  page  80) 


SCREEN  TEST:  Jean's  five-minute,  test  was  made  with  Michael  Dunne  (cur- 
rently appearing  in  Shock).  Fox  .  officials  were  impressed,  signed  her 
to  term -contract.  Next  test  for  Scud-da  Hoo! '  Scud da  Hay!  was  a  flop. 


the  good  life 

|  ■  It  started  when  Charlie  Bickford  sent  Susan  the  book  by  Margaret 

Ferguson. 

She'd  thought  about  making  a  picture,  she'd  talked  about  making 
a  picture,  but  it  was  one  of  those  faraway  things  that  never  seem 
real.  Besides,  the  doctor  hadn't  said  she  could  work. 

One  day  Frank  Orsatti  called.  "I've  just  finished  a  book  called 
Sign  of  the  Ram,"  Susan  told  him.  "First  story  I've  read  since  my 
injury  that  I'd  really  like  to  do." 

Frank  was  not  Susan's  agent.  She  was  merely  yakking  to  him  as 
to  a  friend.  But  yak  to  a  friend  who  happens  to  be  an  agent,  and 
look  what  happens.  A  week  later  he  was  back  on  the  phone.  "Were 
you  serious  about  Sign  of  the  Ram?" 

"Never  more  so.  Why?" 

"Irving  Cummings  is  interested.  Have  you  got  your  doctor's 
permission?" 

"Uh-huh,"  Susan  lied. 
|  So  before  you  could  say  Harry  Cohn,  she  was  signed  at  Columbia 

on  an  independent  deal.  After  which,  like  a  little  angel,  she  asked 
her  doctor.  He  said  okay,  but  with  conditions.  A  nurse  on  the  set, 
a  weekly  checkup,  a  working  day  of  not  over  five  hours.  She  stuck 
to  them  all  but  the  last.  Got  up  at  6  and  got  home  at  6,  just  like 
the  good  old  days.  What's  more,  she  thrived  on  it. 

That  first  morning,  however,  she  wasn't  so  cocky.  "Dick,  I  must 
have  been  crazy,  I  can't  go  through  with  it.  Dick,  Dick,  get  me 
out  of  it—" 

Ever  since  she  was  hurt,  it's  been  Dick  who's  egged 'her  on  to  do 
what  she  thinks  she  can't,  laughed  her  out  of  her  fears,  put  the 
accent  on  normal  living.  Cracking  the  old  bull  whip,  the  young 
Quines  call  it. 

"I  can't  drive,  Dick—" 

"Oh  yes,  you  can!"     '  ,  . 

And  now  she  drives  herself  all  over  the  map. 

"But  I  can't  work,  Dick.  It's  three  years  since  I've  opened  my 
mouth." 

"Since  you  what?"  yelled,  her  outraged  husband. 
,    "I  mean  before  the  cameras,"  she  amended  meekly. 

"They're  the  same  cameras  you  adored  three  years  ago.  You've 
cooked  yourself  up  a  deal,  honey.  Now  go  and  deliver." 

Scared  to  death,  she  went.  Scared  of  Columbia,  where  she'd  never 
worked  before.    Scared  of  Harry  Cohn —  (Continued  on  page  69) 


You  like  to  visit 
the  Quines; 

you're  always  sorry  to  leave. 
Because  in  Susan  and  Dick's  house, 
they  have  a  wonderful  plan. 
And  the  plan  goes — 
don't  cry  for  yesterday, 
don't  fear  for  tomorrow  .  . 

BY  IDA  ZEITLIN 


Painting's  a  habit  with  Susan;  Dick  and  son  Timothy 
like  it,  too.  The  Quines  may  have  a  breakfast  radio 
program  soon;  Susie's  a  hit  in  Sign  of  the  Rant. 


56 


These  are  Mary's  prized  portraits  of  Irene. 


Softly  quiet,  listen- 
ing to  your  problems 
.  .  .  gay  as  a  walk  in 
the  woods  .  .  . 
serenely  beautiful, 
like  a  movie 
star.  These  are  the 
ways  Mary  Frances 
remembers  Mama  Irene 
Dunne — who  also 
chews  bubble-gum  ! 


■  Sometimes  people  ask  me  what  it's  like  to  be  Irene 
Dunne's  daughter.    That's  an  easy  one.    Being  her  daughter  is 
wonderful.  But  now  Modern  Screen  says,  "Tell  us  about  her.  Is  she 
as  heavenly  as  she  looks?   As  serene?   What's  she  really  like, 
this  gentle,  beautiful  woman?"   And  that's  a  hard  one,  because  how  can 
you  tell  people  about  her?    About  that  cute  tongue-in-cheek  look 
she  has  when  she's  about  to  put  one  over  on  Daddy?    That  quick 
shout  of  laughter  when  the  joke's  on  her?    The  way  her  cool 
hand  feels  on  your  forehead  when  you're  sick  in  bed? 

I  have  three  pictures  of  Mother  on  my  dresser  at  school, 
and  each  of  them  shows  her  differently.   In  one — the  one 
in  which  she's  caring  for  the  flowers  in  her  garden — she  looks 
sort  of  quiet  and  soft,  the  way  she  looks  when  we're  having 
a  serious  talk.    She's  the  best  person  to  talk  to,  because  she's  so 
reasonable  and  so  fair,  and  she'll  always  listen  to  my  side  of 
an  argument.  _  The  second  picture  shows  her  in  dungarees  and  plaid  shirt 
That's  the  way  she  looks  weekends  when  we  go  on  a 
long  walk.   In  the  third  picture,  mother's  wearing  a  leopard  hat, 
and  she  looks  awfully  beautiful — like  a  movie  star.   I  can  never 
decide  which  picture  I  like  the  best. 

Before  I  have  you  thinking  that  life  (Continued  on  page  116) 


by  Herman  hover 


You're  welcome  at  Ciro's 

if  you  bring  your  Lincoln, 

but  leave  your  dog  at  home; 

if  you  like  service 

a  la  King,  but  don't  think 

you  are  one; 

if  you  tip  the  waiter, 

but  not  on  next  week's  races; 

if  you're  the  Johnstons, 

Host  Hover's  favorite  guests. 


■  First,  let  me  say  this  much.  People  are  lovely . 
We  want  'em,  at  Ciro's,  and  I  don't  like  anybody 
to  think  the  place  is  stuffy,  snobbish,  or  hard  to 
break  into.  But  there  are  certain  rules  of  behavior 
we  like  to  see  observed.  You'll  get  the  idea  right 
away  if  you  look  at  these  pictures  of  Johnnie  John- 
ston and-  his  wife,  Kathryn  Grayson.  Here  are  two 
kids  who  always  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right 
time.  They  can  have  the  run  of  my  joint  any  day 
in  the  week.  After  you've  looked  at  the  pictures, 
come  on  back  here,  and  I'll  tell  you  a  few  of  the 
things  you  don't  do  if  you  wanna  be  loved  (by  a 
night  club  owner,  that  is).    For  instance: 

You  don't  wear  bathing  suits.  Okay,  that's  a 
little  far-fetched,  but  what  I  mean  is  that  pretty 
people  dress  up  a  place.  I  like  glamor.  I  don't 
like  sport  clothes,  I  don't  allow  slacks.  Business 
suits  are  all  right,  I  want  customers  to  feel  com- 
fortable. A  tie  is  required;  we  keep  a  stock  on 
hand  for  men  coming  in  from  the  beach  in  sport 
shirts.  On  opening  nights  black  tie  is  preferred; 
formal  dress  is  fine  any  night  but  Sunday.  If  you 
come  formal  on  a  Sunday  night,  we  admit  you,  but 
suspect  you.  It  just  isn't  done  (though  I'm  not 
sure  why), 

You  don't  try  to  bribe  the  maitre  d'.  Forget 
about  slipping  the  maitre  d 'hotel  that  five.  It 
isn't  necessary,  and  he  won't  be  impressed  anyhow. 
(Exceptions  to  this  rule  are  when  he's  done  you  a 
special  favor,  like  coming  in  in  the  afternoon  to 
arrange  for  a  special  birthday  party.)  Gus  Kor- 
nazes,  our  own  maitre  d'  at  Ciro's,  is  half-Greek,  as 


you  don't  try  to  bribe  the  maitre  a".  Headwaiter  at 
Ciro's  is  Gus  Kornazes,  and  you  can't  impress  him  with  money. 
Look  as  glamorous  as  Kathryn  and  Johnnie,  or  come  often, 
and  you'll  be  seated  at  a  ringside  table  without  question. 


you  don't  act  snooty  with  the  help.  The  people  who 
work  in  Ciro's  are  nice  people  and  they're  ready  to  serve  you. 
When  Kathryn  caught  her  heel  in  the  hem  of  her  gown,  she  got 
the  attention  of  Hazel  Therard  who's  in  the  ladies'  lounge. 


by  Herman  hover 


You're  welcome  at  Ciro's 

if  you  bring  your  Lincoln, 

but  leave  your  dog  at  home; 

if  you  like  service 

a  la  King,  but  don't  think 

you  are  one; 

if  you  tip  the  waiter, 

but  not  on  next  week's  races; 

if  you're  the  Johnstons, 

Host  Hover's  favorite  guests. 


■  First,  let  me  say  this  much.  People  are  lovely. 
We  want  'em,  at  Ciro's,  and  I  don't  like  anybody 
to  think  the  place  is  stuffy,  snobbish,  or  hard  to 
break  into.  But  there  are  certain  rules  of  behavior 
we  like  to  see  observed.  You'll  get  the  idea  right 
away  if  you  look  at  these  pictures  of  Johnnie  John- 
ston and-  his  wife,  Kathryn  Grayson.  Here  are  two 
kids  who  always  do  the  right  thing  at  the  right 
time.  They  can  have  the  run  of  my  joint  any  day 
in  the  week.  After  you've  looked  at  the  pictures, 
come  on  back  here,  and  I'll  "tell  you  a  few  of  the 
things  you  don't  do  if  you  wanna  be  loved  (by  a 
night  club  owner,  that  is).    For  instance: 

You  don't  wear  bathing  suits.  Okay,  that's  a 
little  far-fetched,  but  what  I  mean  is  that  pretty 
people  dress  up  a  place.  I  like  glamor.  I  don't 
like  sport  clothes,  I  don't  allow  slacks.  Business 
suits  are  all  right,  I  want  customers  to  feel  com- 
fortable. A  tie  is  required;  we  keep  a  stock  on 
hand  for  men  coming  in  from  the  beach  in  sport 
shirts.  On  opening  nights  black  tie  is  preferred; 
formal  dress  is  fine  any  night  but  Sunday.  If  you 
come  formal  on  a  Sunday  night,  we  admit  you,  but 
suspect  you.  It  just  isn't  done  (though  I'm  not 
sure  why), 

You  don't  try  to  bribe  the  maitre  d'.  Forget 
about  slipping  the  maitre  d'hotel  that  five.  It 
isn't  necessary,  and  he  won't  be  impressed  anyhow. 
(Exceptions  to  this  rule  are  when  he's  done  you  a 
special  favor,  like  coming  in  in  the  afternoon  to 
arrange  for  a  special  birthday  party.)  Gus  Kor- 
nazes,  our  own  maitre  d'  at  Ciro's,  is  half-Greek,  as 


you  don't  try  to  bribe  the  maitre  d".  Headwaiter  at 
Ciro's  is  Gus  Kornazes,  and  you  can't  impress  him  with  money. 
Look  as  glamorous  as  Kathryn  and  Johnnie,  or  come  often, 
and  you'll  be  seated  at  a  ringside  table  without  question. 


you  don't  act  snooty  with  the  help.  The  people  who 
work  in  Ciro's  are  nice  people  and  they're  ready  to  serve  you. 
When  Kathryn  caught  her  heel  in  the  hem  of  her  gown,  she  got 
the  attention  of  Hazel  Therard  who's  in  the  ladies'  lounge. 


you're  welcome  at  ciro's  if. 


wise  as  Socrates,  and  such  a  good  judge  of 
human  nature  I  think  he  could  look  at  a  man 
in  swimming  trunks  and  tell  you  how  much 
income  tax  the  guy  pays.  Gus  was  once  a 
wrestler,  went  to  a  school  for  hotel  training 
at  Monte  Carlo.  He  can  taste  gravy  and 
tell  you  all  its  ingredients! 

He's  had  some  weird  experiences  with 
Ciro  patrons,  too.  There  was  the  man  who 
used  to  call  up  every  night.  "I  don't  care 
where  you  seat  me,"  he'd  say,  "but  Betty 
Hutton's  going  to  be  in  my  party  tonight." 
Gus  would  see  that  he  got  a  ringside  table, 
of  course.  Next  night  he'd  be  on  the  phone 
again.  "I  don't  care  where  you  seat  me,  but 
Rita  Hayworth  will  be  in  my  party  tonight." 
This  went  on  for  a  long  time,  and  none  of 
the  famous  stars  the  man  mentioned  ever 
showed  up. 

So  one  night  when  he  called,  Gus  told  him, 
"Look,  you  don't  have  to  be  a  movie  star  to 
get  a  ringside  table.  You  come  here  often 
enough  to  get  a  ringside  table  in  your  own 
name." 

Gus  also  has  to  be  aware  of  those  times 
when  a  star  would  rather  not  be  seated 
conspicuously.  For  instance,  when  Van 
Johnson's  wife  was  pregnant,  the  Johnsons 
naturally  preferred  a  table  in  the  corner. 
Then  there  are  some  stars  who  never  care 
where  they're  seated.  Bob  Hutton  and  his 
wife -aren't  fussy,  neither  are  the  Zachary 
Scotts.  They  can  have  a  good  time  at  any 
table. 

You  don't  act  snooty  with  the  help.  The 
people  who  work  in  Ciro's  are  nice  people; 
I  like  them  treated  well.  Hazel  Therard  is 
in  charge  of  the  powder  room.  She  knows 
first  aid,  is  a  dressmaker,  keeps  needles,  scis- 
sors and  pins  handy  for  girls  whose  clothes 
need  a  quick  stitch.  Hazel  has  a  case  full 
of  makeup  and  perfumes  to  which  you're 
welcome,  too.  Proper  tip  for  Hazel:  twenty- 
five  cents.  And  by  my  standards,  it's  okay 
for  a  girl  who  discovers  she  hasn't  a  quarter 
when  she's  on  her  way  to  the  powder  room  to 
ask  her  escort  for  the  money.  If  she  makes 
more  than  one  trip  to  the  powder  room, 
the  first  quarter's  enough  to  cover  her  for 
the  whole  evening.  (Continued  on  page  111) 


you  don't  mind  eating  like  a  king.  At  Ciro's  you 
can  walk  into  the  kitchen  and  prepare  your  own 
food!  Kathryn  tossed  a  salad  as  Johnnie  and  Chef 
Rene  Milesi  beamed  approval.  The  food  is  tops  be- 
cause Rene  goes  back  to  France  part  of  every  year 
to   find   out  what's   new   in   the   art   of  cookery. 


you  don't  force  liquor  on  the  bandleader. 

Being  friends  with  the  bandleader  is  fine.  You  can 
even  ask  bandleader-pianist  Barclay  Allen'  for  a  spe- 
cial song,  as  K.  and  J.  did.  But  monopolizing  his  at- 
tention doesn't  go.  Trying  to  make  him  stay  at  your 
table  the  whole  evening,  or  tipping  him,  is  bad  taste. 


you  don't  table-hop  all  night  long.  Greeting 
friends  adds  gaiety  to  the  evening,  and  nat- 
urally, you  don't  want  to  miss  saying  hello.  Kath- 
ryn and  Johnnie  chatted  a  while  with  Esther  Williams 
and  Ben  Gage,  then  went  back  to  their  own 
table.  Unless  you're  invited,  don't  join  a  pal's  party. 


-sgg^ — 

you  don't  slap  the  waiter  on  the  back. 

Waiters  should  be  treated  cordially,  but  with, 
reserve.  If  you  have  a  favorite,  you  can  ask  to 
be  put  at  his  station.  Nicholas  Stames,  the  John- 
stons' favorite  waiter,  served  them  torten  cake, 
while    Herman    Hover,    Ciro's    owner,    smiled  on. 


you  don't  park  poodles  with  the  hat-cheek  girl. 

Kathryn  left  Throckmorton,  the  St.  Bernard,  at 
home,  which  is  what  a  proper  guest  should  do. 
There  are  five  hat-check  girls  at  Ciro's,  all  with  movie 
contracts.  Sandy  Jo  Sanders  (helping  Kathryn) 
is  a  movie  extra,  attends  college  during  the  day. 


you  don't  take  your  shoes  off  until  you  get  home. 

No  fooling,  Ciro's  guests  are  refined,  and  some- 
times, before  they  leave,  they're  given  a  token 
gift.  Kathryn  {of  The  Kissing  Bandit)  and  Johnnie 
(of  The  Man  From  Texas)  had  nightcaps  (milk) 
in  their  kitchen,  discussed  who  was  where  at  Ciro's. 


by  arm  blyth 


or  would 
you  • 

rather  be 

a  fish? 


They  laced  Ann  Blyth  into  a  tail, 
and  coated  her  with  cod  liver  oil, 
and  told  her  to  be  a  mermaid. 
And  now  she  sits  at  home  wailing, 
"River  stay  'way  from  my  door!" 


After  Another  Part  Of  The  Forest,  Ann  became 
a  mermaid  for  Mr.  Peabody  And  The  Mermaid. 
Ben  McMahon  and  Bud  Westmore  adjust  her  tail. 


Made  of  latex,  the  tail  was  skin-tight.  Once  in  it, 
all  Ann  could  do  was  wiggle  her  toes!  A  sponge  rub- 
ber padding   kept  her  shaky  knees  from  knocking. 


Every  morning  Ann  was  carried  to  the  set  on  a  stretcher.  Bud  Westmore  (rt.)  and  his 
assistant  do  the  honors.  Ann  wore  a  blonde  wig  for  the  part,  learned  to  comb  it 
underwater.  Scenes  were  shot  at  Weekiwachee  Springs,  Fla.,  in  a  pool  137  ft.  deep. 


Champion  swimmer  Newton  Perry  taught  Ann  all  the  underwater  tactics.   Here,  in  a  mermaid's  frenzy,  she  bites  Andrea  King's  leg. 


Ann  got  up  at  6  a.m.  to  get  laced  into  the  tail,  and  was  unlaced 
at  5  p.m.  With  a  few  days  training,  she  cogld  hold  her  breath 
underwater  for  I  min.  15  sees.,  swam  by  kicking  2  legs  at  once. 


■  During  the  past  three  months,  I  would  estimate 
that  I  have  spent  more  than  80  hours  in  the  water,  a 
good  deal  of  it  submerged.  And  at  this  moment,  I  can 
safely  claim  that  I  am,  Esther  Williams  notwithstanding, 
the  most  water-logged  actress  in  Hollywood.  I  have 
learned  to  hold  my  breath  underwater  for  as  long  as 
1  minute  and  15  seconds,  which  is  no  world's  record  but 
pretty  good  for  a  girl  who  used  to  do  all  her  swimming 
topside.  I  have  learned  how  to  do  a  Bronx  cheer  under- 
water, how  to  laugh  underwater  without  strangling,  how 
to  brush  my  hair  underwater.  I  can  even  cry  under- 
water. By  the  way,  did  you  ever  try  to  blow  your  nose 
on  a  saturated  lace  handkerchief  15  feet  down?  If  not, 
skip  it,  and  save  yourself  a  lot  of  trouble. 

All  this,  and  more  too,  resulted  from  the  gay  job  I've 
had  as  the  mermaid  in  Nunnally  Johnson's  production, 
Mr.  Peabody  and  the  Mermaid.  It  started  innocently 
enough.  I  was  working  in  a  normal  two-legged  role  as 
the  young  Regina  in  Another  Part  of  the  Forest,  wheii 
the  talk  started  about  the  mermaid  role.  Someone  from  off 
the  lot  was  supposed  to  be  testing  in  the  tank  to  see  how 
she  photographed  underwater.  {Continued  on  page  110) 


HER  HEART  STOOD  STILL 

(Continued  from  page  12) 


They  were  all  caught  with  the  joy  on  the 
face  of  the  girl,  joy  so  deep  that  her  eyes 
shone  as  if  tears  of  happiness  were  not  far 
behind.  And  thus  it  was  that  Loretta  Young 
first  met  the  outside  world  after  just  hav- 
ing won  the  Academy  Award  for  the  best 
performance  by  an  actress  in  1947 — auto- 
graphing a  program  for  Mrs.  Edith  Garland 
of  430  West  31st  Street  in  Los  Angeles; 
waving  to  the  woman  on  the  balcony  at 
3247  Royal  Street,  just  across  from  the 
Shrine  Auditorium  entrance;  and  climbing 
into  Yellow  Cab  No.  788,  driven  by  Pat 
Karley.  They  were  all  as  happy  as  Loretta, 
stirred  by  lie  magic  of  human  emotion 
commonly  shared. 

As  the  cab  bore  her  away,  there  were 
many  thoughts  running  through  Loretta's 
mind  about  this  day  of  great  surprise.  And 
through  the  mind  of  her  husband,  Tom 
Lewis,  who  sat  with  her.  They  had  gone 
to  church  together  that  morning;  to  the 
Church  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  in  Beverly 
Hills.  On  the  way  back,  Tom  had  brought 
up  the  Academy  Awards,  and  she  had  told 
him  how  she  felt.  "As  far  as  I'm  concerned, 
I'm  not  in  the  running,  and  I'm  glad  of  it. 
I  don't  want  to  sit  there,  jittery,  for  hours. 
The  polls  show  I  haven't  got  a  chance. 
Thank  goodness  we  can  go  and  relax." 

He  had  laughed,  and  agreed  it  was  a 
wise  frame  of  mind,  but  added  that  she 
was  certain  to  win  one  award  anyway — an 
award  for  the  gown  she  planned  to  wear 
(the  emerald  green  creation  that  swirled 
out  to  make  almost  a  six-foot  circle,  and 
which  was  later  to  be  talked  about  almost 
as  much  as  the  Award  winning  itself). 

Before  lunch,  Tom  had  played  golf,  and 
their  daughter  Judy  begged  to  walk  around 
the  course  with  him.  He  thought  he  knew 
what  was  on  her  mind.  Along  about  the 
third  hole,  she  started  quizzing  him, 
"Daddy,  is  Mom  going  to  win  tonight?" 

Up  to  two  years  before,  Judy  hadn't  even 
known  what  the  Academy  Awards  were 
because  she'd  never  been  permitted  to  see 
a  picture.  Now  she  was  getting  hep,  Tom 
thought  to  himself.  He  shook  his  head. 
"No,  she's  not  going  to  win,  Judy." 

"Why  not?" 


He  explained  very  carefully  about  the 
unofficial  polls  that  had  been  taken,  and 
had  shown  that  Loretta  was  far  from 
being  a  favorite.  In  view  "of  that,  and  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  she  had  only  one 
chance  in  five  anyway,  he  went  on,  ■there 
wasn't  much  likelihood. 

Judy  scuffed  at  the  grass  with  her  foot, 
and  didn't  look  convinced.  Tom  took  her 
by  the  shoulders.  "Look,  Judy,"  he  began, 
"no  matter  how  you  feel  about  it,  it  is 
very  important  that  you  don't  let  your 
mother  know  you  think  she  is  going  to  win. 
If  she  gets  that  idea,  it  will  be  a  sort  of 
weight  on  her — she'll  feel  she  has  let  you 
down,  if  she  doesn't  win.  Understand?" 

Judy  nodded.  As  Tom  turned  away,  he 
just  about  heard  her  say,  under  her  breath, 
"Just  the  same,  I  hope  she  does  win." 

The  night  didn't  start  out  too  well.  Dore 
Senary,  who  had  produced  The  Fanner's 
Daughter,  in  which  Loretta  had  played  the 
role  for  which  she  was  nominated  for  an 
award,  telephoned  the  Lewises  to  say  that 
he  couldn't  attend,  because  his  mother  was 
ill. 

The  Lewises  were  going  to  the  Shrine 
with  friends,  though,  and  by  the  time  they 
got  into  their  seats  at  the  auditorium, 
Loretta  was  prepared  to  enjoy  herself  lis- 
tening to  the  Awards.  But  she  had  reckoned 
without  a  man  sitting  in  the  seat  next  to 
her.  It  was  Nigel  Bruce.  He  looked  wor- 
ried.   He  took  her  hand. 

"Dear,"  he  said,  "I  hope  you  get  this.  I 
earnestly  do." 

She  was  set  back.  "Willie,"  she  said 
(Willie,  for  some  reason,  is  what  Nigel's 
friends  all  call  him),  "you're  going  to 
worry  me  by  worrying." 

"All  right,  IH  behave,"  he  replied.  But 
every  time  she  looked  at  him  his  eyes 
flickered  nervously. 

The  Awards  went  on,  and  then  Fredric 
•March  was  up  there,  and  announcing  her 
name.  For  a  second,  Loretta  made  no 
move.  She  looked  back  at  Tom,  and  her 
eyes  were  blank.  She  started  to  rise  to  her 
feet — March  was  beckoning  to  her  to  come 
up  to  the  stage — but  the  seat  slipped  down, 
and  so  did  she.    From  across  the  aisle, 


someone  was  calling  to  her  with  congratu-r 
lations.  She  looked,  and  it  was  Darryl 
Zanuck.  Willie  was  saving  something  now. 
Something  about,  "Gretchen,  get  up.  You'll 
have  to  go  up  there,  you  know."  (All  Lor- 
etta's old  friends  call  her  Gretchen.) 

And  then  she  was  in  the  aisle,  and  on  her 
way.  It  was  all  a  whirly  haze  from  there. 
She  remembered  making  a  speech  of 
thanks,  but  all  she  could  recall  of  it  was  the 
way  she  gripped  the  Oscar  and  said,  "And 
as  for  you — at  long  last." 

Then  she  was  backstage,  and  the  photog- 
raphers had  her.  Once  she  caught  a  glimpse 
of  Tom  in  the  background,  looking  happy, 
and  then  there  was  a  free  moment  and  she 
got  to  a  telephone  to  call  her  mother. 

"What  do  you  think  about  it?"  she  asked. 
Her  mother  told  her,  but  she  couldn't  re- 
member a  word.  In  the  meantime,  Tom 
was  on  another  phone,  calling  Judy.  As  he 
waited,  he  thought  to  himself  that  Judy 
would  probably  give  herself  the  feminine 
prerogative  of  saying,  "See?  I  told  you  so." 
Judy  came  on  the  wire,  and  he  told  her, 
"Your  mother  won  the  Oscar,  Judy."  Then 
he  waited  to  let  her  have  her  little  moment 
"of  triumph.  But  all  Judy  said  was,  "What 
does  it  look  like?" 

There  was  a  tenseness  among  the  re- 
porters who  surrounded  Loretta  in  the 
press  room  as  soon  as  the  photographers 
let  her  go  free.  There  were  so  many  of 
them  that  each  felt  there  was  little  chance 
of  getting  in  an  interview.  Some  of  the 
other  Awards  winners  had  already  disap- 
peared. But  Loretta  stayed  until  every 
reporter  was  satisfied,  and  until  only  she 
and  Tom  were  alone  in  the  room. 

Then  she  turned  to  him.  "I  still  don't 
believe  it." 

He  held  up  the  Oscar.   "Tell  him." 

She  went  up  to  the  statuette  and  looked 
straight  at  it.  "If  you  are  mine,  say  so," 
she  said.  From  backstage  where  the  tech- 
nicians were  dis-assembling  the  special 
sound  equipment  came  a  low,  reverberat- 
ing sound — like  a  grunt.  Loretta  and  Tom 
looked  at  each  other,  and  then  fell  into  each 
other's  arms,  laughing. 

end  of  a  perfect  day  .  .  . 

He  had  her  wrap  ready,  and  led  her  back 
into  the  now  empty  auditorium  illuminated 
only  by  the  harsh  worklights  set  out  for  the 
night  cleaners.  Already,  the  shining  pillars 
which  had  formed  the  background  before 
which  she  had  stood,  were  lying  about  in 
sections,  and  the  whole  beauttful  setting 
was  a  shambles. 

"Sic  transit,"  Tom  started  to  say,  but 
Loretta  finished  it  for  him — "gloria  mundi. 
I  know.  But  I  don't  care.  It's  the  finest 
stage  I  ever  saw  in  my  life." 

They  crossed  the  lobby  where  someone 
was  sweeping  up  big  mounds  of  cigarette 
stubs.  The  watchman  nodded  to  them.  Lor- 
etta said  goodnight  to  him,  and  Tom  pushed 
open  the  exit  door,  and  they  were  out  in 
the  street. 

But  there  was  still  another  street  scene 
to  take  place  that  night.  At  Loretta's  in- 
sistence, they  drove  many  miles  to  a  quiet, 
residential  block  in  Brentwood,  to  the 
home  of  Dore  Schary,  who'd  made  Lor- 
etta's winning  picture,  but  hadn't  been 
able  to  come  share  in  her  honor. 

They  rang  the  bell,  and  Dore  came  to  an 
upper  window. 

Loretta  called  up  to  him.  "I  couldn't  go 
home  until  I  came  to  see  you  and  thank 
you.  I  wanted  you  to  be  as  happy  as  I  am." 

Dore  leaned  out  the  window.  "I  am,"  he 
told  her.  And  he-was,  even  if  tears  did  fill 
his  eyes. 


Graceful  Vikkie  Dougan,  JNew  York  model 
and  prize-winning  skater. 


"Look  Pink,"  blithe  new  spring  shade 
of  Cutex  polish. 

(Luscious  in  Cutex  Lipstick  too.) 


"Never,  ever  before,  have  I  found 

a  polish  so  long-wearing 

as  the  new  Cutex,"  says  Vikkie. 


—newest,  fashion-favored  look  for  nails  and  lips 


This  spring,  fashion  loves  pink!  You  11  love 
"Look  Pink" — glowing  on  your  nails  and  lips 
— nattering  your  new  clothes,  and  you! 

It's  a  heavenly  shade  in  a  stay-perfect  pol- 
ish! Cutex  now  outwears  even  costly  polishes! 
Sparkles  with  rich,  fadeless  color!  And  new 
Cutex  is  angel-pure — safe  for  even  sensitive 
skins.  A  wonderful  exclusive  found  in  no 


other  leading  polish!  Only  10^,  plus  tax. 

You'll  love  the  "Look  Pink"  shade  in 
creamy,  silk-smooth  Cutex  Lipstick  too.  So 
luxurious!  Yet  .  .  .  only  49^,  plus  tax. 

Try  all  Cutex's  fine  manicure  aids,  from 
nippers  to  nail  white,  for  the  exquisite  groom- 
ing new  fashions  demand.  Northam Warren, 
New  York. 


Ft 


odess 


THE  GOOD  LIFE— BY  IDA  ZEITLIN 

(Continued  from  page  56) 


they  said  he  never  talked  to  a  soul.  Scared 
of  the  lights  and  the  million  people  as  she 
sat  in  her  wheelchair — it  was  so  long  since 
she'd  been  around  so  many  people. 

The  spooky  feeling  lasted  till  after  her 
first  line  came  out,  smooth  as  a  ribbon. 
Then  the  ham  in  Miss  Peters  took  over, 
and  she  went  to  town.  As  for  Columbia, 
"Love  that  studio,"  she  chants.  As  for 
Harry  Cohn,  no  human  could  have  been 
kinder. 

Her  first  day  on  the  set,  she  noticed  this 
attractive-looking  man  standing  around. 
He  finally  came  over  and  asked:  "Well, 
how  do  you  like  it?" 

"I  like  it  fine." 

Nobody  introduced  them.  Only  reason 
she  asked  about  him,  his  face  stuck  in  her 
mind.  "Who's  that  dark  man  with  the 
twinkle  in  his  eye?" 

"That's  the  boss." 

Thereafter  he  was  on  the  set  every  day, 
to  see  for  himself  that  Susan  was  comfort- 
able. He  had  both  her  dressing-rooms  air- 
conditioned;  he  had  hot  lunches  sent  down 
from  the  executive  dining-room,  not  only 
for  her  and  her  nurse,  but  for  any  guest 
she  might  wish  to  entertain.  Doctor's  or- 
ders called  for  a  daily  eggnog  and  a  glass 
of  milk  every  two  hours.  They  appeared 
like  clockwork. 

errant  star  .  .  . 

One  day,  Susan  was  through  at  two,  and 
decided  she'd  like  to  see  a  movie.  By  the 
tiir-  she  got  home,  Mr.  Cohn  had  called 
four  times. 

"I've  been  worried  about  you.  What 
happened?" 

"I  just  went  to  a  movie." 

He  hit  the  roof.  "Of  all  the  silly  per- 
formances! Next  time  you  want  to  see 
a  movie,  say  so,  and  we'll  have  it  run  at 
the  studio." 

Frankly,  Susan  thinks  the  man's  won- 
derful. 

She  thinks  Ross  Ford's  wonderful  too  in 
another  way.  Ross  Ford  plays  her  stepson 
in  Sign  of  the  Ram.  She  hopes  some  day 
they'll  say  she  discovered  him,  though  it's 
a  he. 

Levis  Green  called  one  day  before  the 
picture  went  into  production.  'Td  love  to 
have  a  cup  of  coffee  with  you,  Susie." 

"Let's  face  it,  Levis,  you  don't  want  a 
cup  of  coffee.  You've  got  an  actor  to  sell, 
and  it's  no  use.  The  picture's  cast." 

So  they  had  a  cup  of  coffee.  "Just  for 
the  fun  of  it,  name  me  the  list  of  charac- 
ters, Susie,  huh?" 

"Levis,  you  haven't  got  a  prayer,  but  I 
like  to  watch  you  in  operation."  She 
named  off  the  characters,  and  came  to  the 
stepson. 

Green's  hand  hit  the  table.  "I've  got  just 
the  boy  for  you.  Will  you  see  him?" 

She  sat  her  cup  down.  "Look.  No.  1, 
the  picture's  cast,  or  so  they  tell  me.  No. 
2. 1  have  no  control  over  such  things.  No. 
3,  I'm  going  out  in  exactly  an  hour." 

"Can  I  use  your  phone?  Hell  be  here  in 
fifteen  minutes." 

It  was  closer  to  fourteen.  The  boy  had 
a  good  face  and  a  good  personality,  which 
didn't  say  he  could  act.  You  had  to  ask 
him  something,  so  she  asked  him  how  old 
he  was,  and  felt  like  a  trainer  meeting  a 
likely  horse. 

Just  then  the  phone  rang.  It  was  John 
Sturges,  the  director.  "Tell  him  about 
Ross,"  hissed  Green.  Susan  shot  a  de- 
I  spairing  glance  at  Dick,  who  hunched  a 
|  shoulder.  Could  you  say,  "No,  I  won't," 
with  the  guy  sitting  right  there,  and  his 
heart  in  his  eyes? 


So  she  told  Mr.  Sturges  about  him,  bade 
her  visitors  goodbye,  and  brushed  the 
whole  thing  from  her  mind.  Two  weeks 
later  Irving  Cummings  called.  I  want  to 
thank  you  for  Ross  Ford." 

"Who  the  heck  is  Ross  Ford?" 

"The  boy  you  sent  to  see  us." 

"No!"  Susan  gasped.  "You  don't  mean 
he's  playing  the  part!" 

"And  how!    He's  great,  great!" 

She  hung  up,  looking  awed.  "Whatsa- 
matter?"  asked  Dick. 

"The  boy  Levis  brought  over.  He's  got 
the  part.  Not  only  he's  got  the  part,  he's 
great." 

So  when  you  discover  Ross  Ford  in  Sign 
of  the  Ram,  remember  Susan  got  there 
first. 

Right  now,  another  dream  is  coming 
true  for  the  Quines,  another  of  those  far- 
away things  that  didn't  seem  real  to  Susan 
till  November  6th.  They're  building  their 
house.  For  years  they  planned  it,  and  the 
plans  were  knocked  into  so  many  cocked 
hats  by  the  war  and  Susan's  accident  and 
skyrocketing  costs.  But  they  did  buy  the 
land,  and  a  year  ago  last  November  they'd 
saved  enough  money  to  start  building  in 
January.   Then  along  came  Christmas. 

"Our  dearly  beloved  family,"  Susan  ex- 
plains, "is  the  size  of  the  kingdom  of  Eng- 
land. We  had  to  begin  saving  all  over 
again." 

For  their  anniversary  they  gave  each 
other  the  plans.  It  should  have  been  No- 
vember 7th,  but  they  counted  the  days  up 
wrong  and  made  a  date  with  the  architect 
for  the  6th.  Dozens  of  times  Dick  had 
described  the  house  to  Susan — New  Eng- 
land Colonial,  white  siding  combined  with 
fieldstone  and  flagstone,  a  shake  roof.  But 
Susan  has  no  imagination.  Not  till  they 
stuck  the  blue -and- white  paper  under  her 
nose,  had  she  any  idea  what  the  house 
would  look  like.   Then  she  went  crazy. 

"We  will  start  in  January,  Dick?  Even 
if  we  have  to  drive  nails  ourselves?" 

"First  you  dig  a  hole,  honey — " 

"First  you  dig  a  hole,  honey,"  she  echoed 
dreamily.  "Then  you  take  this  angel-of- 
a-house  and  dump  it  in." 

Practically  speaking,  they're  counting 
on  a  good  six  months,  to  avoid  disappoint- 
ments. The  angel-of-a-home  will  rise  a 
story  and  a  half,  so  the  upstairs  can  be 
converted  into  a  playroom,  where  the 
children  will  run  their  parties  and  dances 
when  they've  reached  teen-age.  Other- 


wise, it's  all  on  one  floor  and  one  level, 
with  special  provisions  for  Susan's  inde- 
pendence. She'll  be  able  to  drive  her  car 
to  the  very  door  of  her  room.  The  tub  in 
her  bathroom  is  set  so  she  can  get  into  and 
out  of  it  alone.  Drawers  and  wall  space 
are  built  in  where  she  can  reach  them 
easily,  and  all  the  doorways  are  wider,  so 
she  can  wheel  herself  to  any  part  of  the 
house.  If  she  feels  lazy,  there'll  be  a 
speaker  system. 

"To  every  room  but  mine,"  threatens 
Dick. 

Through  the  years  of  apartment  living, 
they've  dreamed  of  a  garden  for  Susan 
and  a  workroom  for  Dick.  In  Susan's 
vision,  she's  surrounded  by  children.  In 
Dick's,  he's  surrounded  by  his  desk,  his 
records,  his  piano  and  an  absence  of  radios. 

"The  man's  perverse,"  says  his  wife. 
"He  forever  wants  to  play  the  piano  when 
I  want  to  listen  to  the  radio." 

In  the  new  house  he'll  have  his  room, 
and  she  her  tree-shaded  garden.  The  six- 
teen big  trees  are  why  they  picked  this 
particular  lot  to  build  on.  Their  com- 
bined living-room,  dining-room  and  den, 
opening  on  the  patio,  will  be  20th  Century 
Informal,  inviting  you  to  put  your  feet  on 
the  furniture  and  play  ball  if  you  care  to. 
The  furniture  you'll  put  your  feet  on 
will  be  modern  and  traditional  mixed. 
They'll  buy  it  gradually. 

"If  you  sit  in  a  room  long  enough,"  says 
Dick,  "it  finally  comes  to  you  what  be- 
longs in  that  corner." 

"Then  you  keep  on  going  to  auctions," 
says  Susan,  "till  you  find  it." 

If  you've  had  any  experience  with  the 
Quines,  you  know  they'll  build  more  than 
wood  and  stone  into  their  house.  It  will  be 
a  place  you're  glad  to  go  to,  and  sorry  to 
leave.  At  the  Quines',  there's  always  an 
atmosphere  of  gaiety  and  warmth.  You've 
read  enough  about  Susan's  accident  to 
know  how  they  licked  it  by  straight  and 
fearless  thinking:  don't  whine  over  what's 
lost,  don't  stick  your  head  in  the  sand 
either,  and  pretend  you've  lost  nothing — ■ 
take  what's  left,  and  make  a  good  life  of  it. 

They've  made  a  good  life — love  and 
work,  friends  and  fun,  a  child  and  plans 
for  more  children.  In  spite  of  the  wheel- 
chair, Susan  leads  an  active  existence. 
They  go  out  to  dinner,  they  go  night- 
clubbing,  they  have  people  in — June  and 
Dick  Powell,  Cesar  Romero,  the  Durochers. 
They  play  bridge  or  records.    They  talk. 


It 


USe  Carna"on  •  •  -  for  a  dishes 


♦"•■I    WH.P  DRESSING 

^sugar  S°^^—refreshing! 

.J  JW-poonflou,      '^-Iror"^  |-Tonsbutter 

M  cuSpgwater  ^and  grated  rind      "  TuS'Sdf^ Undi" 

of  'A  orange  " ,  , ,  i  cnli,ed  ice-crystaj 

S'ft  together  sugar  and  flonr    R  whipping 
f-t  iuices,  rindSs,  Td  bu°t  "r  ^ «  *nd  add  ^  water, 
over  Jow  heat  until  thick  !  J        ^  mgredie"ts.  Cook 

Carnario„M1lkunriisri?;nd  rLCTnt,y'  ^  Wh"> 
ture.  Serve  heapingly  wirh  J    ?y:  Beat  Into  cooled  mix- 

Makes  i«  cups      *  X'         a"y  fruit  or  as  a  dessert. 

SKS^  B°°k"-a  treasury 
^dress  Carnirion  r^JV**?»  ~ 


Address  Ca^n  7 
omowoc,  Wis.  ^ept.  X-6,  Ocon 

COFFEE  LOVERS!  t  r 

double-rich    V  "  Carn°"'0n  Milk- 

c.rea:;:0.~,orave,ve'  b,endi-  *-  - 

"From  Contented  Cows" 


-  undiluted, 


fine  with 


CARNATION  CO. 


"How  much  talking  the  rest  of  us  do," 
drawls  Dick,  "depends  on  my  wife.  My 
wife  can't  drink.  At  Dick  Powell's  birth- 
day party  she  had  half  a  drink,  and  no- 
body else  got  a  word  in." 

Afternoons,  she  takes  Timothy  driving. 
She  takes  painting  lessons.  She's  learning 
to  type — partly  because  her  handwriting's 
so  bad,  she's  embarrassed  for  people  to  see 
it;  partly  to  help  Dick,  who's  busy  on  a 
screenplay.  Spanish  and  shorthand  are 
next  on  her  program.  And  she  knits. 

Dick  got  sick  of  it.  All  through  the  pic- 
ture she'd  knit."  Evenings,  too. 

"Honey,  for  Pete's  sake,  why  don't  you 
put  that  down?  You  look  like  the  French 
Revolution!" 

"Apologize." 

"Okay,  so  you  don't  look  like  the  French 
Revolution.    Now  will  you  put  it  down?" 
"No  use,  I'll  just  have  to  tell  you — " 
"Tell  me  what?" 

"What  a  mean  husband  you  are.  Re- 
member our  deal?  No  birthday  presents 
on  account  of  the  house?  Did  you  stick 
to  it?  No,  you  gave  me  my  watch." 

"You're  a  girl,  that's  different — " 

"You're  a  boy,  and  you're  getting  these 
socks  for  your  birthday.  Argyles,  no  less." 

There  are  a  few  situations  which  they 
don't  reduce  to  humor.  Take  their  account 
of  their  mornings,  for  instance. 

Dick  starts  it,  looking  baleful.  "My  wife 
is  peculiar.  She  likes  to  eat  in  the  morning. 
Food  before  12  turns  me  green.  Even  the 
sight  of  it.  But  who  has  to  cook  her  break- 
fast? Me.  Because  nobody  else  can  fix  the 
eggs  right." 

"Did  I  have  eggs  today?" 

"So  you  had  French  toast." 

"That  was  yesterday.  What  did  I  have 
today?  Some  tired  pumpernickel,  that's 
what  I  had  today.  Trouble  with  him  is,  he 
loathes  rolling  out  of  bed." 

"So  she  sets  the  alarm  clock  off." 

"What  else  can  I  do?  When  I  said,  'Get 
up,'  you  accused  me  of  heckling!" 

rise  and  shine  ... 

"It's  the  way  you  said  it.  You  never  call 
me  Dick  except  first  thing  in  the  morning. 
'Dick!  — The  alarm!'  I  like  to  be  wakened 
lovingly.  'Dah-ling,  won't  you  please  turn 
off  the  alarm,  dahling — ' " 

"What  you'd  really  like  is  to  be  awak- 
ened over  a  period  of  four  hours.  With 
music  yet." 

Susan  points  a  finger.   "Just  put  it  down 
that  we're  not  compatible  till  noon." 
.  "Correction,"  grins  Dick.     "We're  ar- 
ranging to  sleep  till  noon,  so  we  can  be 
compatible  round  the  clock." 

In  the  midst  of  this  nonsense,  Timothy 
enters,  fresh  from  his  walk,  and  presents 
a  glowing  cheek  for  his  mother's  kiss. 
Pixie-faced  Timothy's  18  months  old,  and 
you'd  say  he  belonged  to  the  Quines  if 
only  by  right  of  the  merriment  in  his  eye. 
Ambling  over  to  Dick,  his  attention's 
caught  by  the  bowl  of  flowers  on  a  low 
table.  A  tentative  hand  goes  out.  "Don't 
touch  that!"  Then:  "Father's  the  heavy  in 
the  house,"  announces  Dick  smugly. 

"Father's  a  fake,"  hoots  Susan,  watch- 
ing them  roughhouse,  while  Thunder  looks 
on  like  a  large  benevolent  uncle.  "Father's 
yet  to  lay  hands  on  him." 

There's  no  room  in  the  apartment,  so 
they're  waiting  for  the  house  to  be  fin- 
ished before  adopting  the  rest  of  their 
family.  Susan's  sure  she  wants  three 
(and  would  rather  have  six — "Only  how 
can  we  be  so  lucky  again  as  with  Timo- 
thy?"). Dick's  not  sure  they  can  manage 
more  than  two.  This  presents  a  problem 
If  it's  two,  the  second  will  be  a  girl.  Other- 
wise, Susan  wants  her  daughter  to  be  the 
youngest,  with  two  big  brothers  to  spoil 
her  and  keep  her  in  order. 

Whichever  way  it  works  out,  the 
Quines'll  do  all  right.  It's  a  habit  they've 
got. 


LOVES  OF  RITA 

(Continued  from  page  35) 


glamorous  clothes,  taught  her  how  to 
"handle"  herself  and  took  her  to  premieres 
and  nightclubs  where  her  entrance  would 
make  Hollywood  heads  turn  and  ask 
"Who's  that?" 

And  before  very  long,  just  the  way  it 
happens  in  the  fiction  stories,  she  was  a 
star. 

She  was  also  unhappy. 

Judson  was  much  older  than  she,  a 
tough  task-master,  and  incessantly  mer- 
cenary. She  made  little  secret  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  "mean"  to  her.  Their  mar- 
riage always  had  been  more  of  a  business 
partnership  than  a  husband-wife  relation- 
ship. 

They  were  near  the  public  breaking 
point  when  she  was  cast  in  a  picture  with 
Victor  Mature  and,  as  the  Victorian  novels 
used  to  have  it,  young  blood  called  to 
young  blood.  They  fell  madly  and  ob- 
viously in  love  (to  the  distress  of  Rita's 
producer,  Harry  Cohn,  who  considered  the 
Mature  type,  of  publicity  appallingly  "un- 
dignified" at  a  time  when  he  was  trying  to 
build  Rita  up  as  a  cross  between  Sarah 
Bernhardt  and  Sister  Kenny)  and  they 
became  unofficially  betrothed.  This  was 
signified  not  by  the  exchanging  of  rings, 
as  in  more  conventional  villages,  but  by 
their  purchase  of  "twin"  cars — bright 
yellow,  block  long,  and  convertible. 

happiness  at  last  .  .  . 

Rita  seemed  to  be  having  fun  for  the 
first  time  since  her  name  went  up  in  lights. 

When  she  asked  Judson  for  a  divorce, 
she  agreed  to  settle  a  large  sum  of  money 
on  him,  and  this  was  no  more  than  he  de- 
served in  the  light  of  what  he  had  done  to 
unveil  her  box-office  potentialities. 

As  Rita  actually  moved  to  apply  for  the 
divorce,  Judson  took  advantage  of  her 
affection  for  Mature  to  demand  a  far  big- 
ger property  settlement  than  had  been 
agreed  upon  originally,  threatening  a  front 
page  scandal  if  she  did  not  choose  to  com- 
ply. Details  were  never  given  out,  but 
apparently  his  demands  were  met,  because 
the  matter  dropped  into  oblivion. 

The  war  was  on  then,  and  when  Vic 
entered  the  Coast  Guard  Rita  took  a  small 
apartment  to  be  near  his  California  base. 
She  seemed  to  adore  him,  and  to  bask  in 
his  attentiveness  after  Judson's  harsh 
treatment. 

She  explained  the  Mature  romance  to 
friends  by  saying:  "He's  considerate  and 
kind  and  he  makes  me  laugh.  When  I'm 
with  him,  I'm  in  a  different  world." 

Eventually  Victor  was  assigned  to  At- 
lantic duty,  and  Rita,  in  the  role  of  the 
faithful  fiancee,  was  seen  by  the  Hollywood 
board  of  rumor-mongers  only  at  obscure 
little  restaurants  where  she  would  dine 
with  women  friends. 

But  Victor  might  have  been  better  off  if 
she  had  sallied  forth 'with  playboys. 

For  there  was  where  Orson  Welles  came 
in. 

Welles  observed  her  dining  with  another 
girl  at  a  restaurant,  and  with  his  tradi- 
tional reticence,  strolled  over  and  sat 
down  at  their  table. 

Soon  after  that  Rita  shed  her  "hen  party" 
routine.  She  and  Welles  began  to  be  seen 
.  together  in  the  places  where  the  flash  bulbs 
grow.  But  when  gossip  columns  hinted 
that  a  new  love  story  was  brewing,  Rita 
denied  it  vigorously.  She  was  lonely  with 
Vic  away,  she  explained. 

She  married  Welles  while  Vic  was  still 
away  in  service.  Those  who  knew  her  his- 
tory and  her  temperament  found  it  easy  to 
understand  what  she  saw  in  the  boy  won- 


der. A,  he  was  different.  He  was  glib, 
colorful,  off-center — a  sort  of  highbrow 
Milton  Berle.  He  impressed  her  by  being 
intellectual  and  witty  and  vivid  and  opin- 
ionated and  more  egotistical  than  any 
glamor  boy  she  ever  had  encountered. 

Rita's  childhood  as  a  member  of  the  Can- 
sino  tribe  of  fine  dancers  had  not  included 
much  schooling.  With  her  modest  educa- 
tion and  uninquiring  temperament  for  a 
backdrop,  Welles  at  first  flush  must  have 
seemed  to  her  like  the  result  of  a  wedding 
of  Aristotle  and  Madame  Recamier.  She 
learned  from  him  that  newspapers  had 
front  pages,  and  that  you,  too,  can  be 
an  intellectual  if  you  really  try. 

First  thing  she  knew  the  girl  who  was 
famous  for  never  saying  much  about  any- 
thing was  speaking  right  up  in  company 
with  such  mental  personalities  as  Joseph 
Cotten,  Aggie  Moorehead,  John  Steinbeck 
and  Robert  Sherwood.  She  lost  much  of 
her  shyness,  and  she  enjoyed  it.  When 
she  was  not  reading  hefty  tomes  or  dis- 
cussing the  state  of  the  union,  she  was 
touring  with  Orson's  magic  show  and  he 
was  sawing  her  in  half. 

But  the  fly  appeared  in  the  amber  of 
this  matrimonial  venture  at  an  early  date. 
There  were  those  nights  when  the  boy 
wonder  just  forgot  to  come  home.  There 
were  others  when  the  connubial  routine 
seemed  to  bore  him  to  tears.  They  had 
been  married  just  a  short  time  when  Rita 
learned  he  was  interested  in  another  girl. 
No  matter  how  much  Shakespeare  she  read 
in  her  spare  time,  she  couldn't  hold  his 
interest. 

So  they  separated,  announced  that  the 
idyll  was  ended,  and  took  up  their  lives  on 
opposite  coasts.  Tony  Martin,  who  had 
had  a  crush  on  Rita  from  afar  for  several 
seasons,  became  head  man  in  her  life. 

She  had  completed  her  second  metamor- 
phosis. In  the  first  she  had  gone  from  a 
man  who  changed  her  physically  to  one 
who  was  gentle  and  devoted,  in  the  second 
from  a  man  who  changed  her  mentally  to 
one  who  had  no  desire  to  change  her  at 
all.  She  marries  dominant  men,  but  she 
seems  to  rest  up  between  marriages  with 
admirers  who  are  more  tender  than 
aggressive. 

the  flame  still  burns  .  .  . 

Yet  those  who  are  closest  to  Rita  say  she 
still  loves  Welles  and  would  go  back  to 
him  if  she  thought  there  was  any  chance 
of  the  union  lasting.  She  wasn't  happy 
with  him,  but  he  left  her  smarter  than  he 
found  her,  and  gave  her  maturity. 

An  intimate  friend  of  Rita's  put  it  this 
way: 

"I  have  an  idea  she's  still  crazy  about 
him.  She  thinks  of  him  as  a  great  guy 
and  a  genius — but  a  lousy  husband." 

After  her  first  separation  from  Welles, 
Tony  Martin  enjoyed  top  position  in  her 
date  book  for  several  months — or  until 
Orson  decided  he  wanted  the  glamorous 
Hayworth  back,  flew  in  from  New  York 
and  did  some  fast  talking. 

The  second  phase  of  the  Rita-Orson 
marriage  was  a  briefer  version  of  the  first. 
Rita  wanted  a  home  life;  Orson  preferred 
the  open  road  (or  at  least  the  neighbor- 
hood bar). 

With  all  the  vicissitudes,  however,  Rita's 
husband  number  two  was  hard  for  the 
other  boys  to  follow.  Tony  Martin  went 
the  way  of  all  beaux,  Steve  Crane  entered 
the  picture  briefly  but  never  meant  any- 
thing to  her  except  a  casual  evening  of 
dancing,  and  Howard  Hughes  took  her  a 
few  places  in  the  course  of  keeping  his 


feifect  pickup 
without 
pressure/ 

You  don't  bear  down  on  the  handle. 
Your  new  Bissell  Sweeper  needs  only  a 
gentle  push  to  pick  up  dirt,  anywhere ! 

Thanks  fo 
13(sco-matic* 
brush  action/ 

This  revolutionary  new  Bissell  feature 
adjusts  the  brush  automatically  to 
rugs,  thick  or  thin.  Makes  all  sweep- 
ups  easy,  even  under  beds!  You  don't 
have  to  move  them. 

The  new  "Bissell"®  is  available  in 
limited  quantities  at  Bissell  dealers 
only— complete  with  "Sta-up"  Han- 
dle and  easy  "Flip-O"  Empty.  Priced 
from  S6.95. 


|\|o"beardoiM"w/fh 
BISSELL 
SWEEPERS 

Bissell  Carpet  Sweeper  Co. 
Grand  Rapids  2,  Mich. 

•Reg.  U .  S.  Pat.  Off.  Bissell  s  exclu- 
sive fully  spring  controlled  brush 


One  Permanent  Cost  $15... the  TON!  only  $2 


So  soft,  so  smooth,  so  natural -looking. 
You'll  say  your  Toni  is  the  loveliest  per- 
manent you've  ever  had.  But,  before 
giving  yourself  a  Toni  you  will  want  to 
know  — 

Will  TONI  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that 
will  take  a  permanent,  including  gray, 
dyed,  bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 

Is  it  easy  to  do? 

Easy  as  rolling  your  hair  up  on  curlers. 
That's  why  every  hour  of  the  day  another 
thousand  women  use  Toni. 

Will  TONI  save  me  time? 

Definitely.  The  actual  waving  time  is  only 
2  to  3  hours.  And  during  that  time  you 
are  free  to  do  whatever  you  want. 

How  long  will  my  TONI  wave  last? 

Your  Toni  wave  is  guaranteed  to  last  just 
as  long  as  a  $15  beauty  shop  permanent 
-or  your  money  back. 

Why  is  TONI  a  Creme? 

Because  Toni  Creme  Waving  Lotion  waves 
the  hair  gently  -  leaves  it  soft  as  silk  with 
72 


no  frizziness,  no  dried-out  brittleness 
even  on  the  first  day. 

Which  twin  has  the  TONI? 

"My  Toni-savings  paid  for  a  new  hat," 
remarks  Eileen  Mary  Skillings."No  wonder 
Edith  Ann  says,  after  this  we'll  be  Toni 
Twins."  Eileen  Mary,  the  twin  at  the  left, 
has  the  Toni. 

Where  con  I  buy  TONI? 

At  all  drug,  notions  or  cosmetic  counters. 
Try  Toni  today. 


record  (Never  Miss  A  Movie  Star)  intact. 
Peter  Lawford  was  strictly  for  laughs. 

The  newspapers  made  quite  a  thing  of 
her  dates  with  David  Niven,  but  Rita's  epi- 
taph to  the  "romance"  that  so  titillated  the. 
gossips  was  a  rather  weary:  "I  had  four 
dates  with  him  in  my  life." 

Teddy  Stauffer,  the  European  band- 
leader who  spent  so  much  time  with  Rita 
when  she  was  abroad,  crossed  the  ocean 
to  be  at  her  side.  After  a  little  time  had 
gone  by,  however,  it  was  obvious  that  she 
was  not  deeply  smitten  with  him. 

She  went  places  with  him,  danced  with 
him,  dined  with  him,  listened  to  swing 
music  and  watched  floor  shows  with  him. 
When  she  had  a  headache,  he  was  the  one 
rubbing  her  head  and  the  back  of  her  neck 
in  her  suite  at  the  Waldorf-Astoria.  He 
was  attentive,  convenient,  amusing.  She 
was  fond  of  him,  but  that  was  all. 

And  Jimmy  Stewart,  darling  of  the 
glamor  girls?  She  went  out  with  him,  he 
sent  her  a  box  of  lollipops  to  the  train  as 
a  going-away  present,  and  when  she  met 
him  in  "21"  her  first  day  back  from  abroad, 
she  flew  into  his  arms. 

But  that  couldn't  have  been  love.  Be- 
cause only  a  few  hours  after  the  kissing 
episode,  Rita  was  capable  of  adopting  a 
coldly  hard-boiled  attitude  toward  her 
attractive  swain.  When  she  was  asked  to 
pose  for  a  photograph  with  Jimmy  she 
replied  frostily: 

"Why  should  I  pose  with  him?  My  last 
picture  was  a  hit." 

And  no  one  thinks  her  intentions  toward 
Youkka  Troubetzkoy,  Prince  Pahlavi  or, 
for  that  matter  Maxie  Rosenbloom,  were 
any  more  serious. 

Rita  seems  to  be  waiting,  like  a  stream- 
lined version  of  the  fair  ladies  of  old,  for 
the  White  Knight.  He  need  not  shine  with 
armor,  or  bear  a  blue  banner,  or  ride  a 
white  horse  with  plumes  at  his  neck. 

But  she  would  like  him  to  stay  home 
nights. 

Meanwhile,  because  she  loves  to  dance 
and  because  it  is  part  of  her  business  to 
be  seen,  glittering  with  sequins  and  tawny 
with  stone  marten,  at  the  places  where  the 
flash  bulbs  pop— and  because  even  a  mil- 
lion dollar  baby  can  get  lonely — Rita  will 
have  her  dates  with  an  assortment  of  lads 
who  will  puzzle,  intrigue  and  fool  the 
gossip  writers. 

When  she  appears  for  the  fifth  or  sixth 
time  with  the  same  man,  they'll  wonder 
why  she  sees  so  much  of  the  same  man  if 
it  doesn't  mean  anything. 

The  answer — obvious  when  you  analyze 
it — was  given  succinctly  by  a  close  friend 
of  hers  who  said: 

"She  doesn't  pick  them.  They  pick  her." 


Vanessa  Brown, 

the  rising  young  20+h  Century-Fox  star 
you  liked  so  much  in  Mother  Wore 
Tights. 

Vanessa  poses  for  Modern  Screen  in  a 
flirty  black  ruffled  bathing  suit.  It's 
rayon  jersey,  so  it  has  the  flattering 
softness  so  many  of  you  want.  The 
back  is  faille,  for  firmness. 

It  comes  in  pink,  aqua,  lime  or  yellow 
with  black  flounce  and  edging.  Sizes 
32  to  38. 

Suit  by  Sea  Goddess. 

The' barrel  bag  and  wedgie  shoes  are 
by  Simon  Brothers. 

For  where  to  buy,  see  page  89. 


1 


Ml 


V 


-  \  4 


li)mhl  (Alt  ll^M  lAtff/U/tJ  ft  ?    As  if  you  didn't  know!  You, 
in  your  ticking  shorts  and  halter,  of  course.  Red,  navy,  powder  blue  or  copper  stripes,  or 
solid  colors.  Sturdy  cotton  ticking.  By  White  Stag.  Shorts,  $3.95  .  .  .  halter,  $2.95  .  .  .  hat,  SI. 95.        .  ; 
Canvas  Nauti-bag,  $2.95.  Kickerinos  sandals,  $6.95.  Stores  on  page  89.   I  %K0W.  fltftlty, 


7& 


DRESSES  FOR  JUNIORS 

"CASUALLY  YOURS".  .  .an  air  of  charming  simplicity  for  all  the 

playlong  day!  A  Carole  King  Original  in  exclusive  rayon  shantung  print. 

Junior  sizes  9  to  15.  Under  $15.00.  At  one  fine  store  in  your  city. 

For  name  of  store,  write  Carole  King,  Dept.  B,  1641  Washington,  St.  Louis  3,  Missouri.  75 


J* 


AAA,  0(MflL  ^j/LMjKj  ...  to  get  you  plenty  of  attention  on  the  beach. 
Glamorously  printed  with  a  vivid  Spanish  scene.  Slipper  satin  and  woven  Lastex,  with  a  nice 
strong  cling.  White,  with  your  choice  of  a  black  or  royal  blue  back.  Sizes  32  to  3& 
By  Nanina  .  .  .  about  $8.99.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page  89.        &  ^b}H  flCJllfy,  j^ktWl 


76 


Prettified  two-piecer  with  printed  palm  trees;  a  provoca- 
tive scalloped  edge,  and  a  tiny  ruffle  around  the  bra  top.  The  bra  is  lightly  boned  for  a 
lovely  bosom  line.  Blue  or  green  print,  on  fine  white  corded  cotton.  Comes  in  sizes  32-38 
By  Winkies  of  Long  Island  .  .  .  about  $5.98.  Stores  on  page  89.  &  ^ijjWi  /ICJtl^ 


&  ...  real  Southern  belle  charm,  suh!  Black  cotton 

skirt  with  pink  and  black  striped  bustle.  Also  black  with  yellow  or  aqua  stripes.  Worn  with 
batiste  blouse  edged  with  eyelet.  Sisal  bag  by  Simon  Brothers,  $2.95.  Blouse  and  skirt  by  Boreva. 
Skirt,  $6.00  .  .  .  blouse,  $3.00.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page  89.  &  ^ijlM  (lOllU^  ^Wfc 


Hold  it  please!  Somebody's  bound  to  take  your 
picture  in  this  one — and  there  you  are,  being  carried  around  in  a  wallet!  Broadcloth  blouse 
with  eyelet-edged  bertha.  Red,  green  or  blue  plaid  gingham  skirt,  with  eyelet  band.  Blouse  by 
Alice  Karen,  $3.98.  Skirt  by  Carole  Wren,  $3.98.  Stores  on  page  89.  I  ^flfe/Vl  fltJtlty,  1<M 


JACKPOT! 

(Continued  from  page  54) 


the  whole  school  sat  waiting,  and  for  the 
first  time  she  caught  the  excitement  of  the 
theater — the  musty  smell  of  the  curtains, 
and  the  unused  props,  the  girls  rustling 
about  nervously  in  their  best  formats. 

Now  she  was  walking  across  the  stage 
in  front  of  the  judges,  smiling  frozenly, 
and  from  far  off,  she  heard  applause. 

She  stood  in  the  wings  with  the  rest  of 
the  contestants  while  the  judges  reached 
their  decision.  She  was  quite  calm.  It  was 
just  a  contest  after  all,  and  contests 
weren't  run  for  the  winner;  they  were  run 
for  someone's  publicity.  Once  they  got 
what  they  wanted,  you  were  through.  The 
record  for  contest  winners  was  practically 
zero.  She  thought  of  beauty  contest  win- 
ners she'd  read  about — going  to  Hollywood, 
being  lost  in  the  shuffle. 

Then  they  were  calling  her  name,  and 
kids  pushed  her  forward,  and  somebody 
handed  her  a  trophy  cup. 

It  was  the  beginning.  The  kid  who  hadn't 
even  tried  came  through  .  .  . 

Well,  with  Jean,  the  breaks  were  added 
to  the  breaks.  Still  vastly  cynical,  but 
with  every  intention  of  enjoying  the  ride 
while  it  lasted,  she  allowed  herself  to  be 
spirited  off  to  Hollywood.  She  posed  for 
glamor  shots,  she  met  movie  stars,  and  one 
day  they  gave  her  The  Test. 

She  was  draped  in  a  filmy  black  gown, 
and  handed  a  script  and  a  leading  man.  He 
was  Michael  Dunne.  They  rehearsed  for 
two  hours,  Jean  giggling  throughout. 

The  actual  test  lasted  about  five  minutes, 
and  all  that  time  Jean  spent  reclining  on  a 
couch  trying  to  lure  Michael  into  her  arms. 

The  last  eight  seconds  of  the  test  showed 


Michael  breathing  very  heavily  as  he  took 
Jean  into  his  arms. 

And  she  even  had  a  break  there.  The 
sound  equipment  was  defective.  When  the 
big  shots  saw  Jean's  test,  Michael's  breath- 
ing came  over  the  sound  track  in  positive 
groans  of  ecstasy.  The  big  shots  were  im- 
pressed.   "That  kid's  got  sex,"  they  said. 

Jean  didn't  know  this,  of  course.  All  she 
knew  was  the  test  was  finished,  the  whirl 
was  over.    It  was  time  to  go  home. 


JEAN  PETERS:  Personal  History 

born  :  Canton,  Ohio 

date  :  October  15,  1926 

height:  5'  5%" 

weight:  124  pounds 

coloring:  Green  eyes,  dark  brown  hair 

UNMARRIED 

real  name  :  Elisabeth  Jean  Peters 
recent  pictures  :    Captain  From  Cas- 
tile, Deep  Waters 


She  got  back  to  school  and  found  a  Fox 
contract  had  beaten  her  there. 

So  she  laughed  some  more.  "What  do  I 
know  about  acting?"  she  said  to  Arlen. 

"What  difference  does  it  make?"  Arlen 
replied  sensibly.  "Where  else  can  you  make 
$150  a  week  for  doing  nothing?  Besides, 
they'll  teach  you." 

And  they  did.  She  was  enrolled  at  the 


Actor's  Lab,  Hollywood's  best  known  dra- 
matic school,  and  learned  fencing  and  the 
Stanislavsky  method.  Then  she  tested  for 
Scudda  Hoo!  Scudda  Hay! 

She  didn't  get  the  part.  So  you  want  to 
know  why  we  keep  talking  about  breaks. 
Here's  the  kid's  first  big  chance,  and  she 
muffs  it,  you  say.   But  wait. 

Not  only  was  her  .  luck  not  gone — 
failing  the  test  was  her  biggest  break  so 
far.  Jean  was  left  free  for  a  role  she  hadn't 
even  dreamed  of. 

They  were  looking  for  a  girl  to  play  op- 
posite Tyrone  Power  in  Captain  From  Cas- 
tile. They  could  have  had  almost  anyone. 
Any  glamor  queen  and  her  sister  for  stand- 
in.  But  they  asked  for  Jean  Peters  to  test 
for  the  role.  She  knew  three  other  girls 
had  tested  before  her  so  she  tried  to  be 
philosophical.  They  want  to  keep  the 
cameras  grinding,  she  told  herself,  while 
they  go  find  Cleopatra. 

But  she  was  wrong.  She  got  the  part. 

Jean  can  remember  how  good  Ty  Power 
was  to  her,  how  he  helped  her  forget  she 
was  just  a  beginner,  how  Director  Henry 
King  shot  the  toughest  scenes  first  so  the 
rest  would  seem  easy,  and  how  much  fun 
the  hard  work  turned  out  to  be. 

As  for  romance,  there's  millionaire 
sportsman  Howard  Hughes,  handsome,' 
suave — and  news.  Most  kids  have  to  go 
through  all  kinds  of  crazy  stuff  to  get  pub- 
licity; Jean  was  spared  even  this  because 
anyone  who's  dated  by  Howard  Hughes 
gets  her  face  spread  all  over  the  world. 

You  could  say  Jean  Peters  was  a  star, 
now.  And  you  could  say  the  whole  business 
was  accidental.  And  you  could  be  right. 


* 


/ 


Itsamirade...allthi5 
New,  Natural 

with  my  first  Rayve  Creme  Shampoo! 


See  it!  Believe  it! 

Blonde,  Brunette,  red  hair  or  white, 
your  very  first  Rayve  Creme  Shampoo 
uncovers  new,  natural,  radiant  color 
you  never  dreamed  was  in  your  hair! 

Without  special  rinse  .  .  . 
in  the  easiest,  fastest 


Shampoo  you  ever 
enjoyed. 


Not  a  soap  .  .  . 
no  dulling  film!  Even 
in  hardest  water, 
Rayve  gives  billows 
of  creamy  lather. 
Then  rinses 
like  a  whiz, 
removing  all 

loose  dandruff. 


No  conditioner  needed  !  Rayve  is  enriched  with  lanolin — 
doesn't  leave  hair  dry  as  straw,  but  easy 
to  manage,  glossy,  radiantly 
colorful! 


Rayve(W  Shampoo 


Handy  Tube 
can't  tip  or  spill! 

10*,29*,60*,$1 

No  Federal  Cosmetic  Tax 
ALL  DRUG,  DEPARTMENT , 
DECENT  STORES 


The  Creme  Shampoo  that  brings  out  Color  and  Gleam! 

*  Pronounced  RAVE— Reg.  U.  S.  Paf.  Off. 


june . . . 
moon . . . 
at  last! 


For  a  long  time  we  girls  have  been 
under  a  romantic  handicap. 

All  our  lives  we've  had  to  put  up 
with  praises  of  the  feminine  girl — in 
song,  book  and  movie — while  we  our- 
selves were  wearing  the  straight-from- 
the-shoulder,  or  let's-be-pals  type  of 
clothes.  We  were  treated  to  endless 
raves  out  the  candy  box  girl  from 
drooling  males,  but  we  were  unable 
to  wear  sentimental  fashions  our- 
selves— because  there  weren't  any. 

Now,  thank  goodness, 
fashion    is  giving 
us    a  break, 
and  we  can 
dress  just 
as  J u n e- 


Camisdle,  $1.75 — 
Petticoat,  $3.98.  Real- 
craft  cotton  undies 
by  United  Mills,  


Moon  as  we  please.  Take  undies,  for 
example — like  the  sweet,  cool  cotton 
ones  sketched  here.  Try  the  fluffy- 
ruffle  petticoat  under  one  of  your  new 
full  skirts — and  the  beribboned  little 
camisole  under  a  sheer  blouse.  Ar- 
range yourself  prettily  on  the  porch 
swing,  in  the  moonlight  if  possible. 
And  see  how  you  feel ! 

Because,  although  we  can't  explain 
it,  what  you  wear  really  does  affect 
how  you  feel — and  even  what  you 
are!  You'll  find  that  you've  never 
been  sweeter — and  you'll  find  the 
boys  think  so,  too. 

Who  knows?  Maybe  the  new  trend 
toward  femininity  will  bring  with'  it 
a  new  trend  in  language.  Maybe 
we'll  revive  words  like  "sweet"  and 
"girlish"  and  "modest"  .  .  .  which 
used  to  be  some  of  the  nicest  things 
a  boy  could  say  about  a  girl.  We'rev 
not  predicting.  We're  merely  saying 
— could  be. 

C.B. 


WRITE    FOR    THE    NAME    OF   YOUR    LOCAL  SHOP  . 
DORIS    OODSON.    DEPT.    MS-6.    ST.    LOUIS    1.  MO. 


Jw  4  htf  Li 


Be  a  summertime  sweetheart  in  this  flower- 
garden  printed  percale— flounced,  sleeveless,  and  very  gay.  Black  stripes  with  red  roses; 
grey  stripes  with  yellow  roses;  brown  stripes  with  yellow  roses.  Comes  in  sizes  10  to  20. 
By  Gingham  Girl  .  .  .  about  $4.98.  For  where  to  buy,  see  page  89.      I  A^liSH  fltJtlty,  W 


DOUBLE  LIFE 

(Continued  jrom  'page  37) 


when  she  spilled  coffee  and  a  solicitous 
secretary  instantly  jumped  to  repair  the 
damage,  Miss  Valli  looked  at  her  in  some 
distress  and  said  gently: 

"Please,  I  am  used  to  waiting  on  my- 
self." 

With  The  Paradine  Case  fresh  in  mind, 
the  qualities  about  Miss  Valli  that  took  me 
most  by  surprise  were  her  youth,  and  her 
great  natural  gaiety. 

Even  at  10  a.m.  without  benefit  of  make- 
up, she  was  lovely;  she  has  wide,  smoky, 
blue-gray  eyes,  glowing  skin,  and  bright 
brown  hair. 

Her  whole  face  is  mobile,  a  register  for 
any  emotion,  a  canvas  to  take  on  the  pig- 
mentation of  any  character.  I  realized  this 
when  she  began  to  talk  with  great  vivacity 
about  the  play  she  had  seen  the  night  be- 
fore: Annie  Get  Your  Gun.  She  had  loved 
it,  and  suddenly  she  was  doing  a  perfect 
imitation  of  Ethel  Merman's  side-splitting 
dead-pan  routine.  For  sixty  seconds,  she 
was  Merman. 

I  have  a  hunch  that  Miss  Valli  has  been 
more  secretly  amused  than  impressed  with 
the  ballyhoo  attendant  upon  her  transfor- 
mation from  an  Italian  movie  star  with  a 
great  European  reputation  into  an  Ameri- 
can screen  phenomenon. 


ALIDA  VALLI:    Personal  History 

born:  Pola,  Italy  (now  Jugoslavia) 

date:  May  31,  1921 

height:  5' 4" 

weight:  114  pounds 

coloring:  Green  eyes,  light  brown  hair 

married  :  Oscar  de  M ejo,  film  composer, 

in  March,  1944 
offspring:  Carlos,  aged  3 
real  name:  Alida  Altenburgher 
recent  pictures:    The  Paradine  Case, 

Miracle  of  the  Bells 


"How  does  it  feel  to  be  called  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  the  world?"  I  asked. 

Miss  Valli  blushed  a  beautiful,  fiery  red 
to  the  roots  of  her  hair.  (She  can  still 
blush.  It's  a  school  girl  hang-over.)  Then 
she  said  it  seemed  "very,  very  strange"  to 
be  called  the  world's  most  beautiful 
woman. 

Her  transformation  into  an  American 
film  star  began  the  moment  she  signed  the 
Selznick  contract. 

"In  Europe,  actors  are  just  people.  We 
have  to  do  things  for  ourselves,"  she  ex- 
plained. "But  suddenly,  I  sign  the  Ameri- 
can contract,  and  everything  is  done  for 
me  as  if  by  magic.  I  am  no  longer  a 
person — I  am  a  Thing." 

She  was  astounded  by  the  smooth,  swift 
transportation  by  air  from  Italy  to  London. 
There,  she  and  her  husband  and  their 
small  son  were  met  by  a  horde  of  Selznick 
agents  who  produced  ship  reservations  and 
orchids  by  the  sheaf.  They  were  wafted 
I  on  board  the  Queen  Elizabeth  with  the 
greatest  of  ease  and  no  effort  on  their  part. 

But  it  was  easy  to  read  between  the 
lines.  If  the  Selznick  organization  amazed 
the  youthful  de  Mejo  family,  it,  in  turn, 
obviously  astounded  the  Selznick  hired 
hands.  For  here  was  a  movie  star  without 
'  a  personal  maid,  a  nurse  for  her  two-year - 
I    old  child  or  even  a  mink  coat.  * 

Obviously,  however,  it  would  not  do  in 
|    Hollywood.    For  when  Miss  Valli  walked 
down  the  gangplank  of  the  Queen  Eliza- 
(Continued  on  page  88) 


two— too  wonderful  to  miss! 
guaranteed  washable . . .  color-fast 


Of 


84 


SEND  NO  MONEY!    YOURS  ON  APPROVAL! 


Betty  Gay,  Dept.  ms  i  307  W.36th  St.,  New  York  18 

Please  send  me  the  following  "City  'n'  Country"  Cottons,  at 
$4.99  each,  plus  postage.  (Betty  Gay  pays  postage  if  your 
check  or  money  order  is  enclosed.) 


Size 

1st  color  choice 

2nd  color  choice 

Nl.  17  "Dishing  Dots" 

Ni.  11  "Pretty  Peasant" 

(Please  Print  I 
Name  


Address. 
City  


State. 


how 
to  win 
a 

wishbone 
pin 

Tell  us  your  wish 
And  maybe  you'll  win 
A  gold  and  enamel 
Wishbone  pin! 


We  mean  it!  Just  fill  in  the 
coupon  and  tell  us  what  price 
fashions  you  wish  we'd  feature  for 
fall  and  winter. 

To  each  of  the  senders  of  the  first 
twenty-five  coupons  we  receive,  we'll 
send,  free,  a  wishbone  pin  by  Coro. 
It's  a  "gold"  wishbone,  with  an 
enamelled  four-leaf  clover  and  a 
tiny  "pearl."  Cute!  To  the  senders 
of  the  next  500  coupons  we  receive, 
we'll  send  a  free  copy  of  "Screen 
Album."  Fill  out  and  mail,  right 
away  quick! 


Connie  Bartel 
Modern  Screen 

Box  125  Murray  Hill  Station 
New  York   16,  N.  Y. 

Here  are  the  fashions  I  wish 
you'd  feature,  and  the  prices  I'd 
like  to  pay: — 


COATS 
SUITS  . 


fill  in  price 

.....$  


DAY  DRESSES   S_ 

DATE  DRESSES  $_ 

BLOUSES  $_ 

SKIRTS   $_ 

SWEATERS  $_ 


Name .  . 
Address  . 


Age  


MB  I 


the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 

WINNING  ESSAY:  As  we  promised  you  last 
month,  we  are  printing  below  Lee  Garber's 
first-prize  winning  article  in  the  MSFCA  Writ- 
ing Contest.  We  think  it  meets  all  of  the 
requirements  set  for  the  contest  by  our  judg- 
ing staff.  What  do  you  think?  The  article  is 
about  Lee's  honorary,  Mel  Torme: 

"Singers  had  opened  at  night  clubs  before, 
but  no  opening  was  ever  quite  like  this  one! 
For  months,  the  publicity  campaign  had  been 
going  great  guns  .  .  .  and  tonight  the  people 
were  here  to  see  if  the  kid  was  worth  all  the 
talk.  The  little  blond  boy's  future  depended 
on  this  night!  And  his  music  hadn't  arrived 
from  California! 

"So  while  three  musicians  crowded  around 
the  one  copy  of  the  song  they  had,  the  boy 
had  to  lead  them,  and  sing  his  tune,  'County 
Fair,'  as  though  it  was  every  night  that 
singers  opened  at  the  Copacabana  sans 
music! 

"Which  is  just  one  of  the  many  unusual 
things  that  has  happened  in  the  life  of  Mel 
Torme.  Other  four-year-olds  went  to  res- 
taurants with  their  parents  .  .  .  but  Mel 
decided  to  get  up  and  sing  a  song,  with  the 
result  that  at  the  age  of  four  he  was  a 
featured  part  of  the  act  in  the  Blackhawk  in 
Chicago!  Everybody  had  their  tonsils  out,  but 
Mel's  grew  back,  and  left  him  with  a  voice 
like  a  'Velvet  Fog!'  In  Hyde  Park  High  in 
Chicago,  all  the  kids  wrote  songs,  but  his 
tune,  'Lament  to  Love/  was  recorded  by 
Harry  James!  Just  because  he  loved  to  drum 
was  no  sign  that  he'd  some  day  be  competi- 
tion for  Krupa,  but  when  Mel  quit  school  to 
drum  with  Chico  Marx,  no  one  was  the  least 
bit  surprised!  So  it  was  only  natural  that 
his  debut  at  the  New  York  night  club  should 
be  something  out  of  the  ordinary! 

reaching  for  the  oldies  .  .  . 

"Out  of  the  ordinary,  too,  were  the  reviews 
Mel  got  at  the  Copa.  No  one  could  decide 
just  what  he  was  trying  to  do  when  he  sang 
tunes  that  had  been  written  before  he  was 
born!  People  were  puzzled  when  he  sang 
'around'  chords  of  a  song,  instead  of  'hit- 
ting the  nail  on  the  head!'  But  the  fact  that 
th.  Copa's  coke  sales  mounted  sky  high,  was 
enough  to  convince  people.  The  kids  liked 
Mel  .  .  .  and  the  Paramount  Theater  in  New 
York  is  quick  to  get  what  the  kids  like!  M-G-M 
tries  to  please  the  younger  set,  too,  so  Mel 
was  given  a  part  in  Good  News.  Musicraft 
records,  which  had  teamed  him  with  Artie 
Shaw,  now  gave  him  a  brand  new  'solo' 
contract! 

"Yes,  it  looks  as  though  Mel  Torme,  just  like 
the  Man  Who  Came  To  Dinner,  is  here  to 
stay!  And  we  can't  think  of  a  nicer  guy  we'd 
like  to  have  stick  around  for  a  long,  long 
time!" 

NEWS:  Here's  a  new  idea  for  editors:  slant 
your  journals  with  a  different  "angle"  each 
time.  The  Club  Crosby  is  giving  their  next 
paper  a  sports  theme,  with  an  article  written 
especially  for  it  by  the  manager  of  the  Pitts- 
burgh Pirates  .  .  .  Anna  Mae  Roe  is  offering 
free  memberships  in  her  Bobby  Breen  Fan 
Club — but  for  a  limited  time  only,  so  act  fast. 
Her  address  is:  3000  E.  78  Street,  Chicago,  111. 


WITH  UNIT 


THE  STYLES 


°  "  "">'•  feens,  c  s  bed 


ADDS  THE 


6C.  P.  B.  Co..  1948 

*LINIT  is  a  registered  trade-mark  distinguishing  this  product  of  the  Corn  Products  Refining  Co.,  New  York  ,N.  Y. 


85 


STAR  GAZING 
. .  .for'Lustre-Creme" 
Dream  Girls  Only 


BETWEEN  DANCES  you  seek  the  beauty 
of  the  starry  night.  But  the  touch  of  his 
cheek  against  your  lovely  tresses  is  part 
of  the  magic  that  holds  him  enchanted. 


NO  NEED  to  "wish 
upon  a  star"  for  clean, 
fragrant,  lovely, 
heart-winning  hair. 
You  have  it,  thanks 
to  your  Lustre-Crame 
Shampoo.  And  that's 
confirmed  when  he 
murmurs: — "Dream 
Girl,  can  we  tell  them 
we're  engaged?" 


MANY  A  BRIDE  is  indebted  to  Lustre-Creme 
Shampoo  for  its  magical  way  with  hair.  Not 
a  soap,  not  a  liquid,  Lustre-Creme  is  a  dainty 
new,  rich-lathering  cream  shampoo.  Created  by 
cosmetic  genius,  Kay  Daumit,  to  glamorize 
hair  and  leave  it  with  three-way  loveliness: 

1.  Fragrantly  clean, 
free  of  loose  dandruff 

2.  Glistening  with  sheen 

3.  Soft,  easy  to  manage 

Lustre-Creme  is  a  rare  blend  of  secret 
ingredients — plus  gentle  lanolin,  akin  to 
natural  oils  in  a  healthy  scalp.  Lathers 
instantly  in  hard  or  soft  water. 
No  special  rinse  needed.  Try 
Lustre-Creme  Shampoo!  Be 
a  Dream  Girl  ...  a  lovely  , 
"Lustre-Creme"  Girl. 

Kay  Doumit,  Inc.  (Successor! 
9I9  N.  Michigan  Avenue,  Chicago,  III.  9 


For 
Soft, 
Glamorous 
Dream-Girl" 


4-oz.  jar  $1.00;  smaller 
sizes  in  jars  or  tubes,  49c  and 
25c.  At  all  cosmetic  counters. 


Whether  you  prefer  the  TUBE  or  the  JAR  .  .  .  you'll  prefer  LUSTRE-CREME  SHAMPOO 


.  .  .  Margaret  Staley,  prexy  of  Perry  Como's 
Cream  City  Club,  has  been  appointed  adviser 
to  new  Como  clubs  by  the  P.C.  Fan  Clubs  i 
International  Headquarters  in  New  York.  ...  • 
Gene   Autry   Club,   winding   up   its  twelfth 
month  of  donating  S15  or  more  to  the  War  j 
Orphan  Plan,  is  now  devoting  itself  to  at 
least  one  CARE  package  a  month  for  the  j 
coming  year  .  .  .  Rex  Allen  Club  has  adopted 
15  crippled  children  as  club  honoraries  .  .  ..  I 
Joyce  Moison   won  the  Kid  From  Hoboken 
Club's  prize  for  the  best  article  on  Intolerance  | 
.  .  .  Lee  Llewellyn's  club  for  the  "Harmonicats 
and  Kittens"  are  launching  a  "canned  goods" 
contest  for  the  needy  .  .  .  Membership  Drive 
slogan  of  the  Ken  Keese-Art  Roberts  Club  is:  j 
"Get  a  new  member  a  month  for  a  snap  a 
month.  ".  .  .  From  England  comes  news  that  i 
the  British  branches  of  the  Perry  Como,  Bobby 
Breen   and   Alan   Ladd   Clubs   organized  a 
charity  dance  which  netted  five  pounds  for  ' 
the  Cancer  Hospital  in  Liverpool  .  .  .  Three 
Alan  Ladd  Fan  Clubs  (Peggy  Pearl's,  Gerry 
Kee's  and  Bill  Vaughn's)  are  operating  under  j 
the   "point"  system,   with  members  earning 
points   for    individual    participation    in  club 
activities.    Winners,  naturally,  not  only  earn  j 
prestige,  but  prizes  as  well  .  .  .  Members  of 
Connie  Anne  Grey's  Jersey  City  Frank  Sinatra 
Club  are  garnering  lots  of  good  will  by  help- 
ing out  at  the  Jersey  City  Medical  Center. 

*  *  * 
ATTENTION:  To  obtain  your  copy  of  the  ■ 

new  MSFCA  Fan  Club  Chait— listing   over  ' 
350    official    tan    clubs,    send    10c    in  coin 
and  a  stamped  (3c),  sell-addressed  envelope 
(4"  x  9")  to  Service  Dept.,  MODERN  SCREEN, 
261  Filth  Avenue,  N.  Y.  IS. 

*  *  * 

7TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 
(4th  Lap) 

We've  passed  the  halfway  mark,  so  it's  touch  ! 
and  go  from  now  on  to  see  which  clubs  will  cop 
those  silver  cups!   And  don't  forget  those  marvel-  j 
ous  individual  prizes:  Pond's  wonderful  DREAM-  I 
FLOWER  bath  sets,  "Look  Twice"  lipstick  and  nail- 
polish  sets,  by  LA  CROSSE.     For  hard-working 
editors,  there  are  EBERHARD  FABER  HARMATONE 
DELUXE  pen  and  pencil  sets.    For  club  artists,  we 
have  TANGEE  TRIP  KITS.    Also,  subscriptions  to  | 
SCREEN  ALBUM,  and  FRONT  PAGE  DETECTIVE  for 
Candid  Camera  Contest  winners. 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners:  Shirley  Hir- 
stius,  "Mardi  Gras  1947,"  Warren  Douglas  Journal. 
Hilda  Burke,  "Alice  in  Wonderland,"  lack  Berch 
lournal.  Donna  Dawson,  "Turning  Point,"  Alan 
Ladd  (Vaughn).  Gloria  Hagblon,  "Stuff  Like  That 
There,"  Teddy  Walters  (Hoyle).  Dolores  McMul- 
len,  "Speaking  for  the  Defense,"  Sinatra  (McMul- 
len).  Jean  Sterling,  "Discourse  on  Swooning," 
Kurt  Kreuger  Journal. 

Candid  Camera  Contest:  First  Prize:  Rita  La- 
Rossa,  Danny  Scholl  Club.  Others,  Laura  Lind- 
berg.  Glen  Vernon  (McCarthy).  Virginia  Pink, 
Bobby  Beers  Club.  Marty  Martin,  Nina  Foch  Club.  I 
Joan  Fox,  Sinatra  (McMullen).  Martha  Kay, 
Shirley  Temple  Club. 

Best  Editors:  League  I.  None  qualified.  League 
2.  Betty  Fitzgerald,  Gene  Kelly  Club.  League  3. 
Carol  Rittgers,  Esther  Williams  Club. 

BEST   JOURNALS:    League    1.    None  qualified. 
League  2.  Joan  Crawford.  League  3.  (tied)  Perry  j 
Como  (Staley),  Jack  Berch,  James  Melton  (Reis- 
ser)  journals. 

Best  Covers:  League  1.  None  qualified.  League 
2.  Gene  Kelly.    League  3.  Sinatra  ( Wolfenstein). 

Best  Original  Art  Work:    Ed  Leo,  Sinatra  (Mc- 
Mullen). 

Most  Worthwhile  Activities:   1.  Gene  Autry  Club 
(monthly  donation  of  $15  to  war  orphan).  League  1 
2.  Rise  Stevens  Club  (collected  $35  for  Red  Cross). 
League  3.  Arthur  Kennedy  Club  (donated  $56  to  1 
Cancer  Fund). 

Greatest  Percentage  Increase  in  Membership: 
League  1.  None  reported.  League  2.  Ladd  (Kee). 
League  3.  Mel  Torme  Club. 

Best  Correspondents:  1.  None  qualified.  2.  Rita 
and  Jo  Mottola,  Rise  Stevens  Club.  League  3.  Vera 
Chermansky,  Cornel  Wilde  Club. 

Leading  Clubs:  League  1 — Nelson  Eddy  (Nicho-  j 
lin),  950  points.  Dennis  Morgan,  950  points.  Gene 
Autry,  900  points.  League  2 — Joan  Crawford,  800 
points.  Ladd  (Kee),  750  points.  Jack  Carson, 
Ladd  (Bellino),  Ladd  (Pearl),  700  points.  League 
3 — Como  (Staley)  1450  points.  Sinatra  (Ling), 
Arthur  Kennedy,  950  points. 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 

GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


■ 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 

Dear  You: 

You  know  how  we're  always  carrying 
on  about  fashion  prices?  Low  ones,  we 
mean?  Well,  listen  to  this — and  figure 
out  why  we're  so  pleased. 

The  other  day  we  were  idling  through 
a  magazine  (not  Modern  Screen) — and 
we  came  across  a  cute  picture  of  Veron- 
ica Lake.  She  was  with  her  handsome 
husband  Andre  de  Toth,  and  she  was 
wearing  a  very  smart  brown  and  white 
checked  cotton  with  a  button  business 
going  on  at  the  neckline.  Although  we 
knew  we  had  never  seen  the  photo  be- 
fore— there  was  something  awfully  famil- 
iar about  it.  Then  we  caught  on.  The 
dress  Veronica  Lake  was  wearing  was  a 
Modern  Screen  fashion  she'd  modelled 
for  us  over  a  year  ago — and  that  she'd 
then  and  there  ordered  for  her  personal 
wardrobe. 

That's  right — the  fabulous  Miss  Lake 
actually  went  for  a  Modern  Screen  fash- 
ions enough  to  wear  it  in  her  own  private 
life.   Wonder  that  we're  proud? 

And,  although  we  never  ran  into  a  pic- 
ture proving  it  before — it  happens  all 
the  time.  Honestly.  Almost  invariably 
when  a  star  poses  in  one  of  our  fashions 
for  us,  she  (I,)  oohs-and-ahs  over  the 
dress  (2,)  orders  it  for  herself  (3,)  is 
amazed  at  its  low  price. 

Now,  we  wouldn't  kid  you.  We  are 
certainly  not  trying  to  tell  you  that  your 
favorite  movie  star  makes  a  point  of 
dressing  on  a  budget.  Naturally  not. 
But  we  do  tell  you  that  the  Hollywood 
glamour  girls,  in  spite  of  their  minks  and 
custom  suits  and  John  Frederics  hats — 
do  respond  to  gay  young  fashions,  no 
matter  what  the  price.  We  repeat, 
nearly  all  of  the  stars  we've  ever  photo- 
graphed in  MS  fashions,  have  ordered 
the  clothes  they've  posed  in. 

Considering  that  we've  never  featured 
a  daytime  dress  that  cost  more  than 
$15— doesn't  that  prove  our  pet  belief: 
— that  you  don't  have  to  spend  a  lot  of 
money  to  be  well  dressed? 

And  incidentally,  for  our  fall  issues  you 
can  name  your  own  prices!  Just  fill  out 
the  coupon  on  page  84,  and  write  your 
own  price  tags  for  your  fall  wardrobe. 
You  might  win  a  darling  Coro  pin  while 
you're  at  it,  too! 

Yours,  waiting  for  your  coupon, 

Co  nnie  Bartel 


If  s  Carefree  •  • .  It's  Cal  if ornia  •  •  • 


LOOK    FOR    THE  Wf  f  I  Y  I  M  G  FISH 


Write  (or  color  folder  showing  other  Catalina  styles.  Catalina,  Inc.,  Dept.  550,  443  So.  San  Pedro  St.,  Los  Angeles  13,  Calif.  87 


Frame  your  eyes 
with  Fashion 


y 


(OTHER  STYLES  TO  $2.50  ond  $2.95) 
ot  leading  drug  and  department  stores  everywhere- 


Costume-blend  colors  to 

harmonize  with  your  sum- 
mer wardrobe  .  .  .  lipstick, 
pool  blue,  black,  flesh,  shell. 
All  Grantly  sunglasses  are 
tested  for  optical  safety  to 
protect  against  infra-red  and 
ultra-violet  rays. 

FOSTER  GRANT  CO.,  INC. 

Leominster,  Mass. 


Bond  Street 


Hand  Made 
Hand  Lasted 

by  PRIMA 

with 
soft  leather 
soles 


n  8  wonderful  cho 


ices! 


RED  LEATHER 
GREEN  LEATHER 
WHITE  LEATHER 
BLACK  LEATHER 


350 


BLACK  RAYON  SATIN 
WHITE  RAYON  SATIN 

GOLD  METALLIC  CLOTH 
SILVER  METALLIC  CLOTH 


3* 
450 


Kays-Newport,  Dept.  1,  Newport,  R.  I, 
Please  send  me  Ballerinas  by  Prima  in: 


Prs. 

Materia! 

Color 

Size 

Width 

Price 

Second  color  choice  

Name  

Address  

City  — 

Send  free  style  book  

Check  □  Money  Order  □  C.O.D.  □ 


State- 


Dept.  1,  Newport,  R.  I. 

State  regular  shoe  size  for  correct  fit 
Send  for  "Summer  Style  Post"  catalogue 


{Continued  from  page  83) 
beth,  she  was  met  at  the  pier  by  another 
covey  of  Selznick  employees  bearing  a 
copy  of  the  script  of  The  Paradine  Case,  an 
English  teacher  and  a  nurse  for  the  baby. 

Miss  Valli  had  picked  up  a  few  English 
phrases  from  the  G.I.'s  in  Rome,  but  not 
much.  Her  real  lessons  began  on  the  train 
en  route  to  Hollywood. 

She  had  just  one  week  in  Hollywood  in 
which  to  learn  still  more  lines  before  she 
began  work  in  the  picture.  There  was  no 
chance  to  "warm  up"  or  get  the  feel  of  the 
story  or  the  rest  of  the  cast.  Miss  Valli's 
big  scenes  were  shot  first.  She  was  plum- 
meted into  the  midst  of  the  film,  to  sink  or 
swim.   She  took  to  the  water  like  a  duck. 

But  the  work  left  her  no  time  for  con- 
versational English.  She  went  home  every 
night  to  learn  still  more  lines  by  rote, 
always  hoping  they  would  be  such  that  she 
could  weave  them  into  polite  conversation 
at  the  semi-occasional  Hollywood  party  to 
which  she  and  de  Mejo  had  time  to  go.  It 
proved  almost  fatal  in  practice. 

At  one  of  her  first  parties,  the  man  on 
her  left  made  such  polite  conversation  that 
Miss  Valli  felt  impelled  to  say  a  few  words. 
In  desperation,  she  flung  at  her  flabber- 
gasted neighbor  one  of  Mrs.  Paradine's 
most  famous  lines: 

"I  am  not  too  well  trained  yet  in  the 
subtle  snobberies  of  your  class." 

Her  horrified  husband  yelled,  "Stop!" 
"I  never  again  quoted  any  lines  from  the 
picture,"  Miss  Valli  told  me. 

Miss  Valli  is  so  obviously  well-bred  that 
it  was  not  necessary  to  send  her  to  any  of 
the  "finishing"  schools  maintained  in 
Hollywood  to  teach  its  star  stuff  which 
fork  comes  first,  and  not  to  stick  bubble 
gum  on  the  upholstery. 

There  are  great  differences  between 
being  an  American  and  a  European  film 
star,  though,  and  the  greatest  of  these  is 
the  process  of  glamorization. 

"Here,  the  glamorization  is  never  end- 
ing," said  Miss  Valli  with  a  sly  twinkle  as 
a  hairdresser  and  a  manicurist  arrived  in 
the  hotel  suite.  "In  Europe,  you  are 
allowed  to  look  human  part  of  the  time." 

While  the  hairdresser  whisked  her  away 
for  a  shampoo,  de  Mejo  came  in  to  enter- 
tain me.  He  is  an  attractive,  good-looking 
young  man  who  hopes  eventually  to  write 
the  scores  for  motion  pictures  in  Holly- 
wood as  he  did  in  Italy. 

I  mentioned  the  current  excellence  of 
Italian  films  now  being  shown  in  America. 
De  Mejo  had  a  thoughtful  explanation,  in 
which  his  wife  concurred  as  she  came  back, 
hair  dripping. 

"In  Italy,  there  is  a  little  amateurishness 
about  everything  in  picture-making,"  he 
said.  "Even  the  amateurish  quality  of  the 
photography  gives  the  pictures  the  look  of 
a  newsreel  and  the  quality  of  authenticity." 

In  the  belief  that  all  the  money  in  the 
world   is   concentrated   in   Hollywood,  I 
(Continued  on  page  90) 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Word  got  around 
that  scenes  for 
The  Naked  City 
were  being  taken 
near  where  I  live. 
Crowds  of  people 
gathered  to  watch 
the  actors  work. 
Barry  Fitzgerald 
wore  slippers 
when  he  wasn't 
in  front  of  the 
camera.  Seeing  this,  a  little  girl 
exclaimed,  "Gosh,  Mommie,  does  he 
have  feet  trouble  just  like  Uncle  Joe?" 

Celia  Gatto 
New  York  City 


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in  the  full  color  photograph  (page  73) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Macy's,  Budget  Sports- 
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Providence,  R.  I.— The  Outlet  Co., 
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Simon   Brothers  spiral  mesh  barrel  bag, 
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New  York,  N.  Y. — Bloomingdale's,  Hand- 
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White  Stag  striped  ticking  shorts,  halter 
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Chicago,  111. — Von  Lengerke  &  Antoine, 

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New  York,  N.  Y— McCreery's,  Sports- 
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Seattle,  Wash. — Frederick  &  Nelson 
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Milwaukee,  Wis. — Gimbels,  First  Floor 
Ncnina    two-piece    satin    lastex  Spanish 
print  bathing  suit  (page  76) 
Boston,  Mass. — Jordan  Marsh  Co. 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Gimbels,  Downstairs 
Store 

St.  Louis,  Mo. — Famous-Barr  Co.,  Sports 
Lane,  Downstairs 
Winkies  of  Long  Island  two-piece  corded 
cotton  print  bathing  suit  (page  77) 

Bronx,  N.  Y. — Plymouth  Shop 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Loeser's 

Harrisburg,  Pa. — Worth's,  Sports  Dept., 

Main  Floor 
Miami,  Fla. — Hartley's,  Sportswear  Dept., 

First  Floor 
Louisville,  Ky. — Zellner's 
New  Rochelle,  N.  Y.— Plymouth  Shop 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Gimbels,  Sportswear, 

Third  Floor 
Borevo  Sportswear  ruffle  back  cotton  skirt 
(page  78) 

Los  Angeles,  Calif.  —  Broadway  Dept. 

Store,  Sportswear,  Downstairs 
New  York,  N.  Y.— Macy's,  Deb  Shop, 
Fourth  Floor 
Boreva  Sportswear  cotton  batiste  blouse 
(page  78) 

Los  Angeles,  Calif.  —  Broadway  Dept. 

Store,  Sportswear,  Downstairs 
New  York,  N.  Y.— Macy's,  Deb  Shop, 
Fourth  Floor 
Simon  Brothers  spiral  mesh  pancake  bag 
(page  78) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Bloomingdale's,  Hand- 
bags, Arcade 
Carole  Wren  plaid  cotton  playskirt  with 
flounced  hem  (page  79) 

Los  Angeles,  Calif. — Grayson's — and  all 

other  Grayson-Robinson  stores 

throughout  country 
Minneapolis,   Minn.  —  Grayson's  —  and 

all  other  Grayson  stores  throughout 

country 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Lerner  Shops — and 
all  Lerner  Shops  throughout  country 
Alice  Karen  broadcloth  blouse  with  eyelet 
trim  (page  79) 
New  Rochelle,  N.  Y.— Paris  Shop 
New  York,  N.  Y.— Radin  Shops 
At  all  Lerner  Shops  throughout  country 
Gingham  Girl  striped  percale,  and  rose 
print  dress  (page  82) 
Boston,   Mass.— Filene's,   Pinafore  Bar, 

Sixth  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Bloomingdale's,  Sec- 
ond Floor 

St.  Louis,  Mo.— Stix,  Baer  &  Fuller,  Sec- 
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(Continued  from  page  88) 
committed  a  major  gaucherie  as  de  Mejo 
left  us  to  meet  a  group  of  Italian  news- 
paper men  in  the  hotel  lobby. 

"How  does  it  feel  to  make  all  that  Holly- 
wood money?"  I  asked. 

Miss  Valli  looked  at  me  and  chuckled. 
"But  I  made  much  more  money  in  Europe 
than  I  do  here.  You  see,  there  I  had  a 
name.  In  Hollywood,  I  am  just  beginning. 
But  Oscar  and  I  are  both  quite  young  and 
we  can  afford  to  start  over  again." 

So  she  was  willing  to  wager  ten  years, 
34  pictures,  established  fame  in  Europe  and 
her  Old  World  equivalent  of  Hollywood's 
Oscars  against  success  in  America.  Now, 
with  only  one  American  picture  so  far  re- 
leased, it  seems  almost  obvious  that  the 
lady  bet  on  a  sure  thing. 

But  it  was  not  too  easy  to  pull  up  stakes 
in  Italy,  where  she  was  born  27  years  ago. 
Her  father  (a  Viennese)  had  fought  on  the 
Italian  side,  against  his  own  brothers,  in 
World  War  I.  Later  he  became  an  Italian 
citizen  and  settled  down  to  a  distinguished 
career  as  a  professor  of  philosophy  and 
history  at  the  University  of  Milan. 

Miss  Valli,  an  only  child,  grew  up  in  an 
atmosphere  heavy  with  books,  music  and 
professorial  beards — all  leavened  by  her 
father's  volatile  Viennese  spirits.  He  died 
in  1936,  just  before  she  went  off  to  Rome 
to  enter  its  Academy  of  Cinematic  Acting. 

She  appeared  in  her  first  picture  in  May, 
1937 — a  farce  comedy  called  The  Cruel 
Saladin.  Her  first  real,  substantial  success 
didn't  come  till  she'd  made  a  fifth  picture 
toward  the  end  of  1938 — something  called 
A  Thousand  Lire  a  Month. 

In  June,  1943,  she  refused  to  make  pic- 
tures for  the  Germans,  and  went  into  hid- 
ing with  friends.  There  she  met  a  young 
man,  also  in  hiding,  an  Italian  pianist  and 
composer.  They  were  married  in  March, 
1944. 

Late  in  1945,  after  she  had  once  more 
begun  to  make  Italian  films,  she  signed  a 
contract  with  Selznick.  Now  she  and  her 
husband  plan  to  become  American  citizens 
at  the  earliest  possible  date. 

he's  charlie  now  .  .  . 

The  young  de  Mejos  arrived  in  America 
almost  15  months  ago  with  a  son  named 
Carlos  who  is  never  referred  to  any  more 
as  anything  but  Charlie! 

"This  is  the  country  for  children,  isn't 
it?"  Miss  Valli  cried,  still  competing  with 
the  drier.  "Charlie  grows  like  a  flower  in 
California.  He  speaks  only  English  now." 

She  finds  it  odd  that  others  think  it 
strange  that  she  nursed  Charlie  until  he 
was  almost  six  months  old. 

"I  am  of  the  old  school,"  she  explained  a 
little  primly.   "We  nurse  our  babies." 

As  the  manicurist  put  a  final  coat  of  red 
on  her  nails  and  the  hairdresser  at  last 
brushed  out  her  curls,  Miss  Valli  had  only 
good  things  to  say  of  Hollywood.  She  has 
been  very  happy  there  and  everyone  has 
been  kind  to  her. 

Alfred  Hitchcock,  who  directed  her  in 
The  Paradine  Case,  and  Mrs.  Hitchcock 
have  become  the  de  Mejos'  best  friends  in 
Hollywood. 

Her  second  American  film,  The  Miracle 
of  the  Bells,  not  yet  released,  was  also 
very  pleasant  to  make.  Things  were  not 
so  strange  by  that  time,  and  she  liked 
working  with  Fred  MacMurray. 

"I  had  seen  him  in  Double  Indemnity 
and  thought  him  wonderful,"  she  said. 

She  has  no  scenes  in  this  picture  with 
Frank  Sinatra,  who  plays  the  role  of  a 
priest  and,  according  to  Miss  Valli,  plays 
it  brilliantly.  She  had  met  him  briefly  in 
Italy,  when  he  was  there  with  the  U.S.O. 

"I  went  to  see  his  show  in  Rome,  be- 
cause I  really  wanted  to  see  if  the  girls 
screamed,"  Miss  Valli  said,  with  a  grin. 
"The    audience    was    full    of  American 


WACS,  Red  Cross  workers  and  nurses, 
and  they  really  did  scream.  Now  I  have 
come  to  know  him  quite  well  in  life,  and 
in  person.   I  like  his  principles. 

"But,"  she  added  with  dignity,  "I  do  not 
scream!" 

Her  great  ambition  still  is  to  meet  Greta 
Gar  bo. 

"But,"  she  added  a  little  sadly,  "I  hear  it 
is  very  difficult." 

Only  one  aspect  of  American  life  puzzles 
and  disappoints  both  Miss  Valli  and  her 
husband.  They  love  to  jitterbug  (an  art 
they  picked  up  from  the  G.I.'s  in  Rome) 
and  they  thought  there  would  surely  be 
jitterbugging  at  every  party  in  America. 
All  Society  jitterbugs  in  Italy.  But  in 
America,  no. 

"Only  at  the  Palladium  in  Hollywood, 
no  place  else,"  Miss  Valli  said  a  little  sor- 
rowfully. "And  Oscar  and  I  do  so  love 
to  jitterbug." 

The  de  Mejos  are  also  serious  jazz  and 
be-bop  aficionados.  They  admire  in  par- 
ticular somebody  called  Dizzy  Gillespie. 
They  spent  a  good  part  of  their  New  York 
vacation  in  the  small  joints  dedicated  to 
the  more  esoteric  phases  of  jazz.  De  Mejo 
is  the  American  correspondent  of  one  or 
two  of  Europe's  highbrow  jazz  publications. 

The  new  star  whose  name  is  inevitably 
linked  with  that  of  Bergman  and  Garbo  is 
vague  about  future  plans.  She  does  not 
know  what  her  next  picture  will  be,  but 
she  would  love  to  do  a  comedy. 

And  definitely,  she  does  not  ever  want  to 
be  burned  at  the  stake  again,  as  in  Miracle 
of  the  Bells,  in  which  she  plays  not  only  a 
Polish  girl  but  Joan  of  Arc.  When  they 
tied  her  to  the  stake  and  lighted  the  fag- 
gots, poor  Miss  Valli  was  frightened  half 
to  death. 

Sometime  during  the  present  year,  the 
de  Mejos  want  to  pack  up  Charlie  and  go 
back  to  Italy  to  visit  Miss  Valli's  pretty 
mother,  who  lives  at  Como. 

But  after  less  than  fifteen  months  here, 
they  both  regard  America  and  Hollywood 
as  their  home. 

They  live  in  what  to  them  seems  a  very 
big  house  in  Hollywood.  But  one  without 
a  swimming  pool. 

As  the  manicurist  and  hairdresser  gave 
her  a  last  critical  look,  as  a  secretary,  a 
press  agent,  an  assistant  press  agent  and  a 
waiter  hovered  in  the  background,  Miss 
Valli  spoke  the  Great  Heresy.  She  said, 
loud  enough  for  all  to  hear: 

"I  still  have  faith  in  Hollywood  that  I 
can  succeed — even  without  the  swimming 
pool!" 


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Puzzled,  Jane  asked,  "Mother 
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"Yes,"  replied  the  bellboy,  "but 
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MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  from  page  23) 


The  Mating  Of  Millie:  Bus-driver  Glenn  Ford  (rt.)  coaches  Evelyn  Keyes  in  how  to  win  a  husband. 

Willard  Parker  (If.)   is  one  of  several  willing  prospects,  but  Evelyn  has  her  mind  on  teacher. 


sunburns. 

This  is  really  a  man-loves-horse  story.  Nick 
Buckley  (Robert  Young),  a  kind  of  wandering 
cowboy  with  no  visible  means  of  support, 
meanders  into  a  saloon  one  stormy  night  to 
inquire  where  he  can  bed  down  his  mare  who 
is  going  to  foal  almost  any  day.  Two  grizzly 
old  prospectors  who  have  just  made  a  gold 
strike  and  are  buying  champagne  for  EV-uh-ry- 
body,  tell  him  to  go  on  out  to  their  shack,  and 
they  give  him  directions.  As  Nick's  about  to 
set  forth,  a  stranger — one  Tex  Brandaw  (Bar- 
ton MacLane) — approaches  him  and  tells  him 
not  to  trudge  way  on  out  there,  that  there's 
a  nice  dry  stall  just  down  the  block,  and 
that's  where  Nick  goes. 

Next  day,  Nick  approaches  the  local  veteri- 
narian on  the  street  and  asks  him  for  some 
medicine.  He  is  planning  to  push  on  to  a 
warmer  section  of  the  country  and  there  are 
some  things  he'll  need  to  care  for  his  mare. 
The  vet  eyes  the  broken  down  mare  and 
sneers,  "That's  pretty  fancy  stuff  for  that  there 
horse." 

A  pretty  girl  (Marguerite  Chapman), 
proprietor  of  a  travelling  store,  is  watching 
them  from  her  big  covered  wagon  across  the 
street,  and  she  calls  over  to  Nick  that  she  has 
all  the  things  he  needs.  While  she's  getting 
them  together.  Nick  confides  in  her  that  the 
reason  he  needs  so  many  fancy  items  is  that 
his  mare  is  going  to  have  a  very  fancy  colt, 
sired  by  Thunder,  a  famous  and  magnificent 
race  horse. 

The  colt  is  born  en  route  to  the  warm  valley, 
smack  in  the  middle  of  a  snowstorm,  and 
shortly  thereafter  an  outlaw  whose  horse  has 
been  shot  from  under  him  appears  and  de- 
mands the  mare  at  gunpoint.  Nick  follows  them 
on  foot,  knowing  the  horse  won't  be  able  to 
travel  far,  and  when  he  finds  her  dead  in  the 
snow,  he  shoots  the  ruthless  outlaw  who  ran 
her  to  death,  without  a  qualm. 

From  there  on  in,  the  going  is  rough  and 
Nick — with  a  price  on  his  head — is  one  busy 
guy.  How  he  keeps  his  motherless  colt  alive, 
saves  his  own  skin  and  hooks  the  purty  trav- 


eling saleswoman  makes  mighty  exciting  look- 
ing. Better  go  see. — Col. 


THE  MATING  OF  MILLIE 

The  Mating  of  Mi2Jie  is  a  gentle  little 
comedy  co-starring  Evelyn  Keyes  as  Millie 
McGonigle,  a  department  store  executive,  and 
Glenn  Ford  as  bus-driving  Doug  Andrews, 
charming  bachelor. 

In  the  beginning  of  the  picture.  Millie  is 
a  frozen-faced  gal  in  a  man-tailored  suit,  ■ 
beau-less  and  fun-less.  Two  things  change  her  | 
life.  (A)  Her  small  friend  Tommy  Bassett 
(Jimmy  Hunt),  who  lives  in  the  apartment 
downstairs,  is  tragically  orphaned  and  taken  I 
to  a  foundling  hospital.  And  (B)  She  meets 
Doug  Andrews  and  befriends  him  in  a  highly 
unorthodox  manner.  Millie  tries  desperately 
to  adopt  her  beloved  Tommy,  but  is  told  that 
as  a  single  woman  she  hasn't  a  prayer  of  ! 
getting  him.  She  contrives  a  whopper  about 
a  fiance  in  Alaska,  but  it's  no  sale,  and  Mil-  i 
lie  goes  home  heartsick,  still  yearning  after 
Tommy. 

Pal  Doug  sets  about  coaching  her  in  the 
ways  of  a  siren — object  matrimony,  but  not  to 
him.  He's  a  confirmed  bachelor.  She  be- 
comes  so  frilly,  feminine  and  irresistible  that 
Ralph  Galloway  (Ron  Randell).  head  of  the 
foundling  home,  is  thoroughly  enchanted,  as  is 
Phil  Gowan  (Willard  Parker),  a  neighbor  who  i 
starts  dropping  in  to  borrow  cups  of  sugar  and 
leer  at  Millie's  new  look. 

What  of  Doug,  the  advice-giving  bus  chap? 
What  of  Tommy?  Not  another  word  from  us 
— you'll  have  to  go  see  for  yourself.  And  this 
is  a  promise  we'd  like  to  make:  you'll  have  a 
wonderful  time. — CoJ. 

I,  JANE  DOE 

The  court  room  is  quiet.  On  one  of  the  long, 
dirty  windows  a  fly  buzzes  distractedly.  Sitting 
quite  calmly,  hands  clasped  together,  a  girl 
is  refusing  to  fight  for  her  life  .  .  . 

This  is  the  trial  of  Jane  Doe  (Vera  Ralston) 
who  is  accused  of  having  shot  to  death  a  man 
named  Steven  Curtis  (John  Carroll).  Wit- 
nesses saw  her  entering  the  apartment  just 


I,  Jane  Doe:  Vera  Ralston  saves  John  Car- 
roll's   life,    then    is    accused    of    his  murder. 


before  the  shot  was  fired.  Steven's  wife.  Eve 
(Ruth  Hussey),  came  into  the  room  and  found 
him  lying  dead,  with  the  girl  standing  over 
him.  Jane  Doe  admitted  to  the  first  policeman 
on  the  scene  that  she  had  killed  him. 

Still,  there  might  have  been  a  chance  for 
her.  Steven  Curtis  had  a  reputation  as  a  wolf. 
This  girl  was  young,  obviously  well  brought- 
up.  If  she  only  talked.  But  she  refused  even 
to  give  her  real  name.  Refused  to  tell  any  ex- 
tenuating circumstances  there  may  have  been. 
So  the  jury  brings  in  a  verdict  of  guilty  and 
Jane  Doe  faints  in  a  tired  little  heap  on  the 
floor.  It  is  not  until  Eve  Curtis,  Steven's  wife, 
thinks  out  the  reason  for  that  faint,  that  she 
feels  anything  but  hatred  for  the  girl.  But 
Jane  Doe  is  going  to  have  a  child  and  that 
makes  a  difference.  Because  it  is  Steven's 
child  and  somehow  that  matters  terribly  to 
Eve. 

Eve  is  a  lawyer  herself — a  brilliant  one, 
although  she  retired  soon  after  she  married 
Steven.  If  she  can  get  this  girl  to  talk  perhaps 
there  would  be  a  chance  for  her  in  a  new  trial. 

Eve  does  get  her  to  talk,  and  the  story  goes 
something  like  this  .  .  .  Jane  Doe  is  Annette 
DuBois,  a  French  girl.  During  the  war  an 
American  flier  was  shot  down  near  her  farm. 
Annette  and  her  brother  Robert  pulled  him 
from  his  burning  plane.  Robert  died  as  a  result 
of  his  burns.  The  flier,  Steven  Curtis,  lived. 
Lived,  and  one  night  in  a  quiet  village  cere- 
mony, he  married  Annette  DuBois.  Married  her, 
obviously  without  mentioning  that  he  already 
had  a  wife. 

So  now  Jane  Doe  is  on  trial  again,  but  per- 
haps this  time  things  will  be  different. — Rep. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

While  apartment- 
hunting  in  Holly- 
wood a  while  ago 
I  couldn't  find  a 
certain  house 
number.  I  must 
have  looked  very 
forlorn,  jor  a  car 
pulled  up  and  a 
very  handsome 
young  man  offered 
his  help.  Telling 
him  my  troubles,  he  got  out,  searched 
for  the  number,  ushered  me  up  the 
steps,  helped  me  with  my  bag  and 
bade  me  farewell.  Only  after  I  sat 
down  did  I  remember  his  face.  It 
was  none  other  than  Louis  Jourdan, 
that  Hollywood  heart-throb. 

Joan  H.  Reijmers 
Hollywood,  California 


STUNNING  COVER  GIRL 


So  for  springtime  loveliness,  begin 
SweetHearfs  Floating  Lift  Beauty 
Care.  Massage  your  face  one  min- 
ute, night  and  morning,  with 
SweetHearfs  extra  lather.  Rinse 
with  warm  —  then  cold  water.  Skin 
is  cleansed  . . .  stimulated  . . .  more 
radiant— and  delicately  perfumed. 


The  Soap  that 
AGREES  with 
Your  Skin 


^Sweetheart  Soap's 

QiflfaUtfcks!  . 


•  "For  this  amazing  action  is  wonderfully  kind 
to  my  delicate  skin,"  says  Mary.  "SweetHeart 
Care  leaves  my  skin  apple-blossom  soft  and 
lovely  with  enchanting  fragrance." 

You,  too,  will  adore  this  divine  Floating  Lift 
Care!  For  pure,  mild  SweetHeart's  perfumed, 
creamy  extra  lather  has  a  gentle  floating  lift. 
Pictures  taken  through  the  microscope  prove 
SweetHeart's  countless  bubbles  bathe  the  outer 
pore  openings  . . .  lift  oft.— float  away  — dirt  and 
dry  skin  flakes. 

Alluring  natural  smoothness  and  true  radi- 
ance are  revealed.  Your  skin  looks  dreamy  fresh 
and  it's  glorified  with  that  "come-hither" 
SweetHeart  fragrance. 


•  For  tub  and  shower,  you  can  now  also  get 
the  new,  large  bath  9ize.  SweetHeart's  extra 
lather  with  its  floating  lift  is  marvelous. 


•  Try  Mary's  beauty  secret  and  be 
lucky  in  love!  Her  SweetHeart  com- 
plexion and  that  delicate,  haunting 
fragrance  make  hearts  beat  faster. 


93 


THE  HOUSE  THEY  LIVE  IN 

(Continued  from  page  46) 


dummy  buyer.  Came  the  first  headache. 
My  husband's  former  wife  read  of  the 
sale,  assumed  the  Hargreaves  had  struck 
it  rich,  took  steps  to  share  the  wealth.  The 
hours  it  took  to  talk  her  attorneys  into 
dropping  the  suit! 

I  got  used  to  mere  trifles  like  that.  Dick 
and  Gene  and  I  were  in  this  together  and 
we'd  see  it  through.  But  the  inner  sanc- 
tum expanded  right  away,  by  one.  Ken- 
neth Albright,  our  architect,  was  sworn  to 
secrecy,  and  went  to  work. 

Gene  sneaked  to  meet  me  at  dawn  on 
Sundays,  in  the  dusk  on  weekdays.  He 
wore  a  black  coat  with  the  collar  turned 
up,  a  black  hat,  brim  down,  and  held  a 
handkerchief  to  his  nose.  Soon  the  rumor 
got  around  that  Chicago  gangsters  had 
bought  the  place;  some  of  the  neighbors 
even  whispered  "Al  Capone!" 

the  wandering  rasmussens  .  .  . 

I  was  the  front.  I  was  in  business  and 
could  quite  logically  be  an  agent  for  some- 
one else.  So  I  invented  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Rasmussen,  let  it  be  known  I'd  bought 
the  house  for  them.  They  were  traveling. 
Where? — oh,  er — Bermuda,  Switzerland. 
Dear  Rasmussens,  how  they  traveled! 

The  carpenters,  painters  or  decorators 
couldn't  be  allowed  to  guess.  One  might 
spot  Gene  and  tell.  So  we  met  before  or 
after  the  whistle  blew. 

I'll  skip  the  million  details,  but  consider — 
a  big,  ten-room  house:  structural  changes, 
paper,  paint,  carpets,  draperies,  furniture, 
mirrors,  pictures,  landscaping — and  proj- 
ects within  projects,  like  "Raymond's 
Folly." 

Gene  and  Jeanette  love  horses  and  dogs. 
Between  them,  then,  they  had  seven  pups, 
two  horses — his  "Black  Knight,"  her  "White 
Lady."  Gene  found  a  corner  of  the  grounds 
he  thought  perfect  for  a  stable.  One  with 
thatched  roof,  two  stalls,  and  a  tiny  corral. 
Beside  it,  a  spot  for  seven  kennels,  each 
with  a  dog's  name  over  its  door.  I  got 
estimates.  It  came  to  a  small  fortune,  but 
Gene  knew  what  he  wanted.  Up  went  the 
stable.  Dick  named  it  "Raymond's  Folly." 

Gene  and  Jeanette  like  to  play  piano 
duets.  That  is,  two  pianos  in  duet.  There 
was  a  little  play  house  on  the  old  estate. 
"Perfect  for  two  pianos — that's  the  music 
room,"  Gene  decided.  "A  white  music 
room."  We  remodeled,  redecorated  it, 
bought  the  twin  small  grand  pianos,  had 
them  painted  white.  A  record  machine, 
too,  turned  white  over  night  (as  Gene's 
and  my  hair  almost  did  a  few  times).  A 
downy  love  seat,  brass  for  the  fireplace, 
intimate  and  cozy.  The  walls?  An  inspira- 
tion— Jeanette's  treasured  composer  etch- 
ings— Mozart,  Beethoven,  Brahms  and  the 
rest.  Then  Gene  got  the  idea  that  almost 
wrecked  everything.  The  pictures  must  be 
matted  in  Jeanette's  MacDonald  plaid,  the 
furniture  upholstered  in  it. 

On  one  of  her  trips  to  Europe,  Jeanette 
had  toured  Scotland  and  brought  back  a 
bolt  of  the  MacDonald  tartan.  At  the  time, 
she'd  thought  of  a  coat,  a  suit,  or  some- 
thing, but  the  bolt  still  languished  in  a 
closet.  That  was  our  first  theft.  Gene  was 
the  robber.  He  called  on  Jeanette  one 
night  lugging  a  suitcase — what  excuse  he 
made,,  I've  forgotten.  But  he  came  out 
with  the  plaid.  Next  day  the  upholsterer 
cut  it  up  for  the  couch. 

Gene  and  Jeanette  planned  a  Honolulu 
honeymoon.  One  night  at  dinner,  Jeanette 
was  talking  trousseau.  "I've  had  that  bolt 
of  plaid  around  for  ages,"  she  said. 
"Wouldn't  it  be  nice — suit  and  coat- — for 
the  boat?"  Gene  choked  on  his  soup  and 
I  dropped  my  fork.  Dick  asked  reproach- 


fully, "Plaid — on  a  honeymoon?"  "Why 
not?"  asked  our  gal.  "Bad  luck,"  said  Gene 
helpfully.  "Phooey,  I'm  not  superstitious," 
said  Jeanette.  In  quite  a  silence,  she 
chatted  on. 

Next  day  I  had  a  call  from  MacDonald. 
"We've  had  robbers!"  she  gasped.  "But — 
the  silliest  thing — they  took  only  that  bolt 
of  plaid,  and  some  etchings."  I  said  not 
to  call  the  police — it  would  look  like  pub- 
licity! Gene  thought  fast  when  I  told  him, 
and  decided  we  needed  another  accomplice 
— Jeanette's  secretary,  Sylvia  Wright.  She 
swore  in  as  our  Fifth  Column. 

Because  by  then  Gene  had  more  ambi- 
tious plans  than  just  a  house,  furnished 
and  decorated  to  his  lady's  delight.  We 
already  had  the  living  room  carpet  and 
drapes  in  warm  rust  tones  (to  match 
Jeanette's  red-gold  hair).  Fifty  paint  mixes 
had  brought  her  favorite,  dusty  pink,  into 
her  boudoir.  Twenty,  her  royal  blue  in 
the  dining  room.  Every  hint  that  dropped 
from  her  lips  lodged  in  our  over-sized 
ears.  (We  had  a  signal  language,  too.  A 
rubbed  elbow,  a  tugged  ear,  meant  "Get 
this"  or  "Cover  up"  or  something.)  Some- 
times our  tips  went  a  little  wild,  with 
frantic  results.  For  instance,  the  crans- 
nutians. 

At  this  time  Jeanette  was  making  The 
Firefly  with  Allan  Jones.  One  weekend, 
Gene  and  Jeanette,  Allan  and  his  wife 
Irene,  Dick  and  I  went  to  the  Norconian 
Club.  In  the  garden  after  dinner,  we 
passed  a  bed  of  flowers.  The  dialogue: 

Jeanette:  Oh,  I'm  just  crazy  about  those 
cransnutians! 

Allan:  They're  the  most  beautiful,  love- 
ly cransnutians  I've  ever,  ever  seen! 

Jeanette:  When  Gene  and  I  have  our 
home,  we'll  certainly  have  a  huge  bed  of 
cransnutians. 

Raymond  was  rubbing  his  elbow  like 
mad.  Back  in  Hollywood,  I  grabbed  the 
phone  and  called  the  landscape  man.  "Tear 
out  the  begonias.  Put  in  a  huge  bed  of 
cransnutians,"  I  told  him.  He  said,  "Okay." 
Pretty  soon  he  was  ringing  back.  "I  can't 
locate  any — er — cransnutians." 

cransnutians,  indeed!  .  .  . 

I'll  tuck  up  the  hem  of  this  story:  He 
called  all  over  town.  He  pored  through  all 
the  seed  catalogues,  scanned  the  horticul- 
ture dictionary,  no  soap,  no  cransnutians. 
Exasperated,  I  called  the  Norconian  Club, 
described  the  flower  bed.  "Oh,"  said  the 
manager.  "Those  are  double  petunias." 
Then  it  came  to  me!  Jeanette  and  Allan 
Jones  were  making  a  picture  with  director 
"Pop"  (Robert  Z.)  Leonard.  "Pop"  uses 
some  trick  word  on  every  picture.  "Crans- 
nutians," indeed.  Most  apologetically,  I 
ordered  double  petunias. 

But  about  Sylvia,  our  Fifth  Column.  As 
I  say,  Gene's  idea  had  expanded.  He 
wanted  Jeanette's  dresses  in  the  wardrobe, 
her  pictures  on  the  wall,  her  toiletries,  her 
books,  records,  their  wedding  presents 
wherever  indicated.  We  had  in  mind  a 
program  of  grand  larceny  from  the  Mac- 
Donald home.  We  had  it  more  than  in 
mind — we  committed  it. 

Presents  arrived  at  Jeanette's  from  all 
over  Hollywood — arrived,  were  opened, 
then  disappeared  as  Sylvia  boxed  them 
and  slipped  them  to  Gene  or  me.  "I  barely 
get  a  chance  to  see  my  presents  before 
I  write  my  thank  you's,"  complained 
MacDonald. 

"But  I'm  sending  them  over  to  Mr.  Ray- 
mond's, as  you  said,"  Sylvia'd  tell  her. 

Sylvia  really  did  have  an  excuse;  and 
Gene  and  Jeanette  had  a  housing  plan 
(Jeanette  thought).  They  would  move  for 


awhile  into  Gene's  bachelor  house.  What 
else  could  they  do?  For  a  reason  Jeanette 
could  not  quite  understand,  her  fiance  had 
turned  persnickety.  They'd  look  at  houses; 
he'd  find  something  wrong. 

One  day  Jeanette  confided  in  me.  "Helen, 
I'm  getting  worried  about  Gene.  He  daw- 
dles everlastingly  over  important  deci- 
sions. Our  house  for  instance.  Almost  as 
though  he's  losing  interest — and  another 
thing — he's  away  so  much  of  the  time!" 

I  gulped.  "You're  both  so  busy,"  I  rattled. 
"You're  right  about  just  moving  into 
Gene's  place.  Later  on  you'll  find  one  you 
both  really  like." 

"I'm  not  so  sure."  And  she  was  very 
quiet.  "I'm  very  sure,"  I  said  earnestly, 
skipping  any  reply  re  those  "jaunts"  of 
Gene's.  I  knew  where  he  was — up  work- 
ing like  a  dog  on  that  house,  but  I  cer- 
tainly understood  that  to  her  it  was  kind 
of  suspicious  that  he  had  to  see  his  cousin 
or  look  up  his  uncle's  sister  so  often. 

We  enlisted  another  actor  in  the  Great 
Deception  when,  six  weeks  before  that 
June  date,  Jeanette's  Scotch  prudence  got 
her  at  last,  and  she  started  perking  up 
Gene's  old  house.  The  new  trickster  was 
the  interior  decorator.  The  shenanigans  it 
took  to  get  her  to  hire  this  particular  guy 
who  was  in  league  with  us!  And  the  hours 
she  spent  giving  him  her  instructions. 
The  man  was  an  Oscar  calibre  actor.  He 
measured  chairs,  he  brought  her  samples, 
he  told  her  everything  was  going  beau- 
tifully, and  all  the  time  he  was  really 
working  on  the  new  house,  incorporating 
all  of  Jeanette's  suggestions  into  it. 

stolen  goods  .  .  . 

So  the  wedding  day  drew  near.  The 
suspense  was  terrific.  That's  when  we 
started  stealing  things  hard  to  snitch. 
Jeanette's  dresses,  for  instance,  her  shoes, 
toiletries,  keepsakes — one  by  one.  Each 
with  an  acceptable  excuse  or  a  sly  replace- 
ment. We  had  narrow  escapes  that  made 
our  hearts  pound.  Our  only  break  was 
that  Jeanette  herself  was  busier  than  a 
bird  dog.  Gene  hired  a  butler,  sworn  to 
secrecy,  to  tidy  up  The  Place.  Gene  made 
a  recording  of  their  courtship  song  ("You're 
All  I  Need"). 

Then  it  was  the  wedding  day.  I  won't 
forget  it.  The  architect  came  to  the  house 
where  we  „were  working  like  mad.  He 
took  a  carved  wood  "R"  out  of  his  coat 
pocket,  fastened  it  in  its  niche  over  the 
library  fireplace.  It  was  the  final  touch. 
The  House  was  ready. 

"I  hope  you'll  be  very  happy  in  your 
home,  Mr.  Raymond,"  he  said.  Gene  and 
I  looked  at  each  other  and  my  eyes,  at 
least,  were  pretty  misty. 

It  was  the  day  we'd  worked  ten  months 
for,  and  we'd  practically  made  it  without 
disaster.  Outside  of  our  chosen  crew  not 
a  soul  knew.  Even  Gene's  brother,  who 
lived  with  him,  didn't  guess  the  secret. 
And  although  her  clothes,  her  collection  of 
miniatures,  her  music,  even  her  comb  and 
brush  were  m  place,  Jeanette  suspected 
nothing.  That  evening  the  lights  would  be 
on,  a  fire  burning  in  the  fireplace,  a  snack 
m  the  ice  box,  there'd  be  champagne  on 
the  hearth  in  a  cooler.  The  dogs  (removed 
from  the  Sunnyvale  Kennels,  where  they'd 
been  boarded)  would  be  safe  in  their  new 
houses,  all  fed.  The  horses  would  be 
bedded  m  their  stables.  At  a  signal,  the 
butler  would  turn  on  the  victrola  so  that 
when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond  arrived,  their 
theme  song  would  play  softly. 

And  then,  only  a  few  hours  from  tri- 
umph, Sylvia  Wright  called.  "Jeanette's 
restless  and  says  she's  going  out  to  the 
Sunnyvale  Kennels  to  see  the  dogs!" 

"But,"  I  gasped,  "they  aren't  there. 
They're  at — they're — " 

"I  thought  so,"  wailed  Sylvia.  "You've 
got  to  do  something— quick!    If  Jeanette 


...  oft  ^  o'QArA  *\A\iko  %onM^\ 


/.  "Here's  how  I  manage  desk-to-dining 
dates,"  says  this  smart  career  girl.  "I  wear 
a  simple  black  linen  dress  to  the  office,  with 
the  smartest  of  tailored  jackets.  And,  of 
course,  rely  on  new  Odorono  cream  to  keep 
my  clothes  free  from  perspiration  stains 
and  odor."  One  dab  of  Odorono  in  the  A.M. 
keeps  you  dainty  a  full  24  hours. 

And  wait  till  you  see  how  creamy-smooth 
Odorono  stays  in  the  jar.  Never  gritty  (even 
if  you  leave  the  cap  off  for  weeks). 


2.  "When  date  time  comes,  I  remove 
the  jacket,  add  beads  and  crisp  white 
petticoat,  flowers  and  gloves — and  I'm 
set  for  a  romantic  evening.  I'm  confident 
of  my  charm  all  evening  too,  thanks  to 
new  Odorono  cream."  Because  the  Halgene 
in  Odorono  gives  more  effective  protection 
than  any  deodorant  known. 

Yet  stainless  Odorono  is  so  safe  and 
gentle — you  can  use  it  even  after  shaving. 
Try  Odorono  yourself — and  see. 


ilW  Oitfunu>  Qa&ua* 


95 


-Beg.  U.S.  P«.OiT. 

SEAMPRUFE  INCORPORATED  •  FIFTH  AVENUE  •  NEW  YORK 


How  to  tell  the 
different  finer 
silverplate 

Look  for  these 


The  two  blocks  of 
sterling  inlaid  at  back 
of  bowls  and  handles 
of  most  used  spoons 
and  forks.  They  make 
this  silverplate  stay 
lovelier  longer.  Fifty- 
two  piece  set  $68.50 
with  chest.  (No  Fed- 
eral Tax.)  All  patterns 
made  in  the  U.  S.  A. 


HOLMES  &  EDWARDS 

STERLING  INLAID9 
SILVERPLATE 


96 


Copyright  1948.  The  International  Silver  Co.,  Holmes  &  Edwards  Division, 
Mstiiten.  Conn.  Sold  in  Canada  by :  The  T.  Eaton  Co.,  ltd.  °Reg. U .  S. Pat. Oil. 


gets  to  the  kennels  and  finds  no  pups,  she'll 
call  out  the  militia!" 

"Keep  her  home  for  an  hour,  Sylvia,"  I 
croaked,  "if  you  have  to  rope  and  tie  her!" 

I  raced  to  Gene's.  He  raced  to  The 
House,  got  the  five  dogs,  loaded  them  in 
his  car,  raced  to  the  Sunnyvale  Kennels. 
(After  Jeanette's  visit,  he  hustled  them 
back.  Try  that  sometime  with  five  dogs!) 

We  did  other  last  minute  wind-ups — 
like  getting  the  horses  up  from  Riviera 
Stables  (where  they'd  been  boarded) .  And 
while  Jeanette  went  to  the  hairdressers, 
we  loaded  the  rest  of  her  clothes  (she 
thought  they  were  safely  packed  in  her 
trunk)  into  our  cars  and  rushed  them  over. 
We  filled  the  rooms  of  The  House  with 
roses,  tried  the  new  gold  key  for  size. 

I  didn't  reelly  enjoy  the  wedding.  It 
was  beautiful,  I  know,  and  filled  with 
meaning.  But  as  I  started  down  the  aisle 
in  the  wedding  procession,  one  thought 
exploded  in  my  mind. 

"Jeanette  isn't  going  to  like  it!" 

I  was  suddenly,  positively  certain  she 
wouldn't.  I  was  dog-tired,  scared  and  filled 
with  a  horrible  shame. 

The  stark  audacity  of  it!  How  dared  one 
woman  plan  another's  home?  Impertinent, 
presumptuous,  that's  what  it  was.  It  was 
a  horrible  idea,  and  it  was  all  my  fault! 
I  could  have  stopped  it.  I  could  have 
talked  Gene  out  of  it.  I  heard,  "I  pro- 
nounce you  man  and  wife."  The  ceremony 
was  over.  My  misery  had  only  begun. 

The  minute  the  bride  and  groom  left,  I 
grabbed  Dick  and  we  started  home.  The 
tears  could  no  longer  be  denied.  I  just 
bawled.    I   bawled   all   the   way  home. 

the  road  back  .  .  . 

I  knew  they  were  home  by  now.  I  knew 
Gene's  plan — to  set  out  as  if  for  Riverside 
and  the  Mission  Inn  where  Jeanette 
thought  they  would  stay,  make  wrong 
turns,  say  nothing  to  her  protests,  wind 
back  to  the  house  and  say,  "We're  home." 
As  soon  as  he'd  shown  Jeanette  all  over 
the  place,  he'd  call,  he'd  said. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock.  I  waited. 

At  2:12  the  telephone  rang. 

My  heart  stopped.  I  reached  for  it. 

Gene's  voice  said,  "Mrs.  Raymond  would 
like  to  speak  with  you." 

"Darling,"  came  Jeanette's  voice,  and 
then  a  pause.  I  held  my  breath.  She  spoke 
very  slowly.  "All  my  life  I've  dreamed  of 
my  house — I've  walked  into  it  tonight." 
My  heart  was  pounding  so  hard  I  didn't 
hear  anything  else.  Dick  took  the  phone 
and  there  was  laughter  and  gaiety  as 
Jeanette  raved  over  the  house,  the  garden, 
the  stables — she'd  seen  everything. 

Later,  I  learned  what  had  happened 
when  Gene  pulled  up  before  The  House. 

It  took  him  twenty  minutes  to  get  Jean- 
ette out  of  the  car.  She  couldn't  believe 
him  when  he  said,  "Well,  Mrs.  Raymond, 
welcome  home."  Finally,  he  pulled  her 
reluctantly  up  the  walk,  handed  her  the 
gold  key,  had  her  open  the  door  herself. 
Right  then  Mrs.  R.  made  her  classic  re- 
mark. 

"All  right,"  she  said,  still  bewildered, 
"if  it  is  our  home — how  much  did  it  cost?" 

Her  husband  didn't  answer  that.  He  just 
picked  her  up  and  carried  her  over  the 
threshold  .  .  . 

Jeanette  kept  everything  almost  un- 
changed for  about  five  years.  But  since 
then,  she's  improved  almost  every  room. 
Now  every  part  of  the  house  shows  the 
touch  of  her  talented  hand  and,  of  course, 
it's  more  beautiful  than  ever.  But  this  is  its 
story — the  story  of  how  a  home  was  born. 
As  far  as  I  know,  there's  not  another  story, 
or  another  house,  exactly  like  it  anywhere 
in  all  the  world.  It's  a  house  built  by  ro- 
mance and  devotion.  And,  eleven  years 
later,  romance  and  the  Gene  Raymonds  are 
still  "at  home"  in  that  house  in  Bel-Air. 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

MARK  DANIELS, 
who  scored  as 
Alan  in  Winged 
Victory,  and  who 
was  more  recently 
seen  in  Bury  Me 
Dead,  just  hit  the 
Broadway  head- 
W  — ~*»  lines  in  the  lead 

I       :  -Jb^      opposite  June 

■  *  -  Lockhart  in  For 

Love  or  Money. 
Mark  was  born  Stanley  Honiss  in  Chi- 
cago, III.,  on  Aug.  27.  He's  6'  2", 
weighs  180,  and  has  brown  eyes  and 
hair.  Send  lots  of  mail  to  him  at 
Eagle -Lion  Films,  Hollywood. 


Handsome,  blonde, 
6  joot  MICHAEL 
STEELE  debuts  in 
Station  West.  Mike 
was  born  in  Penn- 
sylvania on  Oct.  6, 
1921 .  He  is  un- 
married, has  blue 
eyes,  and  weighs 
155  lbs.  Write  him 
at  RKO,  Holly- 
wood, for  a  photo. 


PEDRO  ARMEN- 
DARIZ  was  born 
in  Mexico  on  May 
9,  1912.  He  is  6' 
tall,  weighs  190, 
and  has  black  eyes 
and  hair.  Is  mar- 
ried to  Carmen 
Pedro.  Can  be 
reached  at  RKO, 
where  he  will  be 
seen  in  The  Pearl 

and  Fort  Apache. 

G.  G.,  Colo.,  The  Vanessa  Brown  Club 
is  headed  by  Bob  Lutzow,  4862  N.  W. 
Highway,  Chicago  32,  111.  The  Mel 
Torme  Club  by  Lee  Garber,  2137 
Cropsey  Ave.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  The 
Ron  Randall  Club  by  Anna  Hreha,  804 
E.  102  St.,  Seattle  55,  Wash.  Esther 
Williams  Club  by  Darlene  Hammond, 
1416  Belfast  Dr.,  Hollywood  46,  Calif. 
Charlotte  Ness,  Wis.:  Hail  Alma  Mater, 
Flurette,  The  Dicky  Bird  Song,  Passe- 
pied,  Rosen  Kavalier,  Ritual  Fire 
Dance,  You  Made  Me  Love  You,  Mu- 
latta  Likes  the  Rhumba,  Romeo  and 
Juliet  Waltz,  Roumanian  Rhapsody, 
Hungarian  Fantasy,  Sweethearts,  Al- 
legro Appasssionata,  Rt.  66,  and  Spring- 
tide were  played  in  that  order  in 
THREE  DARING  DAUGHTERS. 
Keep  on  sending  those  questions,  with 
a  self-addressed,  stamped  envelope,  to 
Beverly  ■  Linet,  Information  Desk, 
MODERN  SCREEN  261  Fifth  Ave- 
nue, N.  Y.  C.  I  have  the  answers  waitin' 
for  you. 

SPECIAL  OFFER 

HERE  IT  IS  AT  LAST!  (And  well 
worth  the  waiting  for!)  The  brand  new 
1948-49  Super  Star  Information  Chart, 
completely  revised,  containing  info  on 
500  of  your  all-time  favorites,  PLUS 
100  NEW  STARS  never  before 
charted,  including  Howard  Duff,  Ri- 
cardo  Montalban,  Valli.  Over  10,000 
facts  in  all;  a  must  for  every  movie- 
goer. Send  10c  and  a  business  size 
self-addressed,  stamped  envelope  to 
THE  SERVICE  DEPT.,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  261  Fifth  Avenue,  N.  Y.  C, 
for  your  copy. 


VIRTUE  PAYS 

(Continued  from  page  31) 


On  display  and  acting,  even  at  home.  Her 
little  girl  wandering  in  timidly  as  I  in- 
terviewed her.  And  the  star  stalking  out, 
hissing  angrily  to  the  nurse,  but  not  quite 
low  enough — "Get  that  child  out  of  here! 
Go  on!"  Then,  for  my  benefit — "Good- 
bye, darling.  Mama's  busy  now.  That's  a 
sweet  dear." 

Vicki  James'  mother  is  different. 

"When  our  jobs  are  over,  we  drop  the 
curtain,"  Betty  told  me.  "You  have  to  if 
you  treasure  a  real  home.  Harry's  one 
hundred  per  cent  old  fashioned  that  way. 
So  am  I.  Someone  once  said  that  I  was 
the  most  cooperative  star  in  Hollywood 
when  I  was  working — the  most  unco- 
operative when  I  wasn't.  That's  the  way 
I  want  to  be.  I  give  my  work  everything 
that's  in  me  when  I'm  inside  a  studio. 
When  the  whistle  blows,  I'm  through. 

"It's  the  same  way  with  Harry.  He's  never 
had  a  trumpet  inside  this  house.  If  I'm 
ever  guilty  of  talking  about  a  scene  I 
made  today  at  the  dinner  table  I  hope 
Harry  gags  me  with  the  napkin.  We  have 
an  unwritten  law  here  about  those  things." 

I  was  thinking  of  the  star  I  know  who 
turned  her  home  into  a  sound  stage.  She 
replayed  her  camera  script,  scene  by  scene, 
every  evening  for  her  suffering  husband. 
When  the  poor  guy  wanted  some  personal 
attention,  he  didn't  get  it— his  wife  was 
too  wrapped  up  in  her  make-believe  life. 

Finally,  he  told  her  off.  "You  should 
marry  your  producer,"  he  said  bluntly.  So 
she  divorced  him  and  did  just  that.  Now 
her  home  life's  strictly  show  business — 
but  not  necessarily  the  idyll  she  thought 
it  would  be.  They  fight  like  cats  and  dogs! 

balance  wheel  .  .  . 

"You  see,"  Betty  elaborated,  "when  two 
people  spend  so  much  of  their  time  in 
the  tense,  unreal  business  of  entertain- 
ment, they've  got  to  balance  that  with  a 
big  helping  of  home  life;  they've  got  to 
go  overboard  being  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Doaks, 
if  they  want  to  be  happy.  We  do." 

Betty  told  me  about  the  time  she  had 
to  kick  her  loving  husband  off  her  own 
set.  She's  used  to  working  with  hundreds 
of  eyes  watching  every  move  she  makes — 
but  impersonal  eyes.  One  day  Harry 
strolled  in,  kissed  her  hello  and  retired 
to  the  sidelines  to  watch  the  scene.  Betty 
blew  her  lines,  flubbed  her  actions.  Her 
home  life  had  stepped  on  the  set  and  it 
Wis  out  of  place.  After  several  dismal 
efforts,  she  knew  what  was  wrong. 

"Honey,"  she  told  Harry,  "please,  will 
you  go  sit  in  my  dressing-room  until  this 
is  over?  I  just  can't  do  a  thing  with  you 
around!"  Harry  understood.  He  should 
have  known  better. 

"It's  harder  for  me  to  keep  away  from 
Harry's  career  than  it  is  for  him  to  skip 
mine,"  admitted  Betty.  "I'm  just  naturally 
crazy  about  music,  and  I  haven't  a  bit  of 
acting  ambition.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  my 
mother's  saying  'Go  ahead,'  whenever  a 
chance  came  in  Hollywood,  I'd  still  be 
singing  with  a  band,  and  perfectly  content. 
That  is,  if  I  had  the  happy  home  and  chil- 
dren I  have  now.  That's  the  important 
thing." 

How  about  that  star,  I  thought,  the 
one  who  wrecked  her  marriage  and  made 
divorce  orphans  of  her  kids — just  for  the 
chance  to  see  her  name  in  bigger  lights? 

Betty  Grable  has  the  wholesome  do- 
mestic habit  of  putting  everything  her 
husband  does  first.  The  James  house 
doesn't  come  with  two  pairs  of  pants. 
Harry  handles  the  house  bills,  the  ranch, 
the  various  James  family  interests.  He 
supports  his  wife  and  children  and  he 


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does  it  darned  well,  as  I  can  assure  you. 

I  couldn't  help  contrast  the  matrimonial 
mockery  oj  a  certain  star  who  has  sup- 
ported her  idle  husband  for  years  and 
years — just  for  respectability's  sake,  be- 
cause he  was  the  father  of  her  child  be- 
fore she  found  fame.  But  she  acted — 
without  regard  for  that  child,  or  the  hus- 
band, like  any  fancy  free  single  gal:  scores 
of  romances,  affairs  and  brazen  carryings- 
on.  Why  not?  She  was  independent;  she 
paid  the  bills.  And,  just  to  make  every- 
thing cozy,  she  even  supported  her  hus- 
band's girl  friend,  too — and  still  does! 

When  the  Jameses  were  first  married, 
Betty  tried  to  keep  up  with  Harry  on  his 
band  tours.  It  didn't  work.  Wherever  she 
went  she  found  Betty  Grable,  movie  star, 
too  powerful  an  attraction  and  distraction. 
The  crowds  yelled  for  her  and  unless  she 
sang,  took  a  bow  or  did  something  they 
grumbled.  That  was  bad  for  Harry,  bad 
for  her.  Now  Betty  stays  home — "where 
I  belong." 

Betty's  been  accused  of  being  dull,  unco- 
operative (she's  always  up  on  that  Holly- 
wood Women's  Press  Club  slam-list)  and 
ambitionless.  Only  the  last  one's  halfway 
true.  Betty's  ambition — as  she  truly  stated 
— is  to  have  a  happy  home  and  raise  her 
daughters  right. 

If  Betty  Grable's  "dull,"  it's  because  she 
fights  to  shield  her  home  and  family  from 
the  spotlight  of  publicity.  If  she's  "unco- 
operative," it's  because  an  early  Holly- 
wood beating  fed  her  up  with  stunts  for 
sweet  publicity's  sake. 

"When  I  started  back  at  Paramount," 
Betty  recalled,  "I  was  getting  absolutely 
no  parts  in  pictures,  but  I  worked  ten 
hours  a  day,  posing  for  every  still  any- 
body could  dream  up.  They  even  pushed 
me  inside  a  cage  with  a  tiger  once — with 
cameramen  hidden  behind  every  bar." 

"In  a  bathing  suit?"  I  asked.  "You,  not 
the  tiger." 

"Of  course,"  grinned  Betty.  "I  always 
was  in  a  bathing  suit.  That's  when  all 
this  'Legs  Grable'  stuff  started..  So  now 
I'm  'uncooperative.'  They  get  me  for  pub- 
licity when  they  catch  me." 

who's  grable?  .  .  . 

"Vicki,"  she  told  me,  "has  no  idea  who 
'Betty  Grable'  is.  I'm  Betty  James  or  Mrs. 
James,  or  Mommy." 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Vicki  shares  about 
everything,  already,  that  Betty  and  Harry 
do.  I  checked  on  that  with  Betty.  "She 
certainly  does,"  she  said  proudly.  "What- 
ever we  do  that's  good  for  a  little  girl, 
Vicki's  in  on.  That's  why  we  have  kids — 
to  enjoy  them." 

1  conjured  up  the  contrasting  picture  of 
a  certain  career-crazy  big  star,  I  know, 
who  has  a  son,  a  swell  little  guy.  But  this 
star  hates  to  admit  it,  won't  even  let  him 
be  mentioned  in  print  because  that's  "bad 
publicity." 

Not  to  mention  another  glamor  star 
who's  always  been  bored  with  all  her 
daughters,  ungracious  to  them  all  the  time 
they  grew,  interested  only  in  herself. 
When  her  eldest  got  engaged,  mama,  after 
several  marriages,  was  starting  a  new 
family.  She  went  shopping  for  her  mater- 
nity clothes,  trotted  her  engaged  daughter 
along.  "By  the  way,"  she  said,  "you  might 
as  well  pick  up  your  trousseau  while  I'm 
shopping."  (At  a  maternity  shop!) 

"Can  I  take  some  friends  along?"  asked 
the  daughter.  It's  a  pretty  exciting  occa- 
sion, choosing  a  trousseau. 

"Certainly  not!"  snapped  her  selfish 
mother.  "I  can't  be  annoyed  in  the  con- 
dition I'm  in!"  What  I've  always  wanted 
to  know:  Why  did  she  have  children  in 
the  first  place?  She  never  enjoyed  them. 

Vicki  James  has  her  own  pony,  "Sweetie 
Pie,"  at  the  James  ranch.  She  has  her  own 
piano,  too.  Last  Christmas  she  came  right 
out  and  demanded  the  piano,  and  Betty 


sweet 
and 
hot 


by  leonard  feather 

*  *  Highly  Recommended 

*  Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 


FROM  THE  MOVIES 

APRIL  SHOWERS — title  song:  *Roy  Noble  (Co- 
lumbia). Carolina  In  The  Morninq: 
*Tony  Martin  (Victor). 

ARCH  OF  TRIUMPH — Long  After  Tonight: 
*Yve+te  (Vitacoustic);  Kate  Smith 
(M-G-M);  Betty  Rhodes  (Victor).^ 
Remember  Yvette,  the  "French"  trail 
from  Alabama  who  was  about  as  Gallic 
as  Hildegarde  from  Milwaukee?  Well, 
she's  dropped  the  foreign  accent  and 
emerges  as  a  swell  singer  sans  the  French 
frills.  It's  a  good  tune,  too. 

DAISY  K1NYON — You  Can't  Run  Away  From 
Love:    Harry  James  (Columbia). 

GOLDEN  EARRINGS — album  of  theme  music: 
**Victor  Younq  (Decca). 

IF  YOU  KNEW  SUSIE — My  Brooklyn  Love  Sonq: 
*Marion  Hutton  (M-G-M). 
Marion,  who  sanq  with  the  old  Glenn  Mil- 
ler band,  had  a  brief  film  fling,  then 
retired  to  motherhood,  sounds  much  more 
phonogenic  than  sister  Betty,  and  the 
song's  as  Brooklyn  as  the  Dodgers. 

SONG  OF  MY  HEART— Tschaikowsky  album: 
'Tommy  Dorsey  (Victor). 
Allied  Artists'  movie,  life  of  Russia's  gift 
to  Tin  Pan  Alley  gives  this  eight-sided 
album  topicality.  Moon  Love,  Our  Love, 
Tonight  We  Love,  The  Things  I  Love, 
etc.,  all  swiped  unashamedly  from  Peter 
llyitch,  are  heard  here. 

ALBUMS 

**TONY  MARTIN— You  And  the  Night 
And  the  Music  (Victor). 
**CHARLIE  PARKER  et  ol.—  Bebop  Jazz 
1948  (Dial). 

♦CHARLIE  BARNET— Barnet  Favorites 
(Apollo). 


thought  they'd  get  her  a  toy  one,  but 
Vicki  insisted  on  a  "weel  one  like  Daddy's." 
That  did  it  with  Harry.  He  scoured  Los 
Angeles  for  a  full  keyboard,  pint-size 
piano  like  they  use  in  bars  sometimes. 
Finally,  down  on  Main  Street  in  a  second 
hand  shop,  he  found  it.  He  painted  the 
old  scarred  finish  sky  blue,  and  Miss 
Victoria  can  hammer  out  bits  of  Chopin 
and  Grieg  at  the  age  of  four. 

"You  know,"  Betty  chuckled,  "Vicki 
even  takes  in  the  races  with  us.  We  love 
horses,  so  does  she.  Last  time  we  went 
to  Santa  Anita,  Vicki  picked  four  winners." 

"Good  Lord!"  I  said.  "How?" 

"Just  pointed  her  little  finger  at  the 
entries  and  where  it  came  down,  Mommy 
made  a  two-dollar  bet.  Four  paid  off.  For 
her  size,  she's  the  biggest  winner  in  the 
James  family." 

Betty's  normally  possessive  about  her 
kids,  but  not  like  a  certain  big  star  who 
adopts  children  simply  to  possess  them — 
right  down  to  every  tiny  heart-beat.  I 
sat  in  her  room  once  when  she  brought 
in  the  babes,  lined  them  up  at  attention, 
practically. 


OF  A  STAR  ^ 

DIRECTOR  OF  MAKE-UP  AT  WARNER  BROS.  STUDIO 


From  snack  bar  to  stardom— that's  how 
it  happened  for  Janis  Paige.  While  serv- 
ing in  a  servicemen's  canteen,  she  pinch- 
hit  for  an  absent  singer.  The  little  girl 
from  Tacoma  made  a  big  hit— and  a  tal- 
ent scout  signed  her  up!  By  coinci- 
dence, she  made  her  screen  debut  in 
Warner  Bros.  "Hollywood  Canteen." 


"Who  loves  you  best  in  the  world?"  she 
shot  at  them. 
"You  do,  Mother." 

"Who  do  you  love  best  in  the  world?" 

"We  love  you,  Mother." 

It  was  like  a  catechism.  A  trained  chant. 
I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes  and  ears. 

"See?"  she  turned  to  me  fiercely.  "See 
how  they  love  me?" 

Betty  doesn't  have  a  relief  nurse  now. 
The  highspots  in  her  life  today  are  the 
ranch  weekends  when  she  takes  over 
both  Vicki  and  Jessica — and  Harry  too. 
She  does  all  the  cooking,  housework  and 
baby  nursing,  without  a  servant  in  sight. 
"That  would  spoil  the  fun,"  said  Betty. 
"Maybe  all  is  confusion  and  a  few  pots  get 
scorched,  and  some  dirt  stays  a  few 
minutes  on  the  kids'  faces — but  that's  when 
we're  really  a  family." 

A  nurse  brought  baby  Jessica  in  to 
Betty  about  then.  Jess  is  the  image  of 
her  daddy.  Betty  took  her  on  her  lap, 
patted  her  tiny  head,  made  even  more 
baby-bald  looking  by  some  goo  that  plas- 
tered her  blond  wisps  flat. 

"Vaseline,"  said  Betty.  "This  afternoon 
we  wash."  She  pressed  Jess  to  her  bosom, 
and  vaseline  spots  showed  on  Betty's 
fresh  white  blouse.  She  didn't  pay  them 
any  attention. 

I  called  on  a  Hollywood  queen  one 
morning  to  get  a  story.  At  that  early  hour 
she  was  groomed,  topknot  to  toenail,  fit 
for  the  Ritz — and  so  were  her  little 
darlings,  who  promptly  trooped  in, 
starched,  combed,  manicured  and  per- 
fumed like  French  poodles.  They  paraded 
in  review  for  me,  curtsied,  smirked  sancti- 
moniously as  they'd  been  trained  to. 

When  their  beglamored  mama  left  the 
room  for  the  telephone,  I  whispered,  "Say 
kids,  why  don't  you  run  outdoors  and 
have  a  mud  fight?" 

Eagerness  flickered  on  their  faces  for  a 
second;  then  it  was  gone.  "Oh,  no!"  gasped 
the  little  boy  in  horror.  "We  wouldn't  look 
nice  then  for  the  pictures." 

There  weren't  any  pictures.  No  story, 
either.  I  got  out  of  there  fast. 

she's  no  oscar  of  the  waldorf  .  .  . 

Betty  Grable  doesn't  pretend  to  be  Mrs. 
Domesticity.  Before  she  married  Harry 
James,  she'd  never  tackled  anything  in 
a  kitchen  much  more  complex  than  bacon 
and  toast.  One  day  afterward,  though,  she 
was  seized  by  an  understandable  wifely 
urge  to  cook  a  bang-up  meal  for  the  man 
she  loved. 

"I  picked  out  a  roast  of  beef,"  Betty 
said,  "brought  it  home  and  opened  my 
cook  book.  First  direction  was,  'Wash 
the  roast.'  I  put  it  in  a  pan  of  soap  and 
water  and  went  to  work  with  a  scrub 
brush.  It  was  a  little  hard  to  get  all  the 
bubbles  off  but  it  was  clean,  all  right, 
when  I  got  through.  Then  I  slipped  it  in 
the  oven.  I  knew  Harry  liked  his  beef 
rare.  So  I  was  pretty  careful  about  time 
and  temperature.  It  looked  wonderful  on 
the  platter,  I  thought.  Then  Harry  carved 
it. 

"Well,"  said  Betty,  "it  was  rare,  but  it 
wasn't  roast  beef.  It  turned  out  to  be 
veal.  I  didn't  know  the  difference.  Rare 
veal — can  you  imagine?  Funny  thing,  it 
didn't  taste  so  bad.  At  least  Harry  said  so. 
Now  you  know  he  loves  me." 

I've  seen  Betty  James  so  many  times 
late  in  the  evening  picking  groceries  off 
the  shelves  of  a  Beverly  Hills  market 
where  I  often  shop.  I  asked  her  if  that 
was  a  steady  habit.  "Oh,  sure,"  she  said, 
"I  do  .  all  the  marketing.  Sometimes  my 
dad  sends  out  the  meat,  and  there's  a 
vegetable  man  who  comes  by  the  house 
now.  But  the  rest  is  my  job." 

"Even  when  you're  working?" 

Betty  nodded.  "The  health  of  the  James 
family  is  more  important  than  any  pic- 
ture I'll  ever  make."  I  wondered  why  she 


At  the  studio  Janis  met  Perc  Westmore, 
beauty  advisor  to  Hollywood  stars.  To 
emphasize  her  natural  beauty,  he  helped 
her  select  the  Westmore  beauty  colors 
to  flatter  her  complexion.  He  told  her, 
"To  be  a  star  you  must  look  lovely  off 
the  screen  as  well  as  on."  Now  Janis 
says  it's  easy  to  look  her  beautiful  best 
with  this  marvelous  Westmore  make-up. 


This  Hollywood  styled  make-up  can  be 
■your  beauty  secret  too !  You'll  find  lip- 
stick, rouge,  foundation  cream  and 
powder  in  beauty  colors  to  make  you 
glow  with  glamor.  Try  it  and  let  your 
mirror  show  you  how  lovely  you  can  be ! 


/fats: 


""V, 


A. 


f 


Janis  considers  herself  an  "outdoor" 
girl,  but  she  loves  to  be  glamorous  too 
as  in  her  present  picture.  Exciting  as  a 
star's  life  is,  Janis  is  still  the  same  girl 
who  likes  gumdrops,  surprises  and  rainy 
afternoons.  "And  Westmore  Cosmetics 
too,"  she  adds.  "I  count  on  Westmore 
Make-Up  for  all  day  beauty,  every  day." 


JANIS  PAIGE 

currently  seen  in 

WALLFLOWER 

A  Warner  Bros.  Production 


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couldn't  order  for  delivery.  "They  sting 
you  that  way,"  observed  Betty  thriftily. 

When  Harry's  home,  playing  an  engage- 
ment in  Hollywood,  his  day  starts  about 
when  Betty's  ends.  She's  up  at  six  when 
she  works,  and  that's  about  when  Harry's 
getting  caught  up  on  his  sleep.  When 
Betty  races  home  there's  just  time  for 
dinner  with  Harry  and  the  babies  in  this 
room — around  the  low  table  by  the  fire- 
place. Then  Harry  James  has  a  date  with 
his  trumpet — at  the  Palladium  or  wherever 
he's  making  melody. 

I've  seen  so  many  Hollywood  couples 
driven  apart  by  two  careers  far  better 
synchronized  for  home  life  than  that.  But 
there's  Dutch  blood  in  Betty's  veins;  she's 
stubborn  abcut  what  she  wants — especial- 
ly if  it's  precious  time  with  her  husband. 
When  Harry  came  home  after  his  last 
band-tour,  Betty  was  making  her  tough- 
est scene  for  Lady  in  Ermine.  His  train 
arrived  at  one  of  those  gosh-awful  hours. 
Betty  had  a  six  o'clock  date  on  the  set. 
She  could  have  sent  a  driver.  But  she 
wasn't  going  to  miss  that  homecoming. 
So  she  set  an  alarm  clock  for  3:30,  drove 
in  the  dark  to  Pasadena  to  be  there  for 
Harry  to  hug  when  he  stepped  off  in  the 
dawn.  Then  she  worked  all  day. 

"When  Harry's  playing  in  Hollywood, 
I  make  him  promise  to  call  me  after  the 
band  breaks  up,"  she  said.  "Sometimes  he 
does,  sometimes  he  doesn't — especially  if 
I'm  working,  because  he  thinks  he'll  wake 
me  up.  I  fix  that.  I  lock  my  bedroom 
door  so  he  has  to  wake  rne  up  to  get  in. 
Then  we  go  downstairs,  raid  the  ice  box 
and  catch  up  on  each  other  over  sand- 
wiches and  milk  in  the  kitchen.  Luckily, 
I'm  the  type  who  can  get  back  to  sleep 
in  a  half  a  second,  and  I  wouldn't  miss 
those  midnight  visits  for  anything.  Espe- 
cially since  that's  often  the  only  time 
we  have  to  talk." 

I  thought  of  the  temperamental,  neurotic 
all-out  star  I  know  whose  husband  almost 
has  to  have  an  appointment  to  get  in  her 
boudoir  after  she  retires — creamed,  curl- 
ered  and  done  up  in  a  beauty  mask. 

And  another  top  actress  who  keeps  her 
husband  hidden  safely  away  on  the  third 
floor  of  her  elegant  home.  He's  too  nice 
a  guy  to  protest  the  exile — even  ducks  in 
and  out  the  back  door  if  she  has  guests. 
She  sends  for  him  by  royal  command 
when  she  wants  him,  once  or  twice  a 
week.  I  was  there  once  when  he  happened 
in,  paused  timidly  at  the  living  room 
door.  "Excuse  me — "  he  said. 

"Come  on  in,  dear,"  invited  the  star. 
"It's  all  right."  He  glowed  pathetically  at 
the  unaccustomed  honor.  Yet  they're  man 
and  wife — it  says  on  the  marriage  cer- 
tificate! 

"orchestra  wife"  .  .  . 

Harry's  tours  all  over  the  land  make 
her  a  "band  widow"  which  Betty  dreads 
most.  ("Thank  goodness  he's  not  going  on 
one  this  year,"  she  breathed.)  It's  a  lone- 
ly house  even  with  her  mother  dropping 
by  all  the  time.  Harry  and  Mrs.  Grable  get 
along  like  peaches  and  cream,  incidentally. 
He  was  mighty  thankful  she  was  around 
when  Jessica  was  born  last  year. 

Harry  had  his  play  dates  arranged  to 
be  home  for  the  big  event,  but  Betty  had 
her  baby  five  weeks  ahead  of  schedule. 
When  Harry  got  the  news  he  wanted  to 
fly  right  out.  "You  will  not,"  Betty  told 
him.  "Then  I'll  have  to  worry  about  you, 
too." 

Both  Harry  and  Betty  are  one  hundred 
per  cent  old  fashioned  about  flying.  Betty 
was  convinced  on  a  flight  from  Salt  Lake 
City  to  Seattle.  She  ran  into  one  of  the 
worst  sleet  and  snow  storms  on  one  of 
the  worst  runs  in  the  country,  forcing 
her  plane  down  in  Portland.  She  switched 
to  a  train  and  hasn't  been  up  since.  Harry 
had  a  similar  scare. 


"You  know,"  mused  Betty,  "we're  so 
very  lucky,  Harry  and  I.  We're  almost 
psychic  about  how  we  feel  and  what  we 
like.  And  luckily  we  both  measure  up  to 
about  the  same  place  in  our  different  fields. 
That's  wonderful,  because  he's  so  sensitive 
that  way.  I  can  be  Mrs.  James,  all  right, 
but  he  could  never  be  Mister  Grable." 

Once,  the  King  and  Queen  of  Holly- 
wood were  married.  The  king  predicted, 
"For  the  first  year,  I'll  be  known  as  Mister 
Her.^  After 1  that,  she'll  be  known  as  Mrs. 
Me."  That's  exactly  what  happened,  and  it 
was  supposed  to  be  a  marriage  made  in 
■  Heaven.  But  underneath  their  marriage 
vows  they  were  still  two  very  top  stars 
and  hence  two  hot  Hollywood  rivals.  Both 
prized  their  stardom  above  all.  And  the 
perfect  marriage  broke  up. 

"What's  really  important  in  a  marriage 
is  the  way  you  feel  about  each  other," 
Betty  went  on.  "And  how  you  get  along. 
We're  deeply  in  love — Harry  and  I — more 
than  we  were  when  we  married.  It's  a 
thing  with  us  that  grows  and  grows.  They 
say  you  get  to  looking  alike  after  you're 
married  awhile.  I  know  you  start  thinking 
alike,  because  we  do  all  the  time.  This 
house,  for  instance — " 

meeting  of  minds  .  .  . 

Betty  and  Harry  lived  in  her  home 
briefly  when  they  married,  but  they 
wanted  one  of  their  own.  They  went  look- 
ing, found  the  cozy  English  one  they 
now  have.  Bert  Lahr  had  built  and  fur- 
nished it  before  he  left  Hollywood.  They 
walked  in  the  front  door,  made  a  tour  of 
fifteen  minutes.  "Then,"  recalled  Betty, 
"we  both  said,  'Let's  buy  it'." 

(It's  too  small  by  now  for  the  growing 
James  family.  They  thought  they'd  add 
on  a  wing  recently,  but  the  estimates  came 
to  "about  a  million  dollars  or  something.") 

"The  nicest  thing  of  all,"  Betty  believes, 
"is  the  absolutely  amazing  way  our  hob- 
bies and  interests  line  up.  For  instance, 
baseball — and  horses." 

"I  married  as  horse-happy  a  char- 
acter as  you  can  imagine.  Harry  already 
had  race  horses  before  we  were  married. 
He  started  with  half  a  horse.  A  friend  of 
his  told  him,  'I'm  sick  of  hearing  you  rave 
about  racehorses,  here — I'll  sell  you  half 
of  mine.'  Now  we  have  twelve  grazing  on 
our  Calabasas  ranch.  That's  where  we 
spend  all  holidays,  week-ends,  vacations. 
We're  going  to  live  there  someday." 

Right  now  there's  only  a  small  cottage 
and  the  horses.  They're  earning  their  feed, 
though.  Harry  and  Betty  had  seven  win- 
ners this  past  season  at  Santa  Anita. 

Betty  carefully  arranges  her  shooting 
schedule  each  year  to  make  her  two  pic- 
tures (that's  her  limit  now)  so  she  can 
share  her  free  time  with  Harry.  They  went 
to  Del  Mar  for  the  race  season  last  year, 
stayed  at  a  hotel.  "Vicki  loved  it  on  the 
beach,"  said  Betty,  "so  this  year,  with 
Jess  too,  we've  got  a  house.  You  have  to 
spend  long,  uninterrupted  times  together 
every  year  if  you  value  your  marriage." 

What  about  the  domestic  tragedy  that 
right  this  moment  stalks  one  of  Holly- 
wood's favorite  families?  He's  a  star,  so 
is  she,  both  big,  both  swell  people.  But 
his  burning  interest  is  organization,  poli- 
tics, speeches  and  civic  affairs.  Hers — 
parties,  fun,  Hollywood  society.  But  her 
escort's  out  crusading,  and  she  sits  and 
frets  and  finally — it's  all  over — and  too 
bad.  If  they  only  shared  as  well  as  cared. 

When  you  get  Betty  Grable  on  the 
subject  of  horses  it's  practically  impos- 
sible to  get  her  off.  "The  very  nicest 
present  Harry  ever  gave  me  was  on  my 
birthday  a  year  ago,"  Betty  said.  "I  call  it 
my  three-in-one  present.  He  gave  me  a 
brood  mare  in  foal  with  a  yearling  colt 
beside  her.  Now  the  baby's  a  year  old, 
the  colt's  two.  The  mare,  Lady  Florise,  was 
a  stakes  winner!" 


The  Jameses  stepped  out  to  nightclubs 
just  twice  this  season.  Once,  when  a  new 
band  opened  at  Ciro's  and  it  was  profes- 
sional courtesy  for  Harry  James  to  show 
up  and  wish  good  luck.  The  other  time 
Dan  Dailey  told  them  he'd  bind,  gag,  and 
kidnap  them  if  they  didn't  come  .with  him 
to  see  Kay  Thompson. 

It's  hard  to  spot  the  Jameses  even  if 
they're  at  a  nightclub.  They  slip  in,  enjoy 
themselves  quietly  and  slip  out.  No  grand 
entrances,  no  personality  smiles  for  the 
photographers.  When  I  think  of  the  swishy 
sensations  Marlene  Dietrich,  Joan  Craw- 
ford or  Norma  Shearer  and  Dolores  Del 
Rio,  in  their  day,  could  make  of  that 
simple  event,  I  know  Betty  Grable's  not 
even  in  the  running  as  a  Hollywood  show- 
horse.  It's  just  not  her  style,  thank  good- 
ness! Betty  James  prefers  family  style. 

She  took  Vicki  to  the  Palladium  one 
Sunday  afternoon  to  hear  her  Daddy's 
band.  Grandma  Grable  went  along  and 
Grandpa  Grable,  too.  Vicki  watched  Harry 
play,  but  what  really  wowed  her  were 
the  dancers.  "Mommy,"  she  said  soon, 
"dance  with  me."  Betty  explained:  two 
girls  can't  dance  with  each  other.  She 
tried  Mrs.  Grable  and  got  the  same  ex- 
cuse. Then  she  tackled  Betty's  dad,  Conn 
Grable.  "Can't  keep  up  with  these  young 
jitterbugs,"  he  dodged. 

When  Harry  dropped  over  during  inter- 
mission, Vicki  pounced.  "Daddy,  you 
dance  with  me."  "I  can't,"  explained  Har- 
ry with  mock  timidity,  "I  work  here.  I'll 
get  fired." 

Vicki's  face  clouded  with  disgust. 
ilGrown-ups,"  she  observed,  "have  too 
many  rules!" 

Well,  maybe  Vicki's  right.  Maybe  they 
have.  But  the  sensible,  wholesome,  love- 
inspired  rules  that  Betty  Grable  and 
Harry  James  have  worked  out  for  them- 
selves are  the  kind  I'll  buy.  They've 
created  that  Hollywood  rarity,  a  healthy, 
happy,  sane  American  home,  in  a  place 
where  that's  very  hard  to  do.  I'll  always 
have  a  portrait  in  my  memory  from  that 
morning's  visit  to  the  James  house — a 
portrait  of  a  happy  woman — and  I  don't 
know  of  a  pleasanter  picture  to  contem- 
plate in  this  angry,  restless  world. 


CROWNING  MOMENT 

(Continued  from  page  14) 


20th  Century-Fox.  That  was  back  in  1934. 
Since  then,  Ronnie  has  starred,  at  an  aver- 
age of  $150,000  a  picture,  in  some  twenty 
different  vehicles.  The  most  successful  of 
these,  according  to  Romanoff  standards, 
have  been  A  Tale  of  Two  Cities,  written  by 
my  second  cousin  twice  removed;  Lost 
Horizon,  written  by  a  former  cash  cus- 
tomer, James  Hilton;  and  A  Double  Life, 
written  by  my  good  friends,  the  Michael 
Kanins. 

Ronnie,  of  course,  in  his  stoically  appeal-' 
ing  manner,  is  saying  very  little  about  this 
year's  Academy  Awards.  When  I  men- 
tion to  him  the  possibility  that  he  might  be 
chosen  for  an  Oscar,  he  cocks  his  grey- 
maned  head  to  one  side,  he  smiles  diff- 
dently  and  says  liltingly,  "Ah,  that  would 
be  so  nice." 

And  it  would  be,  too — for  Ronnie,  like 
all  of  us,  is  getting  older.  Time  flows  on,  and 
it  would  be  pleasurable  for  him  in  the 
years  to  come  to  remember  that  one  night 
in  1948  when  he  was  called  to  the  dais  to 
receive  his  Oscar.  Each  night  has  its  own 
immutability,  each  moment  its  own  private 
eternity — but  this  is  one  night,  I  assure 
you,  Ronnie  would  remember  forever. 

After  twenty-five  years  of  film  making, 
and  A  Double  Life,  I  submit  that  he  is 
worthy  of  a  memorable  moment. 


■ne  answer  to  a  happy 
married  life  is  the  right 
choice  of  a  mate.  Hei 


HOW  TO  PICK  A  MATE 

By  DR.  CLIFFORD  R.  ADAMS 
VANCE  0.  PACKARD 


Dr.  Adams,  noted  Penn  State  University  mar- 
riage counselor,  shows  you  how  to  put  the 
selection  of  a  mate  on  a  reasonable  rather 
than  a  purely  emotional  basis.  His  answers  to 
this  eternal  problem  are  based  on  his  ex- 
perience with  thousands  of  case  histories  and 
proven  psychological  tests.  "How  to  Pick  a 
Mate"  gives  you  the  lowdown  on  your 
chances  of  getting  a  mate,  how  to  tell  love 
from  infatuation,  and  whether  you  and  your 
prospective  mate  are  well  suited  to  each 
other.  It  tests  your  emotional  and  sexual 
maturity,  and  offers  sensible  suggestions  for 
attracting  the  man  you  want.  It  is  a  book  you 
and  "he"  will  want  to  read  together.  No.  224 


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m  HOSPITAL  I 

HOSPITAL  NOCTURNE  By  alice  eleanor  lambert 

The  romantic  story  of  three  young  nurses  with  their  very 
different  experiences.  This  story  contains  all  the  excitement 
and  drama  of  a  big  hospital  in  which  tragedy  and  death 
are  intermingled  with  love  and  fun. 

No.  220 


DR.  PARRISH,  RESIDENTS, 


SYDNEY  THOMPSON 


Perhaps  young,  handsome  Dr.  Grant  Parrish  should  have 
been  warned  that  he  and  the  wealthy,  pampered,  provoca- 
tive Katherine  came  from  different  worlds  and  that  only  a 
miracle  could  make  these  worlds  one.  But  miracles  still 
happen. 


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OH,  THAT  ALICE! 

(Continued  from  page  48) 


dancer,"    says    some   bright   young  lad. 

"A  drunk,"  somebody  else  says. 

Alice  is  desperate,  her  three  minutes  are 
almost  up.  She  overdoes  it,  trips  over  the 
stairs  leading  to  the  hall  (it's  a  sunken 
living  room)  and  she's  down  on  the  floor 
with  a  broken  arm.  "A  fine  way  to  get  out 
of  doin'  a  picture,"  I  tell  her  on  the  way  to 
the  hospital. 

Sometimes  I  wonder.  Maybe  I  never 
should  have  taken  Alice  Faye  as  my  bride 
on  that  day  in  May  seven  years  ago.  Until 
then,  all  this  beautiful,  big  hunk  of  talent 
talks  about  is  show  business.  Then  she 
marries  me,  gets  a  house,  has  babies,  and 
all  she  wants  is  to  push  one  of  those  wire 
carts  around  the  grocery  store. 

First  thing  you  know  I'm  not  allowed  to 
make  tours  with  my  band  anymore,  either. 
"We're  through  living  by  an  upside  down 
clock,"  Alice  says.  I've  got  my  band  on  the 
Benny  show  so  I  feel  all  right  about  it — 
the  biscuits  are  rollin'  in  regularly.  But 
I'm  thinkin'  all  the  time:  how  can  I  get 
Alice  back  in  front  of  the  public  again? 
She's  too  beautiful,  too  talented  to  retire. 

Answer's  obvious — radio.  Doesn't  take 
up  so  much  time  as  picture  making.  I  can 
shoulder  all  the  organization,  share  the 
performing  job,  and  she'll  have  time  to 
herself.  So  now  we  got  our  own  half- 
hour  air  show — The  Fitch  Bandwagon — 
right  after  Benny  on  Sundays. 

Today  I  still  run  the  orchestra  for  the 
Benny  show  and  get  off  a  few  lines  every 
week.  Just  before  the  curtain  falls  I  scoot 
across  the  hall  and  start  the  Bandwagon 
going.  To  me  Jack  is  the  real  father  of 
radio,  master  of  them  all.  I've  been  with 
him  12  years  and  I've  soaked  up  everything 
I've  seen  the  man  do.  Benny  helped  me 
launch  the  Faye -Harris  Bandwagon.  Alice 
and  I  play  ourselves,  you  know.  Not  want- 
in'  to  copy  anyone  else,  we  figured  like 
this — let's  get  a  nice  story  with  a  believable 
background  and  real  breathin'  people. 

Our  permanent  characters  are  ourselves, 
our  two  children  (Alice,  junior  and  Phyl- 
lis) ;  our  business  manager  who  is  Alice's 
brother,  Bill  Faye  (on  the  air  we  call  him 
William) ;  my  old  pal  Frank  Remley;  Julius 
the  grocery  boy  (he's  the  only  one  who 


LISTEN  TO  MODERN  SCREEN 
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Listen  to  Movie  Matinee,  a  quiz 
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Fun  to  listen  to  .  .  .  more  fun  to 
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doesn't  actually  exist  in  real  life)  and  Mr. 
Fitch,  head  of  the  company  that  sponsors 
the  program. 

We  were  launched  in  the  fall  of  1946.  We 
had  the  advantage  that  both  of  us  were 
known;  I  had  my  fans  from  the  Benny 
program  and  Alice  had  her  big  movie  fol- 
lowing. But  ahead  was  a  lot  of  unbroken 
ground,  we  hadn't  proved  anything  on  the 
air  yet,  as  a  team.  A  radio  program  has  to 
have  some  age  on  it,  the  characters  have 
to  become  established  before  the  public 
really  latches  onto  it. 

We  think  we're  in  the  groove  now.  One 
mistake  we  made  the  first  year  was  pic- 
turing the  family  life  too  sweet.  The  pub- 
lic likes  it  more  normal,  with  struggles  and 
troubles.  Now  the  children  say  things 
that  embarrass  the  devil  out  of  us— very 
realistic — and  I  get  into  ruinous  trouble. 
Alice  is  the  understanding  wife  on  whose 
shoulders  everything  falls. 

Our  children  are  too  young  (five  and 
three)  to  play  themselves.  Two  young 
actresses  do  their  parts.  Jeanine  Roose, 
aged  9,  who  got  her  start  doing  child  parts 
on  the  Benny  program,  plays  Alice,  and 
Anne  Whitfied,  aged  8,  who  is  Penny  on 
One  Man's  Family,  plays  Phyllis. 

Mr.  Fitch  is  played  by  a  famous  old-time 
movie  star,  Francis  X.  Bushman,  who  was 
the  Clark  Gable  of  his  day  (around  1912) . 
Frankie,  Julius  and  William  are  played 
by  other,  younger,  radio  actors.  We  had  an 
awful  time  casting  Frankie.  Frank  Remley 
is  my  oldest  friend.  We  began  in  this  busi- 
ness together,  me  a  drummer  and  Frankie 
playin'  guitar.  When  I  got  my  own  band,  he 
came  with  me.  We've  played  in  every  big 
and  little  place  on  the  globe,  lived  together 
until  we  got  married.  I'm  always  kiddin' 
him  about  his  age  and  all  that. 

type  casting  .  .  . 

Well  now  we  were  castin'  for  this  part. 
Actors  were  readin'  for  us  and  we  were 
turnin'  'em  down  right  and  left.  Suddenly 
I  say  how  wonderful  if  this  guy  were  able 
to  do  it  himself,  after  all  he's  a  pretty 
amusing  guy.  So  I  call  him  up — he's  got 
his  own  little  combination  by  now  and  is 
playing  around  town.  I  don't  tell  what  I 
want  him  for,  just  say,  "Come  over." 

He  brings  his  guitar  of  course.  I  hand 
him  a  script  and  tell  him  to  read  with  me 
so  the  director  and  the  rest  can  hear  that 
he's  an  actor  too.  "Now  Curly,"  he  says, 
(he's  the  only  one  who  calls  me  Curly) 
"I'm  no  professor."  I  tell  him  to  shut  up 
and  start  readin'.  He  keeps  tryin'  to  tell  me 
something  but  of  course  I  won't  let  him.  I 
got  one  thing  on  my  mind.  So  we  start  and 
he  goes  like  a  wagon  with  a  broken  wheel. 
He's  slow,  his  timing  is  impossible.  I  say, 
"Are  you  afraid,  Frankie?" 

"Look  Curly,  I've  been  trying  to  tell  you 
something,"  he  says,  "it's  something  I've 
been  meaning  to  tell  you  for  several 
months.  I  got  myself  a  pair  of  reading 
glasses,  can't  read  without  'em  now.  I  left 
'em  home  today.  I  can't  hardly  see  this 
paper  I'm  holding  let  alone  the  printing 
on  it." 

He'd  been  hiding  this  about  the  glasses 
because  he  knew  I'd  rib  the  brains  out  of 
him  for  growing  old  and  all  that.  Well,  be- 
fore we  got  around  to  giving  him  another 
chance  to  read,  a  very  good  professional 
actor  blew  in,  just  out  of  the  army  and  we 
gave  him  the  job.  And  Remley  works  in 
the  band,  playin'  the  old  guitar.  He  prac- 
tically falls  off  his  chair  every  week  when 
he  hears  himself  being  impersonated. 

People  always  want  to  know  if  any  of 
the  situations  that  we  play  on  the  air  ever 
happened  in  real  life.  Well,  not  exactly.  I 
work  with  our  two  writers  (Ray  Singer 
and  Dick  Chevillat)  and  they  go  about 
writing  the  show  pretty  much  like  all 
comedy  writers.  They  do  get  ideas  from 
what  we  all  do  in  real  life  and  sometimes 


COULD  THIS  MARRIAGE 
HAVE  BEEN  SAVED? 

A.  Yes  .  .  .  had  the  wife  taken  heed  of  her  husband's  increasing 
coolness,  known  the  secret  of  thorough  feminine  hygiene,  kept 
herself  lovely  to  love. 

Q.  What  does  feminine  hygiene  have  to  do  with  married  happiness? 

A.  Far  more  than  some  women  realize  . . .  but  the  wise  wife  has 
the  assurance  of  complete  daintiness  when  she  uses  "Lysol" 
brand  disinfectant  regularly  in  the  douche. 

Q.  But  many  women  use  a  douche  only  now  and  then  ...  is  regularity 
important? 

A.  Yes,  indeed  ...  it  should  be  a  routine  procedure  with  every 
married  woman,  and  always  with  "Lysol."  Because  it  has  mar- 
velous deodorant  properties  due  to  its  proven  ability  to  kill  germs 
instantly  on  contact. 

Q.  How  about  homemade  solutions,  such  as  salt  and  soda? 

A.  They  are  old-fashioned  and  ineffectual,  not  to  be  compared  with 
"Lysol's"  scientific  formula.  "Lysol"  has  tested  efficiency  in 
contact  with  organic  matter.  It  is  both  effective  and  safe  for  deli- 
cate tissues  when  used  as  directed. 

ALWAYS  USE  "LYSOL"  in  the  douche  for  its  efficiency  in  combating  both  germs 
and  odors.  It  will  help  you  feel  you  have  perfect  grooming,  "romance  appeal." 


jj  Check  with  your  doctor 

Many  doctors  recommend  "Lysol" 
in  proper  solution  for  Feminine 
Hygiene,  because  it  is  non-caustic, 
gentle,  efficient.  Its  clean,  anti- 
septic odor  quickly  disappears, 


carrying  away  all  other  unpleas- 
ant odors.  It  is  so  highly  concen- 
trated that  it  is  very  economical 
to  use.  Follow  easy  directions  for 
correct  douching  solution.  Have 
it  always  handy  in  the  bathroom. 


For  Feminine 
Hygiene— always  use 


A  Concentrated  Germicide 


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lines  are  taken  directly  from  something 
Frankie  or  I  have  said.  As  far  as  the  kids 
go,  we  steal  a  line  from  them  now  and 
again  but  we  steal  from  any  child  we  know. 
We  don't  think  our  kids  are  funnier  or 
cuter  than  others.  They're  just  average  and 
we're  entertained  at  home  by  things  they 
say  just  like  every  family  is  entertained  by 
the  humorous  things  that  only  kids  come 
up  with.  When  we  hired  the  writers,  we 
made  sure  they  had  children. 

Most  of  the  situations,  and  the  characters 
are  exaggerated  for  comedy  purposes.  Bill 
Faye  has  been  made  the  heavy  and  I  guess 
he's  takin'  a  lot  of  ribbin'  from  his  friends. 
In  real  life  he's  a  fine  businessman  and  a 
regular  guy. 

In  real  life  I  was  the  one  that  was  always 
getting  Frankie  into  trouble.  The  writers 
have  switched  that  around  too. 

People  ask  us  how  our  kids  like  the  pro- 
gram and  if  we  "plan  for  them  to  come  on  it 
when  they're  bigger.  The  kids  listen  every 
week  but  not  very  hard  I  imagine.  They're 
a  little  young.  I  don't  know  whether  they'll 
ever  act,  we  aren't  pushing  'em.  They  don't 
have  any  special  lessons  of  any  kind.  Alice 
gets  a  little  dancing  at  her  regular  school. 
She's  the  kind  that's  always  got  something 
to  say.  Alice  (senior)  says  she's  like  me. 

I  can  see  why  Alice  hates  to  be  away 
from  those  little  kids.  As  she  says,  the 
time  when  they're  little  and  cute  passes  all 
too  fast;  before  you  know  it  they'll  be  17 
and  having  ideas  about  going  off  and 
marrying.  But  I  don't  know  why  they'll 
ever  want  to  leave  home — it's  a  nice  place. 
We  got  seven  acres  of  land  around  our 
house,  an  orchard,  a  swimming  pool,  a  barn 
and  a  horse  or  two.  A  little  while  ago  we 
bought  a  television  set.  Why  go  out,  ever? 

For  an  old  dyed-in-the-wool  show  busi- 
ness vagabond  I  do  some  of  the  strangest 
things.  Like  tryin'  to  grow  seven  different 
kinds  of  flowers,  from  seed,  in  flats  under 
a  piece  of  glass.  Then  transplanting  'em 
out  into  the  open,  worrying  every  time  we 
have  a  change  of  weather.  Just  a  great  big 
sap  about  flowers,  I've  become.  Then 
there's  cookin'. 

Can  you  believe  it,  a  cook  yet?  Italian  is 
the  specialty — veal  scallopini  and  spaghetti 
with  a  violent  sauce  you'll  never  forget. 
Alice  makes  the  meatballs.  We've  got  a 
cook  but  a  lot  of  the  time  we  send  her  out 
to  enjoy  the  moon  while  we  frenzy  things 
up  in  the  kitchen.  Singer  and  Chevillat 
and  their  wives  generally  come  over  for 


dinner  about  once  a  week  and  afterward  i 
we  run  the  records  of  the  last  week's  show 
and  start  criticizin'  each  other.  I'm  always 
full  of  talk  and  I  do  it  walkin'  around  the 
room  makin'  gestures.  This  gives  Alice  her 
chance  to  get  a  few  laughs  mimickin'  me.  | 

I  pretend  I  don't  know  she's  followin'  me 
around  and  goin'  through  all  the  gestures  I  | 
make  just  behind  my  back.  This  gets  a  big 
yak  out  of  the  rest  of  the  group.  Oh, 
that  Alice- — quite  some  pixie. 

For  a  long  time  the  Faye-Harris  Enter-  , 
prises  offices  on  Hollywood  Boulevard, 
where  the  writers  work  and  our  business 
is  done,  was  supposed  to  get  some  furni- 
ture .but  we  were  all  so  busy  that  we 
never  got  to  it.  It  looked  awful  empty  and 
silly  but  we  got  along.  Alice  is  always 
ribbin'  us  about  it  and  one  day  she's  out 
shoppin',  and  she  gets  an  idea. 

Next  day  a  child's  table  with  four  small 
chairs— that  we  can  just  get  into — are  de- 
livered to  the  offices.  Each  of  our  names 
is  painted  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  Now  the 
offices  look  sillier  than  ever.  And  once  in 
a  while,  to  surprise  a  visitor,  we'll  squeeze 
into  our  chairs  and  pretend  to  discuss  a 
problem.  Oh,  that  Alice! 

At  Christmas  I  foxed  her.  She's  gone 
wild  about  clothes  made  of  suede  lately 
and  she  made  it  pretty  clear  that  sort  of 
thing  was  what  she  was  expectin'  Santa 
to  bring  down  the  chimney.  A  few  days 
before  Christmas  she  took  her  east  off  her 
broken  arm  and  tossed  it  out  with  the  I 
trash.  I  picked  it  out  of  the  basket  and 
had  it  covered  with  suede.  Gave  it  back  to 
her  for  Christmas.  When  the  laughs  were 
over  I  led  her  to  my  closet  where  she  found 
all  the  suede  things  she'd  been  hoping  for. 

I've  had  people  ask  why  I  don't  learn  to 
talk  better  English  and  I  guess  I  gotta  say 
that  I  just  feel  uncomfortable  pronouncin' 
my  i-n-g's.  I  know  better,  but  I  like  it  this 
way. 

Alice  and  I  agree  that  we  want  our  kids 
to  have  a  normal,  simple  kind  of  growing 
up  and  we  don't  want  them  to  get  any  1 
fancy  stuffed-shirt  notions  just  because 
their  parents  are  successful  and  in  the 
limelight.  No  kid  of  ours  is  going  to  turn  j 
into  some  tinsled  tot  who  thinks  she's  too  i 
good  for  the  neighbor's  children.  Aw,  I  tell 
you,  this  bringin'  up  a  family's  a  cinch 
so  long  as  you  have  a  sense  of  humor.  Do 
you  wanna  hear  some  more? 

Well  just  tune  in  on  the  Fitch  Band-  j 
wagon  next  Sunday. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


Cut!  Towels! 


For  Athlete's  Foot 
Misery 


ABSORBINE  Jr. 

Time  proved!  Clinically  tested! 


BLUEBIRD 

7^ 'true symSol 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  BOB  WALKER 

(Continued  from  page  39) 


renewing  the  scenes  of  his  youth.  Bob  is 
very  sensitive;  he  began  to  realize  that 
he  was  one  of  the  most  fortunate  of  mor- 
tals. He  saw  struggle,  and  made  up  his 
mind  to  ease  it.  He  saw  talent  that  was 
destined  to  lie  fallow,  and  determined  to 
do  something  constructive  about  it.  There 
is  no  balm  so  gracious  to  the  groping,  dis- 
contented soul  as  the  sudden  knowledge 
that  there  is  blessedness  in  helping  others. 
Bob  began  edging  away  from  the  ego- 
centric orbit  that  was  threatening  him. 

"Here  I  am  making  more  money  than  I 
know  how  to  use,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and 
here  is  a  chance  to  bring  happiness  and  op- 
portunity to  kids  who  are  just  like  I  was 
a  few  years  ago." 

He  came  back  to  Hollywood  with  a  com- 
pletely new  philosophy  of  living.  What- 
ever it  was  that  had  almost  got  him  down, 
he  was  determined  to  lick  it! 

He  went  to  live  in  his  beach  house  at 
Malibu,  he  spent  hours  chinning  with  the 
deputies  at  the  sheriff's  Malibu  office.  Any 
weekday  night  a  dancehall  patron  might 
have  seen  a  slender  young  man  with  thick 
horn-rimmed  glasses  playing  the  drums  up 
in  the  orchestra  stand.  That  was  Bob, 
anonymous,  getting  to  meet  the  people. 

About  that  time  Hollywood,  which  al- 
ways has  an  ear  to  the  ground  for  romance, 
began  to  bandy  the  rumor  that  Walker  and 
Lee  Marshall,  Herbert  Marshall's  ex,  were 
a  serious  item.  It  was  not  the  case,  and  I 
suspect  that  Bob  resented  being  made  the 
subject  of  gossip.  It's  a  long  time  now 
since  he's  been  seen  with  Lee. 

Jennifer  Jones  had  to  obtain  Bob's  per- 
mission before  she  could  take  their  two 
sons  on  a  vacation  to  Switzerland,  and  Bob 
gave  permission  readily  enough  but  their 
departure  left  another  yawning  emptiness 
in  his  life. 

When  the  boys  went  away,  and  a  black 
moroseness  was  threatening  again  to  over- 
take Bob,  his  father  and  mother  came  from 
Ogden  to  make  their  home  in  Hollywood. 
Walker  pere  has  been  an  active  news- 
paperman and  editor  all  his  career,  but 
recently  his  heart  began  to  show  indica- 
tions of  weakness  and  the  physician  pre- 
scribed retirement  and  rest.  Their  coming 
was  a  lifesaver  for  Bob. 

Professionally,  Walker  was  still  at  loose 
ends.  Then  he  was  handed  the  script  of 
One  Touch  of  Venus  and  that  may  prove 
eventually  to  have  been  the  turning  point. 

Lester  Cowan  took  the  property  to  the 
head  men  of  Universal-International  and 
said,  "There's  only  one  actor  who  really 
should  play  the  male  lead,  and  that's  Rob- 
ert Walker.  There's  no  hope  of  getting 
him  from  M-G-M,  but  we  can  dream." 

sold  on  venus  ... 

Bob  read  the  script  and  he  was  imme- 
diately sold.  The  role  of  the  bewildered 
young  window-dresser  appealed  to  him 
immensely.  The  deal  was  made. 

As  this  story  is  written,  Bob  is  well 
along  in  his  new  role  and  there  isn't  a  more 
contented  young  star  in  Hollywood. .  A 
great  friendship  has  sprung  up  between 
him  and  the  director,  veteran  William 
Seiter.  He's  on  terms  of  easy  camaraderie 
with  Ava  Gardner,  who  is  enjoying  the 
finest  opportunity  of  her  career  as  Venus. 

Ava  Gardner's  relationship  with  Bob  as 
of  today  is  just  about  the  pleasantest  of  her 
career.  They're  pals.  They  love  working 
together  and  each  is  constantly  trying  to 
inspire  the  other.  I  don't  believe  there's 
been  a  night  since  they  started  working 
together  that  they  haven't  gone  somewhere 
to  dine — often  to  Ava's  house.  Both  deny 


there's  a  romance,  but  I  wouldn't  sell 
'em  too  short. 

But  turning  away  from  romance  to  some 
more  facts  about  Bob — did  you  know  he 
had  an  amazing  wardrobe,  more  extensive, 
his  friends  say,  than  any  other  star's,  in- 
cluding Adolphe  Menjou?  At  least  fifty 
suits,  and  everything  made  to  his  specific 
order.  No  price  is  too  high  for  him  to  pay 
for  anything  he  particularly  wants,  but  he's 
no  spendthrift.  Bob  is  mighty  careful  with 
a  buck,  haggles  like  a  horse  trader  with 
people  trying  to  sell  him  things,  especially 
automobiles.  He  doesn't  gamble  much  but 
hates  to  lose  and  is  a  reluctant  payer. 

sight  unseeing  .  .  . 

Bob  will  confess  to  you  naively  that  he 
once  had  exceedingly  slender  hopes  of  ac- 
complishing anything  in  the  theater  or  the 
movies.  His  eyes  are  very  weak,  and  he 
can  scarcely  see  without  the  aid  of  power- 
ful lenses,  certainly  a  handicap  before  the 
camera.  In  an  outdoor  sequence  of  Bataan, 
I  once  watched  him  running  pellmell  down 
the  side  of  a  hill  with  a  lot  of  other  players 
and  extras  and  I  give  you  my  word  he 
crashed  into  every  tree  on  the  way  down. 

Nobody  works  harder  on  a  script  than 
Bob.  When  he  goes  in  front  of  the  camera, 
he's  always  letter  perfect.  I've  found  out 
while  observing  the  Hollywood  scene 
that  set  workers  are  among  our  smartest 
critics  of  acting.  That's  because  they  work 
in  pictures  all  the  time  and  have  seen  the 
best.  Praise  from  juicers,  gaffers  and  grips 
is  praise  indeed,  and  these  hardboiled  ob- 
servers agree  that  Bob  is  tops. 

Hollywood  had  the  axes  and  hammers 
out  for  Bob  Walker,  and  not  so  long  ago. 
Hollywood  doesn't  understand  and  often 
doesn't  try  to  understand.  Hollywood  is  a 
worshipper  of  success  and .  a  despiser  of 
failure,  and  takes  no  account  of  a  sensitive 
individual's  fight  to  do  the  things  he  knows 
he  must  do.  Let's  face  it — Bob  was  hard 
hit  when  he  lost  Jennifer.  I  really  believe 
that  until  not  long  ago  he  cherished  the 
hope  that  one  day  he  and  Jennifer  might 
get  back  together  again. 

The  other  night  I  saw  Bob  at  a  party  and 
talked  with  him.  The  subject  that  had  him 
brooding  at  the  moment  was  Hollywood 
party  girls.  He  has  a  vast  pity  for  them — 
pretty  moths  of  the  night  mostly  without 
too  much  character  or  backbone,  they  come 
to  Hollywood  to  make  their  careers  and 
soon  succumb  to  the  lure  of  the  flame. 

"Girls  arrive  here,"  Bob  said,  "fresh  and 
unspoiled  and  soon  they  become  hard  and 
disillusioned.  The  town  really  gives  them 
a  bad  time  and  they  think  they're  getting 
a  great  break.  It's  pathetic,  and  I've  seen 
so  many  of  them  fall  by  the  wayside." 

Injustice  stirs  the  Walker  temper  to 
heights.  A  newspaperman  came  to  Holly- 
wood not  long  ago,  and  Bob  and  I  were 
talking  together  about  him.  "There's  a  guy 
I  don't  like,"  he  said.  "When  I  was  eleven 
years  old  I  made  a  deal  to  mow  his  lawn 
one  summer.  I  worked  like  the  dickens 
and  he  never  paid  me.  That  guy  still  owes 
me  two  dollars  and  a  half." 

And  a  word  to  the  wise:  don't  make 
the  mistake  of  opposing  Bob  Walker  in  a 
fistic  or  rough  and  tumble  encounter.  He 
carries  a  righthand  punch  like  the  kick  of 
an  army  mule  and  his  left  is  chain  light- 
ning. Also  because  he's  so  terribly  near- 
sighted, he  gets  in  close  to  get  a  bead  on 
his  target.  Jimmy  Henaghan  assures  me 
that  as  an  infighter  he  is  deadly. 

He  has  put  on  the  gloves  for  a  finish 
bout  with  Life  now,  and  maybe  Bob  will 
solve  his  own  mystery. 


^es . . .  forever,  the  magnificent 
sparkle  and  blue-Wesselton 
color  of  your  flawless  Bluebird 
will  be  the  symbol  of  your  love. 

Insist  on  Bluebird.  Less  than 
one  percent  of  all  diamonds 
mined  are  perfect,  but  every 
Bluebird  is  a  registered,  guar- 
anteed perfect  diamond  of  fine 
color  and  brilliance  in  exqui- 
site platinum  and  gold  settings. 


DIAMOND  RINGS 


SEND  FO-R  YOUR  FREE  COPY 

of  "The  Book  Thai  Lovers  Love."  for 
details  on  judging  diamonds. 
BLUEBIRD  DIAMOND  SYNDICATE,  Dept.  Y-3 
55  East  Washington  St.,  Chicago  2,  III. 


105 


LIFE  BEGINS  AT  6:30 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


Famous  Star  Knows 
Secrets  of  Captivation 

Beautiful  Kyle  MacDonnell  is  captivat- 
ing New  York  audiences,  in  the  musical 
hit  "Make  Mine  Manhattan". 

Her  golden  hair  always  looks  lovely— 
and  that's  a  matter  of  "captivation",  too! 
Says  Kyle:  "I've  discovered  a  wonderful 
trick  for  keeping  my  hair  in  place.  After 
it's  combed,  I  pat  a  few  drops  of  Nestle 
HAIRLAC  wherever  ends  might  fly  loose. 
The  hairlac  'fixes'  my  hair-do;  it  stays 
in  place  beautifully  all  day  long." 

Keep  your  own  hair  looking  glamorous 
throughout  the  day.  Get  Nestle  hairlac 
today  at  your  favorite  drug  or  dept. 
106       Store.  50^  for  the  beautiful  boudoir  bottle. 


8  o'clock  call  at  the  studio.  I'm  shooting 
The  Man  From  Colorado.  Ellie's  gone  East 
on  a  dancing  tour  and  I'm  on  my  own.  That 
lets  me  lie  and  sigh  and  listen  to  sweet 
music  thinking  of  her  until 

6:34  when  I  rustle  enough  courage  to 
toss  off  the  sheets.  I  hit  the  carpet  and 
patter  over  to  see  if  my  favorite  gadget's 
working.  By 

6:35  I  know  it's  not.  I'm  a  gadget  guy 
you  see,  and  Ive  rigged  up  a  hot  plate  and 
grill  on  my  tiny  bar  all  wired  to  the  clock. 
A  coffee  pot  is  primed  to  start  perc-ing. 
Idea:  While  I'm  getting  pulled  together,  a 
cup  of  coffee  is  getting  ready  to  be  gulped. 
But,  well,  it  doesn't  ever  seem  to  work. 
Have  to  fix  that.  Off  to  the  bath  and  by 

6:37  I'm  shaving.  Remember  how  they 
gigged  you  if  you  didn't  have  the  whiskers 
mowed  in  the  Corps,  Joe?  I've  got  a  differ- 
ent reason  now — strictly  professional.  I 
have  to  be  clean-shaven  for  the  scene  I'll 
do  today.  I  check  up  on  that  with  a  quick 
look  out  the  bathroom  window.  Yep.  It's 
drizzling  all  right.  That  means  we'll  be 
working  inside,  doing  the  courtroom  scene 
where  I'm  dressed  up  and  respectable. 
Ouch!  The  phone!  It's  always  bad  news 
that  early  in  the  morning,  and  it's  only 

6:45  "Yep,  yep,  this  is  Glenn.  What's  up? 
What!  You're  crazy.  It's  raining  cats  and 
dogs."  But  I've  learned  not  to  talk  back  to 
studio  production  managers,  Joe.  Just  like 
top  kicks,  those  guys  know  everything. 
Says  he,  it's  not  raining  out  in  the  San 
Fernando  Valley,  and  there's  a  chance  to 
shoot  that  outdoor  battle  scene.  The  sun's 
just  right.  That's  swell — except  that  now 
instead  of  the  scene  I  memorized  last  night 
(300  words  of  it)  comes  up  another. 

pardon  my  shave  .  .  . 

6:47  Now  I'm  on  the  spot.  I'm  half- 
shaved,  and  I  realize  too  late  I  need  whis- 
kers for  this  scene.  Well,  the  makeup  guy 
will  have  to  grow  some  where  I've  shaved. 
Hey,  I've  got  a  long  drive.  I'll  be  late.  I 
dive  for  my  clothes.  Swings  open  the  door. 
"Hey,  Daddy!"  It's  Pete — my  son,  Peter.  I 
snap  to  attention.  He's  my  C.  O. 

6:50  "Daddy,"  lisps  Peter  Newton, 
"where's  my  electric  train?"  "Daddy's  in 
a  hurry,  Pete.  He  has  to  go  to  work."  "My 
electric  train — make  it  run.  My  train,  my 
electric  train."  So  I'm  on  the  floor  and 

7:20  Whew!  I've  finally  got  the  system 
set  up.  Ever  rassle  with  a  Lionel  toy  train 
when  you're  in  a  sweat?  Say,  I  can  put 
one  up  in  the  dark.  Sometimes  I  do.  "There 
y'are,  Pete.  There  ,she  goes.  Choo-Choo. 
All  aboard!"  I'm  snatching  my  hat  and 
raincoat  when — "Wah-wah-wah!"  Pete's 
crying.  I  know  why.  "Daddy,  off  the  track." 
I  put  it  on.  "Goodbye  Pete,  kiss  Daddy 
good-bye."  Ah,  that's  what  I  live  for,  Joe. 

7:22  I'm  flying  down  the  stairs.  Halfway 
I  stop.  What  did  Ellie  say  before  she  went 
East?  I  know  darned  well.  But  I  forgot. 
"Don't  let  Pete  in  my  dressing-room.  The 
quilted  walls,  the  glass  bottles.  Keep  the 
door  closed."  It's  open,  and  Pete's  loose. 
I  run  back,  breathing  double  time,  lock  the 
door.  "Pete,  where  are  your  socks?  Don't 
you  know  you'll  catch  cold?"  I  never  can 
find  Pete's  socks.  But  I  finally  do.  That 
makes  it 

7:22  And  I'm  actually  sitting  down  in  the 
den  gulping  a  cup  of  coffee  that's  been 
slipped  under  my  nose,  next  to  the  morning 
paper.  That  paper,  that  Bill.  I'd  have  been 
doing  this  at  7:18  but  for  that  crazy  collie 
pup  of  mine,  William  the  Third.  He  got 
the  news  at  4  a.m.  when  the  paper  boy 
whizzed  it  in.  He  got  it  and  he  hid  it.  We 
get  two  papers;  they  used  to  come  separate- 


ly. I  had  them  wrapped  together.  That 
makes  only  one  bundle  Bill  can  hide.  This 
morning  I'm  lucky.  Right  under  the  camel- 
lia bush.  Very  uninspired,  Bill.  I  could 
do  better  than  that. 

7:23  I  just  looked  at  my  watch  and  got 
heart  failure.  How  can  I  make  it  to  the 
Valley  in  37  minutes  when  I'm  not  even 
started?  How  can  I?  I  can't. 

7:26  I  pat  my  coat,  my  pants  pockets. 
Dough,  yep,  keys,  wallet  with  driver's 
license.  Okay.  Migosh,  my  pipe!  Upstairs 
— so's  the  script,  so  are  my  shoes.  I  forgot 
them.  I'm  up  in  a  flash,  down  with  shoes. 

7:29  It's  raining  all  right  in  Beverly  Hills, 
and  my  car  top's  down.  It's  the  damndest 
top  to  put  up.  I  strain  a  tendon  and  groan. 
I'm  all  wet.  Well,  that's  normal.  A  joke, 
son.  Wow,  am  I  late!  It's 

7:45  I  have  visions  of  a  boiling  director, 
a  company  waiting  to  shoot.  I  gun  out  of 
the  garage — screeech!  Why  can't  Pete 
learn  to  keep  his  toys  out  of  the  driveway? 
Pete's  leaning  out  the  window,  laughing. 
He  blows  me  a  kiss.  I  melt,  stack  the  toys 
and  proceed.  "Mister  Ford!"  It's  Gussie. 
"The  studio's  on  the  phone."  "Tell  'em  I 
left  fifteen  minutes  ago!" 

8:00  And  I'm  just  out  of  Beverly  Hills 
heading  for  Cahuenga  pass,  but  on  my  way 
at  last.  I'll  make  up  some  time. 

8:25  In  the  Valley,  still  making  time.  Still 
trying  to  remember  those  new  lines  and 
action.  I'm  on  the  spot,  as  usual.  Come  on 
fog,  come  on  smog,  wish  I  knew  a  handy 
rain  dance,  I'd  do  it.  I  figured  on  working 
inside  and  I'm  late  besides. 

8:20  Take  it  easy,  Ford.  That  car  up 
ahead  has  radio  antenna,  red  spotlight, 
black-and-white  trim — state  patrol.  One 
ticket  this  year,  the  next  one'll  really  be 
tough. 

8:30  Only  five  miles  to  go.  Bet  I  know 
what  we're  shooting,  that  ride  into  camp 
after  Appomatox.  Well,  there  won't  be 
much  dialogue  there,  mostly  action.  May- 
be it's  okay  I  don't  know  my  lines. 

8:34  Where  is  that  turn-off  for  Iverson's 
Ranch?  Passed  the  gas  station,  now  the 
big  oak  tree.  Here  it  is.  Off  the  highway 
in  a  cloud  of  dust,  I  look  for  the  trucks,  the  - 
big  green  ones  with  "Columbia  Pictures" 
on  the  side. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 


I  have  a  salesman 
friend  who  bears 
a  striking  resem- 
blance to  Monty 
W  oolley ,  white 
beard  and  all. 
Since  he  travels  a 
lot,  I  was  not  sur- 
prised to  see  him 
having  breakfast 
with  two  other 


men  in  a  Kingman 
restaurant  that  1  had  entered  for  the 
same  purpose.  I  immediately  walked 
to  his  table,  shook  his  hand  warmly, 
and  said,  "Hello!  How  have  you 
been?"  He  returned  the  greeting  quite 
cordially,  but  with  a  puzzled  expres- 
sion. I  noticed  this  and  asked  him  if 
he  had  forgotten  me.  He  replied,  "The 
sun  is  shining  in  my  eyes  and  I  can't 
see  you."  At  this,  I  grew  suspicious. 
"Aren't  you  Mr.  Stace?"  I  asked.  "No. 
My  name  is  Monty  Woolley."  laughed 
the  star 

Phillip  Copeland 
Phoenix,  Arizona 


Are  you  letting  your  daughter 


Every  Bride  Should  Know  These  Intimate  Physical  Facts 


8:40  There's  the  assistant  director.  He's 
walked  a  mile  down  the  road  looking  for 
somebody.  G.  Ford,  ten  to  one.  I  pick  him 
up.  He's  very  nice  but  nervous.  I  say  I'm 
sorry  I'm  late.  He  says  it's  okay  and 
squints  at  the  sun.  It's  gone.  We  don't  say 
much  more.  Now  that  I'm  out  here,  I 
want  to  work.  Nuts. 

8:50  Hi,  Bill,  Hi  Jerry.  It's  Bill  Holden 
and  Jerome  Courtland,  and  a  couple  hun- 
dred other  guys.  They're  squatting  around 
a  big  open  outdoor  stove  drinking  coffee 
and  looking  gloomily  at  the  grey  sky.  I  feel 
like  a  guy  who's  raced  for  a  train  and  just 
discovered  it's  two  hours  late.  I  have  a 
cup  of  coffee  myself.  It's  cold.  I  forgot  my 
sweater,  of  course. 

9:00  I'm  still  shivering,  but  with  conver- 
sation. Every  conceivable  topic,  but  mostly 
football. 

9:45  Somebody  yells,  and  a  whistle  blows. 
Yep,  there  she  is — the  sun!  Minutes  are 
thousand  dollar  bills  now.  We'll  get  ready 
quick,  and  shoot  while  the  light's  right. 
Horses  are  rustled  around.  Wagons  wheel 
here  and  there,  extras  mill  around. 

10:00  I'm  still  hunting  for  that  trailer  key. 
I've  got  to  dress  and  make  up  for  those 
whiskers  I  shaved  off  this  morning.  I've 
got  to  get  my  horse  ready,  cinch  up  the 
saddle.  I  made  Westerns  long  enough  to 
know  you  never  leave  that  to  anybody — 
not  the  best  groom  in  the  world — if  you 
value  your  health,  that  is. 

10:04  Got  the  key  at  last,  had  to  chase 
down  a  guy  to  find  a  spare.  I'm  in  luck. 
Wardrobe's  got  all  my  clothes,  hanging 
neat  and  tidy  right  in  the  closet.  I'm  a  Civil 
War  colonel  in  The  Man  From  Colorado — 
long  coat,  high  boots,  and  a  fancy  sash. 

the  last  roundup  .  .  . 

10:14  And  I'm  still  rigging  up  while  the 
makeup  man  pats  on  face  fuzz  I  could  grow 
lots  easier  at  home. 

10:18  I'm  set  and  ready,  and  I  check  my 
horse  and  mount  up.  Bill  Holden  has 
beaten  me  to  the  saddle,  so  we  sit  on  our 
nags  and  talk  over  the  scene.  It's  some 
clambake  and  we  have  to  do  it  on  the  first 
take.  Here's  why:  The  scene's  where  we 
ride  into  camp  after  the  last  battle  of  the 
Civil  War.  We're  celebrating  (the  whole 
army)  and  we  wreck  the  joint,  knocking 
over  tents,  galloping  horses  around,  shoot- 
ing guns.  Well  you  can  wreck  a  place  only 
once — then  you've  got  to  build  it  up  to 
wreck  it  again.  That's  why  all  of  us,  down 
to  the  last  extra,  are  on  the  spot. 

10:30  Last  minute  directions  by  loud- 
speaker. "Okay,  this  is  it.  Ready,  action!" 
Here  we  go!  Bill  and  I  spur  our  steeds 
into  the  melee,  I  feel  my  ticker  pound.  It 
isn't  real  war,  of  course,  but  I've  got  a 
swell  imagination. 

10:33  There  go  the  tents,  horses  knocking 
'em  down.  A  rider  tumbles,  horse  screams. 
Oh-oh — that  artillery  team  was  supposed 
to  bolt  to  the  right,  and  it's  going  left — right 
into  the  cook  wagon!  Wow!  There  goes  the 
scene,  all  balled  up  now.  The  whistle — 
that  means  "Cut."  I  feel  empty,  like  a 
punctured  tire. 

10:40  They're  collecting  the  pieces;  the 
take's  muffed,  and  we  have  to  set  up  again. 

11 :15  I'm  still  waiting,  back  in  the  trailer, 
and  the  sun's  gone  down.  That  Beverly 
rain  is  creeping  over  the  pass  at  last.  An 
assistant  director  roars  off  in  a  car  for  a 
telephone  down  the  road.  The  scuttlebutt 
travels.  We're  breaking  up.  Going  inside. 
He's  calling  the  production  office  for  a 
studio  okay.  Well,  that's  nice,  now  maybe 
I  can  use  that  dialogue  I  learned  last 
night. 

11:40  The  assistant's  back.  We're  going 
in,  all  right.  But  lunch  first.  Bill  and  I 
groan.  That  means  box  lunches.  Ever  eat 
a  box-lunch,  Joe?  Combat  rations  are 
Heaven  alongside. 

11:59  I'm  chomping  rubber  eggs,  card- 


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board  rolls,  and  a  mushy  apple.  I'm  really 
kidding — it's  all  right,  and  anyway  the 
coffee's  hot. 

12:10  Off  comes  my  uniform  with  all  the 
hardware.  I'm  back  in  slacks  and  my  rain- 
coat, and  I'm  back  in  my  car. 

12:18  I'm  heading  for  Hollywood;  I  just 
got  an  idea.  It'll  take  those  guys  some  time 
to  get  back  to  the  studio  and  line  up.  Now's 
my  chance  to  squeeze  in  an  Armed  Forces 
Radio  transcription.  I  swing  into  a  gas 
station  and  phone.  "I  can  handle  a  'Re- 
member' show  record — right  now."  "Come 
on  over,"  they  say.  There's  an  outfit  that 
can  work  fast.  Boy. 

12:50  I'm  reading  seven  pages  of  script 
stone  cold  into  the  recording  mike.  It  isn't 
tough — not  if  you  can  read.  The  show's 
canned  in  forty-five  minutes.  I  like  to  do 
those  GI  shows  regularly;  now  I  feel  a  lot 
better.  The  Columbia  gate  cop  waves  me 
into  the  studio  at 

1:45  They're  not  ready  on  the  new  set. 
Neither  am  I.  I've  got  to  shave,  change 
costumes,  get  slicked  up  and  dressed  in  my 
post-bellum  civvies,  1865  style.  I'm  a  fed- 
eral judge  now;  the  courtroom  scene's  com- 
ing up. 

2:00  Telephone's  ringing  like  a  five- 
alarm  fire.  It's  my  agent.  He's  got  papers 
stacked  up  to  sign.  Next  call.  My  real 
estate  man.  I've  got  a  piece  of  Hollywood 
property  for  sale;  he's  got  an  offer.  "Okay, 
take  it."  Again,  the  ring.  A  wire  from  Ellie, 
relayed  from  home,  "Send  those  sweaters 
and  shoes,  pronto,  I  need  'em."  She's  danc- 
ing back  East,  and  I  forgot.  It's  a  wonder 
I  ever  get  made  up  and  dressed,  but  I  do. 

2:25  I  step  on  the  set.  A  publicity  de- 
partment guy  grabs  me.  He's  got  a  visiting 
dramatic  editor  in  tow.  The  still  man  comes 
up,  and  I'm  in  a  picture  before  I  know  it.  I 
look  at  a  list  the  publicity  man  hands  me. 
Interviews,  picture  sittings.  "How  about 
Tuesday?  Thursday?  Friday?  Saturday?" 
I  wobble  my  head  around  and  make  prom- 
ises. Hope  I  can  keep  'em. 

2:40  Okay,  Glenn,  we're  ready.  "Silence 
in  the  courtroom."  I  climb  up  on  the  bench 
trying  to  feel  very  dignified  and  judicial. 

poll  call  .  .  . 

2:50  There's  a  break,  and  a  prop  says  I'm 
wanted  on  the  phone.  The  Screen  Actor's 
Guild.  "Can  you  get  over  for  an  emergency 
vote  at  three?  We  need  a  quorum.  It's  im- 
portant." I'm  on  the  board.  I  check  with 
the  assistant.  "You've  got  thirty  minutes 
until  the  next  set-up's  ready."  I  chase  out 
of  there  like  Jackie  Robinson.  The  meet- 
ing's just  up  the  Boulevard. 

3:04  I'm  there — late  as  usual.  I  cast  my 
vote,  and  I'm  glad  I  could  make  it. 

3:14  Back  on  the  lot.  Even  early.  I  hide 
in  my  dressing  corner  and  scribble  a  few 
lines  to  Ellie.  What  was  that  cute  crack 
Pete  made  this  morning?  "Ellie,  Darling — " 
That's  as  far  as  I  get.  "Ford!  Glenn  Ford! 
Ready!" 

3:24  Back  on  the  set.  A  wardrobe  tailor 
grabs  me.  I've  got  a  stitched-up  coat  on 
before  I  know  it,  and  he's  pinning  and 
poking.  How  I  hate  wardrobe  fittings! 
That  publicity  guy  again,  grinning.  "How'd 
you  like  to  crown  the  queen  of  the  Peach 
Festival?"  "I'd  like  to  crown  you,"  I  say, 
but  I  don't  mean  it.  I  love  to  crown  queens. 

3:25  Okay,  light  em!  Quiet,  rolling,  speed, 
action!  I'm  that  dignified  judge  again. 

3:40  Making  pictures.  Once  you're  into 
it,  you  lose  yourself. 

4:40  I  wake  up.  Come  back  to  reality. 
It's  a  break.  The  stage  doors  swing  open. 
I  light  a  pipe  and  stroll  outside  for  some 
air,  and  exercise.  Right  away  I  get  more 
than  I'd  figured  on.  "Hey,  Glenn — that  bus 
is  out  on  the  back  lot.  Want  to  try  it?" 

I  remember  suddenly.  My  next  picture  is 
The  Mating  of  Millie.  I  play  a  bus-driver 
there.  I've  got  to  learn  how  to  herd  one  of 
those  rapid  transit  jobs — with  six  speeds 


forward  and  two  in  reverse. 

4:50  It's  bucking  and  heaving  with  Ford 
at  the  wheel,  but  I'm  catching  on.  Glad  I 
don't  do  this  for  a  living,  and  what  a  break 
for  the  bus-riding  public,  too. 

5:10  Back  on  the  set.  There's  a  gallery 
set-up  in  one  corner  of  the  stage  for  poster 
art,  so  I  pose  until  the  new  scene's  ready. 

5:30  We're  shooting  again.  If  we  can  get 
this  scene  in  the  can  it  won't  be  such  a  bad 
day's  work  after  all.  We  make  it. 

6:00  That  winds  up  our  shooting  day.  But 
do  I  go  home?  Not  yet.  I  change  clothes, 
and  head  for  the  projection  room  to  see  the 
"dailies."  They're  prints  of  the  action  you 
did  the  day  before.  That's  when  I  sweat  it 
out,  Joe.  I  fidget,  I  nibble  my  nails,  I  tug 
my  long,  brown  locks.  I  come  out  of  there 
thinking  fifty  ways  I  could  have  done  those 
scenes  better.  Too  late  now. 

6:30  I'm  on  my  way  to  the  parking  lot 
when  a  producer  hails  me.  "How'd  you 
like  to  see  the  tests  for  Return  of  October 
(that  comes  after  The  Mating  of  Millie — 
I'm  always  plenty  ahead  of  myself)  and 
pick  your  leading  lady?"  That's  a  privilege 
I  can't  resist.  Like  being  Paris  and  hand- 
ing out  golden  apples.  So — 

6:40  I  call  Angie,  Mrs.  Clark,  our  cook. 
I'll  be  late  for  dinner.  Okay.  It's  always 
okay.  She's  been  with  us  seven  years. 

6:45  I'm  seeing  tests.  I  like  so-and-so, 
She's  in  the  picture.  I'm  out  the  door. 

7:10  It's  dark  and  still  raining.  I  take  it 
slow.  Damn,  now  I'll  miss  supper  with 
Pete.  And  Ellie's  letter.  Haven't  done  a 
thing  about  that.  My  home  life  is  catching 
back  up  with  me.  About  time.  And  holy 
smoke!  Tonight's  poker.  The  gang's  com- 
ing over.  I  step  on  it,  rain  or  no  rain. 

7:30  Home  at  last,  and  Pete's  up  in  my 
arms,  in  pajamas,  on  his  way  to  bed.  He 
doesn't  like  it,  that  early  sack  time.  Neither 
do  I.  I'm  too  late  to  run  the  Atchison,  To- 
peka  and  Santa  Fe  on  the  floor.  "What's 
that  on  your  face,  Pete?"  It  looks  like— it 
can't  be — it  is — a  mouse,  a  shiner!  My  kid's 
got  a  black  eye.  He's  five.  Hey,  what  goes 
on?  "Mike  punch  me."  Well,  you  punch 
him  right  back,  you  hear?  I  take  time  to 
give  a  lesson  in  the  manly  art.  No  Mike 
can  mess  up  my  kid.  Stick  out  your  left, 
like  that.  Cover  your  jaw.  Let  him  have  it. 

7:45  Lesson's  over.  Dad's  exhausted.  Pete 
wants  more.  But  he's  off  to  bed,  and  I'm 
sitting  down  alone  in  the  den  for  supper 
at  last.  That's  the  worst  time  when  Ellie's 
away.  Dinner's  our  refuge  of  the  day,  Mrs. 
Clark  sees  to  that.  No  phone  calls,  no  door- 
bells, no  nothing.  Harry  Truman  couldn't 
get  through  to  me  then.  But  Peter  can.  He 
breaks  out  of  bed  and  busts  in  for  dessert. 
I  give  him  a  spoonful,  strictly  against 
Ellie's  orders.  Heck,  the  kid's  lonesome; 
so'm  I.  I  get  out  the  installment  letter  and 
dash  off  a  summary  of  important  events  to 


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Ellie,  some  crosses  for  kisses  from  Pete — 
and  from  me.  Mrs.  Clark  says  she'll  mail 
it,  after  Pete's  sent  back  to  bed. 

8:15  Good  gosh,  the  gang!  Any  minute. 
I  charge  into  the  playroom  and  set  up  the 
table.  Let's  see,  chairs  for  Bill  Holden, 
Ed  Buchanan,  Charlie  Ruggles.  Alan  Curtis 
said  he'd  make  it.  Willard  Parker.  Me. 

8:19  There  goes  that  phone.  "For  you, 
Mister  Ford."  Gussie  has  that  studio  tone 
in  her  voice.  "Glenn — we're  previewing  at 
Inglewood  8: 45."  The  boys  are  already 
parking  their  cars  outside.  I  want  to  relax. 
"Nice  if  you  showed  up."  I  can't  hurt  any- 
body's feelings.  "Okay,"  I  say. 

8:21  The  boys  are  huddled  around.  Me, 
the  host,  I'm  ducking.  "Deal  me  out,  fel- 
lows. I'll  be  right  back."  Ed  Buchanan 
drives  over  with  me  and  we  cook  up  an 
idea.  We  make  the  preview  all  right,  by 
the  skin  of  our  teeth.  We  walk  in  the  front 
door  and  sit  with  the  producers.  Then  we 
say  "Excuse,  my  eyes,  I  see  better  in  back." 
In  a  second  we've  slipped  out.  So  every- 
body's happy,  and  I  can  see  it  later. 

9:20  I'm  trying  to  fill  an  inside  straight 
and  the  table's  loaded  with  blue  chips.  I 
don't  fill  the  inside  straight. 

9:40  The  tables  stacked  again.  I'm  trying 
to  make  a  bob-tailed  flush.  I  don't. 

10:55  We  break  it  up,  cash  in  and  settle. 
Good  thing  it's  penny-ante.  So  long,  guys. 
Excuse  me — there  goes  that  phone  again. 

20:56  It's  the  studio.  "Hello,  Glenn.  Want 
to  give  you  the  call  for  tomorrow.  It's 
clearing  up.  Out  at  the  ranch  again.  Yep, 
the  same  scene." 

11:15  I'm  in  pajamas  and  a  robe.  I'm 
lonesome.  "Hello,  long-distance?  Get  me 
Miss  Eleanor  Powell,  please.  Statler  Hotel, 
Washington,  D.  C."  "I  will  call  you,"  the 
operator  says. 

12:28  I'm  in  bed,  with  a  book.  My  favor- 
ite symphony's  on  my  machine.  I'm  gonna 
talk  to  Ellie.  I'm  happy. 

1:31  B-r-r-r-i-i-i-ng.  "Hello  hello!  Ellie? 
Darling  how  are  you.  I  miss  you.  When 
you  coming  home?  I  love  you!" 

1:32  Ellie  says,  "What  have  you  been 
doing  all  day?"  And  guess  what  I  tell  her. 
"Why  nothing,  nothing  at  all!" 

Well,  that's  the  way  it  goes,  Joe.  In  a 
few  ticks  it  will  be  6:30  again — and  that's 
where  I  came  in.  Hope  I  haven't  bored  you 
with  My  Day,  but  you  asked  for  it.  Maybe 
it's  not  that  dream  of  ease  we  used  to  sigh 
for  back  in  those  boot  barracks  days.  But 
I'll  tell  you  a  secret.  It's  a  lot  better.  I'm 
busy  and  I  love  my  work.  I  hope  you  are 
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"OR  WOULD  YOU  RATHER  BE  A  FISH?" 


(Continued  from  page  65) 


It  made  quite  a  joke  that  went  around 
the  sets  at  Universal,  and  I  laughed  like 
everyone  else  about  it.  Then,  a  couple 
of  days  later,  the  talk  started  again  .  .  . 
only  the  news  this  time  was  that  I  was 
being  considered  to  play  it.  I  was  too 
busy  being  one  of  the  little  Foxes  to  pay 
much  attention  until  the  afternoon  Nun- 
nally  Johnson  came  up  and  asked  me  to 
make  a  test. 

"Underwater?"  I  asked  him,  cautiously. 

"No,  that's  a  gag.  I'd  just  like  to  see 
how  you  look  as  a  blonde." 

So  I  made  a  quick  test  in  a  wig,  and  a 
few  days  later,  in  the  studio  commissary, 
Nunnally  greeted  me  with  the  happy  news 
that  I  had  the  role  and  would  start  as 
soon  as  I  had  completed  Another  Part  of 
the  Forest. 

That  was  before  I  got  acquainted  with 
my  tail.  '  Now,  since  you  have  never 
worn  a  tail,  you  will  have  to  take  my 
word  for  the  helpless  feeling  that  owning 
one  gives  you.  The  only  apt  comparison 
I  can  think  of  is  the  way  I  felt  when  I 
broke  my  back  three  years  ago  in  a 
tobogganing  accident  and  had  to  spend 
three  months  in  a  plaster  cast  and  seven 
months  in  a  steel  brace.  A  skin-tight 
latex  tail  is  more  confining  than  either. 

While  I  was  getting  my  fittings,  for  in- 
stance, they  had  to  mould  a  sponge  rub- 
ber padding  for  my  legs  so  my  knees 
wouldn't  knock  together.  Bud  Westmore 
and  the  boys  in  the  makeup  department 
gave  me  the  history  of  their  experiments 
with  the  Tail.  They  started  about  10 
months  ago  after  deciding  they  could  take 
sufficient  liberties  with  this  particular  tail 
to  make  it  easy  for  an  actress  brought  up 
on  the  Australian  crawl  to  operate  it. 
They  built  one  tail  with  a  propellor  and 
motor  in  it,  and  it  sank.  Then  they  tried 
one  made  of  plastic,  and  it  wouldn't  sink. 
By  the  time  I  got  around  to  my  fittings, 
everyone  had  decided  to  use  a  latex  rub- 
ber model  with  just  enough  lead  shot  to 
make  it  submerge  at  the  bidding  of  the 
owner. 

A  few  fittings  were  about  all  I  got  to 
see  of  my  tail  in  Hollywood.  In  fact, 
because  I  was  still  in  Another  Part  of 
the  Forest,  I  had  to  make  one  of  the 
quickest  mutations  in  biological  history. 
In  less  than  a  week,  I  was  transformed 
from  a  Little  Fox  into  a  Little  Fish,  for 
as  soon  as  I  finished  APOTF,  I  left 
for  Florida  with  the  crew  to  begin  the 
locations  for  Peabody.  After  a  long 
search,  Universal  had  finally  decided  to 
film  the  big  underwater  scenes  at  Weeki- 
wachee  Hot  Springs,  which  has  the  clearest 
water  in  the  world.  The  main  pool  is 
137  feet  deep.  There,  the  crew,  all  of 
whom  were  amphibiously  trained,  had 
constructed  three  underwater  sets. 

There  also  I  met  Newton  Perry,  a 
champion  underwater  swimmer  you've 
probably  seen  in  movie  short  subjects, 
who  taught  me  all  I  know  about  under- 
water swimming.  At  this  point  he  can 
have  it  back.  But  I  really  appreciated 
the  man  when  I  first  was  getting  used 
to  my  tail,  15  feet  under  water.  He 
worked  with  me  only  three  days  before 
we  actually  began  shooting,  but  by  spend- 
ing four  or  five  hours  in  the  water  every 
day,  I  learned  to  sink  as  well  as  swim 
on  cue. 

The  crew  and  I  lived  in  Tampa,  which 
was  52  miles  from  Weekiwachee,  which  in 
turn  necessitated  my  getting  up  at  6  a.m. 
to  be  laced  into  my  tail  by  shooting  time. 
I  usually  got  unlaced  at  5  p.m.  On  the 
first  day,  I  began  to  get  a  sample  of  the 
ribbing  that  I  took  all  during  the  picture 


when  Director  Irving  Pichel  walked  up 
to  me,  lying  helpless  on  a  couch  beside 
the  pool,  and  said,  "Now,  don't  leave  the 
set,  Ann.  We  may  need  you  in  this  next 
scene." 

Mr.  Pichel,  who  directed  a  big  portion 
of  this  picture  with  his  tongue  poking 
against  his  cheek,  was  very  anxious  that 
I  understand  right  away  that  the  water 
was  my  native  habitat,  and  that  my  ac- 
tions should  be  governed  accordingly. 
And  by  the  end  of  the  Florida  location, 
I  was  able  to  swim  into  my  underwater 
castle,  lie  down  quietly  on  my  couch, 
close  my  eyes,  and  pretend  to  sleep. 

I  seemed  so  much  like  a  fish  after  two 
weeks  that  even  the  fish  which  the  crew 
dumped  into  the  springs  to  be  my  chums 
accepted  me  as  one  of  them. 

As  the  crew  warmed  up  to  it,  the  fish 
jokes  got  better.  "Whitey"  (Ben  Mc- 
Mahon),  who  was  assigned  by  the  studio 
to  help  carry  me  around,  was  promptly 
named  "The  Game  Warden."  (Incident- 
ally, since  I  weighed  145  lbs.  dripping 
wet,  "Whitey"  developed  muscles  like  a 
wrestler.)  My  stand-in  shortly  came  to 
be  known  as  "my  swim-in."  And  at 
lunchtime,  they  would  walk  by  me  and 
ask  politely,  "What  would  you  like  for 
lunch,  Ann,  a  sardine  sandwich?" 

Although  the  water  at  Weekiwachee  was 
74  degrees,  I  had  a  bad  cold  when  I  got 
back  to  Hollywood  for  scenes  on  the 
sound  stage.  By  staying  out  of  the  wa- 
ter, I  got  rid  of  most  of  it.  But  I  still  had 
a  number  of  water  scenes  to  do  in  the 
tank  which  was  built  on  the  lot,  includ- 
ing some  of  the  funniest  scenes  with 
William  Powell,  who  plays  Mr.  Peabody. 

mermaids  will  be  women  .  .  . 


But  the  swimming,  though  trouble- 
some, was  not  entirely  the  hardest  part 
of  my  role  as  a  mermaid.  In  case  you  | 
don't  know,  mermaids  don't  talk.  They  : 
have  emotions,  they  like  to  be  kissed,  and 
they  even  sing  a  bit.  But  they  don't 
talk.  So  after  a  series  of  pictures  like 
Mildred  Pierce,  Swell  Guy,  Killer  Mc- 
Coy, and  A  Woman's  Vengeance,  in  which 
I  not  only  talked  but  had  lines  which 
meant  a  lot,  I  had  a  terrible  time  keeping 
my  mouth  shut. 

I  think  the  funniest  scene  in  the  pic- 
ture  is  the  one  in  which  the  modest  Mr. 
Peabody,  in  desperation  at  finding  him- 
self alone  with  a  mermaid,  dashes 
out  to  buy  her  a  half-dozen  bra  tops, 
and  she  selects  the  prettiest  one  and  puts 
it  on  her  head. 

When  we  finished  shooting  the  picture 
a  few  weeks  ago,  the  crew  presented  me 
with  swim-fins  and  an  immense  bottle  of 
bath  salts.  I  doubt  if  I  will  use  the  latter 
for  some  time,  because  I  am  sticking  to 
a  shower  until  the  novelty  of  standing 
up  on  my  feet  under  water  wears  off. 


ANN  BLYTH:  Personal  History 

born  :  M t.  Kisco,  N ezv  York 
date:  August  16,  1928 
height:  5'  2" 
weight:  101  pounds 
coloring  :  Blue  eyes,  brown  hair 

UNMARRIED 

real  name:  Ami  Marie  Blyth 
recent  pictures  :    Mr.   Peabody  and 
the   Mermaid,   A    Woman's  Ven- 
geance, Another  Part  of  the  Forest 


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YOU'RE  WELCOME 
AT  CIRO'S  IF . . . 

(Continued  from  page  63) 


You  don't  mind  eating  like  a  king.  Sure, 
I'll  brag  about  the  food  at  Ciro's.  It's  the 
best.  Rene,  our  chef,  is  French;  he  goes 
back  to  France  and  Switzerland  for  four 
weeks  every  year,  so  he  can  study  any 
new  developments  in  the  art  of  fine  French 
cookery.  Before  Ciro's  food  is  delivered  to 
your  table,  it's  inspected  by  four  people 
who  see  that  your  order's  been  properly 
carried  out. 

A  lot  of  our  customers  have  violent  food 
preferences.  Errol  Flynn  orders  octopus, 
Diana  Lynn  fried  chicken,  Rory  Calhoun 
rare  prime  ribs,  Lana  Turner  seafood, 
Lizabeth  Scott  pheasant,  Peter  Lawford 
calf's  liver  and  bacon. 

And  then  we  have  the  stars  who  ask 
permission  to  prepare  some  special  dishes 
of  their  own.  Sonja  Henie's  been  known 
to  go  into  the  kitchen  and  make  coffee 
with  her  personal  formula — she  uses  salt 
and  eggshells.  Jimmy  Durante  often  fixes 
veal  scallopini,  and  Keenan  Wynn  some- 
times prepares  a  whole  meal. 

Stars  can  take  their  nourishment  either 
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Cooper.  On  nights  when  stars  don't  want 
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are  magazines,  a  television  set,  a  small 
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You  don't  force  liquor  on  the  bandleader. 
If  the  orchestra  leader's  a  friend  of  yours, 
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Don't  keep  plying  him  with  drinks. 

It's  okay  to  ask  him  to  play  a  special 
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you  dance  by,  or  send  a  note  through  your 
waiter.  (When  celebrities  are  present,  an 
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table-hop  in  moderation  and  I  think  it's 
silly  to  talk  about  table-hopping  as  though 
it  were  a  deadly  social  sin  like  B.O.,  or 
drinking  the  water  out  of  your  fingerbowl. 
I  like  to  see  people  in  Ciro's  greeting  other 
friends  there;  it  contributes  to  everybody's 
good  time.  On  the  other  hand,  I  don't 
think  you  ought  to  sit  down  and  spend 
the  night  just  because  somebody's  greeted 
you  (unless  you're  specifically  invited). 

You  don't  slap  the  waiter  on  the  back. 
I  believe  waiters  should  be  treated  cor- 
dially, but  with  reserve.  Don't  shake 
hands  with  the  waiter.  Call  him  "Waiter," 
unless  you  know  his  name. 

If  you  have  a  favorite  waiter,  you  may 
ask  the  Maitre  to  place  you  at  one  of  his 
tables,  and  if  you  have  two  waiters,  tip 
just  one  of  them — ten  or  twelve  percent 
of  your  entire  check  is  fine.  Don't  tip  the 
busboy.  (Many  stars — notably  Jack  Benny 
and  Peter  Lawford — are  liberal  tippers, 
but  a  straight  ten  percent  will  get  you  no* 
dirty  looks  in  Ciro's,  I  guarantee.) 

Eighty  percent  of  our  waiters  are  mem- 
bers of  the  Screen  Actors'  Guild — you're 
apt  to  see  them  being  waiters  in  the  movies 
if  you  look  closely!  They're  pleasant,  un- 
obtrusive and  tactful.  They  can  cope  with 
any  situation.  Patrons  are  often  forgetful, 


and  a  quick-tempered  waiter  could  create 
a  lot  of  bad-will.  We  had  a  customer  a 
while  back  who  complained  that  his  check 
had  been  padded.    He  was  angry.  The 
waiter  quietly  reminded  this  man  that  dur- 
ing the  evening  he'd  had  a  round  of  drinks 
sent  to  another  table.  He  paid  gladly,  then  ! 
but  if  the  waiter'd  been  nasty,  we'd  havt  I 
lost  a  customer.-  That's  why  I  like  people!)1 
to  examine  their  checks,  speak  up  if  they 
think  there's  a  discrepancy.     Errors  are 
rare  at  Ciro's  since  a  checker  checks  all 
figures,  but  no  place  is  infallible. 

You  don't  park  your  poodle  with  the 
hat-check  girl.  Matter  of  fact,  very  few 
Ciro's  patrons  try  to  take  advantage  of 
the  check-room  facilities.  Mostly,  they 
leave  babies,  dogs,  steamer  trunks  and 
dirty  laundry  at  home.  We  have  five  hat- 
check  girls — Bettye,  Sandy,  Evelyn,  Jane 
and  Nancy.  They're  all  pretty.  Usually, 
one  or  two  of  our  girls  will  be  working  in 
pictures  during  any  particular  week. 

You  don't  take  your  shoes  off  until  you 
get  home.  Yeah,  I'm  just  kidding  again. 
Ciro's  visitors  keep  their  shoes  on,  their 
suspenders  covered  up,  and  their  bubble 
gum  off  the  tables.  Ciro's  visitors  are  the 
world's  most  beautiful  people.  Come  up 
and  see  'em  any  time. 


ALL  THE  THINGS  YOU  ARE 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


company,  because  I'm  a  pretty  prosaic 
business  man,  and  suddenly  my  mind  goes 
drifting  off,  and  that  song  winds  itself 
around  my  brain  .  .  .  "You  are  the  breath- 
less hush  of  evening,  that  trembles  on 
the  brink  of  a  lovely  song  .  .  ." 

Shall  I  tell  you  some  of  the  things  my 
wife  Jeanne  is  to  me? 

She's  my  business  companion.  My  frail 
beautiful  wife  has  a  mind  both  clear  and 
of  fearsome  proportions.  I  took  home  a 
brochure  for  her  approval  the  other  night. 
She  read  it  and  sniffed.  "What's  all  this 
about  18  gauge  wall  tubing,  and  8-way 
ties?  Who's  going  to  read  it?  What  you 
should  say  about  this  chair  is  if  it's  soft 
to  sit  on,  and  will  it  fall  apart  when  a 
fat  man  plops  down." 

She  was  right. 

Not  that  she  carries  her  practicality  too 
far.  She  won't  budget.  Thinks  it's  beneath 
her  dignity.  I  got  her  a  business  manager, 
and  does  he  earn  his  money!  He  makes 
her  pay  by  check  so  he  can  keep  track  of 
the  way  she  throws  gold  around;  she 
claims  she's  embarrassed  by  the  whole 
business.  "They  act  like  I'm  trying  to 
steal  stuff  when  I  give  them  checks." 

I  remember  one  time  when  Jeanne  had 
a  drawer  out  of  which  she  conducted  her 
business  affairs.  She*  filled  it  with  mail, 
clippings,  clothes,  and  underneath  every- 
thing, bills. 

I  remember  one  time  when  she'd  only 
market  at  a  little  place  on  Highland  and 
Franklin  because  she  claimed  the  prices 
were  lower,  and  I  knew  all  the  time  it  was 
because  she  was  so  goofy  about  the  man- 
ager's cat  .  .  . 

"You  are  the  angel  glow  that  lights  a 
star — "  our  song  goes.  "The  dearest  things 
I  know  are  what  you  are  .  .  ." 

The  dearest  things  I  know  are  many, 
and  varied,  and  Jeanne.  Jeanne's  face, 
Jeanne's  gentleness,  her  beautiful  hands 
in  any  position — lying  in  her  lap,  or  hold- 
ing a  paintbrush.  She  paints  well.  A  lot  of 
people  are  painting  nowadays  but  not 
like  my  wife.  And  she  plays  the  piano  so 
delicately  she  could  have  made  Debussy 
cry.  But  I  didn't  even  learn  that  until 
after  we  were  married.  Then  one  night 
she  sat  down  and  played  for  a  couple 
of  hours,  and  I  looked  at  her  wonderingly, 


and  it  was  like  that  very  old  joke — I  said, 
"You  never  told  me,"  she  said,  "You 
never  asked  me." 

She's  too  shy  to  perform  for  company, 
so  she  doesn't  play  very  often.  The  paint-, 
ing's  different.  I'm  going  to  build  her  al 
studio;  I  think  she's  that  good.  There  are 
a  few  things  she's  drawn — of  children  andr 
animals,-  mostly — that  are  fine. 

Animals  and  children — they  take  up  so 
much  room  in  her  affections.  Once  she  had 
a  monkey,  once  we  owned  a  lion  cub — now 
we  have  Paul,  Junior,  who  was  a  year 
old  last  April,  and  all  the  things  he  is  to 
us  it  would  take  another  story  to  tell. 

But  he's  brought  us  even  closer  to- 
gether, though  once  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  we  could  be  any  closer,  and  we 
talk  baby-talk  to  him  though  we  swore 
we  never  would,  and  I'm  ashamed  to 
confess  we  even  talk  it  to  each  other. 

We'll  probably  grow  up  around  the  same 
time  Paul,  Junior  does.  But  we're  not  in 
any  rush.  Let  him  take  a  long  time  to  be 
a  child.  We  want  him  to  enjoy  this  big 
sunny  place  of  ours,  and  the  woods,  and 
playing  in  the  mud. 

Jeanne  wants  a  lot  more  children. 
There's  another  picture  I  have  of  her 
that  I'll  never  forget  till  I  die.  She  was 
sitting  on  the  floor  with  magazine  cut- 
outs, and  clippings  from  newspapers  all 
around,  and  when  I  looked  over  her 
shoulder,  all  the  pictures  were  of  young, 
glamorous-looking  mothers  with  sixteen 
children  each.  Jeanne  must  have  done 
two  weeks'  research  to  track  them  down. 

And  all  she  said  to  me  was,  "See?" 

"Three's  enough,"  I  said  sternly.  But 
it's  hard  to  tell  who'll  win,  when  you're 
married  to  a  girl  like  Jeanne.  And  it 
doesn't  matter  anyway,  when  you're  mar- 
ried to  a  girl  like  Jeanne. 

All  the  things  she  is  .  .  .  when  I'm  tired, 
and  knotted  with  nerves,  and  depression, 
she'll  call  up  and  cancel  a  party  we  should 
go  to  for  the  good  of  her  own  career,  and 
she'll  give  me  a  pillow  and  a  book,  and 
we'll  spend  the  evening  that  way. 

When  I  make  jokes  that  aren't  very 
funny,  she'll  laugh. 

I  only  have  to  look  at  her,  and  my  ego 
soars,  because  all  the  things  she  is  are 


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IS  THE  LADY  A  HAS-BEEN? 

(Continued  from  page  27) 


Hollywood  says  that  Greer  Garson  is  a 
has-been. 

The  grosses  on  her  last  three  pictures  are 
a  fraction  of  the  figures  chalked  up  by  her 
earlier  successes. 

She  has  had  almost  no  offers  from  radio. 

The  fan  magazines  do  not  carry  her  pic- 
ture. 

The  popularity  polls  drop  her  way  down 
on  their  lists. 

These  are  the  things  by  which  Holly- 
wood judges  its  successes  and  failures. 

And  on  the  face  of  it,  these  things  say 
Garson's  finished. 

Her  rise  was  a  fast  one.  She  made  one 
picture  and  was  hailed  as  a  new  queen. 
That  picture  was  Goodbye,  Mr.  Chips. 

Look  at  Garson's  career  then.  She  had 
one  hit  after  another.  She  was  nominated 
for  an  Academy  Award  for  Goodbye,  Mr. 
Chips.  The  next  year  she  received  another 
nomination  for  her  role  in  Pride  and 
Prejudice  and,  in  1941,  still  another 
nomination  for  her  characterization  of  Mrs. 
Edna  Gladney  in  Blossoms  In  The  Dust. 

Then  in  1942  she  hit  the  jackpot.  She 
won  the  Academy  Award  for  Mrs.  Mini- 
ver. 

And  with  it,  she  made  a  mistake. 

To  you  it  may  seem  a  little  thing,  but 
Hollywood  figures  differently. 

When  she  received  the  gold  Oscar  at  the 
Academy  Award  dinner,  she  responded  by 
saying  that  she  "didn't  expect  it  at  all," 
then  promptly  delivered  a  ten-minute,  ela- 
borately prepared  speech. 

Generally,  the  star  receiving  the  Award 
clutches  the  little  gold  figure  to  her  bosom, 
mutters  a  few  confused  "thank  you's"  and 
sits  down.  Hollywood  didn't  take  well  to 
the  oration  on  Greer's  part. 

But  still  the  Garson  fable  continued.  She 
hit  the  Herald  fame  poll  for  four  years 
running  from  1942  through  1945.  She 
played  top  roles  in  When  Ladies  Meet  and 
Mme.  Curie. 

You  may  remember  when  the  slogan 
"Gable's  back  and  Garson's  got  him" 
started  sweeping  the  country.  She  had  him 
in  a  fiasco  called  Adventure.  Of  all  the 
mistakes  M-G-M  has  made  during  years  in 
the  picture  industry,  this  was  one  of  the 
worst. 

Clark  Gable  had  always  been  cast  oppo- 
site sex-charged  dames  like  Lana  Turner, 
Joan  Crawford,  Jean  Harlow  and  Vivien 
Leigh.  Green  Garson  had  been  kept  the 
"grand  lady"  by  M-G-M  from  the  day  of 
her  debut  on  the  American  screen.  The 
audience  couldn't  get  excited  about  the 


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ing to  Miss  Free- 
man, a  small, 
freckle-faced  boy 
with  a  cute  black 
puppy  held  tightly  in  his  arms  came 
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clasped  the  dog  to  his  chest  and  I 
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Gable-Garson  clinches. 

Topping  one  mistake  with  another,  the 
studio  cast  Greer  in  a  thing  called  Mrs. 
Parkington  and  another  called  Desire  Me, 
and  tongues  started  clicking  and  clucking 
on  the  subject  of  the  rise  and  fall  of  Greer 
Garson. 

One  bad  picture  can  ruin  a  motion  pic- 
ture star's  career.  Greer  has  had  three 
bad  pictures  in  a  row. 

And  when  this  begins  to  happen,  here  is 
the  sort  of  gossip  that  runs  through  the 
telephone  wires,  the  night-clubs  and  gut- 
ters of  Hollywood: 

"Poor  girl,  I'm  afraid  she's  slipping.  She 
might  have  done  better  if  she  didn't  dress 
so  atrociously." 

"Well,  what  can  you  expect  when  you 
get  the  big-head?  She  tries  to  tell  the  di- 
rector how  to  direct  her,  she  demands  that 
the  script  be  re-written  just  to  give  her  all 
the  scenes,  she  gives  the  cameraman  a  bad 
time,  telling  him  how  to  light  her  profile, 
and  even  the  messengers  hate  to  take  her 
telegrams  to  her  dressing-room." 

"I  never  thought  she  was  so  great.  She 
was  a  one-picture  hit,  that's  all.  One  pic- 
ture doesn't  make  a  career." 

"After  that  Academy  Award  thing,  the 
studio  doesn't  know  what  to  do  with  her." 

Yes,  the  tongues  of  the  gossips  can  wag 
when  a  star  loses  some  of  her  twinkle. 
They  said  these  things  about  Greer  Gar- 
son.  These  and  more. 

They  really  went  to  work  on  her  mar- 
riage with  Richard  Ney,  who  was  much 
younger  than  Garson.  When  a  woman 
marries  a  younger  man,  it's  mighty  easy 
for  her  rivals  to  say,  "Oh,  well,  it's  obvious 
that  she  just  didn't  have  what  it  takes  to 
get  somebody  worthwhile." 

Then  came  another  thought  around 
Hollywood.  Was  Greer  Garson  jinxed?  She 
had  been  at  the  top,  she'd  been  dynamite 
and  now  suddenly  the  whole  thing  was 


date  with 
junie  haver 

on  the 

July  cover  of 
modern  screen 
on  sale 
june  8 


falling  apart.  Three  bad  pictures  in  a  row, 
cast  opposite  the  wrong  people,  bad  stories, 
personal  troubles.  It  went  even  further — 
the  pictures  had  wrong  titles  and  the 
wrong  directors  were  set  to  guide  her 
through  them.  It  was  easy  enough  to  sus- 
pect a  hoodoo. 

After  Adventure,  Greer  Garson  sus- 
pected that  the  studio  was  giving  her  bad 
stories.  She  went  to  her  home  in  Carmel, 
California,  and  said  she  was  going  to  write 
her  own  story.  Nothing  came  of  that.  She 
contacted  some  high-powered  press  agents, 
thinking  that  they  might  help  her,  but 
nothing  came  of  that  either. 

When  Desire  Me  hit  New  York,  one  of 
Manhattan's  reviewers  said  that  he 
couldn't  figure  out  "whether  Garson's  in- 
terest in  her  co-star  was  romantic  or 
maternal."  It  didn't  help  the  picture  in 
New  York. 

The  capper  came  when  M-G-M  imported 
Deborah  Kerr  from  England.  Then  the 
tongues  wagged  in  double  time.  They  said 


that  was  "the  end  of  Garson."  There  was  a 
reported  feud  between  Garson  and  Kerr. 
Some  even  said  that  her  studio  was  sabo- 
taging Greer. 

Now  that  we've  looked  at  gossip,  let's  get 
sensible  and  look  at  plain  facts,  and  the 
Garson  career  as  it  actually  exists. 

Before  I  build  a  true  case  for  Greer  Gar- 
son, let  me  get  one  thing  on  record.  I  don't 
think  that  she  will  marry  her  boss,  L.  B. 
Mayer. 

Now!  I  think  that  there  are  four  things 
responsible  for  the  situation,  in  which 
Greer  finds  herself  today. 

1.  Eyebrows  went  up  in  Hollywood  and 
all  over  the  country  when  she  married  the 
man  who  had  played  her  son  in  Mrs. 
Miniver.  The  picture  had  too  much  pub- 
licity. It  was  an  Academy  Award  per- 
formance for  her,  and  the  picture  of 
mother  and  son  in  the  film  was  in  the 
minds  of  all  her  fans. 

2.  She  had  three  bad  pictures  in  a  row. 
Adventure,  Mrs.  Parkington  and  Desire 
Me.  One  bad  picture  can  kill  a  star,  she 
suffered  through  three.  You  can  put  the 
blame  for  that  on  the  back  of  the  studio. 
Somebody  used  rotten  judgment. 

3.  If  Greer  made  a  mistake  in  her  speech 
at  the  Academy  Dinner  in  1942  when  she 
received  the  Miniver  Oscar,  she  made  a 
worse  mistake  by  getting  up  in  court, 
twisting  her  handkerchief,  shedding  a  tear 
or  two  and  announcing  to  the  world  that 
her  husband  had  called  her  a  has-been. 

4.  Greer  has  become  an  immobile  actress. 
All  her  expressions  are  the  same,  and  you 
could  make  them  with  a  stone  face.  Once 
again,  I  lay  this  at  the  door  of  her  studio, 
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Chips. 

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a  picture  titled  Remember.  If  you  saw  it, 
you'd  rather  forget. 
The  studio's  idea  of  comedy  was  to  co- 
f    star  her  with  Robert  Taylor.  He  was  about 
!     as  funny  as  a  bust    of  Caesar,  and  the 
box-office  fizzled. 
Garson  has  all  it  takes  to  play  almost 
i     anything  you'd  want  her  to  play.  She  is 
vivacious  and  charming. 

She  wants  comedy  and  she  wants  it  in 
Technicolor. 

She  has  the  most  luscious  mop  of  flam- 
ing red  hair  in  our  town. 

She's  very  charmingly  feminine.  She 
says,  "I  use  so  much  perfume,  I  should  be 
arrested  for  fragrancy."  Is  that  the  humor 
I     of  a  stone -face? 

At  the  time  when  the  Garson  fable  began 
to  be  an  old  wives'  tale  told  over  the  back 
fences  in  Hollywood,  her  studio  was 
searching  around  for  stories  for  her. 

They  came  out  with  one  announcement 
after  another.  They  said  they  were  going 
to  make  a  sequel  of  Goodbye,  Mr.  Chips, 
and  that  she  was  going  to  play  the  lead. 
How  they  expected  to  get  around  a  few 
technicalities  of  reviving  the  "Chips"  story, 
I'll  never  know,  but  nothing  came  of  that. 

They  announced  they  were  going  to  do 
The  Forsythe  Saga  for  Garson,  but  noth- 
ing came  of  that  either. 

Think  back  to  the  Greer  Garson  of  Mrs. 
Miniver.  In  the  opening  of  the  picture  she 
was  a  gay,  light-hearted  gal.  She  was  be- 
lievable. She  needs  another  picture  in 
which  she  can  be  believable. 

Finally,  they  have  decided  to  turn  her 
into  a  comedienne.  It  is  what  she  has 
wanted  for  a  long  time.  The  picture  is 
Julia  Misbehaves.  Her  co-star  is  Walter 
Pidgeon.  The  story  is  about  an  ex-trapeze 
artist  in  a  circus  who  marries  a  staid 
Englishman,  then  invites  all  of  her  ex- 
circus  pals  to  spend  the  -weekend  with  her. 
i  It's  the  same  sort  of  a  thing  that  brought 
Irene  Dunne  into  a  new  and  successful 
cycle  of  comedies. 

It  took  three  pictures  to  knock  the 
props  out  from  under  Garson — it  will  take 
only  one  good  one  to  put  her  back  on  top 
at  the  box-office. 

As  for  her  situation  in  Hollywood,  join 
me  in  looking  at  a  few  notes. 

When  all  the  furor  broke  about  the 
importation  of  Deborah  Kerr  and  the  pos- 
sibility that  it  meant  the  end  of  Garson,  a 
little  meeting  was  held  in  one  of  the  offices 
at  M-G-M.  Present  were  a  couple  of  ex- 
ecutives, a  legal  mind,  an  agent  and  Miss 
Garson.  One  of  the  executives  handed  her 


MODERN  SCREEN 


a  legal  document,  another  handed  her  a 
pen. 

Very  casually,  she  signed  her  name.  A 
couple  more  signatures  made  it  legal  and 
binding.  And  Greer  Garson  walked  out  of 
that  office,  just  a  few  short  months  ago, 
the  highest  paid  actress  in  Hollywood! 

That  contract  is  the  most  attractive  thing 
written  in  Hollywood  for  some  time.  It 
guarantees  that  Greer  will  receive  a  nice 
fat  salary  on  a  sort  of  insurance  plan  of 
payment  for  the  rest  of  her  life. 

And  take  a  look  at  Greer's  calendar  for 
the  last  six  months — it  doesn't  read  like 
the  diary  of  a  falling  star.  She  went  to  New 
York  and  was  Walter  Winchell's  guest. 

She  signed  that  contract  and  pension 
deal  and  received  a  but-gorgeous  con- 
vertible from  L.  B.  Mayer  in  person. 

In  November  talk  began  about  the  pic- 
ture, Julia  Misbehaves,  and  the  talk  has 
boiled  up  a  lot  as  the  picture's  progressed. 

Greer's  been  night-clubbing  with  such 
escorts  as  Otto  Preminger,  one  of  our 
town's  top  directors — and  Orson  Welles. 

She  appeared  at  an  Irene  Selznick  din- 
ner party  sporting  an  emerald  pendant 
which  would  have  choked  a  small  ox.  To 
this  day  Hollywood  hasn't  found  out  who 
gave  it  to  her — me  included. 

Christmas  saw  her  giving  parties  of  her 
own,  and  attending  all  the  others. 

January  saw  her  stepping  out  in  a  brand 
new  platinum  blue  mink  coat  and  brought 
rumors  of  new  romances  with  Bob  Tap- 
linger  and  L.  B.  Mayer. 

In  February,  nobody  less  than  the  great 
Moss  Hart  himself  got  in  touch  with  Greer 
for  the  purpose  of  discussing  a  Broadway 
play  with  her. 

I  don't  know  how  you  can  add  these 
notes  and  the  other  facts  I've  presented 
as  being  pessimistic  for  the  Garson  career. 

willing  to  gamble  on  Garson  .  .  . 

Personally,  I'm  willing  to  gamble  on 
this  next  comedy  to  put  Greer  Garson  back 
in  the  top  bracket  again.  It  may  take  two 
good  pictures  to  do  the  whole  job,  but  it 
can  be  done  if  M-G-M  doesn't  drop  the 
ball  in  story  and  direction. 

A  little  sidelight  I've  been  saving  (for 
the  icing  to  this  little  journalistic  cake)  is 
a  picture  of  Greer  Garson's  delightful 
sense  of  humor. 

For  some  unknown  reason,  a  New  York 
tradesman  who  makes  silk  stockings  to 
order  gave  out  an  interview  in  which  he 
said  that  he  had  to  put  pads  in  Greer's 
stockings  so  that  she  would  not  look 
knock-kneed. 

When  the  interview,  in  print,  finally  fell 
into  Greer's  hands,  she  sat  down  and  com- 
posed a  little  poem  to  send  the  stocking- 
maker — the  last  two  lines,  I  remember, 
said,  "I  know  my  acting's  bad,  but  please 
don't  knock  my  knees." 

Immediately  thereafter,  I  got  hold  of  the 
story,  called  Greer  for  a  statement  and  she 
said,  "Come  on  out  and  investigate  my 
knees  and  let's  get  this  straight  once  and 
for  all."  I  went  out,  met  Greer  at  the 
swimming  pool  where  she  was  entertaining 
a  number  of  guests.  Her  bathing  suit  didn't 
hide  her  knees,  and  I  had  no  complaints. 

I  wrote  an  item  singing  the  praises  of  the 
Garson  knees  in  my  column,  which  ap- 
peared in  the  New  York  World-Telegram, 
among  the  six  hundred  odd  papers  print- 
ing it  throughout  the  country. 

The  Amusements  Ednjpr  of  the  New 
York  World -Telegram,  Paul  Martin,  saw 
the  item  in  my  column,  and  promptly 
wrote  to  Greer  for  a  picture  of  her  knees. 

She  sent  it  with  a  notation,  saying,  "All 
right,  here's  the  picture.  By  now,  I  guess 
my  knees  do  come  under  the  heading  of 
amusements!" 

Take  it  from  me,  Greer  Garson's  no 
has-been.  She's  hit  a  slump  that's  not  her 
fault,  and  she'll  come  back  bigger  and 
better  than  ever! 


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PICTURES  OF  MOTHER 

(Continued  from  page  59) 


is  always  sweetness  and  light  at  our 
house,  let  me  assure  you  that  Mother 
and  I  don't  always  see  eye  to  eye.  She's 
strict;  she  has  rules,  and  I  frequently 
rebel.  For  instance,  9:30  is  my  bedtime 
on  weekends  and  holidays,  and  you  know 
that's  early.  I  am  not  allowed  to  live  at 
the  movies  the  way  some  of  the  kids  are. 
What's  more,  I  can  only  see  the  movies 
that  Mother  okays,  and  what  a  one-woman 
Johnston  office  she  is!  She's  strict  about 
some  other  things,  too.  When  we  have  to 
sell  tickets  to  benefits  for  school,  Mother 
doesn't  like  me  to  heckle  friends,  relatives 
or  neighbors.  Once  I  sold  dozens  of  tickets 
to  some  play  to  Claudette  Colbert  and  to 
Buddy  De  Sylva,  and  I  got  a  prize  for 
selling  the  most  tickets,  but  Mother  was 
wild. 

I  guess  the  thing  that  Mother  is  strictest 
about  is  being  on  time.  The  night  of  the 
premiere  of  Anna  and  the  King  of  Siam, 
Mother  and  Daddy  were  all  dressed  and 
sitting  downstairs,  and  I  was  still  splashing 
around  in  the  tub.  Mother  called  up,  "We 
can't  wait  for  you  very  much  longer, 
Missey,"  and  Daddy  said,  "Hurry  up  now, 
Murph!"  ("Murph"  is  a  contraction  of  my 
real  name,  Mary  Frances,  which  Daddy 
and  I  adore,  but  which  Mother  doesn't 
like  at  all.)  I  hurried  then  (in  a  leisurely 
sort  of  way,  Mother  claims),  but  before  I 
could  get  my  dress  on,  they  had  to  leave. 
That's  really  learning  the  hard  way! 

hillbilly  at  heart  .  .  . 

Mother  has  that  heavenly  sense  of 
humor,  and  in  spite  of  a  kind  of  dignity 
and  reserve  that's  just  part  of  her,  she's 
not  a  bit  of  a  stuffed  shirt.  (This  is  slight- 
ly off  the  record,  but  she  actually  chews 
bubble  gum  on  occasion,  and  incidentally, 
she's  not  very  good  at  it.)  I  remember  the 
first  day  I  brought  home  that  Jo  Stafford 
record  of  "Temptation."  You  know,  the 
crazy  hill-billy-ish  thing?  Mother  ab- 
solutely hooted  over  it.  I'd  catch  her  sing- 
ing it  under  her  breath.  In  time,  she  got 
to  hate  it,  but  she  did  like  it,  and  to  me 
that's  wonderful. 

Even  when  Mother  gets  mad  at  me,  her 
sense  of  humor  generally  takes  over  before 
very  long.  Last  fall,  I  started  school  at 
Marymount  in  Santa  Barbara,  and  the 
day  before  I  was  to  go,  Mother  and  I 
decided  what  I'd  wear,  so  that  there'd  be 
no  confusion  on  the  big  day.  We'd  chosen 
a  lovely  white  dress,  and  when  I  gel  up 
in  the  morning,  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
white  dress  would  be  lovelier  if  I  had  a 
better  tan.  It  wasn't  easy,  but  I  managed 
to  cover  my  arms,  legs  and  face  with  that 
tan  leg  makeup,  and  when  I  was  finished 
I  thought  I  was  an  absolute  dream.  Mother 
took  one  look  at  me,  and  did  one  of  those 
"ee-e-k"  faces  like  in  the  funny  books. 
"You  look  as  if  you  were  trying  out  for 
the  chorus,"  she  kept  sputtering  all  the 
time  we  were  scrubbing  my  makeup  off, 
"instead  of  going  to  a  convent — "  And 
then  she  began  to  giggle. 

Mother  is  hep.  Really  she  is.  I'm  rather 
given  to  slang,  and  a .  lot  of  grown-ups 
wouldn't  grasp  what  I  was  saying  most  of 
the  time.  Mother*  grasps  every  word.  She 
says  that  living  with  a  child  who  has 
slang-itis  is  like  living  with  someone  who 
has  the  measles.  You  don't  want  any  part 
of  the  darn  stuff,  but  somehow  you  catch 
it.  Mother  makes  up  wonderful  nonsense 
words  of  her  own,  like  flumola,  yicado 
and  slacky-lacky.  They  don't  mean  any- 
thing definite,  and  can  be  nouns,  verbs 
or  adjectives. 

Those  two!  They've  been  married  for 
twenty   years,   and  wouldn't   you  think 


they'd  be  beginning  to  take  each  other 
a  little  for  granted?  Not  at  all.  Mother  gets 
all  glamored  up  for  dinner  with  Daddy, 
as  if  he  were — oh,  Dana  Andrews  or  some- 
one. And  on  anniversaries  or  special  days 
like  Valentine's  Day,  she  always  wears 
Daddy's  currently  favorite  dress.  Daddy 
always  sends  her  flowers  on  special  oc- 
casions, and  Mother  gets  all  pink  and 
smiley  over  them. 

Mother  makes  up  little  verses  to  go 
with  her  presents,  but  I  can't  seem  to  do 
that.  Somehow  I  can  say  it  with  music 
better,  and  so  I've  written  two  pieces  of 
music,  one  for  Mother  (sort  of  Debussy- 
ish  light  melody)  and  one  for  Daddy — 
with  crashing  chords  that  sound  sort  of 
like  laughter — in  which  I've  tried  to  tell 
them  both  that  I  love  them  very  much. 
(Editor's  note:  Mary  Frances  is  too  mod- 
est to  tell  you  this,  but  Columbia  Records 
like  these  pieces  of  music  and  wanted 
her  to  work  out  a  couple  more  so  that 
they  could  do  an  album  of  them.  Her 
mother  reports  that  M.  F.'s  application 
and  concentration  haven't  been  too 
wonderful,  and  she  hasn't  started  on 
them  yet.) 

In  addition  to  all  her  other  wonderful 
qualities,  Mother  is  understanding.  She 
knows  what  I  want  almost  before  I  know 
myself.  For  instance,  last  Christmas  Eve 
I  told  her  that  I  wished  to  heavens  I'd 
thought  to  hint  for  a  manicure  kit  for 
Christmas.  Mother  said,  "Oh,  tsk-tsk, 
too  bad  you  didn't,  darling — "  And 
then  on  Christmas  morning,  there  was 
the  most  yicado  manicure  kit  you've 
ever  seen.  Maybe  the  most  under- 
standing thing  Mother  has  ever  done  was 
this  .  .  . 

Last  year,  when  I  was  still  at  day 
school,  we  had  a  play  called  The  Sym- 
phony of  Blue.  I  had  a  dance  to  do  in  it, 
and  a  lot  of  what  happened  in  the  play 
depended  on  my  dance.  The  day  of  the  play 
I  woke  up  with  a  raging,  blazing  fever. 
I  heard  Mother  call  the  school  and  tell 
them  I  wouldn't  be  able  to  appear  and 
then  everything  went  black.  I  moaned  and 
pawed  the  air  and  behaved  like  an  infant 
(and  after  all  I'm  twelve!).  But  if  you 
knew  how  I  wanted  to  be  in  that  play. 
Mother  kept  taking  my  temperature  and 
looking  more  miserable  every  time  she 
took  it,  and  then  about  four  o'clock  she 
said  to  me,  "I'm  going  to  do  an  awful  thing, 
Missey.  An  awful  thing.  After  a  while 
I'm  going  to  let  you  get  up  and  put  on 
that  ridiculous  costume  and  go  and  dance." 

mother  knows  best  .  .  . 

"It  can't  kill  her,"  I  heard  her  telling 
Daddy.  "The  doctor  says  she  isn't  com- 
ing down  with  anything  contagious.  And 
this  is  important.  This  is  big — " 

I  went  and  did  my  dance,  and  the 
next  day  the  fever  was  gone.  The 
doctor  couldn't  explain  it,  but  I  think 
I  can.  I  just  know  Mother  prayed  it 
out  of  me  all  the  way  to  school  in  the 
car. 

People  are  always  asking  me  which  of 
Mother's  movies  is  my  favorite.  That's 
hard  to  say,  but  I  always  think  her  last 
one  is  best.  Right  now,  naturally,  my 
favorite  is  Life  With  Father,  and  I  Re- 
member Mama  will  be  as  soon  as  I  see  it 
I  can  hardly  wait.  I  used  to  mind  ter- 
ribly that  Mother  was  at  the  studio  so 
much,  and  I'd  long  for  her  to  retire  and 
stay  home  with  me  all  the  time.  I've  got 
more  sense  now,  and  I'm  so  proud  of  her 
I  never  want  her  to  retire.  She's  my 
favorite  mother,  but  she's  my  favorite 
actress,  too. 


GOOD  NEWS 

(Continued   from   page  10) 


doubt  if  he  will  take  a  step  as  rash  as  this — 
but  I  don't  doubt  that  he  is  in  love  with  Linda. 

Certainly  Miss  Christian's  romance  with  him 
has  brought  her  not  only  happiness — but  she's 
free  to  admit  that  it  has  upped  her  movie  salary 
about  four  times.  Before  all  the  publicity,  Linda 
received  $250  per  week  on  an  M-G-M  stock 
contract. 

When  she  was  loaned  out  to  Sol  Lesser  for 
Tarzan  and  the  Mermaid,  she  received  $500. 
Then  came  the  beeg  romance  and  her  new  deal 
with  Lesser  calls  for  $1,000  weekly. 

Linda  is  a  Mexican  beauty  with  red  hair 
whose  name  has  been  romantically  linked  with 
someone  of  importance  ever  since  I  have  been 
hearing  about  her.  Her  private  life  reads  much 
more  like  a  novel  than  a  biography.  This  time 
last  year  there  were  whispers  all  over  Holly- 
wood that  Turhan  Bey's  life  was  in  danger 
because  he  was  courting  the  fair  Linda  prac- 
tically in  the  teeth  of  one  of  Mexico's  important 
diplomats,  supposedly  madly  in  love  with  her. 

When  she  came  up  to  Hollywood  on  one  of 
her  frequent  jaunts,  her  magnificent  jewels 
were  the  talk  of  the  town.  Beaux  flocked  from 
all  directions  to  take  her  night  clubbing.  Al- 
though she  did  little  on  the  screen,  her  name 
was  as  well  known  in  the  gossip  columns  as 
Lana  Turner's. 

But,  ever  since  she  met  Ty  in  Rome  last  year, 
a  marked  change  has  come  over  the  former- 
girl-about-town.  There  isn't  a  guieter  couple 
in  Hollywood.  Almost  every  night,  she  and  Ty 
dine  guietly  at  his  home  with  dinner  sent  in 
from  some  nearby  cafe — and  then  they  look  at 


I  do  NOT  think  Iris  Bynum  will  be  the  next 
Mrs.  Clark  Gable,  'though  heaven  knows,  no 
one  ever  knows  what  will  happen  in  this  town. 

Iris,  like  Linda  Christian,  is  a  flaming  red- 
head. Several  'years  ago,  she  was  a  great 
beauty  knocking  them  for  a  loop  when  she 


showed  up  at  night  clubs  on  the  arm  of  Tony 
Martin  or  Turhan  Bey  (that  boy  must  have 
every  telephone  number  in  town).  Iris  is  still 
attractive,  but  more  subdued  in  her  clothes  and 
coiffures. 

She  has  played  supporting  roles  in  M-G-M, 
Paramount  and  Warner  Brothers  movies  but  her 
career  was  never  one-two-three  with  her  dates. 
She  is  far  more  night  club  society  than  career 
girl. 

Blunt  and  outspoken,  Iris  amuses  Clark  with 
her  salt  and  pepper  manner  of  talking.  She 
goes  hunting  with  him  now  and  then  and  they 
freguently  go  to  the  races. 

Clark  once  said,  "Iris  is  a  wonderful  scout, 
and  I'm  lonesome."  That  was  enough  to  start 
a  rumor  like  a  prairie  fire  that  they  were  get- 
ting married.  The  story  that  had  me  up  half 
the  night  checking  it  was — Clark  and  Iris  were 
going  to  the  races,  then  they  were  going  on  to 
Las  Vegas  to  be  married. 

Well,  it  wasn't  true  and  Clark  is,  at  this 
writing,  still  a  bachelor.  And  I  bet  I'll  be  saying 
that  same  thing  about  him  this  time  next  year. 
*        *  * 

Joan  Bennett  and  Walter  Wanger  gave  a 
charming  cocktail  party  to  welcome  to  Holly- 
wood Jean  Simmons,  the  little  English  girl  you 
will  soon  see  in  Hamlet  with  Laurence  Olivier, 
and  whom  you've  already  seen  as  Estrella  in 
Great  Expectations. 

When  she  walked  in,  I  thought,  "That's 
Vivien  Leigh's  younger  sister."  You've  never 
seen  two  girls  look  so  much  alike.  They  walk 
alike,  talk  alike  and  have  the  same  color  eyes 
and  hair — only  Jean  is  more  vivacious. 

The  British  contingent  was  out  full  force,  the 
Ronald  Colmans,  Herbert  Marshalls,  Edna  Best 
et  al.  I  was  surprised  to  see  Ingrid  Bergman, 
who  so  seldom  attends  anything  but  industry 
(remember  the  word,  Ingrid?)  affairs,  and 
even  more  surprised  to  spot  Jean  Arthur,  a 
lady  recluse  if  I  ever  knew  one. 


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117 


LOUELLA 
PARSONS' 
GOOD 
NEWS 

{Continued  from  page  117) 


Jane  Powell  rewords  J.  Durante,  given  a 
testimonial  dinner  by  Mt.  Sinai  Men's  Club 
of  L.  A.,  for  "never  refusing  benefit  show." 


Kay  Kyser,  who's  just  completed  10  years  on  NBC,  was  another  star  honored  by  a 
testimonial  dinner.  This  one  was  held  at  Beverly  Hills  Hotel  Crystal  Room,  at- 
tended  by  imposing    list  of   celebrities,    including   Alice    Faye   and    Phil  Harris. 


England's  Jean  Simmons  was  honored  at  Crystal  Room  cock- 
tail party  given  by  Walter  Wanger  and  J.  A.  Rank.  Jean 
carried  her  autograph  book.   (Here  Ingrid  Bergman  signs  it.) 


Jean  was  with  her  husband,  Frank  Ross,  who 
is  once  again  taking  up  preparations  for  getting 
The  Robe  on  the  screen. 

Constance  Bennett  and  Maria  Montez,  both 
looking  like  fashion  plates,  were  particular 
favorites  of  the  cameramen  present. 

Had  a  quiet  little  chat  with  Myrna  Loy  who 
told  me  she  was  still  very  depressed  over  the 
death  of  her  close  friend,  Jan  Masaryk,  the 
Czech  patriot. 

If  you  don't  think  movie  actors  can  be  wide- 
eyed  fans  themselves  you  should  have  seen 
the  way  Peter  Lawford,  Elizabeth  Taylor,  Ann 
Blyth,  Lon  McCallister  and  the  other  kids  sur- 
rounded Ronald  Colman,  hanging  on  his  every 
word  as  though  it  were  gospel.  And  Ronnie 
loved  it! 

I  must  say  the  guest  of  honor  has  courage. 
She  told  me  she  was  crazy  about  Americans 
because  they're  not  stiff  and  reserved  like  the 
British! 


What  a  cute  trick  she  is.  When  she  came 
over  to  my  house,  she  kicked  her  shoes  off  and 
walked  around  the  garden  in  her  stocking  feet 
because  her  shoe  hurt  her  foot.  She  had  cut 
it  badly  on  some  coral  in  the  Fiji  Islands  where 
she  made  a  movie. 

Close-Up  of  Wanda  Hendrix:  She  has  the 
smallest  waist  in  town — seventeen  inches  .  .  . 
Although  she  and  war  hero  Audie  Murphy  date 
steady,  she  gets  her  first  screen  kiss  in  Abigail 
— from  Macdonald  Carey  who  was  more  nerv- 
ous than  she  .  .  .  She  and  Audie  go  fishing 
together  and  she  is  a  good  shot  .  .  .  Amusing, 
the  way  he  met  her.  He  was  in  the  editorial 
room  of  a  magazine  and  picked  up  a  copy.  On 
the  cover  was  Wanda's  picture.  Audie  said  he 
would  sure  like  to  meet  that  girl.  So  they  put 
in  a  phone  call — and  that  was  that  .  .  .  She 
has  just  started  wearing  bangs  because  she 
thinks  they  make  her  look  older  than  her  eight- 


een years.  That's  what  she  thinks!  Sometimes 
she  doesn't  look  over  fifteen,  even  with  the 
bangs  .  .  .  She  can  be  stubborn  and  back  up 
like  a  mule,  but  only  about  important  things. 
For  the  most  part,  she's  amiable  and  easy  to 
get  along  with  .  .  .  Some  very  important  men  in 
Hollywood  consider  her  the  best  ingenue  actress 
since  Janet  Gaynor.  She  has  never  seen  a 
Gaynor  movie,  but  she  would  like  to  .  .  .  She 
would  work  every  day  and  never  take  a  vaca- 
tion if  they  would  let  her.  Right  now  she's  in 
two  movies  at  the  same  time,  Abigaii,  Dear 
Heart  and  Tatlock  Millions  .  .  .  She  tries  to 
keep  it  a  secret  that  her  weight  goes  down  from 
a  normal  98  pounds  to  90  pounds  when  she 
works  .  .  .  She  doesn't  fool  anyone.  It's  doc- 
tor's orders  that  she  eat  five  meals  a  day  and 
drink  two  quarts  of  milk  .  .  .  Her  two  favorite 
movie  heroes  are  Robert  Montgomery  and  Alan 
Ladd.  She  would  be  the  happiest  girl  in  the 
world  if  she  could  play  Juliet  on  the  screen. 


IT'S  NEW-IT'S  ROMANTIC  —  IT'S 


^ftf  itfatioit 


Newest,  most  youthful  pattern  in  all  its  shining  world,  Plantation 
reflects  for  your  future,  the  gracious  splendor  of  the  past.  w 
Its  design  soars  high  as  fluted  columns ...  its  rich  detail 
is  deep  as  the  heart  of  a  rose.  Ask  your  jeweler  to 
show  you  this  lovely  new  pattern  in  the  service  that  gives  you 
More  For  Your  "SILVER"  Dollar— for  instance  the  42-Piece 
Service  for  eight  is  $39.75.  Five-Piece  Place  Settings  are  $4.50 


*Trode-mark      Copyn'sht  1948  Oneida  Ltd. 


Fabric  Designer 


agrees: 


In  designing  fabrics  and  in  choosing  a  cigarette,  EXPERIENCE  IS  THE  BEST  TEACHER!' 


They  walk!  At  the  head 
of  the  fashion  parade. 

They  talk!  Of  elegance 
end  charm. 

Stephanie  Cartwright's 
"Conversational  Prints' 

An  overnight  hit  — 
hut  to  their  creator 
they  were  the  "happy 
result  of  years  of 
experience."  Miss 
Cartwright  feels  the 
same  way  about  her 
choice  of  a  cigarette. 

"Over  the  years  I've 
tried  many  brands 
—  Camels  are  the 
'choice  of  experi- 
ence' with  me,"  says 
Miss  Cartwright. 


'fry—  ff 

0tcr  /-<t-4*e> 


T  for  Taste... T  for  Throat., 


That's  your  proving  ground 
for  any  cigarette.  See  if 
Camels  don't  suit  your 
"T-Zone"  to  a  "T." 


"/Conversational  prints"?  Yes,  they  tell  their  own  story 
of  fabulous  places  and  people. 

And  the  fact  that  more  people  are  smoking  Camels 
than  ever  before  tells  its  own  story  too. 

It's  the  story  of  millions  of  smokers  who  have  tried  and 
compared  different  brands  .  .  .  and  found  that  Camels 
suit  their  "T-Zones"  to  a  "T." 

Yes,  "T-Zone" — for  that's  the  all-important  area  of 
Taste  and  Throat  .  .  .  your  real  proving  ground 
for  any  cigarette.  Try  Camels.  Let  your  taste  and  your 
throat  tell  you  why  Camels  are  the  "choice  of  experience." 


According  to  a  Nationwide  survey: 

More  doctors  smoke 
camels  than  any  other 
cigarette 


When  113,597  doctors 
were  asked  by  three  in- 
dependent research  or- 
ganizations to  name  the 
cigarette  they  smoked, 
more  doctors  named 
Camel  than  any  other 
brand ! 


The  Most  Revolutionary  Undie  Designed  in  a  Decadei 


You  VON  7  need  a  Girdle? 


You  DON'T  like  a  Garter  Belt? 


THEN  yOU'U  BE  MAD  ABOUT. . . 


UKUC- 


The  undie  that  can  be  worn  with  garters 
. . .  and  never  slips  off  the  waist. 

All  you  fashion-wise  lassies  can  pass  the  good 
word  along.. .SUSP ANTS  is  the  thrilling  new  star 
of  the  "undie"  world.  It's  goodby  to  girdles  and 
garter  beltsl  Just  attach  garters  and  you  have  an 
undie — with  GARTER  TABS — that  suspends  stock- 
ings wrinkle -free,  and  mysteriously  hugs  your 
waist  whether  you  bend,  twist  or  stand  on  your 
head.  The  secret  is  the  new  "pivot-point"  bias 
pattern  —  which  neutralizes,  thus  eliminating,  all 
pull.  Moreover,  SUSPANTS  exerts  just  enough 
figure  control  to  make  it  the  perfect  accessory 
for  evening  and  daytime  wear — with  or  with- 
out garters.  Featured  at  all  leading  stores . . . 
individually  cellophane  wrapped  ...  in  all 
colors,  $1.50  and  up. 


JUNIOR  MISS  SIZES:  9  TO  17 


MILLS 


A  McKAY  PRODUCT 

Pat.  App.  for 


Division  of  McKay  Products  Corp. 
Empire  State  Bldg.,  New  York,  N.Y. 


f  f 


Thornton  cutie  Patti  Marcheret 
of  Flushing,  L.  I.,  has  a  smile  that 
takes  her  places.  C'mon  along! 


Going  around  in  circles  (the  nicest 
circles!)  is  pert  Patti  Marcheret  — 
a  famous  name  model  at  18 !  Patti 
is  a  teen-queen  with  more  dates 
than  a  history  book.  Know  why? 
Because  the  same  bright  'n  beautiful 
Ipana  smile  that  makes  her  such 
a  terrific  fashion  model  has  a 
devastating  effect  on  every  lad  she 
meets.  Take  a  leaf  from  her  date-book 
—get  Ipana  today ! 


Music  has  charms  —  but  even  a  Stardust  mel- 
ody can't  outshine  the  charm  of  Patti's  smile 
for  current  escort  Bill  Sommer!  Because  Patti 
knows  this:  firm,  healthy  gums  are  important  to 
sparkling  teeth,  a  radiant  smile.  So  she  never 
skips  her  Ipana  care ! 


Limber-r-r-r!  Patti  believes 
in  ballet  routines  for 
keeping  her  figure  see- 
worthy.  And  she  follows 
this  "model"  dental  routine 
for  guarding  her  dazzling 
smile:  regular  brushing 
with  Ipana  Tooth  Paste, 
then  gentle  gum  massage. 


Dentists  recommend  Ipana  2  to  1 

over  any  other  tooth  paste.  And  9  out  of 
10  dentists  recommend  massage  regu- 
larly or  in  special  cases.  (Facts  from 
recent  national  survey.)  Ask  your  dentist 
about  massage  — and  follow  his  advice. 
Help  him  guard  your  smile  of  beauty! 


Advertisement 
***** 


Don't  be 
Half-safe! 


VALDA 


by 

SHERMAN 


JULY,  1948 


At  the  first  blush  of  womanhood  many  mys- 
terious changes  take  place  in  your  body.  For 
instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under  your 
arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type  of  perspi- 
ration you  have  never  known  before.  This  is 
closely  related  to  physical  development  and 
causes  an  unpleasant  odor  on  both  your  per- 
son and  your  clothes. 

There  is  nothing  "wrong"  with  you.  It's  just 
another  sign  you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a 
girl  ...  so  now  you  must  keep  yourself  safe 
with  a  truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers— Underarm  odor  is  a  real  handi- 
cap at  this  romantic  age,  and  the  new  cream 
deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially  to  over- 
come this  very  difficulty.  It  kills  this  odor 
on  contact  in  2  seconds,  then  by  antiseptic 
action  prevents  the  formation  of  all  odor  for 
48  hours  and  keeps  you  shower-bath  fresh. 
It  also  stops  perspiration  and  so  protects 
against  a  second  danger— perspiration  stains. 
Since  physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  can  now  cause  your  apocrine  glands 
to  fairly  gush  perspiration,  a  dance,  a  date, 
an  embarrassing  remark  may  easily  make 
you  perspire  and  offend,  or  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  are  not  alike  — so  remember 
—  no  other  deodorant  tested  stops  perspira- 
tion and  odor  so  completely  yet  so  safely  as 
new  Arrid.  Its  safety  has  been  proved  by 
doctors.  That's  why  girls  your  age  buy  more 
Arrid  than  any  other  age  group.  In  fact,  more 
men  and  women  everywhere  use  Arrid  than 
any  other  deodorant.  It's  antiseptic,  used  by 
117,000  nurses. 

Intimate  protection  is  needed  —  so  protect 
yourself  with  this  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears.  This  new  Arrid, 
with  the  amazing  new  ingredient  Creamogen, 
will  not  crystallize  or  dry  out  in  the  jar.  The 
American  Laundering  Institute  has  awarded 
Arrid  its  Approval  Seal— harmless  to  fabrics. 
Arrid  is  safe  for  the  skin— non-irritating— can 
be  used  right  after  shaving. 

Don't  be  half-safe.  During  this  "age  of  ro- 
mance" don't  let  perspiration  problems  spoil 
your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe  — be  Arrid-safe! 
Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get  Arrid  now  at  your 
favorite  drug  counter  —  only  394'  plus  tax. 


modern  screen 


stories 

"WE  ADOPTED  A  BABY"  by  Linda  Darnell  27 

HE  NEVER  LOVED  HER  (June  Haver)  by  Hedda  Hopper  28 

THAT'S  PECK  ON  THE  RIGHT  (Gregory  Peck)  by  Betty  Charteris  30 

"THEY  CALL  ME  MOTHER"  by  Dale  Evans  32 

APARTMENT  FOR  DIANA  (Diana  Lynn)  by  Prince  Michael  Romanoff  34 

HAPPY  ENDING!  (Jane  Wyman-Ronald  Reagan)  by  Erskine  Johnson  38 

SEA  FEVER  (Guy  Madison-Gail  Russell-Rory  Calhoun- Vera-Ellen)   40 

HOW  GLAMOROUS  CAN  YOU  GET?  (Ava  Gardner)   44 

BANNED  IN  HOLLYWOOD!  by  Cobina  Wright  46 

DON'T  MARRY  A  HANDSOME  MAN  (Louis  Jourdan)  by  Quique  Jourdan  48 

THE  10  GREATEST  GABLE  STORIES  (Clark  Gable)  by  Mervyn  LeRoy  50 

CONGRATULATIONS,  DARLING — ( Betty  Hutton)  by  Marion  Hutton  54 

"I  CORNERED  VAN"  (Van  Johnson)  by  Art  Carter  56 

"HAPPY  ANNIE"  by  Ann  Sheridan  58 

WHAT  EVERY  WIFE  SHOULD  KNOW  (Gene  Tierney)  by  Florabel  Muir  60 

NEW  LOOK  (Margaret  O'Brien)  by  Howard  Sharpe  62 

PERSONAL  APPEARANCE  (Marshall  Thompson)  by  Bill  Lyon  66 

features 

TO  OUR  READERS  '.   4 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  Parsons  6 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "The  Emperor  Waltz"   24 

departments 

REVIEWS  by  Jean  Kinkead  16 

INFORMATION  DESK  by  Beverly  Linet  25 

FASHION  by  Constance'  Bartel  72 

BEAUTY:  Sunlight  On  Your  Hair  by  Carol  Carter  88 

THE  FANS  by  Shirley  Frohlich  90 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  106 

COVER  PORTRAIT  OF  JUNE  HAVER  (Star  of  Silver  Lining) 
BY  L.  WILLINGER 

Playsuit  worn  by  Miss  Haver  designed  by  Clifford  of  del  Mar  Sportswear 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor 


HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR.  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
ISABEL  SCHLEYEN,  assistant  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  information  desk 
CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 

BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 

DON  ORNITZ,  staff  photographer 

BERT  PARRY,  staff  photographer 

IEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 

GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 

IRENE  TURNER,  research  editor 


/ 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  261  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 

Vol.  37,  No.  2,  July,  1948.  Copyright,  1948,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  261  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in 
U.  S.  A.  and  Canada  $1 .80  a  year,-  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930, 
at  the  post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for 
the  return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


And  look  what's  coming !  Irving  Berlin's 
"Easter  Parade"  M-G-M  Musical  in  Tech- 
nicolor, Starring  Judy  Garland,  Fred 
Astaire,  Peter  lawford,  Ann  Miller. 


M  *  G  *  M  presents 

CUARK  LAN  A 


ms-ltfiiiieit 

ANNE  BAXTER  JOHN  HODIAK 


RAY  COLLINS  •  GLADYS  COOPER  •  CAMERON  MITCHELL 
A  MERVYN  LeROY  PRODUCTION 

Original  Stoiy  by  SIDNEY  KINGSLEY  •  Adaptation  by  JAN  LUSTIG  •  Screen  Play  by  PAUL  OSBORN 

Directed  by  MERVYN  LeROY  •  Produced  by  SIDNEY  FRANKLIN 

In  association  with  GOTTFRIED  REINHARDT-a  METRO-GOLD  WYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into -hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  pariicles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safely!" 


LATER-Thanks  to  Colgate  Dental  Cream 


4 


HAVE  YOU  NOTICED  a  man  named  Romanoff  has  been  working  for  us 
lately?  We're  pretty  awed  by  him.  He's  pretty  awed  by  himself.  Always 
refers  to  himself  as  "Romanoff,"  in  the  third  person.  "Romanoff  was  astonished," 
he  says.  Like  that.  He  first  started  writing  for  publication  in  December  of  1947. 
when  he  was  printed  by  four  papers.  Right  now,  he's  in  84  papers,  which  doesn't 
surprise  him  in  the  least  because  of  his  certainty  that  he's  a  bright  and  amusing 
fellow.  He  claims  he  had  several  reasons  for  turning  literary.  One  was  Billy 
Rose.  "If  a  commoner  can  do  it,"  Romanoff  said  airily,  "it  should  be  a  breeze 
for  royalty.  Am  I  not  a  famous  restaurateur,  and  confidante  of  the  Hollywood 
great?"  Nobody  gave  him  any  argument  (he  was  talking  to  himself)  and  he 
promptly  got  launched  in  the  St.  Louis  Post  Dispatch  with  a  column  about 
Rouben  Mamoulian,  the  director.  The  column  began.  "Rouben  Mamoulian  was  I 
eating  chopped  liver  in  my  restaurant  the  other  day."  It  was  an  auspicious 
beginning  ...  In  this  issue,  Prince  Mike  tells  all  about  Diana  Lynn's  apart- 
ment. Says  the  first  time  he  ever  saw  Diana,  he  asked  himself,  "Romanoff,  what 

kind  of  a  house  does  that  woman  live  in?" 

■ 

IN  THIS  ISSUE  of  Modern  Screen,  on  page  28,  there  is  a  June  Haver  story 
called  "He  Never  Loved  Her."  It  does  not  apply  to  Henry  or  me,  both  of 
whom  love  her  passionately;  we  cared  for  her  not  wisely,  but  too  well.  Last 
April,  we  did  her  a  grievous  injustice.  We  printed  an  article  written  from  her 
ex-husband,  Jimmy  Zito's,  point  of  view.  This  naturally  presented  only  his  side 
of  the  story.  We've  finally  got  June's  reply,  and  we  present  it  with  a  vast 
apology  for  our  past  misdeed.  Maybe  Jimmy  Zito  never  loved  her,  but  he's  the 
only  man  alive  who  can  make  that  statement.  .  .  . 

AND  WE  HAVE  one  more  prize  to  crow  over.  We're  enlarging  Modern 
Screen's  fashion  scope;  every  month  from  here  on,  in  addition  to  our  regular 
fashion  section,  you'll  be  reading  style  news  by  Cobina  Wright,  Hollywood 
hostess,  socialite  and  general  authority  on  what's  chic.  Her  first  M.  S.  feature- 
about  bathing  suits — is  on  page  46. 

ALBERT    P.  DELACORT1-. 


"What  makes  this  sinful  — our  love  or  their  malicious  tongues?' 


1111! 


"A  town  can  be  too  small  for  my  kind  of  love ! 


'No  law ...  no  covenant. . .  can  keep  me  from  him!" 


i 


"You're  all  the  woman  a  man  like  me  ever  needs!" 


,ea»-tbeat 


CORNEL  m 

WILDE  mfe 

as  i  I  W 

DAVE-  \ 

11 


LINDA  f 
DARNELtl 

as 

ALGERIA 


ANNE 
BAXTER 


as 
JULIA 


KIRK 


DOUGLAS  fcfcfc 

TUCKER 


and 


est-se//erf 


CENTURY-FOX 


Oilman 


•ood  news 


WEDDING 
OF 

THE  TEAR 


by  ljuella  parsons 


The  Turner-Topping  wedding  took  place  in  W.  R.  Wil- 
kerson's  Bel  Air  home.  (He's  publisher  who  discovered 
Lana.)     Bride  came  down  this  flower-decked  stairway. 


■  Lana  Turner's  marriage  to  Henry  J.  (Bob) 
Topping  might  have  been  a  scene  from  one 
of  her  most  lavish  movies.  The  honey-colored 
glamor  girl  was  married  among  such  a  pro- 
fusion of  gardenias,  delphinium,  roses,  white 
larkspur,  smilax  and  white  daisies  as  has 
never  been  seen  outside  of  a  hot  house. 

Lana  told  me  that  the  thing  that  gave  her 
the  jitters  the  most  was  the  fear  that  Bob's 
wedding  ring  would  be  lost.  Her  matron  of 
honor  had  to  hold  the  groom's  ring  and  her 
bouquet,  and  Lana  was  afraid  in  the  con- 
fusion it  would  be  dropped  and  she  saw  her- 
self scrambling  in  her  champagne-colored 
chantilly  wedding  gown  to  find  the  groom's 
wedding  ring. 

"I  knew  my  ring  would  be  all  right  because 
Billy  Wilkerson,  the  best  man,  had  it  safe, 
but  he  didn't  have  a  big  bouquet  to  carry. 
You  see.  Bob  and  I  decided  on  a  double-ring 
ceremony  because  we  want  this  for  keeps." 

The  very  serious  wedding  service  was  per- 
formed by  Reverend  Stewart  P.  MacClennan, 
retired  pastor  of  the  Hollywood  Presbyterian 
Church,  before  a  candle-lighted  altar  in  the 
living-room.  "This  time  it's  for  keeps,"  Lana 
said.  Violins  sweetly  played  the  Lohengrin 
Wedding  March,  "O  Promise  Me,"  "I  Love 
You  Truly,"  "Because"  and  "Who  But  You," 
which  was  requested  by  the  bride. 

After  the  service  was  over,  taking  her 
little  daughter  by  the  hand,  Lana  went  up- 
stairs to  rest  and  get  herself  in  readiness  for 


the    reception    that    was    to    follow  soon. 

Lana  said,  "Cheryl  stole  the  show."  She 
looked  so  darling  in  her  little  turquoise  blue 
dress  covered  with  white  lace,  and  she 
walked  so  straight. 

"She  was  so  tired  after  it  was  all  over," 
said  Lana,  "she  had  to  go  home  and  go  to 
bed  and  not  wait  up  for  the  reception.  She 
worked  harder  than  she's  ever  worked  in  her 
life  to  do  it  just  right." 

At  the  reception,  receiving  with  Lana,  was 
her  mother,  Mrs.  Mildred  Turner,  who  looked 
beautiful,  and  so  young  I  wouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  some  day  she'll  marry  again. 

My  eyes  were  taken  with  the  bank  of  solid 
gardenias  on  the  trellis  back  of  the  banquet 
set  out  for  the  reception  guests.  64  in  all. 
They  looked  as  if  they  were  actually  growing 
on  the  trellis,  they  were  so  beautiful.  Lana 
and  Bob  came  out  and  joined  the  wedding 
guests.  Joan  Crawford  and  Greg  Bautzer,  in 
the  spirit  of  the  occasion,  made  up.  Probably 
by  the  time  this  is  in  the  magazine  they  won't 
be  speaking  again — or  they  may  be  married. 
Greg  was  Lana's  first  boy  friend,  and  is  now 
her  lawyer. 

Errol  Flynn  and  his  pretty  Nora  were  at 
the  reception,  and  I  told  Errol  how  pretty  I 
think  his  wife  has  grown. 

He  said,  "That's  unimportant — she's  pretty 
inside." 

I  went  with  Mrs.  Darryl  Zanuck,  who  looked 
like  a  little  doll.  I  couldn't  help  but  think 


when  Lana  threw  her  arms  around  Virginia's 
neck  and  held  her  close  that  it  must  have 
brought  back  memories  to  see  Virginia,  for 
Lana  used  to  tell  Mrs.  Zanuck  all  her  troubles 
when  she  was  in  love  with  Tyrone  Power. 

Lana  wasn't  going  to  run  the  risk  of  offend- 
ing any  of  the  newspaper  people,  and  they 
outnumbered  the  guests  about  three  to  one 
at  the  reception.  Everyone  was  there — trade 
papers,  wire  services,  magazine  writers.  The 
guests  had  a  good  time  at  the  reception  and 
lingered  on  until  Lana  and  Bob  drove  away, 
Lana  wearing  a  blue  silk  shantung  suit.  The 
car  had  the  typical  "Just  Married"  sign,  and 
they  drove  a  few  blocks  away  to  the  Beverly 
Hills  Hotel  where  they  spent  their  wedding 
night. 

She  showed  me  her  wedding  ring,  platinum, 
a  simple  one,  at  her  request,  but  her  wed- 
ding gift  was  a  gorgeous  diamond  bracelet. 
Lana's  wedding  dress  was  pretty  well  known 
before  she  wore  it,  but  at  the  last  minute,  she 
changed  her  wedding  hat.  It  was  a  lace  affair 
■ — a  halo — and  very  becoming.  She  carried 
four  white  orchids. 

The  terrace  of  publisher  Billy  Wilkerson's 
home  was  still  ablaze  with  lights,  the  violins 
were  still  playing  sentimental  tunes,  the 
wedding  cake  had  been  cut,  the  minister  was 
saying  a  dignified  goodbye  .  .  .  the  bride  and 
groom  turned  to  wave  through  the  back  of 
the  car. 

And  Lana,  queen  of  the  glamor  girls,  was 


Cheryl  Christine  Crane,  Land's  five-year-old  daughter 
by  her  marriage  to  Stephen  Crane,  was  flower  girl  at 
April  26th  affair.    She  wore  turquoise  satin  under  lace. 


Rev.  S.  P.  MacClennan  performed  the  six-minute  ceremony. 
Lana  wore  champagne-colored  gown  of  satin  and  lace.  Sara 
Hamilton   was   matron   of   honor,    Billy   Willcerson   was   best  man. 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Henry  (Bob)  J.  Topping  Jr.  A  few  hours  before  the  ceremony,  the 
couple  drove  to  Santa  Monica  where  their  marriage  license  was  issued.  Lana  gave 
her  name  as  Julia  Jean  Turner  Crane,  her  age  as  27.    Topping  said  he  was  34. 


YOUR 
BABY'S 
BILL  OF 
RIGHTS 


. . .  calls  for  regular  meals  . . .  baths . . . 
plenty  of  love  .  .  .  and  the  best  of 
everything— including  the  Safety  Pins  that 
anchor  his  pants. 

That's  why  smart,  conscientious 
Mothers  buy  DeLong  Safety  Pins . . . 
made  of  sturdy  brass  wire  that  won't 
rust,  and  with  guarded  coils  that 
can't  get  caught  in  the  diaper  material 


GUARDED  COILS 

All  Brass  .  .  Won't  Rust 
Quarded  Coils  .  .  Won't  Catch 


married  and  ready  for  her  London  trip  as  Mrs. 
Bob  Topping. 

*        *  * 

The  long  delayed  honeymoon  of  Van  John- 
son and  Evie,  his  bride  of  a  year,  lasted  just 
ten  days — more  than  half  the  time  being 
spent  on  the  boat  to  Honolulu. 

Actually  Van  and  Evie  were  in  the  ro- 
mantic tropical  isle  of  Oahu  only  four  days. 
"Hardly  long  enough  to  go  native,"  grinned 
Van  swinging  a  long  leg  over  a  chair  in 
my  playroom.  "But,  baby — it  was  wonder- 
ful, wonderful — every  four  days  of  it." 

I  had  heard  the  Johnsons  didn't  like  Hono- 
lulu and  hurried  home. 

My  redheaded  friend  wiggled  the  freckles 
across  his  sunburned  nose  in  his  own  brand 
of  denial.  "Phooey — we  loved  it.  You 
know,  this  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
had  ever  been  on  a  luxury  liner  like  that — 
and  I  know  now  Evie  and  I  are  going  to 
Europe  just  as  soon  as  we  can  arrange  it. 

"From  the  moment  we  walked  up  the  gang- 
plank, we  were  just  a  couple  of  typical  tour- 
ists. We  could  hardly  wait  to  get  in  on 
everything — the  deck  games,  the  promenades, 
our  first  meals  in  the  dining  salon." 


Van  reached  over,  took  the  top  off  a  glass 
dish,  and  popped  a  chocolate  into  his  mouth. 
Well,  my  sunburned  friend  can  afford  to. 
He's   pounds   thinner   and   looks  wonderful. 

"The  wonderful  part  was  that  everyone 
was  apparently  on  a  vacation  just  as  we 
were,  and  didn't  want  to  be  bothered.  We 
didn't  run  into  a  single  autograph  hound 
on  the  boat. 

"Of  course,  when  the  boat  pulled  in,  it 
was  different.  I  guess  my  nose  would  have 
been  out  of  joint  if  there  hadn't  been  any 
fans  around  to  greet  us.  They  strung  leis  of 
tiny  gardenias  and  baby  orchids  around  our 
necks  until  we  could  hardly  see  over  them. 
Isn't  that  a  beautiful  custom,  Louella?" 

I  know  what  he  meant.  I  have  been  to 
Honolulu  several  times  myself  and  those 
smiling  native  faces,  the  over-powering  sweet 
smell  of  the  flowers  and  the  happy,  strum- 
ming music  are  charming  things  the  visitor 
never  forgets. 

"I  hadn't  been  in  the  hotel  five  minutes  be- 
fore I  was  in  a  bathing  suit  and  out  on  a 
surf  board,"  Van  went  on.  "I  wanted  to  do 
what  everyone  else  did.  I  had  such  a  good 
time  in  the  outrigger  canoes  and  riding  the 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

When  it  gets  good  and  hot  you  like  to  settle  down  on  the  back  porch  to  enjoy  a 
magazine  like  MODERN  SCREEN — and  we're  going  to  make  it  easy  for  you.  We 
have  500  free  subscriptions  to  the  August,  September  and  October  issues  sitting 
on  the  mailroom  shelf.  If  you're  among  the  first  500  readers  to  mail  in  the  ques- 
tionnaire below,  one  of  those  subscriptions  will  be  yours.   So  hurry! 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  July  issue?  WRITE  THE 
NUMBERS  I,  2,  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES. 


We  Adopted  A  Baby  by  Linda 

Darnell   □ 

He  Never  Loved  Her  (June  _ 

Haver)  by  Hedda  Hopper  □ 

That's  Peck  on  the  Right 

(Gregory  Peck)   □ 

"They  Call  Me  Mother"  by  Dale 

Evans   □ 

Congratulations,  Darling — (Betty 

Hutton)   □ 

Banned  In  Hollywood!  by  Cobina 

Wright  □ 

Apartment  For  Diana  (Diana 

Lynn)  by  Prince  Michael 

Romanoff   □ 

Personal  Appearance  (Marshall 

Thompson)   □ 


How  Glamorous  Can  You  Get? 

(Ava  Gardner)   □ 

Sea  Fever  (Madison-Russell- 

Calhoun-V  era-Ellen)    □ 

The  Ten  Greatest  Gable  Stories  .  □ 
"Happy  Annie"  by  Ann  Sheridan  .  .  □ 
Happy  Ending!  (Ron  Reagan- 
Jane  Wyman)   □ 

"I  Cornered  Van"  (Van  Johnson)  .  □ 
What  Every  Wife  Should  Know 

(Gene  Tierney)  □ 

New  Look  (Margaret  O'Brien)  .  .  □ 
Don't  Marry  A  Handsome  Man 

(Louis  Jourdan)   □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  □ 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  '.  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues:  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  

What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  


My  name  is .  .  . 
My  address  is. 

City  


Zone 


State . 


I  am   years  old 


ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT..  MODERN  SCREEN 
261  FIFTH  AVENUE.  NEW  YORK  16,  N.  Y. 


between  the  Perilous  Gold  of  California 
and  the  Blazinq  Lead  of  Missouri  lies 


WARNER  BROS,  made  it 


BRUCE  BENNETT  -  radii 


SCREEN  PlAt  BY  STEPHEN  lONGSTREET  AND  HARRIET  FRANK.  JR       FROM  A  NOVEl  BY  STEPHEN  I ONGST RE ET     MUSIC  BY  MAX  STElNEP 


IS  A 


BEST  FOR  YOU? 


YES!  If  you  have  a  round,  oval  or  heart-shaped 
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ir  Exclusive!  Only  Goody  gives  you  this 
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10      200  Varick  Street.  Dept.  D-7.  New  York  14 


Popular  hobby  among  the  stars  is  painting  and  being  painted.  Artist  John  Vogel's  first  Holly- 
wood subject  was  Sir  Aubrey  Smith.  Portrait  was  a  great  hit.  Vogel  painted  Betty  Grable  (above) 
in  the  studio,  and  Merle  Oberon  has  recently  commissioned  him.  Vogel  charges  $1800  up  for  work. 


GOOD  NEWS 

surf.  In  four  days  I  mastered  the  surf  board! 

"The  high  spot  was  the  native  dinner  pre- 
pared in  our  honor.  Evie  and  I  really  went 
native,  put  bright  red  hibiscus  behind  our 
ears,  took  off  our  shoes  and  sat  on  the  floor. 
Yep,"  he  nodded,  "I  even  liked  the  food — 
but  don't  ask  me  to  pronounce  it. 

"The  one  thing  I  was  disappointed  in,"  he 
said,  "was  Waikiki  Beach.  I  had  always 
pictured  it  as  a  wide,  beautiful  stretch  of 
white  sand.  When  I  saw  the  little  bit  of 
beach,  I  was  very  disappointed,  particularly 
after  our  California  beaches. 

"But  before  we  had  a  chance  to  get  used 
to  anything,  I  got  the  call  to  fly  back  to  Holly- 
wood to  start  Command  Decision." 

I  said  that  was  too  bad. 

Van  winked.  "Evie  was  so  lonesome  for  the 
baby  she  was  glad  to  leave  and  I  was  mighty 
glad,  too,  to  see  my  daughter.  You  know, 
she  laughs  at  me  now,"  he  said,  proud  as 
punch. 

I  asked,  "Does  she  look  like  you?" 

"  'Fraid  so,"  he  laughed  "red  hair,  turned 
up  nose  and  everything — poor  kid." 

But,  if  you  ask  me — that  ain't  bad. 

(And  for  a  cute  sidelight  on  the  Johnsons' 
arrival  in  Hawaii,  look  at  page  56,  in  this 
issue.) 

*        *  * 

I  am  very  sorry  to  write  that  Jane  Wyman 
and  Ronald  Reagan  have  parted  again — and 
this  time  there  will  be  a  divorce.  Jane  and 
Ronnie,  two  of  my  closest  friends,  tried  hard 
for  the  sake  of  their  two  children  to  adjust 
their  matrimonial  differences,  but  apparently 
they'd  been  separated  too  long. 

There  are  many  who  think  they  should 
have  given  their  reconciliation  more  than  a 
week,  but  Jane  is  a  girl  who  knows  her  mind 
and  when  she  saw  that  she  and  Ronnie  could 
no  longer  be  happy  together,  she  went  into 


court  and  got  her  divorce  on  the  grounds  of 
extreme  cruelty.  And  so  the  "reconciliation 
honeymoon"  they'd  been  planning  never  did 
come  off. 

Both  seemed  so  happy  when  Ronnie  went 
back  home  after  five  months  of  separation. 
All  the  time  they'd  been  apart,  he'd  been 
very  depressed.  For  her  part,  Jane  would 
burst  into  tears  whenever  she  met  any  of 
their  old  friends. 

In  the  beginning,  Ronnie  told  me,  "Fifty 
years  from  now  we'll  still  be  together,"  but 
it's  evident  that  it's  all  over  now.  Ronnie  has 
moved  into  an  apartment  and  will  adjust  his 
life  the  best  way  he  knows  how.  Jane,  who 
has  taken  up  painting,  will  live  in  a  family 
hotel.  She'll  have  custody  of  Michael  and 
Maureen,  but  Ronnie  will  have  visiting  priv- 
ileges. I  don't  think  there  is  any  other  man 
in  Jane's  life  right  now. 

*        ♦  ♦ 

If  you're  a  bobby-soxer,  I've  got  bad  news 
for  you.  Peter  Lawford,  your  dream  boy, 
says  you  are  just  about  as  extinct  as  the  Dodo 
Bird! 

Says  the  good-looking  Pete:  "The  bobby- 
soxers  have  fallen  off  90%.  From  here  on  in,  I 
think  the  guys  like  me.  Van  Johnson  and  Guy 
Madison,  who  rode  in  on  the  Frank  Sinatra 
fan  bandwagon,  will  have  to  look  to  our 
laurels. 

"Of  course,  I  mean  by  'bobby-soxers'  that 
breed  of  hysterical  'teen-agers  who  went  in 
for  squealing,  yelling,  trying  to  hide  under 
stars'  beds  and  wild-eyed  autograph  hounds. 
The  real  fans  are  something  else  again,  thank 
the  gods." 

"What  do  you  think  brought  on  the  passing 
of  the  late  soxers?"  I  asked. 

"They  were  a  development  of  the  war 
years,"  he  answered.  "During  the  war,  the 
boys  the  bobby-soxers  would  have  dated  in 


Richard  Hudnut  Home  Permanent 


If  you've  ever  put  your 
hair  up  in  curlers,  it's 
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the  NEW,  IMPROVED  RICHARD 
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This  salon-type  home 
permanent  is  based  on  the 
same  type  of  preparations 
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it,  you  can  set  your  hair  in  any 
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halo  of  ringlets.  Ask  to  see  the 

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permanent  at  your  favorite 
cosmetic  counter— today! 
Price  $2.75;  refill  without  rods, 
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|  Iff  9      Saves  up  to  one-half  usual  waving  time 

jf  <^>     One-third  more  waving  lotion  .  .  .  more 

penetrating,  but  gentle  on  hair! 

Longer,  stronger  end-papers  make  hair 
tips  easier  to  handle. 

^  '  '  Double-strength  neutralizer  anchors  wave 

faster,  makes  curl  stronger  for  longer. 

Improved  technique  gives  deep,  soft 
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-     ..  ^^jjP^7   Only  home  permanent  kit  to  include 

/\~  s&tm  "     reconditioning  creme  rinse. 

Two  lengths  of  rods.  Standard  size 
for  ringlet  ends ;  extra-long  for 
deep  crown  waves. 


Jane's  h**«* 


She  added  COLOR  to 
her  hair  with . . . 

COLORINSE 


•  Why  look  "drab"  when  it's  so  easy 
to  use  Nestle  Colorinse.  Colorinse 
does  what  no  shampoo  could  possibly 
do — it  adds  rich  natural-looking  color 
to  your  hair— plus— sparkling  high- 
lights, silken  sheen.  Absolutely  safe 
to  use— washes  out  with  shampooing. 

Remember-to  get  the  real  "Colorinse" 
insist  on  genuine  NESTLE  COLORINSE. 


°    HAVE  THE  WHOLE  FAMILY  use  0 

oqj^^     Nestle  Creme  Shampoo —  /TA 
05>)  *ne  wonderful,  new  lanolin 

creme  shampoo  in  a  tube.  (Qo 
G£>  They'll  love  it.  10<,  25  A  59<  \J 
Q    at  all  toilet  goods  counters. 


12 


Holden  ond  the  Van  Johnsons  were 
among  celebs  present  at  dedication  of  Mo- 
tion Picture  Country  Hospital  in  Calabasas. 


Jean  Hersholt,  Mary  Pickford  and  Ron  Reagan 
took  part  in  ceremony.  Hospital  was  built  from 
funds  earned  by  stars  on  Screen  Guild  program. 


the  ordinary  course  of  events,  were  away 
serving  their  country. 

"Now  those  boys  are  back  and  the  girls  no 
longer  need  vicarious  heroes.  That  means 
us." 

gfc  #.  .  £ 

Now  that  several  months  have  elapsed 
since  it  happened  and  the  strain  is  over,  I 
can  tell  this  story  of  the  awful  experience  the 
Ray  Millands  went  through. 

I  had  given  my  promise  to  Ray  and  Mai  that 
I  wouldn't  breathe  a  word  about  it  until  they 
were  free  of  the  torment  they  suffered. 

Now  that  the  police  have  taken  the  woman 
into  custody,  I  can  tell  you  about  it: 

Soon  after  the  first  of  the  year,  the  Millands 
began  to  be  dogged  by  telephone  calls  and 
letters  from  a  woman  who  said  she  was  the 
mother  of  their  son  and  that  she  knew  he  had 
been  brought  into  their  home  through  adop- 
tion. 

Since  the  Millands  are  the  parents  of  their 
little  boy  and  his  birth  is  a  matter  of  record 
in  the  Hall  of  Records,  they  didn't  pay  too 
much  attention,  at  first. 

But,  as  the  mysterious  woman  became  more 
and  more  insistent,  they  realized  they  were 
dealing  with  a  dangerous  crank.  Obviously, 
she  believed  her  absurd  claims.  Hardly  a 
day  passed  that  they  did  not  receive  a  mes- 


GOOD  NEWS 

sage  from  her,  either  a  plea  or  a  threat  about 
getting  "her"  boy  back.  She  said  if  they  did 
not  return  the  child  to  her,  she  would  kidnap 
him. 

Even  though  Ray  and  Mai  had  now  called 
in  the  police,  they  realized  it  was  vitally 
necessary  for  them  to  keep  the  boy  from 
knowing  about  this  danger.  They  didn't  want 
guards  around  the  house  because  he  is  big 
enough  to  ask  questions.  For  weeks,  one  or 
the  other  of  his  parents  was  constantly  with 
the  youngster,  never  letting  him  out  of  sight. 

Meanwhile,  the  police  were  constantly 
checking  the  telephone  calls  and,  at  last — 
they  got  the  break  they  were  waiting  for.  The 
woman  became  bolder  and  started  hanging 
around  the  Milland  home  in  Beverly  Hills. 
On  her  second  "visit,"  she  was  picked  up. 

Realizing  she  is  a  psychopathic,  the  Mil- 
lands  will  not  press  charges.  But  never  again 
do  they  want  to  live  through  such  harrowing 
weeks  of  strain. 

*        *  * 

Blonde  Lana  Turner  almost  turned  red- 
headed, she  was  so  mad  over  those  stories 
that  her  trousseau  cost  $25,000  and  that  she 
had  ordered  40  complete  outfits. 

"It  didn't  cost  anywhere  near  that  sum," 
snapped  Lana,  "and  I  wouldn't  be  fool  enough 
to  order  forty  outfits  at  one  time.    They  would 


In  Nation-wide  test...  New  Woodbury  Powder 


Preferred 


on 


Every  Beauty  Count ! 

MA/S  4  TO  foi/Efl  ML  LBAD/A/G  8RANOS  OF  POWPE& 


Here' 


what  w° 


d  about 


New 


Wooabury 


powder- 


•fU*er  ****  Te*tl"e 
Rovers  *«cin' 


The  Winner!  The  new-and  overwhelm- 
ing favorite  of  women  in  a  recent 
nation-wide  test  is  the  amazing  New 
Woodbury  Powder! 
4  out  of  5  preferred  Woodbury  to  the 
powder  they  had  been  using! 

In  this  most  exacting  test  of  all— against 
a  woman's  own  favorite  face  powder— 
Woodbury  won  decisively.  Actually, 
Woodbury  won  over  17  leading  face 
powders!  And  women  preferred  New 
Woodbury  Powder  for  every  beauty 
quality! 

Today  see  the  exciting  difference  on 
your  skin . . .  the  astonishing  beauty 
that's  yours  in  New  Woodbury  Powder! 


TWICE  NEW! 

New  Secret  Ingredient!  New  Woodbury 
Powder  contains  a  secret  ingredient 
that  gives  a  satin-smooth  finish  to  your 
skin.  It  gives  a  natural,  "unpowdered" 
look,  yet  covers  tiny  blemishes! 
New  Revolutionary  Process!  In  all  cos- 
metic history  there  has  never  been 
anything  like  Woodbury's  new  blend- 
ing machine.  It  whirls  color  into  pow- 
der and  powder  into  color  with  a  force 
so  violent  a  tornado  would  seem  tame 
in  comparison.  Result:  fineness  of  tex- 
ture that's  "incredible!". . .  richness  of 
shade  that's  "unbelievable!". . .  freedom 
from  streaking  that  "couldn't  be  true" 
before  New  Woodbury  Powder! 


f00 


{sizes 


5    6  exdti«g  shades 


ITS  LIKE  STARTING  UFE  ALL  OVER  AGAIN  WITH  AN  INCREDIBLY  LOVELIER  COMPLEXION/  1; 


GOOD  NEWS 


Van  finally  made  it!  Got  his  footprints  and  handprints  recorded  in 
cement  outside  of  Grauman's  Chinese  Theater.  Doctors  are  deciding 
whether  Van  needs  kidney  operation — he's  recently  been  in  a  hospital. 


Esther  Williams,  knockout  in  a  black  evening  gown,  with  husband  Ben 
Gage  at  opening  of  Ciro-ette,  upstairs  room  in  Ciro's.  Esther's  adopt- 
ing a  war  orphan  in  Italy,  paying  $300  a  year  for  the  child's  care. 


When  Clyde  Beatty's  Circus  came  to  Los  Angeles,  Red  Skelton  was 
there  to  greet  it!  Here,  he  gets  quick  makeup  from  two  of  the  Beatty 
clowns.  Skelton'll  do  a  circus  movie;  it's  to  be  written  by  ex-wife  Edna. 


14 


go  out  of  style  before  I  had  a  chance  to  wear 
them." 

Equally  annoying  to  the  bride  was  the 
story  that  all  her  lingerie  had  daring  little 
phrases  and  quotations  embroidered  on  the 
un-mentionables.    That  really  did  it  to  her! 

"It  makes  me  sound  so  Paiisienne!"  she 
yipped. 

*        *  * 

Merry-Romancing-Around :  The  Tony  Mar- 
tin-Cyd  Charisse  affaire  de  coeur  (steady 
dating,  to  you)  is  so  torrid,  I'm  betting  they 
get  married.  Tony  has  beaued  a  lot  of 
beauties  but  none  has  inspired  him  to  sing 
"But  Beautiful"  the  way  he  whispers  it  into 
Cyd's  ear  when  they  dance.  Their  next 
favorite  tune  will  probably  be  The  Wedding 
March  .  .  .  The  Texas  oil  millionaire,  Buddy 
Fogelson,  is  trying  hard  to  make  Greer  Gar- 
son  believe  he  was  meant  for  her.  He  is 
said  to  have  an  income  of  one  million  dollars 
monthly.  Yes,  I  said  monthly.  Saw  Greer 
with  Fogelson  at  the  opera — she,  ablaze  with 
diamonds,  and  looking  very  happy  .  .  .  Brian 
Donlevy,  who  swore  off  women  for  life  after 
the  bitter  break-up  with  his  wife,  is  but  every- 
where with  a  gorgeous  blonde  whom  he  re- 
fuses to  i-troduce.  They  aren't  fooling  any- 
one by  arriving  singly  at  parties  and  night- 
clubs and  then  pretending  they  "just  hap- 
pened" to  bump  into  each  other.  Such  acting 
talent  should  be  saved  for  the  cameras  .  .  . 
The  Young  Thing  who  married  a  man  many 
years  her  senior  is  already  wishing  she  had 
thought  it  over  before  saying  "I  do."  She  was 
weeping  she  would  like  to  "get  out  of  it" 
seven  days  after  the  marriage. 


Every  gadget  known  to  the  entertainment 
field  was  rigged  up  in  Perry  Como's  Beverly 
Hills  Hotel  bungalow — gifts  from  M-G-M  where 
he  will  make  Words  and  Music. 

S'help  me — the  living  room,  not  too  large  to 
begin  with,  boasted  a  large  Television  set,  an 
enormous  radio,  a  separate  record  changer 
and  a  recording  machine. 

A  beaming  press  agent  led  Perry  in  and 
stood  waiting  for  him  to  make  some  comment. 

"What?  No  Juke  Box  ???"  cracked  the  King 
of  the  Juke  Boxes. 

By  way  of  introducing  him  to  the  cast  of 
Words  and  Music,  producer  Arthur  Freed 
tossed  a  cocktail  party  in  his  honor  at  the 
Champagne  Room  that  brought  out  half  the 
town  as  well  as  his  co-workers. 

I  didn't  get  there  until  late  because  it  was 
my  radio  day,  but  I  did  get  there  in  time  to 
see  Keenan  Wynn  paying  marked  attention 
to  cute  little  Vera-Ellen  and  also  casting  an 
admiring  eye  on  Diana  Lynn. 

Another  girl  who  always  staggers  the  stag 
line  is  Arlene  Dahl,  a  dream-puss  if  I  ever 
saw  one.  Not  since  the  days  of  Billie  Dove 
and  Corinne  Griffith  has  Hollywood  had  such 
a  natural  history  beauty  on  tap  as  this  lovely 
red-head. 

Never  knew  so  many  accidents  in  my  years 
of  covering  Hollywood.  They  didn't  come  in 
threes  as  advertised — but  in  fhirfies: 

Gregory  Peck  broke  his  leg  in  three  places 
when  his  horse  threw  him  and  then  rolled 
over  on  him.  But  Greg  retained  his  sense  of 


/We  sit  out 
danees  alone 

M 


I'm  a  safety-first  girl  with  Mum 


Smart  work,  sugar!  Staggering  the  stagline  is  easy  when 
Mum  protects  your  charm  the  whole  thrilling  evening. 
You'll  never  let  a  dream  man  down  with  a  fault  like 
underarm  odor. 

A  bath  washes  away  past  perspiration  — brings  you 
up-to-date  in  sweetness  . . .  but  Mum  prevents  risk  of 
underarm  odor  to  come. 


Mum 


safer  for  charm 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


Mum  checks  perspiration  odor,  protects 
your  daintiness  all  day  or  evening. 


humor  even  in  a  cast.  When  he  called  me 
to  tell  me  what  happened  he  wise-cracked, 
"At  least  I  nearly  killed  myself  on  Sunday — 
and  made  a  story  for  your  radio  show, 
Louella."  Love  that  man! 

Betty  Grable  was  another  casualty  when 
Harry  James  backed  their  car  into  a  post  in 
the  driveway  and  Betty  fell  against  the  wind- 
shield, bruising  and  cutting  her  lovely  face. 

Patti  Andrews  of  the  Andrews  Sisters  had 
the  freakiest  accident  of  all.  She  was  stand- 
ing beside  her  car  when  the  door  sprung 
open  hitting  her  in  the  mouth.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  take  seven  stitches  in  her  lip. 

Dan  Dailey  tripped  over  a  box  of  flowers  he 
had  sent  his  wife  and  got  water  on  the  knee, 
knocking  him  out  of  Burlesque  for  two  days! 

But,  oh  well,  why  go  on?  Hollywood  was 
just  under  an  "accident"  sign  this  month. 

The  foot-tickling  orchestra  at  the  Robert 
Montgomerys'  20th  anniversary  party  kept 
playing  "Thou  Swell"  over  and  over  again 
until  I  was  finally  driven  to  ask  George  Mur- 
phy, "How  come  that  same  tune  all  the  time?" 

"That's  the  tune  Bob  and  Betty  fell  in  love 
to,"  answered  George.  "It's  their  theme  song." 

Let  me  say  right  here  that  their  whole, 
wonderful  party  was  filled  with  this  senti- 
mental feeling  from  beginning  to  the  end. 
Even  though  it  was  held  in  the  enormous 
Crystal  Ballroom  of  the  Beverly  Hills  Hotel, 
the  Montgomerys  attended  to  every  detail. 

At  each  lady's  place  was  a  miniature  cor- 
sage made  of  white  flowers — a  replica  of  the 
first  flowers  Bob  had  sent  Betty.  And  the 
placecards  for  the  men  were  adorned  with  a 
white  carnatitm — the  flower  Bob  wore  in  his 
lapel  when  they  were  married. 

Another  thing  about  this  party  that  touched 
me  was  seeing  all  the  old  stars  and  early 
directors  who  had  been  associated  with  Bob 
from  the  days  when  he  was  a  brash  young 
actor  playing  charming,  sophisticated  roles 
with  Norma  Shearer  and  before  that,  with' 
Eleanor  Boardman. 

If  you  ask  me,  the  mature  Bob  is  much  nicer. 
A  dignified  member  of  society  who  is  on  the 
right  side  of  all  public  as  well  as  professional 
questions  and  who  is  intelligent  enough  to 
produce  pictures  as  well  as  star  in  them. 

As  for  Betty — the  years  haven't  touched  her 
at  all.  She  looked  like  a  doll  in  an  original 
Adrian  of  black  lace  over  white  taffeta — and 
certainly  not  as  if  she  had  been  Mrs.  Mont- 
gomery for  twenty  years. 

I  had  dinner  with  another  Bette — Bette  Davis 
and  her  husband.  Bette  is  really  perking  up 
socially.  Not  only  was  she  a  belle  having  a 
fine  time  for  herself  this  evening  but  just  a 
week  previous  she  had  hosted  a  huge  cocktail 
party,  herself.  Her  invitations  read:  "Sherry 
and  I  have  wanted  to  give  a  party  for  some- 
time but  the  best  reason  we  have  had  is  that 
I'm  making  a  picture  with  Bob  Montgomery." 

With  all  this  gossip  of  divorce  and  broken 
homes  in  Hollywood  it's  pleasant  to  report 
that  the  Montgomerys  were  one  of  three 
couples  celebrating  long  years  of  happy 
wedded  life  within  a  few  days  of  each  other. 
The  Jean  Hersholts  gave  a  small  dinner  in 
honor  of  their  34th  anniversary  and  the  Louis 
Lightens  made  known  publicly  that  they  had 
been  married  29  years! 


IflMffl  safer  for  clothes 


Because  Mum  contains  no  harsh  or  irri- 
tating ingredients.  Snow-white  Mum  is 
gentle— harmless  to  skin. 

No  damaging  ingredients  in  Mum  to  rot 
or  discolor  fine  fabrics.  Economical  Mum 
doesn't  dry  out  in  the  jar.  Quick,  easy  to 
use,  even  after  you're  dressed. 


By  Jean  Kinkead 


Ravic  takes  Joan  to  a  cafe;  she  tells  him  she  can't  go  back  to 
her  hotel  room,  but  she  refuses  to  give  him  any  valid  reason. 


Tragedy  comes  to  light  when  the  body  of  Joan's  lover  (who  died 
in  the  night)  is  discovered  by  the  Parisian  police  in  her  bedroom. 


Ravic  (Charles  Boyer)  a  refugee  doctor,  meets  Joan 
(Ingrid  Bergman)  on  a  Paris  bridge,  foils  her  suicide. 


THE  ARCH  OF  TRIUMPH 


Shot  by  still  another  lover,  Joan  dies,  de- 
spite Ravic's  professional  efforts  to  save  her. 


16 


Bergman  and  Boyer  make  expensive  love  in 
the  film  adaptation  of  Remarque's  best-selling 
novel  (the  film  production  cost  over  four 
million  dollars),  but  that  is  about  all  that 
happens  here.  In  the  beginning  of  the  picture, 
you  wonder  if  they'll  ever  get  around  to 
bussing  each  other  but  toward  the  end  you 
think  they'll  never  stop.  This  vague  annoy- 
ance is  the  strongest  emotion  the  picture 
evokes,  in  spite  of  the  lugubrious  story  it  tells. 
Boyer,  as  Ravic  the  refugee  Austrian  doctor, 
and  Ingrid  as  Joan  Madou,  courtesan  and 
part-time  actress,  meet  and  fall  in  love  in  a 
Paris  that  is  one  step  from  war.  The  tragedy 


of  their  love  is  that  there  can  be  no  happy 
ending.  Ravic,  a  man  without  a  passport,  a 
man  who — legally  speaking — doesn't  exist, 
leads  a  shadow  life  in  constant  fear  of  depor- 
tation. He  needs  the  complications  of  a  love- 
life  like  the  proverbial  hole  in  the  head,  but 
when  Joan  throws  her  pretty  self  at  him,  he's 
sunk. 

It's  a  heart-wringing  set-up  all  right,  but  it 
would  be  a  lot  more  tear-jerking  were  Joan 
to  remain  faithful  to  her  doctor  throughout. 
Pity  for  these  poor  unfortunate  lovers  runs  low 
as  the  neurotic  Joan  turns  out  to  be  an  in- 
constant gal  with  as  dwarfed  a  moral  sense 


as  you'll  ever  encounter  either  on  the  screen 
or  off. 

There  are  few  light  moments  in  the  Arch 
of  Triumph,  but  those  few  are  skillfully  pro- 
vided by  Louis  Calhern  as  Ravic's  Russian 
friend  who  is  a  night  club  doorman.  Charles 
Laughton  who,  for  our  dough,  can  do  no 
wrong,  is  cast  as  the  Nazi  villain  upon  whom 
Ravic  has  vowed  undying  vengeance.  The  two 
stars  are  excellent,  but  neither  of  their  roles 
is  worthy  of  them.  In  spite  of  the  film's  weak- 
nesses, you  won't  want  to  miss  it,  for — though 
it's  over-done— all  that  high-voltage  smooch- 
ing is  really  something  to  see. — U.A. 


j         and  !ibl8  play  house,  see  MZ.BLMD\UG5  cf  HIS  DREAM 
!         HOUSE  ( some  people  call  It  his  love  aest; . , .  otfars, 
"-fine,  ^unnlesij  ploTmre  year  / 

DORE  SCHARY  presents 

CARY  GRANT- MYRNA  LOYMELVYN  DOUGLAS 

IN 

Produced  and  Written  for  the  Screen  by  Norman  Panama  and  Melvin  Frank  •  Directed  by  H.  C.  Potter  •  An  RKO  Radio  Production  •  A  Selznick  Release 

FANS:  Send  25  cents  to  Selznick  Studios,  Culver  City,  California,  for  a  64-page  copy  of  Close-up  Magazine 

devoted  to  "Mr.  Blandings  and  his  Dream  House." 

17 

1  


Presented  by  David  W.  Siegel 


Romance  On  The  High  Seas:  Doris  Day,  Jack 
Carson  and  Oscar  Levant  in  a  romantic  musical. 


ROMANCE  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS 

This  is  a  light-hearted,  colorful,  better 
than  average  musical  with  a  fine  fiesta  spirit 
sustained  throughout.  Mrs.  Elvirah  Kent 
(Janis  Paige)  is  about  to  set  off  on  a  South 
American  cruise,  when  she  discovers  that 
her  husband  has  just  acguired  a  glamorous 
blond  secretary.  Elvirah  misinterprets  her  poor 
innocent  guy's  anxiety  to  dispatch  her  on  the 
cruise,  thinks  he  can't  wait  to  get  rid  of  her  in 
order  to  launch  his  romance  with  blondie. 
Elvirah  makes  up  her  mind  that  she  won't 
go,  but  will  let  him  think  that  she's  gone — ■ 
then  when  he  begins  stepping  out,  she'll  be 
right  on  hand  to  nab  him  red-handed. 

She  persuades  night  club  singer  Georgia 
Garrett  (Doris  Day),  a  bundle  of  dynamite 
of  the  Betty  Hutton  school,  to  go  on  the  cruise, 
masquerading  as  Mrs.  Kent,  and  that  ac- 
complished, Elvirah  settles  down  to  the  serious 
business  of  spying  on  hubby  through  a  tele- 
scope. Hubby  meanwhile  has  hired  a  private 
detective  (Jack  Carson)  to  trail  Elvirah,  fear- 
ing she  may  be  unfaithful  to  him  on  ship- 
board, and  the  detective  falls  hard  for  the 
phony  Mrs.  K.  She  falls  too,  but  her  style 
is  somewhat  cramped  by  her  wedding  ring. 

How  the  mix-up  is  finally  untangled  makes 
a  well-paced,  amusing  story.  There  are 
heavenly  holiday-ish  sets,  some  good  songs 
put  over  with  zing  by  Doris  Day,  and  a  fine 
Calypso  number  by  Sir  Lancelot.  Oscar  Le- 
vant, a  better  pianist  than  actor,  is  on  deck 
in  a  minor  role,  and  S.  K.  Zakall  is  there 
too,  good — as  always — for  a  few  laughs.  This 
one's  "refreshing  as  a  julep.  Don't  miss  it. — 
War. 

BIG  CITY 

It  wouldn't  be  a  Margaret  O'Brien  movie 
if  it  didn't  tug  at  your  heart,  and  Big  Cify 
runs  true  to  form.  Wee  Maggie  plays  the 
part  of  Mary  Helen  Rachel  O'Connell  Andrews 
Feldman  who  was  left  as  a  baby  on  the 
doorstep  of  Cantor  David  Irwin  Feldman 
(Danny  Thomas).  She  has  now  achieved  the 
great  age  of  ten  with  the  help  of  three 
adopted  daddies;  a  policeman,  Patrick  O'Don- 
nell  (George  Murphy);  a  minister,  Phillip 
Andrews  (Robert  Preston);  and  of  course. 
Cantor  Feldman,  assisted  by  the  Cantor's 
mother  (Lotte  Lehman). 

Midge,  as  she  is  nicknamed,  is  wonderfully 
happy  until  the  kids  at  school  begin  to  tease 


her  about  her  unorthodox  family.  Then 
Midge's  cute  teacher,  Florence  Bartlett  (Karin 
Booth)  decides  that  the  only  way  to  elim- 
inate the  heckling  is  for  Midge  to  be  given 
to  a  pair  of  ordinary  parents.  However,  one 
visit  to  the  Feldmans,  where  she  sees  Midge 
with  all  her  daddies  and  feels  the  wonderful 
spirit  of  mutual  affection  and  tolerance,  con- 
vinces her  that  the  child  is  in  good  hands. 
Phillip  and  David  both  fall  in  love  with 
Teacher,  but  Pat,  luckily,  is  out  of  the  com- 
petition for  he  is  smitten  with  night  club 
singer  Shoo-Shoo  Grady  (Betty  Garrett). 

When  Pat  and  Shoo-Shoo  get  married,  they 
are  entitled  to  full  custody  of  Midge,  for  the 
agreement  has  always  been  that  the  first  of 
the  three  men  to  marry  gets  the  youngster. 
David  and  Phillip  heartily  disapprove  of 
Shoo-Shoo  as  a  wife  for  Pat  much  less  as  a 
mother  for  their  Midge,  and  they  take  the 
case  to  court.  This  is  the  sobby  part,  with 
Midge's  little  heart  torn  three  ways  and 
everyone  getting  unbelievably  noble.  Go  see 
for  yourself  how  it  all  turns  out — and  take  a 
king-size  hankie. — M-G-M. 

THE  FULLER  BRUSH  MAN 

Red  Skelton  is  at  his  best  in  this  hilarious 
whodunit,  and  if  you'll  forgive  a  couple  of 
stock  situations  and  some  twice-told  jokes, 
you'll  have  a  wonderful  time.  Red  is  made 
to  order  for  the  part  of  the  not-very-bright 
lovelorn  chap  who  can't  hold  a  job  more  than 
about  twenty  minutes.  When  he's  fired  from 
his  street-cleaning  stint  for  crashing  into  the 
boss's  limousine  with  all  his  cleaning  equip- 
ment, he  goes  to  his  girl's  office — she  works 
for  the  Fuller  Brush  Company — to  tell  her  he's 
a  failure  and  to  say  goodbye.  She  (Ann 
Elliot,  played  by  Janet  Blair)  persuades  Kee- 
nan  Wallick  (Don  McGuire),  the  company's 
star  salesman  who  is  mad  for  her,  to  give 
Red  a  chance  selling  brushes. 

Poor  Red  goes  unsuccessfully  from  house 
to  house  in  a  series  of  really  side-splitting 
scenes.  He  falls  on  his  face,  trips  over  roller 
skates,  says  all  the  wrong  things — and  it 
could  be  stale  and  tedious,  but  in  Red's  hands 
it's  uproarious.  He  is  even  funnier  when  he 
finds  himself  suspected  of  the  murder  of  his 
erstwhile  boss.  He  can't  quite  get  it — all  the 
detectives  after  him,  his  telephone  wires  be- 
ing tapped,  his  picture  in  the  paper.  "Gee," 
he  murmurs  with  that  wonderful  hit-on-the- 
head  expression  of  his,  "all  I  wanted  to  do 
was  sell  brushes — -" 


The  Fuller  Brush  Man:  Street-cleaner  Skelton 
tails    his    girl,    Janet    Blair,    he's    been  fired. 


<^^^0c^^^/tW  smile  wins 
recruits  for  a  proud  profession ! 


Mary  Louise  Shine,  R.  N.,  didn't  know  she  was 
qualifying  as  a  photographer's  model  when  she 
graduated  from  the  Georgetown  University 
School  of  Nursing.  But  remembering  her  cheer- 
ing smile,  former  patients  won't  be  surprised  at 
her  selection  as  a  Model  Nurse.  Her  picture  is 
appearing  everywhere  ...  in  advertisements  and 
on  billboards  .  .  .  inspiring  young  Americans  to 
join  the  proud  nursing  profession.  Now  a  Chi- 
cago doctor's  bride,  Mary  Louise  says  the  tooth 
paste  she  buys  for  her  honeymoon  apartment  is 
the  same  brand  she  used  at  home  — Pepsodent. 
Yes,  her  winning  smile  is  a  Pepsodent  Smile! 


The  smile  that  wins 
is  the  Pepsodent  Smile ! 


ANOTHER  FINE  LEVER  BROTHERS  PRODUCT 


Mary  Louise  Shine  knows  it,  people  all  over 
America  agree  — the  smile  that  wins  is  the 
Pepsodent  Smile  !  Pepsodent  with  Irium  is 
their  3-to-l  favorite  for  brighter  smiles. 

Wins  3  to  1  over  any  other  tooth  paste 

—  families  from  coast  to  coast  recently 
compared  delicious  New  Pepsodent  with  the 
tooth  paste  they  were  using  at  home.  By  an 
average  of  3  to  1,  they  said  New  Pepsodent 
tastes  better,  makes  breath  cleaner  and  teeth 
brighter  than  any  other  tooth  paste  they 
tried.  For  the  safety  of  your  smile  use  Pepsodent 
twice  a  day  —  see  your  dentist  twice  a  year  ! 


19 


/ 

I 

I 

I 

\ 

\ 


cl 


ean  smells  Sweet- 

Things  that  are  completely  clean  have  an  unmis- 
takable perfume.  It's  a  delicate,  fresh,  sweet  smell  that 
never  is  noticeable  where  there  is  dirt  in  any  form. 
It  tells  you  instantly — this  is  clean! 


When  you  unwrap  a  big  bar  of  Fels-Naptba 
Soap,  you  get  the  immediate  impression  of 
cleanliness.  This  mild  golden  soap  breathes  the 
clean  odor  of  naptha — the  gentle,  thorough 
cleaner  that  dirt  and  grime  cannot  escape. 


When  you  wash  with  Fels-Naptha  Soap  Chips, 
your  sense  of  smell  registers  "CLEAN"  with 
every  swish  of  suds.  Here's  where  you  discover 
the  joy  of  sneezeless  washdays.  These  husky 
golden  chips  shed  no  powdery  dust 
to  irritate  your  nose.  They're  the 
original  no-sneeze  chips! 


Clothes  washed  the  Fels-Naptha  way 

have  a  fresh,  clean  smell  which  proves  that 
golden  soap  and  gentle  naptha,  combined, 
have  done  a  dirt  removing  job  no 
tricky  soap  substitutes  can  equal  .  . . 
Next  time  you  wash  your  baby's 
things  make  sure  they're 
completely  clean  .  .  . 
Use  Fels-Naptha  Soap. 


Golden  bar  or  Golden  chips- 
Fels-Naptha 

banishes  TatdeTale  Gray 


20 


As  the  film  goes  on  it  gets  louder  and 
funnier,  and  the  sequences  showing  Red  and 
Ann  trapped  in  the  warehouse  with  all  the 
crooks  are  both  spine-tingling  and  hysterically 
funny.  Thrills  and  laughter  are  a  neat  com- 
bination. 

Some  of  this  is  too  long  and  drawn  out, 
much  of  it  is  the  rankest  slapstick,  all  of  it  is 
insignificant  foolishness.  But  Red  will  warm 
your  heart,  Janet  Blair  will  rest  your  eyes, 
and  we  promise  you  you  won't  go  away 
mad. — Col. 

GREEN  GRASS  OF  WYOMING 

Thunderhead,  the  magnificent  white  stallion 
of  Mary  O'Hara's  books,  is  back  again  in  as 
enadging  an  outdoor  picture  as  you'll  see  this 
summer.  Perfectly  cast,  beautifully  photo- 
graphed in  Technicolor,  Green  Grass  of 
Wyoming  is  a  family  picture  in  the  best 
sense  of  the  term,  and  it's  an  enormous 
relief  to  see  a  pair  of  screen  adolescents 
(played  by  Robert  Arthur  and  Peggy  Cum- 
mins) who  are  quite  nice  people  instead  of 
the  jive-talking  rug-cutters  we  are  accustomed 
to  seeing. 

There's  a  gentle  romance  between  Carey 
Green  way  (Peggy  Cummins)  and  Ken  Mc- 
Laughlin (Robert  Arthur),  but  the  big  love 
story  here  is  Thunderhead's.  At  one  time, 
this  great  white  horse  belonged  to  Ken,  but 
Thunderhead  was  never  much  of  a  family 
man,  always  had  a  roving  eye,  and  Ken  had 
finally  set  him  free.  Whereupon  Thunder- 
head took  to  the  hills,  returning  periodically 
to  steal  a  mare  from  one  of  the  valley 
ranches.  When  Carey's  grandpa.  Beuver 
Green  way  (Charles  Cobum),  loses  his  mare. 
Lady  Hanover,  he  threatens  to  go  out  after 
Thunderhead  and  kill  him  on  sight.  And 
when,  shortly  thereafter.  Ken's  prized  mare. 
Crown  Jewel,  disappears,  the  McLaughlins 
and  other  ranchers  join  the  irate  Beaver  in  the 
hunt  for  Thunderhead's  hideout.  Ken  goes 
along  torn  between  his  love  for  the  old 
scoundrel  and  love  for  his  fleet  and  beautiful 
Crown  Jewel  whom  he  has  been  grooming 
fo.  the  trotting  races  at  the  State  Fair. 

The  wonderful  scene  in  which  Thunder- 
head decides  to  go  along  home  with  Ken  and 
Crown  Jewel  and  settle  for  the  pipe  and 
slippers  deal  is  perhaps  the  best  in  the  film. 
The  trotting  races  are  fine,  too,  and  the 
square  dances  with  Burl  Ives'  good  mellow 
singing  are  lots  of  fun.  All  told,  it's  a  crack 
ing  good  film.  Don't  miss  it. — 20rh-Fox. 


Green  Grass  of  Wyoming:  Peggy  Cummins 
Charles  Coburn  and  Bob  Arthur,  in  Technicolor 


Anna  Karenina:  Ralph  Richardson  and  Vivien 
Leigh  in  a  new  version  of  the  Tolstoy  classic. 

ANNA  KARENINA 

If  it's  light  summer  fare  you're  after,  this  isn't 
it,  for  Tolstoy's  great  novel  brought  faithfully 
to  the  screen  is  the  starkest  kind  of  tragedy. 
We  all  know  the  story  of  the  hopeless  love 
affair  between  Anna  and  Count  Vronsky,  but 
Vivien  Leigh  and  Keiron  Moore  give  it  such 
validity,  such  sweet  sadness,  that  it  is  as  if 
we  were  learning  the  story  for  the  first  time. 
Vivien,  in  a  series  of  decollete  gowns  has 
never  been  more  beautiful,  and  her  beauty  is 
even  more  subtle,  more  compelling  than  it  was 
in  Gone  With  The  Wind.  Keiron  Moore  is 
excellent  as  the  young  lover  torn  between  his 
allegiance  to  the  army  and  to  his  beloved. 
Ralph  Richardson  is  superb  as  the  preoccu- 
pied, dogmatic  husband  who  refuses  to  give 
Anna  her  freedom  so  that  she  and  Vronsky 
may  be  married. 

The  black  despair  of  the  main  theme  is 
relieved  by  frequent  detours  into  comedy  via 
Anna's  brother,  Stepan  Oblonsky  (Hugh 
Dempster),  his  harassed  wife  Dolly  (Mary 
Kerridge)  and  their  five  children.  Just  when 
one  can't  bear  Anna's  heartbreak  another 
minute,  the  scene  shifts  and  there  are  the 
Oblonskys,  and  one  gathers  strength  for  the 
next  bout  with  melancholia. 

The  plot  here  is  so  familiar  to  all  of  us  that 
there  is  never  an  instant's  suspense,  and  yet 
really  fine  acting  lifts  the  film  out  of  thj 
ordinary  class  into  the  special.  The  ending  is, 
of  course,  highly  unsatisfactory,  but  that's  how 
Tolstoy  wrote  it,  so  that  is  that.  Just  grit  your 
teeth  and  know  it's  art. — 20th-Fox. 

FIGHTING  FATHER  DUNNE 

This  is  the  true  story  of  one  man's  fight 
to  keep  underprivileged  newsboys  on  the 
straight  and  narrow,  and  it  is  an  inspiring 
tale.  Pat  O'Brien  is  Father  Dunne,  a  Father 
Flanagan-ish  character  with  a  big  heart,  a 
small  purse  and  a  way  with  boys.  He  is 
horrified  at  the  way  the  poor  youngsters 
in  his  native  St.  Louis  live,  eating  out  of 
garbage  cans,  sleeping  in  alleys;  and  he  gets 
permission  from  the  Archbishop  to  start  a 
home  for  them.  Permission — but  no  funds. 

He  gives  his  own  small  salary  to  the  cause, 
has  to  beg  storekeepers  for  credit  to  buy 
necessities  like  food  and  beds.  People  are 
kind  to  him  and  his  little  band  of  boys  thrives 
and  expands.  The  going  is  pretty  rough  most 
of  the  time,  and  while  the  results  Father  gets 
with  most  of  the  kids  are  vastly  rewarding, 
there  are  disappointments,  too.     And  once, 


When  it's  a  foursome,  what's 
your  policy? 

□  Fair  play 

□  All's  fair  in  love 

O  Leave  the  field  to  Sue 

Even  if  he's  snareable,  don't  be  a  male 
robber.  Play   fair.   Avoid   hurting  others. 


What's  your  winning  weapon? 

□  Sharp  chaffer 

O  Samba  (enow-how 

□  That  starry-eyed  look 

Chin  music  and  fancy  footwork  may  be  fine. 
But  try  that  starry-eyed  look.  It's  accom- 
plished with  a  colorless  brow-and-lash  cream 
that  helps  condition  'em.  Makes  lashes  seem 
longer.  (Glamour  for  your  lids,  too,  if  Mom 
vetoes  eye  shadow).  To  win  self-confidence 
on  "those"  days,  turn  to  Kotex  —  for  the  flat 
pressed  ends  that  prevent  revealing  outlines. 
Likewise,  for  the  extra  protection  of  an  ex- 
clusive safety  center.  Your  secret  weapon 
against  secret  woes! 


Besides,  a  halo  can  be  mighty  becoming. 
And  when  trying  days  needle  you,  seek 
the  comforting  angel-softness  of  new  Kotex. 
The  kind  of  softness  that  holds  its  shape — 
because  Kotex  is  made  to  stay  soft  while 
you  wear  it.  Strictly  genius!  So  is  the  snug, 
comfortable  fit  of  your  new  Kotex  Sanitary 
Belt  that's  all-elastic  — non-binding  ! 


Would  a  smart  "red  head"  wear  — 

□  Pink 

□  Orange 

□  Cerise 

So  you're  tired  of  "traditional"  colors.  You 
crave  a  change  to— (s-sh!)  pink  —  but  you've 
heard  it's  taboo  for  red  heads.  Well, 
wear  that  dreamy  pink  confection.  With 
beauty  experts'  blessing!  Any  pale  pink 
with  a  subtle  gold  tone;  like  a  very  delicate 
flesh  or  coral.  It's  smart  to  be  sure  your 
choice  is  right.  And  for  problem  days, 
you're  smart  to  choose  exactly  the  right 
napkin.  Try  all  3  sizes  of  Kotex!  Find  the 
one  that  suits  your  needs. 


when  one  of  his  boys  goes  on  trial  for  murder, 
there  is  real  heartbreak. 

Pat  O'Brien,  handsome  with  his  silvering 
hair,  gives  an  adequate,  if  somewhat  humor- 
less, characterization  of  the  fighting  priest, 
and  Una  O'Connor  as  Miss  O'Rourke,  the 
housekeeper,  does  her  best  with  some  pretty 
mediocre  lines.  It  is  unmistakably  Darryl 
Hickman's  picture.  Hickman,  cast  as  Matt 
Davis,  the  young  murderer,  is  excellent — by 
turn  cocky  and  craven,  at  all  times  at  home 
in  his  role. 

This  is  not  a  great  picture  by  any  standards, 
but  at  a  time  when  the  nation  is  blaming 
Hollywood  for  every  case  of  juvenile  delin- 
quency on  the  books,  it  is  an  important  one, 
for  it  is  certainly  a  step  in  the  right  di- 
rection.— RKO. 

UP  IN  CENTRAL  PARK 

Here's  a  lilting  little  comedy  with  Deanna 
Durbin  in  fine  face  and  voice.  Picture's 
adapted  from  the  late  Broadway  hit. 

It's  all  about  the  Central  Park  scandal  dur- 
ing the  reign  of  Tammany  Hall's  notorious 
Boss  Tweed  (Vincent  Price).  Deanna  as  Rosie 
Moore  and  her  father  Timothy  Moore  (Albert 
Sharpe)  are  Irish  immigrants  who  are  rushed 
directly  from  the  boat  to  the  polls  where — at 
two  dollars  the  vote — they  vote  for  Boss 
Tweed's  candidate,  ineffectual  Mayor  Oakley 
(Hobart  Cavanaugh).  Deanna's  dad,  who 
thinks  Boss  Tweed  is  the  grandest  man  who 
ever  lived,  votes  23  times,  and  later — at  a 
big  beer  party  celebrating  Oakley's  victory, 
Tweed  appoints  him  superintendent  of  Cen- 


Fighting  Father  Dunne:  Pat  O'Brien  plays  a 
priest  battling  delinquency  among  slum  boys. 


tral  Park  at  $3,000  a  year. 

Shortly  thereafter,  newspaper  reporter  John 
Matthews  (Dick  Haymes),  on  the  trail  of  evi- 
dence that  will  knock  the  bottom  out  of 
Tweed's  rotten,  grafting  regime,  gets  talking 
to  Mr.  Moore  about  his  duties  as  park  super- 
intendent, extracts  enough  information  from 
the  guileless  old  fellow  for  a  red  hot  news- 
paper expose.  Tweed  is  furious  and  fires 
Moore  for  his  disloyalty. 

Now  there  are  complications,  for  both  Tweed 
and  Matthews  are  enamoured  of  golden- 
voiced  Rosie  and  neither  of  them  wants  to 
make  her  angry.  There  is  a  happy  ending,  of 
course,  in  due  time.  The  unspectacular  songs 
by  Dorothy  Fields  and  Sigmund  Romberg  are 
well  sung  by  Durbin  and  Haymes,  and  the 
whole  business  adds  up  to  an  hour  and  a  half 
of  relaxation  and  good  fun. — Univ.-Int. 


YOUR  RED  WAGON 

This  is  a  tense,  fast,  poignant  film  that  tells 
the  ill-starred  love-story  of  two  kids  who 
never  meant  to  be  bad,  and  who  wind  up  in 
the  worst  kind  of  trouble  there  is.  It  intro- 
duces a  new  movie  team,  Farley  Granger  as 
Bowie,  and  Cathy  O'Donnell  as  Keechie,  and 
they  are  made  for  each  other  cinematically 
the  way  Janet  Gaynor  and  Charlie  Farrell 
were.  They're  magnificent! 

Bowie  is  a  young  killer  who  has  escaped 
from  jail  with  two  older  criminals,  T-Dub 
(Jay  C.  Flippen)  and  Chicamaw  (Howard 
Da  Silva).  These  two  are  past  hoping  for 
redemption,  almost  past  dreaming  of  living 
once  more  on  the  right  side  of  the  law.  But 
Bowie  is  young  and  full  of  hope.  He's  certain 
that  if  he  can  just  get  the  funds  to  pay  for 
a  lawyer  he  can  get  himself  squared  around. 
And  so,  to  get  some  money,  he  helps  Chica- 
maw and  T-Dub  rob  a  bank.  They  make  their 
getaway  safely,  buy  a  new  car  and  destroy 
the  old  one  that  the  police  are  looking  for. 
They're  free,  they  think — and  then  there's 
an  automobile  accident  and  a  cold-blooded 
murder.  And  Bowie  is  in  so  deep  he  knows 
no  lawyer  will  ever  be  able  to  help  him  out  of 
his  trouble. 

Keechie,  a  niece  of  Chicamaw's,  knows 
what  she's  in  for,  but  she's  in  love  with 
Bowie,  and  she  begs  him  to  take  her  with 
him  when  he  begins  his  hideous  hunted  exis- 
tence. They  are  married,  and  for  a  pitifully 
short  time  they  live  "like  other  people"  in  a 


"wonderful .  .  .  a  deodorant 
in  pads  . . .  as  individual 

as  facial  tissues!" 


just  a  dab 
of  a  pad 


22 


AT  LAST 


gr  easel  ess  —  not  a  cream  . . .  not  messy  to  use  . . .  nothing  to  cake . . . 
no  sticky  fingers  ...  no  chance  of  soiling  clothes  or  delicate  underthings. 

(JU1ck  (drying  —  just  a  dab  of  a  5  Day  Pad  —  that's  all . . .  no 
waiting  ...  no  liquid  to  drip  or  spill . . .  drying  is  practically  instant! 

Safe  -  5  Day  Deodorant  Pads  are  harmless  to  skin  and  clothes 
,.  ,  require  no  after-bathing  ...  will  not  discolor  fabrics. 


Stop  perspiration  and  odor  in  2  seconds 


a  fingertip  pad*  saturated  with  a  marvelously  effective  deodorant .  .  .  often 
lasts  for  days.  Dab  it  on  for  a  second  .  .  .  then 

throw  it  away.  Each  cooling  5  Day  Pad  i$ 
individual  .  .  .  completely  sanitary. 

Discover  this  daintier,  more  effective 
nmnnnillT     way  to  lasting  freshness  today. 

UtuDUKANl 

PADS  -  -  •  •  more  effective  •  more  convenient  ■  safer 


0   £  O  D  Oft  ANT       YOUR       HUSBAND       Will       USE  TOO/ 


Your  Red  Wagon:  Young  Farley  Granger  and 
Cathy  O'Donnell  in  a  story  of  ill-starred  love. 

little  cottage  in  a  tourist  camp.  They  buy 
dishes  and  curtains  and  pretend  that  it's  for 
always,  but  there's  an  end  to  it,  of  course. 

This  is  a  sad  movie,  a  sordid  movie,  but 
it  is  beautifully  done.  The  acting  is  flawless, 
the  direction  deft,  and  there's  a  terrifying 
message  here  for  youngsters  who  think  that 
crime  is  a  glamorous  or  lucrative  way  of  life. 
Here's  one  of  those  rare  films  good  enough 
to  see  twice. — RKO. 

ON  AN  ISLAND  WITH  YOU 

This  is  lavish,  expensive,  bright  with  color 
and  music — and  it  should  add  up  to  a  lot 
more  than  it  does.  Unfortunately,  the  script 
is  dull,  and  the  acting  with  one  notable  ex- 
ception— Jimmy  Durante — is  uninspired. 

It's  a  movie  about  making  a  movie,  and  it 
is  hard  to  say  which  movie  is  more  mean- 
ingless. The  movie  wifhin  the  movie  (let's 
call  that  one  movie  A)  seems  to  concern  two 
girls'  ardor  for  one  guy,  and  the  main  movie 
involves  approximately  the  same  situation, 
and — oddly  enough — the  same  three  charac- 
ters: Esther  Williams,  who  plays  the  part  of 
screen  star  Roz  Reynolds;  Cyd  Charisse  who 
plays  Yvonne,  and  Ricardo  Montalban  as 
Ricard  Montes.  Lt.  Larry  Kingslea  (Peter 
Lawford),  young  Navy  flyer,  is  brought  in  as 
technical  advisor  on  Movie  A,  and  he  falls 
madly  in  love  with  Roz  Reynolds  whom  he 
first  met  when  she  entertained  the  boys  on 
his  Pacific  isle  during  the  war. 

Kingslea  is  to  double  for  Ricardo  in  one 
scene  and  fly  a  plane  in  which  Roz  has 
stowed  away.  In  a  sequence  which  heavily 
taxes  one's  credulity,  he  flies  her  to  the  very 
island  where  they  first  met.  He  gets  in  Dutch 
with  the  Navy  for  his  shenanigans,  but — in 
another  unlikely  scene — is  let  off  by  a  benign, 
head-patting  commander  with  a  Dan  Cupid 
approach  to  the  whole  affair.  We  never  do 
know  how  things  turn  out  in  movie  A,  but 
they  turn  out  just  dandy  in  the  main  event, 
with  a  double  wedding  in  the  offing  at  the 
fadeout. 

Xavier  Cugat's  music  is  fine,  and  Durante — 
singing  his  "Strutaway"  song,  breathing  life 
into  some  extremely  poor  lines — is  a  bright 
spot.  As  is  Cyd  Charisse,  a  really  spectacular 
dancer.  Esther's  figure  is  wonderful,  and  she 
swims — well,  like  Esther  Williams.  The  in- 
gredients are  all  there.  This  one  should  be 
a  knockout,  but  it  simply  doesn't  come 
off. — M-G-M. 


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With  new  "soft-water  shampooing" 
no  after-rinse  is  needed.  There's 
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dorothy 
kilgallen 

selects  "the  emperor  waltz" 


Bing  Crosby,  an  American  traveling  salesman,  is  in  Austria  to  sell  Emperor  Franz  Joseph 
(Richard  Haydn)  a  phonograph.  Trouble  starts  when  Bing's  mongrel  gets  involved  with 
Countess  Joan  Fontaine's  Scheherazade,  who's  already  betrothed  to  the  Emperor's  dog. 


■  Film  fans  who  remember  with 
happy  nostalgia  the  gay  Maurice 
Chevalier- Jeanette  MacDonald  musi- 
cals of  a  couple  of  decades  ago  will 
find  a  multi-colored  rebirth  of  those 
celluloid  charmers  in  The  Emperor 
Waltz.  The  generation  that  has  be- 
come cinema-conscious  since  then  will 
get  a  sample  of  what  it  missed  when 
it  watches  Bing  Crosby  and  Joan 
Fontaine  sparkle  and  cavort  in  this 
tale  of  the  princess  and  the  pauper. 

And  wait  till  you  see  the  new  Bing 
— slim,  wavy-haired  and  as  romantic 
as  Boyer! 

The  story  is  not  set  in  a  mythical 
kingdom  (the  scene  is  Austria  during 
the  reign  of  Emperor  Franz  Joseph) 
but  it  is  a  mythical  kingdom  formula 
and  might  just  as  well  have  been  laid 
in  Graustark  for  all  anyone  connected 
with  it  cares  about  the  realities. 

You  really  can  sit  back  in  your 
plush  loge  seat  and  enjoy  this  one;  its 
worst  problems  are  about  on  a  par 
with  putting  too  much  sugar  in  the 
batch  of  fudge,  and  its  big  message 
is  that  music  and  love  are  fine. 

The  lush  Technicolor  picks  up 
Bing  (impersonating  Virgil  Smith,  an 
American  phonograph  salesman  at 
the  turn  of  the  century)  as  he  be- 
comes involved  with  an  imperious 
young  Austrian  countess  at  the  court 
of  Franz  Joseph.  They  migrate  from 
the  extravagant  splendors  of  the 
palace  to  the  verdant  beauties  of  the 
Tyrol  (sure,  Bing  yodels — whaddya 
think!)  and  there,  in  an  enchanting 
village  where  every  member  of  the 
population  plays  the  violin  at  twi- 
light, countess  falls  in  love  with  brash 
young  salesman,  and  brash  young 
salesman's  spotted  dog  falls  in  love 
with  countess'  elegant  poodle. 

What  results  in  both  instances 
should,  I  suppose,  be  kept  secret 
from  moviegoers  until  they  have  paid 
their  tariff  at  the  box  office. 

Anyhow,  the  proceedings  are  de- 
lightfully tuneful  and  escapist.  Cros- 
by fans,  Fontaine  fans  and  dog  lovers 
will  be  equally  gratified  by  The 
Emperor  Waltz — and,  goodness,  that 
must  include  EVERYBODY! 


24 


Bev  and  Dick  Webb  on  Isn't  It  Romantic  set. 

INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

HOLLYWOOD  again  ...  for  three 
weeks.  The  moment  I  arrived  I  met 
GREGORY  PECK  at  the  Modern 
Screen  office.  Then  DICK  CLAY- 
TON took  DANNY  SCHOLL  and 
myself  to  a  musical  at  Fox  which 
starred  BILL  CALLAHAN  and 
COLLEEN  TOWNSEND.  COL- 
LEEN invited  me  to  lunch  at  the 
studio,  and  at  adjoining  tables  were 
BETTY  GRABLE,  DICK  CONTE, 
BOB  ARTHUR  and  TYRONE  POW- 
ER. My  favorite  publicity  man,  one 
of  the  nicest  guys  in  the  business, 
FRANK  MACFADDEN,  invited  me 
to  lunch  with  ANN  BLYTH  and 
DON  TAYLOR  at  Universal.  At 
the  commissary  were  JEFFRY 
LYNN,  BURT  LANCASTER, 
VINCENT  PRICE,  SHELLY  WIN- 
TERS, and  MARTA  TOREN. 
MICHAEL  STEELE  took  me  to 
CIRO'S,  twice,  to  see  Mitzi  Green, 
and  we  rubbed  elbows  on  the  dance 
floor  with  SUSAN  HAYWARD, 
JUDY  GARLAND,  BARBARA  BEL 
GEDDES,  SYLVIA  SIDNEY,  and 
SONJA  HENIE,  and  had  chats  with 
DAVE  ROSE,  DIANA  LYNN,  and 
the  JIMMY  LYDONS.  MIKE  is  set 
for  the  juvenile  lead  in  Command 
Decision,  so  write  him  now  for  a 
pic*  at  MGM.  Had  a  memorable 
evening  seeing  BILL  EYTHE  and 
JOAN  LORRING  in  Bill's  produc- 
tion of  Glass  Menagerie,  and  Bill 
told  me  at  cocktails  about  his  sen- 
sational plans  for  a  permanent  thea- 
ter in  Hollywood.  Had  fun  at  tea 
with  JANE  WITHERS,  reminiscing 
about  the  wedding;  and  a  grand 
time  at  the  Sam  Spade  Show. 
I  gabbed  with  HOWARD  DUFF  af- 
terward. Hmmmm!  DON  DEFORE 
invited  me  to  Warners  to  see  Den- 
nis Morgan  and  him  working  in 
One  Sunday  Afternoon,  and  I  met 
HARRY  LEWIS  on  the  lot.  HARRY 
drove  me  to  his  darling  ceramic 
shop,  and  we  talked  for  hours. 
Went  to  a  party  with  DANNY 
SCHOLL  and  BARRY  NELSON,  and 
had  a  reunion  with  the  CHARLES 
KORVINS.  BILLY  DANIEL  took 
me  to  Paramount  for  a  long  delayed 
meeting  with  DICK  WEBB,  and 
DICK  and  I  got  together  again  at 
Lucey's  before  I  left.  Then  Billy 
took  me  to  Universal  to  meet  AVA 
GARDNER  and  OLGA  SAN  JUAN. 
There  was  much  more  .  .  .  lunch 
with  BILL  MAUCH,  cocktails  with 
MICHAEL  HARVEY  (Curley  of 
Tycoon),  and  visits  with  ROSS 
HUNTER.  Whatcha  want  to  know? 
Send  your  letters  to  Beverly  Linet, 
Information  Desk,  Modern  Screen, 
261  Fifth  Ave.,  N.  Y.  16,  N.  Y.,  with 
a  self-addressed  stamped  envelope. 


shade- PINK  TOUCH 


RITA  DAIGLE— Walter  Thornton  Model 

Change  fingertips 
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clothes,  accessories,  make-up.  New  streamlined 
NYLON  BRUSH  lets  you  control  the  polish, 
makes  it  easier  than  ever  to  change  to  any  of  eighteen 
Dura-Gloss  fashion-right  shades.  New  non-smear,  oily 

DURA-GLOSS.  REMOVER. simply  lifts  the  old  polish  off, 
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1938  — 10tf  THEN  .  .  .  1948  — 10^' 


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plus  tax 


You  can  say  "yes" 
to  Romance. 


Vet©  says  wno" 

to  Offending! 


Veto  says  "22"  Veto  says  "no" 

—  to  perspiration  worry  and  odor!  —to  harming  skin  and  clothes! 


Soft  as  a  caress  .  .  .  exciting  .  .  .  new — Veto  is  Colgate's 
wonderful  cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy,  always 
smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you  lovely  all  day! 
Veto  stops  underarm  odor  instantly  .  .  .  checks  perspi- 
ration effectively.  You  feel  sure  of  your  own  daintiness. 


So  effective  .  .  .  yet  so  gentle — Colgate's  Veto  is  harm- 
less to  anv  normal  skin.  Harmless,  too,  even  to  your 
filmiest,  your  most  fragile  fabrics.  For  Veto  alone  con- 
tains Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  new  ingredient  to 
make  Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant  can  be  like  Veto! 


Trust  always  to  Veto  if  if  on  value  if  oar  eharm! 


"You  can't 
have  a  child  of  your 
own,"  the  doctors  said. 
And  then  Linda  Darnell 
found  Lola,  and 
someday  she'll  tell  her, 
"We  wanted  you 
more  than  anything 
in  the  world." 


it 


adoDted  a  liali 


Linda   happily  displays  baby  bonn« 
gift  of  co-workers  in  Unfaithfully 
Yours.  They  gave  her  shower. 


■  For  years  I  had  wanted  a  baby  desperately.    I  was 

shaken  when  the  first  doctor  told  me,  "I'm  sorry,  Linda,  but  you 

can't  have  a  baby  of  your  own."   There  were  all  sorts  of 

reasons.   Good  reasons.    But  I  wouldn't  take  the  word  of  just  one 

doctor. 

Pev  (my  husband,  Peverell)  and  I  had  then  been  married  a 
year.   Both  of  us  wanted  children  of  our  own.  And  here  was 
this  doctor  uttering  his  verdict  which  I  didn't  want  to  believe. 

So  I  went  to  more  doctors.   I  went  to  specialists.   And  they 
all  said  the  same  thing.   "Linda,"  I  said  to  myself,  "you're  not  a  girl  to 
kid  yourself  with  a  lot  of  illusions.   One  of  those  doctors  might 
be  wrong,  but  they  can't  all  be  wrong." 

Pev  went  on  hoping  that  we  might  have  children  of  our  own. 
So  did  I,  but  it  was  a  kind  of  quiet,  forlorn,  suffocating  hope. 

The  years  went  by,  and  we  didn't  have  children.   And  after  a  while 
it  didn't  seem  as  if  we  were  having  much  of  a  married  life 
either.   We  weren't  making  each  other  happy.    We  never  had  much  time 
together.   Both  of  us  were  busy  working. 

We'd  come  home,  tired,  tense  and  excited.  We  had  been  fighting 
traffic  all  the  way  home.  Pev  would  take  off  his  hat  and  coat  and  throw 
them  away  some  place.    Then  I'd  ask  Pev,  "What  happened 
today?"  not  really  caring  about  the  answer  because  I  was  too 
concerned  with  my  own  problems. 

Well,  we  separated.    The  story  of  our  separation  and 
reconciliation  is  a  thrice-told  tale.    Away  from  Pev,  I  found  out 
that  I  cared  for  him  deeply,  more  than  I  did  for  anyone  else. 
Our  differences  could  be  ironed  out.   We  could  be  sensible,  level-headed 
people.  When  we  got  home  dead  tired,  (Continued  on  page  70) 


27 


June  (hanging  her  painting  at  star  exhibnj   is  makir,  -  Silver  Lining,  biography  of  Marilyn  Miller.  She  receives  dozen  roses  daily  from  Duzik. 


■  A  slight  fairhaired  girl  sat  in  the  Santa 
Monica  courtroom  and  started  telling  her 
story.  Her  voice  shook  a  little.  It  was 
frightening,  up  there  in  front  of  all  those 
people,  talking  about  something  so  personal. 
"A  little  louder,  please,  Miss  Haver,"  said 
Jerry  Giesler,  her  attorney.  "We  can't  hear 
you." 

June  steadied  herself.  Her  thoughts  flew 
back  to  the  operation,  less  than  a  month 
ago.  Here  was  another  of  those  things  you 
had  to  do  for  yourself,  nobody  could  help 
you.  All  right,  she'd  pretend  she  was  alone. 
Or  playing  a  part,  pitching  her  voice  to  the 


gallery.  This  time  the  words  came  clearer, 
and  at  last  she  was  finished.  Ruth  Wood- 
ward, her  secretary,  followed  her  to  the 
stand. 

A  few  minutes  later  the  judge  handed 
down  the  decree  that  -divorced  June  Haver 
from  Jimmy  Zito. 

I'm  frank  to  admit  that  June  is  a  pet  of 
mine.  What  struck  me  first  when  I  met 
her  four  years  ago  was  the  kindness  in  her 
eyes — an  expression  you  don't  find  too 
often  in  an  18-year-old.  After  that  I  came 
to  know  her  well  as  a  gay,  honest,  eager- 


hearted  kid  with  an  odd  turn  of  phrase  that 
kept  you  laughing,  and  enough  good  will  to 
embrace  the  world. 

I've  seen  her  in  many  moods  and  under 
many  conditions — at  home  and  at  work, 
alone  and  with  a  crowd.  I  saw  her  two 
days  after  her  marriage  in  a  soft  glow  of 
happiness.  I  saw  her  white  and  drawn  and 
controlled  after  the  breakup.  I've  never 
seen  her  treat  others  except  with  consider- 
ation, nor  handle  herself  except  with  dig- 
nity and  taste.  I'm  proud  to  have  her  con- 
sider me  a  friend. 

As  her  friend,  there's  a  thing  or  two  I'd 


28 


by 

hedda 
hopper 


he  never  loved  her 


You've- read  about 
June  Haver's  divorce 
before — a  few  lies, 
a  few  half-truths. 
Now  Modern  Screen 
tells  you  what 
really  happened! 


like  to  clear  up.  Scarcely  was  the  ink  dry 
on  her  interim  decree  when  one  columnist 
leaped  into  print  with  the  gleeful  announce- 
ment that  June  would  marry  John  Duzik. 
Where  she  got  her  so-called  information  I 
wouldn't  know.  From  a  ouija  board,  maybe. 

The  facts  are  these.  Since  last  October 
June's  been  working  like  crazy.  What  with 
keeping  her  toes  to  the  grindstone,  plus  an 
operation,  there's  been  little  time  for  social 
life.  Less  than  ever,  now  that  Silver  Lining 
is  rolling.  It's  true  that  when  she  has  gone 
out,  Duzik's  been  her  companion.  But 
let's   not   try    (Continued   on   page  84) 


s  all  over  now.  June  divorced  Jimmy  Zito  on  March  25,  charging  he  was 
"moody  and  silent,"  made  embarrassing  remarks  about  her  fans.  Gossips  say 
she'll    now   seek   church    annulment   so    she    can    marry    Dr.   John    Duzik  next. 


29 


Somewhere  in  the 
Carribean  -there's  a 

man-eating  shark  still 
whining  about  the  Peck 
who  got  away! 
by  Betty  Charteris 


■  Picture  it.  We'd  planned  a  vacation,  my 
husband  Leslie  (he  writes  The  Saint  books)  and 
I,  with  our  great  good  friends  the  Gregory  Pecks. 
They  were  going  to  fly  to  Nassau  and  meet  us 
there.  And  they  did.  They,  and  eleven  pieces 
of  luggage,  and  enough  camera  equipment  so  you 
could  photograph  every  fish  in  the  South  Seas 
simultaneously,  and  themselves  looking  neat  and 
wholesome. 

My  husband,  who  was  wearing  a  sad  looking 
seersucker  suit,  acted  hurt.  "Do  you  know  how 
to  use  this  artillery,"  he  said  cuttingly,  "or  are 
you  just  showing  off?" 

Greg  ignored  that.  "You're  such  a  great  man- 
ager, where's  the  boat?"  (Leslie  and  I  were  to 
have  arranged  for  the  boat  on  which  we  four 
were  to  cruise  cheerily  through  the  Caribbean. 
We'd  chartered  a  60-foot  auxiliary  ketch  from 
Bob  Trout,  the  CBS  newscaster.) 

"Boat's  coming,"  Leslie  said. 

"Supposed  to  have  got  here  yesterday,"  Greg 
said.  "We  missed  two  planes  to  give  you  a  chance 
to  get  ready,  and  you're  still  nowhere." 

"We  didn't  miss  the  planes  on  purpose — " 
Greta  said. 

"Hush,"  said  her  husband.  "Let's  go  look  at 
Nassau." 

Because  Mr.  Peck  was  so  anxious  to  look  at 
Nassau,  we  now  have  a  million  pictures  of  him 
taking  pictures  of  natives  who  are  taking  pictures 
of  him!   Very  confusing  day. 

That  night,  our  boat,  the  Tonga,  arrived.  We 
watched  it  move  into  the  pier,  and  it  was  some- 
thing beautiful:  the  bright  moonlight,  the  white 
ship;  two  tall  masts.  We  met  the  Captain,  Ray- 
mond Johnson,  a  big,  red-headed  man,  and  we 
met  Mrs.  Johnson,  and  we  met  the  crew.  The 
crew's  name  was  Joe.  Then  we  went  to  the 
hotel  to  dream  of  pirate  ships  cleaving  the  wild 
green  sea. 

Next  morning  we  were  off. 

It's  something  I  can't  describe — that  first  shock 
when  the  wind  fills  the  sails,  and  the  boat  moves 
off  into  the  sea.  The  sky  was  all  yellow  and  red 
with  dawn,  and  the  little  white  Nassau  houses 
were  fading  behind  us. 

We  were  headed  for  (Continued  on  page  81) 


Greg  (who'll  follow  up  Gentleman's  Agreement  with  Yellow  Sky) 
smiles  approval  as  Greta  chooses  a  sisal  hat  and  purse  to  match.  Native 
woman  charged  double  ($  1 .50).  because  she  was  asked  to  pose  for  pic; 


"they 

call 
me  Mother" 


by 

dale  nans 
rogers 


All  of  a  sudden, 
Dale  looked  different  to  the 
Rogers  kids,  be- 
cause now  she  was  their  step- 
mother, not  their  friend. 
Until  they  began  to  learn  she 
could  be  both  at  once  .  .  . 


On  Saturdays,  the  Rogers  kids  love  to  visit  Collin's  Kiddieland. 
Dusty,  not  quite  two,  takes  it  easy,  but  sisters  Cheryl  and  Linda  ride 
the  airplanes, '  beg  Dale  for  pickles,  popcorn  and  chocolate  sundaes. 


■  It  was  a  day  last  December,  a  few 
weeks  before  I  was  married  to  Roy 
Rogers,  a  man  with  three  small  children. 
I  was  being  interviewed  by  his  eldest  child, 
Cheryl,  aged  seven,  who  likes  to  play 
spokesman  for  the  family. 

"When  you  marry  our  daddy,"  said 
Cheryl,  "you'll  be  our  stepmother,  won't 
you?" 

"Well,  yes,"  I  said.  I  glanced  at  her, 
feeling  this  was  a  crucial  moment.  "I'm 
not  particularly  fond  of  the  word  step- 
mother," I  said.  There  was  a  silence  you 
could  drop  a  stone  into.  I  went  on,  "You 
don't  have  to  call  me  mummy.  We  can 
just  be  friends,  good  friends.  I  suggest 
you  call  me  Dale,  the  way  you  know  me 
best.  Later,  if  you  ever  want  to  call  me 


32 


by  another  name,  I'll  be  very,  very  happy." 

Cheryl  flung  me  a  smile.  We  were  over 
the  first  hurdle. 

The  children's  mother  had  died  at  the 
time  Dusty,  the  boy,  was  born,  in  the 
summer  of  1946.  It  was  a  wrenching  loss 
to  the  two  little  girls — Cheryl,  and  Linda. 
Mrs.  Rogers  had  been  a  devoted  home- 
maker  with  no  career  interests,  and  con- 
sequently closer  to  the  children  than  Roy 
who  had  to  be  away  a  lot,  traveling  on 
rodeos  and  personal  appearance  tours.  So 
when  his  wife  died,  Roy  fell  into  a  state 
of  deep  concern  about  what  to  do  with  his 
little  girls  and  his  infant  son. 
jf    Finally,  it  was  decided  that  they  would 
1  be  best  off  living  on  his  beautiful  ranch 
I  on  Lake  Hughes,  60  miles  from  Hollywood. 


It  was  arranged  that  Mrs.  Christensen,  a 
lovely  lady,  mother  of  one  of  Roy's  close 
friends,  would  stay  with  them.  It  was  a 
good  life,  but  the  little  girls  missed  their 
mother.  Roy  tried  to  be  with  them  more, 
but  when  he  was  making  movies  he 
couldn't  travel  60  miles  to  the  ranch  every 
night — and  back  again  in  the  morning. 

After  the  wedding,  it  took  a  little  while 
to  get  all  of  us  plus  five  dogs,  a  nurse  and 
a  housekeeper  moved  under  one  roof  and 
settled  down  as  a  family  for  the  first  time. 

Children  adapt  quickly  (in  a  month  you 
have  the  feeling  you've  all  lived  together 
forever)  but  I  don't  want  to  make  it  sound 
as  though  everything  about  my  new  role 
as  mother  to  Roy's  children  was  auto- 
matically solved.  We  wouldn't  be  normal 


people  if  things  had  worked  out  that 
simply.  This  is  quite  a  responsibility  I've 
taken  on. 

All  three  children  have  tried  a  little 
grandstanding  with  me.  That's  natural.  I 
was  the  new  one  in  the  family,  and  if  they 
could  take  a  little  advantage,  why  not? 

On  the  whole,  Dusty  isn't  much  of  a 
problem,  and  Linda,  having  been  only  three 
when  her  mother  died,  seems  to  have  ad- 
justed well.  But  Cheryl  is  a  different  sort 
of  child.  More  introspective,  with  a  flair 
for  the  dramatic.  She  was  older  (five) 
when  her  mother  was  taken  away,  and  she 
felt  it  more. 

I  think  I'm  realistic.  I  know  that  all 
children  are  quick  to  uncover  sensitive 
spots  in  adults  (Continued  on  page  99) 


33 


Victorian   coat-rack   greets  guests. 


What  are  little  girls' 
castles  made  of?  Chintz  and 
brass  and  antique  glass 
.  .  .  Victorian  poses  and  cab- 
bage roses — or  at  least 
that's  the  story  Prince  Mike 
tells  here,  after  a  visit  to 
Diana  Lynn  .  .  . 


apartment  for  diana 


by 
prince 
michael 
romanoff 


Diana's  5-room  apartment  is  in  an  upper  mid- 
dle class  district  of  Beverly  Hills.  It's  perfect 
for  quiet  "at  home"  entertaining,  which  she  loves. 


YMike  Romanoff,  an  authority  on  decorating,  was  impressed 
by  both  the  beauty  and  practicality  of  Diana's  home.  These 
chairs  are  covered  in  glazed  chintz  "because  it's  dirt-resistant."- 


"ft 

n 

\ 

i  wy^'ffiL: 

^The  dinette  is  really  a  corner  of  the  living  room,  separated 
by  a  waist-high  partition.  Two  Early  American  tables  (only  one 
is  shown)  are  placed  together  for  dinners,  parted  for  bridge. 


Afternoons  (when  she's  not  working  on  Ruthless)   Diana  serves  tea  before  fireplace.    Coffee  table  is.  sawed-off  old  dining  table. 


■  A  man  who  spends  most  of  his  life  in  a 
restaurant  the  way  I  do  must  think,  up  ways 
of  amusing  himself.  If  he  doesn't,  he  faces 
a  very  great  danger  of  becoming  a  paranoiac 
with  delusions  of  grandeur. 

Romanoff,  therefore,  has  originated  a 
unique  little  guessing  game.  Whenever  an 
actress  of  note  enters  my  establishment,  I 
study  her  from  a  secret  vantage  point,  and 
I  say  to  myself,  "Romanoff,  what  kind  of  a 
house  does  that  woman  live  in?" 

On  a  little  pad,  I  then  jot  down  my  guess. 


Sooner  or  later,  that  actress  invites  me  to 
her  home,  where  I  find,  for  the  most  part, 
that  my  original  guess  was  incredibly  cor- 
rect. 

In  the  case  of  Diana  Lynn,  however,  I  am 
sad  to  say  I  was  wrong,  wrong  for  the  first 
time  since  1911. 

My  guessing  pad  carries  this  notation. 
"Diana  Lynn — in  all  probability  very  mod- 
ernistic, gadgety  house,  television,  hidden 
radios,  etc." 

The  circumstances  of  my  error,  however, 


are  extenuating.  Diana  has  been  coming  to 
my  restaurant  for  years.  She's  been  order- 
ing scrambled  eggs  and  chicken  livers  ever 
since  she  was  fourteen.  She  was  born  in 
Los  Angeles  twenty-one  years  ago  and  she's 
been  around  worldly  show-people  all  her 
youth.  She's  smart  and  sophisticated,  and 
I  naturally  supposed  that  like  most  young 
actresses  on  the  upgrade,  she  had  built  her- 
self a  modernistic  house  with  at  least  one 
swimming  pool  and  had  had  the  abode  fur- 
nished by  Billy  Haines,  who  will  decorate 


apartment  for  diana 


Diana's  bedroom  is  gay  and  pert  as  slie  is.  Twin  beds  (she  often  asks  a 
girl  friend  to  stay  overnight)  are  pushed  together  and  backed  by  a  single 
headboard.  Padded  wall  behind  beds  is  "so  I  can  beat  my  head  against  it." 


any  star's  house  for  a  bagatelle  of  a 
hundred  thousand. 

Nothing  could  be  further  from  the 
truth." 

To  begin  with,  Diana  Lynn  doesn't 
live  in  a  house.  She  has  a  five-room 
apartment  in  an  upper  middle  class  dis- 
trict in  Beverly  Hills.  It's  the  kind  of 
apartment  any  career  girl  with  taste  and 
money  might  furnish. 

The  furniture  in  the  living  room  and 
dinette  is  Early  American.  The  furniture 
in  Diana's  bedroom  and  the  hideaway 
she  pithily  refers  to  as  a  "mood  room," 
are  Victorian,  and  the  kitchen  has  no 
furniture  at  all. 

Mix  Early  American  and  Victorian, 
and  what  do  you  get?  An  old-fashioned 
girl.  And  that's  exactly  what  Diana  is. 
Superficially,  she  appears  flip  and  sophis- 
ticated, but  delve  beneath  the  surface 
and  you  will  find  her  gracious,  conserva- 
tive, more  New  {Continued  on  page  104) 


I 


Pine-paneled  living  room  reflects  good  taste,  is  furnished  with  American  antiques.    Upholstery  and  carpeting,  however,  are  modern 


Diana  calls  this  her  "mood  room,"  and  retires  to  it  Satin-covered  Victorian  couch  (in  another  corner  of  the  "mood 
when  she  wants  to  be  alone.  The  ample  shelf  space  room")  is  ideal  spot  to  stady  scripts.  Reason:  the  seat  is  so 
has'  started  her  collecting  antique  glass  and  odd  china.      uncomfortable,  there's  little  danger  Diana  will  drop  off  to  sleep. 


nhappy  endin. 


It  could  have  been 
a  fairytale, 

the  way  their  marriage  went. 
It  was  almost  too  good 
to  last — and  it  didn't.  This 


by 

albert  p.  delaCOrte  is  about  the  Reagans, 


and  the  end  of  a  dream  .  .  . 


ONLY  A  FEW  MONTHS  TO  GO:  The  Reagan  quartet  was  Hollywood's 
model  for  happiness  when  this  photo  was  taken.  Little  did  they  sus- 
pect that  seven  years  of  marriage  would  very  soon  be  threatened. 


UNHAPPY  ENDING:  After  a  week's  reconciliation,  the  Reagans  decided 
on  divorce.  Jane  (star  of  Johnny  Belinda)  charged  "extreme  cruelty." 
First  separation  lasted  five  months,  during  which  Jane  "cleared  her  mind." 


■  I'm  not  the  most  convivial  guy  in  the  world.  I  can 
take  movie  stars  or  leave  them  alone,  and  movie  stars 
have  always  reciprocated  in  kind.  But  the  Reagans — 
they  were  different;  they  were  my  friends.  We  used 
to  swap  pictures  of  our  kids,  we  used  to  stay  at  each 
other's  houses — to  me,  the  Reagans  symbolized  all  that 
was  pleasant  and  honest  in  Hollywood.  Now  that 
they've  split  up,  I  feel  I've  lost  something  which  was 
important.  We've  all  lost  something.  Because  the 
Reagans  were  pets  of  Modern  Screen  readers.  You 
loved  them;  you  adopted  them;  you're  going  to  miss 
them.  I  know. 

Jane  and  Ronnie  were  already  separated  when  I  made 
my  last  trip  to  Hollywood,  and  maybe  that  had  some- 
thing to  do  with  the  fact  that  I  wasn't  in  any  rush  to 
get  there.  Anyhow,  I  stopped  off  for  a  few  days  at  the 
Flamingo  Hotel,  in  Las  Vegas,  Nevada,  on  my  way  out. 
The  Flamingo's  one  of  those  fabulous  playgrounds — it 
cost  six  million  dollars,         {Continued  on  page  70) 


39 


Dating  Madison 
and  Calhoun  can  be  rugged! 
They  sail,  they  bowl, 
they  hunt.  But  M.S.  caught 
Gail  and  Vera-Ellen 
beating  the  males  at  their 
own  energetic  games  I 


■  There  are  boys  in  this  world  who  will 
bring  you  a  gardenia.  They  will  buy  you  a 
Martini.  They  will  take  you  to  a"  night  club 
where  the  band  plays  tender  music. 

There  are  other  boys  who  will  do  nothing 
of  the  kind.  These  other  boys — and  into  this 
second  class  fall  Rory  Calhoun  and  Guy  Madi- 
son— these  other  boys  will  make  you  sail  a  boat 
(the  way  they  did  the  day  we  caught  them). 
That  day,  they'd  commandeered  a  fifty-four 
foot  gaff  rigged  yawl,  and  two  beautiful  women 
(Vera-Ellen  and  Gail  Russell)  and  they'd  set 
off  on  a  jib-fixing,  sail-hoisting  cruise. 

They  used  auxiliary  motors,  they  pulled 
halyards  on  the  mainmast,  they  referred  know- 
ingly to  the  bowsprit,  the  mizzen  and  the  helm, 
they  ate  chicken  sandwiches,  and  they  had  a 
happy  time. 

If  those  four  aren't  sailing,  they're  climbing 
mountains,  or  fishing,  or  swimming,  or  ice- 
skating,  or  shooting  guns,  or  doing  some  other 
equally  active  and  exhausting  thing. 

On  one  of  Vera-EIlen's  very  first  dates  with 
Rory,  he  made  her  a  speech.  "I'd  like  you  to 
walk  to  a  very  special  spot  with  me,"  he  said. 
"It's  in  the  mountains  above  Ojai — I  loved 
it  there  when  I  was  a  kid." 

They  started  off  at  a  pleasant  pace,  and  he 
proceeded  to  walk  her  five  miles  up  a  moun- 
tain-side to  a  little  waterfall,  where  the  water 
dripped  like  tears.  "Isn't  it  wonderful?"  he 
said. 

"I  want  to  cry,"  said  Vera. 
"The  waterfall?" 
"My  feet." 

She  got  used  to  those  hikes  soon  enough. 
He  and  she  have  walked  over  every  mountain 
plot  in  Southern  California  looking  at  building 
sites,  though  they  both  claim  they're  not 
building  anything. 

He  thinks  nothing  of  getting  her  up  at 
5:30  in  the  morning  to  take  her  speedboating, 
and  one  night  when  they  came  home  to  her 
house  and  decided  to  entertain  her  family  with 
a  small  athletic  exhibition,  he  lifted  her  right 
into  the  light  fixtures  in  his  exuberance. 

They  both  rhumba,  they  both  swim,  they 
never  go  to  each  other's  movies  (by  agree- 
ment) and  Rory  always  brings  her  game  he 
shoots.  A  while  ago,  he  dumped  ten  ducks  in 
her  kitchen,  and  she  thanked  him,  and  he 
went  away. 

After  he'd  gone,  she  turned  to  her  mother. 
"How  many  ways  can  you  cook  a  duck?"  she 
said.  "I  ask  you." 

Vera  and  Rory  do  have  their  sedentary 
moments,  but  they're  rare.  Eating,  of  course, 
is  done  sitting  down,  and  at  such  times,  they 


photos  by  don  ornitz 


V era-Ellen  gets  a  hand  from  Rory  Calhoun  as  she  boards  54-foot  yawl. 


Madison-Russell  serve  coffee.  Rory  and  Guy'll  star  in  When  A  Man's  A  Man. 


41 


sea  fever 


Beach-tvise,  boys  prove  they're  stronger  sex.    Gail  and  V era-Ellen  concede. 


favor  butterscotch  pie.  They  also  like 
to  watch  wrestling  matches  at  night  on 
Rory's  television  set  because  there's  a 
wrestler  named  Gorgeous  George  who 
has  a  beautiful  wardrobe.  Rory's  taught 
Vera  how  to  play  the  harmonica  ("Tur- 
key in  the  Straw,"  at  least)  and  she's 
taught  him  how  to  play  one  finger  piano 
(Baptist  hymns,  at  least). 

When  Vera  was  at  the  Laguna  sum- 
mer theater,  Rory'd  come  down  every 
night,  and  they'd  go  for  moonlight 
swims.  The  moonlight  was  romantic, 
the  swimming  was  athletic — and  it  was 
all  quite  perfect. 

As  for  Gail  and  Guy,  there's  already 
been  a  lot  written,  but  things  continue 
to  happen.  Like  last  month,  he  took  her 
out  in  the  mountains  and  handed  her  a 
twelve  gauge  shot-gun.-  When  she  shot 
it,  it  kicked  her  down  the  hill.  She  got 
up  bruised  and  scratched,  and  complain- 
ing. "If  I'm  not  your  type,"  she  said, 
"there  must  be  an  easier  way  to  tell  me. 
Since  I've  known  you,  the  elbows  are 
all  out  of  my  clothes." 

Guy  started  Gail  with  a  25  pound 
bow,  she  now  {Continued  on  page  91) 


Vera-Etten    is    impressed    with    Rory's  foot-navigation. 


Her  skin  is  cream, 

her  perfume's  French,  but 

that's  only  half  the 

story.  Ava's  so  glamorous 

that  when  she 

wears  glasses,  men 

make  passes! 


GLAMOROUS 


cm 
limit] 

i  0 


■  Some  people,  you  have  to  tone  down. 
Some  people  have  so  much  natural  glamor 
you  can't  put  them  in  gold  lame  because 
the  two  brilliances  fight.  That's  the  way 
it  is  with  Ava  Gardner.  First  and  fore- 
most, she's  a  gorgeous  woman,  and  what 
she's  got,  she's  still  got  in  a  tailored  suit, 
or  a  peasant  skirt,  or  while  eating  a 
chicken  sandwich.  Caviar?  Pink  satin? 
It's  beyond  their  feeble  power  to  enhance 
the  allure  of  the  little  lady. 

Ava's  a  perfect  size  twelve,  she's  beauti- 
fully built,  she  tends  to  look  best  in  low- 
cut  bathing  suits  and  evening  gowns.  She 
wears  thick-rimmed  glasses  (men  always 
make  passes),  the  only  kind  of  makeup 
she  uses  is  lipstick,  and  she's  a  big  per- 
fume addict.  Perfume  goes  behind  her 
ears,  on  her  hair,  at  the  nape  of  her  neck, 
and  in  the  crook  of  her  elbows.  Some 
days,  she  changes  her  perfume  two  or 
three  times,  to  fit  her  moods.  She  likes 
"Joy,"  "Blue  Hour,"  and '  "Mitsouko." 
Before  a  big  date,  she  takes  a  bubble 
bath — Elizabeth  Arden,  usually — but  her 
housecoat  is  tailored,  coolie-style,  and  she 
owns  only  two  strapless  formals.  They're 
both  black,  and  she  wears  them  when  she 
has  to  appear  at  publicity  functions, 
premieres  and  so  forth. 

Ava  owns  two  fur  coats — a  mink  and 
a  beaver — and  twelve  pairs  of  shoes.  The 
fanciest  pair  is  black,  with  straps  and 
open  toes,  and  it  cost  $18.50.  Most  of 
her  things  come  from  the  fashionable  local 
shops  like  Saks',  or  Magnin's;  she  likes 
black  lingerie,  and  kelly  green  dresses. 
She  can't  stand  blue  or  brown,  because 
she  thinks  they  clash  with  her  green  eyes. 
One-piece  bathing  suits  please  her,  so  do 
sweaters,  and  simple  costume  jewelry. 
She  buys  the  jewelry  herself,  though  there 
are  plenty  of  gentlemen  who'd  be  glad 
to  do  it  for  her. 

Currently,  the  man  in  her  life  is 
Howard  Duff ;  they  listen  to  jazz  together, 
go  dancing  together,  and  according  to 
Ciro's  Herman  Hover,  never  make  showy 
entrances.  Howard  has  a  cute  way  of 
working  Ava's  name  into  some  spot  in  his 
Sam  Spade  broadcasts,  and  his  general 
opinion  of  her  seems  to  be  excellent.  He 
says,  "She  was  standing  right  in  line  when 
attributes  were  passed  out.  She  has  skin 
like  cream^  wonderful  hair,  a  soft  voice — 
why,  they  had  to  add  some  more  curves 
to  that  statue  they  used  in  One  Touch 
of  Venus,  after  they  compared  it  with 
her!  Glamor?  Ava?  Well  heck,  you've 
got  eyes! " 


45 


"Tres  chic,"  they 
say  on  the  Riviera.  "Plain 
vulgar,"  they  cry  in  Holly- 
wood where  the  only  diapers 
you  ever  see  are  in  the 
family  wash,  and  bath- 
ing suits  still  cling  to  glamor  girls 
— without  a  prayer. 


in 

Hollywood! 


by  cobina  wright 


Atwater  Kent's  splash  party  at  his  Bel  Air  estate  brought  out  Terry  Moore,  petite  starlet  (in  Return  of  October),  could  find  only  children  s 
the  latest  in  Hollywood  pool  fashions.  Hazel  Brooks  (in  Arch  suits  to  fit  her!  Mom  rushed  out,  bought  some  pink,  blue  and  yellow  plaid 
of  Triumph)  wore  a  flesh-colored  suit  covered  with  black  lace.      taffeta,  and  stitched  up  a  knockout!  Good  for  swimming,  too.  It's  waterproof! 


Cyd  Charisse,  dancing  star  of  Words  And  Music,  wore  two-piece  suit  of  textron.  Art  Little,  Jr.,  Barb-Lawrence,  Terrv  Moore,  Mike  Carr  watch  her. 


■  Along  the  French  Riviera,  the  ladies 
are  wearing  what  they  call  "diaper  suits" 
for  swimming.  The  suits  consist  of  a 
trifle  of  material  on  the  top,  a  trifle  of 
material  on  the  bottom,  and  an  almost  un- 
believable amount  of  girl  in  between. 

I  remember  reading  about  them,  and  won- 
dering. I'm  interested  in  fashion;  I  go  to 
parties;  I  give  parties;  other  women  come 
to  parties — and  when  women  get  together, 
the  talk  naturally  turns  to  clothes,  modern 
screen  had  heard  about  my  gadding  habits, 


and  that's  how  this  series  of  articles  was 
born.  . 

Anyway,  I  stared  at  those  diaper  suits, 
and  tried  to  decide  whether  Hollywood 
would  go  for  them.  I  got  my  answer  in 
very  short  order.   My  answer  was  no. 

The  funny  truth  is  that  we're  not  much 
of  a  town  for  extreme  styles.  We  catch 
on  a  little  bit  late,  we  don't  let  down  our 
hems  as  fast  as  they  do  in  Paris,  we  don't 
cut  off  our  hair  as  short  as  they  do  in  New 
York.   You  may  be  seeing  diaper  suits  in 


Palm  Beach  next  season;  you  won't  be  see- 
ing 'em  in  Hollywood. 

I  went  to  a  pool  party  (swimming,  not 
shooting)  at  Atwater  Kent's  estate  the 
other  afternoon,  and  that's  where  the  pic- 
tures on  these  pages  were  taken.  Kent,  a 
retired  radio  magnate,  has  a  beautiful  place 
called  Capo  di  Monte,  with  a  view  ranging 
from  the  city  to  the  sea,  against  a  backdrop 
of  great  purple  mountains. 

The  party  guests  were  cute ;  so  were  their 
bathing  suits.         {Continued  on  page  89) 


47 


m 


- /  . 


They  were  all  sizes,  all 

shapes,  all  ages,  the  girls  who 

chased  her  handsome 

husband.  And  Mrs.  Jourdan  would 

feel  sympathetic,  until 

they'd  turn  to  Louis  and  say, 

"What  do  you  see  in  her?" 


don't  marry  a 
handsome 
man! 


■  "Please  marry  me,"  said  Louis. 

"No!"  said  my  father. 

But,  of  course,  Louis  was  talking  to 
me,  not  my  father.  And  when  my  father  said  "No," 
it  was  as  advice  to  me  later  on  when  he 
heard  about  the  proposal. 

"No,"  he  said,  "Louis  is  a  nice,  young  man 
but,  uh — too  attractive  to  women  in 
general,  shall  we  say?    And  an  actor,  too! 
You  will  not  have  to  look  far  for  trouble 
when  you  are  wed  to  such  a  one,  Quique." 

He  was,  as  you  say  here,  so  right,  my  father. 
We  neither  of  us,  Louis  or  I,  had  far  to 
look  for  trouble — if  we  wanted  trouble.    If  it 
was  not  this  woman  who  made  the  eyes,  it  was 
that  one.   We  had  no  sooner  moved  into  our 
apartment  in  Paris  when  the  doorbell  rang  and  a 
sixteen-year-old  girl  stood  in  the  doorway. 
She  wanted  Louis.    When  I  asked  her  what  it 
was  about  she  gave  me  a  very  cold  look.  "I  want 
to  talk  to  him,  not  you!"  she  said. 

I  was  so  surprised  that  I  invited  her  in. 
But  she  was  not  a  bit  grateful.   No  sooner  did 
Louis  appear  than,  in  one  breath,  she  told 
him  how  she  liked  his  pictures,  how  many  of 
his  photographs  she  had,  and  how  she  could 
not  understand  what  he  saw  in  me! 

We  learned  to  call     {Continued  on  page  105) 


Louis  Jourdan  with  his 
wife,  Quique.  Louis  is  in  Letter 
From  an  Unknozvn  Woman  and 
also  in  No  Minor  Vices. 


by 

quique  jourdan 


49 


M 

mervp 
leroq 


He's  many  things 
to  many  men:  friend, 
neighbor,  idol,  legend.  Here 
are  ten  sharply- 
etched  impressions  of  him 
— all  different  .  .  . 
all  matchlessly  Sable. 


the  10  greatest  gable  stories 


■  I'm  a  Gable  expert.    I  tried  to  sell  the 

young  hunk  of  raw  dynamite  to  my  boss,  Jack  Warner, 

straight  off  the  Los  Angeles  stage  where  he, 

Gable,  was  playing  in  The  Last  Mile.  My  boss  shook  his 

head.  "Ears  too  big."  Now  I'll  bet  he'd  like  to  have 

just  the  ears  under  contract! 

I've  got  a  picture  of  Clark  over  my  desk. 
It  says  on  that  picture,  "Thanks  for 
believing  I  had  it  in  me."  But  it  really  isn't  any  thanks 
to  me.   You  couldn't  help  sensing  the  force  in  Gable. 
He  always  was — he  still  is — what  any  director 
in  his  right  mind  prays  to  have  for  his  picture. 

That's  Gable,  the  actor.   Gable  the  man's  another  story. 
A  lot  of  other  stories.   He's  something  different  to 
everyone  who  knows  him.    He's  a  friend,  a  neighbor,  a 
presence,  a  state  of  mind.   A  million  people  have  had  a  million 
contacts  with  him,  and  after  you've  listened  to  the 
first  few  hundred  reports,  you  realize  an  odd 
fact.    Gable  emerges  from  every  report  a  greater, 
and  more  amazing  guy.   I've  thought  over  my  collection  of 
Gable  anecdotes — culled  through  the  years  from  people  who 
know  Clark  best — and  I'm  ready  to  present  testimony 
from  ten  of  them  (me  included)  to  prove  my  point.  I  think 
you'll  find  that  each  person  quoted  brings  out  a  different 
facet  of  the  man.   But  all  the  facets  are  exciting, 
fine — Gable. 

And  not  knowing  the  proper  etiquette  or  protocol  in 
a  matter  of  this  kind,  I  might  as  well  start  with  my 


"MR.  GABLE"  TERRIFIED  HER  JGaurladnd* 

crush  on  Gable  was  talk  of  M-G-M.  When 
they  finally   met,    she   could    hardly  speak! 


SI 


IRIv 


10  greatest  gable  stories 


own  Gable  data,  and  get  it  off  my  chest  .  .  . 

I  remember  the  day  we  were  driving  down  a 
busy  boulevard  in  Los  Angeles,  Clark  and  I,  in 
his  car.  Two  girls  spotted  Gable  and  chased  him. 
They  caught  up,  crowded  his  car  over  toward 
the  curb.  All  of  a  sudden,  I  almost  went  through 
the  seat.  Clark  gunned  his  car  forward  like  a 
jackrabbit,  twisted  it  straight  for  two  tall  build- 
ings. Luckily  an  alley  was  in  between.  I  didn't 
know  that.  Clark  did.  We  screeched  around  the 
corner  on  two  wheels  at  70  miles  an  hour. 

"What  are  you  trying  to  do?"  I  gasped  when 
I  got  back  my  breath.  "Kill  me?" 

"Sorry,"  Clark  said  when  it  was  safe  to  slow 
down.  "What  if  those  kids  had  bumped  me,  or 
I'd  bumped  them?  An  accident — maybe  some- 
body hurt  or  killed.  Whose  fault?  Clark  Gable's. 
When  you're  in  pictures,  you're  on  the  spot.  That 
was  trouble,"  said  Clark,  "so  me — I  just  got  out 
of  the  way!" 

That's  one  Clark  Gable — canny,  direct,  prac- 
tical, hard-boiled.  Here's  another:  Some  visitors 
came  on  our  set.  One  had  just  been  through 
Clark's  old  hometown,  Hopedale,  Ohio.  I  heard 
him  ask  Clark  if  he  remembered  his  old  grammar 
school  teacher,  Miss  Frances  Thompson. 

"Of  course,"  said  Clark. 

"I  just  saw  her  and  she's  got  a  big  picture  of 
you  on  the  table  by  her  bed.  Calls  you  'her  boy ! '  " 

"No  kidding!"  Gable  couldn't  have  looked 
more  pleased.  Then  his  face  clouded.  "Her  bed?" 

"Well,"  said  the  fellow.  "She's  pretty  old  now, 
and  pretty  sick." 

"Got  her  address?"  asked  Clark. 

I  don't  know  how  many  years  it  had  been  since 
Clark  Gable  had  seen  his  old  school  teacher.  But 
we  couldn't  make  another  take  until  he'd  gone  to 
his  dressing-room,  written  her  a  long  letter  and 
sent  it  with  a  box  of  roses-.  That's  Gable,  too. 

"MR.  GABLE"  TERRIFIED  HER 

LeRoy  rests  his  case.  And  goes  on  to  some 
others. 

Judy  Garland's  maybe  Clark's  staunchest  fan. 
When  she  was  a  pudgy  kid  of  fifteen,  she  carried 
a  torch  for  Gable,  and  Roger  Eden  wrote  her 
the  song  called  "Please,  Mr.  Gable."  She  sang 
that  as  she'd  never  sung  any  song  before,  and 
once,  Clark  heard  her  do  it. 

She  didn't  know  he  was  listening,  or  she'd  have 
sunk  right  through  the  M-G-M  sound-stage  floor. 
But  three  years  later,  Clark  showed  up  at  a 
birthday  party  for  Judy.  How  he  knew  she  was 
having  a  party,  or  even  that  it  was  her  birthday, 
she's  never  figured.    (Continued  on  page  101) 


HE'D  GIVE  YOU  THE  OSCAR  OFF  HIS  MANTEL — ?nhde 


in  fact,  he  did! 
Oscar  Clark 

earned  for  his  acting  in  Gone  With  The  Wind  is  now  the  cherished  prop- 
erty of  Richard  Lang,  son  of  "Fieldsie"  and  Walter  Lang,  Clark's  good  friends. 


CARir   U&n   UTD  UfDfltIC  Of  Lana  Turner,  whom  he  met  when  she  was 

,,  niiuna  ,5i  Gab|e  once  said.  ..she.||  never  be  an 

actress."  So  Lana  was  scared  when  she  was  cast  opposite  him  in  Honky 
Tonk  (above).  But  she  needn't  have  worried!  (Now  they're  in  Homecoming.) 


52 


TRACY  RIBBED  THE  KING 


In  1938,  Clark  and  Myrna  Loy  were 
crowned  "King  and  Queen  of  Hollywood" 
by  Ed  Sullivan,  representing  a  large  newspaper  syndicate.  Pal  Spencer 
Tracy  staged  a  royal  reception  for  Gable  that  rocked  the  set  for  days. 


THE  WOMAN  HE  LOVED 


Even  in  the  midst  of  personal  tragedy, 
Clark  was  sensitive  to  another's  problem. 
Though  worn  from  days  of  searching  for  body  of  Carole  Lombard, 
he  performed  a  rare  act  of  kindness  for  one  of  the  rescue  party. 


'MA  lflD  GADIT"  MFAMT  MnTUIMP  The  men  in  his  outfi+  looked  to 
MAJUK  bABLt     MtANI  NUIHINb  Gable  to  wangle  small  miracle  for 
them — like  reserving  a  table  for  12  in  one  of  London's  packed  hotels. 
Clark  tried:  "This  is  Major  Gable."    No  dice — until  he  added  "Clark." 


HE  THOUGHT  GABLE  WAS  A  CREAM-PUFF 


Director  Vic  Fleming 
underestimated  Clark's 
strength  for  a  scene  in  Test  Pilot.  He  ordered  (OCKlb.  prop  sandbags 
filled  with  sawdust.  He-man  Gable  tossed  them  around  like  balloons! 


53 


J 


Betty's  sister  has  a  special  reason 
for  being  happy  about  her  niece 

'    Candy's  birth.  It  may  shock  you,  but 
you'll  wind  up  loving  those  Huttons! 


■  I've  a  very  special  reason  for 
being  happy  about  the  birth  of  my  sister  Betty's 
second  daughter,  Candice.   Maybe  it's  an 
odd  reason,  maybe  you'll  think  it's  pretty  odd 
the  way  I'm  going  to  tell  this  story,  but  it's  the 
only  way  I  know  how.    I'm  going  to  begin 
by  writing  all  about  how  Betty  and  I  used 
almost  to  hate  each  other.  Scrapped 
like  cats  and  dogs.  That's  a  pretty  blunt  admission 
to  have  to  make  about  your  own  sister,  but 
when  I  finish,  I  think  you'll  understand  why 
I  have  to  tell  all. 

I  guess  the  friction  started  when  I  used 
to  spend  the  summers  with  an  aunt  and  uncle  in 
Battle  Creek  whose  children  were  grown. 
They  always  asked  for  me,  never  Betty.  For 
one  thing,  my  aunt  had  looked  after  me  as 
a  baby  and  had  come  to  love  me.   For  another, 
I  was  quieter,  easier  to  handle  than  Betty. 
They'd  send  me  home  in  the  fall,  nicely 
outfitted  for  school.    Betty  wore  my  castoffs. 
This  hurt  her  terribly.    Mother  would  have 
seen  that  I  shared  my  things,  except  they  didn't 
fit  Betty.    So  of  course  she  grew  up  with 
this  bitter  sense  of  injustice. 

Another  thing  that  may  have  had  to  do 
with  it  was  that  we  were  just  too  different  in 
temperament.   I  called  Betty  a  roughneck, 
and  she  called  me  a  prude,  and  Mother  wasn't 
around  to  referee.    She'd  leave  for  the 
factory  before  we  were  up  in  the  morning. 
After  school,  we'd  go  home  to  make  beds,  wash 
dishes  and  get  dinner  started.   Mom  was  a 
bug  on  cleanliness,  so  (Continued  on  page  95) 


by 

MARION  HUTTON 


Mom  Hutton  and  Marion.  (Betty's  in  Dream  Girl.) 


55 


■  Even  on  an  island  paradise  (that's 
the  way  they  always  sum  up 
Hawaii)  a  guy  has  to  make  a  living.  I'm 
a  photographer.  Special  assign- 
ments, my  meat.  And  Van  Johnson's 
a  special  assignment  in  anybody's 
language.  Only  thing  is,  a  lot 
of  other  photographers  had  the  same 
idea,  and  the  same 
assignment.  I  must  say,  in  all 
modesty,  I  scooped  'em.  I  got  the  only 
pictures  of  Van  and  Evie  coming 
into  Hawaii.  It  just  happened 
that  I  knew  the  owner  of  the  tug 
which  was  to  take  the  photographers  out 
to  meet  the  Matsonia,  and  it  just 
happened  that  the  Johnsons 
were  on  the  Matsonia,  and  it  just 
happened  that  I  argued  this  tug- 
owner  into  leaving  the  dock  about  half 
an  hour  before  any  of  the  other 
fellows  got  down  there.  It  was  simple 
as  that,  and  you  behold  on  this 
page  the  charming  results. 

But  after  all,  I'm  just  a  guy  who 
takes  pictures,  and  the  dame  who  gets 
the  real  scoops  is  Louella.  They 
tell  me  she's  got  the  Johnson  story 
(in  words)  in  her  Modern  Screen 
Good  News  this  month.  They  tell  me 
it's  on  page  8     You'd  better  read 
it;  that  lady  doesn't  miss  much. 


Ten-day  vacation  was  cut  down  to  four  when  Van  (in  State  Of  The  Unton) 
flew  home  to  studio.  He  was  able  to  get  in  some  surfboarding  and  swimming, 
but  prefers  Calif,  coast  to  Waikiki  Beach  which  was  narrow  strip  of  sand. 


Van  was  glad  to  see  tans  lining  ramp  as  he  left  the  Matsonia.  There  wasn't 
one  autograph  hunter  aboard  ship!  Trip  was  first  of  its  kind  for  him;  he 
claims  he'd  never  before  been  on  a  boat  larger  than  the  Staten  Island  Ferry. 


57 


by  arm  sheridan 


Because  she  likes 
to  take  it  easy — and  does. 
Because  she  likes 
emeralds — and  has  them. 
Because  she  likes  life — 
and  lives  .  .  .  that's  why 
Hannagan  calls  her 
Nappy  Annie, 


For  her  last  birthday,  Annie  (in  Good  Sam)  got  gold  cigarette  case 
and  lighter  clustered  with  diamonds  and  emeralds  from  Steve  Hannagan. 
They  met  in  1943.  He's  been  friend,  manager  and  admirer  ever  since. 


■  Sometime  last  October  I  finished  a  picture 
called  Good  Sam  for  a  man  named  Leo  McCarey. 
Nice  fellow.  He  and  I  had  some  dealings  at  a 
Kentucky  Derby — and  more  about  that  later. 

After  Good  Sam,  my  friend  Hannagan  said, 
"Red,  you  need  a  vacation.  Maybe  you  even 
need  a  sabbatical- — one  of  those  long  leaves  they 
give  teachers." 

The  only  thing  I  ever  taught  was  my  dogs 
not  to  chew  the  seat  out  of  Hannagan's  pants, 
but  I  told  him  what  a  bright  man  he  was,  and 
I've  been  in  a  suite  of  rooms  in  New  York  City 
practically  ever  since — doing  nothing  in  a  great 
big  way. 

.  There's  no  point  in  my  saying  I  get  up  at 
six  to  milk  the  cows;  there's  no  room  for  a 
cow  in  my  suite,  I  wouldn't  get  up  and  milk  it 
if  there  was  a  cow  in  my  suite,  and  I  can't  lie 
worth  a  nickel. 

You  know  the  way  I  spend  my  time?  I  rise 
around  two  or  three  (I'm  awake  earlier,  but  I 
like  to  think  the  thing  over  before  I  make  any 
rash  leaps  from  the  bed)  and  I  have  two  glasses 
of  iced  coffee.  Then  I  read  the  papers.  Then  I 
have  a  sandwich  or  oatmeal  or  milk-toast.  By 
that  time,  it's  five,  and  I  start  thinking  about 
going  out.  The  hairdresser  comes  in  to  do  my 
hair.  I  go  out.  And  I  stay  up  as  late  as  any- 
body'll  stay  up  with  me. 

I  have  a  friend — she's  also,  my  secretary — 
named  Rene  Cummings.  She  has  this  funny  idea 
about  sleeping  at  night.  We'll  be  talking  along 
at  four  a.m.,  and  she'll  start  muttering  "bed" 
over  and  over  again  in  a  low,  moaning  way.  I 
think  she's  trying  to  hypnotize  me.  She  and 
Hannagan-^can't  trust  eithej  of  them. 

Couple  of  months  ago,  Hannagan  said  he  was 
going  on  a  business  trip.  Toledo,  Detroit, 
Indianapolis. 

"Maybe  I'll  come,"  I  said  cheerfully.  "It 
ought  to  be  fun.  You  can  work  all  day,  I  can 
sleep  all  day,  and  you  can  take  me  out  every 
night." 

"Sure,"  said  Hannagan  in  an  agreeable  way, 
but  I  thought  at  the  time  he  looked  pretty 
amused. 

I  found  out  why  on  the  business  trip.  Sleep 
all  day!  I'd  just  get  unpacked  in  one  town 
when  he'd  come  marching  in  and  say,  "Gotta 
make  the  three  o'clock.  Gives  you  four  hours  to 
get  ready."  It  reminded  me  of  my  army  camp 
days. 

That's  about  the  only  time  I've  stirred  but  of 
New  York  this  vacation,  except  for  a  couple 
of  week-ends  at  my  place  in  Connecticut,  and 
the  trip  to  Hollywood  for  Christmas.  Hannagan 
and  I   decided  we   (Continued  on  page  91) 


59 


what 
every 

wife 

should 

know 


■  Gene  Tierney  married  Oleg  Cassini 

in  June,  1941.  On  March  10,  1947,  she  told  the  judge 

the  seas  of  wedded  life  had  become  too  rough 

for  her  to  take.    They  were  apart  one  year,  before  she 

realized  why  her  marriage  had  gone  on  the  rocks. 

"When  you  fall  in  love  with  a  fellow  hard  enough  to  marry 
him,  don't  start  right  away  to  try  to  make  him  over,"  she 
told  me.  "That  was  the  mistake  I  made.  The  Oleg  I  took  for 
a  husband  was  a  gay  Bohemian  who  laughed  at  life. 
That's  what  attracted  me  to  him  in  the  first ' . 
place.   Then  I  started  right  out  to  change  him. 

"Of  course,  he  resisted.  He  just  wouldn't  be  bothered 
with  what  he  thought  were  the  non-essential  things.  I  am  a 
fussy  sort  who  likes  to  have  everything  in  place  and 
every  move  planned  ahead.   Oleg  likes  to  be  surprised. 
He  loves  to  get  up  in  the  morning  facing  a  day  when 
he  doesn't  have  any  idea  what's  going  to  happen  to  him. 
It's  this  enthusiasm  for  the  unexpected  that  makes  living 
with  him  so  gay  and  amusing. 

"I'm  sure  if  I  should  marry  a  person  like  myself 
we'd  lead  a  very  dull  life.  I  realized  that  after  I  went  to 
court  and  got  my  interlocutory  decree  of  divorce. 
I  remember  I  kept  telling  myself  that  everything  was  going 
to  be  fine  and  that  I  had  just  what  I  wanted.  A  little  house 
where  I  could  live  as  a  bachelor  girl  with  no  man  to  consider. 

"But  it  began  to  get  pretty  boring.    I  must  admit  I  grew 
rather  selfish  when  Oleg  was  in  the  Army.  I  think  lots 
of  wives  did.  We  had  husbands  and  the  fun  of  dates  with 
them  but  they  weren't  around  under  foot  so  to  speak. 
In  those  years  I  grew  accustomed  to  thinking  I'll 
do  this  and  I'll  do  that.  Never  we'll  do  it.  When  he  came 
home,  I  couldn't  adjust  my  thoughts  along"  the  'we' 
lines.   I'm  sure  Oleg  must  have  been  hurt  many  times 
when  I  overdid  that  perpendicular  pronoun.  It  is  so  easy 
for  a  woman  with  a  career  of  her  own  to  devote  a  lot  of 
time  to  thinking  about  her  own  affairs.  (Continued  on  page  104) 


60 


There  are  certain  things 
that  every  young  wife  should 
know.  But  whatever 
they  are,  Gene  Tierney  didn't 
know  them!  Now,  for,  . 
Modern  Screen,  she  frankly  con- 
fesses her  own  mistakes  ... 


by  florabel  muir 


Dazzling  as  a  crown — democratic  as  a  kiss,  it's  the  funniest  frolic  in  many  a  movie  year 
when  American  Traveling  Salesman  Bing  sells  blue-blooded  Countess  Joan  a  scandalous 
bill  of  goods,  as  they  whirl  headlong  through  riotous  escapades  and  gay  indiscretions! 

Paramount  presents 

\m  CROSBY « JOAN  FONTAINi 

willfhz 


Color  by 

TECHNICOLOR 

with  Roland  Culver  •  Lucile  Watson  •  Richard  Haydn  •  Harold  Vermilyea 
Produced  by  Charles  Brackett  •  Directed  by  BILLY  WILDER 

Written  by  Charles  Brackett  and  Billy  Wilder 


Even  their  dogs  are  in  love . . .  and  in 
the  royal  doghouse! 

*    *  * 

When  Bing  sings  those  lilting  love 
melodies,  "The  Kiss  In  Your  Eyes," 
"Friendly  Mountains,"  "I  Kiss  Your 
Hand,  Madame"  and  "Emperor 
Waltz".  .  .  your  heart  will  beat  in 
three-quarter  time! 


Mary  MacDonald,  principal  of  M-G-M      Little   Margaret  has   promised  to  supply   European      Star  of  Big  City  prepares  herself  a  spot  of  j 
school,  quizzes  O'Brien.    (Above)    Mag      children  with  six  million  pounds  of  candy  by  Sep-      tea    in   the   kitchen.     Versatile    Maggie  likes 
gets  prettied  up  before  facing  screen.      tember.    It's  her  Friendship  Train  For  Children  plan.      water  coloring,  is  learning  to  draw  cartoons. 


Too  young  for  jewelry  she  loves,  Margaret  admires 
Vera-Ellen's,  as  they  lunch  in  studio  commissary.  Miss 
O'Brien   is   carrying  the .  torch   for  Claude   Jarman,  Jr. 


new  lo 


Your  baby's 

gone  and  done  it!  She's 
cut  off  her  pigtails- 
and  fallen  for  Claude 
Jarman,  Jr.  But  you 
can  still  call  her  Maggie, 
because,  inside, 
O'Brien  hasn't  changed  a  bit. 
BY  HOWARD  SHARPE 


■  This  is  the  story  of  Margaret  O'Brien,  the  small  tycoon, 
the  pint-sized  holding  company,  the  actress-writer-magnate, 
and  how  she  lost  her  braids. 

She  was  talking  about  them — the  braids — one  day,  and  there 
was  a  rather  un-childlike  tone  in  her  voice. 

"They're  part  of  my  trade-mark,  aren't  they?"  she  said 
casually. 

Her  mother  winced.  "Is  "that  the  way  you  feel?  Do  you 
think  of  yourself  as  a — a  sort  of  tycoon  in  pigtails?  Is  that  it?" 
And  even  though  Margaret  giggled,  and  denied  the  idea,  Mrs. 
O'Brien  turned  thoughtful.  Here  was  this  child — she  modeled 
clothes,  she  acted  in  movies,  "she  wrote  a  newspaper  column, 
she  made  record  albums,  and  how  did  you  keep  such  a  child 
from  getting  bored,  and  cynical?  In  short,  how  did  you  keep 
such  a  child  from  becoming  a  pure,  insufferable  brat? 

There'd  never  been  any  trouble  with  Margaret  on  this  score, 
but  now  was  she  growing  aware  that  she  was  a  big  business, 
a  very  important  property?   Gladys  O'Brien  was  scared. 

The  braids,  she  thought.  They're  the  symbol  of  the  sickness. 
Do : away  ninth  the  braids,  and  maybe  you've  effected  a  charm. 

To  Margaret,  she  said,  "Darling,  wouldn't  you  like  to  wear 
your  hair  another  way  for  a  few  months?" 

Margaret's  face  lit  up.  "Oh,  yes,"  she  said,  and  somehow  the 
crisis  was  over,  and  Mrs.  O'Brien  was  standing  there  feeling 
idiotic,  because  obviously  Margaret  was  the  same  as  she'd  ever 
been,  and  there  probably  wasn't  a  thing  in  the  world  that 
could  change  her  or  spoil  her  or  make  you  ashamed  of  her. 

Still,  they  cut  off  the  hair.  Margaret  thought  she'd  enjoy 
the  new  look ;  and  it  still  seemed  a  healthy  move  to  her  mother, 
a  bit  of  normalcy,  a  step  toward  growing  up. 

Every  bit  of  normalcy  helped  in  this  business,  where  nothing 
happened  the  way  it  would  have  happened  anywhere  else,  and 
a  little  girl  lived  at  a  pace  that  would  have  taxed  a  veteran 
performer. 

Take  a  recent  typical  day  in  Margaret's  life.  Typical  to 
Margaret,  but  far  from  ordinary.      {Continued  on  next  page) 


63 


new  look 


It's  Maggie's  birthday  party!  She's  eleven  now.  Celebration  was  at  the  Valley 
Tail  O"  The  Cock.  M-G-M  sent  the  lamb.  Suzanne  Danker  and  Patricia  Kogley 
were  two   of  the   many   guests.    Plenty   of  cake,    ice-cream    and  favors! 


Geography  isn't +iard  when  you  have  the  know-how.  O'Brien's  on  her  toes  in  a 
gay  quilted  skirt  with  petticoat  showing.  Claude  Jarman,  Jr.,  Margaret's 
classmate,  sits  beliind  her.    He's  carrying  torch  for  Mrs.  Gregory  Peck. 


There  was  a  mist  that  morning,  and  Margaret  was 
pleased  because  she  was  going  to  model  on  a  golf 
course,  and  a  fog  would  spare  her  a  few  freckles. 

As  she  and  her  mother  drove  toward  Beverly 
Hills,  Margaret  spoke  wistfully.  "It's  going  to  be 
sunny  this  afternoon  at  the  beach.  You  don't 
suppose — " 

"The  afternoon  off?"  Mrs.  O'Brien  supplied. 
"Well,  maybe.  Let's  work  on  it.  We  did  have  quite 
a  day  yesterday.  You're  feeling  all  right,  honey?" 

"I  feel  marvelous.  Like  swimming." 

"We'll  see,"  her  mother  said.  "Have  you  thought 
what  your  column  will  be  for  today?  We  could 
talk  it  over  now,  and  you  might  dictate  it  to  one 
of  the  stenographers  at  the  studio." 

"Are  we  going  to  the  studio?  I  thought  I  was 
to  do  pictures  on  a  golf  course  for  that  dress 
manufacturer." 

"We  have  to  pick  up  the  dress  at  the  studio  first," 
Mrs.  O'Brien  explained.  "And  you  have  an  inter- 
view with  a  lady  from  a  magazine." 

"We'll  never  get  done  by  noon." 

"There's  just  the  interview  after  lunch." 

"We  could  have  the  lady  to  lunch." 

"No,  we  can't.  There's  a  state  law  that  says  you 
can't  be  interrupted  -while  you're  at  your  meals. 
How  can  you  digest  if  you're  trying  to  work  at  the 
same  time?" 

"For  heaven's  sake,  Mother,"  Margaret  said,  "I 
can  digest  anything  any  time.  What  do  they  think 
I  am,  a  sissy?" 

"They're  trying  to  look  out  for  your  welfare." 

"Hmmm,"  said  Margaret.  "I'd  rather  have  the 
afternoon  off." 

"Believe  me,  you'll  have  the  afternoon  off." 

They  rode  for  a  while  in  silence. 

"Well,"  Margaret  said,  "I  thought  I  might  write 
about  the  Freedom  Train  for  the  column  today.  I 
mean,  after  all,  it's  a  very  big  thing,  and  I  was 
right  there.  D'you  know,"  she  added,  "I've  done 
the  Gettysburg  Address  so  many  times  I  didn't 
bother  to  practice,  and  almost  forgot  it?" 

"Towards  the  end?" 

"After  the  first  line.  But  then  I  looked  up  and, 
my  goodness,  there  was  Gene  Autry  looking  at  me 
and  I  thought,  golly,  I  can't  make  a  mess  of  it  in 
front  of  him.  So  I  remembered." 

"I  hadn't  any  idea  so  many  people  would  turn 
out.  Had  you?" 

"I  read  Los  Angeles  is  the  fourth  largest  city  in 
America  now." 

"That  explains  it,  then." 

Margaret  made  one  of  her  occasional  sage  re- 
marks. "If  Los  Angeles  is  that  big,  I'd  have  thought 
more  people  would  have  {Continued  on  page  68) 


by 
bill 
lyon 


to  see  him;  he  wanted 
to  see  Bunker  Hill.  Every- 
body wanted  to  buy 
him  scotch;  he  wanted 
milk.  Everybody  said, 
"What  can  he  do 
on  the  stage?"  Marsh 
Thompson  showed  'em! 


Marsh  (of  Homecoming)  shows  how 
different  actors  behave  on  stage: 
shy-guy,    cowboy    hero,  Bogart-type. 


personal  appearance 

■  My  name  is  Lyon.  I  work  for  M-G-M,  in  what  might  be  called  a  -public  relations 
capacity,  and  I've  worked  with,  and  toured  with,  such  M-G-M  notables  as  Margaret 
O'Brien,  Marilyn  Maxwell,  and  Wallace  Beery.  But  until  I  toured  the  country  with 
Marshall  Thompson,  I  hadn't  lived.  I  remember  the  day  I  said  to  him,  "Now  look, 
kid,  when  we  arrive  in  Boston  there  will  be  banners  across  the  station,  brass  bands  play- 
ing, beautiful  babes  squealing,  and  the  Mayor  and  the  Governor  to  make  speeches  at 
you.  Are  you  all  set?" 

"I  shall  speak  for  two  and  a  half  hours — in  Greek,  out  of  deference  to  Boston's  cul- 
ture," Thompson  said. 

Just  before  that  he  had  pushed  a  strawberry  tart  in  my  face,  so  with  that  I  knew  my 
boy  was  all  right,  and  probably  not  as  scared  as  he  made  out  to  be. 

He  kept  saying,  though,  that  this  was  his  first  personal  {Continued  on  page  93) 


Such  sturdy  little  arms  and  legs! 

t    u   v        and  sound  little  teeth  on  the 
And  a  straight  little  back      .and  s  ^  q{  babies 

way!  That's  the  growth  story  of  so  «    }  ^  ^  bon£. 

Xe  feeding  formulas  sPeaf Carna no  ^  pufe 

and-tooth-building  m.nerals  and  y 
crystalline  vitamin  D3.  rf^-and  its  safety 

Bes.des,  Carnation  M.Ik  «  so ^  ^  nQ  wonder 

is  such  a  protection  aga.ns .  umme     P         ^  of 
that  nat.on-w.de  surveys ;  .nd.oue  t  ^  ^  on 

orated  milk  is  so  wldely  "Skel^u  see  them  everywhere^ 
velvef  with  Carnat,on  M'^~      formula  for  your  baby. 

Ask  your  doctor  ^*^,s  ^ 
The  milk  m>7  doctor  knows-thats     .  . 

mJk  rich  recipes  >°  Carnation 
B°th  aK  Dem  X  7  Oconomowoc, 


From  Contented  Com 


£    MILK   EVERY 'DOCTOR  KNOW 


NEW  LOOK 

{Continued  jrom  -page  64) 


come.  Everybody,  that  is.  After  all,  the 
Freedom  Train!" 

Once  arrived  at  the  studio,  Margaret 
had  a  fitting  for  a  dress,  coat  and  hat,  and 
was  whisked  in  a  studio  limousine  to  a 
nearby  golf  course,  and  photographed 
three  dozen  flash  bulbs'  worth.  Then 
back  to  the  studio  for  school — she's  in  6A, 
has  a  special  teacher  for  herself  and  her 
stand-in.  The  teacher  was  chosen  by 
the  Board  of  Education,  and  is  paid  for 
by  the  studio. 

She  learned  a  number  of  facts  about 
geography,  that  morning.  She  also  learned 
that  she  wasn't  good  at  something  called 
square  root. 

And  she  learned  she  was  about  to  be 
exposed  to  the  works  of.  someone  called 
Charles  Dickens. 

"You  mean  the  'David  Copperfield,' 
'Great  Expectations'  Dickens?"  Margaret 
said.  "I  liked  David  very  much,  and  of 
course  Lionel  Barrymore  is  such  a  mar- 
velous 'Scrooge'." 

Margaret  then  had  lunch  in  the  com- 
missary with  her  mother,  undisturbed  by 
any  matters  of  work  that  might  impair  her 
digestion.  Of  course,  Lana  Turner  dropped 
by  for  a  moment  to  say  hello,  and  Clark 
Gable  stopped  long  enough  to  chuck  her 
under  the  chin,  and  Ricardo  Montalban, 
who  had  so  thrilled  her  by  fighting  bulls 
in  a  recent  picture,  actually  sat  down  for 
five  minutes  and  told  her  all  about  bull- 
fighting. 

press  conference  ... 

Then  the  interview  lady,  in  someone's 
private  office. 

What  did  she  like  most  to  eat?  Oh,  a 
chicken  dinner,  maybe,  or  one  of  those 
beautiful  pastries  in  Rumplemeyers  in  New 
York.  Least?  Well,  she  didn't  like  milk. 

What  were  the  naughtiest  things  she 
had  ever  done?  Margaret  grinned  at  her 
mother,  remembering.  "That's  easy,"  she 
said.  "I'd  been  to  a  Western  movie  with 
lots  of  Indians  in  it — I  go  every  Saturday 
to  the  matinee  with  the  other  kids — so 
afterwards  I  came  home  and  played  In- 
dian and  scalped  all  my  dolls.  I  got  a 
spanking,  and  mother  had  the  dolls  fixed 
and  gave  them  to  girls  who  would  know 
how  to  treat  them  properly." 

Did  she  resent  the  punishment? 

Margaret  looked  puzzled.  "It  was  only 
fair,  wasn't  it?"  she  asked. 

What  had  her  latest  records  been  about? 
"Flying  Down  To  Mexico,"  with  Margaret 
and  a  little  Mexican  girl  participating. 
Yes,  Lippincott  was  publishing  her  diary — 
25,000  words  of  it.  Yes,  she  did  write  for 
Family  Circle.  Yes,  she  did  all  the  illus- 
trations herself. 

"You  really  did  the  illustrations,"  the 
interviewer  said  with  an  arch  smile, 
"yourself?" 

Margaret,  who  during  the  interview  had 
apparently  been  doodling  on  a  pad  with  a 
big  soft  pencil,  held  up  the  pad  for  the 
lady  to  see.  On  it  was  a  hasty  but  sharply 
accurate  line-portrait  of  the  interviewer. 

"Sort  of  like  this,"  Margaret  explained. 

"And  how  many,"  asked  the  interviewer 
naively,  "products  do  you  sponsor  with 
your  name?" 

Margaret's  mother  fished  in  her  purse. 
She  produced  a  printed  sheet  labelled,  at 
the  top,  "Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  Com- 
mercial Royalty  Department,"  which  car- 
ried six  pictures  of  Margaret  in  various 
poses,  wearing  everything  from  a  bath- 
robe to  ear-muffs. 

"Alphabetically,"  said  Mrs.  O'Brien, 
"we  start  with  blouses,  books,  candy,  coats, 
dolls,   dresses,  dress  hangers,  footwear, 


gloves,  hairbows,  handbags,  handkerchiefs, 
hand  warmers — " 

"Just  a  minute,"  said  the  interviewer, 
scribbling  furiously. 

" — headwear,  jewelry,  playwear,  paint- 
ing sets,  pajamas,  rainwear,  robes,  sewing 
sets,  scarves,  slips,  song  books— collections 
of  songs  Margaret  has  selected  as  her 
favorites — sport  togs." 

"Yes." 

"Enough?" 

"Yes." 

As  they  were  walking  out  of  the  door 
(the  lady  interviewer  had  already  left, 
looking  dazed)  the  phone  rang.  Mrs. 
I  O'Brien  answered.  She  listened  atten- 
tively for  a  moment. 

'Tm  afraid  not,'"  she  said  then.  "Mar- 
.  garet's  tired,  and  I've  promised  her  .  .  ." 

"What  is  it?"  Margaret  asked. 

"Just  some  pictures  they  want.  Some 
more  stills.  And  some  one  would  like 
you  to  drop  by  at  an  art  school  and  judge 
some  of  the  exhibits  of  the  younger 
students.  And  there's  a  home  for  the  aged 
who  thought  the  old  people  who  live  there 
would  like  to  have  you  come  over  and 
cheer  them  up.  But  tonight  there's  that 
thing  at  the  Biltmore,  when  you're  to  give 
Jimmy  Durante  his  award — " 

"All  right,"  Margaret  said. 

"But  your  afternoon.  I  promised." 

"It's  all  right,"  Margaret  said  again. 
"It'll  prob'ly  be  too  cold  at  the  beach 
anyway." 

"But  I  promised  you — "  Mrs.  O'Brien 
began.  Then  she  shrugged.  "You  really 
love  it  all,  don't  you,  darling?  .  All  right. 
But  I  have  a  surprise  for  you.  Tell  you 
tonight." 

"After  the  Durante  show?" 

"After  the  Durante  show." 

That  night,  as  Mrs.  O'Brien  tucked  Mar- 
garet into  bed,  she  sprang  her  surprise. 
"Darling,"  she  said,  "you're  going  to  have 
the  vacation  of  your  life  in  about  three 
weeks.  ^  We're  going  to  Europe.  Ireland, 
London'  Paris — and  you'll  meet  the  Royal 
Family,  Princess  Elizabeth,  everyone.  Will 
you  like  that?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  Margaret  said.  "It'll  be  won- 
derful." 

Half  an  hour  later — much  too  long  for 
her  to  have  been  awake  after  being  tucked 
in— she  was  still  working  it  over  in  her 
mind,  the  trip  to  New  York,  the  time  in 
New  York  (endless  stills  being  taken  in 
endless  rows  of  dresses  and  scarves  and 
hats  and  gloves  and  slips.  And  that  big 
dinner  they  always  gave  for  the  manu- 
facturers, at  one  of  the  big  hotels.  An- 
other speech).  And  then  the  ship:  the 
other  little  girls,  and  I  must  be  just  like 
any  other  little  girl,  and  not  be  Margaret 
O'Brien  at  them,  not  ever. 

And  then  London,  and  the  hotel  there, 
and  the  Royal  Family,  and  remembering 
what  I'm  supposed  to  say,  and  remem- 
bering how  to  curtsey. 

And  Mr.  Durante  has  the  very  biggest 
nose  I  ever  got  kissed  alongside  of.  .  . 

She  slept.  And  the  typical  day  was  over. 


SUMMERTIME — MAKE  YOUR 
LIVING  EASY! 

Got  summer  in  your  eyes?  Dream- 
ing of  a  new  straw  hat  or  a  polka 
dot  tie?  Here's  how  to  earn  some 
extra  change  the  painless  way — write 
an  "I  Saw  It  Happen"  anecdote.  We'll 
pay  $5  for  every  one  we  use.  Just 
think  about  something  exciting  that 
happened  to  you — we  bet  it  involved 
a  movie  star,  too!  A  true,  amusing 
■and  short  incident  will  suit  us  fine. 
Send  your  contribution  to  the  "I  Saw 
It  Happen"  Editor,  Modern  Screen, 
261  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


One  Permanent  Cost  $15...the  TONI  only  $2 


Your  hair  will  look  naturally  curly  the 
very  first  time  you  try  Toni.  For  Toni 
Home  Permanent  gives  the  hair  body  as 
well  as  curl .  .  .  makes  it  easy  to  style  .  .  . 
easy  to  manage.  But  before  you  try  Toni, 
you'll  want  to  know: 

Will  TONI  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that 
will  take  a  permanent,  including  gray, 
dyed,  bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 

Can  I  do  it  myself? 

Sure.  Every  day  thousands  of  women 
give  themselves  Toni  Home  Permanents. 
It's  easy  as  rolling  your  hair  up  on  curlers. 

Is  there  a  "frizzy-stage"  with  TONI? 

Your  Toni  will  be  frizz-free  right  from 
the  start.  For  Toni  Creme  Waving  Lotion 
gently  coaxes  your  hair  into  luxurious 
curls  .  .  .  leaves  it  soft  as  silk,  with  no 
kinkiness,  no  dried  out  brittleness,  even 
on  the  first  day. 

How  long  will  my  TONI  wave  last? 

Your  Toni  wave  is  guaranteed  to  last 
just  as  long  as  a  $15  beauty  shop  per- 
manent—or your  money  back. 

Will  my  TONI  wave  be  loose  or  tight? 

With  Toni  you  can  have  just  the  amount 
of  curl  that  suits  you  best . . .  from  a  loose, 


natural-looking  wave  to  a  halo  of  light 
ringlets.  Just  follow  the  simple  directions 
for  timing. 

Will  TONI  save  me  time? 

Definitely.  The  actual  waving  time  is 
only  2  to  3  hours.  And  during  that  time 
you  are  free  to  do  whatever  you  want. 

Which  twin  has  the  TONI? 

Pictured  above  are  the  Dublin  twins  of 
New  York  City.  Frances,  the  twin  at  the 
right  has  the  Toni.  She  says,  "My  Toni- 
savings  paid  for  a  darling  new  hat.  Now 
Lucille  calls  me  the  smarter  half."' 


UNHAPPY  ENDING 

(Continued  from  page  39) 


and  after  you've  lain  in  the  sun  for 
a  while,  you're  almost  convinced  it's 
worth  it. 

I  said  as  much  to  the  press  agent  for 
the  place.  He  laughed.  "Did  you  know 
Jane  Wyman  checked  in  here  this  morn- 
ing?" he  said  casually.  "Rumor  says  she's 
establishing  residence  for  a  divorce."  I 
stopped  listening  then,  and  I  went  back  in 
my  mind  to  the  beginning.  I  reviewed  all 
I'd  ever  known  about  the  Reagans.  Little 
things,  big  things,  the  beginning,  the 
end.  .  . 

Jane  was  born  Sarah  Jane  Fulks,  in  St. 
Joseph,  Missouri.  She  was  a  pretty  kid, 
high-strung,  with  a  certain  quality  I  call 
perkiness.  Twice,  Hollywood  had  turned 
its  back  on  her;  the  third  time,  it  did  a 
double-take. 

Ronnie  and  Jane  were  both  under  con- 
tract to  Warners  when  they  met.  They 
worked  together  in  Brother  Rat;  they  fell 
in  love;  they  were  two  of  the  happiest  of 
kids  in'  the  world  as  bride  and  groom. 

You  remember  when  Maureen  Elizabeth 
was  born  in  January,  1941,  and  later,  when 
Michael  was  adopted.  For  six  years,  Mod- 
ern Screen  pointed  to  the  Reagans  proudly. 
"See?"  we'd  say.  "Who  claims  a  Holly- 
wood marriage  can't  be  successful?"  We 
ran  story  after  story  on  the  Reagans,  and 
the  more  we  featured  them,  the  more  you 
asked  for.  You  remember  Ronnie  going 
off  to  war,  saying  goodbye  to  Button-Nose 
(that  was  .Jane)  and  little  Button-Nose 
(that  was  Maureen)  ...  You  remember 
Jane's  adjustments — learning  to  run  a 
house  by  herself,  to  bring  up  the  baby, 
to  get  so  she'd  stop  looking  for  Ronnie  to 
pop  out  of  the  corners  of  the  house. . . .  You 
remember  the  bond-selling  job  she  did; 
you  remember  how  she  taught  16-month- 
old  Maureen  to  say  "Da-da"  so  Lieuten- 
ant Reagan  would  get  a  proper  welcome 
when  he  came  in  on  leave.  .  . 

There  was  the  time  Maureen  was 
twenty-one  months  old,  and  broke  her 
leg;  you  sweated  that  one  out  right  along 
with  Jane.  .  .  There  was  the  way  Jane 
refused  to  be  seen  in  public  even  with 
old  friends,  while  Ronnie  was  away  be- 
cause— "You  know  this  town,  and  Ronnie's 
got  enough  to  face  without  worrying 
over  gossip!".  .  . 

You  laughed  at  the  two-year-old 
Maureen  making  out  her  grocery  list: 


"We  need  five  eggs.  We  need  archicokes." 
Or  singing  her  favorite  song:  "Mamazelle 
from  Armateere,  won't  you  wash  my 
underwear?  Hicky,  dicky,  pol-ly  voooo." 
.  .  .  And  you  cried  at  the  two-year-old 
Maureen  getting  her  first  spanking,  even 
though  she  deserved  it,  because  she 
wouldn't  eat  her  soup,  she  wouldn't  even 
begin  to  eat  her  soup,  and  she  said,  "I 
won't!". 

Birthdays,  Christmases — you  shared 
them  all  with  the  Reagans.  Christmas  of 
'43,  when  it  was  hard  to  get  ornaments, 
and  the  tree  looked  skimpy,  partly  because 
the  star  for  the  top  had  been  used  to 
trim  a  tiny  tree  in  Maureen's  room,  and 
Maureen  coming  into  the  living-room 
Christmas  morning,  and  walking  quietly 
over  to  the  big  tree,  and  saying  sadly, 
"Poor  tree.  Yere's  no  star  on  top." 

Yes,  we  shared  the  good  times  and  the 
bad  times  with  Ronnie  and  Jane,  and 
finally  the  war  was  over,  and  Ronnie  was 
home,  and  it  should  have  been  all  clear 
from  there.  But  who's  got  a  crystal  ball? 
If  you'd  asked  me,  for  instance,  a  little 
while  back,  I'd  have  said  this  was  one  of 
the  best  years  in  Jane's  life.  She  got  some 
real  career  breaks.  The  role  in  Lost 
Weekend.  Ma  Baxter  in  The  Yearling.  But 
Ma  Baxter  got  her  the  Academy  Award 
nomination,  and  people  who  like  to  talk 
about  trouble  say  that's  when  the  trouble 
started. 

At  the  completion  of  Johnny  Belinda, 
Jane  came  to  New  York  "for  a  rest"  and 
left  the  family  at  home.  I  saw  her,  but  I 
didn't  ask  any  questions  then.  You  don't 
pry  into  your  friends'  private  lives.  You 
just  sit  tight  and  hope. 

I  kept  reading  reports  of  quotes  from 
Ronnie,  and  they  were  encouraging.  "We'll 
be  married  fifty  years,"  he  told  reporters. 
Still  the  talk  went  on.  "Jane  lost  her 
baby  girl  last  June — that's  what  made  her 
neurotic."  And:  "Jane  should  see  a  psy- 
chiatrist." Everybody  getting  into  the  act. 

The  fact  is  that  Jane  did  start  Johnny 
Belinda  too  soon  after  losing  her  baby. 
The  role  of  a  deaf-mute  was  a  tough  one. 
It's  hard  to  show  your  emotions  with  your 
eyes  and  your  face,  never  having  the  use 
of  tongue  and  ears  to  aid  the  impression. 
Jane  lived  that  part  day  and  night  all  the 
time  that  picture  was  shooting.  After  the 
picture  came  the  New  York  trip,  and  when 


she  came  home  from  New  York,  Ronnie 
went  to  an  apartment,  while  Jane  stayed 
on  in  their  house  with  the  children. 

I  have  a  feeling  that  Ronnie  had  a  great 
faith  in  time,  and  love,  to  make  things 
right  again.  To  all  the  questions  asked,  he 
said,  "Why  doesn't  everybody  leave  us 
alone?"  But  it's  one  of  the  prices  of  fame 
that  nobody  ever  wants  to. 

I  was  thinking  all  this,  broodingly,  when 
the  Mamingo  loudspeaker  brought  me 
down  to  the  Nevada  earth  again.  The  voice 
on  the  loudspeaker  was  paging  Jane  Wy- 
man. I  got  up  and  walked  toward  the 
lounge,  and  I  bumped  right  into  Jane. 

"Hello,  Jane,"  I  said. 

"Hello,  Al,"  she  said.  "Here  for  a  little 
sun?" 

I  said,  "Yeah."  I  was  embarrassed;  my 
next  words .  came  out  in  a  rush.  "You, 
Jane — are  you  here  for  a  divorce?" 

She  forgave  my  crudeness.  "I  don't 
know,  Al,"  she  said.  "Yet." 

I  left  her  alone.  I  told  myself  they'd 
probably  have  reconciled  if  the  world  had 
left  them  alone. 

And  it  began  to  look  as  if  I'd  been 
right.  Jane  checked  out  of  the  Flamingo 
and  went  home,  which  meant  no  divorce 
for  the  moment.  (Residence  for  divorce  in 
Nevada  means  an  uninterrupted  stretch 
served  within  the  state  limits.)  When  I 
read  that  Jane  had  asked  Ronnie  to  come 
home,  I  called  my  wife  long-distance.  "I 
just  got  left  a  million  dollars,"  I  said.  She 
knew  what  I  meant  before  I'd  explained. 
She'd  seen  the  same,  news  items. 

Well,  the  reconciliation  lasted  one  week. 
Somebody  took  my  million  dollars  away. 
At  the  moment,  there  isn't  too  much  in- 
formation available.  Ronnie's  in  an  apart- 
ment; Jane's  going  to  move  to-  a  family 
hotel;  there's  no  other  man  in  her  life. 
She's  filed  for  divorce  on  the  grounds  of 
extreme  cruelty. 

Jane'll  have  custody  of  the  children. 
"I  believe  children  are  better  off  with  their 
mother,"  Ronnie  said,  "and  Jane's  a  won- 
derful mother.  IH  have  the  privilege  of 
seeing  them." 

The  statement  gives  me  a  lump  in  my 
throat.  I  guess  there's  nothing  more  to 
say.  When  a  beautiful  dream  is  over,  you 
wake  up  reluctantly;  you  face  the  real, 
harsh  world.  If  the  Reagans  are  through, 
I'm  sorry.   They  meant  a  lot  to  me. 


WE  ADOPTED  A  DABY 

(Continued  from  page  27) 


instead  of, jabbering  away  immediately,  we 
could  each  take  a  deep  breath  and  get  a 
few  moments  of  quiet  and  peace  by  our- 
selves. 

We  wanted  'children  as  much  as  ever. 
There  was  one  tiny  ray  of  hope.  Maybe  if 
I  went  to  Europe — they  had  some  of  the 
finest  specialists  in  the  world  there.  And  if 
it  turned  out  that  they  all  said  "no,"  per- 
haps I  could  find  a  war  orphan  who  would 
want  the  kind  of  home  Pev  and  I  could 
give  him. 

So  I  flew  to  Europe.  Pev  couldn't  fly 
with  me,  and  the  columnists  made  their 
usual  sarcastic  comments  about  our  tak- 
ing our  second  honeymoons  separately. 
But  we  knew  we'd  be  together  again  when 
I  came  back. 

The  specialists  in  Europe  said  the  same 
thing  the  specialists  in  America  had.  There 
was  no  hope  of  my  having  a  child. 

I  went  to  Switzerland  and  visited  the  in- 


ternational settlement  there.  I  wanted  an 
infant,  and  these  children  were  at  least 
two  years  old.  But  after  all,  they  were  the 
forgotten  children  of  the  world.  They  had 
gone  through  hell.  Each  of- them  needed  a 
home. 

There  was  a  five-year-old  Italian  boy — 
with  dark  hair  and  dark  eyes,  so  handsome 
that  I  wondered,  "How  is  it  possible  that 
someone  hasn't  taken  him  away  already?" 
I  fell  in  love  with  him,  and  he  seemed  fond 
of  me. 

I  wanted  to  take  him  home.  I  talked  to 
the  Swiss  Red  Cross.  I  talked  to  several 
people  in  Switzerland. 

And  I  found  myself  wound  up  in  yards 
of  red  tape.  I  tried  to  adopt  him.  I  tried 
every  way  I  knew  how.  But  the  red  tape 
defeated  me.  I  had  to  answer  questions  to 
which  I  didn't  know  the  answers,  like  how 
long  his  nurse  would  remain  in  the  United 
States.  I  had  to  take  her  all  the  way  with 


me  to  the  United  States,  and  then  send  her 
back  all  the  way  to  Switzerland.  So  okay. 
Believe  me,  it  wasn't  the  expense.  But  in 
the  United  States  this  boy  I  loved  would 
still  be  a  citizen  of  Italy — and  that  meant 
more  scads  of  red  tape.  I  wanted  him  to 
be  my  son  and  to  be  an  American. 

I  had  to  leave  without  him.  I  cried  when 
the  plane  left. 

They  talk  about  what  a  woman  goes 
through  to  become  a  mother.  Believe  me, 
to  become  a  mother  by  adoption,  you  go 
through  more,  and  I  am  not  belittling  the 
pains  of  those  who  bear  their  own  children. 

Why  adopting  a  baby  is  so  difficult,  I 
don't  know.  There  are  so  many  unwanted 
babies  in  the  world,  yet  people  wait  seven 
— or  ten — or  fourteen  years — as  the  case 
may  be — and  sometimes  aren't  able  to  get 
a  baby. 

Pev  and  I  had  applications  at  several 
agencies.   But  the  waiting  lists  at  every 


adoption  agency  are  seemingly  miles  long. 

Pev  and  I  wanted  a  boy,  but  we  would 
take  whatever  we  could  get. 

Our  nursery  was  ready  for  a  child  of 
either  sex.  And  it  stayed  empty.  But  I 
knew  that  some  day  Pev  and  I  would  get  a 
baby  to  adopt.  When  you  want  something 
so  desperately,  you  get  what  you  want.  If 
I  hadn't  believed  that,  I  don't  think  I 
could  have  stood  the  sight  of  that  empty 
nursery. 

I  would  have  liked  to  go  to  an  adoption 
agency  right  after  I  came  back  from 
Europe,  but  20th  Century-Fox  wanted  me 
to  make  Walls  of  Jericho.  And  since  the 
studio  had  given  me  a  generous  vacation, 
I  couldn't  object.  They  said  that  after  I 
finished  the  picture,  I'd  probably  be  able 
to  get  a  three  months'  layoff. 

During  this  layoff,  Pev  and  I  planned  to 
go  to  the  Cradle  in  Evanston,  Illinois.  It  is 
the  top  adoption  agency  in  the  country. 

Pev  and  I  were  all  set  to  go  to  the  Cradle, 
when  I  was  told  that  instead  of  the  three 
months'  layoff  I  had  hoped  for,  I  was  to  go 
directly  into  another  picture,  Unfaithfully 
Yours.  I  said,  "I  won't  do  it.  What  about 
the  house  I  was  going  to  buy  in  New  Mex- 
ico, where  I  want  to  live  between  pictures? 
What  about  the  trip  I  wanted  to  make  to 
Evanston?"  But  after  I'd  finished  blowing 
off  steam,  I  knew  I  couldn't  turn  the  pic- 
ture down.  I  would  just  have  to  wait. 

When  the  picture  had  been  shooting 
about  five  or  six  weeks,  like  a  bolt  from 
the  blue,  I  heard  about  a  child.  It  was  a 
girl,  and  we  had  originally  wanted  a  boy. 
But  the  mother  and  father  were  healthy, 
and  so  we  took  her  sight  unseen.  Her  back- 
ground was  very  similar  to  Pev's  and  mine. 

The  baby  arrived  before  she  was  ex- 
pected. She  arrived  on  a  plane  with  a 
nurse.  I  had  planned  to  dress  up  for  the 
event — to  wear  an  especially  beautiful  dress 
and  to  have  my  hair  done  in  the  most  be- 
coming manner  possible.  When  the  baby 
was  brought  into  our  house,  my  hair  was 
rolled  up  and  in  a  net.  I  was  wearing  the 
jacket  of  my  coral  satin  hostess  pajamas 
and  the  dark  blue  trousers  of  another  hos- 
tess pajama  set.  Pev  was  dressed.  I'm  the 
lazy  one  in  the  family.  Anyway,  Lola  was 
carried  through  the  doorway  of  the  study 
and  put  into  my  arms. 

thrill  of  a  lifetime  .  .  . 

This  was  the  thrill  I  had  been  waiting 
for  all  my  life.  I  started  to  cry,  and  I 
couldn't  stop  crying. 

I  -have  been  around  babies  all  my  life.  I 
am  one  of  six  children.  I  have  a  brother 
and  sister  younger  than  I,  and  I  helped 
with  their  care.  But  when  a  baby  is  your 
own — well,  that's  different.  From  the  mo- 
ment Lola  (we've  named  her  after  Pev's 
mother,  who  was  christened  Charlotte  Mil- 
dred, but  always  called  Lola)  was  placed 
in  my  arms,  I  knew  that  this  was  my  baby 
— my  very  first  baby. 

I  carried  her  up  the  stairs  and  put  her  in 
the  basinette,  and  then  I  began  to  get 
worried.  You  know,  a  basinette  looks  as  if 
it  were  held  up  by  nothing. 

We  had  employed  a  nurse  recommended 
by  our  pediatrician.  I  said  to  her,  "Don't 
you  think  it  would  be  safer  to  put  her  in 
a  crib  instead?" 

The  nurse  laughed  and  said,  "Will  you 
please  relax?  You're  acting  like  all  new 
parents.  The  baby  is  perfectly  safe." 

But  I  worried  and  fretted  so  much  that 
I  had  to  ask  my  doctor  about  it.  He  said 
that  it  would  be  all  right  to  move  the  baby 
to  a  crib,  and  within  three  or  four  days,  we 
did. 

Lola  was  very  tired  when  I  got  her.  All 
of  the  precious  five  weeks  of  her  life  be- 
fore I  got  her,  things  had  been  unsettled 
around  her.  Certain  kinds  of  milk  had 
disagreed  with  her.  She  had  had  colic  and 
she  was  exhausted.' 

The  best  thing  to  do,  I  felt,  was  to  let  her 


have  all  the  sleep  she  needed.  But  the 
nurse  had  been  taught  that  a  baby  should 
be  awakened  every  three  hours  to  be  fed, 
so  every  three  hours  she  would  wake  her. 
1  thought  sleep  for  Lola  was  even  more  im- 
portant than  food. 

Since  the  nurse  and  I  didn't  agree  about 
this,  we  called  up  the  doctor.  Fortunately, 
he  sided  with  me.  •  "Let  the  baby  sleep, 
sleep,  sleep,"  he  said.  "Feed  her  when  she 
demands  it." 

The  nurse  shook  her  head  dolefully  but 
finally  agreed  to  do  it. 

The  baby  has  prospered  under  our  care. 
She  weighed  7  lbs.  and  13  ounces  when  we 
got  her.  Now  she  is  eight  weeks  old,  and 
weighs  nearly  11  lbs.  She  is  already  be- 
ginning to  outgrow  her  first  little  shirts. 

She  has  light  brown  hair  and  eyes  that 
are  a  very,  very  dark  blue — so  dark  in  fact 
that  I  am  sure  they  will  turn  brown  or 
hazel.  Ann  Miller,  who  visited  us  recently, 
remarked  that  Lola's  eyes  are  long-shaped 
like  mine,  and  I'm  pleased. 

I  cannot  answer  questions  about  where 
I  got  my  baby.  This  is  the  one  question 
in  the  world  I  will  not  answer. 

To  take  care  of  my  baby,  I  did  not  bone 
up  on  baby  books.  I  think  every  woman  is 
born  with  a  maternal  instinct,  and  that 
her  instincts  are  a  truer  guide  than  any 
book.  Look  at  the  difference  between  the 
way  women  hold  a  baby  and  the  way  a 
man  holds  a  baby. 

Even  little  girls  have  a  maternal  in- 
stinct. You  can  see  it  in  the  way  they  hold 
and  rock  their  dolls. 

The  best  thing  to  do  about  a  baby  is  to 
watch  it.  She  will  tell  you  what  she  needs. 

When  a  baby  cries,  she  is  hungry  or 
wet  or  her  food  does  not  agree  with  her, 
or  she  needs  love  and  affection,  and  it  is  up 
to  her  mother  to  find  out  which  of  these 
things  is  true. 

My  doctor  decided  on  the  baby's  for- 
mula. But  I  don't  feed  the  baby  according 
to  what  the  books  say,  or  what  advice 
others  give.  Most  people  lay  their  babies 
back  to  feed  them.  For  heaven's  sake  why? 
Could  you  eat  comfortably  lying  on  your 
back?  I  cross  my  right  leg  over  the  left 
one,  brace  Lola's  back  against  my  right 
leg,  and  the  force  of  gravity  lets  the  food 
run  down  her  throat. 

I  have  pretty  firm  ideas  about  raising 
Lola.  All  my  life,  advice  has  been  forced 
and  thrust  on  me.  I  shall  never  submerge 
Lola  with  my  own  domination.  She  will 


have  all  the  knowledge  and  training  I  can 
give  her.  Whatever  she  wants  to  be,  she 
can  be.  I  mean  that  literally. 

I  won't  send  her  to  a  private  school,  for 
it  might  turn  her  into  a  snob.  I  would 
naturally  prefer  her  to  go  to  a  co-ed  school 
rather  than  a  girls'  school,  since  she  will 
have  to  live  in  the  world,  and  the  world  is 
co-ed. 

I  shall  never  expect  her  to  worship  me, 
simply  because  I  adopted  her,  any  more 
than  I  would  expect  her  to  do  so  if  I  had 
borne  her.  I  think  any  mother  is  foolish  to 
•expect  that  kind  of  thing. 

I  shall  be  very  happy  if  my  little  girl  has 
a  fair  amount  of  sense  and  no  false  illu- 
sions about  anything.  That  doesn't  mean  I 
shall  keep  fairy  tales  away  from  her.  Fairy 
tales  are  wonderful.  Take  them  away,  and 
you  stifle  a  child's  imagination. 

I  don't  want  her  to  grow  up  in  a  glass 
house, .  either.  She'll  have  pets.  I  think 
children  and  pets  just  naturally  belong- 
together.  A  few  months  ago  someone  gave 
me  Schnupsli,  an  adorable  small  dachs- 
hund. Right  now,  when  Lola  is  so  little, 
Schnupsli  is  not  allowed  in  the  nursery. 
Sometimes  he  will  stand  just  outside  the 
door,  and  the  nurse  will  look  at  him 
sternly.  Then  he  will  turn  tail,  and  run 
away.  But  when  he  gets  out  of  puppyhood, 
he  and  Lola  will  grow  up  together. 

I  also  want  to  have  other  adopted  chil- 
dren, to  grow  up  with  Lola.  Within  the 
next  year  or  two,  I'd  like  to  get  a  little 
boy.  Finally,  I'd  like  a  third  child.  For 
the  third  child,  I'd  take  whatever  came 
along — boy  or  girl. 

Meanwhile,  Lola  has  transformed  our 
life.  Remember  how  Pev  and  I  used  to 
need  a  few  moments  of  peace  by  ourselves 
after  getting  home  from  the  studio?  That's 
all  different  now.  Lola  takes  us  completely 
away  from  ourselves — a  million  miles  away 
from  the  studio. 

I  drive  up  the  same  old  driveway,  come 
in  the  back  door,  through  the  kitchen,  the 
way  I  always  like  to — but  everything  is 
different.  All  of  a  sudden  I've  acquired 
acute  hearing.  I,  who  hardly  ever  used  to 
pay  attention  to  ordinary  sounds  in  the 
house,  can  now  hear  the  slightest  sound 
far  away.  As  I  walk  into  the  house,  I'm 
thinking,  "Is  the  nurse  there?  Is  she 
doing  all  right?  Is  Lola  asleep?  Is  she 
wet?  Are  the  covers  up  over  her  face?" 
(They  won't  be,  for  our  nurse  always  pins 
everything  down,  but  I  worry  anyway.) 


MODERN  SCREEN 


In  a  silly  quarrel  about  twenty  years  ago  I  told  Herbert  I  never  wanted  to  see  his  face  again. 


;jb  1  ^m-—— 

beauty  cream  shampoo 
leaves  your  hair  more  beautiful 


NEW!  Procter  &  Gamble's  amazing 
Shasta— the  beauty  cream  shampoo. 

NEW!  Fragrant,  satiny  Shasta  cream- 
cleanses  your  hair  .  .  .  beautifies  your 
hair  all  3  ways — as  no  soap — bar  or 
liquid— will!  In  one  Shasta  shampoo, 
your  hair  will  have 

•  that  lustrous  "alive"  look! 
•  that  sm-o-o-oth-as-satin  look ! 
•  that  soft,  caressable  look ! 

YES,  ALL  3!  Yet  your  hair  has  "body" 
—it's  not  limp,  not  dried  out.  Shasta 


72 


is  safe,  kind  to  hair.  Makes  mountains 
of  lather  even  in  hardest  water.  Re- 
moves flaky,  unlovely  dandruff,  too. 
And  doesn't  spill  or  run  into  eyes. 

Hurry!  For  more  beautiful  hair  all 
three  ways— get  Shasta.  Convenient 
sizes.  All  toiletries  counters. 


PROCTER  A  GAMBLE'S 


Guaranteed  by 
?  Good  Housekeeping 


BEAUTY  CREAM 


Pev  gets  home  a  little  after  I  do.  He  flies 
up  the  stairs,  with  his  hat,  coat  and  scarf 
still  on,  crying,  "How's  Lola?" 

Lola  has  cemented  the  love  and  marriage 
between  Pev  and  myself.  Always  till  Lola, 
came  along,  there  was  something  lacking. 
Two  people  without  a  baby  in  the  house 
exhaust  each  other. 

Last  Sunday  I  started  sculpturing  Lola's 
face  in  clay.  I  have  worked  on  many 
pieces  of  sculpture,  under  the  direction  of 
my  teacher,  Peter  Ganine,  but  none  has 
brought  me  so  much  happiness  as  looking 
at  Lola  and  trying  to  express  her  features. 

When  I  come  home  from  work,  I  never 
wait  to  take  off  my  grease-paint  before  I 
bound  up  to  the  nursery.  Lola  has  cer- 
tainly learned  to  know  the  smell  of  grease- 
paint. I  think  she  is  learning  to  know  the 
sight  and  the  scent  and  the  sound  of  me. 
I  know  she  recognizes  Pev's  voice.  She 
gives  us  her  big  baby  grin,  and  sometimes 
she  laughs  right  in  our  faces. 

My  friends  and  the  crew  on  my  set  know 
how  obsessed  I  am  with  Lola.  One  of  the 
most  touching  things  that  has  happened  to 
me  recently  occurred  on  a  day  when  every- 
thing was  going  wrong.  I  had  to  rehearse 
a  scene  in  which  I  played  the  piano  for 
Unfaithfully  Yours.  It  had  been  a  hor- 
rible morning,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the 
thought  of  Lola,  I  might  have  been  pretty 
upset.  But  thinking  of  Lola  can  carry  me 
through  any  kind  of  a  day.  Well,  this  was 
that  kind  of  day,  and  then  I  walked  into 
my  dressing  room.  There,  to  my  surprise, 
were  my  hairdresser,  the  wardrobe  girl, 
the  costume  designer,  and  my  former 
teacher  at  20th  Century-Fox,  Miss  Frances 
Klamt.  The  hairdresser  had  crocheted  a 
warm,  light  baby  carriage  blanket,  and  the 
others  brought  booties,  sweaters,  playsuits 
and  bonnets  for  Lola. 

This  baby  shower  was  the  last  thing  in 
the  world  that  I  expected. 

Ann  Miller  visited  me  a  little  while  ago, 
and  after  cooing  over  the  baby,  she  said, 
"She's  going  to  grow  up  to  be  a  real 
glamor  girl." 

I  pushed  my  face  next  to  Lola's  soft 
cheek.  "You  may  grow  up  to  be  anything," 
I  said,  as  I  snuggled  against  her.  "Why, 
you  may  even  grow  up  to  be  a  saint" 

Honestly,  did  you  ever  hear  of  anything 
so  silly?  Here  I  am,  the  girl  without  illu- 
sions. But  when  I  hold  Lola  in  my  arms, 
anything  seems  possible. 


Jean  Simmons — 

J.  Arthur  Rank's  beautiful  young  star 
whose  current  role  as  Ophelia  in  Ham- 
let adds  up  to  just  about  the  biggest 
acting  plum  so  young  an  actress  (or 
any  actress)  could  capture.  You'll  be 
seeing  Hamlet  just  about  the  time 
you  read  this- — shortly  after  it's  pre- 
viewed for  the  King  of  England. 

We  photographed  Jean  just  after  she 
arrived  from  the  Fiji  Islands,  where 
she  has  been  making  the  tropical  Blue 
Lagoon — which  is  scheduled  for  re- 
lease in  early  4all. 

Jean  poses  in  a  patio  dress  you'll 
want  for  your  vacation.  It's  a  two- 
piece  cotton  with  a  gathered  bodice 
which  can  be  worn  on  or  off  your 
shoulder.  Wear  it  with  the  flaming 
Coro  beads  which  exactly  match  the 
bowknot  in  the  print — and  be  the 
most  provocative-looking  girl  in  sight! 

Comes  with  printed  bowknots  in  tan- 
gerine, yellow,  or  green.  Sizes  10-18. 
By  McArthur  .  .  .  about  $10.95. 
At  Gimbels,  N.  Y.,  in  the  Sportswear 
Department,  3rd  Floor.  Other  stores 
on  page  82. 

Beads  by  Coro — $1.98  plus  tax. 


BAREBACK  .  .  .  and  price  includes  matching  jacket! 
Teen-Timers'  adorable  cuffed-top,  swirl-skirted  sun 
dress,  to  show  off  your  figure  and  your  tan.  Sanforized 
pique.  Yellow,  pink,  aqua  or  white.  Teen  sizes  10-16. 
$8.95  ...  at  Gimbel's,  N.  Y.  .  .  .  other  stores  on  page  82. 


SUNBACK  .  .  and  price  includes  matching  jacket! 
Juniorite's  new-looking  sundress  with  the  new  shoulder- 
covering  collar  that's  a  sailor  collar  in  back.  It's  San- 
forized denim,  in  faded  blue,  dark  blue,  or  red.  9-15. 
$8.95  ...  at  Gimbel's,  N.  Y.  .  .  .  other  stores  on  page  82. 


By  Connie  Bartel, 
Fashion  Editor 


Sandals  by  Cobblers 
Sunglasses  by  Grantly 


SMARTY  PANTS  ...  and  price  includes  gold  belt! 
Very  smart  shorts  in  handblocked  printed  butcher  rayon. 
Green,  navy  or  brown.  By  Loomtogs.  $5.95.  T-shirt  in 
fine  Egyptian  lisle,  by  Shepherd.  Lots  of  colors.  $1.95. 
Both  at  Gimbel's,  N. .  Y.  .  .  .  other  stores  on  page  82. 


75 


for  you  who  like  the  poured-in  look  of  one- 
piece  streamlining.  Satin  lastex  for  the  body-beautiful — blazed  in  singing  stripes  of  red, 
royal  or  navy  on  white.  (P.S.  It's  wonderful  if  you  really  swim,  too!)  Sizes  32-40. 
By  Catalina  ...  $8.  Gimbels,  N.  Y.  3rd  Fl. — other  stores,  page  82.     i  lU 


for  you  who  like  the  impertinent  air  of  a  short  ruffled  skirt 
and  a  ruffled  bra.  Skirt  buttons  down  back  to  give  you  a  cute  look  from  the  rear;  has 
jersey  underpants.  Gay  printed  cotton,  in  turquoise  and  pink;  lime  and  pink.  Size?  32-36. 
By  Brilliant . . .  $5.98.  At  Gimbels,  N.  Y.  3rd  Fl.— other  stores,  page  82.    I  % /)  CJClty  |<fo  Mffa 


That's  the  title  model 
Rosemary  Carpenter  captured 
soon,  after  she  posed  in 
this  cute  triangle-midriff  teen- 
suit.  Satin  lastex. 
Red  and  white;  royal  and 
white;  red  and  black;  royal 
and  black.  Teen  sizes  9-17. 
By  Lee  Knitwear  .  .  .  $5.98 
Gimbels,  N.Y.  .  .  .  other 
stores  page  82. 


never,  but  never, 
have  you  seen 
such  value! 
only 


HV  Preview  scoops  the  Fashion  World  with  the  most 

Sensational  Value  of  1948.  Talk  about  Quality!  Talk 
— ^  about  Style !  It's  a  complete  spring  and  summer 

wardrobe  in  one  super  outfit.  You'll  rub  your  eyes  when 
you  see  it— the  exquisite  full  skirted  dress,  complete  and 
perfect  in  itself;  the  bolero  that  magically  turns  inside  out 
from  polka  dot  to  plain.  You'll  wear  them  together.  You'll 
wear  them  separately.  You'll  mix  them!  Match  them!  Mate  them 
with  everything  you  own!  Beautifully  tailored  in  fine  smooth  rayon, 
in  these  gorgeous  color  ensembles: 
(a)  Pink  Dress  with  Navy  Polka  Dot  Bolero  (Reversible  side  matches  dress) 
(b)  Powder  Blue  Dress  with  Navy  Polka  Dot  Bolero  (Reversible  side  matches  dress) 
(c)  Aqua  Dress  with  Black  Polka  Dot  Bolero  (Reversible  side  matches  dress) 
(d)  Gray  Dress  with  Red  Polka  Dot  Bolero  (Reversible  side  matches  dress) 
(t)  Maize  Dress  with  Brown  Polka  Dot  Bolero  (Reversible  side  matches  dress) 
Sizes:  9- 11  - 13- 15-17  and  10-12-14- 16-18 


SEND  NO  MONEY 
SENT  ON  APPROVAL 


PREVIEW  FASHION  SHOPS,  Dept.  DM7)   275  Seventh  Ave., 


Send  '3  in  1  Dress"  on, approval. 
I'll  pay  postman  $8.98  plus  postage 
ana  C.  O.  D.  charges.  If  not  de- 
lighted/ I  may  return  dress  for  re- 
fund within  ten  days.  If  prepaid, 
we  pay  postage.  In  New  York  City 
add  2%  Sales  Tax.  WE  SKIP  IMMEDIATELY. 

PLEASE  PRINT 

NAME  


ADDRESS. 


|^CITT__  ZONE  STATE   | 


&>/iemem 

275  SEVENTH  AVENUE 
NEW  YORK  1,  N.  Y. 


catalog 


79 


on  a  hot  day — a  breezy  sheer  to  keep  you  cool  and  pretty 
when  everything  else  sizzles.  It's  American  Bemberg — printed  with  a  looks-like-money  geo- 
metric design.  In  ice  cream  pink,  or  sea-wave  green.  Sizes  14-20.  By  Future*  Fashions.  87.98. 
At  Gimbels,  2nd  Floor  Cotton  Dresses  .  .  .  also  other  stores  on  page  82.     i  4tW&Ml  /)(Jtlty,  j^ltlfllt 


80 


THAT'S  PECK  ON  THE  RIGHT 

(Continued  from  page  31) 


a  fishing-ground  about  25  miles  away, 
and  we  were  loaded  with  harpoons,  spears, 
underwater  goggles,  fins,  and  paddle- 
boards  with  glass  on  the  bottom  so  you 
could  glare  a  fish  right  in  the  eye. 

Did  I  say  the  fishing-grounds  were  25 
miles  from  Nassau?  Well,  twenty  miles 
from  Nassau,  we  were  becalmed.  No  wind. 

"Get  out  and  blow,"  Greg  said  to  Les- 
lie. "You  hired  this  boat." 

"Dear  friend,"  Leslie  said  kindly,  "you're 
a  movie  star,  so  you  don't  know  very  much. 
We  will  simply  use  the  Diesel  engine. 
That  is  what  the  Diesel  engine  is  for." 

Captain  Thompson's  head  propelled 
itself  around  a  corner.  "The  Diesel  engine 
doesn't  work,"  he  said. 

Twenty-four  hours  later,  we  gave  in 
and  humbled  ourselves.  We  used  the  ship- 
to-shore  phone,  contacted  some  friends  in 
Nassau,  and  they  said  they'd  send  a  boat 
out  to  tow  us. 

"Pirate  ship  cleaving  the  green  sea," 
I  muttered.  "It's  humiliating." 

The  next  fishing  trip  we  made  was  to 
Bimini.  Greg  caught  a  50-pound  amber- 
''■  jack,  smiled  smugly,  and  announced  he 
would  loaf  all  the  way  to  Miami,  our 
next  stop.  (He  loafed  so  much  that  vaca- 
tion we  called  him  The  Horizontal  Man.) 

He  was  stretched  out  on  his  back  talking 
when  he  spotted  the  little  cay,  just  off 
our  course. 

"Frazer's  Hog  Cay,"  Captain  Johnson 
said. 

Greg  couldn't  bear  it.  "Such  an  unro- 
mantic  name  for  a  tropical  paradise.  Let's 
stop  awhile,  and  re-christen  it." 

It  seemed  like  a  great  idea  at  the  time. 
We  dropped  anchor,  got  into  the  dinghy, 
went  toward  the  beach.  Greta  and  I  swam 
for  half  an  hour  in  the  warm  water,  then 
stretched  out  and  stared  at  nothing.  Leslie 
stood  us  for  a  few  minutes,  then  he 
strapped  fins  on  his  feet,  and  went  paddle- 
boarding  off  to  explore  the  shoals. 

Greg  and  Joe  weren't  going  to  be  out- 
done; they  found  themselves  a  cave  full 
of  tropical  fish,  and  started  to  harpoon. 
Greta  and  I  noticed  that  they'd  disappear 
through  a  passage  (Continued  on  page  83) 


MODERN  SCREEN 


ou're  glamourously, 
alluringly  feminine  in  your 
Merry-Go-Round  bra. 
Patented  Circular 


PCTCR  Pfl 


mokes 


Figure  problem ?  For  FREE  booklet,  ' 
write  Dept.  D-7,  Peter  Pan 


'Your  New  Guide  to  Bustline  Beauty," 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  i,  N.  Y. 


do* 


vie* 


of  facts  about 
these 


.v.W/. 


The  two  blocks 
of  sterling  inlaid 
at  back  of  bowls 
and  handles  of 
most  used  spoons 
and  forks.  They 
make  this  silver- 
plate  stay  lovelier 
longer.  Fifty-two 
piece  set  $68.50 
with  chest.  (No 
Federal  Tax.)  All 
patterns  made  in 
the  V.  S.  A. 


HOLMES  &  EDWARDS 
STERLING  INLAID* 
SILVERPLATE 


Two  together  up  front,  folks! 


Copyright  1948.  The  International  Silver  Co..  Holmu  t  Edwards  Division. 
Meriden.  Conn.  Sold  in  Canada  by:  The.I.  Eaton  Co.,  ltd.  oRej.U.S.Pal.OII. 


Sparkling  smoothies  in  simulated 
gold.  Also  in  red,  white,  blue, 

green,  grey,  and  cocoa 
suede-like  finish.  Sizes 
4  to  9.  Medium 
width  only. 

Write  for 
free  booklet 


DALTON  REED,  BOSTON  I,  MASS.  mt 

Send  me  pairs  A  □  B  □  at  $2.98  a  pair 

Size   Width   Color  

Name  (print)  

Address  

City  


.Zone. 


.State 


C.O.D.  □    Money  Order  □    Check  □ 


81 


VW^HOATlNeilFTof 

SweetHeart  Soaps 

•  "I  bless  the  day  I  discovered  this  divinely 
gentle  SweetHeart  Care,"  says  Dot.  "It  leaves 
my  skin  silken-soft  and  fresh  as  dewy  rosebuds." 

You,  too,  will  rave  about  Floating  Lift  Care 
and  the  caressing  softness  of  SweetHeart's 
creamy,  perfumed  extra  lather.  For  this  luxury 
lather  has  a  floating  lift  — an  amazing  action 
that's  been  proved  by  pictures  taken  through 
the  microscope.  Countless  bubbles  bathe  the 
outer  pore  openings  .  .  .  lift  off— float  away  — 
dirt  and  dry  skin  flakes. 

True  beauty  is  revealed !  That  lovely  natural 
smoothness  and  true  radiance  invite  admiring 
glances.  And  the  dreamy  SweetHeart  fragrance 
makes  you  simply  irresistible ! 


•  For  June-moon  romancing,  help  your 
complexion  look  lovelier  with  gentle 
SweetHeart's  Floating  Lift  Care.  Mas- 
sage your  face  one  minute,  night  and 
morning,  with  SweetHeart's  extra 
lather.  Rinse  with  warm  — then  cold 
water.  Your  skin  is  cleansed  .  .  . 
stimulated  .  .  .  more  radiant  —  and  deli- 
cately perfumed. 


•  No  Miss  misses  kisses  when  her 
complexion  has  loveliness  like 
Dot's!  So  steal  her  SweetHeart 
beauty  secret  — make  your  boy 
friend  dream  of  stealing  kisses! 


The  Soap  that  AGREES 


with Your Sh 


For  shower  and 
tub,  you  can  now 
also  get  the  new, 
large  bath  size. 
Swe  et  Hear  t's 
extra  lather  with 
its  floating  lift  is 
marvelous. 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY 
MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

(Prices  may  vary  throughout  country) 

TANGERINE  AND  BLACK  PATIO  DRESS 
worn  by  Jean  Simmons  (page  73) 

New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Gimbels,  Market  &  9th 
TANGERINE  BEADS  (page  73) 

New  York  City— Saks-34th  St. 
BAREBACK  DRESS  (page  74) 
Los  Angeles,  Calif.— The  May  Company, 

B'way  &  8th  St.,  High  Shop,  3rd  Floor 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  St.,  Teen 

World,  5th  Floor 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Lit  Brothers,  Market 

&  8th  Sts.,  Teen-Age  Shop,  3rd  Floor 
Pittsburgh,  Pa. — Boggs  &  Buhl,  Jr.  Dept., 

2nd  Fl.  (same  dress  in  junior  sizes) 
SUNBACK  DRESS  (page  74) 
Boston,  Mass. — Filene's,  Washington  St., 

Jr.  Sports  Shop,  4th  Floor 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Strawbridge  &  Clo- 
thier, Jr.  Miss  Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
GOLD  SANDALS  BY  COBBLERS,  $7.95 
(pages  74  and  75) 

New  York  City — Plymouth  Shops 
SHORTS  WITH  GOLD  BELT  (page  75) 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Abraham  &  Straus,. 

420  Fulton  Street,  Sportswear,  3rd  Fl. 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
Rocky  Mount,  N.  C. — Rosenbloom-Levy 
LISLE  T-SHIRT  (page  75) 

Birmingham,  Ala.— Pizitz,  19th  St.  &  2nd 

Ave.,  Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. — The  May  Company, 

Sportswear,  Downstairs 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Sportswear,  3rd  Floor  • 
Pittsburgh,  Pa.— Gimbels,  339  Sixth  Ave- 
nue, Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
PRINTED  BATHING  SUIT  (page  76) 
Atlanta,  Ga. — Rich's,  Broad  &  Alabama 

Sts.,  Sportswear,  Downstairs 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Lit  Brothers,  Market 

&  8th  Streets,  Bathing  Suits,  2nd  Floor 
Providence,  R.  I. — Gladding's,  291  West- 
minster Street,  Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
Washington,  D.  C. — The  Hecht  Company, 

7th  &  F  Streets,  Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
STRIPED  BATHING  SUIT  (page  77) 
Fort  Worth,  Texas— Stripling's,  209  Hous- 
ton St.,  Sportswear,  2nd  Floor 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Sportswear,  3rd  Floor 
Sacramento,  Calif. — Weinstock,  Lubin  & 

Co.,  K  &  12th  Sts.,  Sportswear  &  Cam- 
pus Shop,  3rd  Floor 
Saint  Paul,  Minn. — The  Emporium,  7th 

&  Robert  Sts.,  Swim  Shop,  2nd  Floor 
MIDRIFF  BATHING  SUIT  (page  78) 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Sportswear,  3rd  Floor  : 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Lit  Brothers,  Market 

&  8th  Sts.,  Teen-Age  Shop,  3rd  Floor 
SHEER  HEAVEN  PRINT  DRESS  (page  80) 
Boston,  Mass. — Filene's,  Washington  St., 

Day  Dress  Shop,  6th  Floor 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y.—Loeser's,  484  Fulton  St., 

Thrift  Dresses,  1st  Floor 
Milwaukee,  Wis. — Gimbel  Brothers,  101 

West    Wisconsin    Avenue,  Daytime 

Dress  Department 
New  York  City— Gimbels,  33rd  Street, 

Cotton  Dress  Dept.,  2nd  Floor 
Rochester,  N.  Y. — McCurdy's,  285  East 

Main  Street,  3rd  Floor 


If  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed,  write 
Connie  Bartel,  Modern  Screen,  261 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


(Continued  from  page  81)  in  some  coral 
from  time  to  time,  and  we  wouldn't  know 
whether  they  were  above  or  below  the 
water. 

We  were  discussing  this  interesting  fact 
when  some  native  women  appeared,  and 
pointed  to  the  cave.  "You  go  in  there?" 

"No,"  we  said  airily.  "Not  us.  Just  a 
couple  of  men  we  know." 

The  native  women  started  jumping  up 
and  down  and  making  alarmed  noises,  at 
the  very  moment  when  Greg  and  Joe  re- 
appeared on  the  horizon,  shooting  grace- 
fully out  of  the  sea. 

They  were  followed  very  closely  by  a 
large,  vicious-looking  shark. 

I  thought  Greta  was  going  to  faint. 

Greg  and  Joe  got  out  of  the  water  fast, 
and  then  they  stood  there  in  the  sand,  care- 
fully not  looking  at  each  other. 

About  ten  minutes  later,  one  of  the 
native  women  came  dashing  up  to  us. 
"That  man  out  there,"  she  cried— "he  say 
come  fast." 

That  man  was  Leslie,  who  was  being 
trailed  by  an  enormous  barracuda.  We 
rescued  him  in  the  dinghy,  and  we  re- 
christened  "Frazer's  Hog  Cay"  all  right. 
To  us,  it's  "Disaster  Island." 

Nothing  much  more  happened  until 
Miami,  except  that  Leslie  caught  a  dolphin 
which  he  fixed  with  a  fancy  white  wine 
and  mushroom  sauce,  and  Greg  ate  it  po- 
litely and  got  sick. 

asleep  in  the  deep?  .  .  . 

From  Miami,  we  started  down  the  in- 
land route  to  Key  West,  got  into  a  storm, 
anchored  in  a  calm  inlet,  and  played 
pinochle.  When  we  turned  on  the  radio 
some  hours  later,  we  heard  that  Gregory 
Peck  was  lost  in  a  sailboat  in  a  storm! 

"Too  bad,"  Greg  said.  "He  was  a  lovely 
fellow." 

By  now,  we  were  all  mixed  up  in  our 
schedule  anyway,  so  we  decided  to  leave 
the  "Tonga"  and  fly  to  Havana  and  Haiti. 

We  left  the  Tonga.  Aside  from  that,  I 
can't  say  that  the  plan  was  too  successful. 
I  remember  driving  to  the  Key  West  air- 
port, and  hearing  dull  thuds  from  the 
back  of  the  car  as  three  suitcases  fell  one 
by  one  from  the  luggage  rack  on  the  roof. 
We  never  did  find  the  one  that  belonged 
to  Leslie.  It  was  too  bad  because  all  his 
clothes  were  in  it.  Except  for  the  tired 
seersucker  suit,  and  he  was  in  that. 

We  flew  from  Key  West  back  to  Miami 
and  cheerfully  announced  to  the  officials 
that  we  were  going  to  fly  to  Havana. 

The  officials  said  we  were  going  to  do 
nothing  of  the  kind.  "Mrs.  Peck  is  Finnish 
and  she  has  no  visa." 

So  we  gave  up  the  idea  of  Havana,  and 
the  next  day  we  flew  direct  to  Haiti,  in- 
stead, and  we  stayed  at  a  wonderful  place 
fifteen  miles  up  in  the  mountains.  Haiti 
is  the  most  beautiful  spot  you've  ever  seen. 

We  went  shopping  a  couple  of  times, 
because  Greg  insisted  on  taking  home 
life-size  carved  mahogany  figures,  and 
once  when  we  parked  in  front  of  a  store, 
a  native  leaned  in  the  window  of  our  car. 

"How  do  you  do  Mr.  Gregory  Peck?"  he 
said. 

Greg  said,  "How  do  you  do?" 

His  new  friend  scowled.  "You  tell  Miss 
Greer  Garson  she  no  be  in  any  more  pic- 
tures with  that  Mr.  Clark  Gable.  He  like 
too  much  to  hit  women!"  As  he  turned 
away,  he  was  murmuring,  "No  good  hit 
women!" 

Well,  that  was  the  way  it  went.  A  vaca- 
tion we  called  it.  We  ended  up  with  Greg 
all  black  and  bearded,  Leslie  in  a  filthy 
seersucker,  suit,  Greta  and  I  scratching 
sand-fly  bites. 

"Nice  peaceful  cruise,"  Leslie  said,  at 
the  last.  "Just  like  we'd  planned  it." 

And  we  all  laughed  and  laughed.  Be- 
cause we'd  do  it  over  again  tomorrow. 


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83 


I'LL  TELL  YOU  ABOUT 

MRS.PARADINE 

"/  intend  that  the  whole 
world  shall  see  her  as  I 
do... as  a  noble,  self-sac- 
rificing human  being." 
*  GREGORY  PECK 

*0ne  of  the  7  great  stars  in 
DAVID  0.  SELZNICK  S  production  of 

ALFRED  HITCHCOCK'S 

THEPARAPINECASE 

starring 

GREGORY  PECK  •  ANN  TODD 
CHARLES  LAUGHTON  •  CHARLES  COBURN 
ETHEL  BARRYMORE  and  2  new  Selznick  stars 
LOUIS  JOURDAN  and  VALLI 


ATTENTION  MOVIE  FANS! 

Send  25c  to  Setznick  Studio,  Box  101,  Culver  City,  Calif, 
(or  autographed  8"  x  10"  picture  ol  Gregory  Peck 


your  hair  stays  set  witn 


HE  NEVER  LOVED  HER 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


Strong  Nylon.  Invisible. 
Full  depth  for  every  style. 
All  shades. 


making  a  romance  yet  out  of  that.  For  one 
thing,  she  won't  be  legally  free  till  March 
'49.  And  which  of  us,  being  hurt,  doesn't 
naturally  turn  to  old  friendship  for  com- 
fort? Marriage  is  another  story.  Let's 
leave  it  to  a  more  auspicious  day. 

What  I  really  want  to  talk  about  is  the 
old  marriage.  Because  the  how's  and  the 
why's  continue  to  pop.  Why  did  she  plunge 
into  it?  How  can  you  fall  out  of  love  at  the 
end  of  three  months?  Why  did  she  go  back 
to  Zito  after  the  first  split?  In  fairness  to 
June,  I  propose  to  answer  these  questions. 
Once  and  for  all  and  for  the  last  time,  and 
then  we'll  forget  it. 

June  married  for  the  reason  most  girls 
marry — she  thought  Jimmy  was  the  an- 
swer to  love's  young  dream.  To  her  it 
didn't  seem  hasty.  They'd  known  each 
other  six  years.  To  be  sure,  their  paths 
had  crossed  only  now  and  then  after  that 
first  summer  with  Fio  Rito's  band.  But 
when  he  came  to  Hollywood  and  started 
courting  her  in  earnest,  he  seemed  the 
same  Jimmy — fun -loving,  home -loving, 
easy  to  be  with.  Mature  beyond  her  years 
in  many  ways — and  especially  in  compas- 
sion— June  was  a  child  for  trustfulness.  An 
old-fashioned  child  who  believed  in  happy 
endings.  More  than  once  I've  heard  her 
say:  "No  brass  rings  for  me.  When  I  marry, 
it'll  be  for  keeps."  In  that  spirit,  she  gave 
her  heart  to  Jimmy  Zito. 

mother-in-law  blues  .  .  . 

Well,  Jimmy's  spoken  his  piece,  and  now 
I'm  going  to  speak  mine.  "Mother-in-law 
trouble,"  said  Jimmy,  in  last  April's 
Modern  Screen.  "June  turned  to  her 
mother  instead  of  me  for  advice  .  .  ." 
".  .  .  June's  mother  thought  the  motel 
where  we  were  living  wasn't  swanky 
enough  for  June  .  .  ."  ".  .  .  June's  mother 
said  she'd  leave  us  alone,  go  East — but  she 
didn't  leave  town  .  .  ." 

"Bosh!"  say  I,  to  all  of  that.  If  there's 
one  mother  who  bends  over  backward  to 
keep  her  hands  off,  it's  Maria  Haver.  She's 
got  three  independent  daughters — brought 
them  up  to  make  their  own  decisions,  and 
stand  by  or  rectify  their  own  mistakes. 
When  they  need  her,  she's  there.  For  the 
rest,  she  stays  in  the  background.  We 
should  all  have  her  sense. 

With  that  off  my  chest,  let's  proceed. 
Marriage  to  a  movie  star  is  beset  by  pit- 
falls, especially  when  you're  not  yet  estab- 
lished in  your  profession.  Jimmy,  only  23, 
turned  jealous.  Maybe  it  was  the  Latin 
in  him.  Maybe  a  feeling  of  insecurity. 
Most  likely  a  combination  of  the  two.  He 
resented  everything  that  took  June's  atten- 
tion from  him.  Even  her  fans.  "Hello, 
June,"  they'd  call,  and  June,  friendly  as 
they  come,  would  hello  back.  "You  don't 
know  her,  why  do  you  speak  to  her?" 
Jimmy  would  scowl.  Hide  his  resent- 
ment? Not  he.  "Old  crow!"  he  muttered 
at  a  woman  in  a  restaurant  who  dared  to 
smile  at  his  bride. 

On  Easter  Sunday  they  went  to  church 
with  sister  Evvie  and  her  husband,  Jim 
McNamara — then  to  the  Beverly-Wilshire 
for  breakfast.  There  was  a  fashion  show 
on.  This  annoyed  Jimmy.  June  was 
picked  as  one  of  the  four  best-dressed 
girls.  This  annoyed  him  more.  The  pho- 
togs  wanted  pictures.  She  couldn't  have 
been  gone  for  more  than  ten  minutes,  but 
he  refused  to  speak  to  her  all  the  way 
home. 

June  wasn't  used  to  this  kind  of  pos- 
sessiveness,  her  family'd  never  clutched. 
She  tried  laughing  him  out  of  it,  she  tried 
reasoning  with  him.  "It's  part  of  my  job, 
Jimmy.    You  knew  my  career  was  impor- 


tant to  me,  you  knew  I  had  no  intention  of 
giving  it  up."  For  a  day  or  two  things 
would  improve.  He'd  be  as  he'd  been  be- 
fore their  marriage — only  to  flare  up  again 
on  any  or  no  provocation. 

"Why  can't  you  go  out  with  me?" 

"You  know  why,  Jimmy.  Because  I've 
got  a  5  o'clock  call." 

"What's  more  important,  your  call  or 
your  husband?" 

So  she'd  go  out,  and  report  wearily  to 
the  studio  after  four  hours'  sleep.  All  of 
which  only  seemed  to  make  Jimmy  more 
bitter.  To  ease  his  bitterness  he  took  to 
belittling  her  work.  She  had  a  way  of 
reading  her  script  aloud.  One  night  she 
looked  up  to  find  him  standing  in  the 
doorway.  "Go  ahead,  Bernhardt,"  he 
mocked.  "Don't  mind  me."  That  was  bad 
enough,  but  when  he'd  come  on  the  set 
and  make  cracks  of  a  like  nature,  it  was 
more  than  she  could  bear. 

There's  no  point  in  multiplying  incidents. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  both  grew  more 
wretched  and  tense.  Scene  followed  scene, 
and  crisis  followed  crisis,  till  Jimmy  left 
to  go  on  tour  with  his  band,  and  June  had 
a  breathing  spell  in  which  to  think.  For 
the  first  time  in  weeks,  her  battered  nerves 
relaxed.  But  what  kind  of  marriage  was 
this  when  your  husband's  absence  gave 
you  a  sense  of  peace? 

I'm  not  going  through  the  agony  of 
June's  disenchantment.  Here  was  a  girl 
who'd  married  one  man  and  found  herself, 
to  all  intents  and  purposes,  the  wife  of 
another.  She  reached  her  decision  alone, 
and  she  alone  knows  what  it  cost  her, 
though  we  who  saw  her  grow  paler  and 
thinner  can  guess.  In  the  end  she  phoned 
Jimmy.  "I  think  we've  made  a  mistake." 
He  agreed.  And  the  news  of  the  separa- 
tion broke. 

For  weeks  June  crept  round  the  house 
like  a  wan  little  ghost,  sleeping  little,  eat- 
ing less,  shutting  herself  into  her  room 
to  paint,  playing  symphony  records  till  her 
mother  thought  she'd  go  mad.  Or  she'd 
come  out  and  say:  "Guess  I'll  go  for  a 
drive." 

"Like  me  to  go  along?" 

"No,  you  don't  mind,  do  you?  I  just 
want  to  think." 

pent-up  troubles  .  .  . 

It  helps  if  you  can  unload  your  troubles 
to  a  friend.  June's  the  kind  who  can't — 
not  even  to  her  mother  or  sisters.  Evvie'd 
come  round  with  a  hat  she'd  made  for 
June.  She'd  remove  the  symphony  rec- 
ords and  put  on  some  swing.  But  the  only 
time  June  really  brightened  was  when  Dot 
brought  Cathy  over.  Playing  on  the  floor 
with  the  baby,  she'd  lose  herself  for  a 
while — ■ 

This  went  on  till  the  night  in  July  when, 
out  of  a  clear  sky,  she  said  to  her  mother: 
"Going  to  miss  me?" 

"Why,  where  are  you  going?" 

"To  Jimmy  in  Seattle.  I  feel  I  have  to. 
For  one  last  try." 

That's  all  there  was.  No  questions,  no 
explanations.  But  understanding  her 
daughter  as  she  did,  Maria  Haver  could 
follow  the  workings  of  her  mind.  June's 
deep  hurt  came  not  only  from  disillusion, 
but  a  sense  of  failure.  Marriage,  the  most 
important  thing  in  life,  was  the  one  thing 
she'd  failed  at.  Maybe  she  was  to  blame. 
Three  months,  after  all,  was  a  pretty  short 
time  for  adjustment.  Maybe,  if  she  put  all 
her  heart  into  it,  she  could  find  the  old 
Jimmy  again.  Anyway,  she  owed  it  to 
both  to  try. 

She  left  next  morning.  Ten  days  later 
they  returned  together,  apparently  recon- 


For  Nylon,  soy  "Milonet!"  For  Silk,  say  "Debby!" 
At  drug,  variety,  dept.  stores 
MILO  Mills  •  New  York  •  Toronto,  Canada 


ciled,  ready  to  hunt  their  own  apartment. 

"That's  silly,"  Mrs.  Haver  said.  "I  hate 
rattling  around,  in  this  big  house  all  by 
myself.   I'll  find  a  place." 

She  found  a  charming  little  apartment, 
and  moved  out.  The  reconciliation  lasted 
a  month.  Jimmy  hadn't  changed.  Guess 
he  couldn't.  Up  one  day — moody,  broody 
and  unreasonable  the  next.  But  June  was 
determined  to  make  it  work  if  she  could, 
and  it  might  have  lasted  longer.  Jimmy 
himself  rang  the  final  curtain  down. 

They  threw  a  party  one  night  in  honor 
of  a  new  television  set.  Jimmy  was  at  his 
Jimmyest.  "You're  paying  too  much  at- 
tention to  other  people.  I  haven't  seen  you 
all  evening." 

"But,  Jimmy,  they're  your  friends  too. 
And  I'm  the  hostess — " 

This  cut  no  ice  with  the  host.  He  grew 
glum  and  glummer.  June  was  glad  when 
the  party  broke  up.  Everyone  had  left 
but  Jimmy's  business  manager,  his  wife, 
Ruth  Woodward  and  a  friend  of  June's 
who  had  to  be  up  at  6: 30  next  morning  for 
a  golf  match.  The  links  were  close  by,  so 
June  suggested  that  she  stay  overnight. 

"We'll  give  you  an  alarm  clock  and 
make  up  a  bed  in  the  living  room — " 

She  and  Ruth  went  upstairs  for  the  bed- 
ding. As  they  came  down,  Jimmy's  voice 
reached  their  ears,  sharp  and  clear, 
through  the  open  door  of  the  den.  He  was 
talking  to  his  manager,  and  the  words  were 
unbelievable.   "I  tell  you  I  don't  love  her." 

"But  that  can't  be  true.  You  married 
her.   You  must  have  loved  her  then!" 

"I  never  loved  her.  The  whole  thing 
was  a  mistake — " 

A  moment  later  they  came  out  to  find 
June  on  the  staircase,  stony-faced  above 
an  armful  of  blankets.  "I  heard  what  you 
said.  I'd  like  to  have  you  leave  right 
now." 

Next  day  she  went  to  see  Jerry  Geisler. 

June  has  grit,  and  to  spare.  Nobody 
ever  saw  her  cry.  But  there  was  a  lost 
look  in  her  eyes  that  was  sadder  than  tears. 

As  much  as  anyone,  it  was  Marilyn 
Miller,  dead  these  twelve  long  years,  who 
helped  her  over  the  hump.  Her  dream  of 
playing  Marilyn  started  way  back  when 
Jerry  Wald  held  production  reins  on  the 
property,  and  appeared  at  TC-Fox  one 
day  to  watch  June  in  action.  Before 
leaving,  he  said:  "I  like  your  work.  Of 
course  your  name's  not  big  enough  yet. 
But  maybe  by  the  time  we're  ready,  it 
will  be." 

Around  these  words  she  spun  her  castle 
in  the  air,  which  all  but  crashed  when 
Wald  dropped  the  story.  Still  she  hoped 
against  hope  that  maybe  TC-Fox  would 
buy  it  from  Warners.  Because  now  of 
course  she'd  never  get  it  on  a  loanout. 
Warners,  after  all,  had  their  own  dancing 
stars  to  build  up. 

So  fancy  June  when  her  agents  sent  for 


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I'LL  TELL  YOU  ABOUT 

MRS.  PARADINE 

iSShe  is  bad,  bad  to  the 
bone.  If  ever  there  was  an 
evil  woman,  she  is  one." 
*  LOUIS  JOURDAN 

*0ne  of  the  7  great  stars  in 
DAVID  0.  SELZNICK'S  production  of 
ALFRED  HITCHCOCK'S 

™  PARADINE"" 


starring 

GREGORY  PECK  •  ANN  TODD 
CHARLES  LAUGHTON  •  CHARLES  COBURN 
ETHEL  BARR  YMORE  and  2  new  Selznick  stars 
LOUIS  JOURDAN  and  VALLI 


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Relieve*  your  Baby's  teething 
pains  this  summer  by  rubbing  on 
Dr.  Hand's  Teething  Lotion — the 
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Baby  Specialist.  It  is  effective  and 
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and  recommended  by  millions  of 
Mothers.  Your  druggist  has  it. 


her  and  tossed  the  jewel  in  her  lap.  Just 
like  that.  Without  even  a  test.  Darryl 
Zanuck  and  Jack  Warner  had  set  the  deal 
between  them. 

Home  she  dashed  and  upstairs  to  Mother, 
who  wondered  at  first  if  she  were  seeing 
straight.  For  the  first  time  in  months  the 
girl  was  all  light  and  sparkle,  the  way  she 
used  to  be. 

"Mother,  what's  the  best  thing  in  the 
world  that  could  happen  to  me?" 

Being  no  clairvoyant,  Mother  came  out 
with  something  inconsequential. 

"No,  no,  guess  again,  think  hard." 

"Honey,  you've  got  me  too  excited  to 
think.    Tell  me." 

"I'm  going  to  play  Marilyn  Miller!  Oh 
Mother,  when  they  told  me,  I  nearly  did  a 
cabriole  in  the  air — " 

Once  they'd  calmed  down  a  little,  Mrs. 
Haver  harked  back  to  that  cabriole.  "What 
about  the  dancing?  Will  you  do  it  all 
yourself?" 

"Every  step.  No  doubles  for  me.  Not 
even  in  the  longest  longshot." 

"But  can  you,  June?  It's  so  long  since 
you've  done  ballet." 

"You  bet  I  can.  Oh  Mother,  I  want  to 
work.  I  want  to  get  up  at  5,  and  not  quit 
till  7.  That's  a  switch,  isn't  it,  but  that's 
exactly  what  I  need." 

In  October  she  started  rehearsing  ballet 
with  Buddy  Ebson,  who  used  to  dance  with 
the  Fokines  and  is  now  an  instructer  at 
Warners.  Breaking  only  for  a  box  lunch 
(courtesy  of  Mother)  they  kept  at  it  from 
9  to  5:30  for  four  solid  months,  and  as  if 
that  weren't  enough,  June  would  more 
often  than  not  come  home  with  a  record. 
"Mother,  you  have  to  see  this  number." 
Then,  dead  on  her  feet,  she'd  flop  into 
bed  and  sleep  like  a  babe. 

My  own  belief  is  that  June  was  cast  in 
the  top  role  of  Silver  Lining  for  more  than 
her  dancing  feet.  The  memory  of  Marilyn 
Miller  lives  on  in  Hollywood.  She  was  a 
person  of  rare  warmth,  with  a  great  heart 
for  others.  Talk  to  those  who  knew  her, 
and  their  eyes  soften.  Talk  to  people  about 
June,  and  you  get  the  same  reaction. 

a  lesson  in  courage  .  .  . 

She  and  Buddy  Ebson,  working  con- 
stantly together,  grew  to  be  close  friends. 
Last  winter  his  mother  died.  During  her 
illness  June  would  drop  in  to  see  her.  She 
measured  Buddy's  trouble  against  her  own. 
She  learned  a  lesson  in  the  courage  of 
living  and  dying.  "They  smile  at  each 
other.  They  never  let  on  to  each  other 
how  they  feel.  When  Buddy's  heart  is 
breaking,  he  comes  in  just  the  same  and 
teaches  me  how  to  dance.  It  makes  me 
ashamed  that  I  ever  felt  sorry  for  myself." 

She's  humble  too  about  playing  Marilyn, 
who  was  so  well  loved.  Having  steeped 
herself  in  the  Miller  legend,  she's  devel- 
oped a  kind  of  reverence  for  the  other  girl. 
Once  I  heard  her  say  wistfully:  "I  wonder 
if  I'm  good  enough  to  be  Marilyn  Miller." 

Well,  Mecca  Graham  seems  to  think 
she's  good  enough.  Mecca  was  Marilyn's 
bodyguard,  worked  in  some  of  her  shows, 
and  worshipped  the  ground  she  walked 
on.  He's  acting  as  consultant  on  the  pic- 
ture. One  day  he  walked  in  and  handed 
her  a  package.  Inside  were  a  pair  of  toe 
slippers,  and  a  handkerchief. 

"They  were  Marilyn's,"  said  Mecca.  "I 
hope  they'll  bring  you  luck." 

This  was  above  and  beyond  his  duty  as 
consultant,  this  was  a  tribute  to  June  her- 
self, and  June  was  having  trouble  with  a 
lump  in  her  throat.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to 
his.  "I  don't  know  what  to  say.  It's  the 
loveliest  thing  you  could  have  done  for 
me." 

"Marilyn  would  have  done  as  much," 
said  Mecca. 

She's  not  going  to  use  the  slippers  to 
dance  in.  They're  a  little  worn.  But 
there's  one  number  where  she  plays  Little 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

My  family  and  I 
visited  a  night 
club  in  New  York. 
After  an  enjoy- 
able evening  we 
got  ready  to  leave. 
I  was  putting  on 
my  hat  and  coat 
"S^jT  and    my  mother 

m  V^^^ShEJI  started  to  insist  I 
*  "AmhMiH^^  wear  my  scarf.  I 
said  no.  Seem- 
ingly out  of  no- 
where a  voice  piped  up,  "Aw,  go 
ahead,  put  it  on.  Momma  knows 
best."  Was  I  surprised  to  find  Johnnie 
Johnston  standing,  hands  on  hips, 
right  in  back  of  me. 

Mrs.  M.  Blavis 
Lawrence,  L.  I. 


Eva,  and  goes  to  heaven  on  a  wire  with 
these  big  angel  wings.  In  that  number 
she'll  wear  Marilyn's  slippers.  They're 
just  her  size. 

While  preparing  for  the  picture,  June 
found  she  had  one  more  river  to  cross. 
Toward  the  end  of  February,  rehearsing 
as  usual  with  Buddy,  she  was  caught  with 
a  sudden  pain  in  her  side. 

"Appendix,"  said  the  doctor,  "but  it's  not 
acute.  We'll  have  to  watch  it,  though.  If 
you  have  another  attack,  it  ought  to  come 
out." 

June  thought  that  one  over.  If  she  had 
another  attack  in  the  middle  of  produc- 
tion, she'd  be  responsible  for  holding  the 
picture  up,  costing  the  studio  more  money, 
keeping  the  cast  and  crew  hanging  around. 

"Suppose  I  have  it  done  now?  Would 
it  interfere  with  any  of  the  dancing 
muscles?" 

"Not  a  bit.  What's  more,"  smiled  the 
doctor,  "we've  got  a  new  kind  of  glamor 
suturing— cobweb  suturing  we  call  it — 
you  can  hardly  see  the  scar — " 

"That's  for  me — "  She  picked  up  the 
phone,  called  Steve  Trilling  at  Warners, 
and  gave  him  the  story. 

"How  do  you  feel  about  it,  June?" 

"I'd  like  to  have  it  out  now." 

"Then  by  all  means  have  it  out." 

Well,  what's  an  appendix?  Nothing. 
Some  people  have  'em  out  just  to  be 
stylish.  This  was  June's  line  and  she  stuck 
to  it.  Till  her  mother  had  kissed  her  good- 
night in  the  hospital  room,  and  the  nurse 
was  gone,  and  she  couldn't  fall  asleep. 
Then  she  faced  the  facts  and  dealt  with 
them  in  her  own  way.  Of  course  you're 
nervous.  No  operation's  a  joke.  But  this 
is  how  it  has  to  be.  In  all  the  really  im- 
portant things,  you've  got  to  stand  on  your 
own  feet,  no  one  can  help  you,  nobody  can 
be  with  you.  If  it's  strength  you  want, 
it'll  have  to  come  from  inside. 

Had  anyone  been  around,  they  wouldn't 
have  known  what  to  make  of  the  little 
chuckle  that  escaped  her.  Because  in  the 
midst  of  this  sound  advice  to  herself,  our 
June  was  struck  by  a  truly  thrilling  idea. 
Just  think,  some  day  you  may  have  to 
play  the  part  of  a  girl  being  operated  on. 
Well,  here's  your  big  chance.  Keep  your 
eyes  and  ears  open. 

That's  why  she  begged  them  not  to  put 
her  out  next  morning.  They  did  give  her 
a  shot,  but  only  enough  to  make  her 
slightly  groggy.  She  was  perfectly  con- 
scious as  they  moved  her  to  the  stretcher, 
rode  her  up  on  the  elevator,  wheeled  her 
into  the  operating  room.  She  remembers 
how  sweet  the  nurses  were.  She  remem- 
bers seeing  the  doctor — soap  to  his  elbows 
— and  beckoning  to  him. 

"Don't  forget  I  want  to  be  dancing  in 
two  weeks." 

"That's  an  order." 


DR.  HAND'S 

TEETHING  LOTION 

Just  rub  it  on  the  gums 


Next  thing,  she  saw  a  big  needle  coming 
toward  her.    "What's  that  for?" 
"Your  spine." 

"Okay,  but  I  want  to  stay  awake  as  long 
1    as  I  can." 

Soon  she  felt  her  toes  falling  asleep,  then 
her  knees. 

Then  she  heard  someone  say:  "Beauti- 
!   fully  done,  Dr.  Hyde,  beautifully  done." 

"Glamor  suturing,"  murmured  June  with 
a  big  smile,  and  went  out  again.  When  she 
really  woke  up,  there  was  Mother  and  a 
roomful  of  flowers. 

"Am  I  all  right,  Mother?  How  long  be- 
fore I  can  dance  again?  Tell  me  exactly 
what  the  doctor  said." 

One  by  one  the  family  came  in — Grand- 
mother, Dot  and  Evvie,  Bill  and  Jim. 
Kissed  her  and  made  little  jokes  and  left. 
They'd  been  waiting  since  7. 

"Love  that  clan,"  sighed  June.  "Mother, 
do  you  realize  what  a  lucky  character  I 
am?" 

She  was  more  than  ever  convinced  of  it 
next  day  when  the  doctor  allowed  her  out 
of  bed.  The  day  after,  he  said:  "Let  me 
see  you  get  up  on  your  toes."  Though  she'd 
heard  all  about  these  modern  miracle 
methods,  Mrs.  Haver  flinched,  visioning 
her  child  being  rolled  back  to  surgery. 

But  June  couldn't  have  been  more  en- 
chanted. Using  the  bar  of  the  bed  as  a 
ballet  bar,  she  did  two  plies  and  crowed: 
"Look,  Ma,  I'm  dancing." 

:  It's  a  whole  new  deal  for  the  little  Haver. 
On  March  25th,  she  got  her  decree.  On 
April  5th,  David  Butler  started  shooting 
Silver  Lining  with  a  stellar  cast  who  also 
happen  to  be  a  bunch  of  swell  people. 

j  Charlie  Ruggles  plays  Marilyn's  father, 
Rosemary  De  Camp  her  mother,  the  Wilde 

!  twins  her  sisters.  Ray  Bolger  is  Jack 
Donohue,  her  dancing  co-star,  and  Gordon 
MacRae  plays  Frank  Carter,  her  husband. 
In  the  story  Carter  sends  Marilyn  a  toy 
elephant  every  opening  night.  So  the 
morning  they  started,  June  had  a  baby 

I  elephant  brought  in,  with  a  message  round 

i  his  neck.  "Happy  Opening  Day,  Mr.  But- 
ler, from  Marilyn." 

Her  eyes  are  no  longer  haunted.  Cer- 
tainly she's  not  the  June  of  a  year  ago.  No 
sensitive  girl  goes  through  a  broken  mar- 
riage and  comes  out  untouched.  But  she's 
taken  the  experience  and  built  it  into 
character.  If  there's  a  new  gravity  about 
her,  there's  also  a  new  understanding,  and 
the  old  kindliness  has  deeper  roots. 

I  have  no  elephant,  June.  But  the  past 
is  past  and  all  the  future's  ahead.  I  know 
I  speak  for  your  many  friends  when  I 
say:  "Happy  days  and  years  to  you." 


mkX  *H0LLYW00D 
OTfl^MERRY-GO-ROUND 

•  June  Allyson  was  walking  along 
Sunset  Boulevard  with  her  husband, 
Dick  Powell,  when  he  spotted  a  "For 
Sale"  sign  on  a  shiny  motorcycle. 
"I'll  find  out  what  they  want  for  it," 
he  said  eagerly. 

"No,  you  won't,"  she  declared  em- 
phatically. "I'm  putting  my  foot 
down  right  now — before  the  ground 
under  it  starts  going  at  70  miles  an 
hour." 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


this  bobby  pin  is  different 


holds  your  hair  in  place 

144%  BETTER 

Here's  the  first  real  improvement 
in  bobby  pins!  A  radically  new 


patented  shape,  scientifically 
designed  to  hold  better.  Stronger, 
yet  flexible,  easy  to  open. 


"GAYLA"  MEANS  THE  BEST  IN  BOBBY  PINS,  HAIR  PINS,  CURLERS 

COPYRIGHT  1948,  GAYLORO  PRODUCTS,  INCORPORATED,  CHICAGO  16,  ILLINOIS. 
•T.  M.REG.  U,  S.PAT.  OFF.  87 


here's 
the  radio  show 
for  every 
movie-fan! 


.../worn 


Listen  to  this  gay  quiz  show 
based  on  the  pages  of  Modern 
Screen,  your  movie  magazine. 
Hear  members  of  the  audience 
hilariously  enact  scenes  from  fa- 
mous movies,  and  join  them  in 
exciting  and  novel  movie-guess- 
ing games. 

And  when  you  are  in  New  York, 
see  Movie  Matinee  as  it  is  broad- 
cast from  the  stage  of  the  Pal- 
ace Theater  every  weekday  and 
from  the  Longacre  Theater  on 
Saturday.  Get  in  on  the  fun  and 
the  big  prizes. 

11:00 — 11:30  a.m.  Saturday 
on  your  Mutual  Broad- 
casting station 

3:00  —  3:30  p.m.  Monday 
through  Friday  on  WOR 
New  York  City 


sunlight 
on 
your 
hair 


Sunlight  is 

flattering  to  lovely 

hair  like  Evelyn 

Keyes'.  Now  is  the  time 

to  "do  something" 

to  bring  out  the  beauty 

of  your  own  tresses! 

BY  CAROL  CARTER 


Evelyn  Keyes,  Columbia  star,  reciting  her  Spanish  lesson  to  adopted  son,  Pabl 


■  One  of  the  most  charming  things  a  gal  can 
wear  is  an  aureole  of  freshly-shampooed,  silky  hair.  Especially 
outdoors  when  the  sun  is  shining  through  it.   Poets  have 
knocked  themselves  out  trying  to  describe  it! 

If  you  think  your  hair  won't  make  a  4-star  rating  in  the  sun- 
light, don't  be  depressed.  Hair  responds  very  quickly  to  a 
little  loving  care  such  as  frequent  and  careful  shampooing  and  deter- 
mined brushing.  Give  yourself  a  scalp  treatment  tonight. 

Don't  let  anyone  tell  you  that  you're  shampooing  your  hair  too 
often.   Hair  gets  as  dirty,  if  not  dirtier  than  your  face  and 
should  be  washed  at  least  once  a  week,  if  not  oftener. 
But  wash  it  well. 

Movie  stars,  who  just  have  to  have  lovely  hair,  sometimes  have 
daily  shampoos.  After  you've  applied  shampoo  at  least  twice, 
rinse  it  in  several  waters,  or  run  a  spray  over  it  for  two  minutes. 
Getting  any  left-over  soap  out  is  very  important.   If  the 
water  in  your  community  is  "hard,"  do  use  a  soapless  shampoo 
for  it  can't  form  a  "curd"  in  hard  water.  In  a  soft  water 
region,  you  have  your  choice  of  soapless  or  any  other  kind  of 
shampoo. 

If  your  hair  looks  a  little  mousey,  give  it  high-lights  with  one 
of  the  many  fine  rinses  which  are  easy  to  use  and  inexpensive. 
You'll  find  a  variety  of  shades  from  which  to  choose. 
Then  take  a  walk  in  the  sun.    You'll  shine! 


BANNED  IN  HOLLYWOOD 

(Continued  from  page  47) 


You'd  have  liked  the  picture  M-G-M's 
dancing  Cyd  Charisse  made,  poised  on  the 
diving-board,  in  a  classic  two-piece  rasp- 
berry-colored number.  She's  a  bare-mid- 
riff booster,  says  it  gives  her  more  freedom 
in  the  water. 

(Later  on,  Cyd  changed  into  a  strapless 
white  suit  with  gold  thread  shirring,  and 
put  gold  sandals  on  her  feet.  Appropriate, 
considering  what  the  feet  are  insured  for. 
The  gold  sandal  fad  in  Hollywood  is  by 
now  an  epidemic.) 

Other  Kent  guests  were  Barbara  Law- 
rence (who's  just  finished  a  lead  in  Fox's 
Street  With  No  Name)  and  little  Terry 
Moore.  Barbara's  blonde,  and  burns  easily, 
so  she  draped  herself  in  rather  long  black 
linen  shorts,  and  a  rose-colored  linen 
jacket  over  a  black  bra.  The  effect  was 
very  striking. 

Terry  was  wearing  plaid  taffeta — pink, 
blue,  yellow — with  a  three-band  strap  on 
the  left  shoulder,  and  no  strap  at  all  on  the 
right.  A  taffeta  bathing  suit's  unusual,  so's 
a  plaid  bathing  suit,  and  I  asked  her  where 
she'd  got  it.  She  grinned.  "I  came  home 
wailing  one  day  because  the  only  suits  that 
would  fit  me  were  made  for  ten-year-olds, 
and  my  mother  marched  out  and  bought 
water-proof  taffeta  and  ran  up  this  crea- 
tion herself."  It  looked  as  though  it  had 
come  from  one  of  our  smartest  shops. 

Incidentally,  just  because  I've  said  Hol- 
lywood's pretty  conservative,  and  we  don't 
go  for  the  diaper  suit,  doesn't  mean  we 
don't  have  our  own  exotic  fringe.  Take 
Hazel  Brooks  (the  Body  and  Soul  menace) . 
I  saw  her  lounging  near  Mr.  Kent's  pool, 
all  covered  by  a  flesh-colored  clinging 
leotard  covered  with  skin-tight  black  lace. 
As  for  Doris  Day,  I  glimpsed  her  wearing  a 
strapless  gold  sheath.  Both  these  ladies 
appeared  to  be  in  evening  dress  from  the 
waist  up. 

But  you  don't  have  to  go  to  parties  to 
stumble  over  handsome  beach-wear  in 
Southern  California.  At  Palm  Springs  last 
week  I  met  Gene  Tierney  in  a  one-piece 
tangerine-colored  job;  Dottie  Lamour  in 
cotton  pique — green,  with  a  small  white 
print  figure,  and  Esther  Williams  in  a  yel- 
low and  red  print  with  broad  black  stripes. 
It  may  sound  horrible;  it's  really  wonder- 
fully gay.  And  Esther,  of  course,  looked 
like  a  dream  in  it. 

hard  on  her  work-clothes  .  .  . 

Esther  has  two  dozen  suits  around  her 
house;  six  she  wears  herself,  the  others 
she  lends  to  guests  who  use  her  pool.  She 
wears  out  50  suits  a  year  (she's  in  the  water 
about  440  hours  a  year)  and  her  suits  cost 
anywhere  from  five  to  25  dollars.  She  only 
buys  half  of  them;  manufacturers  give  her 
the  others.  Esther  likes  bright  colors,  prac- 
tically never  wears  black  or  white;  she 
thinks  one-piece  suits  are  more  becoming, 
but  two-piece  suits  are  better  for  swim- 
ming. 

(In  Neptune's  Daughter,  Esther  will  play 
a  bathing  suit  manufacturer,  which  is 
funny,  because  so  many  manufacturers 
have  tried  unsuccessfully  to  make  tie-ups 
with  her.) 

And  finally,  at  the  Beverly  Hills  Hotel 
pool  the  other  morning,  I  was  almost 
blinded  by  young  Barbara  Bates  whose 
one-piece  black  suit  had  a  luminous  yellow 
panel  up  the  front!  It  also  had  a  flaring 
bow-bra  patented  to  keep  a  girl's  head 
above  water.  Like  the  much-advertised 
Ivory  Soap,  she  floats. 

Which  just  about  ties  bathing  suits — and 
me — up  for  this  month.  Next  month,  new 
topic,  same  Cobina.  I'll  be  looking  for- 
ward to  meeting  you  all  again. 


LIQUID  CfcEME 

-a  jo/  to  use  I 


You'll  love  the  soothing,  caress- 
ing, kind-to-your-hair  effect  of 
the  eggin  Richard  Hudnut  Shampoo. 
Modern  science  has  found  that  just 
the  right  amount  of  plain,  old-fash- 
ioned egg  in  powder  form  makes 
this  grand  shampoo  extra  mild,  extra 
gentle.  It's  a  new  kind  of  shampoo, 
created  especially  for  the  beauty- 
wise  patrons  of  Hudnut's  exclusive 
Fifth  Avenue  Salon. 

A  New  Kind  of  Hair  Beauty  from 
a  World -Famous  Cosmetic  House 


Not  a  dulling,  dry- 
ing soap.  Contains 
no  wax  or  paste. 
Richard  Hudnut 
Shampoo  is  a 
sm-o-o-o-th  liquid 
creme.  Beauty^ 
bathes  hair  to 
"love-lighted"  per- 
fection. Rinses  out 
quickly,  leaving  hair 
easy  to  manage, 
free  of  loose 
dandruff.  At  drug  and 
department  stores. 


Avoid  underarm 
irritation . . . 


..use 


/   MARYAUCE  WARD  is  one  of 

|r  the  beautiful  Powers  models 
who  uses  Yodora  regularly 
for    its    soothing  protection. 


ODORA 

the  deodorant  that  is 
ACTUALLY  SOOTHING 


Wonderful !  Yodora  stops  perspiration  odor 
safely,  quickly  .  .  .  yet  is  positively  soothing  to 
normal  skin.  Made  with  a  face  cream  base, 
with  no  harsh  acid  salts  to  cause  irritation, 
Yodora  actually  helps  soften  your  skin,  like  a 
face  cream.  No  other  known  deodorant 
gives  this  PLUS  protection.  Try  Yodora,  the 
soothingest  deodorant.  Tubes  or  jars,  10*,  30<, 
60*.  McKesson  &  Robbins,  Bridgeport,  Conn. 


ABSORBINE  Jr. 


90 


the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


SHIRLEY  FROHL1CH 

director 

GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


Calling  all  ideas!  Calling  all  ideas!  We're 
looking  for  a  new  fan  club  "gimmick" — that 
practical,  workable,  million-dollar  idea  that 
will  inject  new  life  into  your  club!  (Not  that 
we  don't  think  you're  a  pretty  lively  bunch! 
It's  just  that  fan  clubs  thrive  on  fresh  stimuli.) 
A  question  we  hear  most  often  from  new 
prexies  is:  What  sort  of  activities  should  our 
club  have? 

Now,  we  know  there  are  dozens  of  swell, 
untried  ideas  floating  around  in  your  brain 
that  only  need  a  little  encouragement  to  come 
out  in  the  open.  We  want  to  hear  about  them 
so  we  can  pass  them  along  to  MSFCA  clubs. 
Remember,  they  must  be  original,  practical, 
costless  (or  nearly  so)  and  beneficial  to  clubs 
as  a  whole  and  members  in  particular.  You 
may  have  an  idea  for  a  new  social  or  chari- 
table activity,  a  plan  for  club  or  star  publicity 
—or  even  a  money-making  scheme  to  help  the 
club  treasury.  Send  as  many  ideas  as  you 
wish.  Send  them  to:  MSFCA  "Idea,"  MODERN 
SCREEN,  261  Fifth  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16.  We'll 
give  free  subscriptions  to  MODERN  SCREEN 
(or  any  Dell  Publication  of  your  choice)  for 
all  ideas  we  can  recommend! 

club  banter  .  .  . 

Nelda  Clough's  The  Prexy's  Guide,  a  32- 
page  mimeo'd  text-book  on  how  to  run  a  fan 
club  is  the  last  word  on  the  subject,  contains 
everything  we  could  possibly  tell  you  about 
journals,  finances,  getting  started,  organiza- 
tion, etc.,  culled  from  years  of  experience  of 
best-known  prexies  in  clubdom.  Nelda  her- 
self is  prexy  of  the  MSFCA  Trophy-winning 
Charles  Korvin  Club. 

Copies  are  50c  each,  plus  3c  stamp.  It's  really 
worthwhile!  Her  address:  234  Pleasant  Ave- 
nue, Michigan  City,  Indiana.  .  .  Lois  Carnahan, 
of  306  Walnut-Versailles,  McKeesport,  Pa.,  is 
director  of  the  Fan  Club  Mimeograph  Service. 
Write  her  for  prices,  other  info.  .  .  Robert 
Breslin's  Ella  Raines  Club  now  has  a  Cana- 
dian chapter — in  the  capable  hands  of  Yvonne 
Hanley,  51   Rushbrooke  Ave.,  Toronto.   .  . 

Prexy  Lorraine  Young  talked  the  whole  thing 
over  with  her  honorary.  Kirk  Douglas,  at 
luncheon.  Read  about  it  in  the  latest  Douglas 
Journal.  .  .  Seems  we're  guilty  of  grievous 
wrong!  It  was  not  Hermina  Levitts'  Stuart  Fos- 
ter Club  that  adopted  the  French  orphan,  but 
Bobby  Meltzer's  Faithful  Fans  of  Foster.  Both 
prexies  are  anxious  that  we  clear  up  the 
error,  and  we're  very  happy  to  oblige.  .  . 
Frank  Sinatra  Club  of  Staten  Island  (Dot 
McMullen,  prexy)  is  selling  greeting  cards  to 
raise  money  for  the  Lou  Costello  Jr.  Youth 
Foundation.  Half  the  profits  go  into  the  club 
treasury,  and  the  other  half  to  the  foundation. 

Ann  Bellino,  1267  Addison  St.,  Berkeley  2, 
Calif.,  invites  all  shut-ins  to  join  the  Interna- 
tional Alan  Ladd  Club  dues-free.  .  .  Prexy 
Doris  de  Vasier  interviews  Vaughn  Monroe 
in  the  next  edition  of  Basil's  (Rathbone)  Blue 
Book.  .  .  Phyllis  Holland  is  Miss  Ladd  Legion- 
naire of  1948.  Phyllis  holds  the  title  for  being 
the  most  active  all-around  member  of  Gerry 
Kee's  Ladd  Club.  .  .  Six  officers  of  the  Donrees 
Club  were  luncheon  guests  at  Donna  Reed's 
home.   .   .   Phyllis   Pritchard's   Official  Joan 


Caulfield  Club  is  concentrating  hard  on  an 
all-out  publicity  campaign  for  Joan.  .  .  Red 
Jones  is  now  piloting  three  clubs:  for  Virginia 
Mayo,  Peter  Lawford  and  Jimmy  Lloyd. 

Warren  Douglas  Clubbers  point  with  pride 
at  Academy  Award-winning  short.  Climbing 
the  Matterhorn!  Warren  was  narrator,  of 
course!  .  .  .  Gloria  Shaffer's  Dinah-Miters 
(Shore)  are  exploding  into  their  second  year 
of  club  activity — and  growing  fast.  .  .  Shir- 
ley McBroom's  Arthur  Neal  Club  has  a  new 
membership  contest  under  way.  Sounds  in- 
teresting, so  write  us  for  details. 

Don  Rodney  Club  is  getting  a  boost  from 
Don's  guest  appearances  on  various  disc 
jockey  shows. 

Ron  De  Armond's  Ron  Randall  Club  is  now 
called  Ron  Randall  Rooters.  Ron  himself  sug- 
gested the  journal  name:  The  Randall  Round- 
table.  .  .  Katherine  Galloway,  3658  McGill 
Rd.,  Jackson,  Miss.,  is  new  prexy  of  Barbara 
Lawrence  Club.  .  .  Club  Friendship  has  its 
big  New  York  convention  this  June.  .  .  Bob 
Lutzow  is  giving  away  50  free  memberships 
in  the  Vanessa  Brown  Club,  if  you  mention 
MODERN  SCREEN.  His  address:  4862  North- 
west Highway,  Chicago  20,  111.  .  .  .  Millie 
Wayne  Clubbers  will  convene  in  Wheeling, 
W.  Va.,  to  meet  Millie — and  each  other.  .  . 
Lilyan  Miller's  Virginia  Field  Club  held  a 
dinner  and  theater  party  (together  with  other 
clubbers)  in  Detroit.  .  .  David  Gilbey's  Joan 
Fulton-ites  are  preparing  a  marionette  pro- 
duction for  presentation  at  children's  hospitals. 

7TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 

5th  Lap:  Going,  going,  gone!!  That's  what's 
happening  to  our  nice  new  prizes.  Just  a  short 
time  left  tor  you  poets  and  short-story  writers 
to  win  a  Pond's  DREAM  FLOWER  bath  set  or 
La  Crosse's  LOOK  TWICE  lipstick  and  nail  polish 
set.  Those  EBERHARD  FABER  Pen  and  Pencil 
sets  are  getting  raves  from  winning  editors. 
TANGEE  TRIP  KITS  are  just  the  things  you  artists 
will  want  to  take  with  you  on  your  summer 
vacations.  Also:  loads  and  loads  of  magazine 
subscriptions!  And  don't  forget  the  three  shiny 
silver  cups  for  the  three  high-point  clubs. 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners:  (100  points) 
Barrie  Tait,  "Interviewing  John  Garfield,"  Charles 
Korvin  journal.  Roy  Haller,  "Crowning  of  Carole," 
Carole  Landis  journal.  Marjorie  Honey,  "Brahms, 
but  briefly,"  Whitiemore  and  Lowe  journal.  Doro- 
thy McCaw,  "Met  Matters,"  Musical  Notes  journal. 
Jean  Rosen,  "Disc  Jockey  Show,"  Bob  Crosby 
journal.  Pat  Mitchell,  "Dan  on  my  Street,"  Sinatra 
(Ling)  journal.  Candid  Camera  Winners:  (First 
Prize  Winner:  100  points)  Patricia  Danks,  Patrice 
Munsel  C.  (Others:  50  points)  Nelda  Clough, 
Korvin  C.  Marjorie  Roster  and  Eleanor  Hein,  Rise 
Stevens  C.  Ann  Garcia,  Allan  Jones  C.  Rita 
La  Rossa,  Danny  Scholl  C.  Best  Journals:  (500 
points)  League  1,  Jane  Wyman  journal.  League  2, 
Bob  Crosby,  Ginger  Rogers  and  Landis  journals. 
League  3,  Charles  Korvin  journal.  Best  Editors: 
(250  points)  League  1,  Rita  and  Jo  Mottola,  Nelson 
Eddy  journal.  League  2,  Mary  Bond,  Musical 
Notes  journal.  League  3,  Margaret  Johansen, 
Whittemore  and  Lowe  journal.  Best  Covers:  (250 
points)  League  1,  Bill  Boyd  C.  League  2,  Alan 
Ladd  (Pearl)  C.  League  3,  Frances  Longford  C. 
Best  Artist:  (150  points)  Betty  Watson,  Jane 
Powell  journal.  Best  Correspondents:  (50  points) 
League  1,  Mary  Pritchett,  Dennis  Morgan  C. 
League  2,  Marion  Hesse,  Ginger  Rogers  C.  League 
3,  Katherine  Pringle,  Barbara  Lawrence  C.  Greatest 
Membership  Increases:  (100  points)  League  1, 
Reno  Browne  C.  League  2,  Alan  Ladd  (Bellino). 
League  3,  Bobby  Breen  C.  Most  Worthwhile 
Activities  (250  points)  League  1,  none  qualified. 
League  2,  (tied)  Ginger  Rogers  C.  (sent  food 
packages  to  England).  Ronald  Reagan  C.  (sent 
3  CARE  packages  to  Europe).  Alan  Ladd  C.  (Kee) 
(gave  radio  to  St.  Albans  Hospital).  League  3, 
Mel  Torme  C.  (donated  $25  to  Cancer  Fund). 
Leading  Clubs  in  Lap  5:  League  1,  Dennis  Morgan, 
1100  points;  Nelson  Eddy  (Nicholin)  950,  Jane 
Wyman,  950.  League  2,  Alan  Ladd  (Pearl)  1050 
points;  Alan  Ladd  (Kee),  1000;  Ronald  Reagan, 
950.  League  3,  Perry  Como  (Staley),  1450  points; 
Sinatra  (Ling)  1150;  Torme,  1050. 


New  Powder  Shade 
makes  even  a  Bride  look 


5  different  ways 


SEA  FEVER 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


has  a  forty-pound  one,  and  he's  trying  to 
talk  her  into  coming  deer  hunting,  but  she 
doesn't  favor  the  idea.  The  last  hunting 
trip  they  went  on,  they  were  both  too 
stubborn  to  admit  they  were  worn  out, 
and  they  walked  the  five  miles  back  to  town 
speechless  and  pale.  They  were  carrying 
their  shoes  and  dragging  their  bows. 

"I've  liked  the  out-doors  for  years,"  Gail 
tells  people.  "But  until  him,  I  didn't  real- 
ize there  was  another  maniac  like  me." 

If  the  truth  be  known,  it's  possible  Guy's 
even  a  little  more  maniacal.  Because  at  this 
writing,  he's  just  bought  himself  a  jeep, 
and  he  rides  it  wildly  down  Sunset  Boule- 
vard, happy  as  a  king.  "I  can  turn  on  a 
dime,"  he  says. 

"You  can  turn  without  me,"  she  says. 

Right  now,  she's  sure  that  jeep's  not  the 
right  kind  of  conveyance  for  her,  but  she 
may  change  her  mind.  With  those  kids, 
anything  is  possible. 


"HAPPY  ANNIE" 

(Continued  from  page  59) 


wanted  to  be  in  California  at  Christmas 
time.  It's  a  tradition  with  us. 

Goes  back  to  when  I  first  met  him. 
October  it  was,  1943,  and  we  were  talking 
about  a  lot  of  unimportant  things,  and  he 
said  suddenly  that  he'd  never  had  a 
Christmas  tree  in  his  life. 

"You're  kidding,"  I  said. 

He  shook  his  head.  "When  I  was  a  kid, 
the  family  thought  candles  were  danger- 
ous, and  a  tree  without  lights  was  no  good. 
Since  I  grew  up,  I've  been  all  over  the 
place  at  Christmas — Miami  Beach,  Sun 
Valley—" 

"Look,"  I  said,  "you  come  to  my  place 
Christmas;  I'll  give  you  two  trees — one 
inside,  one  outside." 

At  the  time,  it  was  sort  of  a  gag;  I  didn't 
think  he'd  really  come. 

He  came  all  right.  I  remember  the  whole 
thing.  The  outside  tree  was  huge,  and  I'd 
had  it  hung  with  dozens  of  painted  lights, 
all  lovely  bright  colors,  and  I  even  had 
Steve  arrive  at  a  side  door  Christmas  Eve 
so  he  wouldn't  catch  a  glimpse  of  it.  Then, 
at  what  I  considered  to  be  the  proper 
moment,  I  led  him  toward  t!  3  window. 
It  had  been  raining,  but  there  was  a  fire 
inside,  and  it  was  like  a  movie  setting. 
"Wait  till  you  see  the  colors,"  I  cried, 
sweeping  the  curtains  aside. 

If  he'd  waited,  he'd  still  be  standing 
there.  The  rain  had  washed  the  paint  off 
the  bulbs;  the  tree  was  completely  white. 
We  started  to  laugh,  but  there  was  some- 
thing unearthly  beautiful  about  the  pale 
white  light  shining  through  the  heavy  fog. 
We  stood  there  for  ten  or  fifteen  minutes, 
holding  hands  like  kids,  and  then  we 
turned  away,  and  Hannagan  said,  "Real 
nice  colors,  Red,"  and  we  had  a  drink. 

We've  had  two  trees  at  Christmas  ever 
since,  including  this  last  year.  This  last 
year,  too,  I  presented  Mr.  Hannagan  with 
a  16mm  projector  which  he  has  not  yet 
learned  how  to  run.  He  presented  me  with 
various  articles  of  emerald,  gold  and  dia- 
mond. You  never  saw  such  emeralds. 
Huge,  cloudy  ones — on  a  cigarette  case,  a 
lighter,  a  compact,  earrings,  a  necklace, 
pins — really  spectacular. 

He's  a  big  one  for  presents.  On  his 
birthday,  I  get  something.  On  my  birthday, 
I  get  something.  And  almost  any  day  in 
between,  he's  likely  to  run  across  a  little 
pigeon's  blood  ruby  that  looks  as  if  it 


1.  "Bridal  Pink"  gives  a  smooth,  young 
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helps  blend  out  flaws,  hide  little  blem- 
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ness and  clarity  — even  to  a  faded  skin. 
4.  "Bridal  Pink"  seems  to  erase  signs  of 
weariness  and  fatigue.  5.  "Bridal  Pink" 
clings  softly  — makes  skin  look  more  al- 
luring and  romantic. 

"Bridal  Pink"  is  blended  by  means  of  a 
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Get  your  box  of  my  "Bridal  Pink"  today 
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this  way,  too.  Lady  Esther  "Bridal  Pink" 
is  at  your  favorite  store  in  50<f  and  25^ 
sizes,  plus  tax. 


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LOUIS  JOURDAN  and  VALLI 


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needed  a  home  with  me. 

Myself,  I'm  not  much  of  a  shopper.  For  • 
one  thing,  there's  the  autograph  business. 
Sure,  I'm  glad  I've  got  fans,  but  sometimes 
I'd  like  to  be  able  to  pick  myself  up  a 
blouse  without  getting  writer's  cramp  en 
route.  I  remember  one  of  the  last  times 
I  ventured  out,  I  was  fleeing  from  a  bunch 
of  people,  I  had  about  ten  minutes  till  the 
store  closed,  and  I  came  panting  up  to  a 
salesgirl.  Did  she  say,  "May  I  help  you?" 
No,  she  said,  "Can  I  have  your  autograph?" 

Occasionally,  Hannagan  takes  it  into  his 
head  that  I  don't  get  around  enough.  The 
other  night,  he  dragged  out  the  theater 
section  of  the  paper.  "How  many  of  these 
have  we  seen?"  he  demanded,  reeling  off 
name  after  name  of  top  hits  which  were 
struggling  along  without  our  patronage. 

"I  blush  with  shame,"  I  said. 

"Gotta  set  up  so  many  nights  a  week," 
he  said.  "Have  to  go  see  'em." 

"It's  for  pleasure,"  I  said.  "You  act  like 
you're  being  sentenced." 

So  far,  we've  seen  Mr.  Roberts,  Annie 
Get  Your  Gun,  The  Hallams,  the  Marsha 
Hunt  play,  and  a  few  others. 

on  stage  .  .  . 

Marsha's  wonderful  in  her  show,  and 
I  wish  I  had  nerve  enough  to  do  a  play, 
but  going  out  there  every  single  night 
and  giving  what  a  stage  performer  has  to 
give  would  terrify  me. 

Take  Ethel  Merman  in  Annie.  I  sat  there 
asking  myself,  "How  does  she  manage  to 
lift  the  audience  time  after  time?" 

Later  that  night,  I  went  to  a  party  at 
Ethel's  house.  She's  an  outspoken  girl.  "I 
don't  know  what  was  the  matter  with  that 
bunch  of  white  collar  jerks  tonight,"  she 
said.  "Sitting  on  their  hands!" 

"But  they  shrieked!"  I  said. 

She  snorted.  "I  didn't  hear  'em." 

Mostly,  my  New  York  evenings  aren't 
full  of  parties  at  Ethel  Merman's.  I  live 
at  a  slower  pace. 

Give  you  an  idea  of  my  speed — two  of 
my  best  friends  are  Sonny  and  Leah 
Werblin  (he's  head  HI  the  New  York  office 
of  MCA)  and  I've  b-en  known  to  baby-sit 
with  their  small  adopted  son. 

They  just  had  a  brand-new  baby  of  their 
own  the  other  day,  but  that's  not  the  point 
of  my  story.  The  point  of  my  story  goes 
back  to  when  a  magazine  heard  of  my 
baby-sitting  activities,  and  asked  if  it 
could  get  some  pictures. 

Sonny  and  Leah  said  sure;  they'd  clear 
out  and  leave  me  with  the  house,  the  child, 
and  the  photographers. 

All  went  well,  until  one  of  the  photog- 
raphers had  a  bright  idea.  "Get  the  kid 
to  yawn,"  he  said. 

I  pointed  out  that  the  kid  didn't  speak 
English.  The  kid  didn't  even  speak.  He 
was  only  about  a  year  old. 

"You  yawn,"  the  photographer  said. 
"He'll  follow." 

I  yawned.  The  baby  stared.  I  yawned 
again.  "See,  baby?" 

The  baby  looked  at  me  like  I  had  eight 
heads. 

This  went  on  for  quite  some  time,  and 
the  fellows  ended  up  with  several  snap- 
shots of  Sheridan,  mouth  wide  open,  and 
the  baby  grinning  slyly. 

As  one  of  the  guys  walked  out  of  the 
apartment,  equipment  in  hand,  he  said 
rather  thoughtfully,  "You  know,  that  kid's 
smarter  than  we  are." 

Babies  and  animals,  I'm  crazy  about. 

Home,  (in  California),  I've  got  a  Dresden 
China  sort  of  cat  named  Charlie — very  long 
legs,  very  long  tail,  black  as  night.  Charlie 
sleeps  out  on  top  of  the  grain  house. 

I've  also  got  a  would-be  cocker  spaniel 
(he  leaps  like  a  fiend,  and  darts  like  a 
doe) ;  his  name  is  Storky,  because  he  was 
a  present  from  Sherman  Billingsley  one 
night  when  the  Stork  Club  was  giving 
away  dogs.  Sherman  and  I  discuss  Storky 


now  and  again.  "How's  that  lovely  little 
spaniel?"  he  says.  "Spaniel?"  I  say.  "I'm 
not  even  sure  he's  a  dog." 

I  call  him  my  sooner  pup.  He'd  sooner 
be  anything  else. 

Chico,  my  police  dog's  cute  too;  the  only 
problem  with  him  is  that  every  time  he 
comes  into  a  room  his  tail  knocks  every- 
thing off  the  tables. 

My  dog  Andy  is  a  poodle,  and  he's  not 
only  a  good  guard-dog;  he's  dangerous. 
He  doesn't  bark,  just  bites. 

A  while  ago,  I  had  a  gibbon  for  a  pet. 
Errol  Flynn  owned  one;  he  had  it  on  the 
set  of  Silver  River  one  day — this  miniature 
coal-black  ape  making  friends  with  every- 
body. I  fell  in  love.  "Where'd  you  get  it?" 
I  asked  him. 

He  told  me  about  the  place.  "They  have 
one  left." 

I  went  after  it  the  next  day.  It  was 
adorable,  a  blonde,  with  a  teeny  black  face. 
"This  is  for  Sheridan,"  I  told  myself. 

I  got  it  home;  I  had  a  special  cage  for 
it — but  it  seemed  to  hate  human  beings. 
I  needed  heavy  gloves  to  feed  it,  and  my 
hands  still  were  all  covered  with  blue 
teeth  marks  right  through  the  gloves. 

In  one  week,  it  was  dead.  I  felt  terrible. 
I  couldn't  understand  it.  It  hadn't  been 
sick  for  a  minute.  Finally  I  figured  out 
that  Flynn's  must  have  been  owned  by 
a  native  once,  and  was  tame,  while  mine 
was  wild.  Corny  as  it  sounds,  I  think  it 
died  of  a  broken  heart,  away  from  its 
home. 

Well,  that's  that.  In  New  York,  I  am 
petless. 

Besides  being  petless,  I  am  almost  hat- 
less.  That's  been  a  running  gag  all  winter. 
"I  really  have  to  go  pick  up  a  few  hats," 
I  say  every  week,  and  Hannagan  says, 
"Yeah,  you  really  have  to,"  but  I  never  do. 

off  to  the  races  .  .  . 

This  week,  however,  I  am  actually  going 
to  purchase  hats.  I'm  off  to  the  Kentucky 
Derby  soon,  and  I'd  like  to  go  in  style. 

Last  year  was  my  first  Derby  (race,  not 
hat)  and  a  terrific  thrill.  I  went  whole 
hog,  stood  and  bawled  like  a  fool  when 
they  played,  "My  Old  Kentucky  Home," 
and  only  stopped  when  Hannagan  shook 
my  arm.  "Hey,  Red,"  he  said,  "you're  not 
from  Kentucky." 

It  was  at  the  Derby,  as  I  mentioned  be- 
fore, that  I  ran  into  Leo  McCarey.  (Mc- 
Carey's  one  of  my  idols;  when  I  was  a 
stock  girl  at  Paramount  he  was  a  big  shot 
there,  and  I'd  always  yearned  to  work 
with  him.) 

I  have  this  mental  picture  of  McCarey 
in  Kentucky.  He  was  standing  up  and 
lifting  a  julep  glass  when  I  came  into  his 
line  of  vision.  "Annie,"  he  hollered,  "how 
are  you?" 

"Fine,"  I  hollered  back. 

"Let's  do  a  movie  together,"  he  said. 

I  said,  "You're  on,"  and  kept  walking. 
"Convivial,"  Hannagan  said.  "Umm,"  I 
said.  "Too  bad  he  doesn't  mean  it." 

The  first  thing  you  know,  we're  all  back 
in  Hollywood,  McCarey's  made  a  deal  with 
Warner  Brothers,  and  I'm  doing  Good  Sam 
for  him,  along  with  Gary  Cooper. 

I  was  so  happy  I  bubbled.  Hannagan 
used  to  send  me  wires  addressed  just  to 
"Happy  Annie,"  at  such-and-such  a  phone 
number,  and  drive  the  operators  crazy. 

One  night  (we'd  just  started  shooting 
Good  Sam  a  few  days  before)  Hannagan 
decided  to  call  McCarey  for  some  business 
reason.  He  got  McCarey  out  at  his  beach 
house,  and  after  they  were  finished  talking, 
he  put  me  on,  just  for  sociability's  sake. 

I  picked  up  the  phone.  "What  are  you 
doing?"  I  said. 

"Building  up  your  part,"  said  McCarey. 

And  he  was,  too. 

If  something  as  good  as  McCarey  hap- 
pens to  me  at  this  year's  Derby,  believe 
me,  I  won't  mind  a  bit. 


PERSONAL  APPEARANCE 

(Continued  from  page  66) 


appearance  vaude  tour,  that  the  king-sized 
buuerflies  in  his  stomach  were  having  a 
nervous  breakdown,  and  that  he  was  con- 
vinced that  he  would  collapse  like  an  old 
tent  if  pushed  out  on  a  stage  before  an 
audience. 

We  pulled  into  Boston  at  10  a.m.,  on 
time,  and  my  gag  build-up  about  crowds 
and  brass  bands  fell  flatter  than  a  bride's 
first  muffin.  We  might  have  been  an  epi- 
demic, or  the  New  York  Yankees,  for  all 
the  enthusiasm  there  was  about  our  ar- 
rival. 

"I  will  probably  get  blamed  by  the  studio 
for  this,"  I  muttered  to  myself.  "More  than 
likely,  the  board  of  directors  will  person- 
ally fry  me  in  Crisco  and  throw  my  carcass 
to  Leo  the  Lion.  Here  we  fetch  our  actor 
across  country  for  him  to  meet  the  people, 
and  no  people." 

Marsh  was  happily  unperturbed  by  my 
anguish.  He  was  consulting  a  travel  guide, 
trying  to  figure  out  whether  he  could  see 
Bunker  Hill  between  the  matinee  and  eve- 
ning performances. 

boston  adventure  .  .  . 

So  we  took  a  quick  look  at  Boston — and 
what  do  you  know?  When  we  checked 
in  at  the  hotel  there  was  a  crowd  there. 
Newspaper  reporters  and  photographers. 
Theater  men.  Fans.  And  a  banner. 

One  of  the  reporters  regarded  me 
dourly. 

"Fine  thing,"  he  complained.  "This  is  the 
first  time  since  the  Boston  Tea  Party  that 
this  train  has  arrived  on  time.  We  meet  it 
ten  minutes  late,  as  a  matter  of  course.  See 
that  it  doesn't  happen  again." 

Boston  was  swell.  The  crowds  in  the 
hotel  lobby,  the  autograph-seekers,  the 
mass  interviews,  the  radio  appearances 
'were  all  as  satisfactorily  confusing  as  the 
most  competent  press  agent  could  require. 
Marsh  went  on  like  a  trouper,  and  the 
folks  liked  him.  He's  a  natural,  that  boy. 
Not  like  a  movie  star — or  whatever  most 
people  seem  to  think  a  movie  star  should 
be  like.  He's  sincere  and  competent,  but 
shy.  We  hadn't  come  to  the  theater  part 
of  our  business  yet.  I  wondered  if  it  would 
take  more  than  a  quart  of  adrenalin  to 
revive  him  if  he  fainted  on  stage,  as  he 
promised  he  would. 

You  will  wonder,  of  course,  unless  you 
were  in  one  of  the  theaters  on  our  route, 
just  what  kind  of  entertainment  Marsh 
couZd  provide  on  a  stage.  That  isn't  a  slap 
at  Marsh.  He's  an  actor,  not  a  mimic,  a 
singer,  or  a  funnyman. 

But  he'd  worked  up  three  numbers  that 
did  a  great  deal  better  than  all  right.  He 
does  a  satire  on  personal  appearances.  First, 
he's  the  awkward,  bashful  type  who  forgets 
the  name  of  the  town  he's  in.  Then  he 
switches  to  the  hard-boiled  menace,  or 
Humphrey  Bogart  type,  and  snarls  at  the 
audience.  And  then  the  Western  hero, 
with  guitar. 

ride  'em  cowboy  .  .  . 

Marsh  amazed  me  by  singing,  to  his  own 
accompaniment,  "Who  Put  the  Glue  in  the 
Saddle"  and  "I'm  From  Missouri." 

The  folks  out  front  went  for  it  like 
lumberjacks  go  for  flapjacks. 

As  gay  as  things  were  in  Boston,  and  as 
friendly  as  the  fans  and  the  press  were,  the 
thing  that  fetched  Marsh  most  of  all  was 
Bunker  Hill.  He  went  to  it  as  a  devotee 
approaches  a  shrine,  and  we  almost  missed 
our  train  while  Marsh  told  me  how  that 
battle  was  fought.  He  knew,  too,  down  to 
the    last    redcoat.    Now    I  know. 

He  was  worried  all  the  time,  though, 


about  a  girl.  Name  of  Naomi  McNeil.  (You 
with  us,  Miss  McNeil  of  Boston?)  Miss 
McNeil,  who  is  some  pumpkins,  is  the 
girl  Marsh  met  at  one  of  his  personal  ap- 
pearances in  a  department  store.  After  the 
evening  performance,  and  a  1  a.m.  disc 
jockey  show,  they  finished  off  with  a 
Chinese  restaurant  at  3  a.m.  and  a  taxi  ride 
to  Miss  NcNeil's  home — where  Marsh 
couldn't  pay  the  fare.  Miss  McN.  paid.  (Mr. 
Thompson  would  like  you  to  know,  honey, 
that  he'll  send  you  that  dough — as  soon  as 
he  manages  to  save  it  up  out  of  his  weekly 
allowance.) 

We  went  to  Boston,  New  York,  Phila- 
delphia, Baltimore,  Washington,  Detroit, 
and  Kansas  City,  all  in  three  weeks,  and 
though  I'd  worked  with  Marsh  before  as 
publicity  man  when  he  was  in  B.  F.'s 
Daughter,  Homecoming,  and  Bad  Bascomb, 
and  had  been  on  locations  with  him  where 
we  lived  in  cabins,  I  began  to  learn  things 
about  him  I  never  knew  before. 

On  this  trip  we  saw  more  history  than 
we  saw  night  clubs,  bars,  or  even  theaters. 
Now,  I  had  a  little  trouble  with  Marsh 
about  bars  and  night  clubs. 

Naturally,  after  the  last  show,  people  ask 
you  out  for  a  bite.  That  means,  actually,  a 
drink.  So  we'd  waltz  into  a  bar  and  the 
people  would  order  and  Marsh  would  say, 
"Milk." 

There'd  be  a  pause,  and  the  waiter  would 
say,  "Sir?" 

"Milk,"  Marsh  would  say.  "Three  glasses. 
Shucks,  I'm  thirsty,  four  glasses." 

Some  of  the  places  pretended  they  didn't 
serve  milk,  because  the  profit  on  this  un- 
usual beverage  is  very  small.  But  in  the 
end  they  always  provided  it.  I  began  to 
drink  it  myself,  first  just  to  keep  Marsh 
company,  and  I  found  out  something.  Milk 
is  all  right  to  drink,  once  you  get  used  to 
the  strange  taste. 

In  New  York  we  saw  one  play,  Com- 
mand Decision,  and  went  backstage  to 
meet  Paul  Kelly.  I  noticed  Kelly  was 
studying  Marsh  intently. 

"You  know,  boy,"  he  said  after  a  while, 
"I  think  you  ought  to  play  the  part '  of 
Lieutenant  Culpepper  Lee  on  the  screen. 
You'd  be  great  in  it." 

Marsh  mumbled  something  modest,  and 
we  forgot  the  incident. 

on  a  spring  morning  .  .  . 

I  had  seen  it  before,  that  grand  pano- 
rama that  strikes  your  eye  when  you  step 
out  of  the  Union  Station  in  Washington. 
There's  the  Washington  Monument  and 
the  Capitol,  white  and  awesome,  smack  in 
front  of  you.  I  had  never  looked  at  them 
before.  I  had  always  been  struggling  with 
Margaret  O'Brien's  baggage  or  the  police 
lines.  I  got  ten  feet  ahead  of  Marsh  before 
I  knew  it.  I  turned  around  to  see  what 
had  happened  to  him. 

He  was  standing  still.  He  was  bare- 
headed. He  held  his  hat  over  his  heart  and 
he  was  just  looking. 

I  never  saw  anything  like  that  before. 

"Look,  kid,"  I  said,  "we  got  to  get  to  the 
hotel.  We  got  to — " 

"Sure,"  he  said  quietly.  "But  look." 

I  don't  want  to  make  this  maudlin  or 
flag-waving,  boys  and  girls,  but  that's  the 
grandest  sight  in  the  world.  The  Washing- 
ton Monument  and  the  National  Capitol, 
lofty  and  white  and  meaningful,  on  a 
spring  morning. 

I  took  off  my  hat  too. 

Philadelphia  is  my  home  town.  There, 
as  you  know,  are  Independence  Hall,  the 
Liberty  Bell,  Benjamin  Franklin's  grave  at 
Fourth  and  Arch  Streets,  and  not  far  out 


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use  Tampax  andtake  your  swim?  Women 
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Tampax  is  modern  sanitary  protection 
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Buy  Tampax  and  swim  to 
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of  town,  Valley  Forge  and  Washington's 
headquarters. 

Everybody  misunderstands  Philadelphia, 
makes  cracks  about  us,  says  we're  a  slow 
town.  Not  true.  Certainly  not  true  so  far  as 
Marsh's  personal  appearance  went.  We  had 
crowds  and  we  had  bobby-soxers,  and  it 
is  not  a  fact  of  life  that  bobby-soxers  in 
Philadelphia  are  still  wearing  hoopskirts. 
They  mobbed  my  boy  and  tried  to  wolf 
him. 

But  he  wanted  to  see  that  Liberty  Bell. 
Matter  of  fact,  he  uttered  what  Philadel- 
phians  consider  a  blasphemy  about  our 
most  holy  relic.  He  said  he  wanted  his 
picture  taken  with  it.  "It  isn't  done,  my 
good  man,"  I  explained. 

Marsh  considered  for  a  moment. 

"I  think  maybe  they  might  let  me  if  they 
knew  the  story,"  he  said.  "The  last  time 
that  bell  rang  was  for  the  funeral  of  John 
Marshall,  first  Chief  Justice  of  the  United 
States.  He  was  a  relative  of  mine,  so — " 

We  got  the  picture. 

He  was  up  early,  at  5  a.m.,  in  order  to  get 
to  Valley  Forge,  and  it  seems  that  the 
trenches  and  old  iron  cannon  are  still 
there,  and  that  if  you  are  up  on  your 
history,  you  can  sit  in  the  old  house  Gen- 
eral Washington  used  a  while  back  for 
headquarters. 

Well,  we  saw  all  the  historic  sites,  from 
the  Lincoln  Memorial  to  the  room  in  the 
Kansas  City  hotel  where  President  Tru- 
man stayed,  but  my  boy  was  still  missing 
something.  He  hadn't  seen  snow.  Marsh 
was  born  in  Peoria,  Illinois,  the  son  of  a 
prominent  dentist,  but  he  was  brought  up 
in  Southern  California. 

where  are  the  snows?  .  .  . 

Everywhere  we  went  the  people  greeted 
us  with:  "See,  we  got  good  weather  for 
you.  Aint  that  nice?" 

Marsh  said  no,  it  wasn't  nice,  why  didn't 
it  snow? 

We  finally  got  it  for  him  in  Detroit,  and 
he  leaped  out  of  the  Book-Cadillac  Hotel 
as  wild  as  a  Comanche  and  scooped  up 
handfuls  of  snow  and  threw  it  at  people. 
I'm  telling  you,  fellers,  I  never  had  a  movie 
star  on  my  hands  quite  like  him. 

But  ah,  we  had  troubles  in  Kansas 
City.  There  were  a  couple  of  girls  there — 

First,  the  theater  manager  warned  us 
about  them  when  they  appeared  in  the 
lobby. 

"Watch  out  for  trouble,"  he  said. 

One  of  the  girls  came  up.  About  17, 
pretty,  well-dressed. 

"Fine  thing,  you've  kept  us  waiting.  We 
want  to  see  you,"  the  spokesman  said. 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Marsh,  who  is  always 
as  polite  as  a  little  boy  at  dancing  class. 
"How  about  in  the  lobby,  later?" 

But  when  we  got  to  the  hotel,  they  were 
up  on  the  room  floor,  waiting  by  the 
elevator. 

"Better  in  your  room,"  they  insisted. 

So  we  went  in,  and  left  the  door  wide 
open.  "I  want  to  interview  you  for  the  high 
school  paper,"  one  girl  said.  "Why  are  you 
so  conceited,  why  do  you  part  your  hair 
so  fancy,  why  do  you  over-dress?  Why  do 
you  think  you're  so  all-fired  important?" 
Marsh,  who  is  as  modest  as  a  vice-presi- 
dential candidate  and  who  doesn't  even 
carry  a  pocket  comb,  was  as  flabbergasted 
as  if  he  had  been  accused  of  setting  fire 
to  orphanages. 

I  had  to  answer  the  telephone.  I  kept 
talking  after  my  party  had  hung  up.  We 
had  to  get  out  of  that  room. 

"Sure,  we  remember  the  appointment. 
We'll  be  right  down.  Excuse  us,  girls." 

"What  appointment?  We  haven't  any 
appointment,"  said  Marsh.  (The  guy  has 
got  about  as  much  guile  as  a  baby.) 

"It's  a  special  appointment  I  made  for 
you,"  I  lied.  So  we  left,  wandered  around 
the  lobby,  hiding  behind  posts  for  a  few 


minutes,    and    returned    to    our  room. 

The  girls  were  standing  in  front  of  the 
door.    They  wouldn't  budge. 

"I  lost  my  bracelet  in  there,"  the  leader 
said.  "And  I  don't  feel  good." 

With  that  she  fainted  across  the  thresh- 
old. 

At  this  moment,  twenty  members  of  the 
Phi  Gamma  Delta  fraternity  walked  in,  a 
delegation  to  call  on  their  distinguished 
brother.  (Marsh  went  to  Occidental  Col- 
lege, in  Los  Angeles.) 

Fraternity  brothers  are  a  good  thing  to 
have  around  sometimes. 

"Well,  if  you're  having  a  party — "  they 
grinned. 

We  explained,  probably  as  red-faced  as 
if  we'd  just  stepped  out  of  a  Turkish 
bath,  and  the  Phi  Gammas  gently  escorted 
our  too -ardent  fans  out  before  we  had  any 
more  trouble. 

I'm  certain,  of  course,  those  cute  kids  in 
Kansas  City  meant  no  harm — but  what  a 
whale  of  a  lot  of  trouble  they  might  have 
got  themselves,  and  my  young  movie  star, 
into,  if  the  Phi  Gams  hadn't  arrived  on 
time,  like  the  Marines  always  do  in  reel 
eight.  .  .  . 

The  telephone  call  came  in  Kansas  City, 
too.  It  was  a  call  from  Hollywood,  for 
Marsh,  and  I  could  hear  it  all. 

"You  saw  Command  Decision,"  said  the 
Big  Shot.  "Sure,"  said  Marsh,  "in  New 
York." 

"Okay,  then,  you're  going  to  play  Lieu- 
tenant Culpepper  Lee — along  with  Clark 
Gable,  Walter  Pidgeon,  Van  Johnson,  John 
Hodiak,  Charles  Bickford  and  Edward 
Arnold. 

"And  by  the  way,  we're  also  putting  you 
in  Words  and  Music  with  Mickey  Rooney, 
Judy  Garland,  Gene  Kelly,  Cyd  Charisse, 
and  June  Allyson." 

I  wouldn't  want  to  go  so  far  as  to  say 
that  our  personal  appearance  tour  was 
responsible  for  these  big  new  roles.  But  I 
think  that  trip  helped. 

I  liked  particularly  what  the  Philadel- 
phia Bulletin  said: 

"If  Hollywood  wishes  to  counteract 
some  of  the  bad  publicity  it  has  been 
receiving,  it  should  send  more  good-will 
ambassadors  of  the  calibre  of  this  young 
citizen,  Marshall  Thompson,  around  the 
country." 

I'm  the  boy  that'll  want  to  go  with  him 
next  time,  too.  We  discovered  America 
on  that  trip.  And  I  discovered  Marsh 
Thompson. 

With  all  the  picture  commitments  that 
he  has  now,  Marsh  is  a  busy  young  man, 
but  all  the  acclaim,  radio  appearances, 
newspaper  interviews  and  autograph- 
seeking  crowds  that  he  enjoyed  on  our 
trip  didn't  turn  his  head. 

the  thompson  series  ... 

He  won't  mind  my  saying  this,  I'm  sure. 
Over  the  past  four  or  five  years  we  have 
worked  together,  I  guess  we  have  had  more 
Father-and-Son  talks  than  Mickey  Rooney 
and  Lewis  Stone. 

Why,  this  diffident  feller — only  22  now — 
has  a  vast  talent  for  falling  in  love.  Oh, 
yes.  He  has  excellent  taste,  too.  At  the 
moment,  I  am  under  the  distinct  im- 
pression that  he  is  equally  fond  of  Jane 
Powell,  Marcia  Van  Dyke  and  Elizabeth 
Taylor. 

I  Dutch  Uncle  him,  out  of  my  fifteen 
years  experience  at  the  studio. 

"It  would  not  be  entirely  proper  for  you 
to  marry  all  these  girls  at  the  same  time," 
I  explain.  "People  might  talk.  You  are  a 
very  young  man,  m'boy.  Leave  us  not  get 
married  for  a  spell  yet,  huh?" 

Some  of  the  ladies  are  going  to  hate  me 
for  this.  I  have  so  far  talked  him  out  of 
domesticity  more  than  several  times.  We 
got  to  make  some  more  personal  appear- 
ance tours  before  I  turn  him  loose. 


D-Scholls  lino-pads 


CONGRATULATIONS,  DARLING 

(Continued  from  page  55) 


we  were  too.  Only  there  was  always  a 
battle  royal  about  it.  We  both  hated  drying 
dishes,  we  both  liked  to  wash.  Being  kids, 
we  didn't  have  sense  enough  to  compro- 
mise. It  was  always  this  challenge — who's 
going  to  come  out  on  top?  One  day  Betty 
picked  up  an  ashtray  and  heaved  it.  I 
ducked,  and  it  went  crashing  through  the 
window.  That  kept  us  quiet  till  Mother 
got  home.  Poor  Mom,  she  never  said  a 
word. 

As  we  grew  older,  came  the  boy  friend 
routine — trying  to  see  who  could  steal  the 
other  girl's  fellow.  Maybe  you  didn't  even 
like  the  guy,  but  the  big  thing  was  to  get 
him  away  from  your  sister.  By  that  time, 
too,  we  could  wear  each  other's  clothes. 
With  never  enough  to  go  round,  there  had 
to  be  a  fight,  so  the  first  one  up  was  the 
best  one  dressed.  I  remember  the  time 
Betty  stuck  a  pair  of  stockings  under  her 
pillow,  and  slept  on  them.  I'd  have  done 
the  same,  only  she  thought  of  it  first. 

There  was  just  one  saving  grace  about 
all  this.  No  matter  what  we'd  do  to  each 
other,  let  anyone  else  pick  a  fight  with 
either  of  us,  and  we'd  be  two  against  the 
world.  Without  talking  about  it,  deep 
down  we  both  knew  we'd  come  through 
for  the  other  in  a  pinch. 

For  instance,  I  was  only  a  few  weeks 
from  graduation  when  things  reached  a 
point  where  Mother  couldn't  afford  to  keep 
us  both  in  school.  I  quit  and  got  a  job  at 
twelve  a  week.  First  payday  I  took  Betty 
down  to  the  Colonial  Department  Store. 
Terrific  institution.  Anything  in  the  place 
at  a  dollar  down  and  fifty  cents  a  week. 

What  we  needed  was  stuff  like  shoes  and 
underwear.  So  we  bought  ourselves  a 
couple  of  evening  gowns.  Powder-blue 
and  rosebuds  for  me.  For  Betty,  a  black 
off-the-shoulders  number  blazing  with 
rhinestones.  Then  we  saw  this  toaster.  On 
a  tray,  no  less.  With  a  sandwich  slicer  and 
sectional  glass  dishes,  heavy  as  lead.  De- 
cided Mom  couldn't  live  another  day  with- 
out it.  Hauled  it  home  between  us,  each 
with  a  formal  under  the  other  arm. 

Mother's  reaction  wasn't  just  what  we'd 
hoped.  In  fact,  she  blew  up. 

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I'LL  TELL  YOU  ABOUT 

MRS.  PARADINE 

"I  intend  that  the  whole 
world  shall  see  her  as  I 
do... as  a  noble,  self-sac- 
rificing human  being." 
*  GREGORY  PECK 

One  of  the  7  great  stars  in 
DAVID  0.  SELZNICK'S  production  of 

ALFRED  HITCHCOCK'S 

i*  PARADINE  "se 

starring 

GREGORY  PECK  •  ANN  TODD 
CHARLES  LAUGHTON  •  CHARLES  COBURN 
ETHEL  BARR  YMORE  and  2  new  Selznick  stars 
LOUIS  JOURDAN  and  VALLI 


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what  you  make  it.  Your  future  welfare  and 
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which  nature  has  endowed  you. 

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After  she  got  over  being  mad,  she  could 
have  killed  herself  for  getting  mad,  know- 
ing how  well  we  meant.  Incidentally,  she 
still  has  the  toaster.  "Like  losing  my  right 
arm  to  lose  that  thing — " 

Same  way,  when  Betty  started  making 
money,  I  could  count  on  her.  By  then,  it 
was  a  question  of  eating,  not  evening 
gowns.  She'd  opened  at  the  Casa  Mariana 
and  opened  big,  but  her  salary  was  nothing 
to  write  home  about.  All  she  could  man- 
age was  a  dinky  room  at  the  Victoria  Hotel. 
Meanwhile,  I'd  been  singing  with  a  band 
and  lost  my  job  in  Atlanta.  So  I  took  my- 
self up  to  New  York  and  moved  in  with 
Betty.  We  did  all  our  washing  and  ironing 
in  this  little  room,  because  we  couldn't 
afford  to  send  things  out.  It  was  murder. 
But  if  not  for  my  sister,  I  wouldn't  even 
have  dared  go  to  New  York.  And  I'd  never 
have  got  my  job  with  Glenn  Miller's  band. 

Yet  in  spite  of  all  this,  we  still  didn't  get 
along,  we  were  still  too  different.  I  never 
had  anything  like  Betty's  drive  and  ambi- 
tion. To  her  the  career  was  her  life,  to  me 
it  wasn't.  She  thought  I  was  crazy  to 
marry — couldn't  understand  throwing  a 
career  overboard  for  any  man.  As  it  hap- 
pened, I  went  right  on  working,  though 
not  from  choice.  If  I'd  never  had  to  look 
a  spotlight  in  the  eye  again,  that  would 
have  been  swell. 

Still,  I  was  happy  in  my  marriage  for  a 
number  of  years.  And  very  happy  when 
my  son  John  was  born.  During  those  years 
I  didn't  see  much  of  Betty.  Her  career 
went  zooming  and  kept  her  mostly  in 
Hollywood.  Mine  kept  me  pretty  busy  in 
the  East.  When  we  did  meet,  it  was  per- 
fectly obvious  that  her  great  success  hadn't 
brought  happiness  with  it.  She  was  moody, 
restless,  forever  on  the  run,  and  a  hunted 
expression  in  her  eyes  as  if  she  were  look- 
ing for  something  she  never  really  hoped 
to  find. 

In  New  York  on  her  way  overseas  she 
came  to  our  house  to  spend  the  day.  Stuck 
around  for  an  hour.  Then  the  same  old 
cry —  "Well,  let's  get  out  of  here,  let's  go." 
And  I  felt  the  same  old  impatience  stirring. 
Instead  of  trying  to  understand,  I  could 
have  brained  her. 

But  it  was  Betty  to  the  rescue  again 
when  my  Philip  was  born.  Mother  came 
East  to  be  with  me,  and  I  had  a  rough  time. 
Betty  kept  phoning  the  hospital,  but  they 
wouldn't  let  her  talk  to  me.  "Tell  her  any- 
thing but  the  truth,"  I  begged  Mom.  "With 
her  own  baby  on  the  way,  you'll  scare  the 
daylights  out  of  her." 

California,  here  we  come  .  .  . 

Well,  you  try  stalling  my  sister  and  see 
what  it  gets  you.  What  it  finally  got  me 
was  a  trip  to  California — my  first  vacation 
since  Battle  Creek.  Betty  and  Ted  were  at 
the  station. 

"You  look  awful,"  says  Betty,  and  starts 
bawling.  I  bawl.  Mom  bawls — 

"The  weeping  Huttons,"  says  Ted.  "Come 
on,  we  gotta  get  this  girl  fattened  up  for 
Thanksgiving." 

I  hadn't  been  around  for  more  than  a 
couple  of  days  when  it  started  hitting  me 
that  Betty  was  a  changed  woman.  Her  eyes 
were  quiet.  The  whole  girl  was  calm  and 
relaxed.  Perfectly  happy  with  Ted  and 
her  home  and  the  things  that  make  a  mar- 
riage, and  the  baby  coming.  Such  a  direct 
switch,  I  could  hardly  take  it  in. 

"The  search  is  off,"  she  said.  "All  the 
time  I  was  looking  for  this  and  didn't  know 
it." 

It  wasn't  just  marriage,  but  marriage  to 
the  kind  of  man  Ted  Briskin  is — thought- 
ful, good,  well-balanced.  His  background 
was  so  different  from  ours.  He  comes  of  a 
family  that's  very  close,  with  them  the 
family's  everything.  We  Huttons  loved 
each  other  dearly  too.  The  difference  was, 
we  had  to  scratch  and  scrabble  from  the 
cradle;  Ted  grew  up  in  security.  Instead  of 


that's  hdfl^^L 

Animals  are  among  the  acting  elite  in 
Hollywood.  Cheetah  the  Chimpanzee 
of  Tarzan  film  fame  was  recently  op- 
tioned for  a  television  show.  He  was 
all  set  for  the  video  waves  when  Barney 
Briskin,  production  chief  of  the  Sol 
Lesser  Studios,  suddenly  decided  he 
couldn't  give  permission  for  the  chim- 
panzee to  be  televised  until  he  had 
carefully  read  the  script,  inspected  the 
studio  and  practically  taken  blood  tests 
of  the  participants.  When  one  of  the 
television  people  protested  these  un- 
heard-of stipulations,  Briskin  angrily 
said:  "After  all,  this  is  a  big  thing  to 
consider.  Asking  us  for  Cheetah  is  like 
asking  Metro  for  Lana  Turner!" 

Irving  Hoffman  in 

The  Hollywood  Reporter 


making  him  selfish,  it  made  him  strong.  He 
gave  the  same  sense  of  peace  and  security 
to  Betty  and,  in  doing  that,  he  brought  us 
all  closer  together. 

For  the  first  time  she  and  I  could  sit 
down  like  adults,  without  hurting  each 
other.  For  the  first  time  I  really  found  my 
sister,  and  I've  got  my  brother-in-law  to 
thank.  .  .  . 

*  *  * 

My  own  marriage  didn't  work  out.  Last 
December  I  moved  to  California  with  my 
boys.  Mother  runs  the  apartment  for  us, 
bless  her,  while  I  concentrate  on  my  radio 
program  for  Revere,  my  disc  recordings 
and  any  other  jobs  that  come  my  way. 

Most  Sundays  and  holidays  we  spend 
with  the  Briskins.  Lindsay  and  Philip  are 
four  months  apart,  and  mad  for  each  other. 
If  I  do  say  so,  they  make  a  beautiful  team 
— the  girl  so  dark  and  the  boy  so  fair. 
John's  a  little  old  for  them,  and  goes  about 
his  own  business.  Candy's  a  little  young. 
But  watching  them  all  in  Betty's  lovely 
home,  I  have  to  pinch  myself  sometimes 
to  make  it  seem  real  that  their  childhood 
should  be  so  different  from  ours. 

You  can't  get  other  people  to  believe  it 
either.  For  example,  Betty  had  a  funny  ex- 
perience when  Lindsay's  nursery  started 
going  up.  It  was  just  in  the  rough — four 
walls — but  she  kept  peeking  from  the  out- 
side in.  "Golly,  that's  going  to  be  a  beau- 
tiful room." 

The  contractor's  son  was  on  the  job. 
"Bet  you  had  a  nicer  one  when  you  were 
a  kid." 

"Oh,  yeah!  I  slept  in  a  clothesbasket." 

"You  and  the  Prince  of  Wales,"  he  said, 
and  she  let  it  go  at  that. 

Well,  I  knew  why  the  nursery  had  to  be 
not  just  a  beautiful  room,  but  THE  MOST 
beautiful  room  that  ever  was.  I'd  gone 
through  it  too.  John  was  four  when  I 
bought  him  his  first  little  gabardine  suit. 
Smartest  shop  in  town.  Best  material.  Cus- 
tom-made. There  he  stood,  this  scrap  of  a 
kid,  and  the  tailor  fitting  him.  Crazy  in  a 
way.  .  .  . 

With  me  it  was  the  suit,  with  Betty  the 
nursery.  It's  a  cinch  Lindsay  didn't  know 
if  she  was  sleeping  in  a  satin-lined  crib  or 
a  washbasket  like  her  mother.  But  for 
Betty  it  was  the  climax  of  something.  Like 
standing  on  top  of  a  mountain  and  shouting 
to  the  sky:  Look  what  I  got  for  my  baby! 
I  think  it's  a  perfectly  natural  way  to  react. 

*  *  * 

It  was  my  fault  that  Betty  went  to  the 
hospital  over  a  week  before  little  Candice 


was  born.  Of  course  she  didn't  stay  long. 
But  except  for  me,  she  could  haye  been 
comfortably  miserable  at  home. 

On  April  5th  I  opened  at  Slapsy  Maxie's. 
After  years  of  vaudeville  and  radio,  this 
was  my  first  night  club  date,  and  Betty 
knew  I'd  be  falling  apart.  To  boost  my 
morale,  she  and  Ted  took  a  big  long  table 
at  the  Club  that  night  for  twenty  guests, 
including  the  Alan  Ladds,  the  MacDonald 
Careys,  Mitch  Leisen,  Betty's  doctor  and 
his  wife. 

I  didn't  know  this  till  later,  but  all  day 
she'd  been  suffering  with  false  labor  pains. 
When  it  came  time  to  dress,  she'd  get  one 
stocking  on,  sit  for  five  minutes,  then 
tackle  the  other.  "If  it  were  anyone  but 
Marion,  I'd  crawl  straight  back  into  bed." 

Instead,  she  climbed  into  a  smart  black 
maternity  outfit  and,  when  I  came  on  that 
night,  there  she  was,  all  dressed  up  and 
rooting  for  me.  And  believe  me,  it  helped. 
But  I  never  did  get  to  see  Betty,  except 
from  the  stage.  While  the  floor  show  was 
on,  her  pains  kept  growing  worse.  Rather 
than  take  a  chance,  the  doctor  sent  her  to 
spend  the  night  at  the  hospital.  By  five  in 
the  morning  she  was  feeling  okay  again, 
so  Ted  took  her  home. 

That  was  a  jittery  night  for  both  Hut- 
ton  gals.  I  won't  forget  that,  by  making 
it  harder  on  herself,  my  sister  made  it 
easier  for  me. 

Betty  kept  saying  she  wanted  a  boy  for 
Teddy.  Ted  said  he  didn't  care.  "I'm  so 
used  to  having  sopranos  around,  I  wouldn't 
even  know  what  to  do  with  a  tenor — " 

They  had  no  boy's  name  picked  out, 
while  for  a  girl  they'd  picked  about  8,000. 
First  it  was  Barbara,  then  Theodora  after 
Teddy,  then  Betty  June.  Two  days  after 
she  was  born,  they  settled  for  Candice. 

Before  leaving  for  work  that  Tuesday 
evening,  I  talked  to  Betty.  "Got  a  big  fat 
hunch  you're  going  in  tonight." 

"Well,  we're  having  lemon  meringue  for 
dessert,  maybe  that'll  do  it.  With  Lindsay, 
it  was  banana  cream." 

Sure  enough,  at  3:30  the  phone  rings.  I 
was  just  in,  getting  ready  for  bed.  Teddy's 
voice  was  calm.  "We're  at  the  hospital. 
Tell  Mom  to  take  it  easy.  Won't  be  for 
hours  yet — " 

Mom  was  all  for  getting  dressed  and 
going  right  down.  I  talked  her  into  setting 
the  alarm  for  6,  then  we  both  went  down. 
We  found  Ted  in  the  waiting  room,  entirely 
surrounded  by  fathers,  giving  them  this 
old-timer  routine.  He'd  been  at  it  since  3, 
and  by  now  he  was  papa  to  them  all.  One 
fellow  really  had  it  bad.  Every  two  min- 
utes he'd  groan:  "How  long  does  this 
take?" 


*H0LLYW00D 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


•  A  former  star  who  was  slipping 
came  into  the  office  of  one  of  the 
leading  Hollywood  psychiatrists.  He 
was  wearing  a  beret  and  a  flowing 
red  beard. 

Affable  as  ever,  the  psychiatrist 
told  him,  "You're  looking  fine.  But 
why  the  beard  and  the  beret?" 

"That's  what  I'm  here  to  find 
out,"  said  the  actor. 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


w 


Soaping  dulls  hair. 
Halo  glorifies  it! 


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•  Buy  Halo  at  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


Halo  Reveals  the  Hidden  Beautq  of  Your  Hair! 


I'LL  TELL  YOU  ABOUT 

MRS.  PARADINE 

"She  is  bad,  bad  to  the 
bone.  If  ever  there  was  an 
evil  woman,  she  is  one." 
*  LOUIS  JOURDAN 

*0ne  of  the  7  great  stars  in 
DAVID  0.  SELZNICK'S  production  of 
ALFRED  HITCHCOCK'S 

™E  PARADINE CASE 

starring 

GREGORY  PECK  •  ANN  TODD 
CHARLES  LAUGHTON  •  CHARLES  COBURN 
ETHEL  BARRY  MORE  and  2  new  Selznick  stars 
LOUIS  JOURDAN  and  VALLI 


ATTENTION  MOVIE  FANS! 

S  end  25c  to  Sefcmek  Studio,  Box  101,  Culver  City,  Calif, 
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LONDES! 


It's  shining  Golden  Hair 
that  Men  notice  first! 


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Teddy'd  steer  him  over  to  the  couch. 
"Why  don't  you  take  a  nap?" 

My  brother-in-law  wasn't  taking  any 
naps.  Kept  running  upstairs  and  back, 
bringing  reports.  At  10:20  he  stuck  his 
nose  in.  Betty  was  in  the  delivery  room. 
Half  an  hour  later  here  comes  Teddy, 
shining.  "Well,  we  can  stop  worrying  about 
a  boy's  name.  She's  7  pounds  8,  and  they're 
both  doing  fine." 

Later  we  went  in  to  see  Betty  for  a  min- 
ute. She  was  sitting  up,  and  didn't  want 
us  to  leave.  Conversational  as  a  chipmunk. 

"This  was  a  cinch.  Not  nearly  as  bad  as 
the  false  pains." 

"Mind  it's  being  a  girl — ?" 

"Not  now.  First  I  thought,  Teddy's  going 
to  be  disappointed.  Then  they  gave  me  a 
peek  and  I  said,  No,  he  won't  be  either. 
She  looks  just  like  Lindsay.  Are  you  dis- 
appointed, Mother?" 

"Me,  with  two  girls  of  my  own!  I  think 
it's  great.  Lots  cheaper  too.  Think  of  the 
clothes  Lindsay  never  got  to  wear." 

A  funny  look  closed  down  over  Betty's 
face.  A  remembering  look.  "That's  all  right 
for  later,"  she  said.  "But  I  don't  want  this 
baby  going  home  in  Lindsay's  clothes." 

I  remembered  too.  I  remembered  Betty 
in  my  cast-offs.  That's  why  I  went  out 
and  bought  the  prettiest  white  silk  coat 
and  bonnet  I  could  find  for  Candice  to  go 
home  in. 

Betty's  the  younger  sister  too.  I  doubt  if 
Candy'll  ever  have  to  worry  about  clothes. 
But  I'm  sure  for  that  minute  Betty  was 
identifying  her  second  girl  with  herself. 
*       *  * 

Betty  and  I  both  realized  that  just  the 
material  things  don't  make  for  happiness  in 
the  long  run.  My  toughest  lesson  came 
through  John. 

Since  he  was  a  little  thing,  I've  been 
working  hard,  out  on  the  road  four  and 
five  months  at  a  time.  When  I  walked  in 
the  door,  he  wouldn't  know  me.  When  I 
did  get  home,  I'd  spend  as  much  time  with 
him  as  I  possibly  could,  trying  to  make  up. 
But  you  can't  make  up.  Minute  I  started 
packing,  there  he'd  stand,  this  look  in  his 
eyes  that  went  through  me  like  a  knife. 
"Mother,  are  you  going  away  again?" 

they'll  never  walk  alone  .  .  . 

That's  a  battle  Betty  won't  have  to  fight, 
and  that's  where  I  think  her  children  are 
luckiest.  Not  for  the  toys  and  the  nursery 
and  the  pretty  clothes.  But  for  the  shelter 
they  get  from  their  parents'  love.  Long 
before  she  ever  saw  the  light  of  day,  little 
Candy  was  part  of  the  family  routine. 
"Our  baby — "  They  talked  about  her  con- 
stantly, preparing  the  older  one,  figuring 
that  whatever  a  child  understands,  she  ac- 
cepts. Lindsay  was  too  young  for  a  lot  of 
explaining,  but  she  knew  the  baby  was 
growing  inside  her  mother,  and  if  you 
asked  where  it  was,  she'd  pat  Betty's 
stomach.  Another  thing.  Last  Christmas 
somebody  gave  her  two  baby  dolls.  Betty 
put  them  away  till  Candice  came  home. 
Now  Lindsay  dresses  and  undresses  them, 
and  gives  them  a  bath  at  the  time  her  sister 
gets  bathed.  That  way,  she  doesn't  feel  left 
out. 

Poverty  can  do  bad  things  to  children. 
So  can  too  much  money.  Love  can't.  Every 
hour  of  the  day  Lindsay  knows  she's  loved 
and  wanted.  First  thing  in  the  morning, 
she  calls  on  Mommy  and  Daddy.  "Hi!"  she 
pipes,  standing  there  in  her  sleepers.  At 
noon  Teddy  comes  home,  even  when 
Betty's  working,  to  have  lunch  with  his 
daughter.  The  big  time  starts  around  five — 

Lindsay's  back  from  her  walk  and  heads 
for  the  den,  where  Ted's  mixing  cock- 
tails. She  gets  two  pieces  of  popcorn,  one 
in  each  hand.  When  those  are  down,  she's 
off  to  the  nursery  and  back — a  doll  in  one 
hand,  a  book  in  the  other.  "Up,"  she  says  and 
snuggles  next  to  her  daddy  on  the  couch. 
This  Betty  loves.  It  thrills  her  to  watch  the 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

One  day  my  friend 
and  I  were  driv- 
ing to  another 
friend's  house  to 
hear  her  records. 
The  new  friend's 
name  was  Judy 
and  I'd  seen  her 
only  once  before. 
After  half  an  hour 
of  listening  to  the 
phonograph,  some- 
thing happened  to  the  machine  and 
Judy  called  her  dad  to  fix  it.  You 
can  imagine  my  surprise  when  Jo- 
seph Cotten  walked  into  the  room 
wearing  a  brief  pair  of  trunks.  After 
being  introduced  it  was  even  more  of 
a  surprise  to  find  him  just  like  other 
dads.  The  machine  was  fixed  in  a 
jiffy  and  Mr.  Cotten  left  to  go  to  the 
swimming  pool. 

Karen  Fisher 
Long  Beach,  Calif. 


two  of  them  together,  the  big  guy  reading, 
the  little  girl  sitting  spellbound. 

After  Lindsay's  supper,  she  joins  Betty 
and  Ted  in  the  diningroom.  "Up,  up."  Sits 
on  one  lap,  then  the  other,  gets  a  little  taste 
of  this  or  that.  Minute  she  sees  the  coffee 
coming,  down  she  climbs,  plants  herself  in 
the  middle  of  the  livingroom  and  chirps: 
"Moo-wies,  moo-wies."  Every  night  they 
run  a  cartoon  for  her — maybe  the  same  one 
half  a  dozen  times,  which  is  fine  with  her. 

She's  loved  all  right,  but  that's  not  saying 
she's  spoiled.  Betty's  a  firm  believer  in 
manners  and  training.  When  she  says, 
"Don't  touch,"  Lindsay  knows  she's  not 
kidding.  The  place  is  full  of  low  tables,  and 
what's  on  them  doesn't  get .  touched.  Else 
the  hand  gets  slapped. 

"It's  our  home,"  says  Betty.  "Mine  and 
Teddy's,  as  well  as  the  children's.  We  have 
a  right  to  be  comfortable,  too.  Besides, 
you're  doing  no  kid  any  favor  to  let  her 
run  wild.  Just  the  opposite.  I  want  every- 
body to  love  my  children,  and  who  can  love 
a  brat?" 

When  she  makes  a  promise,  one  way  or 
the  other,  she  keeps  it.  That's  her  rule  of 
rules.  For  instance,  a  photographer  came 
to  take  pictures  of  Lindsay.  Before  they 
started,  she  wanted  a  candy. 

"Not  now,"  said  Betty.  "When  we're  all 
through,  you  can  have  a  mint." 

She  was  good  as  gold,  did  everything  she 
was  asked,  and  when  it  was  over,  whipped 
into  the  den  for  a  mint.  Well,  the  choco- 
late mints  were  all  gone,  and  she  doesn't 
like  white  ones.  So  Betty  sent  right  out  for 
a  box  of  the  others. 

She  was  telling  me  about  it  next  time  I 
went  out  there.  "Some  people  might  say, 
'You're  ruining  the  kid.'  I  don't  see  it 
like  that.  She'd  worked,  done  a  good  job, 
and  I  made  a  promise.  I  felt  it  was  very 
important  to  hand  my  daughter  a  chocolate 
mint  then  and  there — " 

I  looked  across  the  lawn  at  both  her 
daughters.  The  nurse  was  getting  Candy 
settled  for  a  nap,  and  Lindsay  was  watch- 
ing, all  wide-eyed,  like  when  Teddy  reads 
to  her.  You  couldn't  help  smiling,  it  was 
such  a  pretty  picture. 

"The  Briskin  girls  are  doing  all  right  for 
themselves,"  I  said. 

"Uh-huh,"  said  my  sister,  kind  of 
dreamy.  Then  she  gave  me  a  squeeze.  "And 
the  Hutton  girls  could  have  done  a  whole 
lot  worse." 

I  looked  at  her  and  I  felt  good.  We'd 
come  a  long  way  from  the  years  of  hardship 
and  pettiness  and  fighting  each  other  for 
every  little  break.  It's  all  over  now,  and 
that's  nice.  As  for  the  fact  that  it'll  never 
have  to  happen  to  Lindsay  and  Candy — 
that's  nicer. 


"THEY  CALL  ME  MOTHER" 

(Continued  from  page  33) 


and  to  apply  emotional  sandpaper.  Roy 
and  I  went  into  marriage  only  after  a  care- 
ful weighing  of  all  the  difficulties  we  might 
meet. 

When  we  first  got  under  one  roof,  we 
found  suddenly  that  there  were  four 
adults,  four  bosses.  The  children,  of  course, 
tried  the  ancient  tactic  of  playing  us 
against  each  other.  We  didn't  fall  for  that 
one.  We  outmaneuvered  the  young  by  sit- 
ting down  for  a  boss  caucus,  and  agreeing 
on  some  house  rules  and  a  few  major 
principles. 

I'm  at  the  front  of  the  thing  now.  I  have 
the  main  say-so,  but  the  kids  are  foxy; 
they  try  to  trip  me  up  by  saying  some- 
thing like,  "Daddy  said  it's  perfectly  all 
right  to  go  swimming  in  January."  Or, 
"Mrs.  Christensen,  our  nurse  said  we 
didn't  have  to  eat  anything  but  grapes  for 
supper." 

I'm  smarter  than  they  think.  I  won't 
give  an  answer  until  I've  checked  with  the 
source.  We  adults  have  agreed  never  to 
disagree  in  front  of  the  children. 

One  factor  in  my  favor  is  that  I  wasn't 
a  sudden  surprise,  some  strange  new  per- 
son come  to  boss  the  children  and  compete 
with  them  for  their  father's  affection.  I'd 
been  a  friend  of  the  family;  the  children 
had  known  me  casually  for  a  long  time; 
we'd  been  friends. 

Against  me  was  the  fact  that  though 
Cheryl  and  Linda  had  gone  through  almost 
two  motherless  years,  they'd  been  cared  for 
by  a  wonderful  person  like  Mrs.  Christen- 
sen. Cheryl  and  Linda  didn't  have  that 
aching,  desperate  need  for  me  that  two 
little  orphans  of  their  age  might  have  had. 
It  wasn't  that  easy. 

Roy  understood  and  decided  to  provide  a 
fresh  beginning.  He  bought  a  new  house. 
If  I  had  had  to  move  into  Roy's  old  house 
I  think  I  would  have  wanted  to  redo  it. 
Then,  of  course,  the  children  might  have 
held  it  against  me,  thinking  that  I  was 
tearing  down  something  their  mother  had 
built  up.  Certainly  that  wouldn't  have 
been  my  intention,  but  I  do  feel  that  wher- 
ever I  live  I  must  create  my  own  atmos- 
phere. That's  the  only  way  I  know  to  make 
a  home. 

For  that  reason  we  haven't  had  a  deco- 
rator in  the  new  place.  We've  used  some 
old  furniture,  some  of  Roy's,  some  of  mine, 
we've  added  new  things.  A  house,  it  seems 
to  me,  ought  to  be  a  reflection  of  your 
own  taste.  I'm  trying  to  make  ours  com- 


critic's  corner 


Try  to  find  Scott  on  the  screen 
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wreathed  in  that  smile.  And  in  cine- 
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along,  but  he's  got  that  smile  to  carry 
him  through. 

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fortable,  colorful,  informal — the  kind  of 
place  you  expect  to  see  Roy  in.  Last  night 
we  all  hung  the  new  curtains  in  the  girls' 
room.  They  helped.  A  lot  of  curtains — 16 
windows  with  a  valance  running  above,  all 
around  the  room.  Red  and  white  tissue 
gingham,  striped  curtains,  checked  bed- 
spreads. And  they  have  a  dressing  table 
as  well  as  special  places  for  their  toys. 

The  house  is  not  really  new;  it  belonged 
for  years  to  the  late  actor,  Noah  Beery. 
There  are  advantages  in  those  big,  old- 
fashioned  houses.  Interesting  and  great 
fun  for  the  children;  huge  closets  you  can 
walk  into  and  get  lost  in,  lots  of  nooks  and 
crannies  to  explore.  Outside,  the  grounds 
are  rustic  with  rabbits  and  quail  skittering 
around,  loads  of  pine  trees,  three  large  fish 
ponds  that  used  to  be  stocked  with  bass, 
and  a  lot  of  paths. 

Someone  had  the  thought  the  other  day 
that  if  we  connected  the  three  ponds,  we'd 
have  a  nifty  swimming  hole.  We're  brood- 
ing about  this  now. 

Roy,  who  has  never  been  known  to 
flinch  when  he  watches  those  two  small 
girls  climb  up  on  man-sized  horses  out  at 
the  ranch  and  go  galloping  across  the 
fields,  talks  about  the  projected  swimming 
hole  as  a  "hazard."  Until  we  are  more 
confident  of  the  girls'  swimming  prowess 
we  probably  won't  have  a  pool.  Dusty,  not 
yet  two,  is  never  allowed  to  run  loose 
near  the  fish  ponds. 

I  have  spent  a  lot  of  time  at  home  lately. 
I  want  to  give  the  girls  a  sense  of  warmth 
and  security.  Some  afternoons  I  read  to 
Cheryl  and  Linda,  but  there  is  no  estab- 
lished reading  ritual  at  bedtime.  I  can't 
guarantee  always  to  be  there  at  bedtime, 
and  I  don't  want  them  disappointed.  My 
jewelry  box  is  always  open  to  the  girls  and 
they  are  allowed  to  come  into  my  room  to 
fool  around  and  dress  up.  Occasionally 
they  get  laughs  from  guests  in  the  house 
when  they  make  sudden  entrances  wear- 
ing makeup  and  earrings  along  with  some 
other  finery  lifted  from  my  wardrobe.  Just 
so  long  as  they  don't  wear  it  outside,  I 
think  it's  fun. 

A  fan  sent  me  a  handsome  patchwork 
quilt  recently  and  the  girls  were  so  in- 
trigued that  I  cut  it  up  and  made  three 
skirts — for  them  and  myself.  They  helped 
with  the  pinning  and  I  did  the  sewing  by 
hand.  Now  the  three  of  us  go  places 
dressed  alike.  Cheryl  and  Linda  adore  the 
effect.  When  those  two  little  girls  give  me 
the  pal  treatment,  I  find  myself  acting  like 
a  dog  who's  just  been  tossed  a  bone. 

Saturday  is  picnic  day  .  .  . 

Saturdays  have  become  picnic  days  for 
us.  Picnics  can  mean  many  things — a  trip 
to  the  store,  to  the  zoo  in  Griffith  Park,  a 
basket  lunch  enjoyed  on  a  hilltop  after  a 
hike,  or  perhaps  a  hotdog  treat  at  a  drive- 
in  followed  by  a  visit  to  the  local  chil- 
dren's carnival,  Collin's  Kiddieland.  To  the 
girls,  a  menu  of  cheeseburgers,  pickles, 
milk  shakes,  chocolate  sundaes,  popcorn 
and  sodapop  seems  adequate  for  such  an 
occasion.  I  hate  to  be  a  black  reactionary 
about  anything,  but  I  find  I  now  have  a 
vested  interest  keeping  the  children  in 
condition  so  they'll  sleep  through  the  night. 
Besides,  there's  the  immediate  situation  to 
consider:  how  a  pair  of  stuffed  stomachs 
will  react  to  that  airplane  deal  they  always 
want  to  have  six  rides  on — all  upside  down. 

When  the  kids  yell  down  from  the  air- 
planes after  the  third  ride,  "Dale,  we're  so 
hungry,  please  can't  we  have  popcorn 
now?"  I  flip  a  page  in  the  magazine  I'm 
reading  on  the  bench  below  and  wonder 
if  formal  training  in  diplomacy  would  have 
helped. 

The  children  brag  some — as  do  most  off- 
spring of  movie  stars— about  their  father. 
I'm  told  that  now  that  they've  got  an 
actress  in  the  family  they  feel  they  have 
an  even  stronger  position   among  their 


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small  friends.  This  bothers  Roy  a  little. 
"We  just  won't  have  snobbish  children," 
he  says.  Linda  and  Cheryl  have  digested 
that  phrase  and  seem  to  understand.  The 
other  evening  Cheryl  came  home  from 
school  and  told  me: 

"You  know,  a  boy  at  our  school  is  so 
spoiled,  his  parents  let  him  have  every- 
thing he  wants.  He  always  says,  'My 
daddy's  a  policeman,  and  I  can  do  any- 
thing I  want.' 

"I  told  him,  'My  daddy  is  Roy  Rogers, 
but  I  have  to  mind.' " 

It  wasn't  until  the  first  Christmas  after 
Roy's  wife  died,  I  think,  that  he  realized 
what  problems  beset  a  movie  star  trying 
to  bring  up  children.  He  wanted  so  much 
to  be  home  a  lot  with  the  kids,  but  business 
kept  taking  him  away.  He  was  miserable 
about  it,  and  when  the  Christmas  season 
came  along  he  was  literally  swept  away 
with  emotion  about  the  children  and  de- 
termined to  make  up  to  them.  He  got  a 
particularly  huge  tree  and  there  were 
closets  full  of  presents  from  him,  and  more 
closets  full  from  fans  who  also  remem- 
bered that  the  Rogers  children  had  lost 
their  mother  that  year. 

Well  sir,  Roy  says  the  children  came 
running  into  the  room  Christmas  morning 
and  were  overwhelmed  with  what  they 
saw.  They'd  pick  up  a  package,  tear  off 
the  wrapping,  give  the  present  a  glance, 
drop  it,  pick  up  another.  In  a  flash  this 
present  was  tossed  aside  while  others  were 
snatched  up,  then  walked  over.  It  was  easy 
to  see  they  had  too  much.  And  it  made 
Roy  sick. 

Roy  had  been  a  country  boy  with  few 
advantages,  you  know.  His  family  had 
nothing.  He  still  remembers  with  a  vivid 
shiver  of  pleasure  the  Christmas  he  finally 
got  a  knife  he  had  longed  for  and  dreamed 
about  for  three  long  years.  It  had  been  his 
only  present;  it  was  enough. 

To  this  day,  presents  mean  so  much  to 
Roy.  He  is  always  enthusiastic  and  excited 
when  he  receives  a  gift.  Yet,  if  he  didn't 
take  precautions,  his  children  could  be- 
come bored  with  life  at  twelve. 

Nowadays  the  children  get  very  few  gifts 
from  their  family,  and  presents  from  fans 
are  steered  to  a  children's  hospital  where 
they  can  do  a  lot  of  good  and  no  harm. 

Children  always  want  something.  If  you 
have  the  money  and  can  afford  it,  it's  easier 
to  give  in  all  the  time.  But  I  refuse  to  bow 
to  every  wish.  Some  day  those  children 
will  have  to  work  for  what  they  get. 

I'd  better  admit  it:  those  little  kids  have 
wheedled  me  out  of  plenty.  Cheryl  is  like 
a  lawyer,  always  with  twelve  reasons  why 
she  should  have  just  something.  Linda 
gazes  appealingly  at  me  with  those  big 
brown  eyes  of  hers.  And  that  baby,  soft, 
and  lovable,  always  with  a  hug  and  a  kiss. 

Those  kids — they've  got  the  Rogers 
charm;  it  gets  me  every  time. 


THE  TEN  GREATEST  GABLE  STORIES 

(Continued  from  page  52) 


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But  there  he  was,  and  she  was  so  terri- 
fied she  couldn't  even  squeak  "hello."  He 
handed  her  a  package  wrapped  in  a  red 
ribbon.  "I  can't  sing  or  make  speeches 
very  well,"  he  said,  "but,  Judy,  I've  wanted 
for  a  long  time  to  thank  you  for  one  of  the 
nicest  things  that  ever  happened  to  me. 
That  song — "  Then  he  turned  and  was 
gone. 

"I  almost  dropped  the  birthday  gift," 
Judy  told  me  once,  long  ago.  "Glad  I 
didn't.  It  was  a  record.  Clark  had  spent 
the  whole  afternoon — I  found  out  later — 
making  it.  I  sneaked  away  from  the  party 
to  play  it  and  it's  still  my  prize  platter, 
because  Clark  said  to  the  recording  mike 
what  he  was  too  bashful  to  say  to  me. 

"How  nice  he  thought  I  was,  how  he'd 
watched  me — known  for  a  long  time  I'd 
make  good  as  an  actress — how  he  loved  to 
hear  me  sing,  oh,  a  lot  of  things  embar- 
rassing to  tell,  but  very  easy  on  my  ears. 
I  sat  and  played  it  again  and  again,  and 
cried  and  cried.  What  a  wonderful  birth- 
day! And  all  the  time  I'd  never  suspected 
that  Clark  Gable  knew  I  was  alive  and  on 
the  same  lot!" 

She  sighed.  "The  sweetest  man  ever  to 
make  a  picture — and  one  of  the  shyest  .  .  ." 

To  the  young  stars  who've  grown  up 
around  hirn  at  M-G-M  Gable's  been  the 
one  Hollywood  hero  who  summed  up  all 
their  hopes  and  ambitions. 

TO  MICKEY,  GABLE  IS  HOLLYWOOD 

Mickey  Rooney,  for  instance,  used  to  tag 
Clark  around  the  M-G-M  lot  like  a 
shadow,  copying  everything  he  did.  The 
Mick's  best  star  impersonation  is  his  deadly 
take-off  on  Clark  Gable.  Clark  caught  him 
at  it  once  years  ago  on  the  set  of  Manhat- 
tan Melodrama,  and  Mickey'd  have  died 
gladly  in  the  embarrassment,  but  Clark 
asked  him  to  do  it  again  and  still  does 
whenever  he  catches  him.  The  most  un- 
believable moment  of  Mickey  Rooney's 
fabulous  career  must  have  been  when  he 
succeeded  Clark  Gable  as  national  box- 
office  champ.  "I  didn't  believe  it.  It  was 
impossible,"  said  Mickey.  "Clark  is  Holly- 
wood to  me  .  .  ." 

GABLE  HAD  HER  WRONG 

Clark  Gable  was  also  the  man  who 
handed  Lana  Turner  the  dizziest  thrill  of 
her  life  with  five  little  words.  It  happened, 
though,  long  after  she  first  met  the  mighty 
Gable.  Lana  was  only  sixteen  when  she 
woke  up  as  M-G-M's  bewildered  Cinder- 
ella girl.  The  front  office  trotted  her  down 
to  Clark's  set,  practically  immediately. 
Looking  ahead,  they  spotted  her  as  a  pos- 
sible leading  lady  for  their  head  man  star. 
Lana  didn't  know  that,  of  course.  Neither 


FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN  .  .  . 

From  all  parts  of  today's  troubled 
world  come  the  pitiful  wails  of  hungry 
children.  They  are  more  than  an  ap- 
peal to  our  hearts  .  .  .  they  are  an 
appeal  to  our  sense  of  human  decency. 
They  are  a  symbol  of  our  future.  We 
must  help  these  children — to  relieve 
their  suffering,  to  make  them  capable 
of  sharing  a  world  in  freedom  and 
peace.  Give  generously  to  your  local 
Crusade  for  Children  or  to  American 
Overseas  Aid-United  Nations  Appeal 
for  Children,  39  Broadway,  New 
York  6,  N.  Y.  Reach  down  into  your 
pocketbook;  this  cause  is  worth  what- 
ever you  have  to  give. 


did  Clark.    Luckily,  they  didn't  tell  him. 

Clark  was  friendly,  but  baffled.  What 
were  they  bringing  this  green  little  high 
school  girl  to  him  for?  What  was  this,  the 
children's  hour? 

It  still  gives  Lana  gooseflesh  to  think  of 
that  reading.  It  was  ghastly.  She  barely 
knew  what  a  script  was,  and  she  was 
frozen  with  awe.  Later  on  she  learned 
what  Clark  had  said  after  she'd  tottered 
out. 

"She's  a  sweet,  pretty  kid,"  he  told  peo- 
ple. "But  she'll  never,  never  be  able  to  act." 

"There  have  been  times,"  Lana  will  tell 
you,  "when  I've  thought  Clark  had  some- 
thing. But  I  made  some  pictures  and  I 
learned  a  few  things. 

"One  day  I  got  the  news  that  I'd  make  a 
picture  with  Clark.  Experienced  as  I  was 
by  then  I  shook  like  a  leaf  at  the  very  idea. 
Clark  didn't  exactly  jump  with  joy  either. 
He  hadn't  watched  my  career.  When  they 
told  him  his  next  leading  lady  was  Lana 
Turner,  Clark  still  pictured  that  awkward, 
scared  little  high  school  girl.  'Are  you 
kidding?'  he  exploded.  I  heard  about  that, 
too. 

"So  I  couldn't  have  been  behind  a 
blacker  eight-ball  when  I  started  Honky- 
Tonk.  There  was  one  person  in  the  world 
I  wanted  to  prove  myself  to — and  you  can 
guess  who.  I  put  everything  I  had  into 
our  scenes  that  first  morning.  In  the  after- 
noon, I  found  a  box  of  flowers  in  my 
dressing-room  with  a  note.  It  read  I'm 
the  world's  worst  talent  scout!  Clark. 

"I'd  barely  finished  reading  it,  before 
the  face  that  had  given  me  shivers  and 
shakes  poked  through  the  door,  wearing 
a  sheepish  grin.  Then  Clark  spoke  the 
five  words  that  made  me  prouder  than  any 
gold  Oscar  ever  could.  'Baby,'  he  said, 
'you're  a  terrific  actress!' 

"Since  then,"  she  laughs,  "sometimes  I 
think  maybe  I  am.  You  know  why?  Be- 
cause Clark  Gable  said  so  .  .  ." 

TRACY  RIBBED  THE  KING 

Let's  consider  Spencer  Tracy  next. 
Spence  and  Clark  have  been  buddies  since 
way  before  Boom  Town  and  Spence  likes 
to  chat  about  the  coronation  of  Clark.  How 
Gable  got  that  tag — the  King. 

"It's  my  most  glorious  picture  of  the 
Great  Lover,"  Tracy  muses  happily.  "One 
afternoon  I  picked  up  a  paper  and  read 
where  some  box-office  poll  named  Clark 
the  'King  of  Hollywood.'  I  grabbed  the 
phone  and  called  the  prop  department.  We 
sneaked  on  the  Gable  set  that  night  and 
worked  late.  Next  morning  when  Clark 
stepped  through  the  door  a  long,  red 
carpet  stretched  clear  across  the  stage.  All 
along,  huge  signs  greeted  Gable,  Long  Live 
Our  King  and  We  Love  Our  Royal  High- 
ness. Everybody  Clark  passed  salaamed, 
crying,  'O,  King!' — actors,  director,  cast  and 
crew.  It  was  lovely,  but  Clark  kept  his 
top  until  he  opened  his  dressing-room  door. 

"The  whole  room  was  draped  in  purple. 
His  chair  was  gone;  in  its  place  we'd  stuck 
a  gilded  throne.  There  was  even  a  moth- 
eaten  ermine  robe  draped  across  the  arm, 
and  a  crown  and  sceptre.  We  ganged  up 
on  him  then,  pulled  him  down,  and 
crowned  him  'King  of  Hollywood.'  That's 
when  Gable  blew  up.  He  roared  like  a 
bull,  'Tracy — you  did  this,'  and  came  after 
me.  Well,  I  beat  him  out  the  door  and  off 
the  lot  to  save  my  health.  But  all  you  have 
to  do  to  set  Gable  on  fire,  is  to  say,  'Long 
live  the  King!'  " 

"MAJOR  GABLE"  MEANT  NOTHING 

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writer,  and  Clark's  close  pal)  Gable's  the 
biggest  softie  ever.  Johnny  went  through 
Air  Corps  days  at  Clark's  side,  and  the 
thing  that  struck  him  all  along  the  line 
about  Clark  was  his  consideration  for 
others. 

Clark  kept  a  camera  with  him  all  the 
time  they  were  overseas  and  took  rolls  of 
pictures  of  every  man  in  their  crew.  One 
day  a  kid  who'd  been  with  their  outfit  a 
long  time  and  flown  a  flock  of  missions 
didn't  come  back.  They'd  thought  a  lot 
of  him  and  it  cast  a  pall  over  the  whole 
Officers'  Club.  Some  of  them  went  out 
and  had  some  drinks  to  try  and  forget  it. 
Not  Clark.  He  went  right  to  his  desk  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  home  to  that  flyer's 
wife  telling  her  all  about  her  husband, 
how  everyone  liked  him,  how  they  missed 
him,  how  sorry  he  was.  He  sent  along  all 
the  pictures  he'd  taken.  He  did  that  every 
time  something  like  that  happened. 

"The  guys  who  flew  with  Clark  were 
all  crazy  about  him,"  Johnny'll  say  fer- 
vently. "He  bent  over  backwards  every 
minute  not  to  be  Clark  Gable,  the  Holly- 
wood star.  I  never  saw  him  flash  his 
Hollywood  fame  to  get  himself  anything — ■ 
except  once. 

"We  were  in  London — a  bunch  of  us — 
on  leave.  The  younger  flyers  looked  on 
Clark  as  a  sophisticated  man  of  the  world, 
able  to  wangle  almost  anything.  That  put 
him  on  the  spot  one  night  when  the  Krauts 
were  on  the  run  and  there  was  occasion 
to  celebrate.  A  gang  wanted  to  step  out 
to  the  Savoy  or  some  posh  place  and  asked 
Clark  to  line  up  reservations.  That  parti- 
cular night,  all  London  wanted  to  celebrate 
too,  of  course,  and  the  tight  table  situation 
was  practically  hopeless. 

"Clark  got  on  the  phone  though.  'This  is 
Major  Gable,'  he  started.  'I'd  like  a  reser- 
vation for  twelve  at — ' 

"That's  as  far  as  he  got.  'Sorry,  sir,  we're 
all  filled.'  He  tried  again.  And  again.  And 
again.  'This  is  Major  Gable.'  It  didn't  mean 
a  thing.  The  boys  were  getting  a  little  wor- 
ried after  eight  or  ten  turndowns  and  be- 
lieve me,  when  it  came  to  doing  anything 
for  his  gang,  Clark  would  go  the  limit. 
Next  place  he  called  he  did. 

"  'Say,'  he  said,  loud  and  haughty.  'This 
is  CLARK  GABLE,  and  I  want  a  table!' 
He  got  it. 

"One  incident  adds  up  Clark  Gable  more 
to  me  than  any  I  can  remember. 

"We  found  ourselves  in  Colorado  Springs 
one  night  right  before  we  went  overseas, 
and  right  after  some  fairly  rugged  weeks 
in  Officers'  Training  School.  We  hadn't  had 
a  look  at  a  pretty  girl  for  a  painfully  long 
time.  We  strolled  into  the  bar  at  the 
Broadmoor  Hotel,  and  there  wasn't  a  soul 
around  except  two  girls  sitting  at  a  table. 
They  were  well  dressed,  obviously  well 
bred. 

"Both  of  us  were  dying  for  feminine 
company  but  we  didn't  get  even  a  glance. 
'Damn  it,'  Clark  said  at  last.  'I'm  gonna  ask 
those  girls  if  they'll  have  a  drink  with  us.' 

"  'Ten  to  one  you  get  blitzed.'  I  bet  him. 

"Clark  shrugged,  'They  can't  shoot  you 
for  trying.'  He  strolled  up,  flashed  his  best 
Gable  smile.  'Hope  I'm  not  being  rude,  but 
my  friend  and  I  would  love  to  buy  a  drink.' 

"One  girl  gave  him  an  icy  smile.  'No 
thank  you,'  she  said.  But  the  other  studied 
Clark  with  puzzled  friendliness.  'Funny,' 
she  mused,  'but  you  look  so  familiar  to  me. 
We  couldn't  possibly  have  met  some- 
where?' 

"  'Maybe,'  smiled  Clark.  'I'm  Lieutenant 
Clark  Gable.' 

"  'Oh,'  laughed  the  girl.  'That's  it.'  Then 
she  made  a  remark  that  I  often  kid  Clark 
about.  'I'm  sorry,  Lieutenant  Gable,'  she 
teased,  'but  you  do  this  sort  of  thing  much 
better  in  the  movies!' 

"They  finally  broke  down  and  had  a 
drink  and  Clark  asked  if  they  wouldn't 
have  dinner  and  dance  with  us  that  night. 


'All  right,'  the  friendly  one  said,  'That 
should  be  fun.  I  haven't  been  dancing  since 
my  husband  left  for  overseas.'  Clark 
pumped  her  for  an  hour  or  so  all  about 
him,  where  he  was,  what  she'd  heard. 
Finally  the  girls  left  to  get  dressed  and 
Clark  and  I  sat  around  our  room.  Clark 
didn't  say  much,  just  chain  smoked.  Sud- 
denly he  grabbed  the  telephone,  called  the 
two  girls  and  cooked  up  a  story  that  our 
colonel  had  called  us,  we  had  to  leave  at 
once,  we  couldn't  take  them  out.  Then  he 
ordered  flowers,  penned  a  nice  apology, 
wished  them  luck. 

"I  was  struck  a  bit  dumb  by  it  all.  'How 
come?'  I  asked  him.  'What  got  into  you?' 

"  'A-h-h-h,'  growled  Clark,  scowling  like 
a  thundercloud,  'when  a  guy's  overseas 
dodging  lead,  I'm  not  gonna  take  his  girl 
out  stepping!' 

"We  fidgeted  in  our  room  until  plane 
time  next  morning.  Because  Clark  Gable, 
on  second  thought,  couldn't  be  that  way. 
That,"  Johnny  Mahin  says,  "is  Gable  to 
me  .  .  ." 

mr.  fix-it 

Howard  Strickling,  boss  of  M-G-M's 
publicity  department,  is  Clark  Gable's 
next-door  neighbor.  Their  ranches  out 
Encino  way  almost  run  into  each  other. 
Howard  has  known  Clark  since  the  days 
when  Clark  was  slinging  Norma  Shearer 
around  the  set  in  A  Free  Soul,  but  he  can 
still  work  up  a  wonder  wrinkle  about  the 
guy. 

"I  dropped  out  to  Clark's  house  once  on 
studio  business,"  Howard  relates  to  lis- 
teners, "not  long  after  he'd  taken  the  first 
big  hitch  on  his  fame.  I  found  him  out  in 
his  garage,  in  oil  soaked  overalls,  smeared 
all  over  with  grease,  half  buried  in  the 
engine  of  his  car. 

"  'For  gosh  sakes,'  I  kidded  him,  'you  can 
afford  to  get  your  car  fixed  at  a  garage  by 
now.  You're  a  star — why  act  like  a  grease 
monkey?' 

"  'Listen,'  came  Clark's  muffled  voice 
out  from  under  the  hood,  'How  do  I  know 
how  long  I'll  be  in  this  acting  racket?  My 
box-office  can  vanish  any  minute.  I  may 
be  darn  glad  to  get  a  job  as  mechanic. 
Besides,'  he  wiped  his  grease-smeared  face 
and  grinned,  'I've  got  to  know  how  this 
works.' 

"That  was  the  real  reason,  of  course. 
He  wants  to  know  how  everything  works. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


And    now   folks — four   hours    of  uninterrupted 
music.  , 


"I  walked  over  to  his  place  the  other 
day  and  found  him  wrapped  up  in  an 
apron,  canning  fruit!  He's  hipped  on  home 
refrigeration  and  canning  and  he's  learn- 
ing all  the  answers!  Gable's  a  good  farmer. 
He  knows  his  stuff." 

THE  WOMAN  HE  LOVED 

Howard  Strickling  has  been  through 
some  rough  times  with  Clark  Gable,  too. 
One  was  the  tragic  time  when  Clark's  wife, 
Carole  Lombard,  lost  her  life  in  a  plane 
crash  on  a  Nevada  mountainside.  Clark 
rushed  to  join  the  search,  and  Howard 
was  with  him. 

"We  had  headquarters  in  Las  Vegas, 
setting  out  from  there  every  morning.  By 
night  everyone  was  wet  and  cold  from  the 
snow,  and  dog-tired  from  climbing  the 
mountains.  Clark  couldn't  do  enugh  for 
the  search  party.  Each  night  he  person- 
ally ordered  a  huge  steak  dinner  for  every- 
one. And  there  was  this  cowboy  deputy 
named  Jack,  who  couldn't  eat  his. 

"Jack  was  a  typical  oldtime  cowboy — 
slow  talking  and  hard  bitten — and  Clark 
called  him  'sheriff,'  talked  to  him  for  hours. 
In  all  his  grief,  he  couldn't  overlook  the 
fascination  of  a  unique  guy.  But  it  got 
Gable's  goat  every  night  to  watch  Jack  sit 
by  his  sizzling  steak  and  stare  hopelessly 

"The  day  we  left,  I  missed  Clark,  and  the 
plane  was  waiting.  Finally  I  found  him  in 
the  hotel  in  a  huddle  with  a  pal  of  'Sheriff 
Jack's.'  'Here,'  Clark  was  saying,  'I  don't 
want  to  hurt  Jack's  feelings.  But  take  this 
two  hundred  bucks,  and  for  God's  sake, 
get  him  some  teeth!' " 

HE  THOUGHT  GABLE  WAS  A  CREAM-PUFF 

Victor  Fleming,  like  me,  is  a  director. 
He's  had  Clark  Gable  in  three  pictures, 
including  Gone  With  the  Wind.  Like  Spen- 
cer Tracy,  Vic  has  few  words  to  spare — 
he's  a  man  of  action — but  he  can  wax 
eloquent  over  Clark  Gable.  "He's  the 
greatest  guy  I  know,"  he  says.  "He's  also 
one  of  the  most  powerful. 

"First  time  I  noticed  that  strength  was 
making  Test  Pilot  with  Clark,  years  ago. 
We  had  a  scene  in  a  shack  where  Clark 
was  heaving  sandbags.  They  were  prop 
sandbags,  stuffed  with  sawdust,  and  when 
Gable  tossed  them  around,  they  flew  up  in 
the  air  like  balloons.  It  looked  phony,  and 
it  worried  Clark.  He  said  he  wanted  real 
ones  so  we  got  'em — over  a  hundred  pounds 
they  weighed — and  Clark  heaved  them  all 
day  long  and  stayed  fresh  as  a  daisy.  He's 
fast,  straight  and  strong,  as  an  actor  and  as 
a  man  .  .  ." 


Orson  Welles:  "When  I  don't  roll  my 
eyes,  quote  Shakespeare  and  glow  in 
the  dark,  people  are  disappointed." 
Ray  Milland:  "The  Academy  Award  is 
a  very  important  thing  in  Hollywood, 
especially  with  head  waiters."  Mrs.  Alva 
Edison:  "The  years  have  brought  many 
important  changes.  Mr.  Edison  has 
been  responsible  for  so  many  of  them. 
I  often  wish  that  his  inventions  had 
been  used  as  he  intended  them  to  be 
used.  When  I  go  to  the  motion  pic- 
tures and  see  some  of  the  disgraceful 
things,  I  regret  it,  as  Mr.  Edison's  idea 
was  that  films  should  be  educational  as 
well  as  entertaining." 

Irving  Hoffman  in 

The  Hollywood  Reporter 


HE  KNEW  WHEN  HE  WAS  LICKED  .  .  . 

Jack  Conway,  tall,  softspoken,  has  di- 
rected more  Gable  pictures  than  anyone. 

"Clark's  a  stubborn  Dutchman,"  Jack 
says,  "but  reasonable.  In  all  the  pictures 
they've  made  together  they've  tangled  only 
once.  That  time,  Jack  wanted  Clark  to 
crawl  under  a  leading  lady's  bed,  and 
Clark  blew  up.  'Not  by  a  damsite!'  Gable 
yelled.  'Not  as  a  man  or  as  an  actor  have 
I  ever  sneaked  under  anybody's  bed,  and 
I'm  not  gonna  start  now!'  Well,  Jack  had 
in  mind  a  funny  scene,  and  he  poured  on 
all  the  persuasion  he  knew.  Clark  fought 
like  a  wildcat.  Even  called  the  head  execu- 
tives of  M-G-M  in  on  the  battle.  Finally 
Jack  talked  him  into  a  sporting  offer. 
'Okay,'  Clark  agreed  at  last,  'on  one  con- 
dition. After  I  do  it,  I  see  it,  and  if  I  look 
as  much  like  a  jerk  as  I  think  I  will,  out 
she  comes.  Right?'  They  shook  hands  on 
that. 

Clark  showed  up  at  the  sneak  preview 
still  hostile.  When  they  came  to  the  bed- 
crawling  scene,  the  audience  roared  and 
rocked^— even  Clark  laughed.  That  was 
enough  for  him.  He  stuck  out  his  hand. 

"You  win,  Jack.  From  now  on,  I  stick  to 
acting.  I'm  not  trying  any  more  to  direct 
pictures."  He  never  did,  again. 

Jack  calls  Clark  "America's  Sweet- 
heart." Then  he  usually  ducks.  Clark 
thought  that  tag  was  funny  just  once.  He 
and  Jack  had  been  hunting  down  in  Mex- 
ico for  a  couple  of  weeks.  The  King  looked 
like  a  black  cactus  around  his  face;  he 
hadn't  seen  soap  and  water  since  he  left 
Hollywood.  They'd  been  up  late  this  one 
night,  had  about  an  hour's  sleep  in  their 
shack  when  the  alarm  clock  went  off  for 
the  morning's  hunting.  Seeing  the  great 
Gable  there  in  the  cold,  gray  dawn,  whis- 
kered, dirty,  red-eyed  and  spiky-haired, 
yawning  and  slapping  himself  awake  de- 
lighted Jack.  "Well  if  it  isn't  America's 
Sweetheart!"  he  said. 

Gable  stepped  over  to  the  cracked  mir- 
ror, squinted  at  his  reflection  and  shud- 
dered. "God  help  America!"  he  grinned. 
That's  one  of  Jack  Conway's  favorite  pic- 
tures of  Clark  Gable.  ... 

HE'D    GIVE   YOU    THE   OSCAR   OFF  HIS 
MANTEL 

I've  saved  Walter  Lang's  reminiscences 
until  the  last  on  purpose.  He's  another 
veteran  Hollywood  director,  and  Walter 
and  "Fieldsie,"  his  wife,  are  as  close  a  pair 
to  Clark  as  exists  in  this  world.  Madeleine 
Fields  was  Carole  Lombard's  best  friend 
and  secretary  for  years  before  Fieldsie 
married  Walter  and  Carole  married  Clark. 
They  were  inseparable  as  couples  when 
Carole  was  alive. 

Walter  could  talk  about  Gable  all  after- 
noon, but  he  couldn't  do  any  better  than 
this  story  he  once  told  me. 

"Our  boy,  Richard,  has  one  big  idol  in 
the  world,"  he  said,  "and  that's  Clark. 
Richard's  eight  years  old,  and  he  wants  to 
be  exactly  like  Clark  when  he  grows  up. 

"We  were  over  at  Clark's  house  the  other 
Sunday  afternoon  when  Dick  got  a  wave  of 
his  usual  Gable  worship. 

"He  studied  Clark's  mantelpiece,  and  the 
Academy  Oscar  sitting  there.  'Someday, 
I'm  going  to  have  one  of  those,  too,  like 
you.' 

"Would  you  really  like  to  have  it, 
Richard?'  Clark  asked.  He  stepped  to  the 
mantel  and  took  down  the  trophy.  'Here, 
Dick,'  he  said,  'from  Me  to  You.' 

"So  our  boy,  Richard,  has  Clark  Gable's 
Oscar  and  there  isn't  a  prouder  kid  in  the 
world.  I've  known  a  few  people  in  my  life 
who'd  give  you  the  shirt  off  their  backs," 
Walter  Lang  says,  "but  did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  star  who'd  give  you  the  Oscar  off  his 
mantelpiece?  Try  and  top  that  story!" 

You  couldn't,  of  course.  Any  more  than 
you  could  top  Clark  Gable. 


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APARTMENT  FOR  DIANA 

(Continued  from  page  36) 


England-ish  than  Hollywood.  Her  apart- 
ment reflects  that  tone. 

Romanoff,  for  example,  was  completely 
surprised  to  enter  her  apartment  and  find 
the  foyer  lined  with  an  apple-green  wall- 
paper which  is  a  copy  of  a  19th  century 
pattern.  (I'd  expected  wallpaper  by  Dali, 
you  know,  the  kind  where  you  get  a  prize 
if  you  can  figure  out  the  motif.) 

The  living  room  furniture  is  sturdy 
American  antique;  and  you  can  put  your 
feet  on  the  pieces  without  fear  that  the 
scratches  will  show.  The  upholstered 
pieces  are  salmon-colored  and  modern  in 
material,  and  the  carpeting  is  a  soothing 
green  which  extends  into  the  dining  area. 

Now,  the  dining  area  is  the  most  versa- 
tile sector  of  the  apartment.  "I  can  eat  in 
it  alone,"  Diana  says,  "and  never  feel  lost 
at  one  of  the  two  small,  intimate  tables.  If 
I  have  more  than  three  guests,  then  I  push 
the  two  tables  together  and  I  have  a  large 
dining  table.  I  can  also  entertain  a  group 
of  friends  with  a  buffet  dinner.  And  the 
tables  can  be  used  for  bridge  games  and 
card  parties." 

Diana's  dining  area  is  separated  from  the 
living  room  by  a  waist-high  partition  that 
doubles  as  serving  counter  and  bar.  You 
get  the  feeling,  however,  that  it's  an  in- 
tegral part  of  the  living  room  because  of 
the  extended  carpeting  and  the  identical 
draperies.  Diana's  dinette  is  what  such  a 
connoisseur  on  decoration  as  Romanoff 
refers  to  as  multi-functional. 

This,  however,  is  not  true  of  Diana's 
bedroom.  Romanoff  is  not  an  authority  on 
women's  boudoirs,  but  I  did  notice  that 
Diana's  doesn't  have  a  vanity  table!  This  is 
absolutely  unbelievable  as  regards  an 
actress. 

The  major  portion  of  the  room  is  occu- 
pied by  a  pair  of  twin  beds.  A  single  head- 
board and  canopy  covers  both.  The  canopy, 
headboard  and  beds  are  padded  and 
covered  in  a  blue  and  white  hunting 
figure  chintz.  And  this  same  padding 
covers  the  wall  behind  the  beds.  I  was  a 
little  puzzled  by  this,  and  I  said  so. 

"Actually,"  Diana  said,  "it's  just  a  deco- 
rating trick,  but  when  people  ask  me  about 
it,  I  tell  them  I  like  to  have  something  to 
beat  my  head  against." 

"Doesn't  your  mood  room  serve  that  pur- 
pose?" I  asked. 

Diana  gave  me  a  small  sonata  of  a  smile. 
"The  mood  room,"  she  explained,  "is  where 
I  learn  my  lines  and  rehearse  my  parts." 

It  (the  mood-room)  is  replete  with 
clever  decorating  ideas.  The  ceiling  is 
papered  with  cabbage  roses  that  overlap 


the  side  wall,  and  the  same  rose  motif  is 
used  to  cover  a  desk  chair  and  two  slipper 
chairs.  There's  a  long  green  satin  Victorian 
couch,  and  it's  purposely  not  too  comfort- 
able because  it's  easy  to  lie  down  and  fall 
asleep  when  you're  studying  lines  at  night, 
and  Diana  wanted  to  resist  temptation  by 
having  a  hard  settee. 

A  series  of  eleven  Godey  prints  hang  on 
the  wall  above  the  settee,  but  Romanoff 
can  take  Godey  or  leave  him.  In  case 
you've  forgotten,  Louis  Gody  was  the 
Mainbocher  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and 
perhaps  I  should  add,  the  Emily  Post  of  his 
age. 

At  this  point,  aware  of  the  fact  that  Diana 
is  a  pianist  of  concert  stature,  you  are 
probably  asking  what  kind  of  a  piano  does 
the  girl  have  and  where  does  she  keep  this 
piano? 

The  piano  is  a  spinet  which  blends  har- 
moniously with  the  early  American  pieces 
in  the  living  room.  Diana  loathes  the  in- 
strument, however.  She's  always  been  ac- 
customed to  the  full-bodied  tones  which 
emanate  from  a  grand,  and  the  puny  little 
spinet  is  present  only  by  virtue  of  its  com- 
pactness. 

Diana  never  practices  any  more  than  she 
can  help,  and  since  her  musical  repertoire 
has  been  consistently  classical,  when  her 
boyfriends  ask  her  to  beat  out  some 
boogie-woogie,  she  does  so  very  badly. 

She's  honest  about  it,  however;  and  this 
again  takes  me  back  to  her  apartment.  It's 
indicative  of  that  same  honesty  in  its 
simplicity,  its  feeling  of  homeyness.  Two 
big  roomy  chairs  in  the  living  room  are 
covered  with  glazed  chintz  "because  glazed 
chintz  is  a  material  which  sheds  dirt."  The 
print  on  the  living  room  wall  is  a  Currier 
and  Ives  "because  Currier  and  Ives  prints 
are  pleasant  and  easy  to  appreciate."  The 
draperies  are  made  of  hand-blocked  linen, 
"because  hand-blocked  linen  needs  very 
little  cleaning.  I  like  the  early  American 
breakfront  because  it  serves  two  functions. 
It's  decorative  as  a  display  center  for  my 
china,  and  I  store  my  sheet  music  in  the 
cupboards." 

In  short,  Diana  Lynn  has  a  good,  prac- 
tical, honest  reason  for  most  of  her  fur- 
nishings and  her  mode  of  decoration.  In 
one  so  young,  such  good  taste  fortified  by 
reason  and  practicality,  is  indeed  surpris- 
ing. 

Romanoff  regrets  that  he  can  make  no 
report  on  la  salle  du  bain.  While  I  was 
inspecting  Diana's  apartment,  that  all-im- 
portant room  was  being  occupied  by  her 
secretary. 


WHAT  EVERY  WIFE  SHOULD  KNOW 

(Continued  from  page  60) 


"Oleg  loves  people.  All  kinds  of  people. 
He  loves  parties.  Most  big  parties  are  a 
pain  in  the  neck  to  me.  I  used  to  watch 
him  having  such  a  wonderful  time  and  I 
couldn't  understand  it  at  all.  Then  I  must 
admit  I  was  jealous  of  him,  too.  Not  any 
one  woman.  All  the  people  he  would  give 
his  time  to.  I  wanted  him  all  to  myself.  He 
told  me  one  time  that  I  was  just  like  the 
selfish,  demanding  heroine  in  Leave  Her 
to  Heaven  in  which  I  starred.  She  was  a 
woman  so  jealous  she  destroyed  everyone 
she  touched,  and  I  was  amazed  at  the  time 
that  he  could  think  that  of  me  but  I've 
come  to  see  that  he  was  right.  I  was  actu- 
ally almost  that  possessive. 

"For  instance  on  Sunday  I  wanted  to 


stay  around  the  house  and  rest.  Oleg  is  a 
very  good  tennis  player,  and  he  wanted 
to  get  in  a  few  sets  on  Sundays  which  was 
the  only  time  his  friends  could  play.  This  I 
couldn't  be  agreeable  about. 

"I  really  did  a  terrible  thing  several 
times.  I  went  to  the  tennis  club  and  called 
out  to  him  about  going  home  when  he  was 
in  the  middle  of  a  very  tight  game.  How 
his  partners  in  the  games  must  have  hated 
me! 

"When  I  first  thought  of  divorcing  Oleg, 
my  family  had  a  hunch  I  would  regret  it. 
My  brother  tried  to  talk  me  into  waiting 
before  making  the  big  decision,  but  I'm 
always  impatient  to  get  things  over  with. 
I  told  him  I  knew  just  what  I  wanted. 


"Oleg  was  pretty  sweet  about  it  all.  He 
is  basically  such  a  fine  decent  man.  I've 
never  known  him  to  be  mean  and  petty 
about  anything.  There  wasn't  any  bitter- 
ness between  us.  You  hear  a  lot  about 
Hollywood  divorces  and  how  the  couples 
are  going  to  remain  good  friends  and  then 
they  go  out  and  say  the  nastiest  things 
about  each  other  to  their  pals.  This  wasn't 
the  way  with  Oleg  and  me.  Each  resented 
any  unpleasant  remarks  about  the  other. 

"I'll  never  forget  how  furious  I  got  with 
a  friend  who  started  to  hand  me  a  lot  of 
sympathy  about  how  unfortunate  I  had 
been  in  marrying  Oleg  and  how  he  hoped 
that  the  next  time  I  would  marry  a  nice 
American  boy.  He  was  so  surprised  when 
I  blew  my  top. 

"  'What  do  you  mean  a  nice  American 
boy?'  I  almost  screamed.  'Oleg  is  a  nice 
American  boy.  He  is  as  nice  as  any  native- 
born  American  I  know.'  Then  I  gave  the 
fellow  a  long  lecture.  He  went  away  shak- 
ing his  head  and  wishing  he  had  never 
stepped  into  a  situation  he  couldn't  under- 
stand. Oleg  and  I  were  both  surprised  to 
find  so  many  we'd  thought  were  our 
friends  ready  to  widen  the  breach  between 
us  rather  than  help  us  to  patch  up  our 
troubles. 

"I  was  on  the  point  several  times  both 
here  and  in  New  York  of  calling  it  quits 
and  saying  'let's  go  back  together  again' 
but  I  couldn't  quite  bring  myself  to  doing 
it.  I  knew  as  the  time  grew  shorter  and 
shorter  that  I  was  more  uncertain  that  I 
actually  wanted  to  get  my  final  divorce 
decree.  In  February  my  attorney,  Charles 
Millikan,  called  me  and  asked  if  I  wanted 
him  to  prepare  the  final  papers  for  March 
10.  I  told  him  to  wait  a  little.  He  laughed 
and  said  that  sounded  like  good  news.  I 
said  maybe  it  was. 

"Then  Oleg  said  to  me  casually  that  he 
was  going  to  New  York  and  why  didn't  I 


make  up  my  mind  to  join  him  there  when 
the  picture  was  finished.  There  wasn't  any 
great  big  dramatic  moment  when  we  kissed 
and  made  up.  It  was  just  one  natural  event 
following  another.  I  told  him  I  would  join 
him  in  New  York  and  then  it  seemed  as 
if  we  had  never  really  been  apart.  When 
we  got  to  New  York,  we  told  our  families. 

"I've  grown  up  a  lot  in  this  past  year.  I 
know  now  that  I'll  never  change  Oleg.  In 
fact,  I  don't  want  him  to  change.  I  know 
he'll  never  have  the  key  to  the  front  door 
when  we  get  home  so  I'll  have  it.  I  know 
he'll  never  have  the  address  when  we 
start  out  for  a  party  at  a  friend's  home  so 
I'll  make  arrangements  to  have  it  myself. 

"I  want  him  for  the  fine  qualities  he  has. 
We're  going  to  live  in  New  York  part  of 
the  time  when  I'm  not  working.  He  has 
a  very  fine  business  there  and  an  apart- 
ment close  by. 

"We'll  live  in  Connecticut  when  we  can 
in  the  summer  months,  in  the  big  house  my 
family  have  owned  for  a  long  time.  I'm 
selling  this  little  house  I  bought  so  mer- 
rily when  I  thought  I  wanted  to  be  a 
bachelor  girl.  We  may  build  a  place  just 
suited  for  us  and  with  room  for  our  little 
girl,  Daria,  to  be  with  us.  She's  been  with 
my  mother  in  New  York  and  I  miss  her  a 
great  deal. 

"Oleg  is  ready  now  to  take  his  place 
among  the  great  dress  designers  and  I 
want  to  help  him  all  I  can.  We're  going  to 
England  together  on  a  sort  of  second 
honeymoon.  It's  really  a  business  trip  for 
me  since  I'm  going  to  do  a  picture  The 
Gay  Pursuit  with  Rex  Harrison  and  we'll 
be  on  location  near  an  old  castle  in  Devon- 
shire. I've  learned  what  every  wife  ought 
to  know.  Don't  ever  try  to  make  your  hus- 
band over.  If  he  was  what  you  wanted  in 
the  beginning,  keep  him  that  way.  Suc- 
cessful marriages  are  founded  on  the  abil- 
ity to  give  and  take." 


DON'T  MARRY  A  HANDSOME  MAN 

(Continued  from  page  49) 


this  girl  "The  Little  One."  After  her  came 
"The  Fat  One."  She  sent  telegrams. 
"Please  meet  me  sf.  the  Cafe  Such-and- 
Such,"  she  would  wire.  "It  is  extremely 
important.  I  will  be  wearing  a  blue  dress 
with  a  white  hat." 

In  the  first  three  telegrams  she  was 
wearing  the  blue  dress  and  the  white  hat. 
After  that  she  tried  new  color  combina- 
tions.   There  was  a  yellow  dress  and  blue 


♦HOLLYWOOD 
MERRY-GO-ROUND 


•  Producer  Dore  Schary  tells  about 
the  ambitious  young  bride  who  de- 
cided to  teach  her  actor-husband  the 
social  amenities.  They  spent  a  week- 
end at  Santa  Barbara  and  while  she 
sat  in  her  cabana,  the  husband  went 
swimming.  Soon  he  was  exhausted 
by  the  surf  and  yelled  for  help. 

The  wife  rushed  down  to  the 
water's  edge  and  whispered,  "Sh-h-h 
— not  so  loud!" 

*from  the  book  by  Andrew  Hecht 


hat.  There  was  a  green  dress  and  a  yellow 
hat.  There  were  so  many  others  that  I 
began  to  wonder  how,  so  soon  after  libera- 
tion in  France,  a  girl  could  get  so  much 
clothes.  Then,  with  the  fifteenth  telegram, 
it  was  the  blue  dress  and  white  hat  again. 
Ah!  I  thought,  she  is  back  to  that!  At 
least  there  is  a  limit  to  her  wardrobe! 

This  time  we  complied  with  the  tele- 
gram. We  went  to  the  cafe  she  named  in 
a  taxi.  But  Louis  stayed  in  the  taxi  while 
I  went  in  to  look.  Right  away  I  saw  her; 
a  great  big  girl,  so  fat  as  to  be  a  rare 
sight  in  a  starved  France.  She  had  fed 
well  in  her  life,  she  had  clothes,  and  now 
she  wanted  romance.  I  went  back  to  Louis 
and  told  him  about  her  and  he  wanted  to 
peek.  He  went  behind  some  shrubbery 
and  looked  in.  Then  he  came  right  back 
and  told  the  driver  to  go  on. 

"She  is  very  lonely  for  you,"  I  said. 

He  looked  at  me.  "She  is  bearing  up 
under  it,"  he  answered.  "The  waiter  just 
brought  her  some  soup." 

About  my  father's  warning,  when  Louis 
proposed,  I  was  not  too  troubled  at  first. 
But  when  Louis  signed  for  Selznick  Pro- 
ductions and  had  to  leave  for  America 
without  me  I  admit  I  did  not  feel  so  happy. 
It  would  be  two  months  before  my  pass- 
port visas  cleared  and  I  could  follow.  In 
the  meantime  there  would  be  Louis,  alone 
in  Hollywood;  alone  in  the  midst  of  all  its 
beautiful  stars,  its  night  club  gaiety,  its 
parties!    I  was  a  sick  girl! 

On  the  day  he  was  to  sail  I  thought  of 
something.  Louis  is  fanatic  about  music. 
He  can  listen  to  classical  and  semi-classical 
compositions   for  hours.     Right  there  I 


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sweet 
and 

by  leonard  feather 

**Highly  Recommended 
*Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

EASTER  PARADE — A  Feila  With  an  Umbrella: 
**Bing  Crosby  (Decca);  *Denny  Dennis 
(London);  Skitch  Henderson  (Capitol); 
Frank  Sinatra  (Columbia);  Guy  Lom- 
bardo  (Decca);  Three  Suns  (Victor).  Bet- 
ter Luck  Next  Time:  **Perry  Como  (Vic- 
tor); *Jo  Stafford  (Capitol);  *Dinah 
Shore  (Columbia);  George  Paxton 
(M-G-M);  Guy  Lombardo  (Decca).  It 
Only  Happens  When  I  Dance  With  You: 
*Art  Lund  (M-G-M);  *Perry  Como  (Vic- 
tor); Andy  Russell  (Capitol);  Frank  Sina- 
tra (Columbia);  Guy  Lombardo  (Decca). 
Steppin'  Out  With  My  Baby:  **Denny 
Dennis  (London);  *Johnnie  Johnston 
(M-G-M):  Guy  Lombardo  (Decca):  Gor- 
don MacRae  (Capitol);  Dinah  Shore 
(Columbia);  Three  Suns  (Victor). 
Yes,  it's  an  impressive  parade  of  pop 
songs — a  little  late  for  Easter,  but  I'm 
sure  Judy  Garland,  Fred  Astaire  and 
M-G-M  don't  have  to  worry  about  title 
topicality.  Listen  especially  to  the  sides 
by  Denny  Dennis,  waxed  in  London  before 
he  flew  over  here  to  Join  Tommy  Dorsey. 
He'll  almost  make  you  believe  the  fable 
that  in  England  Bing  Crosby  is  known  as 
"the  Yank  Denny  Dennis"! 

MELODY  TIME — Title  song:  *Buddy  Clark  (Co- 
lumbia); Hal  Derwin  (Capitol);  Vaughn 
Monroe  (Victor);  Lawrence  Welk  (Dec- 
ca). Pecos  Bill:  Sammy  Kaye  (Victor); 
Dick  Jurgens  (Columbia);  Captain 
Stubby  (Majestic);  Tex  Ritter  (Capitol); 
King's  Men  (M-G-M).  Little  Toot:  *Sammy 
Kaye  (Victor);  Modernaires  (Columbia); 
King's  Men  (M-G-M).  Blue  Shadows  on 
the  Trail:  *Denny  Dennis  (London);  *Bing 
Crosby  (Decca);  Vaughn  Monroe  (Vic- 
tor); Buddy  Clark  (Columbia);  Andy 
Russell  (Capitol) ;  Art  Mooney  (M-G-M). 
What  a  battle  of  the  baritone  on  Blue 
Shadows!  It's  a  close  race,  but  we'll  just 
stay  out  of  the  arguments  and  just  add 
that  Little  Toot,  for  little  tots,  is  very 
cute. 

THE  PIRATE — *Original  cast  album  (M-G-M). 
Love  of  My  Life:  *Lena  Home  (M-G-M); 
*Harry  James  (Columbia);  *Perry  Como 
(Victor);  *Andy  Russell  (Capitol).  You 
Can  Do  No  Wrong:  Terry  Como  (Vic- 
tor). Nina:  *Harry  James  (Columbia). 
Somehow  you  miss  Gene  Kelly's  swash- 
buckling, Barrymorish  performance  when 
you  listen  to  the  soundtrack  of  his  Nina 
in  the  album;  it  loses  so  much  when  it 
can't  be  seen.  But  the  Harry  James  ver- 
sion is  strictly  a  jump  treatment  with  no 
vocal,  so  once  again,  I  leave  it  to  you! 
ROMANCE  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS — It's  Magic: 
**Sarah  Vaughan  (Musicraft);  *Doris 
Day  (Columbia);  *  Dick  Haymes  (Decca); 
*Tony  Martin  (Victor) ;  *Gordon  Mac- 
Rae (Capitol);  Vic  Damone  (Mercury); 
Buddy  Kaye  (M-G-M).  It's  You  Or  No 
One:  **Sarah  Vaughan  (Musicraft); 
*Tony  Martin  (Victor);  *Margaret  Whit- 
ing (Capitol);  Vic  Damone  (Mercury); 
Dick  Haymes  (Decca).  Put  'Em  In  a 
Box:  *Doris  Day  (Columbia)  ;  *King  Cole 
106  (Capitol);  *Frankie  Laine  (Mercury). 


made  him  promise  that  the  minute  he  got 
to  Hollywood  he  would  buy  hundreds  of 
records  and  also  one  of  those  machines 
that  plays  forever.  And  that  every  night, 
as  soon  as  he  got  home  from  the  studio, 
he  would  put  on  as  many  records  as  the 
machine  would  hold! 

"Ah!"  he  said,  appreciatively.  "My 
music!    So  thoughtful  of  you,  Quique." 

He  sailed  and  I  felt  just  like  the  loneliest 
creature  in  the  world. 

Yet,  when  I  landed  in  New  York,  two 
months  later,  and  found  a  long  distance 
call  awaiting  me  at  the  hotel  from  Louis 
in  Hollywood,  I  told  him  that  I  thought  I 
would  stay  in  New  York  another  week. 

Honestly,  the  words  came  from  my 
mouth  before  I  knew  what  I  was  saying! 
Women  do  strange  things.  This  was  one 
of  mine.  I  went  on  prattling,  saying  I 
might  not  have  a  chance  to  see  New  York 
for  a  long  time  and  there  were  many 
friends  I  should  look  up.  He  exploded.  I 
must  not  delay,  he  cried.  I  must  get  on  a 
plane  immediately. 

This  was  all  I  wanted  to  hear!  A  great 
weight  seemed  to  jump  off  my  heart. 
Whatever  had  happened  in  Hollywood  dur- 
ing Louis'  two  months'  stay,  I  was  not  yet 
out  of  his  thoughts! 

A  half-hour  after  I  went  to  sleep,  the 
phone  in  my  room  rang  again.  It  was 
Louis  calling  back.  He  had  forgotten  to 
tell  me  something,  he  said.  Every  half -hour 
or  so  one  of  us  would  make  up  some  ex- 
cuse to  call  the  other.  I  was  up  all  night  on 
the  long-distance  telephone  so  that  the 
next  day  I  slept  all  the  way  across  the 
United  States  in  the  plane! 

platter  for  two  .  .  . 

Louis  was  then  living  in  a  two -room 
apartment  at  the  Miramar  Hotel  in  Santa 
Monica.  He  told  me  when  I  landed  that 
it  was  very  small;  not  many  closets;  not 
much  room  for  anything.  I  was  too  ex- 
cited to  pay  much  attention  to  this  and  on 
my  first  morning  at  the  hotel  I  got  up 
before  he  did,  thinking  I  would  cook  a 
nice  breakfast.  I  went  to  the  kitchen  and 
saw  a  big  food  cupboard.  I  opened  the  door 
and  my  mouth  fell  open;  it  was  stuffed 
with  hundreds  of  records — the  music 
records  I  had  made  Louis  promise  to  buy! 

For  two  months  I  hardly  left  the  hotel 
while  I  studied  English.  I  learned  by  what 
we  now  know  as  the  "hello"  system.  Louis 
gets  many  telephone  calls,  of  course,  and  I 
am  the  one  who  always  answers.  Whatever 
the  nature  of  the  call,  business  or  social, 
he  would  make  me  do  all  the  talking — and 
that  is  how  I  learned  my  new  language. 

And  then,  when  I  did  begin  to  go  out,  I 
had  to  learn  something  new;  that  all  people 
in  the  movie  business  greet  each  other 
very  affectionately.  The  very  first  Ameri- 
can man  I  met  in  Hollywood  said,  "Hello, 
Honey."  I  looked  at  Louis  for  an  explana- 
tion and  he  just  shrugged  with  his  eyes, 
which  he  can  do.  Then  a  girl  came  up  to 
him  and  cried,  "Why,  Louis,  darling!  I 
haven't  seen  you  for  weeks!"  This  time 
Louis  was  carefree  to  shrug  with  his  shoul- 
ders as  well  when  I  looked  at  him  to  make 
sure  I  understood  it  still  meant  nothing. 

Right  now  we  are  both  too  busy  furnish- 
ing our  new  home  to  think  much  about 
anything  else.  The  first  room  we  had 
finished  was  the  guest  room  so  we  could 
accommodate  a  visitor — a  girl  friend  of 
mine  who  was  visiting  from  Paris.  There 
are  still  several  rooms  which  are  com- 
pletely empty  and  in  one  of  these  we  now 
keep  Louis'  records,  which  today  number 
more  than  a  thousand. 

Those  records  were  my  friends  once,  but 
now  I  sometimes  wonder.  When  I  look 
forward  to  going  out  of  an  evening  Louis 
will  occasionally  come  home  and  complain 
of  being  ill.  He  will  not  touch  a  bit  of  food. 
Finally,  when  I  give  up  the  idea  of  going 
out  and  change  from  my  gown  to  a  robe, 


he  sparkles  right  up,  dashes  for  his  record 
player  and  the  music  pours  forth  without 
end.  I  look  at  those  records  and  ask  my- 
self if  maybe  I  have  raised  a  Frankenstein! 

Now  and  then  it  works  the  other  way — 
Louis  wishes  to  go  out  and  I  do  not.  Once 
he  bought  tickets  to  hear  Charles  Munch, 
former  conductor  of  the  Paris  Conserva- 
toire Orchestra,  direct  the  Los  Angeles 
Symphony.  On  the  day  of  the  concert  I 
said  I  did  not  feel  well  and  did  not  think 
I  would  be  able  to  go  that  evening.  He  in- 
sisted and  promised  me  that  if  I  went  he 
would  buy  me  something  I  had  been  ask- 
ing for  a  long  time — a  coffee  table. 

Naturally,  I  recovered  right  away  and  at 
dinner  never  felt  better  in  my  life.  But 
something  in  the  meal  disagreed  with  poor 
Louis  and  he  became  sick.  This  was  too 
much.  I  was  all  dressed,  he  was  not  in  too 
great  discomfort;  I  went  to  the  concert 
alone.    Now  follows  the  argument. 

The  next  day  Louis  said  nothing  about 
the  coffee  table.  The  day  after  that,  noth- 
ing. A  week  more  and  nothing!  I  decided 
I  had  been  polite  long  enough;  it  was  time 
to  ask.  He  looked  at  me  in  astonishment. 

"But  Quique!"  he  exclaimed.  "Inasmuch 
as  I  could  not  attend  the  performance  of 
Charles  Munch  I  am  automatically  re- 
leased from  my  promise!" 

Louis  thinks  he  is  getting  away  with  this 
excuse  but  he  is  mistaken.  I  have  con- 
sulted with  some  of  my  girl  friends  and  I 
have  a  very  good  plan.  I  am  going  to  get 
sick  and  it  will  be  expensive  to  cure  me. 
At  first  I  decided  I  should  have  influenza  | 
but  I  learned  it  is  possible  to  cure  several 
cases  of  influenza  for  what  it  costs  to  buy 
a  coffee  table,  so  now  it  must  be  pneu- 
monia. So  far  I  have  not  been  able  to  find  a 
pneumonia  germ  in  Beverly  Hills.  But 
when  Louis  reads  this  here  in  Modern  | 
Screen  he  may  take  warning. 

So  far  there  is  a  great  difference  between 
life  with  Louis  in  Hollywood  and  life  with 
him  as  it  was  in  France.  In  France  he  had 
made  many  pictures  and  was  known  by 
reputation  and  appearance  to  most  of  the 
women  in  the  country.  It  is  not  like  that 
here.  Not  yet.  Women  who  see  him  on  the 
street  know  he  is  handsome,  perhaps,  but 
only  a  few  recognize  him  as  Louis  Jourdan. 
After  all,  his  first  picture,  The  Paradine 
Case,  is  just  in  the  theaters  now.  But  when 
this  one,  and  his  other  pictures,  Letter 
From  an  Unknown  Woman  (Ha!),  No 
Minor  Vices  and  Trilby  are  shown — what 
then?  I  ask  myself.  Will  there  be  the 
strange  visitors  again,  the  letters  and  tele- 
grams from  women?  Will  they  seek  him 
out  as  they  did  in  France? 

I  hope  so!  Otherwise,  it  will  mean  he  is 
not  popular — no? 


Just  as  we  were 
about  to  give  up  we  heard  yelling 
from  above.  As  we  looked  up  we 
saw  Danny's  blond  head  hanging  out 
of  a  window  on  the  tenth  floor.  "Yoo- 
hoo,"  he  was  shouting,  "here  1  am." 
As  we  had  just  seen  his  act  three 
times  with  a  different  routine  each 
time  not  even  this  crazy  gesture  of 
Danny's  surprised  us. 

Linda  Deutschman 
Bronx,  New  York 


Of  course  you  use  flattering  face  powder  and  just  the 
right  lipstick.  But  do  you  neglect  your  most  important 
feature — your  eyes!  Here's  something  smart  modern 
girls  are  realizing;  when  make-up  stops  with  just  a 
nice  complexion  and  brilliant  red  lips,  neglected  eyes 
appear  dull  and  drab  by  contrast. 

It's  so  easy  to  give  your  eyes  their  full  share  of 
beauty-magic — with  MAYBELLINE!  A  few  simple 
brush  strokes  of  this  famous  Mascara  will 
make  your  lashes  look  naturally  dark,  long, 
sweeping.  And  it's  so  easy  to  shape  your 
brows  gracefully  with  the  soft,  smooth 
Maybelline  Eyebrow  Pencil.  Then  behold 
the  difference!  Your  eyes  are  so  much  love- 
lier! Your  entire  face  is  more  attractive,  for 
your  make-up  is  perfectly  balanced — com- 
pletely flattering. 


So  never,  never  forget  to  accent  your 
eyes,  daytime  or  evening.  Only  be  sure  you 
use  MAYBELLINE,  the  eye  make-up  in 
good  taste  —  preferred  by  smart  women 
everywhere. 


MAYBELLINE  CAKE 
MASCARA  in  new  red  and 
gold-tone  metal  vanity,  $1. 
Refills,  50c.  Shades: 
Black,  Brown,  Blue.  •  : 
Also  in  25c  and 
10c  sizes.)  / 


MAYBELLINE  CREAM 
MASCARA  (applied  without 
water)  comes  in  handy  leath- 
erette case,  $1.  (Also  in  25c 
and  10c  sizes.)  Shades:  Black 
and  Brown. 


MAYBELLINE  EYEBROW 
PENCIL  soft,  smooth  quality, 
fine  point — so  easy  to  usel  Black 
or  Brown. 


MAYBELLINE  EYE 
SHADOW  in  subtle 
shades  of  Blue,  Brown, 
Blue-gray,  Green,  Violet, 
Gray, 


Natural  color  photographs  by 
Carlyle  Blackwell,  Jr., 
Hollywood 


W  0  R  L  D  8  FAVORITE  


SORR/i  GENTLEMEN/ 

THIS  CONTEST 

FOR 
WOMEN 
ONLY! 


In  honor  of  this  year's  June  Brides... Camay  offers 


in prizes  f 


EVERY  WOMAN  CAN  ENTER... YOU  MAY  WIN! 

This  is  the  season  of  beauty  and  romance  and  brides! 
To  honor  the  June  Brides  of  1948,  Camay  is  running 
a  new  kind  of  contest  ...for  women  only!  And  this 
contest  is  really  five  contests— you  may  enter  every 
week  for  5  weeks.  Every  week,  Camay  will  award  a 
$1,000  bill.  And  there  are  2,630  prizes  in  all! 

So  easy  to  enter  —  here's  what  you  do 

First,  try  Camay.  Your  first  cake  of  Camay  can  bring 
a  smoother,  clearer  skin— if  you  give  up  careless 
cleansing— stay  on  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet,  de- 
scribed on  the  wrapper.  And  try  Bath-Size  Camay, 
too.  Daily  baths  with  Bath-Size  Camay  can  make  you 
lovelier  from  head  to  toes! 

Tips  that  may  help  to  make  you  a  winner! 

Discover  Camay's  advantages— and  enter  the  Contest. 

Finish  the  sentence  "I  like  Camay  because  ," 

in  25  additional  words  or  less,  following  the  contest 
rules.  Write  about  Camay's  mildness— its  fragrance— 
any  quality  you  prefer.  You  may  win  $1,000! 


EVERY  WEEK  WEEKS 

First  Prize-*l,000  in  Cash 
25  Prizes-*lOO  Each  in  Cash 

AND 

500  MIRRO-MATIC 

PRESSURE  COOKERS 

(4-Quart  Size) 

2,630  WINNERS  IN  ALL! 


READ  THESE  EASY  RULES! 


THE  SOAP  OF 


BEAUTIFUL  WOMEN 


1.  Complete  this  sentence,  "I  like 
Camay  because  "in  25  addi- 
tional words  or  less.  Get  an  official 
entry  blank  from  your  dealer  or 
write  on  one  side  of  a  plain  sheet 
of  paper.  Print  plainly  your  name 
and  address. 

2.  Mail  to  Camay,  Dept.  RM,  Box 
357,  Cincinnati  1,  Ohio.  Enter  as 
often  as  you  wish,  but  be  sure  to 
enclose  the  wrappers  from  one  reg- 
ular-size and  one  bath-size  cake  of 
Camay,  or  three  regular-size  wrap- 
pers, or  facsimiles,  with  each  entry. 

3.  Any  female  resident  of  the  con- 
tinental United  States  and  Hawaii 
may  compete,  except  employees  of 
Procter  &  Gamble,  their  advertis- 
ing agencies  and  their  families. 
Contests  subject  to  all  Federal  and 
State  regulations. 

4.  There  will  be  five  weekly  con- 
tests, each  with  an  identical  list  of 
prizes.  Opening  and  closing  dates— 

CONTEST       OPENS  CLOSES 

1st  contest       Now  Sat,  June  12 

2nd  contest  Sun.,  June  13  Sat.,  June  19 

3rd  contest  Sun.,  June  20  Sat.,  June  26 

4th  contest  Sun.,  June  27  Sat.,  July  3 

5th  contest  Sun.,  July  4  Sat,  July  10 

5.  Entries  received  before  mid- 
night, Saturday,  June  12,  will  be 


entered  in  the  first  week's  contest. 
Thereafter,  entries  will  be  entered 
in  each  week's  contest  as  received. 
Entries  for  the  final  week's  contest 
must  be  postmarked  before  mid- 
night, July  10  and  received  by 
July  24,  1948. 

6.  Prizes  awarded  each  week  will 
be: 

1st  Prize— $1,000.00  In  cash. 
25  Prizes  of  $100.00  each  In  cash. 
500  additional  prizes,  each  a  Mirro- 
Matic  Pressure  Cooker  (4-quart  size) 

7.  Entries  will  be  judged  for  orig- 
inality, sincerity,  and  aptness  of 
thought.  Judges'  decisions  will  be 
final.  Only  one  prize  will  be 
awarded  to  a  person.  In  case  of 
ties,  the  full  prize  tied  for  will  be 
awarded  to  each  tying  contestant. 
No  entries  will  be  returned.  En- 
tries, contents,  and  ideas  therein 
become  the  property  of  Procter  & 
Gamble. 

8.  First  prize  winners  will  be  an- 
nounced on  Camay's  radio  pro- 
gram, "Pepper  Young's  Family," 
about  3  weeks  after  the  close  of 
each  weekly  contest.  All  winners 
will  be  notified  by  mail.  Prize  win- 
ner lists  will  be  available  approx- 
imately one  month  after  the  close 
of  the  last  contest. 


Watch  Your  Step*  Lana!"     page  28 

!!  il    1  1  ?Q/Q  mmm 
JUL  X0»  IJTU 

nodern  scree 


fgust  15c 

ID 


SHIRLEY  TEMPLE 
and 
LINDA  SUSAN 


The  Soul  is  fragile, 
The  Body  is  thrillingly  exciting  ^ffi#e  jfijiF'' a  n^.'"°n 

crushed  Lilacs,  Roses  and  Garaenias.  Flower  fragrances 
wrap  you  in  a  brilliant,  romantic  glow. 

Glorify  yourself  with  Lander's  flower-fresh  talcs, 
and  you'll  invite  Love.  When  you  weave  a 

garland  of  Lilacs,  Roses  and  Gardenias,  you'll  bind 
him  to  you  -  forever.  Today  .  .  .  tonight  .  .  .  always, 
be  lovely  with  Lander's— Body  and  Soul. 


'it 


THE     LANDER  CO. 


FIFTH  AVENUE 


EACH 

Ask  for  other  Lander  toiletries. 
At  all  10*  toilet  goods  counters. 

15 c  West  of  the  Mississippi 


NEW  YORK 


mi 


? 


Don't  let  that  bath-freshness  fade- 
stay  sweet  to  be  near! 

'A  star-spangled  evening  begins  in  your  bath, 
it's  true.  You  start  off  sweet  and  dainty.  But 
what  will  you  do  to  keep  underarm  odor  from 
turning  your  dreams  to  dust? 

After  your  bath  washes  away  past  perspiration, 
remember— Mum's  the  word  for  safer,  surer 
protection  against  risk  of  juture  underarm  odor. 


til 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 

Safer  for  charm  — Mum  checks  perspiration  odor, 
protects  your  daintiness  all  day  or  all  evening. 

Safer  for  skin  — Because  Mum  contains  no  harsh  or 
irritating  ingredients.  Snow-white  Mum  is  gentle- 
harmless  to  skin. 

Safer  for  clothes— No  damaging  ingredients  in  Mum 
to  rot  or  discolor  fine  fabrics.  Economical  Mum  doesn't 
dry  out  in  the  jar.  Quick,  easy  to  use,  even  after  you're 
dressed. 


Advertisement 
*        ★        ★        ★  * 

Don't  be 
Half-safe! 

by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 

At  the  first  blush  of  womanhood  many  mys- 
terious changes  take  place  in  your  body.  For 
instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under  your 
arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type  of  perspi- 
ration you  have  never  known  before.  This  is 
closely  related  to  physical  development  and 
causes  an  unpleasant  odor  on  both  your  per- 
son and  your  clothes. 

There  is  nothing  "wrong"  with  you.  It's  just 
another  sign  you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a 
girl  ...  so  now  you  must  keep  yourself  safe 
with  a  truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers  — Underarm  odor  is  a  real  handi- 
cap at  this  romantic  age,  and  the  new  cream 
deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially  to  over- 
come this  very  difficulty.  It  kills  this  odor 
on  contact  in  2  seconds,  then  by  antiseptic 
action  prevents  the  formation  of  all  odor  for 
48  hours  and  keeps  you  shower-bath  fresh. 
It  also  stops  perspiration  and  so  protects 
against  a  second  danger— perspiration  stains. 
Since  physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  can  now  cause  your  apocrine  glands 
to  fairly  gush  perspiration,  a  dance,  a  date, 
an  embarrassing  remark  may  easily  make 
you  perspire  and  offend,  or  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  are  not  alike  — so  remember 
—  no  other  deodorant  tested  stops  perspira- 
tion and  odor  so  completely  yet  so  safely  as 
new  Arrid.  Its  safety  has  been  proved  by 
doctors.  That's  why  girls  your  age  buy  more 
Arrid  than  any  other  age  group.  In  fact,  more 
men  and  women  everywhere  use  Arrid  than 
any  other  deodorant.  It's  antiseptic,  used  by 
117,000  nurses. 

Intimate  protection  is  needed  — so  protect 
yourself  with  this  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears.  This  new  Arrid, 
with  the  amazing  new  ingredient  Creamogen, 
will  not  crystallize  or  dry  out  in  the  jar.  The 
American  Laundering  Institute  has  awarded 
Arrid  its  Approval  Seal— harmless  to  fabrics. 
Arrid  is  safe  for  the  skin— non-irritating— can 
be  used  right  after  shaving. 

Don't  be  half-safe.  During  this  "age  of  ro- 
mance" don't  let  perspiration  problems  spoil 
your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe  — be  Arrid-safe! 
Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get  Arrid  now  at  your 
favorite  drug  counter  —  only  394'  plus  tax. 


AUGUST,  1948 

modern  screen 

stories 

YOU  CAN'T  COME  BETWEEN  ROY  AND  DALE  (Roy  Rogers-Dale  Evans) 

by  Albert  P.  Delacorte  27 

WATCH  YOUR  STEP,  LAN  A!  (Lana  Turner)  by  Hedda  Hopper  28 

CROSSROADS   by  Larry  Parks  30 

IN  THE  GRAND  MANOR  (Claudette  Colbert)  by  Prince  Michael  Romanoff  32 

LAZY  DATE  (Elizabeth  Taylor)   36 

I  CHASED  A  DREAM  •  by  Lon  McCallister  40 

HOW  LOW  WILL  THEY  GO?  by  Cobina  Wright  42 

SHE  WAS  ONLY  16  (Dan  Dailey)  by  Abigail  Putnam  44 

MONEY  NO  OBJECT  (Maureen  O'Hara)   46 

"SOME  GUEST$  ARE  SPECIAL!"  (Esther  Williams)  by  Frank  Bogert  48 

IT  HAPPENED  IN  A  NIGHT  CLUB  by  Erskine  Johnson  52 

SHIRLEY  ON  THE  COVER  (Shirley  Temple)   54 

THEY  COULDN'T  WIN  (Susan  Peters-Richard  Quine)  by  Ida  Zeitlin  58 

"ME  AND  THE  QUEEN"  (Barbara  Stanwyck)  by  "Uncle  Buck"  McCarthy  62 

MURDER  BOY  (Richard  Widmark)  :  by  Carl  Schroeder  70 

features 

TO  OUR  READERS   4 

GOOD  NEWS  by  Louella  O.  Parsons  6 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "Easter  Parade"   24 


departments 

REVIEWS  

FASHION  

INFORMATION  DESK  

THE  FANS  

BEAUTY:  "Beauty  Afoot" 
MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot" 


 by  Jean  Kinkead  14 

by  Constance  Bartel  73 

 by  Beverly  Linet  83 

by  Shirley  Frohlich  92 

 by  Carol  Carter  94 

by  Leonard  Feather  108 


ON  THE  COVER:  SHIRLEY  TEMPLE  and  LINDA  SUSAN 


ALBERT  P.  DELACORTE,  Executive  Editor  HENRY  P.  MALMGREEN,  Editor 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR.  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
ISABEL  SCHLEYEN,  assistant  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
MAXINE  FIRESTONE,  assistant  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  information  desk 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 

BOB  BEERMAN.  staff  photographer 

BERT  PARRY,  staff  photographer 

IEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 

CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 

GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 

IRENE  TURNER,  research  editor 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  261  'Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 

Vol.  37,  No.  3,  Auqust,  1948.  Copyright,  1948,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  261  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office. 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave..  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  George  T.  Delacorte,  Jr.,  President;  Helen  Meyer,  Vice-President, 
Albert  P.  Delacorte,  Vice-President.  Single  copy  price.  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in  U.  S.  A. 
and  Canada  $1.80  a  year;  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  lEntered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the 
post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the 
return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


Screen  Play  by 
|        SIDNEY  SHELDON,  FRANCES  GOODRICH 
«nd  ALBERT  HACKETT 
Original  Story  by  \ 
FRANCES  GOODRICH  and  ALBERT  HACKETT 


Directed  by 


lyrics  and  Music  by       Musical  Numbers  Directed  by 

ROBERT  ALTON  • 

ft  METRO-BOLOWYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


Produced  by 


RIG  BERLIN  -  ROBERT  ALTON  ■  CHARLES  WALTERS  ■  ARTHUR  FREED 


NO  FOOLING,  KID, 
THAT  SISTER  OF  YOURS 
HAS  ME  GOINS  DOWN 
FOR  THE  THIRD  TIME! 


BUT  YOU  RE  NOT 
SUNK  YET,  HANK! 
GOSH!  ALL  YOU  NEED 
IS  SOME  FIRST  AID 
FROM  YOUR  DENTIST 
ON  BAD  BREATH! 


TO  COMBAT  BAD  BREATH, I  RECOMMEND 
COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM!  FOR  SCIENTIFIC 
TESTS  PROVE  THAT  IN  7  OUT  OF  10  CASES, 
%       \    COLGATE'S  INSTANTLY  STOPS  BAD  BREATH 
,    ■  T—7    M'  i  i-"».A  r*c  MOuTH 

"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  particles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safelyl" 

LATER-Thanks  to  Colgate  Dental  Cream 


COLGATE 
DENTAL  CREAM 

Cleans  Your  Breath 
While  It  Cleans 
Your  Teeth! 


Always  use 
COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM 

after  you  eat  and  before 
every  date 


BARBARA  STANWYCK'S  Uncle  Buck  is  not  Barbara  Stanwyck's  real  uncle, 
but  he  might  as  well  be.  He  writes  the  story  of  their  rare,  long-standing 
friendship  in  this  issue.  He  used  to  buy  her  turkey  legs  when  she  was  so 
small  she'd  have  fitted  into  his  pocket.  She  isn't  so  small  any  more,  but  the 
pocket's  still  open  to  her.  The  only  fault  he  has  to  find  with  Barbara  is 
that  you'd  have  to  nail  her  shirts  to  her  shoulder  blades  to  keep  her  from 
giving  them  away.    I'm  wearing  one  of  her  old  shirts  this  minute. 

THIS,  COME  TO  think  of  it,  is  about  as  sentimental  an  issue  as  the  old  book 
has  had  in  some  time.  Take  a  look  through  our  collection  of  Shirley  Temple 
art,  pps.  54  to  57,  if  you  don't  believe  it.  Henry  and  I  sit  and  stare  at  Shirley 
when  she  was  eight,  and  Shirley  when  she  was  nine,  and  Shirley  when  she  was 
fifteen,  and  then  we  count  each  other's  wrinkles.  It's  a  sad  little  business. 
But  Shirley's  having  a  baby  makes  up  for  it  all,  somehow;  it's  as  though  with 
Linda  Susan,  we  get  back  our  lost  youth. 

AS  FOR  LARRY  PARKS,  he  never  lost  his  youth,  but  he  nearly  lost  his 
boyish  laughter.  Right  'now,  he's  standing  on  the  horns  of  so  many  dilemmas 
that  a  bed  of  nails  would  feel  soft  under  his  feet.  He  tells  you  about  it  himself, 
on  page  30. 

BY  THE  WAY,  I  don't  like  to  cast  any  slurs.  Partly  because  I'm  a  sweet 
fellow,  partly  because  whomever  I  slurred  might  stop  buying  M.  S.  But  I  think 
Hedda  Hopper's  looking  for  a  new  job.  And  I  think  the  job  is  as  Lana  Turner's 
manager.  It  wouldn't  be  a  bad  idea.  Wait  till  you  read  the  story  "Watch 
Your  Step,  Lana,"  on  page  28,  and  you'll  see.  Hedda's  affection  for  Lana 
shines  right  through  her  words.  Besides  affection  there's  admiration  and 
concern.  Hedda  thinks  Lana's  been  given  a  lousy  deal  by  a  lot  of  people  she 
trusted,  and  Hedda  doesn't  go  for  that.  So  she's  putting  on  her  most  fear- 
inspiring  hat — the  one  with  the  war  feathers — and  she's  pulling  it  down  over  her 
ears,  and  she's  going  out  to  raise  a  little  fuss.  Lana  could  use  a  few  more 
friends  like  Hedda.    Anybody  could. 


ALBERT    P.  DELACORTE 


louell 


>arsons' 


Hello  and  s'long. 

Excuse  me — guess  I  should  explain  I'm 
heading  for  Europe  in  two  days  and  by  the 
time  you  read  this,  I  should  be  just  about 
ready  to  come  home  from  tours  of  Ireland, 
England,  Sweden,  Norway,  Denmark,  Italy 
and  France. 

I  haven't  had  a  vacation  in  two  years  and 
I'm  really  excited  about  the  trip.  But  you 
and  I  are  NOT  going  to  miss  our  monthly 
gossip  fests.  Along  with  the  Hollywood  news, 
I  will  get  out  my  trusty  typewriter  and  tell 
you  about  the  movie  goings-on  in  Europe 
because  many  of  your  favorites  will  be  vaca- 
tioning there  this  summer — or  making  movies 
in  London  or  Italy. 

I  expect  to  see  Tyrone  Power,  the  Rex 
Harrisons,  Clark  Gable,  Sonja  Henie,  Deborah 
Kerr,  Rosalind  Russell,  Lana  Turner,  Eleanor 
Parker,  Laurence  Olivier,  Vivien  Leigh,  Robert 
Donat  and  —  oh,  well  —  that's  next  month's 
GOOD  NEWS.  Meanwhile — let's  go  Holly- 
wood. 

*        *  * 
Was  it  all  smoke  and  no  fire  in  those  rumors 


that  the  Gregory  Pecks  were  rifting?  Let  me 
tell  you  what  I  think: 

The  Pecks,  I  have  good  reason  to  believe, 
had  a  little  argument.  But  it  had  nothing  to 
do  with  pretty,  little  Greta's  run-in  with  the 
police  after  her  car  side-swiped  another  in  a 
traffic  jam.  Unfortunately,  Greta  and  Greg 
just  happened  to  be  having  a  tiff  at  that  time. 

For  a  few  days,  he  did  leave  home  and 
moved  in  with  a  close  friend.  But  it  wasn't 
anything  serious  between  them  and  they 
knew  it — so  they  vehemently  denied  they 
were  having  trouble  when  reporters  called  to 
check. 

How  smart  of  them.  There  are  squalls  that 
blow  up  in  every  marriage  and  the  movie 
stars  are  just  as  human  as  the  rest  of  us. 

I  respect  the  Pecks  for  keeping  their  private 
battles  private  and  in  not  rushing  into  print 
with  every  little  tiff.  Frankly,  I'm  good  and 
fed  up  with  the  temperamental  darlings  who 
make  public  announcements  every  time  they 
disagree — then  they  loudly  kiss  and  make  up 
— until  the  next  hurdle. 

*        *  * 


Gene  Tierney  is  a  girl  who  is  too  quick  in 
making  her  private  and  professional  affairs 
open  to  the  world. 

She  and  Oleg  Cassini  parted  to  the  tune  of 
front  page  publicity.  But  they  continued  to 
dine  and  date — also  in  the  public  eye.  Then, 
not  only  did  Gene  secretly  reconcile  with  her 
husband,  but  she  chose  this  interesting  event 
as  the  one  to  keep  quiet  about — and  it  was 
the  one  she  most  certainly  should  have  told 
her  studio  about.  Gene  and  Oleg  are  going 
to  have  a  baby! 

She  was  several  months  pregnant  when  the 
news  finally  came  out,  and  her  20th  Century- 
Fox  bosses  couldn't  have  been  more  surprised 
for  they  had  cast  her  for  the  starring  role  in 
The  Fan  QLady  Windemere's  Fan)  and  she 
had  agreed  to  do  it! 

Otto  Preminger  was  within  ten  days  of 
starting  the  picture  when  he  was  told  he  must 
substitute  a  new  star  immediately.  Little 
Jeanne  Crain  was  rushed  into  wardrobe  fit- 
tings, some  re-writing  had  to  be  done  at  the 
last  minute  to  fit  the  new  leading  lady  and  a 
hectic  time  was  had  by  all. 


Before  Louella  left  on  vacation  tour  abroad,  Hollywood  gave  her  send-off.  Host  Wynn  filled  his  home  with  flowers  for  farewell  party,  had  scenes 
Cocktail  party  and  buffet  supper  in  Wynn  Rocamora's  home  ended  fes-  from  Louella's  life  carved  in  ice!  Here,  he  greets  Johnnie  Johnston 
tivities.  Among  those  who  bade  Louella  an  rei'oir  were  the  Paul  Henreids.      and  Kathryn  Grayson.  Johnstons  expect  stork  sometime  near  Labor  Day. 


I  think  everyone  could  have  forgiven  Gene 
more  easily  if  she  hadn't  formed  the  habit  of 
practically  living  on  the  front  pages  and  then 
done  a  right  about  face  and  become  secretive 
about  an  important  thing  she  should  have  told. 

It  was  a  rush  of  parties  before  I  left  for 
Europe,  but  the  most  unexpected  was  the 
soiree  given  by  the  Gary  Coopers  for  about 
one  hundred  people.  I  say  "unexpected"  be- 
cause the  Coopers  have  been  married  for 
many  years  and  this  is  the  first  time  I've 
known  them  to  give  with  one  of  these  great 
beeg  affairs. 

Too  big  for  their  house,  the  party  was  held 
in  a  decorative  tent  in  the  back  modeled  after 
a  swank  night  club.  Tables  gleaming  with 
silver,  crystal  and  flowers  were  placed  around 
the  built-in  dance  floor  and  the  imported 
orchestra  played  hot  and  sweet  music  all 
evening. 

First  couple  I  spotted  was  Clark  Gable  and 
Ann  Sothern — but  don't  get  excited.  They  are 
old  friends,  two  people  who  like  to  have 
laughs  together  and  there's  nothing  romantic 
between  them. 


Chic-ly  attired  in  black  faille  suit  with  lace  trimming,  guest-of-honor 
Louella  chats  with  Constance  Moore.  Wynn's  party  followed  one  given 
by  Bebe  Daniels  and  Ben  Lyon  in  honor  of  Louella's  first  vacation  in  2  years. 


Pat  Knight  and  Cornel  Wilde  hiked  back  to  the  kitchen  of  Wynn  Rocamora's 
home,  finished  off  the  hors  d'oeuvre  prepared  by  Marie  Antoinette  cater- 
ers. Wildes'd  planned  short  trip  to  England — found  they  couldn't  afford  it. 


Jack  Benny,  who's  completed  17th  year  with  NBC,  escorted  wife 
Mary  Livingston  to  Wynn's  party — they  made  date  with  Louella 
for  meeting  in  London.   Jack  will  appear  at  London  Paladium. 


Gay  foursome  at  Rocamora's  were  the  Louis  Jourdans  and  the  David  Nivens. 
David  will  leave  his  bride  and  two  kids  soon  for  England,  where  he'll 
star  in   The  Scarlet  Pimpernel — film  which   Leslie  Howard  once  made. 


Joan    Crawford,   with    Christina    and    Christopher,  at 
show  .in    the    Toy    Menagerie,    exclusive    toy    shop  in 
Host     Uncle     Bernie     exhibited     portraits     of  movie 


unusual  art 
fly  Hills, 
stars'  kids. 


Hedy  Larnarr's  daughter  Denise,  3 
have  a  step-father  if  mom  says 
gets    her    first    Technicolor    role  in 


dad's 
'yes"  to 
Danny  Kaye's 


John  Loder 
lly  Wilder. 


may 
Hedy 
Happy  Days. 


Ann  was  really  "done"  in  a  white  tulle, 
completely  backless  gown,  the  most  extreme 
evening  dress  I  have  ever  seen  her  wear. 

All  the  girls  seemed  to  be  decked  out  as 
exotically  as  possible.  Linda  Christian  looked 
as  pretty  as  a  magazine  cover  as  she  twirled 
by  in  the  arms  of  Tyrone  Power — Linda  with 
three  big  orchids  piled  high  in  her  hair.  Yep, 
at  this  writing  this  romance  is  still  sizzling 
and  these  two  have  eyes  only  for  each  other. 

At  a  large  table  with  Deborah  Kerr  and  the 
William  Goetzes,  I  spotted  Gene  Tierney  who, 
earlier  this  same  day,  had  admitted  she  was 
going  to  have  a  baby.  She  is  a  girl  I  find 
difficult  to  understand  but,  perhaps,  she  finds 
me  hard  to  understand.  Some  people  do,  you 
know. 

The  traffic  in  and  out  of  the  Coopers'  was 
like  a  crowded  intersection  because  many  of 
the  guests  had  been  invited  to  the  Walter 
Langs'  the  same  night  and  covered  both 
affairs. 

It  is  always  great  fun  when  Walter  (he 
directed  Sitting  Pretty}  and  his  "Fieldsie"  give 
with  a  party  and  this  occasion  was  no  excep- 
tion. I  spotted  June  Havoc,  Cesar  Romero,  the 
Zachary  Scotts  and  Ann  Sheridan  all  having 


a  time  for  themselves.  Ann,  I  might  add,  is 
one  of  the  few  Hollywood  beauties  still  wear- 
ing her  long  hair  high  on  her  head.  Most  of 
the  belles  have  gone  in  for  the  new,  short 
hair  cut — but  Ann  says  she  knows  her  style 
and  is  sticking  to  it.  All  in  all,  it  was  "two" 
big  nights  in  one. 

*        *  * 

Hurray  for  Van  Johnson — and  I  mean  it! 

When  he  found  he  was  making  himself  sick 
with  worry  over  carrying  the  load  of  a 
$125,000  mansion  on  which  he  still  owed 
almost  $100,000  he  came  right  out  and  said 
he  was  through  with  all  this  "movie  star" 
living. 

"This  tennis  court,  swimming  pool  razzle- 
dazzle  is  breaking  my  back  and  my  health" 
said  the  one  and  only  Van.  "Evie  agrees 
with  me — and  we  are  selling  this  place  as 
soon  as  possible.  It's  all  right  to  run  a 
country  club  if  you  can  afford  it,  but  never 
again  for  me." 

So  they  are  leaving  the  estate  Van  pur- 
chased for  his  bride  as  a  wedding  present 
just  as  soon  as  they  can  find  a  small  place 
in  Beverly  Hills  or  Westwood — just  big 
enough  to  take  care  of  Van,  Evie,  the  two 


Wynn  boys  and  the  new  Miss  Johnson,  of 
course. 

*  *  * 

John  Payne  is  carrying  a  torch  for  Gloria 
De  Haven  THAT  high. 

Joan  Caulfield,  herself,  put  me  straight 
about  this  after  I  printed  that  I  heard  she 
and  John  had  sparked  a  romance  while  film- 
ing Larceny. 

"That's  a  lot  of  nonsense,"  explained  Joan, 
but  not  crossly.  (She  has  a  wonderful  dis- 
position— that  one.)  "John  is  still  terribly  in 
love  with  his  wife  and  can't  think  about  any- 
thing or  anyone  else  but  Gloria  and  the 
children." 

So,  it  is  just  a  coincidence  that  John  and 
Joan  will  appear  together  in  summer  stock  in 
The  Voice  of  the  Turtle — and  nothing  they 
have  planned  so  they  can  be  together.  By  the 
time  they  are  ready  to  head  East,  perhaps 
Gloria  and  John  will  make  up  their  difficulties. 
They  have  parted  and  reconciled — before. 

*  *  * 

So  much  sentiment  and  sweetness  inter- 
mingled with  the  church  solemnity  when 
Diana  Wanger,  daughter  of  Joan  Bennett 
married  handsome  John  Anderson  last  month 


o 

Here  comes  -the  bridesmaid . . . .  S 

J-TWP****^  There  lurk  +/ie  wolves .... 


She's  o  different,  delight- 
ful, captivating  Betty 
—  singing,  dancing  and 
romancing  —  in  Elmer 
Rice's  fabulously  funny 
Broadway  stage  hit! 


You'll  Hear  The  Critics  "Hurrah!"  for  Betty 
Hurton  in  this  differenl,  new  hit!  See  if  you 
don't  say:  "Wonderful!  She's  an  actress 
we've  never  really  seen  before!" 


Cyd  Charisse  and  Tony  Martin,  newly  married,  at  opening  of  Hollywood  Park. 
Under  Cyd's  white  glove  is  a  square-cut  diamond  ring — from  Tony.  Cyd  was 
formerly  Mrs.  Niko  Charisse  (dancer)  ;  Tony  was  once  the  husband  of  Alice  Faye. 


Kay  Kyser  lectures  Michael  North  and  Marilyn  Maxwell  on  the  pitfalls  of  mar- 
riage, but  the  prospective  bride  and  groom  aren't  taking  him  seriously,  may 
be  wed  by  the  time  you  read  this.  They're  all  guests  at  Atwater  Kent  party. 


How  Joan  managed  to  get  through  the  for- 
mal wedding  and  reception  and  then  to  be 
hostess  at  a  big  party  the  following  night  for 
railroad  tycoon  Robert  Young,  I'll  never  know. 
Joan  is  expecting  her  fourth  child  and  so 
much  activity  must  have  been  a  severe  strain 
on  her — but  you  would  never  have  guessed  it 
the  marvelous  way  she  carried  off  both  charm- 
ing events. 

Of  course,  no  one  stole  the  wedding  from 
Diana,  the  radiant  bride  who  looked  like  an 
angel  as  she  came  down  the  aisle  on  the  arm 
of  Walter  Wanger — but  Stephanie,  the  Wan- 
gers'  youngest,  certainly  ran  off  with  second 
honors.  As  flower  girl,  she  was  beaming  on 
all  and  sundry,  tossing  flower  petals  with 
great  glee  in  all  directions. 

When  we  went  on  to  the  reception  at  the 
house  right  after  the  ceremony,  I  whispered 
in  Joan's  ear,  "How  in  the  world  are  you 
going  to  switch  all  these  beautiful  white  wed- 
ding decorations  in  time  for  your  cocktail 
party  for  Mr.  Young  tomorrow  night?" 

"Shhhh,"  la  Bennett  whispered  back,  "it 
won't  look  so  much  like  a  wedding  when  we 
add  red  roses  and  some  spring  flowers  to 
the  gardenias  and  white  stock!" 

But  even  so — I  heard  Walter  took  Joan  to 
the  Bel  Air  Hotel  that  night  so  she  wouldn't 
be  disturbed  and  could  get  a  good  night's 
sleep  while  the  floral  redecorating  was  going 
on! 

*  *  * 

Fashion  Flipperies:  Peggy  Cummins  has  a 
white  evening  gown  with  a  detachable  taffeta 
bustle  in  the  back  so  when  she  sits  at  pre- 
mieres or  in  night  clubs,  she  can  unsnap  it. 
Off,  it  looks  like  a  big  taffeta  evening  bag 
over  her  arm.  .  .  .  Shirley  Temple  has  a  white 
and  red  sports  dress  with  the  initial  S  on  the 
blouse  and  a  big  "T"  and  "A"  (for  Temple- 
Agar)  on  the  pockets  of  the  skirt.  ...  I  must 
say  these  "two  way"  necklaces  are  catching 
on  in  Hollywood.  Rita  Hayworth  has  a  neck- 
lace made  of  small  diamonds  across  the  front 
and  pearls  across  the  back — or,  she  can  wear 
the  pearls  in  front  and  the  diamonds  in  the 
back.  First  time  I  saw  this  combination  was 
on  Norma  Talmadge — beloved  star  of  the 
silent  screen.  Norma's  was  diamonds  and 
rubies  half  way  'round  and  diamonds  and 
emeralds  for  the  other  half.  It's  a  wonderful 
way  to  have  two  necklaces  in  one — if  you 
can  afford  one!  .  .  .  Alexis  Smith  has  a  hand- 
painted  silk  apron  with  all  the  "vital"  tele- 
phone numbers  printed  on  a  white  back- 
ground— honest,  the  grocers',  the  bakers',  the 
candlestickmakers',  the  Warner  Brothers  studio 
and  her  own  number!  Plenty  cute  and  plenty 
handy.  .  .  .  June  Allyson  has  red  polka  dot 
shoes  in  both  low  heels  for  sports  and  high 

heels  for  dressier  moments. 

*  *  * 

Very  quietly,  Frank  Sinatra  has  put  his  Palm 
Springs  house — his  dream  house — on  the  mar- 
ket and  he  could  break  down  and  cry  his  eyes 
out  about  it.  But  it  has  to  be  done. 

Life  at  the  resort  has  become  unbearable 
for  the  Sinatras  for  the  simple  reason  that 


li 


the  house  is  built  right  up  to  the  sidewalk 
without  a  chance  of  fencing  it  in,  and  sight- 
seers stand  there  day  and  night. 

Even  the  Greyhound  Bus  now  makes  an  offi- 
cial stop  to  point  out,  "This  is  the  home  of 
Frank  Sinatra,"  with  the  barker  making  a  two 
minute  spiel  describing  it! 

Frankie's  nerves  aren't  the  best,  anyway, 
and  this  routine  is  doing  him  in. 

It's  too  bad  because  they  all  love  the  place. 
Done  in  modern  furnishings,  very  soft  in  color 
and  with  an  eye  for  comfort  everywhere,  each 
room  faces  on  the  large  patio  and  swimming 
pool  that  is  the  center  of  festivities. 

Windows,  extending  from  the  ceilings  to  the 
floor,  can  be  pushed  back  so  that  the  inside 
can  be  thrown  into  the  outside  during  the 
fine  hot  days.  Even  the  bad  weather  means 
nothing  because  a  glass  sliding  "roof"  pro- 
tects the  pool  even  on  the  rainiest  days  (as 
though  it  ever  rained  in  Palm  Springs!). 

It's  an  ideal  house  for  somebody — but  not 
for  Frankie  Boy. 

*        *  * 

When  General  "Howling"  Smith  visited 
Betty  Grable  on  the  BurJesque  set,  he  signed 
an  autograph  to  her,  "Now  I  can  REALLY  tell 
it  to  the  Marines." 

When  the  beloved  Babe  Ruth  paid  a  visit, 
he  wrote:  "To  Betty — who  pitches  a  mean 
curve." 

And  the  only  other  autograph  she  has  is 
Harry  James'  "To  Mamma — whom  I  remem- 
ber very  well."  *         *  * 


The  funniest  story  of  the  month  concerns 
five-year-old  Alana  Ladd,  perhaps  the  most 
"movie-wise"  of  the  Hollywood  youngsters  be- 
cause she  is  permitted  to  visit  her  father's  set 
so  often. 

But  for  two  weeks  she  was  in  the  dog  house 
and  banished  from  visiting  and  here's  why: 
She  let  out  a  loud  scream  when  a  capsule 
of  blood  burst  on  Alan's  shoulder  when  he 
was  "shot"  in  The  Great  Gatsby.  The  take 
was  spoiled  and  Sue  told  her,  "Don't  you 
know  that  was  just  red  ink?  Don't  ever  cry 
out — no  matter  what  happens  on  the  set." 

It  was  just  a  couple  of  days  ago  that  Alana 
was  permitted  to  return  to  watch  her  old  man 
make  movies. 

The  little  girl  was  sitting  directly  facing  her 
father  behind  the  camera  lines.  Everything 
was  quiet,  when  suddenly  a  screen  tottered, 
swayed  a  moment  or  two  and  then  crashed 
plank  down  on  Alan's  head. 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  that  thing  was 
wobbling?"  demanded  her  injured  parent, 
nursing  a  konk  on  the  top  of  his  head. 

"I  was  told,"  said  Alana  primly,  "not  to 
open  my  mouth  no  matter  what  happens  on 
your  set!" 

Sonja  Henie  dropped  by  to  see  me  before 
I  took  off  for  foreign  parts,  and  I  continue  to 
be  amazed  at  this  gal.  When  I  first  met  her 
she  was  Little  Miss  Butterball,  herself,  plump, 
blonde  Queen  of  the  Ice  Skates,  but  taking 
out  her  fame  and  success  with  lots  of  dia- 


monds and  a  wardrobe  full  of  pastel  dresses.  | 

But  now — what  a  difference! 

She  looked  like  a  breath  of  Paris,  so  chic 
and  well  groomed  in  black  and  wearing  just 
the  right  amount  of  jewelry.  I  ain't  sayin'  she  j 
hasn't  still  got  plenty  of  rocks,  but  she  doesn't 
put  them  all  on  at  once. 

If  she  weren't  Norwegian,  she  could  be  de-  | 
scribed  as  a  typical  American  success  story  , 
for  she  has  pulled  herself  up  by  her  skate 
straps  into  a  fortune — one  of  the  biggest  in 
the  entertainment  world.  It  is  much  to  her  I 
credit  that  she  has  remained  fresh  and  un-  | 
spoiled  and  enthusiastic. 

She  was  all  steamed  up  about  a  party  she's 
giving  when  she  finishes  Countess  of  Monte 
Cristo  for  Universal-International,  and  you 
would  have  thought  it  was  her  first. 

"Mother  and  I  have  ordered  fish  pudding 
shipped  out  from  New  York  and  Mother  is 
making  her  special  Norwegian  fish  dish,  also."  I 
If  fish  pudding  sounds  awful — don't  you  be- 
lieve it.  I've  tasted  it  at  other  parties  of 
Sonja's  and  it's  wonderful.  She's  really  a 
great  hostess. 

Another  attraction  "shipping  out"  from  New 
York  for  the  party  is  Kjell  Holm,  the  man  in 
Sonja's  life  right  now.  He's  madly  in  love 
with  her  but  whether  she  will  marry  him  or 
anyone  else  is  a  moot  question.  She  hasn't 
been  in  a  marrying  frame  of  mind  since  the 
days  when  she  was  madly  in  love  with  Dan 
Topping.  I  like  little  Sonja — and  wish  her 
happiness. 


12 


ROSALIND  RUSSELL  tells... 


Rosalind  Russell 


WiVfr  touch 

A  FREDERICK  BRISSON  PRODUCTION 


also  starring 


LeoGenn  -  Claire  Trevor 
Sydney  Greenstreet 

"  *  with 

LEON  AMES  •  FRANK  McHUGH  •  WALTER  KINGSFORD  •  DAN  TOBIN 

Direct*!  by  JOHN  GAGE  •  Screenplay  by  LEO  ROSTEN 
An  RKO-Radio  Release 


13 


ft 


movie 
reviews 


KEY  LARGO 

Gangster  pictures  are  few  and  far  between 
nowadays,  but  here  is  a  honey  to  make  up 
for  the  drought.  It  includes  all  the  almost- 
forgotten  gangster  types,  from  the  baby-faced 
guy  with  a  rock  for  a  heart,  to  the  bruiser 
who's  just  a  big  scairdy  cat.  Furthermore, 
it  has  Eddie  Robinson  and  Humphrey  Bogart 
— only  this  time  Bogey's  on  the  right  side  of 
the  law. 

When  Frank  M'Cloud  (Bogart),  a  disillu- 
sioned war  hero  who  thinks  there  is  nothing 
worth  fighting  for  any  more,  arrives  at  the 
Largo  Hotel  to  pay  a  visit  to  his  dead  bud- 
dy's family,  he  finds  strange  things  going 
on.  First  he  is  refused  a  drink  at  the  bar, 
then  he  sees  that  the  lobby  is  swarming  with 
unsavory-looking  people.  It  develops  that  a 
Mr.  Brown  (Eddie  Robinson)  has  rented  the 
place  for  a  week,  and  Mr.  Temple  (Lionel 
Barrymore)  M'Cloud's  dead  buddy's  dad, 
who  owns  the  hotel,  and  Nora  (Lauren 
Bacall),  his  buddy's  widow,  are  virtual 
prisoners. 

The  big  wind  begins  to  blow  on  the  day 
that  Brown  and  his  dreadful  entourage  are 
scheduled  to  leave  the  hotel,  and  they  are 
all  trapped  there  together  through  a  long 
and  terrible  night,  while  the  hurricane  rages. 
During  this  night  many  things  happen,  most 
important  of  which  is  the  discovery  by  the 
local  Deputy  (John  Rodney)  that  Mr-  Brown 
is  none  other  than  Johnny  Rocco,  America's 
most  dangerous  gangster.  There  ensues  con- 
siderable gun-play  and  eventual  murder,  not 
to  mention  a  series  of  impassioned  if  some- 
what repetitious  tongue-lashings. 

How  M'Cloud  and  Nora  have  the  time  or 
strength  to  fall  in  love  against  this  backdrop 
of  terror  it  is  hard  to  say,  but  by  morning 
they're  giving  each  other  The  Look,  and  the 
happy  ending  an  exciting  reel  or  two  later 
doesn't  come  as  a  surprise. 

Eddie  Robinson  is  Johnny  Rocco — he's  that 
convincing.  Bogart,  jaw-muscle  twitching,  is 
excellent.  Bacall  is  a  disappointment — she's 
so  wonderful  to  look  at,  but  somehow  so 
empty.  Barrymore  is  splendid  as  the  doughty 
old  hotel  proprietor.  And  Claire  Trevor  as 
Gaye,  Rocco's  scotch-swilling  gal,  is — for 
our  dough — magnificent.  Key  Largo  is  a 
thriller.  Go  see  it. — War. 


Ex-Army  major  Bogart  arrives  in  Key  Largo  to 
find  hotelkeeper  L.  Barrymore  and  his  soldier- 
son's  widow  ( L.  Bacall)  under  a  deadly  tension. 


Barrymore's  hotel  has  been  taken  over  by  a 
mysterious  Mr.  Brown  ( Edw.  G.  Robinson),  who 
is    really   the    U.S.'s    most    notorious  racketeer. 


Bogart,  disillusioned  hero,  is  indifferent  to 
Robinson — at  first.  In  the  end,  his  values 
restored,  he  destroys  the  new  enemy  of  peace. 


by  jean  kinkead 


Tkere  was 

some  tiling 
about  the  way 
slie  looked,  at  a  man 
that  rand  tells... 


COLUMBIA 
PICTURES 
presents 


.  DOROTHY 

Lamour 


co-starring 


GEORGE 

Montgomery 

with 

Albert  DEKKER  ■  Otto  KRUGER  .  Glenda  FARRELL  .  Greg  McCLURE 

Screenplay  by  Everett  Freeman  •  Additional  Dialogue  by  Karl  Kamb 
Based  upon  the  play  by  Charles  MacArthur  and  Edward  Sheldon,  produced  by  David  Belasco 

Directed  by  LESLIE  FENTON 

A  BENEDICT  BOGEAUS  PRODUCTION 


15 


State  Of  The  Union:  Spencer  Tracy  runs  for  president  with  aid  of  wife  Katharine  Hepburn  and 
campaign  managers  Adolphe  Menjou  and  Van  Johnson.    Smart  comedy  with  food  for  thought. 


STATE  OF  THE  UNION 

This  is  a  thought-provoking  movie  as  well 
as  a  very  funny  one.  It  is,  of  course,  mainly 
about  politics,  and  it  is  a  fine  expose  of  the 
shady  methods  used  in  getting  a  president 
elected. 

Grant  Mathews  (Spencer  Tracy),  a  big- 
wig in  industrial  aviation  and  an  honest 
man,  is  running  for  president.  He  has  some 
noble  ideas,  but  his  compaign  manager 
(Adolphe  Menjou)  makes  him  keep  them 
under  his  hat,  for — while  the  people  would 
love  them,  the  politicians  wouldn't.  And, 
says  Jim,  the  politicians  elect  presidents,  not 
the  people.  Mathews,  incandescent  with  love 
for  humanity,  wants  the  presidency  so  des- 
perately that  he  scraps  his  own  straight-from- 
the-shoulder  talks,  delivers  instead  the 
phony,  multi-syllabic  drivel  the  party  has 
prepared  for  him,  goes  through  all  the  rotten 
channels  necessary  to  assure  himself  of 
delegates.  He  even  plays  ball  with  Thorn- 
dyke  (Angela  Lansbury),  boss  of  a  powerful 
newspaper  syndicate.  Eventually,  Mathews 
blows  his  top,  and  when  he  does — ah,  that 
is  a  scene  to  remember. 

This  is  also  the  story  of  the  state  of  Grant 
and  Mary's  (Katharine  Hepburn)  union,  and 
the  scenes,  now  warm,  now  cold,  between 
Tracy  and  Hepburn  are  so  well  done.  Hep- 
burn, with  her  rare  gift  for  sophisticated 
comedy,  does  right  by  her  crisp  lines,  and 
she  is  superb  in  the  scene  wherein  she 
and  Lulubelle  (Maidel  Turner)  get  suffi- 
ciently spiffed  on  lethal  cocktails  to  really 
speak  their  minds. 

Spencer  Tracy  is  perfect  in  his  role.  Katie, 
as  we've  said,  is  at  her  best.  But  the  film's 
stand-in  is  Van  Johnson,  as  Spike,  the  cam- 
paign manager's  leg-man.  He  has  gained  in 
poise  and  charm,  and  he  shows  here  a 
beautiful  and  hitherto  unsuspected  sense 
of  humor.  This  Sfate  oi  the  Union  is  a  fine 
15     thing.  Don't  miss  it. — M-G-M. 


THE  TIME  OF  YOUR  LIFE 

William  Saroyan's  fine  play  brought  to  the 
screen  is  still  a  play  in  feeling  and  technique. 
Producer  William  Cagney  has  assembled  a 
group  of  talented  people  who  obviously  love 
the  words  they  say,  and  the  result  is  a 
memorable  and  adult  motion  picture. 

Almost  all  of  the  action  takes  place  in  a 
fabulous  bar  on  the  San  Francisco  water- 
front known  as  Nick's  Pacific  Street  Saloon, 
Restaurant  and  Entertainment  Palace.  Strange 
people  wander  into  Nick's,  perhaps  none 
stranger  than  Joe  (Jimmy  Cagney),  the 
champagne-drinking  philosopher,  who  sees 
beauty  and  goodness  in  people  who,  super- 
ficially, are  neither  beautiful  nor  good. 

Joe  has  befriended  Tom  (Wayne  Morris),  a 
big,  dumb,  good-natured  lug  without  a  job, 
with  nothing  in  life  but  a  dog-like  devotion 
for  Joe.  When  Kitty  Duval  (Jeanne  Cagney), 
a  B-girl  who  likes  to  pretend  that  years  ago 
she  was  the  Queen  of  Burlesque,  who  has 
dreamed  the  dream  so  long  that  she  almost 
believes  it,  comes  into  Nick's,  Joe  asks  her  to 
sit  with  him.  Touched  and  bewildered  by  his 
kindness,  his  faith  in  her,  she  confesses  that 
she  is  nobody  really.  A  little  Polish  girl  from 
a  farm  in  the  Middlewest.  Joe  sees  Tom's  eyes 
on  Kitty,  realizes  that  these  two  need  each 
other,  and  decides  to  bring  them  together. 

There  is  the  romance  of  Dudley  (James 
Lydon)  and  Elsie  (Nanette  Parks),  the 
struggle  of  Willie  (Richard  Erdman)  versus 
the  pinball  machine,  the  struggle  of  Police 
Officer  versus  his  conscience.  In  addition, 
there  are  the  tall  tales  spun  by  Kit  Carson 
(James  Barton),  the  wistful,  wonderful  danc- 
ing of  Harry  (Paul  Draper)  who  dances  the 
way  Danny  Kaye  sings — in  a  mad,  sad,  irre- 
sistible way,  the  fine  boogie-woogie  of  Wes- 
ley (Reginald  Beame).  Nick,  brilliantly  played 
by  William  Bendix,  has  quite  a  bar. 

There  are  no  duds  in  this  movie.  Everyone 
involved  should  be  mighty  proud. — U.  A. 


HOMECOMING 

] 

Perhaps  the  main  flaw  in  this  Gable-Tur- 
ner number  is  its  lack  of  timeliness.  The 
story  of  the  war-interrupted  marriage  is  some- 
what old  hat,  and  yet  it  is  too  recent  to  be 
good  nostalgia.  Nevertheless,  if  you  will 
overlook  the  fact  that  this  is  a  twice-told  tale,  j 
if  you'll  turn  back  the  clock  a  bit  mentally, 
you  will  probably  enjoy  it  thoroughly. 

At  the  beginning  of  the  story.  Gable,  as  Dr. 
Ulysses  Johnson,  is  about  to  set  off  for  the 
wars,  immaculate  in  his  major's  uniform,  to  •  i 
the  sound  of  the  huzzas  of  his  family  and 
friends.  There  seems  to  be  just  one  person  in  I 
town  who  doesn't  think  he's  such  a  great  guy, 
and  that's  his  former  college  chum,  Dr.  Sun- 
day. Sunday  has  spent  the  years  since  gradu- 
ation trying  to  improve  living  conditions  in  the 
local  slums,  whereas  Doc  Johnson  has 
cleaned  up  financially  and  is  a  huge  social 
(with  a  very  small  "s")  success. 

At  the  field  hospital  in  Italy,  Johnson's  ship- 
board acquaintance  with  one  of  the  Army 
nurses,  Snapshot  by  name  (that's  our  Lana), 
ripens  slowly  into  love,  and  under  her  guid- 
ance the  doc  sees  what  a  narrow  life  he  and 
his  wife  have  had  together.  Through  his 
letters,  his  wife  senses  the  change  in  her  hus- 
band, guesses  the  truth  about  his  affection 
for  Snapshot.  She  is  a  very  understanding 
dame,  but  she's  a  female  and  she  has  her 
pride.  It  takes  some  persuasion  on  the  part  of 
Sunday  to  make  her  get  in  there  and  fight  for 
her  man. 

You'll  shed  some  tears  before  the  fade-out, 
for  the  ending  of  necessity  (three  being  a 
crowd)  isn't  a  completely  happy  one.  Here  is 
Gable  as  you  like  him — now  rough,  now 
tender — and  better-looking  than  ever.  Turner 
is  warm  and  thoroughly  believable,  looking 
beautiful  in  her  least  glamorous  screen  ward- 
robe to  date,  John  Hodiak  is  adequate  but 
unspectacular  as  Dr.  Sunday,  and  Anne  Bax- 
ter, who  looks  and  sounds  just  a  little  too 
much  like  an  Understanding  Wife,  is  not  at 
her  best. — M-G-M. 


Homecoming:  Clark  Gable,  M.D.,  and  married, 
falls    in    love    with    nurse    L.   Turner    in  Italy. 


MADE  by 

LEO  McCAREY 

who  gave  you 

"THE  BELLS  OF  ST.  MARY'S" 

and 

"GOING  MY  WAY" 


RAINBOW  PRODUCTIONS,  INC.  present 

GARY  COOPER 
ANN  SHERIDAN 

IN 

LEO  McCAREY'S 


RAY  COLUNS  •  EDMUND  LOWE 
JOAN  LORRING  •  CLINTON  SUNDBERG 

PRODUCED  AND  DIRECTED  BY  LEO  McCAREY 

Screenploy  by  KEN  ENGIUND 


R  K  O 
RADIO 


▼ 


your  hair 


in  place  144%  better 

Here's  the  first  real  improvement  in 
bobby  pins!  A  new  patented  shape, 
scientifically  designed  to  hold  better. 
Stronger,  yet  flexible,  easy  to  open. 
Yes,  certified,  unbiased  tests  prove 
that  Supergrip  holds  144%  better! 


HATTER'S  CASTLE 

How  driving  ambition  can  transform  a  man 
into  a  monster  is  vividly  shown  in  the  screen 
adaptation  of  A.  J.  Cronin's  novel,  "Hatter's 
Castle."  James  Brodie  (Robert  Newton)  who 
owns  a  hat  shop  in  the  little  town  of  Levens- 
ford,  Scotland,  has  practically  mortgaged  his 
soul  to  build  himself  a  great,  imposing  house. 
An  arrogant,  ignorant  man,  despised  by  the 
townsfolk,  Brodie  has  always  dreamed  of 
owning  a  castle,  and  part  of  the  dream  is  that 
his  son  Angus  will  add  another  story  to  it, 
and  that  Angus'  children  will  add  still  an- 
other story.  Someday  the  Brodie  castle  will 
tower  above  everything  in  the  town,  and 
everyone  will  know  that  the  Brodies  are 
Somebody. 

That  is  the  dream,  and  to  its  fulfillment  all 
else  is  sacrificed.  Angus  is  given  an  expen- 
sive education,  goaded  constantly  by  his 
father  to  study  hard  in  order  to  win  a 
scholarship.  Mrs.  Brodie,  dying  of  cancer, 
is  denied  proper  medical  care  in  order  to 
save  money  so  that  the  mortgage  payments 
can  be  met.  Brodie's  pretty  daughter,  Mary 
(Deborah  Kerr),  must  account  to  her  father 
for  every  cent  she  spends.  The  entire  family 
lives  in  fear  of  Brodie's  wrath,  and  it  is  this 


overwhelming  fear  of  their  father  that  brings 
about  the  downfall  of  the  daughter  and  the 
destruction  of  the  son. 

This  film  is  pretty  heavy  going.  There  are 
a  few  light  moments  when  young  Dr.  Ren- 
wick  (James  Mason)  and  Mary  exchange 
pleasantries,  but  most  of  it  is  extremely  sordid 
and  depressing,  running  the  gamut  from  se- 
duction to  suicide.  A  good  strong  cast  has 
been  assembled  and  they  do  their  jobs  well, 
but  the  psychopathic  character  of  Brodie  just 
doesn't  make  for  really  palatable  entertain- 
ment.— Par. 

DREAM  GIRL 

This  is  practically  a  one-woman  show. 
Hardly  a  scene  goes  by  without  Betty  Hutton 
in  it,  and  as  the  gal  who  takes  refuge  from 
her  humdrum  existence  in  a  lurid  dream 
world,  she  is  completely  enchanting  and  won- 
derfully funny. 

Betty,  as  frustrated,  dough-heavy  Georgina 
Allerton,  is  just  figuring  that  what  she  really 
needs  is  a  good  psychiatrist,  when  she  dis- 
covers that  a  series  of  verbal  kicks  in  the 
pants  from  literary  critic  Clark  Redman 
(Macdonald  Carey)  achieve  the  same  re- 
sults. After  quite  a  few  reels  of  amusing 
applied  psychology,  Georgina  forsakes  her 


"GAYLA"  MEANS  THE  BEST  IN 
BOBBY  PINS,  HAIR  PINS,  CURLERS 

©  1948,  GAYLORD  PRODUCTS,  INCORPORATED,  CHICAGO  16,  ILL. 
#T  M.  REG.  (J.  S,  PAT. OFF. 


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You  Can't  Come  Between  Roy  and 

Dale!  (Roy  Rogers-Dale  Evans)  □ 
Watch  Your  Step,  Lana!  by 

Hedda  Hopper  □ 

It  Happened  In  A  Night  Club  □ 

In  The  Grand  Manor  ( Claudette 
Colbert)  by  Prince  Michael 

Romanoff   D 

Lazy  Date  (Elizabeth  Taylor)  .  .  .  .  D 

Crossroads  (  Larry  Parks  )  □ 

How  Low  Will  They  Go?  by 

Cobina  Wright  

She  Was  Only  16  (Dan  Dailey)  .    .  □ 


Money  No  Object  (Maureen 

O'Hara)     □ 

"Some  Guests  Are  Special!" 

(Esther  Williams)   □ 

I  Chased  A  Dream,  by  Lon 

McCallister   □ 

Shirley  On  The  Cover  (Shirley 

Temple)  □ 

They  Couldn't  Win  (Susan  Peters)  □ 
"Me  And  The  Queen"  (Barbara 

Stanwyck)    D 

Murder  Boy  (Richard  Widmark)  □ 
Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  □ 


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you  to  get  SIX  of  them.  ALL  AT  ONCE,  to  read 
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Up  from  the  slums  ii, 
search  of  love— then 
down  again! — From 
"Annie  Jordan.  ' 
RACHEL  —  who 
avenged  France  be- 
cause of  one  Ger- 
man kiss  too  many! 
— De  Mau- 
passant. 


TO  GET  ALL  SIX  BOOKS  FREE,  ACCEPT  THIS  OFFER  NOW 


WHY  THIS  IS  "AMERICA'S  BIGGEST  BARGAIN  BOOK  GLOB" 


YOU  never  pay  any  -dues  or  club  fees  as  a 
member  of  the  Book  League.  And  every 
month  you  receive  the  current  Selection,  or  an 
alternate  if  you  prefer,  at  the  Club's  special  low 
price.  You  get  a  popular  best-seller  by  an  out- 
standing author  like  Taylor  Caldwell,  Ben  Ames 
Williams,  John  Steinbeck,  Somerset  Maugham,  or 
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But  (regardless  of  how  much  the  book  may  cost  in 
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four  Bonus  Books  Are  FREE! 

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ITou  Do  NOT  Have  to  Take  Every 
REGULAR  Selection 

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as  a  member  need  NOT  be  the  Club's  regular 
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charge,  the  Club's  "Review,"  which  describes  a 
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you  prefer  one  of  these  to  the  regular  Selection, 
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the  current  best-selling  novel  now  being  distributed 
to  Club  members.  Enjoy  these  seven  fine  books — 
six  FREE,  and  the  seventh  at  the  Club's  bargain 
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When  you  realize  that  you  will  get  popular  best- 
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Book  League  of  America,  Dept.  DMG8, 
Garden  City,  N.  T. 


Mail  WITHOUT  MONEY  to 
BOOK  LEAGUE  OF  AMERICA 
Dept.  DMG8,  Garden  City,  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me— FREE  all  six  or  the  Bonus  Books 
described  on  this  page  (a  $12.00  value)  and  enroll  me 
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year,  starting-  my  subscription  with  the  current  Selec- 
tion. 

The  best-selling  book  1  receive  each  month  as  „ 
member  need  NOT  be  the  Club's  regular  Selection. 
Instead,  if  I  wish,  I  may  choose  anv  one  of  the  other 
popular  best-sellers  described  in  the  Cub's  monthly 
"Review."  I  am  to  pay  only  $1.49  (plus  a  few  cents 
shipping  charges)  for  each  monthly  Selection  or  alter- 
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for  a  year,  earning  the  six  Bonus  Books  which  I  re- 
ceive immediately  at  the  rate  of  one  free  book  for 
every  two  Club  Selections  (or  alternates)   I  purchase. 

I  may  take  advantage  of  these  book  bargains  for  as 
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to  an  additional  Bonus  Book  for  each  two  Selections 
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Please  print  plainly 


Slightly  higher  in  Canada.     Address   105  Bond 
Toronto  2. 


Fels-Naptha  Soap  is  made  and  sold 
in  just  this  one  size  ....  millions 
of  women  agree  that  this  big 
bar  of  mild,  golden  Fels-Naptha 
holds  more  cleaning  energy  than 
any  laundry  soap  on  the  market. 


Dream  Girl:  Betty  Hutton  and  Mac  Carey 
in  gay  tale  of  girl  living  in  world  of  fantasy. 

dream  world  for  the  real  thing,  throws  over 
her  suave  dream  lover  for  a  tweedy  hard- 
boiled  chap  whose  brogans  are  right  on  the 
ground. 

The  story,  adapted  from  Elmer  Rice's  play 
of  the  same  name,  is  good  entertainment 
with  few  flaws.  It  gets  off  to  a  rather  slow 
start,  and  it  does  drag  its  feet  now  and  again. 
However,  for  the  most  part,  it  is  excellent, 
and  a  few  of  the  dream  sequences  are  small 
masterpieces  of  comedy.  The  one  showing 
Georgina  married  to  phantom  beau  Jim  Lucas 
and  living  in  a  log  cabin  out  west  is  de- 
lightfully wacky;  and  the  one  in  which 
Georgina,  who  has  just  been  propositioned 
for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  visualizes  herself 
sinking  lower  and  lower  into  the  mires  of  sin 
until  she  winds  up  a  notorious  wench  in  a 
South  Sea  Island  honky  tonk,  is  uproarious. 

It's  Betty  Hutton's  show,  and  we-  think 
you'll  love  her  New  Look.  Her  hair  is  dark 
and  sleek  and  there's  not  a  trace  of  the 
former  blues  shouter.  Carey,  as  the  literary 
critic  who  wants  to  be  a  sportswriter,  is 
something  refreshingly  different  in  leading 
men.  Virginia  Field  is  decorative  in  a  small 
part.  Patric  Knowles  is  perfect  as  the  dead- 
pan stuffed  shirt,  Jim  Lucas.  And  Peggy 
Wood — as  deft  a  comedienne  as  ever — 
couldn't  be  better  as  Georgie's  harassed 
mom. 

You'll  really  have  fun  at  this  one,  so  don't 
stay  home. — Par. 

ESCAPE 

Essentially,  this  tells  the  story  of  one  man's 
quest  for  perfect  justice,  and  his  eventual 
realization  that — this  side  of  the  gates  of 
Paradise — there  is  no  such  thing.  Here  is 
what  happens. 

Matt  Dennant  (Rex  Harrison),  an  ex-war 
pilot,  is  walking  through  Hyde  Park  one  eve- 
ning minding  his  own  business  when  a  girl 
(Betty  Ann  Davies)  on  a  park  bench  asks 
him  for  a  light.  He  gives  it  to  her,  and  they 
talk  for  a  while.  Then,  as  Matt  takes  his 
leave,  a  plainclothesman  (Michael  Golden) 
approaches  the  girl  and  accuses  her  of  ac- 
costing the  man.  She  swears  it's  not  so,  and 
Dennant  returns  to  take  her  part  in  the 
argument.    When    Dennant    tells    the  plain- 


Escape:  Rex  Harrison  and  Peggy  Cummins  star 
in    drama    of   one    man's   search   for  justice. 


clothesman  to  take  his  hands  off  the  girl  and 
let  her  alone,  the  latter  takes  a  poke  at  him 
and  in  the  ensuing  scuffle — following  a 
glancing  blow  from  Dennant — the  detective 
falls,  striking  his  head  hard  on  the  bench. 
The  girl  flees;  Dennant  stays,  attempting 
to  revive  the  man,  until  the  police  come  and 
pronounce  him  dead. 

-  A  trial  follows,  and  Matt  Dennant  is  found 
guilty  of  manslaughter  and  sentenced  to  three 
years  in  jail.  Behind  the  bars,  his  resentment 
smoulders.  He  knows  that  he  has  been  con- 
victed unjustly,  and  he  determines  to  escape. 
He  does,  in  a  dense  fog  and  is  befriended 
by  Dora  Winton  (Peggy  Cummins)  through 
whose  bedroom  window  he  climbs  in  search 
"of  food.  From  then  on,  the  excitement  mounts, 
close  call  following  close  call,  until  at  last 
Dennant  is  caught.  Not  by  the  bloodhounds 
and  posses  of  angry  men  who  have  hunted 
him  relentlessly  for  days,  but  by  his  own 
conscience.  The  climax  is  in  keeping  with 
Dennant's  obsession  for  justice,  and  the  fade- 
out,  while  hardly  joyous,  is  entirely  satis- 
fying. 

This  film  made  in  England  under  Ameri- 
can direction  (Joseph  Mankiewicz)  and 
production  (William  Perlberg)  is  a  terrifi- 
cally exciting  transcription  of  John  Galswor- 
thy's novel  of  the  same  name.  Harrison  will 
leave  you  breathless.  Peggy  Cummins,  whose 
aplomb  at  finding  a  murderer  in  her  boudoir 
is  a  bit  hard  to  swallow,  is  beautiful,  but  a 
poor  match  for  Harrison.  Escape  is  a  fine 
film,  one  that  will  leave  you  in  a  thinking 
mood. — 20th-Fox 

SO  THIS  IS  NEW  YORK 

Now  and  then  you  see  a  funny  movie  that 
really  comes  off,  and  you  want  to  tell  the 
whole  world  about  it.  Such  a  one  is  So  This 
Is  New  York,  the  most  hilarious  movie  we've 
seen  in  years.  Based  on  Ring  Lardner's 
book,  "The  Big  Town,"  it  has  the  nostalgia 
of  Our  Hearts  Were  Young  and  Gay  and  a 
good  deal  of  the  same  gentle  brand  of 
humor. 

The  story,  set  in  the  early  1920's,  briefly  is 
this:  Ella  Finch  (Virginia  Grey)  and  her 
sister  Kate  (Donna  Drake)  inherit  $30,000 


Richard  Hudnut  Home  Permanent 


Take  Only  One*  Hour  Waving  Time  for  Your  Permanent 


If  you've  ever  put  your  hair  up  in 
curlers... it's  that  easy  to  give  your- 
self the  new,  improved  Richard  hud- 
nut home  permanent.  This  salon- 
type  home  permanent  is  based  on 
the  same  type  of  preparations  used 
in  the  Richard  Hudnut  Fifth  Avenue 
Salon  for  luxurious,  softer,  lovelier 
waves.  With  it,  you  can  set  your  hair 
in  any  style... from  a  sleek  cap  to 
a  halo  of  ringlets.  Ask  to  see  the 

RICHARD  HUDNUT  HOME  PERMANENT 


at  your  favorite  cosmetic  counter- 
today!  Price.  $2.75;  refill  without 
rods.  $1.50  (all  prices  plus  304'  Fed- 
eral Tax) . 

'■'depending  on  texture  and  condition  of 
hair— follow  instructions. 

%.    J  Saves  up  to  one-half 
.'  usual  waving  time. 


One-third  more  waving 
lotion ...  more  penetrating, 
but  gentle  on  hairl 

Longer,  stronger  end-papers 
make  hair  tips  easier  to  handle. 

Double-strength  neutralizer 
anchors  wave  faster,  makes 
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Improved  technique  gives 
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21 


/ 


LITTLE  LULU 


"I'd  rather  watch  KLEENEX*  jump  up!" 


Little  Lulu  says . . .  Only  Kleenex  has  the  Serv-a-Tissue  Box— pull 
just  one  double  tissue— up  pops  another!  Compare  tissues,  com- 
pare boxes— you'll  see  why  Kleenex  is  America's  favorite  tissue. 

C  International  Cellacotton  Producto  Co.  *T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


QUILTED  COMFORT 


"Quilting"  keeps  this  tampon  from  fluffing  up 
to  an  uncomfortable  size  —  which  could  cause 
pressure,  irritation.  Only  Fibs  are  quilted  — 
for  your  comfort! 

"QUILTED"  SAFETY 

This  special  feature  helps  prevent  cotton  par- 
ticles from  clinging  to  delicate  membranes. 
Only  Fibs  are  quilted  —  for  your  safety! 

ROUNDED  ENDS 

You'll  say  "  At  last  —  a  tampon  that's  easy  to 
use .'"  Because  of  all  leading  tampons,  only  Fibs 
have  gently  rounded  ends  to  make  insertion 
comfortable,  easy. 

*T.  M.  Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


50  NEW  BOXES 
CHRISTMAS -EVERYDAY 

CARDS  AND  STATIONERY 


-selling   line.     Many   unusual  assort- 
its.  Christmas  Carol,  Americana,  Etch- 
ing, "Flocked"  Initial  Stationery,  others. 
Profits  to  100<%>.  Bonus.  Special  money- 
saving  offers.  Experience  unrecessary. 
Write  today  for  Christmas  Leader  as- 
sortment on  approval  and  FREE  SAM- 
PLES   5    different   Name  Imprinted 
Christmas  Card  lines.  Personal,  Flo- 
ral  Stationery. 

ELMIRA  GREETING  CARD  CO. 

Dept.  M-41,  Elmira,  New  York 


High  School  Course 

at  Home 


  Many  Finish  in  2  Years 

Go  as  rapidly  as  your  time  and  abilities  permit.  Course 
equivalent  to  resident  school  work — prepares  for  college 
entrance  exams.  Standard  H.S.  texts  supplied.  Diploma. 

Credit  for  H.  S.  sobjects  already  completed.  Single  subjects  if  de- 
sired. High  school  edncation  is  very  important  for  advancement  in 
business  and  industry  and  socially.  Don't  be  handicapped  all  your 
life.  Be  a  High  School  graduate.  Start  your  training  now.  Free 
Bulletin  on  request.  Mo  obligation. 

merican  School,  Dept.   HC14,  Drexel  at  58th,  Chicago  37 


For  Athlete's  Foot 


So  This  Is  New  York:  Radio's  Henry  Morgan  in 
his  movie  bow.  with  Virginia  Grey,  Donna  Drake. 


each  from  their  uncle  Fergus,  and  they  de- 
cide to  blow  it  all  on  a  trip  to  New  York  in 
search  of  a  fitting  husband  for  Kate.  Ella 
already  has  a  mate— unimaginative,  un- 
romantic  Ernie  (Henry  Morgan),  and  Kate 
has  a  beau,  a  butcher  name  of  Willie  (Dave 
Willock),  but  Ella  has  in  mind  something  a 
little  more  sophisticated,  more  cosmopolitan 
for  her  pretty  sister.  So,  with  Ernie  wet- 
blanketing  their  enthusiasm  at  every  turn,  the 
Finches  and  Kate  leave  little  old  South  Bend, 
Ind.,  for  their  fling  in  the  Big  Town. 

Upon  their  arrival,  drunken  sailors  can't 
match  the  two  girls  for  extravagance.  New 
hats,  evening  gowns,  enormous  tips,  an  ex-, 
pensive  apartment— they  shoot  the  works. 
And  while  Kate  goes  blithely  from  swain  to 
swain,  Ernie  becomes  more  and  more  tight- 
lipped.  It  all  ends  happily,  of  course,  the 
only  unfortunate  thing  being  that  it  ever  had 
to  end  at  all. 

To  attempt  to  put  into  words  the  picture's 
elusive  humor  is  hopeless.  It  isn't  so  much 
the  situations  that  will  keep  you  shouting 
with  laughter.  It  is  the  treatment.  Morgan's 
mobile  face,  the  exasperated  husband-and- 
wife  looks  he  and  Virginia  Grey  exchange, 
Rudy  Vallee's  magnificent  earnestness  as  the 
exquisitely  caricatured  Westerner,  Hugh  Her- 
bert's eloquent  hands.  You  can't  imagine  this 
picture  with  any  other  cast,  and  that,  we 
think,  is  the  supreme  compliment.  Stanley 
Kramer  who  produced  it,  and  Richard 
Fleischer  who  directed  it,  have  done  a  good 
job.  Don't  miss  it  no  matter  what,  and  take  all 
your  friends. — U.A. 

SO  EVIL  MY  LOVE 

Here  is  the  frightening  story  of  one  woman's 
moral  disintegration  after  she  has  come  under 
the  spell  of  an  almost  wholly  evil  man.  Ann 
Todd  and  Ray  Milland  are  brilliant  in  the 
starring  roles,  each  of  them  magnificently 
aware  of  the  subtleties  of  his  own  characteri- 
zation. 

Based  on  a  true  story,  the  principals  of 
which  have  been  dead  for  fifty  years.  So  Evii 
My  Love,  tells  the  love  story  of  Olivia  Har- 
wood,    beautiful    and     highly  respectable 


widow  of  a  missionary,  and  her  roomer,  Mark 
Bellis,  ostensibly  a  painter  by  profession, 
actually  a  philandering  thief  with  a  murder 
rap  hanging  over  him. 

In  the  beginning,  Mark  sees  Olivia  only  as 
a  means  to  further  his  evil  ends.  She  loves 
him  as  she  has  loved  no  other  man,  and  for 
love  of  him  she  stoops  first  to  blackmail,  and 
then  runs  the  gamut  of  corruption  coming,  at 
length  to  murder.  When,  at  last,  Mark  knows 
that  he  is  desperately  in  love  with  Olivia,  it 
is  too  late  for  them  ever  to  know  peace  or 
happiness  together,  and  there  is  a  beautiful 
violent  ending — the  only  one  possible  under 
the  circumstances. 

Olivia's  corruption  is  a  hideous  thing  to 
watch,  and  were  the  acting  less  deft,  it  might 
be  a  guite  unbelievable  thing.  In  Ann  Todd's 
hands,  and  with  fiendishly  attractive  Milland 
as  The  Tempter,  it  becomes  completely  be- 
lievable. Here  is  superb  acting  backed  up 
with  fine  support  from  Geraldine  Fitzgerald, 
Olivia's  unsuspecting  friend,  Susan  Courtney; 
Raymond  Huntley  as  Susan's  husband,  Henry 
Courtney;  Moira  Lister  as  Kitty,  a  pert  little 
featherbrain  also  enamoured  of  Mark  Bellis. 
Lewis  Allen's  direction  leaves  nothing  to  be 
desired.  This  one's  a  must. — Par. 

GIVE  MY  REGARDS 
TO  BROADWAY 

This  is  a  folksy  little  business  that  will 
tug  at  the  heartstrings  of  the  old-timers  and 
delight  the  myriad  bobby-soxers  who  are  sent 
by  Dan  Dailey. 

It  tells  the  story  of  an  old  vaudeville 
trouper,  Albert  Norwick  (Charlie  Winnin- 
ger),  who  can't  get  it  through  his  dear  old 
white  head  that  vaudeville  is  colder  than  a 
mackerel.  Although  he  has  been  out  of  show 
business  for  years  and  has  a  good  job  in  the 
Boyd  Appliance  Factory  somewhere  in  New 
Jersey,  in  his  own  mind  he  is  really  just  lay- 
ing off  between  bookings. 

With  his  son,  Bert  (Dan  Dailey)  and 
daughters.  May  (Jane  Nigh)  and  June  (Bar- 
bara Lawrence),  he  practices  song  and  dance 
routines  nightly  in  the  garage,  while  mom 
(Fay  Bainter)  watches  misty-eyed.  When 
vaudeville  comes  back,  pop  assures  them  all, 
Albert  the  Great  and  Family  are  going  to  be 
headliners. 

Wedding  bells  begin  breaking  up  the  act 
when  first  May  and  then  June  step  off  with 
two  highly  unprepossessing  guys  (Herbert 
Anderson  and  Charles  Russell),  and  at  length 
it  is  just  Albert  the  Great  and  Son.  And  then 
— well,  that  you'll  have  to  see  for  yourselves. 
We're  not  going  to  tell  you  everything. 

The  old  songs  make  nice  listening,  and  the 
old  vaudeville  routines  are  fun  to  watch.  Dan 
Dailey,  Fay  Bainter  and  Charlie  Winninger 
are  a  warm,  lovable,  thoroughly  convincing 
family  group,  but  Barbara  Lawrence  and  Jane 
Nigh  are  impostors  due  to  an  unfortunate 
bit  of  miscasting.  Nancy  Guild  is  pretty  and 
wholesome  as  Dan's  girl.  Charlie  Ruggles  is 
okay  as  Toby,  the  booking  agent,  but  that 
loose-jointed,  engaging  Dan  Dailey  walks 
away  with  the  picture. 

If  you  like  to  smile  through  tears,  this  one's 
for  you. — 20th-Fox. 


W  smile  wins  a  campus  beauty  crown— 


The  smile  that  wins 
is  the  Pepsodent  Smile ! 


■ 


Wins  3  to  1 


Evelyn  Neblett,  California  Coed,  captured 
Los  Angeles  City  College's  most  coveted  beauty 
crown  when  she  was  voted  Homecoming  Queen 
last  year.  But  she  had  been  an  acknowledged 
campus  beauty  since  her  freshman  year  .  .  .  the 
year  her  smile  was  introduced  to  her  classmates 
on  their  college  magazine  cover.  Now  the  Los 
Angeles-born  cover  girl  is  a  student  at  the 
University  of  Southern  California.  And  though 
her  smile  is  sparkling  in  a  new  setting,  her 
choice  of  tooth  paste  is  the  same  as  ever  — 
Evelyn's  winning  smile  is  a  Pepsodent  Smile! 
She  says,  "Pepsodent  makes  my  teeth  shine!" 


over  any  other  tooth  paste ! 


Like  Evelyn  Neblett,  people  all  over  America 
prefer  New  Pepsodent  with  Irium  for  brighter 
smiles.  Families  from  coast  to  ooast  recently 
compared  delicious  New  Pepsodent  with  the 
brands  they  were  using  at  home.  By -an  aver- 
age of  3  to  1,  they  said  Pepsodent  tastes 
better,  makes  breath  cleaner  and  teeth 
brighter  than  any  other  tooth  paste  they  tried ! 
For  the  safety  of  your  smile  use  Pepsodent 
twice  a  day  —  see  your  dentist  twice  a  year! 


ANOTHER  FINE 
LEVER  BROIHERS  PRODUCT 


dorothy 
kilgallen 

selects 
"easter 
parade" 


Judy  Garland  and  Fred  Astaire  are  a  couple  of  gay  hoboes  in  this  scene  from 
Irving  Berlin's  Easter  Parade.  Ann   Miller  and   Peter  Lawford  are  in  it,  too. 


■  It  always,  seemed  to  me,  in  moments 
of  extravagant  dreaming,  that  the  per- 
fect screen  musical  would  have  a  score 
by  Irving  Berlin,  songs  by  Judy  Garland, 
dances  by  Fred  Astaire,  lovely  girls, 
witty  lines  and  magnificent  scenery. 

Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  must  have 
been  reading  my  mind.  They  have  pro- 
duced the  perfect  screen  musical. 

It  is  called  Easter  Parade,  and  it  has 
all  my  wished-for  ingredients,  plus  a 
few  others  like  bright  direction,  amusing 
story  and  considerable  comedy. 

Those  who  sighed  when  Fred  Astaire 
hung  up  his  dancing  shoes  and  an- 
nounced his  retirement  from  cinema 
terpsichore  can  stop  sighing,  relax  and 
be  happy.  He  is  back  in  the  groove,  and 
there  is  not  a  sign  of  a  creak  in  the  knee 
or  a  slowdown  in  the  ankle.  He  opens 
Easter  Parade  with  a  jaunty  dance  and 
he  dances  all  the  way  through  it — with 
Judy,  with  Ann  Miller,  and  solo.  He 
does  comedy  dances,  romantic  dances, 
and  one  of  his  famous  drum  dances. 
His  work  has  just  as  much  life  and  grace 
and  humor  in  it  as  it  had  ten  years  ago. 

And  Judy  Garland  makes  him  a  fine 
partner,  with  her  own  lightness  of  foot, 
her  warm  acting  style  and  her  poignant 
brown-eyed  way  with  a  Berlin  ballad. 
She  looks  as  pretty  as  a  china  doll  in  the 
pre-World  War  I  costumes,  and  flashes 
as  much  all-round  talent  as  you  are 
likely  to  see  in  a  movie  musical. 

Peter  Lawford  is  a  shining  member  of 
the  cast,  too;  he  seems  ideally  suited  to 
the  high-collar  and  tin-lizzie  period,  and 
carries  out  his  role  of  suitor,  friend  and 
intermediary  with  considerable  charm. 
He  has  the  pleasant  task  of  introducing 
the  song  "A  Fella  With  An  Umbrella," 
and  he  is  equally  deft  at  playing  straight. 

It's  a  show  business  story,  but  the 
authors — Sidney  Sheldon,  Frances  Good- 
rich and  Albert  Hackett — have  managed 
to  avoid  a  good  many  of  the  backstage 
romance  cliches  and  even  have  come  up 
with  a  number  of  fresh  ideas. 

Robert  Alton's  dances  are  splendid, 
and  in  complete  accord  with  Charles 
Walters'  lively  direction.  The  music — 
and  there  are  miles  of  it — is  Irving  Ber- 
lin at  his  best,  in  mood's  ranging  from 
the  bunny  hug  type  of  melodic  nonsense 
to  the  haunting  love  song,  "It  Only  Hap- 
pens When  I  Dance  With  You." 

The  name  of  the  picture,  as  I  said,  is 
Easter  Parade.  The  quicker  you  see  it 
the  happier  you'll  be. 


Vlodess  . . .  .jfeca^^- 


You  can  say  "yes" 
to  Romance 


Veto  says  "no" 
to  Offending! 


Veto  says  "no" 

—  to  perspiration  worry  and  odor! 

Soft  as  a  caress  .  .  .  exciting  .  .  .  new — Veto  is 
Colgate's  wonderful  cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy, 
always  smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you  lovely  all  day! 
Veto  stops  underarm  odor  instantly  .  .  .  checks  perspiration 
effectively.  And  Veto  lasts  and  lasts — from  bath  to  bath! 
You  feel  confident  .  ,  .  sure  of  exquisite  daintiness. 


Veto  says  "no" 

—  to  harming  skin  and  clothes! 

So  effective  .  .  .  yet  so  gentle — Colgate's  lovely, 
new  cosmetic  deodorant,  Veto,  is  harmless  to  any  normal  skin. 

Harmless,  too,  even  to  your  filmiest,  most  fragile  fabrics. 
For  Veto  alone  contains  Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  ingredient 
to  make  Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant  can  be  like  Veto! 
So  trust  always  to  Veto — if  you  value  your  charm! 


Trust  nUruys  to  Veto 
it  you  value 

your  charm 


r 


YOU 

CANT 

COME 
BETWEEN 

ROY 
AND 
DALE! 


'.  .  .  let  no  man  put  asunder 


Dear  Mr.  Yates: 

Why  has  your  company  ignored  the  wishes  of 
millions  of  Americans  who  love  Roy 
Rogers  and  Dale  Evans? 

And  what  could  have  caused  your 
announcement  that  their  marriage  has  lessened 
their  romantic  appeal  as  a  team,  and  that  therefore 
you  will  no  longer  star  them  in  the 
same  pictures? 

Lessened  their  co-starring  appeal?  Where 
were  you  hiding  when  you  came  to  this 
startling  conclusion?    I  mean  where  did 
you  closet  yourself  to  make  sure 
that  you  wouldn't  be  annoyed  by  what  the  rest 
of  the  country  thinks — which  happens  to  be 
just  the  opposite? 

Do  you  know   what  happened   here  at 
Modern  Screen  when  Roy  and  Dale  wed? 
A  deluge  hit  us — thousands  upon  thousands  of 
letters  which  have  sent  Roy  and  Dale  to 
the  top  of  our  magazine  poll  as  most  popular 
actor  and  actress  in  the  industry.    Neither  of 
them  had  ever  got  anywhere  near  the  top* 
before  their  marriage,  Mr.  Yates.  This 
great  increase  in  appeal  occurred  because  of 
their  marriage! 

People  like  the  idea  of  Roy  and  Dale 
together,  on  the  screen  as  well  as  in  real  lite. 
They  would  be  offended  if  they  had  to  go  to 
separate  pictures  to  see  Dale  and  Roy. 

Don't  be  surprised  that  fans  know  what  they 
want,  Mr.  Yates — and  that  Roy  and  Dale 
are  it.    Fans  know  that  Shirley  Temple  and  John 
Agar  are  married  but  that  didn't  keep  John  Ford 
from  putting  them  together  in  Fort  Apache. 
And  they  know  that  Columbia  is  very  happy  about 
getting  Cornel  Wilde  and  his  wife,  Patricia- 
Knight,  together  in  The  Lovers. 

So  you  can  hardly  blame  the  fans.    In  fact,  you 
puzzle  them  because — on  the  subject  of  casting 
husband  and  wife  in  the  same  picture, 
at  least — you  seem  to  be  headed  one  way,  and 
the  rest  of  Hollywood  the  other ! 

Look,  don't  you  think  it's  time  to 
turn  around? 


27 


by  hedda  hopper 

"They  swilled  your 
champagne,  gorged  on 
your  lobster,  and  turned  your 
happiest  day  into  a 
side-show.  Now,  watch 
out  for  your  so-called 
friends,"  Hedda  warns 
her  girl,  Lana.  "But  most  of 
all,  be  happy,  darling!" 


■  It  was  3:30-p.m.  when  I  arrived  at  Bungalow  Seven  of  the  Beverly 
Hills  Hotel.  My  plane  from  New  York  had  landed  only  minutes  before, 
and,  heartsick,  I'd  rushed  right  out  to.  visit  Lana  Turner  and  her  new 
husband,  Bob  Topping. 

I  was  heartsick  because  a  girl  I  love  and  wish  all  happiness  had 
been  made  to  look  like  a  fool  in  public  print.  I  was  heartsick  because 
she'd  been  married  in  a  tremendous  splash  of  publicity  which  could  only 
hurt  her. 

I  knocked  on  the  door  of  Bungalow  Seven,  and  Bob  Topping  opened 
it.  His  other  arm  was  around  Lana's  waist.  I'd  never  seen  her  look 
more  beautiful. 

I  said  what  came  to  my  lips.  "Congratulations,  you  two — long  life, 
happiness,  love.  But  next  time,  for  God's  sake,  take  Old  Aunt  Hedda's 
advice!" 

"No  next  time,"  said  Lana.   "This  is  for  keeps." 

I'd  read  that  vow  of  hers,  breathed  right  after  the  wedding.  "This 
time  it's  forever." 

I  asked  Bob  a  sudden  pointed  question.  "Why  did  you  marry  Lana?" 
He  came  right  back.  "Because  I  love  her.  She's  beautiful,  she's 
honest.  She's  kind  and  considerate.  She  has  everything  I  hoped  to 
find — and  didn't — in  the  other  girls  I  married." 

"But,"  I  persisted,  "why  didn't  you  have  a  simple,  quiet  wedding?" 

"I  did,  Hedda,"  protested  Lana.  "There  were  only  twelve  people  at 
the  ceremony." 

"But  why  that  big,  lavish,  free-for-all  reception?"  I  fired. 

"Hedda,"  Lana  said,  "I  had  to  have  all  those  people.  I  have  so 
many  friends.   I  couldn't  hurt  them." 

Hurt  them?  They  did  their  best  to  hurt  Lana.  Friends?  They 
didn't  act  that  way. 

Yet  Lana  had  asked  for  it.  In  her  big-hearted,  trusting  way  she'd 
stuck  her  neck  out  a  mile.  She  herself  had  called  up  publisher  Billy 
Wilkerson  and  asked  him  to  hold  the  reception  in  his  swank  Sunset 
Boulevard  mansion. 

"I'd  never  had  a  formal  wedding.  I  wanted  to  have  one,"  she  told 
me  wistfully.    "I  wanted  all  my  friends  to  share  my  happiness." 

Well,  they  did. 

I  could  hardly  believe  it  when  Lana  told  me  she  actually  set  her 
wedding  ceremony  back  from  four  o'clock  to  two — just  because 
photographers  and  newspaper  reporters  screamed  they  couldn't  make 
their  editions  in  time  if  she  didn't!  Imagine — tailoring  her  tenderest 
moment  to  a  printer's  deadline!  She  had  done  everything  possible  to 
please  the  press.  Sixty-three  photographers  flashing  bulbs  around 
attested  to  that.  After  the  rites,  she  posed  forty-five  minutes  for  them 
to  grab  all  the  pictures  they  wanted.  Then  she'd  gone  upstairs,  hoping 
they'd  leave. ,  With  all  those  vintage  champagnes,  and  6-pound  lobsters 
around?   What  happened  was  inevitable. 

Lana  wasn't  upstairs  swooning  when  the  papers  said  she  was.  "I've 
never  swooned  in  my  life,"  she  scoffed. 

While  her  lovely  guests  were  flashing  bulletins  that  Lana  was  swoon- 
ing, she  was  waiting  for  them  to  clear  out,  and  she  was  also  trying 
desperately  to  put  calls  through  to  Bob  Topping's  folks  back  in  Con- 
necticut.   She  never  got  a  call  through. 

The  guests  she  was  so  afraid  to  hurt  were  downstairs  monopolizing 
the  telephones,  putting  in  free  long-distance  calls  to  all  their  relatives 
and  friends  all  over  the  country!  While  Lana  and  Bob  huddled 
upstairs  trying  to  figure  out  an  escape,  the  "friends"  downstairs  were 
tearing  the  joint  to  pieces,  grabbing  souvenirs. 

Billy  Wilkerson,  the  host,  watched  several  of  them  stuff  expensive 
hand-embroidered  napkins  into  their  pockets.  Finally  he  approached 
one  and  asked  pointedly,  "Wouldn't  you  like  a  tablecloth  to  match?" 

The  thanks  that  Lana  Turner  got  for  generosity  was  to  have  her 
guests  rush  right  out  and  crucify  her  in  print.    {Continued  on  page  79) 


I 

I 

"I  won't  be 
needing  any  tomb- 
stone," he  says. 
But  Hollywood's  watch 
ing  Larry  Parks'  foot- 
steps.  One  way,  he  walks 
into  a  bed  of  roses; 
the  other  way  he 
hurtles  off  a  cliff  .  .  . 


Is  Larry  a  single-picture  wonder?  Jolson  Story  made  Parks  one  of  Will  Betty's  career  sour  their  marriage?  Larry  is  thrilled  over 
the  greatest  potential  box-office  draws  in  movie  history,  but  interest  Betty's  success  in  Big  City,  her  debut- film.  But  double-careers 
was  jeopardized  by  follow-up  films.  Will  Gallant  Blade  turn  the  tide?      have  always  been  a  major  trouble-center  to  Hollywood  couples. 


crossroads 


by 

larry 

parks 


30 


i 


■  In  Hollywood,  either  you're  terribly  up  or  terribly 
down.  The  going  gets  a  little  tough  and  the  gossips 
start  working  out  epitaphs  for  your  tombstone.  It 
happened  to  me. 

People  were  figuring  I  was  a  one-picture  hot  shot. 
People  were  figuring  I  was  all  washed  up. 

Well,  I  won't  be  needing  any  tombstone,  brother. 
I'm  not  slipping. 

I've  been  put  into  poor  pictures  and  wrong  roles. 
And  lately  I've  been  fighting  back — suing  in  the  law- 
courts  for  the  right  to  my  own  career. 

Now  I've  got  my  contract  freedom,  I'll  have  a  chance 
at  some  better  parts,  I  hope.  During  the  time  I  was 
suing  Columbia  I  couldn't  talk  about  it.  Now  I  can 
speak  my  mind. 

Sure,  there  are  still  question  marks  in  my  future. 
It's  no  joke  when  an  individual  talks  back  to  one  of 
the  big  movie  companies.  Suspicion  is  that  you  can't 
get  away  with  it,  that  all  companies  stick  together  and 
the  individual  who  dares  battle  one  of  them  may  get 
blacklisted  all  over  town. 

So  though  I'm  legally  free  now  to  work  for  other 
companies,  the  parts  may  be  slow  in  coming.  Still,  I'm 
sure  I'll  get  by. 

Olivia  de  Havilland  fought  a  similar,  one-woman 
battle  against  Warner  Brothers.    She  went  without 


work  for  about  two  years  before  another  studio  would 
use  her.  She  felt  her  victory  was  worth  the  risk  to  her 
career  and  the  loss  of  time  and  money.  The  thought 
of  Olivia  battling  for  her  rights  has  often  bucked  me 
up  during  the  past  year  when  people  started  the  scare 
talk:  "You  can't  sue  Columbia  and  get  away  with  it. 
When  you  sue  Columbia,  you're  suing  all  the  studios 
in  Hollywood." 

You  can  make  a  fight  as  big  as  this  only  once  in  a 
career.  For  me  this  was  the  time. 

Seven  years  ago,  when  I  was  broke  and  desperate, 
a  refugee  from  the  Broadway  stage,  I  got  a  seven-year 
contract  at  Columbia.  I  played  bit  parts,  mostly  guys 
who  got  poked  in  the  jaw  and  fell  offscreen.  Finally 
I  got  a  couple  of  supporting  roles.  Better,  but  not 
great.  The  great  chance  was  the  Jolson  thing.  I  tested. 
I  looked  right  and  I  could  do  the  numbers.  "Great!" 
did  you  say?  All  right,  come  with  me  to  the  interview 
which  settled  my  fate. 

My  boss  says  I  can  have  the  part.  It  will  make  me 
a  star — my  name  in  lights.  Then  he  pulls  out  a  pen 
and  says  that  though  my  contract  has  3^4  years  yet 
to  run,  I'll  have  to  sign  another  seven-year  contract. 
I  think  it  over.  Finally  T  say  I  don't  want  to  stay 
with  Columbia  that  long.  It  hurts,  but  I'm  willing  to 
pass  the  picture.  (Continued  on  page  101) 


Will  he  be  crucified  for  his  personal  ideals?  In  Washington,  when  the  chips  were 
down,  few  movie  stars  had  the  courage  to  stand  by  their  convictions.  Larry 
stuck  to  his  guns,  may  emerge  from  the  crisis  a  bigger,  more-respected  man. 


Can  you  sue  Columbia  and  get  away  with  it?  Larry's 
greatest  fight  has  only  been  half-won.  Litigation 
also  held  up  pay,  chance  to  do  sequel  to  Jolson  Story 


31 


A  This  white  Georgian  structure  (viewed  from  west  side)  has  been  ▼  Stately  Grecian  columns  frame  doorway  of  the  Pressman  drawing- 
Claudette's  home  for  13  years.  Expansive  lawn  is  hidden  away  from  room,  just  off  hall.  Room  is  furnished  with  Queen  Anne  and 
street.  A  circular  driveway- ( not  shown)  leads  to  porticoed  entrance.      Sheraton  pieces,  is  seldom  used,  except  for  formal  entertaining. 


Photos  by  bob  becrmun 


mm 


Rugs  so  deep,  you 

wade  through  them. 

Wood  so  polished, 

it  reflects  your  face.  Mood 

of  gracious  elegance 

— setting  for  Claudette. 

by  prince  michael  romanorT 


n  the 
grand 
manor 


■  People  will  tell  you  movie  stars 
live  simply,  even  as  you  and  I.  Personally, 
I  don't  live  so  simply,  and,  I  hasten 
to  add,  neither  does  Claudette  Colbert. 
Thatched    cottages  notwithstanding, 
Claudette    Colbert's    home    is  a 
palace,  a  glory,  a  Turkish  bath  in  a 
row  of  washtubs.    Her  home  is  a 
showcase  framed  to  show  Claudette.  A 
lovely  setting  for  a  lovely  jewel. 

I  happen  to  be  madly  in  love  with 
the  woman,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  case — or  the  showcase.  Her  house 
is  all  that  everyone  dreams  a  movie  star's 
house  must  be. 

Originally,  she  hired  a  superb  architect, 
and  then  she  went  on  a  trip.  The 
architect  put  up  a  superb  modern  house. 
Claudette  came  back  from  the  trip, 
had  the  house  torn  down,  and  a  Colonial 
one  erected.    Originally,  the  house 
was  going  to  cost  her  $75,000. 
It  cost  her  many  times  that  amount, 
because  she  wouldn't  compromise  with  her 
standards. 

For  instance,  she  wanted  a  circular 
foyer,  with  a  domed  ceiling.  Five 
times  ceilings  were  cast  and  torn  down, 
before  she  okayed  the  sixth.  For  instance, 
she  wanted  her  projection  booth  and  screer 
in  a  separate  playhouse ;  when  she  decided 
it  really  belonged  in  the  main  house 
play  room,  the  play  room  practically  had 
to  be  re-built. 

The  place  is  so  big  it  needs  seven  or 
eight  servants.   I  also  feel  that  it  needs  me. 
This  is  because,  as  I  mentioned  before, 


33 


The  playroom,  where  the  Pressmans  spend  most  of  their  evenings,  is 
centered  around  the  fireplace.  Chinese  figurines  on  mantel  are  sources 
of  indirect  lighting.   Exquisite   glassware   rests   in   niche    (far  right). 


Another  corner  of  the  playroom.  This  chair,  like  all  the  chairs,  is 
"comfortable  and  extra-roomy,"  according  to  Romanoff.  Originally 
decorated  in  taproom  style,  the  room  is  now  modern,  brightly  colored. 


n  the  grand  manor 


I  have  been  in  love  with  Claudette  Colbert  for 
fifteen  years. 

If  my  corpse  should  one  day  be  found  floating 
in  the  Los  Angeles  River,  please  notify  the 
-  police  to  pick  up  Dr.  Joel  Pressman,  for  if  ever 
there  was  a  man  who  had  good  reason  to  do 
me  in,  that  man  is  the  venerable  doctor.  I'm 
sure  he  recognizes  those  gurgling  sounds  I 
direct  toward  his  Claudette  as  the  agonized  love 
calls  of  a  frustrated  swain. 

Gentleman  that  he  is,  however,  the  doctor 
treats  me  with  charm  and  compassion;  he  lets 
me  come  to  his  house,  he  lets  me  chat  with 
Claudette;  and  she  brings  peace  to  my  breast, 
serenity  to  my  mind,  and  a  wonderful  little 
dance  of  laughter  to  my  heart. 

Let  Romanoff  the  poet  describe  an  afternoon 
in  her  home,  and  you  will  perceive,  if  you  are 
capable  of  any  perception,  that  Claudette 
Colbert  is  at  once  a  woman  of  taste,  accom- 
plishment, and  unpretentious  gentility. 

First  of  all,  you  come  up  the  small  circular 
driveway  without  any  queasy  feeling  of  tres- 
passing on  museum  grounds.  You  don't  imagine 
that  somewhere  within  lies  the  tomb  of  Julius 
Caesar  or  his  son  Rudolph  Valentino. 

At  ease,  you  press  the  buzzer.  The  maid 
lets  you  in.  You  observe  at  once  that  the  en- 
trance hall  is  as  gracious  as  the  mistress  of  the 
house.  A  delicate  stairway  encircles  the  front 
hall,  and  as  your  eyes  travel  upward,  they 
catch  sight  of  Claudette.  Rapidly  she  descends 
the  full  sweep  of  the  stairs.  She's  wearing  a 
white  blouse,  red  low-heeled  shoes,  and  gabar- 
dine slacks  of  royal  Romanoff  blue.  She's  much 
.  thinner  and  taller  than  she  appears  on  the  screen. 
v  She  blows  you  a  little  feather  of  a  smile  and 
extends  her  unbejeweled  hand.  You  take  it,  and 
your  heart  beats  in  double  time.  "How  are  you, 
Mike?"  she  asks.  "Any  new  recipes  today?" 
Claudette's  a  fine  cook  with  all  the  intense 
culinary  interests  of  the  French. 

"Never  mind  recipes,"  Romanoff  the  Romeo 
says,  "let  me  drink  you  in  for  a  moment." 

You  stand  back  and  you  note  quickly  that 
Claudette's  brown  eyes  contrast  vividly  with  the 
color  tones  of  the  entrance:  beige  and  rose 
terra  cotta  with  accents  of  cocoa. 

Claudette  then  takes  your  hand  and  guides 
you  through  the  drawing-room.  This  room 
offers  the  same  color  scheme.  The  rug  is  beige, 
the  walls  are  terra-cotta  (Continued  on  page  99) 


34 


A  Most  interesting  feature  of  Claudette's  home  is  the  concealed  pro- 
jection booth.  A  large  still  life  of  red  poppies,  by  architect  Sam  Marx, 
hangs  on  iron  hinge  which  swings  out  of  the  way  when  movies  are  shown. 


V  Colbert  is  one  movie  star  who  doesn't  own  a  swimming  pool.  How- 
ever, there  is  a  pool  house  (below),  set  about  100  feet  back  from  the 
main   house.  Wall   on   which   Claudette  sits  overlooks  tennis  court. 


m 


V*'.  'JrMi 


I 


They  swim,  they 
dance,  they  lie  in  the  sun 
— Liz  Taylor  and  her 
friends.  And  one  day  is 
very  like  another — 
long  and  golden  and  lazy. 


photos  by  bob  beerman 


■  In  the  summer,  the  days  drift  by,  one  more  long  and  golden 
than  another,  and  if  a  girl's  sixteen,  there's  time  to  waste,  there's 
time  to  burn.  If  a  girl's  Elizabeth  Taylor,  there's  time  for  sun, 
and  sea,  and  campfires  on  nights  when  the  smoke  curls  halfway 
to  the  moon. 

There  are  boys,  and  dates,  and  nothing's  serious,  everything's 
fun.  Everything's  like  it  was  the  day  we  took  the  pictures  on 
these  pages;  only  that  day  it  happened  to  be  Roddy  McDowall 
and  Scotty  Beckett  and  Jane  Powell,  instead  of  Ann  Blyth, 
Marshall  Thompson,  or  a  dozen  other  people.  The  people 
change;  the  character  of  the  summer  days  remains  constant.  If 
you've  wanted  a  diary  of  Elizabeth's  lazy  dates  in  pictures,  you've 
got  it  here,  you've  got  it  now  .  .  . 

The  Taylors'  house  is  not  near  the  beach,  it's  on  the  beach. 
It's  at  Malibu,  a  two-story  ocean-front  place.  The  phone  rings, 
the  sand  gets  on  the  rugs,  jalopies  are  parked  three  deep  around 
the  side;  bathing  suits  are  hung  three  deep  around  the  back. 

Elizabeth,  Jane  Powell  and  Scotty  Beckett  had  just  finished 
making  Date  With  Judy  the  day  we  caught  them  and  Roddy 
McDowall  (who's  in  Orson  Welles'  Macbeth)  taking  it  slow  and 
easy  together.  They  danced,  they  burned  frankfurters,  they 
got  wet,  they  got  dry  again,  they  indulged  in  various  beach 
athletics,  they  played  with  Liz's  poodle,  they  huddled  in  warm 
beach  towels,  and  sang  songs. 

It  was  all  beautifully  typical  of  Elizabeth  Taylor's  life  and 
not-so-hard  times.  {Continued  on  page  38) 


Roddy  McDowall  discovers  that  when  you  wash  sand 
away  with  water,  the  result  is  mud!  Scotty  Beckett, 
seized  by  capricious  impulse,  had  thrown  sand  at  Liz. 


36 


At  I  I  a.m.,  the  sun  strikes  Malibu  pretty  strong,  so  one  of  the  males  cools  Liz:  off  with  a  soda-pop  facial.  Liz's  dark  skin   rarely  sunburns. 


Boys  (who  think  glamor  is  out  of  place  on  a  beach)  caught  The  rough  stuff  over,  Roddy  and  Scotty  decide  to  take  charge  of  lunch — hot 
Jane  Powell  striking  typical  bathing  beauty  pose.  Penalty  for  dogs,  soda,  cake.  Liz  relinquishes  this  chore  gladly,  as  the  task  of  sandwich- 
this  crime  is  fast  ride  on  Giant  Swing — with  Janie  as  the  swing.       moking  usually  falls  to  her.  She  estimates  she's  cooked   1,378  hamburgers  so  far. 


37 


IP* 


Rod  and  Scotty  try  to  christen  the  birthday  child.  Champagne  being  unavailable,  they  substitute -salt  water.  Liz  owns  only  3  bathing  suits! 


Her  mother  is  sometimes  amazed.  "Twenty- 
seven  boys  phoned  today,"  she  will  say  to  her 
husband.  "Half  the  population  of  Texas." 

"Just  so  she  gets  in  at  a  decent  hour,"  says  Mr. 
Taylor.  "Her  taste  is  pretty  good." 

And  he's  right.  Anyhow,  there's  safety  in 
numbers ;  when  Elizabeth  is  going  out  with  twenty- 
seven  boys,  she's  much  too  busy  to  fall  in  love. 

Her  brother  Howard  has  his  own  gang  of  pals 
who  swarm  around  the  house  every  afternoon; 
they're  a  normalizing  influence,  too.  What  they 
want  from  Elizabeth  is  not  romance,  but  ham 
sandwiches.  It  seems  to  her  that  she  spends  hours 
making  sandwiches. 

"You  children!"  she  says  haughtily.  "Appetites 
like  razorback  hogs." 

They  swallow  the  flattery  as  they  swallow  the 
sandwiches — casually — and  they  threaten  to  hold 
her  head  under  water,  and  they  go  away. 

They're  gone  five  minutes,  and  the  phone  rings. 
It's  Jerome  Courtland,  or  maybe  an  actor  named 
Dick  Lang,  or  Roddy,  or  Scotty —  "May  I  come 
over?"  whoever  it  is  asks,  and  Elizabeth  says 
"sure,"  and  gets  into  her  white  lastex.  The  bird 
may  be  only  a  chicken  leg,  the  bottle  may  be  pepsi- 
cola,  but  a  lazy  date  is  Liz'  idea  of  heaven. 


"All  my  life,  since 
I  was  a  kid,  it's  been 
going  through  my 
head — this  dream  of  see- 
ing the  world.  Mexico 
came  first,  Mexico  came 
beautifully  .  . 


I  CH 


"My  crazy  friend  Ray'Sperry  kids  himself  into 
thinking  he  has  a  sense  of  direction.  After 
we  left  Monterrey,  he  took  the  wheel,  got  us  lost." 


A  DREAM 


■  When  I  was  ten  years  old,  I  carried  a  cigarette  case. 
It  made  people  laugh,  but  I  was  a  pretty  solemn  kid, 
and  I  didn't  think  it  was  so  funny.  In  the  cigarette 
case  (which  was  a  family  heirloom)  there  were  two 
pieces  of  tracing  paper.  One  had  a  map  of  the  world 
drawn  on  it;  the  other  had  my  credo — To  be  someday  a 
student,  a  star,  a  sailor  and  a  story-teller. 

All  I  wanted  was  to  go  everywhere  and  do  everything 
and  be  famous.  Adults,  noting  my  modest  desires,  were 
known  to  sneer,  "Little  prig,"  on  occasion.  I'm  inclined 
to  agree  with  them,  now  I  look  back.  But  the  fact  is 
I  still  have  a  terrible  hankering  to  see  things  and  learn 
thrngs.    I  confess  it.    I  still  chase  dreams.. 

Which  is  probably  why  I  recently  took  off  for  Mexico 
with  my  best  friend  and  stand-in,  Ray  Sperry.  I  re- 
member it  well.  We  set  off  in  our  convertible,  and 
drove  for  twenty-eight  hours  straight.  That  got  us  to 
Globe,  Arizona,  in  the  middle  of  a  cold,  black  night. 


I  observed  at  this  point  that  the  engine  was  on  fire. 

Sperry  laughed  wisely.  "It's  zero  degrees.  How  can 
the  engine  be  on  fire?" 

We  got  out  and  looked.  That  lovely  little  radiator 
was  boiling  furiously. 

"Needs  water,"  I  said. 

"Son,"  said  Sperry,  "your  intuition  has  not  let  you 
down."  Then  he  handed  me  an  old  asparagus  can.  "Go 
get  water." 

"Listen,"  I  said,  "you  come  too.  How  do  I  know 
where  the  nearest  gas  station  is?" 

"What?"  said  my  dearest  friend.  "And  have  some- 
body steal  the  car  while  we're  both  gone?" 

By  the  time  I  figured  out  that  there  wouldn't  be 
many  car  thieves  roaming  hopefully  through  the  Arizona 
desert  night,  I  was  almost  to  the  gas  station  half  a  mile 
away.  I  didn't  mind  too  much;  only  had  to  make 
fourteen  trips.  {Continued  on  page  88) 


'This  Mexican  tour  was  to  be  a  vacation,  but  once  we  drove  28  hrs.  straight.  Then  we  rested — I  had  to  get  back  alive  for  The  Big  Cat: 


"We  didn't  take  much  luggage — suit-  "In  Mexico  City  we  were  lucky  to  find  an  old  friend  of  "This  is  me  showering  on  the  hotel 
case,  spare  tire,  a  few  maps — we  mine,  Acquanetta,  a  former  Hollywood  actress.  She  and  porch  at  Acapulco.  Place  was  situated 
were  qlad  we  had  a  camera,  though."      her  husband  did  a  great  job,  showed  us  the  sights."      on  a  high  rock  above  the  Pacific." 


41 


Diana  Lynn  (in  Ruthless)  chooses  yards  of  demure  lavender  taffeta  for  Janet  Leigh  {Hills  of  Home)  goes  dancing  (with  husband 
her  favorite  evening  gown.  The  very  revealing  V-shaped  decolletage  is  Stan  Reames)  in  a  white  summer  formal  designed  by  Irene, 
formed  by  crossing   bands  of  same  material,  falling  just  off  shoulders.       Fmbroidered  satin  bodice  has  a  daring  sweetheart  neckline 


Plenty  low,  says  Cobina, 
but  Hollywood  necklines  won't 
ever  be  in  bad  taste.  You 
don't  catch  those  smart  movie 
queens  baring  all! 


by  Cobina  Wright 


42 


■  In  1945,  a  certain  Hollywood  designer  shocked  a  palpi- 
tating world.'  "Within  five  years,"  said  this  mad  genius, 
"women  will  be  wearing  evening  gowns  without  any  brassieres 
at  all." 

"Sheer  evening  gowns?"  cried  interested  males. 

"Sheer  nonsense,"  cried  ladies  of  fashion.  "Bad  taste  and 
vulgarity  will  never  be  stylish." 

The  palpitating  world  settled  back  on  its  base.  All  seemed, 
for  the  moment,  well. 

But  last  year,  Life  Magazine  decided  to  stir  things  up 
again.  The  French  designer,  Christian  Dior,  had  designed  a 
dress  which  covered  a  young  woman's  shoulders,  but  not 
much  else.  It  was  slashed  from  the  neck  to  the  waist,  down 
the  front. 

Life  Magazine  dressed  a  very  beautiful  model  in  this 
creation  (the  model  wore  no  brassiere)  and  sent  her  out  to 
visit  night  clubs.  The  idea  was  to  test  audience  reaction 
among  blase  New  Yorkers.  Blase  New  Yorkers  gasped, 
cheered,  and  generally  carried  on.  There  were  gentlemen  who 
said,  "Umm."  There  were  gentlemen  who  said,  "Ugh."  There 
were  gentlemen  whose  eyes  simply  twinkled. 

But  the  whole  thing  was  just  a  tempest  in  a  teapot.  Half- 
naked  beauties  do  not  stroll  the  streets  of  New  York,  un- 
abashed— or  unbrassiered — today.  And  in  Hollywood,  they 
never  did.  Not  that  our  glamor  girls  don't  like  decolletage. 
This  is  a  city  where  women  know  the  value  of  exploiting 
their  charms,  but  they  like  to  keep  a  little  in  reserve  for  a 
rainy  day. 

Within  the  bounds  of  what  Hollywood  considers  tasteful, 
however,  there's  still  plenty  of  room  for  bosom  art.  I  saw 
Linda  Darnell  at  a  party  the  other  {Continued  on  page  72) 


How 

low 
will 

they 
T  go? 


Easter  Parade  star  Ann  Miller's  black  and  gold  ankle-length  A  soft  trim  of  oyster  grey  lace  lends  a  seductive  touch  to  the 
gown  inspires  a  Spanish  serenade.  There's  a  glittering  square  neckline  of  flowing  gown  worn  by  Angela  Lansbury,  of  Three 
trim'  of  black  jet-  around  the  loose,  circular  neckline,  sleeves.    Musketeers.   Skirt  is  of  heavy  grey  tulle  over  pearl  grey  taffeta. 


(jDaf/bif'd  Jam  dlo/t/ief/ —///lib 
maA  on /if  a  </if/f/.     £Bu/  frfi<lf/e/n/if  it  came 

6ff  <j$6e*fcu/  Pftdttiwrn, 


Dan  does  a  juggling  act  in  Burlesque,  his  newest  musical  with  Dan  III  was  born  Sept.  18,  '47.  Pop  calls  him  The  Hambone,' sings 
Betty  Grable.  Keeps  fingers  nimble  playing  drums  at  home.  him  to  sleep  with  Danny  Boy.  Nicknames  are  popular  in  Dailey 
Here,  he  beats  time  for  friend  Jack  Young  on  the  trombone.     house.  Liz  is  tagged  Stumpy.  She  calls  Dan  "a  glandular  case." 


■  They  met  in  1940;  they  were  married  two  years,  later 
on  Christmas  Day.  Liz  was  a  pre-med  student  at  USC. 
Dan  was  Mister-Show-Business-Itself .  A  mutual  friend 
and  horses  brought  them  together. 

The  mutual  friend  was  Andy  Maclntyre,  who  not  only 
dated  Liz  himself,  but  kept  ramming  this  actor  pal  .of  his 
down  her  throat.  "You'd  like  him,  Liz.  He's  crazy  for 
horses,  too." 

"Some  big  square!"  she  decided.  "Probably  got  near  a 
goat  once — " 

At  the  same  time  Mac  used  to  blow  her  up  to  Dan. 
"Prettiest  blonde  you'd  care  to  lay  eyes  on.  Not  only  that, 
she's  nuts  about  nags." 

Sure,  sure,  Dan  knew  the  type.  Climb  on  a  couple  of 
delivery  hacks,  and  call  themselves  horsewomen.  He  was 
bighearted  though.  "Bring  her  round,  why  don't  you,  next 
time  we  throw  a  party." 


Dan  had  a  house,  a  maid,  a  car,  an  M-G-M  contract  and 
two  horses.  John  Raitt  was  living  with  him.  They  gave 
nice  parties.  As  host,  Dan's  overall  duties  kept  him  from 
concentrating.  He  grinned  hello,  and  asked  Liz  what  could 
he  bring  her.    That  was  all,  there  wasn't  any  more. 

Next  scene  opens  on  a  horse  show,  with  Liz  in  the  grand- 
stand and  Dan  putting  his  chestnut  gelding  through  the 
paces.  His  riding  attracted  her  first.  It  was  something 
special.  So  she  looked  closer.  Hm,  the  fellow  at  the  party. 
After  a  while  he  came  over  and  spoke  to  her  friends,  com- 
pletely ignoring  her.  Well,  with  a  rising  inflection  and 
three  exclamation  points,  who  was  this  big  snob? 

"D'you  know  Liz  Hofert,  Dan?" 

"Howdyado?"  Then  he  looked  closer.  "Oh!  LIZ!"— the 
way  Dennis  Day  says  it  on  the  Benny  program.  And  kept 
right  on  looking,  with  the  smile  in  the  blue  eyes.  "How's 
about  you  and  me  going  for  a  ride?"  (Cont'd  on  page  106) 


Dresses  at  Maureen  O'Hara, 


Inc., 


in  Tarzana,  Calif. 


cost  no  more  than  $30.  Lorna  Murphy  (inside  shop)  is  one  of  Maureen's  two  partners. 


■  Their  husbands  laughed.  Their  husbands  laughed  so 
much  they  got  hiccups  from  it.  Because  what  did  Maureen 
O'Hara,  actress,  or  Sue  Daly,  her  stand-in,  or  Lorna 
Murphy,  their  friend,  know  about  dress  shops? 
As  it  turned  out,  plenty. 

It  all  began  on  the  Sitting  Pretty  set,  when  the  three 
girls  started  discussing  a  few  painful  truths.  "Did  you 
know,"  Sue"  said,  "that  you  can't  buy  a  decent  summer 
dress  in  the  whole  darn  San  Fernando  Valley  for  under 
ninety  thousand  dollars?  Soon  I'll  be  re-cutting  flour 
sacks." 

(Sue,  who's  married  to  a  cameraman — and  who  has, 
incidentally,  three  gorgeous  babies — lives  in  the  Valley, 
in  a  town  called  Tarzana,  so  she'd  had  plenty  of  time  to 
case  the  surrounding  territory.) 

"It  would  be  fun  to  start  a  shop — "  Maureen  began 
dreamily. 

The  other  girls  leaped  on  her  gleefully.  "Why  don't  we?" 
And  that's  how  it  started,  and  that's  when  their  hus- 


band's started  laughing,  and  if  they're  laughing  out  of 
the  other  sides  of  their  mouths  at  this  point,  it's  for  good 
and  sufficient  reasons. 

O'Hara,  Daly  and  Murphy  showed  'em. 

Not  that  Maureen  cared  about  making  a  million  dol- 
lars. Money  really  wasn't  an  object.  She'd  always  thought 
she'd  enjoy  owning  a  little  shop,  getting  to  know  cus- 
tomers, helping  people  decide  what  was  right  for  them. 
Her  mother  has  a  shop,  her  father  had  run  a  shop.  If 
she  didn't  profit  too  much,  she  wouldn't  worry  about  it. 

Lorna  found  the  place,  in  Tarzana.  There  was  a  new 
block  of  shops,  and  one  for  rent. 

They  used  Maureen's  name  on  the  front,  because  after 
all,  they  weren't  fools,  and  what  was  the  harm  in  making 
a  little  capital  out  of  the  fact  that  you  were  a  movie  star, 
anyhow.  If  you  were  a  shrinking  violet,  you  wouldn't  be 
a  movie  star. 

The  sign  over  the  door,  therefore,  says  Maureen  O'Hara, 
in  her  own  hand-writing;  it's  gold  (Continued  on  page  93) 


46 


Money  no  object 


It  was  love,  not  money,  that 
inspired  Maureen  O'Hara,  Inc. 
It's  tiny,  it's  crowded — 
but  at  last  Maureen  has  her 
own  little  shop  .  .  . 


I  I  : 


Chances  are  I  in  3  that  you'll  find  Maureen  there 
in  person  to  wait  on  you,  or  take  your  money  at 
cash  register.  Girls  operate  on  very  small  margin. 


Between  pics  Sitting  Pretty  and  The  Long  Denial, 
Maureen  attended  a  fashion  show  for  buyers  with 
partner   No.   2,   Sue   Daly,  formerly   her  stand-in. 


photos  by  bert  parry 


47 


photos  by  bob  beerman 


"There  are  the  ones 
who  swipe  your  towels," 
Frank  Bogert  says. 
"And    there    are  the 
others,  the  dreams 
walking,  the  Ben  Gages, 
for  instance  .  .  ." 


Careful  Of  Property:  You  can  swing  a  mallet  hard  when  you  play 
croquet,  but  look  out  for  the  lawn  below!  Esther  and  Ben  left 
the  grass  the  way  they  found  it — then  went  on  to  other  activities. 


Never  Forgotten:  Frank  Bogert,  manager  of  Thunderbird, 
serenades  two  of  his  best  guest's.  Ben  and  Esther  blush  at 
extra  attention— they  don't  take  small  favors  for  granted. 


Easy  To  Please:  People  who  don't  bore  each  other  are  a  joy  anywhere.  The  Gages  can  just  loaf  in  the  lounge — and  still  have  a  wonderful  time. 


■  Being  the  manager  of  a  fashionable  dude 
ranch  puts  me  in  a  unique  position.  I 
really  meet  the  people.  All  kinds.  The 
ones  who  swipe  your  towels,  the  ones  who 
get  drunk  and  try  to  wreck  the  joint,  the 
ones  who  turn  up  their  noses  at  the  menu. 
And  the  pleasant  ones  who  simply  want 
some  sun,  and  desert  air,  and  a  little  fun. 
These  are  in  the  majority  of  course.  But 
there  are  a  few  pests  and — way  at  the 
■  other  end  of  the  pole — there  are  a  few  joys 
like  Ben  and  Esther  Williams  Gage.  Both 
of  these  types  are  extreme  cases. 

When  I  see  Ben  and  Esther  coming  up 
the  walk,  I  get  a  lift.  I  love  them.  We 
cater  to  a  lot  of  movie  stars  at  Thunder- 
bird — after  all,  it's  only  75  miles  from 
Hollywood — and  one  of  the  things  I've 
noticed  about  movie  people  is  that  they 


don't  know  how  to  relax.  Esther  and 
Ben  are  different.  Once  out  of  Hollywood, 
Hollywood's  forgotten.  They  bounce; 
they're  like  kids,  they  have  fun. 

I've  watched  them  dance  the  hokey- 
pokey  (it's  kind  of  a  square  dance)  with 
the  kitchen  help,  I've  seen  them  clowning 
around  in  the  pool  ten  minutes  after  they 
checked  in,  I've  had  that  big  lug  of  a  Gage 
trying  to  soft-talk  me  out  of  my  wife 
Janice's  horse  because  his  little  woman  had 
got  a  crush  on  the  animal. 

"But  Frank,"  he  kept  saying.  "It's 
Esther's  birthday." 

My  wife  Janice  went  to  high  school  with 
Ben,  and  she  can  take  care  of  herself,  so  I 
respectfully  asked  to  be  left  out  of  the  dis- 
cussion.  After  all,  it's  not  my  horse. 

At  Thunderbird,  we  don't  specialize  in 


wild  times.  We  serve  good  food — lots  of  it 
— and  there's  a  bar  for  those  who  indulge. 
I'll  never  forget  Esther  standing  at  the 
bar  singing  "The  Lady  From  29  Palms" 
because  29  Palms  had  elected  her  honorary 
mayor. 

I  will  also  never  forget  Ben  making  fun 
of  my  Western  hat,  and  then  trying  it  on. 
He  liked  the  way  he  looked  in  it  so  much 
he  ended  up  buying  about  $300  worth  of 
clothes  from  a  cowboy  tailor! 

There  isn't  anything  I  can  say  about  the 
Gages  that  wouldn't  be  simple  repetition. 
They  have  fun,  they  help  others  to  have 
fun,  they  add  to  a  place.  And  if  they  care  to 
come  over  and  see  me  at  Catalina  Island, 
where  I'm  running  a  resort  called  Toyon 
Bay,  this  summer,  my  arms  are  open  wide ! 
{More  pictures  on  next  page) 


"some  Quests  are  special!" 


! 


Sane  In  The  Saddle:  Horses  don't  shy  away  from  the  Gages,  who  can  handle  them  well.  Here,  they  ride  with  Janice  and  Frank  Bogert. 


Always  In  Tune:  Many  Hollywood  stars  expect  to  be  entertained  Fun  To  Feed:  The  food  at  a  ranch  is  solid  and  tasty — steaks, 
when  they're  on  vacation,  but  Esther  likes  to  play  hostess.  Gerry  salads,  potatoes — you  don't  get  caviar  at  a  buffet  lunch.  Esther 
Dolin  accompanied  her  on  the  piano  when  she  sang  at  this  party.      and  Ben  came  into  the  kitchen  for  this  meal,  piled  their  plates. 


50 


Safe  In  The  Swim:  No  need  to  call  a  lifeguard  when  this  pair  falls  into  the  pool.  Esther,  in  her  new  Cole  bathing  suit,  walks  over  Ben. 


Good  Sports;  Esther  isnt  afraid  to  lose  a  ping-pong  Pretty  As  A  Picture:  It  helps  any  resort  owner  to  have  the  star  of  On 
game.  When  Ben  s  her  partner  she  can  blame  him!  No  An  Island  With  You  as  his  guest.  Since  their  marriage,  Ben's  been  photo- 
matter  what  the  score,  though,  they  both  keep  smiling.      graphing  all  their  vacation  trips.    They  have  a  regular  movie  library  now. 


FIGHTS:  At  the  Mocambo:  Errol  Flynn,  his  wife  Nora,  Sinatra,  Winchell 
and  Leonard  Lyons.  Once,  Mocambo  was  scene  of  Flynn-Jimmie  Fidler  fight. 
Fidler's  wife  reportedly  assisted  her  husband  by  stabbing  Errol  with  fork! 


STAR-MAKING:  When  the  management  of  the  old.  Trocadero  staged  MILLION-DOLLAR  PARTIES:  Kay  Francis  turned  a  whole  night 
"talent  nights,"  new  stars  were  born!  Deanna  Durbin  and  Judy  Garland  club  into  a  circus  for  a  party  in  1928.  Walter  Pidgeon  played  a 
auditioned  together.  M-G-M  scout  signed  Judy,  let  Deanna  slip  by  him.      clown;  Carole  Lombard  swung  from  trapeze  in  an  evening  gown! 


If  Durcmte's  not 
wrecking  the  piano,  some- 
body's socking  Flynn.  In 
Hollywood,  the  floor  show 
isn't  always  on  the  floor! 


ROUGH-HOUSE:  Jimmy  Durante  goes  into  his  "break  up 
the  piano"  routine  when  asked  to  entertain  for  nothing. 
It's  free — but  costs  the  club  the  price  of  a  new  piano! 


■  The  lights  at  the  Trocadero  were  low 
and  glamorous. 

The  room  held  the  spell  of  that  glamor, 
soft  music  poured  from  the  bandstand. 

An  ethereal  vision  in  white  danced  by. 
\  "Isn't  Alice  beautiful  tonight?"  some- 
one said,  and  other  eyes  turned  to  follow 
Alice  Faye  as  she  moved  among  the 
dancers  in  a  lush  white  satin  gown. 

The  music  finished,  and  the  dancers 
took  the  dismissal,  moving  off  the  floor 


by  two's,  back  to  their  tables.  Alice  smiled 
to  her  companion,  and  sat  down. 

Then  a  horrified,  frantic  surprise  swept 
across  her  face.  In  a  vain  attempt  to 
appear  casual,  she  pulled  aside  the  white 
satin  folds  of  her  skirt  and  looked  at  her 
chair. 

There,  squashed  in  gooey,  mushy  final- 
ity between  her  white  satin  splendor  and 
the  green  plush  of  the  chair  was  a  king- 
size  chocolate  eclair! 


Some  drunk  had  had  his  sadistic  joke. 
It  was  the  funniest  thing  I  ever  saw  in  a 
night  club. 

The  Trocadero  has  been  closed,  opened, 
and  had  its  face  lifted  any  number  of 
times  through  the  years.  But  the  Old 
Troc  was  Hollywood's  leading  after-dark 
spot  for  quite  a  spell. 

On  Sunday  nights  the  'Old  Trpc'  held 
'talent  night.'  It  was  a  showcase  for 
newcomers  to    (Continued  on  page  90) 


1 

"»*«/«•*  Your  Step,  LunaF'     rw  *•  § 

modern  screen 


■  Four  months  ago,  Modern  Screen — and  you — had  a 
big  moment.    Shirley  Temple's  baby  was  born.   Our  baby  having 
a  baby,  people  said  to  one  another,  and  there  was 
wonder  in  their  voices,  and  pleasure,  and  a  trace  of  wistfulness, 
because  time  flies,  and  all  babies  grow  up,  and  all 
non-babies  begin  to  feel  old. 

So  Modern  Screen  regretfully  plucks  the  white  hairs 
from  its  head,  and  trots  out  its  family  album,  its  book  of 
treasures,  its  collection  of  Shirley  Temple  covers.    Shirley,  at  seven, 
in  a  little  sailor  collar,  the  famous  dimples  punctuating  the 
cheeks — that  was  the  first  Temple  cover  to  appear  for  the  May, 
1936,  issue.    Shirley  at  nineteen,  with  Linda  Susan  in  her 
arms,  that's  the  current  cover,  for  the  August,  1948,  issue.  And 
in  between  these  two,  all  the  covers  which  tell  their  own  story,  the  story 
of  Shirley  growing  up.   We're  proud  of  our  covers;  we're  proud  of 
our  Shirley — but  we  know  you  don't  want  to  read  about  us; 
you  want  to  read  about  Mrs.  Agar  and  her  baby,  and  that's  all 
right,  too. 

Linda  Susan's  quite  a  baby.    16  weeks,  and  her  eyes  focus.  Maybe 
all  16-weeks  old  babies'  eyes  focus,  but  you  couldn't  prove 
that  by  Shirley.   She's  impressed. 

She  (Shirley)  took  her  (Linda  Susan)  to  the  doctor  the  other 
day,  and  there  was  a  boy  baby  there  ahead  of  the  Agar  girls,  and  he 
must  have  been  eighteen  weeks  old  himself,  by  the  looks  of  him 
(the  boy  baby,  not  the  doctor)  but  the  minute  he  saw  the 
doctor,  he  started  crying. 

"You  see,"  Shirley  whispered  to  Linda  Susan.  "He's 
acting  very  childish." 

When  Linda  Susan's  turn  came,  she  all  but  shook  hands 
with  the  man.    She  grinned,  and  chuckled,  and  flirted  and  rolled 
her  eyes. 

The  doctor  weighed  her — 13  pounds,  "three  ounces — 

54 


Our  baby — with  a 
baby  of  her  own.  We're 
feeling  old,  and 
very  sentimental.  We, 
open  our  treasure 
album  to  12  years  of 
Shirley  Temple  on 
our  covers. 


SHIRLEY  ON  THE  COVER 


ANT  TO  PLAY  WITH  THE  QUINTS,  says  SHIRLEY  TEMPLE 

AT  8,  Shirley,  making  Wee  Willie 
Winkie,  expressed  a  birthday  wish 
to   play  with   the   3-year-old  Quints. 


STILL  8.  Temple  was  listening  rapturously  to 
The  Lone  Ranger,  starring  in  Heidi,  and  greeting 
three  Russian  flyers,  just  arrived  from  North  Pole. 


AT  9,  good  scripts  became  hard  to  find. 
After  Miss  Annie  Rooney  in  '42,  she  retired 
from  films- — and  our  covers — to  attend  school. 


measured  her — 24  inches  long,  and  pre- 
scribed jello  and  soft-boiled  eggs. 

"She'll  be  tall,"  he  said.  "Probably 
tower  over  you." 

"How  can  she  help  it?"  said  Shirley. 
"Her  father's  six  foot  two." 

"That  accounts  for  it,"  said  the  doctor. 
"Undoubtedly." 

Shirley  and  Jack  spend  hours  staring 
into  the  baby's  eyes.  In  the  morning, 
they're  blue  (Jack's  eyes  are  china  blue), 
by  noon,  they're  either  grey  or  greenish, 
and  sometimes  they're  practically  dark 
brown. 

"It  would  be  nice  if  she'd  have  green 
eyes,"  Shirley'll  say.  "They're  different." 

"Too  different,"  Jack  tells  her.  "There 
isn't  a  chance.  My  mother  has  blue  eyes, 
your  father  has  blue  eyes,  and  all  the  rest 
of  our  families  have  eyes  as  brown  as 
maple  syrup." 

"Brown?"  Shirley  says. 

"Brown,"  Jack  says.   It  seems  final. 

"Anyway,"   says    Shirley,    "her  hair 


shows  signs  of  curling — but  definitely!" 

"Hair,"  hoots  her  husband.  "Fuzz!" 

"In  the  back,"  Shirley  says,  "where  it's 
longer." 

Mrs.  Halverson,  the  nurse,  gets  into  the 
act.  "She  has  dimples,"  Mrs.  Halverson 
insists.  So  far  nobody  but  Mrs.  Halver- 
son and  possibly  God  have  been  able  to 
find  them,  but  Mrs.  H.  won't  give  an  inch. 

Linda  Susan's  about  as  good-natured  a 
baby  as  you  could  find;  she's  gentle,  and 
sweet-tempered.  Her  only  serious  breach 
of  taste  is  a  rather  alarming  tendency 
toward  nudism.  Dressed,  she's  content, 
but  naked,  she's  deliriously  happy. 

She's  also  quite  happy  when  she's  pos- 
ing for  pictures.  A  regular  little  camera 
hog.  She  carries  on  as  though  she  had  a 
Screen  Actors  Guild  card.  She  smiles, 
she  poses,  she  puts  one  hand  behind  her 
head.  John  Miehle,  who's  been  photo- 
graphing stars  for  twenty-five  years,  fell 
so  madly  in  love  with  her  he's  ready  to 
leave  his  wife  and  family,  if  she  says  the 


word.  Since  the  home-wrecker  doesn't 
talk  yet,  the  evil  day's  being  put  off. 

Next  week,  Linda  Susan  is  going  to 
have  her  first  date.  Shirley  intends  to 
put  a  lot  of  cushions  down  on  the  rug, 
and  sit  Linda  Susan  at  one  end,  and 
Scotty  (Jack  Temple  and  his  wife  Mir- 
iam's little  boy)  at  the  other  end,  and 
see  how  they  get  along. 

They  ought  to  do  fine,  Shirley  figures. 
After  all,  cousin  Scotty's  a  man,  and 
Linda  Susan  leans  that  way. 

As  so'on  as  she's  able  to  eat  at  a  table, 
Shirley  and  Jack  are  going  to  buy  one 
that's  built  around  a  chair,  none  of  the 
old-fashioned  highchairs.  And  she'll  have 
pets  to  grow  up  with.  No  kittens,  because 
her  parents  don't  like  cats,  but  a  puppy. 
When  she's  four,  they  think.  A  cocker 
spaniel  or  a  dachshund. 

When  she's  six,  she  gets  a  pony. 

Shirley  had  a  pony  when  she  was  six. 
It  was  named  "Spunky,"  which  was  mis- 
leading, because  (Continued  on  page  100) 


56 


AT  14,  with  two  brothers  in  the  service,  AT  15,  star  of  I'll  Be  Seeing  You  looked  AT  16.  Shirley  met  a  young  sergeant 
Shirley  resumed  acting  in  Since  You  Went  forward  to  becoming  16,  which  meant  lipstick,  named  John  Agar.  Before  the  year  was 
Away,    appeared    at    shipyards,    camps.       choosing  her  own  clothes — and  having  lots  of  dates!       out,  they'd  announced  their  engagement. 


iftdern&rten    odern  creen 


feb.  I  IS 

ern  screer 


AT  17.  Shirley  was  our  Valentine — and 
Agar's  bride.  A  thousand  guests,  includ- 
ing Gov.  of  Calif.,  watched  the  ceremony. 


AT  18.  the  bride  of  one  year  was  giving 
Modern  Screen  readers  marital  advice.  "The 
first  year's  the  easiest,"  said  Shirl — and  John  agreed! 


STILL  18.  Shirley  announced  the 
news  that  made  headlines  everywhere: 
the  Temple-Agar  heiress  was  on  the  way! 


57 


>y  co  uldn  't  win 


Susan  and  Dick, 
the  Quines  .  .  .  hiding 
their  secret  hearts, 
knowing  they  didn't  be- 
long together, 
fighting  the  knowledge  . 

BY  IDA  ZEITLIN 


■  Not  long  ago  you  read  a  story  in  Modern  Screen 
about  Susan  and  Dick  Quine — the  house  they  planned  to 
build,  the  children  they  hoped  to  adopt,  the  life  they 
looked  forward  to.  It  was  all  true  then.  Now  you've 
read  that  they're  parting — which  is  also  true — and  you're 
wondering  what  could  have  happened  to  change  the 
picture. 

In  a  way,  it's  been  happening  over  a  period  of  years, 
in  a  way  it  came  suddenly,  as  the  constant  drip  of  water 
can  gnaw  at  a  rope  till  the  final  drop  breaks  it.  Susan's 
recent  trip  to  New  York  was  that  drop  for  the  Quines. 

She  came  back  and  told  Dick  she'd  be  happier  by 
herself.  She'd  said  it  before,  but  always  on  top  of  a 
4th-of-July  type  explosion,  followed  by  "Darling,  I'm 
sorry,  I  love  you,  forget  it."  This  time  she  said  it 
without  losing  her  temper.  This  time  it  was  for  keeps. 

Once  convinced  that  she  really  wanted  out,  Dick 
packed,  took  Thunder  (their  Great  Dane  who  needs 
plenty  of  exercise)  and  went  to  stay  with  Bill  Asher, 
his  friend  and  partner.  He'd  been  spending  most  of  his 
days  there  anyway,  working.  Now  he  spent  his  nights 
there  as  well. 

Knowing  that  the  news  would  create  a  nine-day  wonder, 
and  having  had  enough  drama  to  last  them  a  lifetime, 
they'd  agreed  to  keep  their  own  counsel  for  a  while. 
Dick  was  often  at  Susan's,  and  they  felt  the  secret  was 
safe  until  they  could  break  it  according  to  plan.  It 
looked  as  if  Dick  might  go  to  Chicago  on  business.  While 
he  was  gone,  Susan  would  let  things  seep  out,  maybe 
cushion  the  shock  to  Hollywood's  sensitive  nerves. 

But  somebody  guessed,  and  leaked  the  guess  to  a  radio 
commentator,  who  phoned  Dick.  Dick  refused  to  deny 
today  what  he!d  be  compelled  to  admit  tomorrow.  Susan 


THE  UNSUSPECTING:  Susan  and  Dick  Quine  were 
married  in  Nov.,  1943.  Newlywed  squabbles  were 
frequent,  but  harmless.    Real  tragedy  was  impending. 


OTHERS  CAME  FIRST:  Susan's  hunting  accident  in  '45 
left  her  a  paraplegic.  She  arranged  diversions  for 
similarly-afflicted  war  veterans,  never  spared  herself. 


59 


was  having  herself  a  whirl  that  weekend.  Her  brother  Bob's 
studying  animal  husbandry  at  Cal  Polytechnic,  and  she'd 
gone  up  for  the  rodeo  fiesta.  Frantic  lest  she  get  the  flash 
on  the  air,  Dick  kept  phoning  her  motel  till  at  l&st  he 
reached  her.  Next  morning  she  whisked  back  to  town.  It 
wasn't  fair  that  Dick  should  face  the  music  alone. 

These  two  love  each  other,  they  worry  about  each  other. 
Then  why  have  they  parted?  Because  as  man  and  wife, 
they  made  each  other  miserable.  You  don't  have  to  choose 
up  sides  or  apportion  blame.  Nobody's  to  blame,  unless 
you'd  like  to  call  it  a  fault  that  Susan's  the  way  she  is 
and  Dick^the  way  he  is,  and  their  ways  are  as  the  poles 
apart.  If  this  or  the  other  had  or  hadn't  happened,  maybe 
they'd  have  been  able  to  hit  a  compromise.  More  probably 
not.  Anyway,  that's  all  beside  the  point.  What  happened 
happened,  and  they're  calling  it  a  day. 

When  they  married,  Hollywood  beamed  its  blessing.  A 
couple  of  wholesome  kids  who  belonged  together.  Only  a 
few  people  harbored  any  doubts  that  Dick  was  ,so  right 
for  Susan,  Susan  for  Dick.  Such  doubts  were  dissolved 
in  the  general  rosy  glow,  but  it's  significant  that  the 
skeptics  were  those  who  knew  Dick  and  Susan  best,  to 
whom  their  happiness  mattered  most. 

Susan  has  a  will  of  iron,  to  which  she  owes  the  fact 
that  she's  living  today.  "I  wouldn't  give  two  cents  for  her 
life,"  the  doctors  said  after  her  accident.  Her  closest 
friend  waited  in  the  corridor.  "You  can  go  in  now,"  said 
the  nurse.  "Don't  stay  more  than  a  minute." 

"D'you  think  I'd  better  wait?" 

"There's  no  point  in  waiting.  Next  time  she  may  not 
even  know  you." 

Susan's  dark  eyes  looked  up  at  her  friend.  The  voice 
was  weak,  but  all  the  force  of  her  spirit  lay  behind  it. 
"I  won't  die,"  she  said.  "I'm  going  to  fool  them."  No 
doctors,  no  treatment  could  have  done  it  for  her.  She  did 
it  herself. 

If  there  were  no  such  word  in  the  language  as  inde- 
pendent, you'd  have  to  coin  it  for  Susie.  All  her  life  she's 
been  impatient  of  curbs,  belonged  only  to  herself.  Freedom 
was  her  star.  To  go  where  and  when  she  pleased,  consulting 
nobody's  pleasure  but  her  own.  Highhearted  and  venture- 
some. Not  reckless  exactly,  because  she  knew  her  stuff. 
With  Susan,  everything  was  a  challenge.  She  had  to 
outstrip  every  other  swimmer  on  the  beach,  ride  the 
toughest  horse,  shoot  straighter  than  any  woman  and  most 
men,  drive  the  way  kids  drive  hopped-up  cars,  only  good. 
If  she  saw  you  were  scared  going  40,  she'd  laugh  and  go  50. 
"The  little  vixen,"  her  mother  used  to  sigh.  "I  don't  know 
what  to  do  with  her."  Protest,  and  Susan  would  give  it 
the  brush-off. 

This  same  stubborn  will  made  her  no  cinch  to  live  with. 
Marriage,  as  you've  heard  more  than  once,  means  adjust- 
ment and  adjustment  came  harder  to  Susie  than  to  most. 
With  a  different  man  she  might  have  learned  it — a  man  as 
imperious  as  herself  or  more  so — a  thus-far-and-no-farther 
guy,  who'd  have  known  how  to  put  her  in  her  place 
when  she  got  too  fresh.  Dick's  an  easygoing  fellow, 
tolerant,  patient,  gentle.  To  fight  and  make  issues  goes 
against  the  grain  with  him.  He'd  rather  give  in  for  peace 
than  battle  for  his  way.  Up  to  a  point. 

He's  also  a  demonstrative  person,  full  of  affection.  Susan 
feels  it  inside,  but  can't  show  it.  Make  a  fuss  over  Susie, 
and  you're  in  the  doghouse.    It  (Continued  on  page  95) 


SHE  COULDN'T  CHANGE:  She'd  always  had  an  iron  will  and  a 
quick  temper.  Wheelchair  didn't  stop  Susan's  career,  but  it 
interfered  with  normal  outlets  and  so  her  crankiness  increased. 


HOBBIES  WEREN'T  ENOUGH:  When  the  painting  craze  hit  Holly- 
wood, talented  Susan  went  in  for  sessions  like  these  with  Ginger 
Rogers.   For  a  while  things  smoothed  out,  but  it  wasn't  to  last. 


60 


THEY  CLUNG  TO  WHAT  THEY  KNEW:  Afraid  of  what  was  hap- 
pening, the  Quines  made  plans  to  cement  their  life  together. 
One  common  tie  was  affection  for  their  Great  Dane,  Thunder. 


THEY  TRIED  FOR  TIMOTHY:  They  missed  each  other  when  apart,  but  they 
couldn't  live  under  same  roof.  Both  were  honest  and  intelligent.  They  finally 
agreed  Tim  was  too  young  to  understand  divorce,  young  enough  to.  survive  it. 


hey 

couldn't 


SHE  CHOSE  FREEDOM:-  She  came  to  New  York  (here,  with  her  brother 
Bob  Carnahan)  and  Dick  stayed  home.  She  had  lots  of  fun,  and 
she  felt  free.    Susan  thrives  on  independence.    Soon  she'll  have  it. 


61 


This  is  the 
sentimental 
journal  of 

Barbara  Stanwyck's 
"Uncle"  Buck  .  .  . 
who  helped  make 
Barbara  what 
she  is .  .  .  and 
never  had  cause 
to  regret  it! 


by  Uncle  Buck 


"my  first  picture  of  the  queen.  1908.  She 
was  eleven  months  old  and  her  real  name 
was  Ruby  Stevens.  Brother  Malcolm  was  3."  . 


■  I  call  Barbara  Stanwyck  The 

Queen,  because  that's  what  she  is  to  me.  She 

calls  me  Uncle  Buck.  Not  really  her 

uncle,  I've  been  Uncle  Buck  for  years.  I've 

known  her  since  she  was  knee-high. 

I  live  at  her  house. 

I  used  to  lead  her  by  the  hand 
into  a  delicatessen  on  Broadway  when  she  was 
eleven  years  old,  and  I  was  after  a 
spread  for  the  gang  in  our  show.  "What 
you  want,  kid?" 

"A  turkey  leg." 

It  was  always  the  same — this  funny 
little  gal  who  hung  around  backstage  with 
her  shiny  shoe-button  eyes  and  brown  pigtails. 
She  always  knew  what  "she  wanted. 
"Now,  look,"  I'd  argue.  "This  isn't  Thanks- 
giving. Try  something  else,  why  don't 
you?"  She'd  shake  those  pigtails  stubbornly. 
"Uh-uh.  I  like  turkey  legs.  I  want  a 
turkey  leg."  That's  what  she  got. 

I'd  run  into  her  backstage  at  the  old 
Liberty  Theater,  in  a  hurry,  late  for  my  spot 
in  the  show.  "Hey,  Uncle  Buck — watch!" 
Then  she'd  knock  herself  out  with  a 
tap  routine,  or  some  kind  of  dance — for  me, 
or  anyone  who'd  stop  to  watch. 

"That's  great,  kid.  Gonna  be  a  dancer 
when  you  grow  up?" 

She'd  bob  her  head.  "Yep — a  star.  I'm  going 
right  to  the  top.  No  fooling  around, 
either." 

f  used  to  laugh.  What  a  kid! 


"she'd  murder  me  if  she  knew  I  showed  you  this! 
Barbara  was  on  B'way  in  Burlesque,  (role  got  her 
a  screen  test) .  Gent  is  Hal  Skelly.   Year  is  '27." 


"so  big  was  the  name  of  this  movie.  Barbara  played  Selena  Dejong, 
and  every  time  I  look  at  the  little  old  lady  it  startles  me.  Then 
I  remember  the   queen  was   only  25 — the  rest  was  makeup." 


'41. 


"BARBARA  married  frank  fay  right  after  her  big 
success  in  Burlesque.  The  two  were  on  opposite  ends 
of  the  ladder.  She  was  going  up,  he  was  coming  down." 


"stormy  court  PROCEEDINGS  ended  the  Fay  marriage 
in  1935.  They'd  been  wed  six  years,  and  had  adopted 
a  son,  Dion.  Barbara  won  bitter  battle  for  custody." 


"11  AID  TBS  QUBSN" 


"mother  and  son  go  riding  on  Barbara's  horse 
ranch  in  the  Valley.  Dion  was  6,  lived  with  the 
queen  and  still  does.  Bob  Taylor  was  neighbor." 


My  last  name's  Mack — Buck  Mack,  in  full. 
I  was  half  of  a  song-and-dance  team  then, 
Miller  and  Mack.  And  Barbara  Stanwyck  was 
little  Ruby  Stevens,  the  orphan  kid  sister  of 
a  chorus  girl  I  knew  in  a  show  called  Glorianna, 
back  on  Broadway,  in  1918.  I  was  just  out  of 
the  Navy  after  the  First  World  War  and  trying 
to  get  set  again  in  show  business.  Millie  Stevens 
isn't  here  any  more,  but  she  was  a  swell  girl, 
a  pretty  blonde  doll  herself  and  crazy  about 
her  kid  sister.  I  used  to  mosey  up  to  their 
place  on  off  days  from  the  show.  They  stayed 
at  the  Palace  Hotel;  I  was  five  doors  down 
the  street  at  the  Princeton.  That's  when  I'd  buy 
Ruby  those  turkey  legs  at  the  delicatessen. 
That's  when  I  got  to  be  "Uncle  Buck." 

When  Glorianna  closed,  I  drifted  off  in 
vaudeville,  rattled  all  over  the  country,  and  I 
lost  track  of  Millie  Stevens  and  her  kid  sister. 
Ten  years  went  by. 

Sometimes,  at  the  Friars'  or  somewhere,  I'd 
hear  show  people  talk  about  Barbara  Stanwyck. 
She'd  made  a  big  hit  for  herself  in  The  Noose 
and  Burlesque.  But  I  hadn't  seen  either  one, 
and  I  knew  nothing  about  the  lady. 

One  day  I  strolled  backstage  to  see  an  old 
friend  of  mine  playing  at  the  Palace  Theater. 
At  that  point  I  was  "at  liberty." 

My  friend  was  in  a  skit  with  this  Barbara 
Stanwyck  and  he  took  me  into  her  dressing- 


64 


vtwtcnox 


Tangee's  new  "Pink  Queen"  is  Leap 
Year's  "come  hither"  color— but  definitely ! 
It's  bright.  It's  light.  It's  fashion  right. 
And,  of  course,  like  all  Tangee  super- 
shades,  it  goes  on  easier... stays  on 
longer.  Yes,  that  summer  romance  is 
in  the  cards  with  "Pink  Queen"— 
Tangee's  pink  of  perfection ! 


Seven  Super-Shades 

RED  MAJESTY        MEDIUM  RED 
GAY-RED  THEATRICAL  RED 

RED-RED  NATURAL 
PINK  QUEEN 


THE   WORLD'S  NO.  1  LIPSTICK 


room  to  meet  her.  I  saw  a  smart  looking  young  lady 
with  plenty  of  looks  and  style.  She  said,  "You  don't 
remember  me."  And  I  couldn't  say  that  I  did.  She 
grinned,  and  twisted  one  side  of  her  hair  into  a  pigtail. 
I  still  didn't  get  it.  "Remember  Millie  Stevens?" 
"Sure  I  do." 

"Well,  Uncle  Buck,"  said  this  Stanwyck  dame.  "I'm 
Millie's  kid  sister,  Ruby." 
I  almost  fell  over. 

Next  day  my  phone  rang.  "Why  don't  you  work 
with  us,  Uncle  Buck?  The  act  looks  good  for  your 
routine — how  about  it?"  How  about  the  Palace?  That 
was  vaudeville's  big  league.  Miller  and  Mack  got 
over  there  fast.  I  haven't  been  very  far  from  Barbara 
Stanwyck's  side  since.  So  maybe  I  know  a  thing  or 
two  about  the  little  pigtailed  girl  who  grew  into  a 
great  Hollywood  star.  And  what  I  know  mostly  is  this : 

SheV  still  that  same  kid.  Sure,  if  you  look  for  a 
gray  hair  you  can  find  it,  but  her  heart  beats  the 
same  way  it  did  then — which  is  for  just  about  every- 
body but  herself;  As  we  say  in  show  business,  Stan- 
wyck's strictly  "legitimate."    (Continued  on  page  68) 


'honeymoon!   Usually  I  travel  around  with  the  Taylors,  but  not  this  trip.  Bob  and  Barbara  were  married  May  14,  1939." 


scar  nominee:  Stella  Dallas,  Ball  of  Fire,  Double  Indemnity.    Others  got  the  Oscars,  but  to  me  she  was  always  the  winner." 


"bob  calls  her  stany  or  Doll.  Sometimes  she  tags  him  Farmer 
Joe.  They  look  pretty  nice  together.  By  the  way,  the  queen  s  fin- 
ished Sorry,  Wrong  Number.  And  have  you  seen  B.F.'s  Daughter?" 


67 


NEW!  beauty  cream  shampoo 

leaves  your  hair  more  beautiful 


NEW!  Procter  &  Gamble's  amazing 
Shasta — the  beauty  cream  shampoo. 

NEW!  Fragrant,  satiny  Shasta  cream- 
cleanses  your  hair  .  .  .  beautifies  your 
hair  all  3  ways — as  no  soap — bar  or 
liquid — will !  In  one  Shasta  shampoo, 
your  hair  will  have 

•  that  lustrous  "alive"  look ! 
•  that  sm-o-o-oth-as-satin  look ! 
•  that  soft,  caressable  look ! 

YES,  ALL  3!  Yet  your  hair  has 
"body" — it's  not  limp,  not  dried  out. 


68 


rates  far  higher  in  RKO  Studio  screen  test 
after  a  Shasta  Beauty  Cream  Shampoo! 

Recently  discovered  by  RKO,  Lola 
says  she  proved  "100%  more 
glamorous"  in  pictures  after  her  first 
Shasta  shampoo.  "Before-and-after 
photographs  show  the  difference !" 
beams  Lola.  "My  hair  suddenly 
became  shining,  soft  and  smooth!" 


Shasta  is  safe,  kind  to  hair.  Makes 
mountains  of  lather  even  in  hardest 
water.  Removes  flaky,  unlovely  dan- 
druff, too.  And  doesn't  spill  or  run 
into  eyes. 

Hurry !  For  more  beautiful  hair  all 
three  ways — get  Shasta.  Convenient 
sizes.  All  toiletries  counters. 


I 


That's  tops.  And  I'm  not  talking  about  just 
her  acting  right  now. 

When  I  joined  Barbara's  vaudeville  skit, 
my  wife  and  I  had  a  bulldog  we  were 
nutty  about.  Kept  him  in  our  hotel  room, 
and  fussed  over  him  like  a  baby.  One  day 
he  died.  I  had  dinner  the  next  night  with 
Barbara  and  I  was  telling  her  how  busted 
up  we  were  about  it. 

She  just  listened,  and  I  guessed  maybe 
she  didn't  know  what  it  was  to  love  a  dog 
like  we  did. 

Next  day  the  wife  and  I  were  sitting  in 
the  room,  glooming,  when  came  a  rap  on 
the  door.  It's  Barbara  with  a  puppy  in  her 
arms.  She  set  him  down,  he  trotted  around 
the  room,  sniffed,  and  wet  the  carpet.  We 
laughed  for  the  first  time  in  days. 

Barbara's  a  sharer.  She  doesn't  get  any 
bang  out  of  life  if  she  can't  give  something 
to  somebody. 

Once,  back  in  New  York,  a  woman  with 
a  new  baby  sent  her  a  note.  She  was  hard 
up  and  she  wanted  to  know  if  Barbara 
would  help  her  get  a  baby  carriage.  That 
was  all  she  wanted.  What  she  got  was  the 
carriage  and  everything  that  went  with 
it,  the  whole  layette  of  baby  clothes  and 
equipment.  On  top  of  that,  Barbara  called 
up  a  dairy  and  arranged  for  that  kid  to 
have  an  order  of  milk  every  day  for  a 
year.  She  never  met  the  woman  or  saw 
the  baby.  And  that  was  before  Barbara 
Stanwyck  hit  it  big  in  Hollywood. 

no  brakes  for  barbara  .  .  . 

Barbara  wasn't  in  the  money  when  my 
wife  and  I  left  Broadway,  heading  for 
Hollywood  on  a  bus.  But  the  breaks  Bar- 
bara'd  had  she  wanted  to  share.  She 
walked  down  Fifth  Avenue  one  day  with 
my  wife,  who  happened  to  point  out  a  blue 
serge  suit  in  a  store  window  and  say, 
"Buck's  crazy  about  that  suit."  Before  she 
knew  it,  Barbara  had  hustled  her  inside, 
had  it  wrapped  up,  and  another  one  with 
it  and  sent  over  to  our  place,  so  I'd  have 
some  new  clothes  for  the  road. 

Next  day  I  was  thanking  her.  "Think 
your  wife  would  be  sore  if  I  sent  her  over 
a  dress?",  she  asked.  I  said  of  course  not, 
but  she'd  already  done  enough. 

In  a  couple  of  days  boxes  started  crowd- 
ing us  out  of  our  room.  Not  just  a  dress — 
but  hats,  shoes,  underwear,  a  coat. 

You've  got  to  be  careful  around  the 
Queen.  She'll  walk  down  the  street  in 
Beverly  Hills  or  New  York  and  see  some- 
thing she's  dying  to  have  and  she'll  shake 
her  head.  "Too  expensive."  But  let  a  friend 
happen  the  next  day  to  spot  exactly  what 
Barbara  saw  and  remark,  "Oh,  isn't  that 
the  cutest  thing!" — and  Barbara'll  buy  it 
for  her.  I've  seen  that  happen  fifty  times. 

"Sometimes  she's  just  sitting  reading, 
and  she  spots  a  hard  luck  item  in  the 
paper.  "Here,  Buck — take  care  of  it." 

"Look,"  I'll  argue.  "You  aren't  the  U.  S. 
mint;  you  aren't  Rockefeller.  You'll  go 
broke."  That  makes  her  mad. 

"Take  it  out  of  the  book.  What's  the  book 
for?" 

"The  book"  is  cash  for  household  ex- 
penses. It  takes  an  awful  beating  most  of 
the  time,  because  the  Queen  cares  about 
folks  who  aren't  getting  the  breaks. 

She's  always  cared,  and  I  know.  Because 
many's  the  time  she's  made  things  rosy  for 
me.  I  remember  when  my  act  busted  up  in 
St.  Louis,  Barbara  had  her  contract  to 
make  pictures.  "Well,"  I  thought,  "I'll  go 
back  to  the  big  stem  and  look  around."  I 
didn't  say  anything  to  Barbara,  but  she 
could  read  my  thoughts.  "Uncle  Buck," 
she  said,  "it's  warm  out  in  California  and 
the  living's  easy.  I've  got  a  contract.  You 
can  get  a  job  there  as  easy  as  you  can  back 
on  Broadway.  It's  time  you  slowed  down 
anyway.  Send  for  your  wife  and  then 
come  on  West."  Well,  that's  what  I  did. 

I  hadn't  been  in  town  a  week  before  my 
phone  rang  down  at  the  hotel.  Central 


Casting:  I'd  never  looked  at  a  camera  be- 
fore. I  was  strictly  a  footlights  guy,  used 
to  the  boards.  "Buck  Mack?"  Then:  "Can 
you  be  down  at  the  Ambassador  Hotel 
barber  shop  tomorrow  morning,  six 
o'clock,  business  suit,  topcoat,  soft  hat,  to 
work  in  a  picture?" 

L  was  there.  They  sat  me  in  a  barber 
chair.  I  got  a  haircut,  shave,  manicure, 
shoeshine,  shampoo.  I  could  use  them,  too. 
I  didn't  have  to  do  anything  but  lie  back 
on  my  spine  and  take  it  easy.  They  handed 
me  a  check — fifteen  bucks.  I  walked  out 
at  8:30  smelling  like  a  rose.  What  a 
racket!  Of  course  somebody  had  had  to 
put  in  my  name  for  that  casting.  You  can 
guess  who. 

Barbara  never  forgot  to  work  me  into 
a  picture  whenever  she  could.  But  I 
wouldn't  say  the  silver  screen  was  my 
dish.  I  belonged  to  the  old  vaudeville  days 
and  they  were  deader  than  a  mackerel.  I 
was  just  getting  by. 

When  my  marriage  blew  up,  I  figured 
maybe  I'd  head  back  East  again.  But  Bar- 
bara heard  about  my  trouble,  and  was 
over  to  my  apartment  before  I  could  fold 
my  ties.  She  lived  in  Brentwood.  "There's 
a  guest  house  for  you  to  live  in,"  she  said, 
"and  I  really  need  someone  to  look  after 
things.  How  about  it?"  "I'll  move  out  for  a 
week  or  two,"  I  said.  Off  and  on,  I've  been 
living  at  Barbara's  house  ever  since.  It's 
home  now. 

When  she  moved  out  to  Marwyck,  her 
horse  ranch  in  the  Valley  I  went  along. 

one  girl's  neighbor  .  .  . 

Out  there,  we  had  a  neighbor  about 
three  miles  up  the  road.  Guy  named 
Robert  Taylor,  and  he  was  ranch  and 
horse  happy,  too.  He  used  to  hang  around 
our  place  a  lot — but  not  because  of  the 
horses.  Ho  went  off  to  England  to  make  a 
picture,  Yj/ak  at  Oxford,  and  anyone  who 
wasn't  deaf,  dumb  and  blind  could  tell 
that  when  he  came  back,  the  Queen  was 
going  to  be  Mrs.  Taylor.  She  missed  him 
pretty  bad.  I  got  out  my  suitcase  again  and 
figured  I'd  pack  up  and  get  going  when 
the  wedding  took  place. 

Instead  I  was  best  man. 

"If  I  catch  you  ducking  out  on  me  now," 
said  Barbara,  "I'll — " 

"I'll  bust  you  on  that  Irish  beezer,"  Tay- 
lor said.  What  could  I  do?  Sure,  I  stayed; 
And  proud  to.  I  was  the  only  one  outside 
Barbara  and  Bob  who  knew  they  had  a 
marriage  license  when  they  did.  I  drove 
with  them  one  night  down  to  San  Diego, 
got  a  clerk  out  of  bed  and  watched  them 
sign  up.  Who'd  figure  "Spangler  Brugh 
and  Ruby  Stevens"  were  Bob  Taylor  and 
Barbara  Stanwyck?  Nobody  did  who  saw 
the  vital  statistics  in  the  San  Diego  papers. 
Saturday  we  and  the  Zeppo  Marxes  drove 
down  and  they  told  it  to  the  preacher — 
at  exactly  one  minute  after  twelve  o'clock 
midnight.  That  Saturday  was  May  the  13th 
— and  well;  Barbara's  from  show  busi- 
ness. We  all  agreed  it  was  silly  to  take 
chances.  Only  what  chance  were  they  tak- 
ing? See  that  pair  like  I  do,  you'd  know 
as  a  team  they're  a  solid  act.  No  valen- 
tine patter,  maybe,  but  they  back  each 
other  up  all  the  time. 

Came  the  war,  Bob  wanted  to  fly  off 
and  fight.  I  won't  forget  the  day  he  came 
racing  home  with  the  news.  "Meet  Lieu- 
tenant, Junior  Grade,  Robert  Taylor,  Doll," 
he  yelled. 

"You  know  what  you  are,  Taylor,"  she 
yelled  back,  looking  at  him  with  her  eyes 
bright.  "You're  just  the  luckiest  so-and- 
so  in  the  U.S.A.!"  only  she  didn't  say  so- 
and-so.  I  got  to  admit  that  when  the  Queen 
'  cusses  she  cusses  like  a  man. 

There  wasn't  any  girl  prouder  of  her 
guy  than  Barbara,  either.  She  knew  the 
other  rookies  were  laying  for  him  to  give 
him  the  works  because  he  was  a  good- 
(Continued  on  page  86) 


cool  Velvet  Blend 


arnation 


CHOCOLATE 
UME  SWIRL 


35;°bi3e0chocokteco°^s 

1  ?c5e7Sbu»«.-elced 

socage  JIme  eeJafin  a 
V2  cup  hot  water  eSSm 
'A  C"P  Jemon  juice 


And  we  repeat       „„tL  ■ 

'••notA'»gto  cook! 


'4  CUP  sugar 

4  dropsof^^'cs0;zdg 


Butt-  a  '0'  spring  form  H  at°PS  °< «™«  food  'cZZ 

JM  «W  S  suTVt8ehtin  ^"ertt  hot  °f  Pan>  -v,ng 

the  crumbs   iL    *  *  Jemon        and  foS   C°nt'nue  ^Pping 

spoon.  Then  „  ake  sw,ri  on  ton  K,     a/00d  coloring.  p0ll  „  s 

'bout  4  hoi.?         remaini"S  crumbs  «   "  a  W  "C :  ZT' 

for  the    V  r°kleS  ^  be        F°f  ^ 
"taste-lifted"  vhhr      B,end  Boc*"  of  mi,u  ■  . 
°ept  R  8  n       Carnati°n  Milk  to  cl        "ch  fea>« 

^  tune  i„°hCOrmOWOC'         "t^T  C°m^ 
lune  In  the  Carnation  "rv  Ar>ge/es  36  Calif 

day  evening.  Contented  Hour"  every'  Mon 


^^^^ 


"Prom  Contented  Cows' 


■iPORATEDV 

n  ilk 

..    ....... i.  n  IN' 


MIL,  I 


murder 
boy 

His  wife  thinks 

he's  sweet  and  gentle. 

And  maybe  he  is. 

But  Widmark  on  the  screen — 

that's  another  story, 

that's  a  killer! 

By  CARL  SCHROEDER 


The  gentler  side  of  Dick's  nature  shows  up  at  home.    Two-year-old  daughter  Ann  likes  to  lounge  on  him  while  he  tells  stories. 


■  The  face  was  young,  old,  boyishly  good-looking  and 
savage,  all  at  once.  When  the  smile  came,  it  was  almost 
all  leer.  Audiences  stared,  a  little  horrified  and  a  great 
deal  fascinated. 

"Big  man!"  Richard  Widmark  exclaimed,  showing 
too  many  teeth.  "Big  man!"  he  repeated,  his  eyes 
glittering  down  at  Vic  Mature.  Then,  in  that  strange 
transformation  that  takes  place  in  a  really  fine  motion 
picture,  these  were  not  two  actors  in  a  film  called 
Kiss  of  Death.  Momentarily,  they  were  Tommy  Udo; 
the  crazy  killer,  a  psychopath  with  a  gruesome  sense 
of  gangland  ethics,  and  Nick  Bianco,  the  tough  guy 
who  turned  squealer  because  of  his  love  for  two 
children. 

Audiences  shuddered  a  little. 

And  it  was  the  same  on  the  sets  of  Kiss  of  Death, 
filmed  against  genuine  backgrounds  in  New  York. 

"The  guy  actually  made  me  mad — burned  me  to 
a  crisp,"  Vic  Mature  said,  speaking  of  the  climactic 
scene  in  the  Italian  restaurant  where  he  and  Wid- 
mark had  their  final  showdown.  "We'd  been  over  the 


dialogue  a  dozen  times  in  rehearsal,  but  in  the  take, 
Dick  changed  from  a  quiet,  friendly  guy  right  in  front 
of  my  eyes.  He  was  Udo.  He  was  crazy.  He  hated 
my  guts,  and  for  about  three  minutes  I  really  hated 
his.  I  wanted  to  stand  up  and  bust  him  right  in  the 
mouth, "but  I  wasn't  sure  I  could  do  it." 

(The  funny  thing  is  that  Widmark's  really  a  gentle 
fellow — his  only  experience  in  crime  has  been  acting 
in  an  occasional  "Inner  Sanctum"  radio  show  in  his 
youth.  For  the  most  part,  he  played  clean-living 
American  boys,  however.  In  his  last  stage  appear- 
ance, Dunnigan's  Daughter,  he  was  the  straight  male 
lead.) 

Anyhow,  the  power  of  that  Kiss  of  Death  scene 
may  have  been  the  cause  of  a  rumor  that  there  was 
a  feud  on  between  Widmark  and  Mature. 

"Things  like  that  frighten  me  a  little  about  Holly- 
wood," Dick  admitted.  "The  amazing  thing  is  that 
between  the  time  I  left  New  York  and  got  to  Holly- 
wood, Vic  had  been  all  around  blowing  trumpets  in 
my  favor.    Then,  one  day,  (Continued  on  page  103) 


Designed  for  Sun-tanned  Skin 
and  Summer  Fashions 

CO  £  A  I  ¥  k 


Meant  for  each  other— your  sun-radiant  skin  an^pDr 

Coral  Fan  lips  and  fingertips.  Color  so  dramatic  .  . 
so  stirring ...  so  lustrous— you'll  love  its  difference 
—  its  daring.  Neither  lady  pink,  nor  burning  red 
but— sun-kissed  coral!  Created  by  Chen  Yu, 
originators  of  Color  Excitement  in 
nail  lacquers  and  lipsticks! 


Coral  Fan  Box  1.60  •  Cora!  Fan  Lacquer  .60 

Coral  Fan  Lipstick  1.00  •  All  prices  plus  fax 

COPYRIGHT   1948  CHEN  YU,  INC.  •   COSTUME  BY  TINA  LESER 


HOW  LOW  WILL  THEY  GO? 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


evening,  and  she  was  wearing  a  tulle  num- 
ber she  could  never  have  got  away  with  in 
Forever  Amber. 

I  also  remember  the  furore  Paulette 
Goddard  used  to  cause  on  occasion  (she 
was  one  of  the  first  champions  of  the  low 
neckline).  Current  devotees  are  Marie 
McDonald,  Maria  Montez  and  Marilyn 
Maxwell,  and  even  the  younger  set,  kids 
like  Diana  Lynn  and  Jean  Peters  have 
gone  all  out  for  strapless  jobs. 

It  all  started  with  the  war's  end,  and  the 
first  post-war  designers'  shows  in  Paris. 
Apparently,  French  designers  were  recall- 
ing the  Edwardian  era,  where  "the  more 
they  put  on  the  bottom,  the  more  they  took 
off  the  top."  In  this  country,  as  soon  as 
material  restrictions  were  ended,  designers 
followed  the  Paris  lead. 

Dresses  which  are  cut  down  to  there  are 
no  more  expensive  than  any  other  kind  of 
dresses,  because  the  price  of  a  garment  is 
based  almost  entirely  on  the  intricacy  of 
the  workmanship.  If  famous  names  de- 
sign low-cut  gowns  and  have  them  made 
of  expensive  materials,  it's  going  to  cost 
you  money.  If  famous  names  design  high- 
cut  gowns,  and  have  them  made  up  in  ex- 
pensive materials,  it's  going  to  cost  you 
just  as  much. 

As  for  who  should  wear  these  bare  fash- 
ions, it's  a  matter  of  common  sense.  If 
you  have  nice  arms,  shoulders,  and  curves, 
help  yourself.  If  you  haven't,  don't.  Inci- 
dentally, falsies  aren't  of  too  much  value  to 
the  young  and  inexperienced.  In  Holly- 
wood, the  studios  can  hire  engineers  to 
take  care  of  the  problem;  the  problem's 
apt  to  slip  away  from  anyone  else.. 

Already,  the  news  from  New  York  is  ' 
that  the  trend  has  changed  again,  that,' 
dresses  are  on  their  way  up;  that  the  new 
look  will  be  a  covered  one.  But  Holly- 
wood's never  so  extreme  as  New  York  or 
Paris,  and  Hollywood's  pleased  with  its 
present  sex-appeal-ing  styles,  and  such 
women  as  Joan  Crawford,  Gene  Tierney, 
Merle  Oberon  and  Marguerite  Chapman 
vow  that  for  evening,  low-cut  gowns  are 
IT. 

Harper's  Bazaar  to  the  contrary,  Vogue 
Magazine  notwithstanding,  and  the  heck 
with  you  city  slickers.  If  you  want  to  see 
a  pretty  shoulder,  Hollywood's  your  beat. 


Ann  Blyth— 

Universal  star  currently  displaying  her 
talents  underwater  as  the  damp  but 
very  glamorous  half  of  Mr.  Peabody 
and  the  Mermaid. 

Ann  scans  the  menu  at  New  York's 
sky-cooled  Penthouse  Club,  high  above 
Central  Park,  in  one  of  those  summer- 
into-fall  dresses  you  always  crave  at 
this  time  of  year.  It's  dark,  which  is  a 
nice  change  when  you've  been  living 
in  paste+s;  yet  it's  cool,  because  the 
weather  is  still  hot.  The  dress  is  of 
faille  crepe,  with  a  low  scoop  neckline, 
little  bows  on  the  sleeves,  and  a  gold- 
touched  belt. 

Ann  models  it  in  plum,  with  blue 
four-leaf  clover  pins  accenting  the 
notched  collar,  and  butternut  cart- 
wheel, gloves  and  linen  shoes  for 
contrast. 

You  can  choose  it  in  plum,  green, 
royal  blue,  or  fuchsia.  Sizes  10-18.  By 
Town  and  Country  Club. 

Hat  by  Rowland  Hughes.  Shoes  by 
Capezio.  Pins  by  Coro.  For  where  to 
buy  see  page  85. 


■  above.  News:  double-breasted  front  and 
curved  pockets.  In  Zelan-treated  cotton  gabar- 
dine. Tan,  grey,  green,  amber,  aqua.  10-20. 
By  Weatherbee— $14.95.    Stores  on  page  85. 

■  opposite.  News:  the  fabric.  It's  cotton  suede 
that  looks  and  feels  so  much  like  real  suede  that 
you'd  swear  this  coat  must  be  very  expensive. 
(It  isn't.)  The  back  has  a  medium  flare;  the  hood 
is  detachable.  Russet,  rose,  aqua,  beige,  grey, 
blue.  Pell  Mell's  sueded  cotton.  Sizes  10-18. 
By  Sherbrooke — $17.95.    Stores  on  page  85. 

■  right.  News:  separate  helmet  hood  extends 
way  down  inside  collar.  Helmet  has  ties  which 
go  through  slits  in  coat,  tie  under  chin.  Belt 
buttons  on  in  two  pieces,  so  coat  can  be  belted 
front,  back,  or  all  around.  Grey,  maize,  aqua, 
navy,  natural,  or  dark  green.  Sizes  10-18. 
By  Storm  Play— $14.98.    Stores  on  page  85. 


■  Know  how  a  dark  day  can  sometimes  get  you 
down?  It  can  have  just  the  opposite  effect  when 
it  gives  you  an  excuse  to  wear  a  cute  raincoat. 
You  get  so  you  practically  pray  for  rain — solely 
for  a  chance  to  look  colorful  and  magazine 
cover-ish. 

We  think  these  three  raincoats  are  glamorous 
enough  to  make  any  girl  cloud-happy.  They  all 
have  hoods,  full  backs,  and  wonderful  colors.  On 
top  of  that  each  one  has  its  own  fashion  news. 
Incidentally,  they  keep  you  dry  too.  We  know, 
because  we  photographed  them  at  the  Plaza  in  a 
teeming  downpour.    So  bring  on  your  weather! 

As  for  etceteras — try  a  crook-handled  plaid 
umbrella  (opposite  page) — or  one  with  a  bamboo 
handle  (at  left).  Umbrellas  and  boots  from 
Oppenheim  Collins. 

CONNIE  BARTEL 
fashion  editor 


a  modern  screen  fashion 

4f  A  M.       ^  ' 


75 


Recipe  for 


raising  your  spirits  on  a  wilting  summer 
day — cool  bath,  fragrant  powder,  glamorous  hostess  coat.  See  how  sweet  and  pampered  it  makes  you  feel. 
The  next  time  you  feel  like  relaxing,  do  it  prettily  in  one  of  these  exciting  hostess  coats.  We've  especially 
chosen  one  in  Junior  sizes,  one  in  Misses  sizes  and  one  in  Half  sizes — so  there's  bound  to  be  one  to  fit  you. 
Below,-  in  misses  sizes,  a  poppy  sprinkled  rayon  crepe  with  a  magnificent  sweep  of  skirt,  a  surplice  neckline  and 
a  bright  sash  to  cinch  in  your  waist.  In  black,  copen  blue  or  white  ground,  with  bright  flowers.  Sizes  12-20. 
By  Textron — $12.95.  For  where  to  buy  see  page  85. 


a  modern  screen  fashion 


■  Left — in  Junior  sizes,  a  rayon  crepe  printed  with  sprays  of  wheat  .and  amusing  little  figures.  The  saucy 
double  peplum  shows  off  your  small  waist,  the  skirt  swishes  when  you  walk.  Your  choice  of  melting  shades 
of  aqua,  lime,  pink.   Comes  in  junior  sizes  9-15.   By  Textron — $14.95.  For  where  to  buy  see  page  85. 

■  Right — for  you  who  wear  half  sizes,  smooth  rayon  crepe  scattered  with  vivid  carnations.  The  shawl  collar 
edged  with  pleating  couldn't  be  more  flattering,  and  the  skirt  is  romantically  wide.  Smoky  blue,  rose  red  or 
navy.  Sizes  16^-24%.  By  Textron- — $14.95.  For  where  to  buy  see  page  85. 


■  You  cute  girls  who  collect  the  stars'  photos  always  collect  the  cutest  clothes 
too.  Especially  for  you — a  darling  chambray  dress  with  lots  of  stuff!  First — 
a  tucked  bosom  edged  with  rick-rack.  Then  a  tricky  pocket  that  buttons  down 
over  the  belt.  Plus  a  full  swing  skirt!  Smooth  with  Mackey's  double  strapped 
flats.  In  pre-teen  sizes  10  to  14,.  In  Bates  chambray.  Grey,  pink,  blue. 
By  Jack  Borgenicht — about  $8.95.  Stores  on  page  85. 


WATCH  YOUR  STEP,  LANA 

(Continued  from  page  29) 


That  puzzled  her.  Why,  I  don't  know. 
It's  happened  so  often. 

"What  can  I  do?"  she  asked  me.  "When 
I  try  to  please  people,  they  knock  my  ears 
in.  If  I  don't,  they  do  it  again.  How  can 
I  win?" 

"You  can't,"  I  told  her,  "until  you  learn 
not  to  let  people  use  you!" 

I  know  Lana  treasures  her  career.  The 
idea  of  her  retiring,  just  because  she's 
married  a  millionaire,  is  absurd.  She 
wouldn't  knowingly  have  jeopardized  her 
career — or,  for  that  matter,  have  hurt  any- 
one else.  But  she  should  have  anticipated 
the  indignant  rumbles  which  would  come 
from  churchgoers  who  resented  a  minister 
solemnizing  a  ballyhooed  marriage  three 
days  after  the  groom's  divorce. 

Lana  said  she  was  terribly  sorry  about 
the  hot  water  Doctor  Stewart  MacLennan 
found  himself  in  for  marrying  her  to  Bob 
Topping.  "He's  such  a  nice  man,  so  sweet 
and  kind." 

I'm  sure  she  didn't  realize,  either,  that 
she'd  embarrass  Billy  Wilkerson,  who  dis- 
covered her  years  ago,  by  turning  his 
house  into  a  press  picnic.  Or  that  asking 
Dr.  William  Branch,  her  confidant  and 
friend  since  she  was  sixteen,  to  stand  up 
with  her  would  place  him  in  an  uncom- 
fortable light  in  the  medical  world.  (When 
he  saw  what  was  going  on,  he  had  a  quick 
emergency  call.    He  had  to.) 

Well — I've  said  before  that  Lana  Turner 
seemed  born  for  trouble.  Whatever  the 
reason,  everyone  uses  that  girl,  everyone 
takes  advantage  of  her. 

let's  look  at  the  record  .  .  . 

Look  at  her  first  two  husbands.  One 
longed  for  a  big-time  Hollywood  career 
and  married  Lana  as  a  stepping  stone.  He 
tried  to  walk  all  over  her,  ridiculed  and 
derided  her,  brought  her  bitter  unhappi- 
ness,  then  left  her. 

The  other  was  a  still  more  brash  and 
tragic  self-promoter:  He,  too,  wanted  to  be 
a  movie  actor.  He  fast-talked  Lana  into 
marrying  him — without  even  bothering  to 
see  that  his  divorce  was  final! 

Even  Tyrone  Power,  who  is  ordinarily 
one  of  my  favorite  guys  in  Hollywood, 
disappointed  me  in  the  way  he  treated 
Lana  when  he  found  a  new  love.  Ty 
flew  off  on  his  African  air  tour  with  fond 
goodbyes  to  Lana.  She  gave  him  a  gor- 
geous farewell  party  in  the  Champagne 
Room,  with  trees  of  orchids  flown  from 
Honolulu  and  everything  to  make  it  gala 
— and  expensive.  It  must  have  cost  her 
around  $10,000  to  say  goodbye  to  Ty.  They 
had  romantic  plans  to  meet  later  in  Casa- 
blanca, under  the  soft  Mediterranean 
moon. 

So  off  Ty  flew — and  met  Linda  Chris- 
tian in  Rome.  He  didn't  bother  to  tell 
Lana  all  the  time  he  was  wooing  Linda 
that  he'd  found  a  new  love.  She  got  just 
a  brief  cable  calling  off  Casablanca.  And 
when  Ty  came  home  he  wouldn't  even 
talk  to  her! 

That  hurt  Lana,  and  I  don't  understand 
it,  fond  as  I  am  of  Ty. 

Lana  needs  someone  to  look  after  her, 
and  if  Bob  Topping  means  what  he  says 
about  his  being  that  someone,  it'll  be  the 
first  time  a  man  ever  did  anything  for 
Lana. 

I  don't  mean  things  like  the  $25,000 
marquise  diamond  Bob  slipped  on  her  fin- 
ger. I  don't  mean  costly  gestures  or  gifts. 
From  a  millionaire  that  isn't  what  counts. 

It  doesn't  make  sense,  I  know,  to  pic- 
ture Bob  Topping,  as  much  as  he's  been 
around,  and  Lana,  as  long  as  she's  been 
(Continued  on  page  81) 


ORDER  BY  MAIL  FROM 

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I  HEDY  OF  HOLLYWOOD 


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your  figure. 
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HEDY  OF  HOLLYWOOD 


Dept.  1507,  6253  Hollywood  Blvd., 
Hollywood  28,  Calif. 


4.  Plunging  neck-  '   6253  Hollywood  Blvd.,  Hollywood  28,  Calif. 

line,  designed  to  ■  f^^f^rrr^L'^^^tk^^ia.o. 


BUST  SIZE:  32,  33,  34,  35,  36 
(Draw  circle  around  butt  size) 
COLORS:  Tea-rote  □  White  □  Black  □ 
(Mark  lit  and  2nd  color  choice) 

NAME  

ADDRESS  

CITY  


I    ZONE  STATE, 


79 


a  modern  screen  fashion 


4 


If  there's  any  fashion 
that  a  girl  simply  can't  go 
wrong  with — it's  the  smooth 
black  suit.  It's  always 
smart.  It's  always  ready. 
It's  as  simple  Or  as  dressed 
up  as  you  make  it.  It's 
a  girl's  best  friend — 
anywhere,  any  hour,  any 
season.    The  crisp  black 
faille  shown  lunching  at  New 
York's  glamorous  Penthouse 
Club  is  a  black  pearl  among 
suits.  Those  smart  little 
godets  perk  out  in  back 
to  give  the  peplum  exactly 
the  right  degree  of  flare. 
The  bracelet  length 
sleeves  are  made  for  your 
prettiest  gloves — the  buttons 
lend  a  touch  of  gold.  Made 
sophisticated  with  Coro's 
scatter  pins  and  a  large 
straw  hat — it's  the  smartest  and 
most  head-turning  costume  you 
can  wear.  Sizes  10  to  18. 
By  Tommie  Austin  .  .  .$14.95. 
Stores  on  page  85 
Hat  by  Rowland-Hughes 


80 


(Continued  from  page  79) 
a  sensational  star,  as  babes  in  the  woods, 
but  oddly  enough,  that's  how  they  struck 
me  the  day  I  saw  them.  There  they  were, 
holed  up  in  a  hotel  bungalow,  not  daring 
to  budge  out  after  their  foolishly  ornate 
Hollywood  wedding  had  tumbled  down  on 
their  heads.  The  papers  had  even  boosted 
Lana's  trousseau  to  $65,000! 

"Now  how,"  puzzled  Bob,  "could  any- 
one spend  that  much  on  clothes — unless 
she  wore  all  furs  or  something?" 

Lana  sighed.  "How  wonderful  those 
five  days  on  the  boat  will  be — with  no- 
body to  ask  us  anything!" 

But  a  public  star  can't  lead  a  secluded 
life,  and  Lana  knows  that.  She's  going 
to  help  Bob  open  his  midget  auto  racing 
venture  in  England  and  she  promised  me, 
too,  she'd  take  some  time  off  and  visit 
our  occupation  troops  in  Germany,-  who've 
been  forgotten  too  much  by  our  stars 
who  visit  abroad. 

I  know  Lana  wants  a  baby  brother  or 
sister  for  her  daughter,  Cheryl,  by  this 
marriage.  She  said  so.  I  hope  with  all 
my  heart  she's  blessed  that  way,  and 
soon.  Certainly  for  the  first  time  in  her 
life  she's  fallen  for  a  man  who  is  neither 
an  actor  nor  staging  an  act.  Bob  Top- 
ping doesn't  want  to  get  into  pictures  and 
he  isn't  prospecting  a  Hollywood  gold  mine 
for  money  or  publicity. 

I  looked  at  Lana.  She  seemed  happy, 
contented  and  more  sure  of  herself. 

I  came  over  to  that  honeymoon  cot- 
tage bubbling  with  indignant  advice  to 
give  Lana.  I  wanted  to  tell  her—  Oh,  for 
Heaven's  sake — to  choose  her  friends  bet- 
ter, to  watch  for  connivers  and  promoters 
and  phonies,  to  be  more  discreet  in  all  her 
actions  if  she  treasures  her  career. 

I  came  in  like 'a  lion.  And  I  left  like — 
well,  not  quite  like  a  lamb.  I  did  manage 
to  be  Old  Aunt  Hedda  a  time  or  two.  I 
did  say,  "Lana,  you've  just  got  to  grow  up. 
You've  got  to  learn  to  take  care  of  your- 
self, and  make  a  go  of  this  marriage,  be- 
cause you've  got  your  first  real  chance  with 
a  man  you  can  love.  And  remember — 
above  all — you've  got  to  watch  your  step." 
After  which  stern  admonition,  I  broke 
down  and  kissed  her.  "Darling,  be  hap- 
py," I  said.  I  never  meant  anything  more. 


LANA'S  MARRIAGE  FORECAST 

By  RITA  DEL  MAR,  Editor  Horoscope  Magazine 

•  It  has  been  reported  that  Lana  Turner, 
upon  embarking  on  her  fourth  marriage, 
remarked  "This  time  it's  for  keeps"  al- 
though according  to  ancient  stellar  lore, 
a  map  cast  for  the  time  and  place  of  the 
wedding  indicates  that  "it  ain't  neces- 
sarily so!"  However,  both  Bob  and  Lana 
will  be  happy  for  a  time  because  Venus, 
is  favorably  attuned  to  Mars  in  the  heart 
sign,  Leo. 

According  to  news  reports,  the  cere- 
mony commenced  at  2:12  P.M.  on  April 
26,  1948,  in  Hollywood,  California.  The 
accompanying  chart  is  cast  for  twelve 
minutes  later,  inasmuch  as,  for  astro- 
logical purposes,  we  allow  twelve  min- 
utes to  elapse  until  the  mutual  exchange 
of  the  promise,  "I  do."  This  marks  the 
advent  of  the  marriage  tie. 

The  fact  that  Venus  is  in  close  proxim- 
ity to  the  high-tensioned  Uranus  will 
cause  the  fires  of  love  to  burn  brightly 
for  awhile  and  conditions  to  appear  ideal. 
The  moon's  opposition  to  this  combina- 
tion challenges  the  continuity  of  this 
state  of  affairs.  In  approximately  five 
months  from  the  wedding  date,  the  first 
crucial  test  of  this  romance  will  occur. 
Whatever  the  outcome  of  this  crisis,  the 
Toppings  are  a  fine,  handsome  couple, 
and  this  astrologer's  good  wishes  go  with 
them. 


"YOU  LOOK  LOVELIER  - 
NATURALLY" 


Beautiful,  shapely,  youthful- 
just  the  way  nature  intended— 
that's  the  picture  of  you 
wearing  a  Naturflex  girdle 
and  bra.  Your  figure  is  molded 
into  lovelier  lines  than  you 
would  have  dreamed  possible- 
yet  so  naturally— so  artfully 
—this  perfection  seems 
your  very  own! 

Styled  for  the  discriminating. 
Priced  for  the  budget-minded. 


Bros  from  69c  to  $1.19  (AA,  A,  B  A  C  cups; 
"    Girdles  from  $1.00  to  $1.98 

At  thain  and  variety  stores. 


PRODUCTS  •  53  West  23rd  St.,  N.Y.  10,  N.Y. 


ORDER  BY 
MAIL  FROM 
HOLLYWOOD! 


The  most  flattering,  glamorous  TWO- 
PIECE  peasant  costume  you've  ever 
seen  I  Blouse  is  fine  WHITE  eyelet- 
j§gj *  embroidered  batiste,  trimmed  with  rib- 
sftjy  bon  that  matches  the  skirt.  (You'll  love 
the  low  neck  and  puff  sleeves!)  Skirt  is 
rich  rayon,  ever  so  full,  with  wide  band  of 
ribbon-trimmed  eyelet  at  the  hem.  EVERY 
woman  can  wear  this  Hollywood  style) 
Black,  Red,  Green,  Powder  Blue,  White 
Regular  sizes  10  to  18  — Junior  sizes  9  to  17 

2   WAYS   TO  ORDER 

1.  Send  payment  with  order;  we  pay  postage 
—  you  save  postage  and  COD.  lee. 

2.  We  mail  CO.  P..  il  you  prefer.  

serry  co-ev  of  Hollywood 

Dept.  259  ,  6402  Hollywood  Blvd. 
Hollywood  28,  California 


clip  and  mail  today!  RUSH  0RDERGRAM 


Betty  Co -Ed  of  Hollywood,  Dept.  25? 
6402  Hollywood  Boulevard 
Hollywood  28,  California 
Please  send  "Beau-Bait"  Dress  at  $10.98 
I  enclose  payment  □  Mail  C  O.  D.  □ 
Sizes:  10  12  14  16  18  (Circle  your  sizel 

Junior  sizes:  9  11  13  IS  17 
Colors:  Black  □  Red  □  Green  □  Blue  □ 
White  □       (Mark  1st  and  2nd  color  choice) 


Ttie*NEW LOOK" length! 


FASHIONABLE  THE  YEAR  AROUND! 
MONEY    BACK  GUARANTEE! 


Name  

Address. 


Crty_ 


_State_ 


LETTER  FROM  THE  FASHION  EDITOR 


endearing 


young 


charms 


For  these  reasonably  priced  shoes, 
write  for  the  name  of  your  dealer 
PETERS  SHOE    COMPANY,  SAINT  LOUIS 


Dear  You: 

Here's  our  great  big  thank  you  for  the  tons 
(well,  almost)  of  coupons  you  sent  us 
telling  what  price  fashions  you  wish  we'd  feature. 

The  mail  flooded  in  from  the  instant 
the  June  issue  hit  the  newsstands,  and  we  are  still 
getting  new  batches  daily. 

You  should  have  seen  the  Fashion  Office!  Every  morning 
at  the  crack  of  dawn  (almost)  we  haunted  the  mail 
room  before  the  mail  had  been  sorted.   When  the  sorters 
had  finally  come  within  snatching  distance  of 
our  hot  little  hands,  we  grabbed  our  letters,  tore  back  to  the  office, 
ripped  open  the  envelopes — and  feverishly  read 
what  you  had  to  say  about  fashion  prices.  Each  and  every 
figure  you  named  has  been  carefully  studied  and 
listed,  and  from  now  on  we  are  going  to  show  you  suits, 
dresses,  sweaters,  skirts  and  blouses  at  the 
prices  you  yourself  have  asked  for. 

We  are  very  grateful  for  your  wonderful  response — and 
we  only  wish  that  we  had  had  enough  of  the  little  gold 
wishbone  pins  to  send  to  each  one  of  you. 

As  you  remember,  we  offered  to  send  a.  gold  wishbone  pin 
to  each  of  the  senders  of  the  first  twenty-five 
coupons  we  received.   We  actually  sent  out  twenty-six 
(we  had  an  extra  one).  And  here  are  the  names 
of  you  readers  who  received  the  pin.   We  hope  you  are 
wearing  and  enjoying  them  this  very  minute: — 

Miss  Martha  Paholke,  Forest  Park,  111. 

Miss  Norma  Jean  Dyer,  Indianapolis,  Ind. 

Miss  Charlotte  Chenoweth,  East  Orange,  N.  J. 

Miss  Goldie  Cruse,  Columbus,  Ohio 

Miss  Jean  Grogc,  Ft.  Wayne,  Ind. 

Miss  Goldie  Hunter,  Topeka,  Kansas 

Miss  Ruth  Rothenberg,  Bronx,  N.  Y. 

Mrs.  Vera  Miola,  Newark,  N.  J. 

Miss  A.  Langeland,  Homewood,  111. 

Mrs.  C.  Cross,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Mrs.  J.  Smarrella,  Steubenville,  Ohio 

Miss  Glenna  Bass,  Brookline,  Mass. 

Miss  Gaynell  Lewallen,  High  Point,  N.  C. 

Mrs.  Hazel  Dziedzic,  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 

Mrs.  Edna  Ousley,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Miss  Mildred  Huff,  Arlington,  Va. 

Miss  Dorothy  Melson,  Philadelphia,  Pa.  . 

Miss  Delores  Nelson,  La  Crosse,  Wis. 

Mrs.  Howard  Knotts,  Los  Angeles,  Calif. 

Miss  Marilyn  Coley,  Detroit,  Mich. 

Miss  Eleanor  Viganego,  San  Francisco,  Calif. 

Mrs.  M.  Halderman,  Galveston,  Tex. 

Miss  E.  Callahan,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Miss  Martha  Ungewitter,  Kelseyville,  Calif. 

Miss  Lornadelle  Waller,  Seattle,  Wash. 

Mrs.  Sherman  Gish,  Bremen,  Ky. 

To  the  next  five  hundred  of  you  who  sent  in  coupons, 
we  have  sent  a  copy  of  Screen  Album,  and  we. 
hope  that  you  are  getting  lots  of  exciting  information 
about  your  favorite  stars  from  it. 

As  to  you  whose  coupons  arrived  too  late  for  either  the  pin 
or  Screen  Album,  we  want  you  to  know  that  your 
coupons  are  counting  in  our  tabulation  of  fashion  prices. 
Besides,  we'll  be  running  more  coupons,  with  more 
prizes  for  quick  response — and  we're  sure 
you'll  have  luck  next  time. 

Thank  you  all  for  writing  in,  and  you  don't  have  to  wait 
for  a  coupon  you  know — just  drop  us  a  note  whenever 
you  feel  like  it.  We  love  to  hear  from  you. 

....  Connie  Bartel 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

SPECIAL  OFFER 

HERE  IT  IS  AT  LAST!  (And  well 
worth  the  waiting  for!)  The  brand  new 
1948-49  Super  Star  Information  Chart, 
completely  revised,  containing  info  on 
500  of  your  all-time  favorites.  PLUS 
100  NEW  STARS  never  before 
charted,  including  Howard  Duff,  Ri- 
cardo  Montalban,  Valli.  Over  10,000 
facts  in  all;  a  must  for  every  movie- 
goer. Send  10c  and  a  business  size 
self-addressed,  stamped  envelope  to 
THE  SERVICE  DEPT.,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  261  Fifth  Avenue,  N.  Y.  C, 
for  your  copy. 

MONTGOMERY 
CLIFT,  who  ap- 
pears as  Steve  in 
The  Search  and 
in  Red  River,  was 
born  in  Omaha, 
Nebraska,  in  1920. 
He  is  6'  tall,  weighs 
155  lbs.  and  has 
green  eyes  and 
brown  hair.  Is  un- 
married. He  can 
be  reached  at  Actors'  Equity  Asso'.,  45 
W.  47th  Street,  N.Y.C. 

SHELLEY  WIN- 
TERS, the  wait- 
ress in  A  Double 
Life,  was  born 
Shelley  Schrift  in 
St.  Louis,  Mo.,  on 
August  18,  1923. 
She's  5'  4"  tall, 
weighs  115  lbs. 
and  has  blue  eyes 
and  blonde  hair. 
Is  unmarried. 
She'll  be  seen  next  in  Martin  Rome, 
and  Larceny,  and  can  be  reached  at 
Universal,  Universal  City,  Calif. 

DONALD  BUKA 
debuts  in  Street 
With  No  Name. 
He  was  born  in 
Cleveland,  Ohio, 
on  Aug.  17,  1921, 
is  5'  10"  tall,  and 
weighs  143  lbs. 
Hails  from  the 
New  York  stage. 
Has  brown  hair 
and  eyes.  Write  to 
him  at  19  W.  56th  St.,  N.Y.C.  Will  also 
be  seen  in  Vendetta. 

BETTY  GAR- 
RETT was  born  in 
St.  Joseph,  Mo.,  29 
years  ago.  She 
has  blue  eyes, 
blonde  hair,  is  5' 
5",  and  weighs  115 
lbs.  Is  married  to 
Larry  Parks.  Her 
latest  film  is 
Words  and  Music, 
and  letters  reach 
her  at  MGM,  Culver  City,  Calif. 

MICHAEL  HAR- 
VEY, who  was  so 
cute  as  Curly  in 
Tycoon,  was  born 
in  Atlanta,  Ga.,  on 
June  21,  1917.  He's 
6'  2"  tall,  weighs 
185  lbs.,  and  has 
brownish  hair  and 
brown  eyes.  He's 
unattached.  RKO, 
Hollywood,  is  his 


MANY  A  BRIDE  owes  much  to  Lustre-Creme 
Shampoo  for  her  soft,  bewitching  "Dream 
Girl"  hair.  Not  a  soap,  not  a  liquid,  Lustre 
Creme  is  a  dainty  new,  rich-lathering  cream 
shampoo.  Created  by  cosmetic  genius  Kay 
Daumit,  to  glamorize  hair,  to  leave  hair  with, 
new  three-way  loveliness: 

1.  Fragrantly  clean,  free 
of  loose  dandruff 

2.  Glistening  with  sheen 

3.  Soft,  easy  to  manage 

Lustre-Creme  is  a  rare  blend  of  secret 
ingredients — plus  gentle  lanolin,  akin  to 
natural  oils  in  a  healthy  scalp.  Lathers 
instantly  in  hard  or  soft  water 
No  special  rinse  needed.  Try 
Lustre-Creme  Shampoo!  Be 
a  Dream  Girl  ...  a  lovely 
"Lustre-Creme"  Girl. 

Kay  Daumit,  Inc.  (Successor) 
9I9  N.  Michigan  Avenue,  Chicago 

Whether  you  prefer  the  TUBE  or  the  JAR 


WITH 

UNIT 


11 


FIFTH  AVENUE,  C/  N.  Y. 

fabulous  designer  of  children's 
wear,  introduces  a  new  popular- 
price  series  —  Heaven-to-Seven 
Fashions  —  starring  this  brother- 
sister  combination.  For  these  and 
oil  cottons,  Miss  Brogan  advises, 
"Starch  with  LI N IT."  This  pene- 
trating laundry  starch  resists  muss 
and  soil,  keeps  cottons  crisp. 


MSSfi 


Style  that  GROWS!  Heaven-to-Seven  Fashions  can  be 
"let  out"  gracefully,  making  for  longer  wear.  That  makes 
starching  with  LIN  IT*  extra-important.  This  finer  starch 
restores  fabrics'  original  finish.  And  LIN  IT  is  so  versatile! 
—perfect  for  men's  shirts,  sheets  and  pillowcases  as  well 
as  filmy  blouses  and  negligees.  L1NIT  makes  cottons  look 
and  feel  like  linen. 

You'll  find  Heaven-to-Seven  Fashions  featured  at  Miss 
Brogan's  own  exclusive  shops  and  such  fine  stores  across 
the  country  as  Jane  Engel,  I.  Magnin,  Harzfeld's,  Famous 
&  Barr.  UNIT,  of  course,  is  sold  by  all  grocers. 


.ADDS  THE 


*LINITis  a  registered  trade-mirk  distinguishing  this  product  of  Corn  Products  Refining  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


INFORMATION  DESK 

Continued 

address.  Berlin  Express,  his  next 
-picture. 

Lou  Saxe,  N.  Y.  C:  Here  is  the  music 
from  the  forthcoming  MGM  hit,  Easter 
Parade.  Please  clip  for  future  refer- 
ence: Easter  Parade,  Happy  Easter, 
Fella  With  An  Umbrella,  Shaking  the 
Blues  Away,  It  Only  Happens  When  1 
Dance  With  You,  Drum  Crazy,  Every- 
body's Doing  It,  Michigan,  Beautiful 
Faces,  Stepping  Out  With  My  Baby, 
Couple  of  Swells,  Magazine  Cover, 
Better  Luck  Next  Time,  I  Love  a  Piana, 
Snooky  Ookums,  Ragtime  Violins,  Ala- 
bama Choo  Choo. 

Melissa  George,  Wyo.:  Yes,  La  Tra- 
viata  has  been  made  into  a  film  opera. 
It's  now  titled  The  Lost  One;  had  its 
American  preview  at  the  Golden  Thea- 
tre, N.  Y.,  in  March,  and  will  soon  be 
released  nationally  by  Siritzky  Films. 

Marguerite  Lemaire,  Mass.:  Bob  Mitch- 
um  (in  photo  below  with  Ye  Info  Desk 
at  Cavalcade  of  America  broadcast)  has 
three  pictures  ready  for  release:  They 
are  Rachel  and  the  Stranger,  The  Red 
Pony,  and  Blood  on  the  Moon.  Tom 
Drake  will  next  be  seen  in  Master  of 
Lassie  and  Words  and  Music,  June 
Allyson,  Cyd  Charisse,  and  Mel  Torme 
all  will  be  seen  in  Words  and  Music. 

John  Shelton,  N.  Y.  C:  Tony  Martin 
was  born  in  Oakland,  Calif.,  on  Dec. 
25,  39  years  ago.  He  is  6'  tall,  weighs 
175,  and  has  brown  eyes  and  brown 
hair.  Write  to  him  at  Universal,  Uni- 
versal City,  Calif.  Douglas  Dick  was 
born  in  Charleston,  West  V a.,  on  Nov. 
20,  1920.  Is  &  tall,  weighs  148,  and 
has  blue  eyes  and  light  brown  hair.  Is 
unmarried,  and  can  be  reached  at 
Paramount  Pictures,  Hollywood. 

Joyce  Singer,  Mont.:  Elliot  Lawrence, 
your  pet  bandleader  is  appearing  at  the 
beautiful  Cafe  Rouge  of  the  Hotel 
Pennsylvania,  N.  Y.  C.  (Home  of  the 
top  bands.)  Write  to  him  there. 

Glenda  Norton,  R.  I.:  That  was  Mickey 
Knox  as  Johnny  in  Killer  McCoy.  He 
will  be  seen  next  in  The  Accused. 
Write  to  him  at  Paramount  Pictures, 
Hollywood.  Michael  Steele  plays  Major 
Jenks  in  Command  Decision.  A  note  to 
him  at  MGM  will  get  you  a  picture. 

Summertime  is  movie  time,  and  movie 
time  means  movie  questions.  Why  not 
send  them,  together  with  a  self-ad- 
dressed, stamped  envelope  to  Beverly 
Linet,  Information  Desk,  MODERN 
SCREEN,  261  5th  Avenue,  N.  Y.  16, 
N.  Y.  And  if  you  want  the  academy 
award  list  since  origin,  or  info  on  how 
to  start  a  fan  club,  another  stamped 
envelope  will  get  you  that  too. 


Bob  Mitchum  and  Bev  at  Du- 
ponts'  Cavalcade  of  America. 


Costume-blend  colors  to 

harmonize  with  your  sum- 
mer wardrobe  .  .  .  lipstick, 
pool  blue,  black,  flesff,  shell. 
All  Grantly  sunglasses  are 
tested  for  optical  safety  to 
protect  against  infra-red  and 
ultra-violet  rays. 

FOSTER  GRANT  CO.,  INC 

Leominster,  Mass. 


Frame  your  eyes 
with  Fashion 


Grantly 


FASHION  FRAME 


(OTHER  STYLES  TO  $2.50  and  $2.95) 
at  leading  drug  and  department  stores  everywhere 


Fashion  Upsweep 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY 
I    MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

(Prices  may  vary  throughout  country) 

Plum  dress  with  gold  trimmed  belt  worn  by 
Ann  Blyth  (page  73) 

Baltimore,  Md.— Schleisner  Co.,  300  N. 
Howard  St.,  Fashion  Bowl,  Lower 
Floor 

Chicago,  111.— Chas.  A.  Stevens  &  Co.,  19 

N.  State  St.,  Budget  Shop 
Indianapolis,  Ind. — L.  S.  Ayers  &  Co., 

Meridian  &  Washington  Sts.,  Budget 

Shop,  Third  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 

33  W.  34th  St.,  Budget  Dress  Dept., 

Fourth  Floor 
Pittsburgh,  Pa.— Gimbels,  339  6th  Ave., 

Misses  Dress  Dept.,  Third  Floor 

Suede-like  cotton  raincoat  (page  74) 

Chicago,  111. — Carson,  Pirie  Scott  &  Co., 
State,  Madison  &  Monroe  Sts.,  Wabash 
Room,  Fourth  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 
33  W.  34th  St.,  Rainwear,  Third  Floor 

St.  Louis,  Mo. — Famous-Barr  Co.,  Lo- 
cust, Olive  &  6th  Sts.,  Sport  Shop, 
Fourth  Floor 

Double-breasted  raincoat  with  curved 
pockets  (page  75) 

Lynn,  Mass. — T.  W.  Rogers  Co.,  Union 
St.,  Raincoat  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Bloomingdale's,  Lex- 
ington Ave.  &  59th  St.,  Raincoat  Dept., 
Third  Floor 

Scranton,  Pa. — The  Globe  Store,  Coronet 
Coat  Shop,  Second  Floor 

■    Helmet  hood  raincoat  (page  75) 

Boston,  Mass. — Filene's,  Washington  St., 

Coat  Dept.,  Fifth  Floor 
Chicago,  111.— Lytton's,  235  S.  State  St., 

Sportswear,  Sixth  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y. — McCreery's,  5th  Ave. 

&  34th  St.,  Rainwear,  Second  Floor 
Philadelphia,  Pa.— The  Blum  Store,  13th 

&  Chestnut  Sts.,  Sports  Dept.,  Sixth 

Floor 

I   Junior,   Misses  and   Half-Size  housecoats 
(page  76  and  77) 

New  Orleans,  La. — Maison  Blanche  Co., 
901  Canal  St.,  Negligee  Dept.,  Second 
Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Bloomingdale's,  59th 
St.  &  Lexington  Ave.,  Junior  House- 
coat, Third  Floor;  Misses  &  Half  Sizes, 
Second  Floor 

Black  rayon  faille  suit  (page  78) 

Los  Angeles,  Calif. — J.  W.  Robinson  Co., 
7th  &  Grand  Sts.,  California  Patio  Shop 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Gimbels,  33rd  St.  & 
6th  Avenue,  Casual  Dress  Dept.,  Third 
Floor 

Pittsburgh,  Pa. — Joseph  Home  Co., 
Perm.  Ave. 

|   Pre-teen   chambray   dress   with  tucked 
bosom  (page  80) 

Dayton,  Ohio — The  Elder  &  Johnston 
Co.,  113  S.  Main  St.,  Girls  Wear,  Third 
Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Saks-34th,  34th  St.  & 
Broadway,  Debuteen  Shop,  Second 
Floor 


If  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed,  write 
Connie  Bartel,  Modern  Screen,  Box  125, 
Murray  Hill  Station,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


FREE  PHOTO 

LARGE    SIZE    of    your  favorite 

MOVIE  STAR 

Direct   from  Hollywood 
INTRODUCTORY  OFFER 

Also   FREE   list  decorated   with   all  the 
latest   stars   and    poses.    Send    name  of 
YOUR     FAVORITE     with     ten     cents  to 
cover   handling   and  mailiny. 

Hollywood  Screen  Exchange 

BOX    1150— DEPT.  IYI-2 
HOLLYWOOD     28.     CALIF..     U.     S.  A. 

Roy  Rogers 

BOSCH  BEAUTY 


FRiE:  Write  for  "Bosom  Beauty."  Dept.  12 
Mar-Gro  Bras,  37  West  26  St.,  New  York  10. 


ADD  A.  DASH  OF 

French  Dressi^ 

TO  YOUR  SUMMER 
WARDROBE  WITH... 


Parisian  Thong  Sandals 


MA  do  Toe  Thong  Sandals 


On  beach  or  street,  they're  hard  to  beat. 
Thongs  may  be  arranged  in  various  styles. 
In  white,  red,  green,  brown,  yellow,  blue 
or  black.  Also  in  gold.  $11.95 
Sizes  4  to  12,  AA  to  EE  widths.  Li 


COLLEEN  ENTERPRISES,  Haverhill,  Mass. 

Please  send  me  at  $2.95.  MS 


Prs. 

Style 

Color 

Size 

Width 

Parisian 

Lido 

Second  color  choice  

Name  ,  

AHHrpss   _ 

City  Zone  State  

Check  □       Money  Order  □       C.O.D.  □ 


ME  AND  THE  QUEEN 

(Continued  from  page  69) 


looking  movie  hero.  She  knew  he'd  fool 
'em.  He  did.  He  shaved  off  his  moustache, 
got  a  butch  hair  cut  and  when  he  got 
to  training  camp  he  did  what  the  rest 
of  them  did,  and  they  forgot  to  hate 
him. 

I  spent  Christmas  and  New  Year's  in 
New  Orleans  with  them,  took  the  Queen 
down  there  and  incidentally  watched  her 
take  over  a  baby  from  a  dead-tired  GI's 
wife  on  the  plane  and  care  for  it  all  night 
while  the  mother  got  some  sleep. 

Whatever's  been  going  on  with  the  Tay- 
lors I've  been  in  on.  They  treat  me  like 
their  old  man.  If  there's  a  trip  I'm  invited. 
I've  gone  to  the  West  Indies,  Mexico  and 
New  York  and  all  around  with  them. 

What's  it  like  to  live  with  Bob  and 
Barbara?  Well,  it's  not  buttering  up  any 
conceited  movie  stars,  or  having  to  tell 
somebody  how  wonderful  they  are.  Bar- 
bara's a  kid  who  never  found  her  hat  size 
swelling  just  because  she's  famous. 

Several  years  ago  I  went  to  a  preview 
with  Bob  and  Barbara.  Bob  said  he'd 
park  the  car  and  Missy  and  I  said  we'd 
meet  him  in  the  lobby.  By  the  time  Bob 
got  back,  the  crowd  had  him.  Barbara 
started  toward  him  and  a  plainclothes 
cop  grabbed  her.  "No,  you  don't,"  he 
said,  "none  of  that  stuff."  He  thought 
she  was  a  fan,  going  to  mob  Bob,  who 
was  swoon-king  then.  I  was  so  mad  I 
wanted  to  swing  one  but  Barbara  stopped 
me.  When  Bob  stepped  to  her  side,  the 
cop  let  her  go. 

"Are  you  crazy?"  I  wanted  to  know. 
"Why  didn't  you  tell  him  who  you  were?" 

"Well,"  she  threw  back.    "Who  am  I?" 

I  gave  up.  Just  the  star  of  the  preview 
that  night,  that's  all!  The  picture  was 
Stella  Dallas,  and  for  my  dough  one  of 
the  best  she's  done. 

Other  night,  Bob  and  Barbara  finally 
got  in  to  see  The  Bishop's  Wife.  They'd 
tried  twice  before,  stood  in  line  and  fi- 
nally gave  up.  The  third  time  they  made 
it.  When  I  heard  that,  I  said  all  she  or 
Bob  had  to  do  was  call  the  theater  and 
have  a  couple  of  seats  set  aside.  "Then 
you  wouldn't  have  to  stand  in  line,"  I 


pointed  out.  They  gave  me  a  pair  of 
glares. 

"Everyone  else  did.    Who  are  we?" 

The  Queen  calls  it  official,  what  I  think 
of  her  pictures.  And  I  can  tell  her  ex- 
actly what  I  do  think  about  them.  I 
wouldn't  be  the  one  to  give  her  a  phony 
report,  and  she  wouldn't  be  the  one  to 
accept  it,  either. 

There're  only  two  times  when  I  stay 
out  of  Barbara's  way.  One,  when  she's 
in  a  black  Irish  mood,  and  the  other 
when  she's  not  working,  has  time  on  her 
hands — and  gets  on  one  of  those  house  - 
cleaning  jags.   Anything  can  happen  then. 

She  always  has  been  the  neatest  gal 
I  ever  knew.  You  never  catch  her  slop- 
ping around  the  house  in  a  negligee. 
She's  up  with  the  chickens,  and  in  a 
crisp  pinafore,  if  she  isn't  making  a  pic- 
ture. She'll  rise  at  5:30  for  a  9:00  set 
call,  rather  than  hurry  through  anything. 
But  when  she's  got  time  on  her  hands, 
watch  out. 

If  you  turn  your  head,  your  desk  is 
cleared  out  and  dumped  in  the  ash  can. 
I  took  a  trip  East  one  summer.  When  I 
came  back,  I  didn't  know  my  room.  Stuff 
I'd  been  collecting  since  1908  had  disap- 
peared. It  was  cleaned  out  like  a  bank 
vault  after  a  stick-up. 

"I  hope  you  don't  mind,  McCarthy," 
said  Barbara.  "I  just  got  sick  of  looking 
at  all  that  stuff." 

I  sighed.  "Okay,  Cupcake,  it's  okay 
with  me."    I  know  how  she  operates. 

One  time  during  the  war  she  cleaned 
out  the  kitchen,  all  the  bills  and  things 
in  the  drawers.  "Nothing  of  any  value," 
she  explained  at  dinner  that  night.  I 
sneaked  out  for  a  look.  The  ration  books 
— for  everybody,  family,  servants  and  all — 
were  gone,  burnt  up  with  the  trash. 

"Now  what  do  we  do?"  I  asked.  "Starve? 
Go  barefoot?" 

"Don't  bother  about  that,"  said  Barbara 
airily.    "It's  clean,  isn't  it?" 

But  she  was  sorry,  I  could  see.  And 
she  didn't  clean  up  anything  for  about 
a  week. 

I've  never  seen  the  Queen  trust  any 
serious  housework  to  anyone  but  herself. 


When  a  servant  leaves  at  our  house  and 
a  new  one  comes  in,  she's  down  on  her 
hands  and  knees  cleaning  up  their  room: 
so  it's  right.  She's  got  a  nephew,  Gene,; 
Mabel's  boy,  she's  pretty  proud  of,  and 
I  don't  blame  her.  Barbara  sent  Gene 
through  Notre  Dame  and  he  graduated 
cum  laude.  He  went  into  the  army  a1 
private  and  he  came  out  a  major.  He's! 
some  boy.  Well,  when  Gene  came  out 
not  long  ago  to  California,  Barbara  not 
only  found  an  apartment  for  him — but 
she  cleaned  the  place  up  herself. 

Here  are  some  other  things  I  can  tell 
you  about  Barbara  Stanwyck:  She  never 
kicks  about  a  bill,  any  bill,  no  matter 
how  high  it  comes  in.  "Pay  it,  that  must 
be  it,"  she  says.  She  never  looks  for  a 
bargain  or  tries  to  beat  down  a  price. 
It's  either  "No  thanks"  or  "Okay — I'll 
take  it."  Yes  or  no.  She  never  forgets 
anyone  who  ever  helped  her  out.  She 
hates  to  drive  a  car  and  she  hates  the 
radio.  But  she'll  get  a  crush  on  a  record 
and  play  it  over  and  over  until  it  comes 
out  of  your  pores. 

always  around  .  .  . 

She  doesn't  waste  words  soft-soaping  . 
you.  She's  just  there  when  you  need 
her.  When  I  had  my  tonsils  out,  Bar- 
bara was  in  my  room  when  they  wheeled! 
me  in  at  eight  o'clock.  Next  morning  she, 
showed  up  again.  "You  want  to  go 
home?" 

I  croaked,  "Sure." 

"Let's  get  out  of  here."  She  drove 
me  home.  She  knew  how  I  felt  about 
hospitals. 

If  there's  anyone's  birth  date  she  doesn't 
know,  then  they  don't  have  one,  that's 
all.  She  even  keeps  track  of  Bob's  friends, 
and  of  all  his  family's  birthdays.  And 
anniversaries.  She's  thinking  up  presents 
for  someone  every  day;  People  go  away,1 
she  sends  flowers  to  wherever  they're 
going.  They  come  home,  she  sends  flow- 
ers because  they're  back. 

She  could  live  on  nothing  but  steak 
and  potatoes — or  maybe  just  coffee.  She 
likes  swell  clothes,  but,  as  I  said,  she 
just  buys  them  to  give  away.  If  she  par- 
ticularly dislikes  something  she  says,  "I 
wouldn't  be  without  that,"  or  "Get  'em 
before  they're  all  gone."  She's  always 
planning  a  year  ahead  not  to  work  on 
Christmas — and  she  always  works  on  I 
Christmas. 

She  doesn't  wear  her  heart  on  her 
sleeve  and  neither  do  I.  That's  why 
maybe  when  we  talk  people  think  we 
don't  say  much  to  each  other.  But  ours 
isn't  a  talking  friendship. 

The  other  day,  out  of  a  blue  sky,  Bar- 
bara grinned  and  said,  "By  the  way, 
Buck,  I've  got  it  fixed  for  you — you  know, 
if  anything  should  happen  to  me."  Then 
she  told  me  how  she'd  been  to  her  law- 
yer and  what  she'd  arranged  for  was  to 
fix  me  with  an  income  for  life.  I  guess 
she'd  had  it  on  her  mind  for  some  time. 
She  looked  happy. 

It  hit  me  hard.  I  took  a  deep  breath. 
I  looked  her  straight  in  the  eye  and  that 
once  I  couldn't  grin  back  at  her.  I  just 
said  what  I  thought! 

"Thanks,  but  I  wouldn't  need  it,  Queen." 

Maybe  that  sounds  like  short  thanks,  | 
like  ingratitude.  But  I  didn't  mean  it  ( 
that  way. 

What  I  meant  was:   If  anything  hap- 
pened to  that  Stanwyck  girl,  I  don't  think  I 
I  could  take  it.    I  don't  think  I'd  be  i 
needing  anything  like  money. 


"Lady,  would  you  please  remove  your  hat?" 


In  the  most  dramatic  beauty  test  ever  made: 


WOODBURY 

POWDER 


preferre 


red  for 
Every 

BeaU  y  L^ed 
And  WPtnen  P  ^,ry 
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We/"..   „„L      retnats  'incredf. 

i 


before  New  Wo  «      '  be  tru*" 


over  all  leading  brands 
of  powder ! 


•odbi 


—  ii  i 
"7  Powdei 


true 


'9s 


less  "i 


Powdery' 


covers 


aPpe, 


aronce  I 


smo 


iDther  look  on 


bet* 


fin 


er  texture 


\o" 


de* 


>5v 


6  exciting  shades! ...  Get  New 

Woodbury  Powder  —  in  the 
new  "Venus"  box— at  any  cos- 
metic counter.  Large  size 
$1.00.  Medium  and  "Purse" 
sizes  304  and  15<f.  (plus  tax.) 


/rs  L/fCE  START/ A/G  L/FE  ALL  OVER,  AGA/M  MTH  A W  /MCRED/BLY  LOVEUER,  COMPLEX/OA// 


I  CHASED  A  DREAM 

(Continued  from  page  40) 


Eventually  we  got  through  Texas,  and 
hit  Monterrey,  Mexico.  Monterrey  was 
unforgettable.  I  went  for  a  walk  and  was 
approached  by  three  men.  The  first 
wanted  to  sell  me  French  postcards,  the 
second  wanted  to  sell  me  a  case  of  tequila, 
and  the  third  wanted  to  sell  me  a  hacienda. 

I  was  hard  to  get.  "No  hablo  espanol," 
I  said  brightly,  wandering  off  into  a  record 
shop  to  hear  Mexican  music.  The  sales- 
man there  played  "Peg  O'  My  Heart." 

After  Monterrey,  we  (Sperry  gets  into 
the  narrative  again  about  here)  headed 
South  once  more,  along  the  Pan-American 
highway.  You've  never  seen  anything 
like  that  highway.  A  ribbon,  sweeping 
through  Mexico,  fifteen  thousand  years  of 
Mexico.  Mesas,  gorges,  mountains,  farms, 
tropical  plants,  bamboo  huts,  adobe  houses 
fifteen  hundred  years  old.  I  remember  a 
river  surrounded  by  jungle,  and  women 
washing  clothes  on  the  rocks;  it  was  all 
like  something  out  of  a  travelogue. 

We  hit  Ciudad  Valles  our  third  night 
out,  and  there  we  tried  Papaya,  and  dis- 
liked it  cordially.  After  dark,  a  lot  of 
singers  gathered  in  the  patio  of  our  hotel. 

Next  day,  we  were  in  Mexico  City.  If 
you've  never  seen  a  sunset  in  Mexico  City, 
I'm  sorry  for  you.  The  city  rests  in  the 
bottom  of  a  bowl,  with  mountains  7,500 
feet  high  around  it,  and  it's  unbelievably 
beautiful,  with  all  the  buildings  painted 
in  rich,  strong  colors,  and  rows  of  tall 
shade  trees  flanking  the  boulevards,  and 
more  churches  and  open  markets  and 
statues  of  generals  than  I  knew  there 
were. 

Aside  from  the  fact  that  the  taxi  drivers 
go  like  maniacs,  Mexico  City's  easy  to  get 
along  in.  Most  people  in  hotels  and  stores 
speak  English.  I  think  I  learned  a  lot 
about  the  Mexican  people,  during  my  stay. 
I  found  them  dignified,  and  courteous  and 
friendly.  They  treat  their  children  as 
adults,  they  don't  care  very  much  about 
money,  and  they  love  animals  and  music. 

Ray  and  I  were  alternately  awed  by  the 
startling  Orozco  and  Rivera  murals,  and 
thrilled  by  the  Mexico  City  Symphony, 
and  the  brilliance  of  Carlos  Chavez,  its 
conductor. 


We'd  been  in  Mexico  City  a  couple  of 
days,  when  we  decided  to  look  up  my 
friend,  Acquanetta.  She's  a  former  actress 
who  married  a  Mexico  City  business  man 
named  Baschuk. 

From  the  cordial  way  the  Baschuks 
treated  us,  I  think  they  own  Mexico  City. 
They  took  us  up  to  the  tremendously  high 
Pyramid  of  the  Sun,  and  Bunny  (that's 
Mr.  Baschuk)  told  us  the  legend  of  how 
the  world  came  to  have  the  sun  and  the 
moon.  It  seems  the  god  Nanacatzin,  a 
modest,  peaceful  fellow,  nobly  jumped 
into  a  fire  built  on  the  Pyramid  of  the 
Sun,  and  shortly  thereafter,  the  sun  ap- 
peared in  the  sky  for  the  first  time. 

A  rich,  powerful  god  named  Tecusizte- 
catl  was  so  shamed  by  Nanacatzin's  show 
of  courage,  he  hurled  himself  into  the 
flames  too,  and  the  moon  appeared.  At 
first,  the  moon  and  the  sun  shone  with 
equal  brightness,  but  an  indignant  third 
god  tossed  a  rabbit  at  the  moon,  which 
quieted  its  glare  down  considerably.  And 
that's  why  the  Mexicans  always  see  a 
rabbit,  and  not  a  man,  in  the  moon. 

Later,  we  had  lunch  at  a  cafe  on  the 
banks  of  a  canal,  and  I  grinned  at  Sperry. 
"Ah,  the  atmosphere." 

The  orchestra  struck  up  "Peg  O'  My 
Heart,"  and  Sperry  grinned  back. 

"Yeah,"  he  said. 

Bull  fights  were  the  only  other  thing 
(besides  "Peg  O'  My  Heart")  that  I  didn't 
go  for,  in  Mexico  City.  As  far  as  I'm 
concerned,  they're  horrible;  I  don't  see 
any  point  in  killing  animals  for  pleasure. 

Ray  and  I  took  off  for  Acapulco,  one 
bright  morning,  and  to  get  there,  we  had 
to  travel  through  the  Valley  of  the  Vul- 
tures. It's  a  desolate  gulch  where  noth- 
ing ever  grows,  and  dozens  of  big  ugly 
birds  circle  over  your  head. 

"Nice  if  we  had  some  car  trouble  now," 
Sperry  said  -cheerfully.  "I  wonder  how 
many  of  those  buzzards  it  would  take  to 
tear  us  apart?" 

"I'll  ask  them,"  I  said.    "Slow  down." 

He  didn't  exactly  slow  down,  but  he  did 
manage  to  get  lost  before  we  finally  ar- 
rived at  El  Mirador,  the  hotel  we  were 
headed  for. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"She  says  we  put  the  good  ones  on  the  bottom!" 


El  Mirador  is  a  lot  of  cabins  on  the  edge 
of  a  high  rock  hanging  over  the  Pacific. 
We  got  a  cabin  called  "Jacal"  (Little  Vil- 
lage) and  I  haven't  figured  that  one  out 
yet.  One  of  the  queerest  things  about 
"Jacal"  was  the  shower  and  the  "john" 
being  in  the  same  stall.  One  of  the  nicest 
things  was  a  tremendous  pool. 

swan  dive  ... 

I  was  poised  on  the  diving  board  feel- 
ing at  least  like  Buster  Crabbe  the  after- 
noon a  two-foot  lizard  plopped  on  me, 
from  an  overhanging  wall.  I  fell  into 
the  water  belly  first,  and  when  I  stuck  my 
head  out,  Sperry  was  sneering.  "Lovely 
form  you  have,"  he  said  warmly.  "Re- 
minds me  of  a  St.  Bernard  I  used  to 
own." 

I  said  "Shut  up,"  with  dignity,  and  got 
myself  dressed,  and  went  into  town.  In 
town,  so  I'd  heard,  there  was  a  lady  who 
made  white  shirts  and  slacks  for  30  pesos, 
or  six  American  dollars. 

I  found  the  lady,  all  right,  but  finding 
a  plain  white  shirt  wasn't  nearly  so  easy. 
"You  want  a  Tyrone  Power  shirt,"  she 
said.  (That  was  because  Tyrone  Power 
had  bought  a  lot  of  them  on  his  last 
Mexican  visit.) 

I  said  yes. 

"You're   not  so  handsome   as  Tyrone 
Power,"  she  said. 
I  said  no. 

"But,"  she  said,  "perhaps  in  a  white 
shirt  with  black  stitching,  or  a  black  shirt 
with  gold  stitching — " 

"White,"  I  said. 

"Gold  with  blue  stitching?"  she  said. 

"Look,"  I  said.  "Even  in  a  candy- 
colored  shirt  with  blue,  red  and  gold 
stitching  I  would  not  look  so  handsome  as 
Tyrone  Power,  and  why  buck  fate?  I 
want  a  white  shirt!" 

It  broke  her  heart,  but  she  sold  me  one. 
It  happens  to  have  green  stitching  on 
the  label  tag,  but  I'm  not  complaining. 

Acapulco  was  pretty  wonderful.  At 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  water 
would  be  seventy  degrees.  Ray  and  I 
made  a  lot  of  new  friends  at  the  beach. 
There  was  one  woman  who  told  me  for 
thirty  minutes  about  her  son  in  college 
while  we  dog-paddled  sociably  fifty  feet 
from  the  shore.  After  a  while  my  arms 
gave  out,  and  I  excused  myself.  The  last 
I  saw  of  her,  she  was  still  dog-paddling. 

Evenings  in  Acapulco,  we  sat  out  on 
the  cliffs  and  watched  boys  diving  a  hun- 
dred feet  down  into  the  sea.  They  wore 
red  capes,  and  the  scene  was  lit  by  torches. 
It  was  tremendously  exciting. 

My  last  night  in  Acapulco,  I  walked 
along  the  pier,  and  watched  the  harbor 
lights,  and  listened  to  the  slapping  of  the 
ocean.  The  patrolman's  flashlight  flick- 
ered over  the  quiet  fishing  boats  at  an- 
chor, and  I  felt  about  as  emotional  as  I've 
ever  felt,  I  guess. 

I  said  before  I  learned  things  in  Mexico. 
I'm  sticking  to  that.  I'm  surer  than  ever 
now  that  human  beings  are  alike,  at  heart, 
and  that  trust  is  the  basis  of  the  good  life, 
and  that  you  have  to  consider  people  as  I 
individuals.  I  look  at  the  Covarrubias 
maps  on  my  bedroom  walls  now,  and 
they're  not  just  maps  of  a  foreign  country, 
but  of  a  second  home. 

Before  I  forget,  I  want  everyone  to  know 
that  Mexico's  much  too  romantic  a  coun- 
try to  waste  on  bachelors.  When  I  fall 
in  love,  I'm  going  to  take  my  girl  to  Mex- 
ico. I  want  her  to  see  the  rabbit  in  the 
moon.  | 

If  two  people  chase  a  dream,  I'm  sure  1 
it  doubles  the  odds  in  their  favor. 


The  soap  9  out  of  10  Screen  Stars  use  ! 


1  11m, 


A  he  big  new  bath  size  Lux  Soap  is  so  luxurious," 
says  lovely  Rosalind  Russell.  "It  makes  my  daily 
beauty  bath  more  delightful  than  ever! 

"If  a  girl  isn't  dainty,  no  other  charm  counts, 
and  a  daily  Lux  Soap  beauty  bath  makes  you  sure. 
The  rich  creamy  lather  swiftly  carries  away  dust 
and  dirt,  leaves  skin  fresh,  sweet.  Perfumed  with 
a  delightful  fragrance  you'll  love." 

Take  Rosalind  Russell's  tip.  Try  the  new  bath 
size  Lux  Toilet  Soap.  Lux  Girls  are  daintier! 


9  out  of  10  Screen  Stars  use  Lux  Toilet  ^^^/ax^/r^sre^e/fer/ 


89 


IT  HAPPENED  IN  A  NIGHT  CLUB 

(Continued  from  page  53) 


Hollywood.  At  the  candle-lit  tables  around 
the  room  sat  men  who  bought  talent: 
career-makers  and  career-breakers,  pro- 
ducers, directors  and  studio  heads. 

One  Sunday  night,  two  little  girls  in 
early  adolescence  sat  at  the  side  of  the 
bandstand  awaiting  their  turns  in  the  spot- 
light. Both  were  just  past  twelve,  both 
were  singers  and  both  wore  braces  on  their 
teeth. 

When  their  turns  came,  one  sang  a  plain- 
tive little  tune  that  everybody  understood. 
The  other  sang  one  of  Puccini's  arias, 
which  nobody  understood,  but  which  they 
all  applauded. 

Later,  in  huddles  where  great  minds 
make  decisions,  M-G-M  made  tentative 
contract  offers  to  both  little  girls.  In  the 
end  the  studio  signed  only  one  of  them.  It 
didn't  think  the  other  one  would  succeed. 

The  one  they  signed  was  Judy  Garland. 

The  other  one  was  Deanna  Durbin! 

The  Hollywood  night  club  is  an  institu- 
tion. People  go  to  be  seen,  not  to  be  seen,  to 
forget,  to  remember,  to  brush  off  an  old 
girl — and  meet  a  new  one. 

It  was  in  a  night  club  that  I  first  dis- 
covered the  fact  that  Bugsy  Siegel  was  on 
the  spot.  It  was  Saturday  night  and  the 
Mocambo  was  packed.  I  was  sitting  in  a 
wall  booth  looking 'toward  the  dance  floor. 
Bugsy  sat  with  a  group  of  four,  and  just 
behind  him  was  a  large  party,  celebrating. 

Their  table  was  festooned  with  flowers 
and  vari-colored  balloons.  In  a  lull  some 
wag  stuck  a  cigarette  to  one  of  the  biggest 
balloons.  The  thing  exploded  with  a  loud 
bang  just  behind  Bugsy's  head. 

Siegel  made  a  dive  for  the  floor  and  was 
under  the  table  in  one  mad  scramble. 

He  wasn't  nervous,  just  careful. 

fabled  fight  .  .  . 

Night  clubs  have  always  been  the  tra- 
ditional setting  for  those  Hollywood  "one- 
punch  brawls"  that  figure  so  prominently  in 
the  tabloids.  One  of  the  most  fabled  was 
the  Errol  Flynn-Jimmie  Fidler  fracas  which 
took  place  in  the  Mocambo  shortly  before 
Pearl  Harbor.  Flynn  and  Fidler  had  been 
feuding  for  a  long  time.  On  the  night  of  the 
battle,  Errol  was  irked  by  testimony  the 
columnist  had  given  at  a  Senate  hearing 
about  war  propaganda  in  films.  Flynn's 
name  hadn't  been  mentioned,  but  Errol  was 
angry  at  what  he  considered  a  slap  at  the 
picture  industry. 

Errol  entered  the  club  with  a  party, 
spotted  Fidler  sitting  with  his  wife,  and 
made  straight  for  their  table.  He  was  try- 
ing to  pull  Fidler  out  of  his  chair  when 
Mrs.  F.  allegedly  stabbed  him  with  a  des- 
sert fork.  The  prongs  punctured  his  ear- 
lobe,  and  while  the  blood  dripped  down  over 
the  tablecloth,  Flynn  slapped  Fidler  with 
the  palm  of  his  hand,  saying,  "You're  not 
worth  a  fist."  Later,  Fidler  explained  in 
court  that  he  hadn't  had  a  chance  to  re- 
taliate because  his  arms  were  pinned  back 
by  several  by-standers.  During  the  entire 
melee,  the  late  Lupe  Velez  stood  in  a  chair, 
shouting  "Geeve  eet  to  heem,  beeg  boy," 
and  waving  a  ketchup  bottle. 

Oh,  nightclubs.  If  you've  ever  seen 
Jimmy  Durante 's  "break  up  the  piano"  rou- 
tine, let  me  assure  you  it's  no  fake.  Jimmy 
demolishes  the  piano.  But  the  only  time  he 
does  that  is  when  some  night  club  hopes 
to  get  some  free  entertainment  out  of  him. 

When  the  manager  comes  over  and  sug- 
gests with  a  sly  smile  that  Jimmy  enter- 
tain the  paying  customers,  Jimmy  smiles 
right  back  and  leaves  his  table.  The  man- 
ager rubs  his  hands  gleefully  as  Jimmy 
90    moves  into  the  spotlight. 


But  the  manager's  smile  turns  to  a  look 
of  horror  as  the  Schnoz  announces  that  he 
will  do  his  piano  routine,  "by  request!" 
Then  he  proceeds  to  pull  the  guts  out  of  the 
piano.  It's  a  great  routine  by  a  great  enter- 
tainer, and  merely  costs  the  night  club  the 
price  of  one  piano. 

The  glamor  bistros  of  the  Sunset  Strip 
also  play  the  role  of  "Lonely  Hearts  Clubs." 
There  was  the  night  Sunny  Ainsworth, 
cigarette  girl  at  Ciro's,  making  her  periodic 
rounds  of  the  room,  sold  a  pack  to  Tommy 
Manville.  Shortly  afterward  she  became 
the  seventh  Mrs.  Manville. 

At  one  time  the  Coconut  Grove  and  the 
Biltmore  Bowl  in  downtown  Los  Angeles 
were  "the  spots  to  do."  I  remember  when 
Joan  Crawford  used  to  win  the  Charleston 
contests  down  at  the  Grove  every  Sunday 
night.  Nowadays,  it's  a  rarity  to  find  a  con- 
gestion of  picture  people  at  the  downtown 
diggings.  They  sip  and  sup  at  Ciro's,  The 
Mocambo,  La  Rue,  Le  Papillon,  El  Moroc- 
co, The  Troc,  when  it's  open,  or  down  in 
Beverly  Hills  at  the  new  L'Aiglon  restau- 
rant where  nine  fiddles  add  atmosphere  to 
a  sumptuous  background. 

I  guess  this  is  the  only  place  in  the 
country  where  ex-husbands  and  ex-wives 
meet  at  the  niteries  and  sit  back  to  back. 
It  makes  Hollywood  a  small  town. 

I  walked  into  Ciro's  one  night  to  find 
Gene  Markey  sitting  with  his  present  wife, 
Myrna  Loy.  At  tables  to  either  side  of  him 
sat  his  ex- wives,  Hedy  Lamarr  and  Joan 
Bennett.  During  the  evening,  Myrna 
danced  with  John  Loder,  then  bordering 
on  divorce  from  Hedy,  while  Walter  Wan- 
ger,  Joan's  husband,  danced  with  Hedy. 

Reminded  me  of  the  time  Walter  Wan- 
ger  came  home  and  said,  "Darling,  it's  our 
fifth  anniversary.  What  is  it  that  I  give 
you:  wood,  tin,  or  diamonds?" 

She  answered,  "I  don't  know,  honey;  I 
never  got  this  far  before.  But  diamonds'll 
do." 

Louis  B.  Mayer  is  a  big  figure  in  Holly- 
wood and  he's  also  a  big  figure  on  the  night- 
club dance  floor.  He  likes  to  rumba.  One 
night  when  the  Old  Troc  was  in  top-notch 
favor  in  our  town,  I  saw  Louis  B.  cutting 


MODERN  SCREEN 


" — And  now  a  word  from  Miss  Draper, 
our  new  safety  director!" 


the  rug  to  the  Latin  tempo  and  having  a 
wonderful  time.  He  was  putting  his  all 
into  the  dance. 

Periodically,  during  the  evening,  I  saw 
him  head  out  the  door  to  the  parking  lot 
looking  wilted  and  worn,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes, he  would  return,  starched  and  ready 
for  more.  The  secret  was  that  he'd  come 
prepared  with  a  half-dozen  fresh  white 
shirts.  When  one  was  drenched,  he'd  go 
to  his  car  and  change. 

Nothing  fazes  the  night  club  headwaiter. 
He  knows  that  among  his  guests,  he'll  find 
all  kinds. 

One  night  Keenan  Wynn  drove  his 
motorcycle  into  Ciro's.  Without  blinking 
an  eye,  the  blase  headwaiter  asked,  "Did 
you  and  your  motor  have  a  reservation, 
sir?" 

reserved  for — ever  .  .  . 

At  Ciro's  a  choice  table  is  always  held 
open  in  case  some  important  person  comes 
in  unexpectedly.  On  one  particularly 
active  evening,  the  place  was  packed — ex- 
cept for  this  table.  Van  Johnson  was  sit- 
ting with  a  group  on  one  side  of  the  room, 
Frank  Sinatra  on  the  other.  Stars  were 
jammed  into  every  available  cubby-hole, 
yet  the  special  table  stood  in  empty  splen- 
dor in  the  center  of  the  room,  the  forbid- 
ding "reserved"  sign  on  the  cloth  suggest- 
ing that  someone  was  yet  to  arrive. 

Herman  Hover,  the  manager,  watched 
the  Maitre  d1  turn  away  a  number  of 
couples  at  the  door,  stood  a  moment  letting 
his  eyes  play  over  his  star-studded  patron- 
age, then  asked  the  Maitre  d'  why  he  was 
holding  the  vacant  table.  The  answer  came 
simply,  "I'm  holding  it  in  «ase  somebody 
of  importance  comes  in." 

Jobs  at  night  clubs  go  at  a  premium. 
Young  hopefuls  with  movie  aspirations  get 
jobs  as  cigarette  vendors  or  hat  check  girls 
so  they  can  meet  the  picture  producers. 

Preston  Sturges  owns  one  of  the  big  clubs 
on  the  Sunset  Strip.  It's  The  Players. 
Legend  has  it  that  Preston  bought  the  club 
because  he  had  found  a  waiter  he  liked  and 
wanted  a  place  where  he  could  always  get 
the  same  kind  of  service.  He  closed  the 
deal,  installed  this  favorite  waiter,  and  ever 
since  has  been  assured  the  kind  of  meals 
and  attention  everyone  would  like  to  have. 

There  is  a  barber  shop  in  The  Players. 
And  there's  a  story  they  tell  about  that,  too. 
Preston,  it's  said,  didn't  like  the  political 
and  racing  chatter  of  the  average  barber 
shop.  Now,  before  he  goes  in  for  his  dinner, 
he  stops  by  the  barber  shop  in  his  own 
night  club.  He  sits  down  and  the  barber 
gives  the  orchestra  leader  a  sign.  The  band 
plays  Preston's  favorite  melodies  while  a 
silent  barber  performs  with  the  shears. 

When  James  Cagney  brought  Audie 
Murphy  to  Hollywood,  he  gave  the  Most 
Decorated  Soldier  of  World  War  II  one  bit 
of  advice:  "Audie,  there's  no  big  secret  to 
success  as  an  actor  in  Hollywood.  Just 
mean  every  part  you  play,  work  hard — and 
remember  to  stay  out  of  night  clubs." 

That's  the  best  advice  I've  heard  wrapped 
up  in  two  sentences. 

These  kids  who  work  hard  and  haunt  the 
casting  offices  waiting  for  the  big  break, 
seem  to  forget  mighty  fast  when  they  do 
land  a  contract. 

The  pay  on  a  stock  contract  crowds  $250 
per  week.  That's  several  times  the  money 
most  of  these  youngsters  have  ever  seen. 

At  a  given  time  every  evening,  they  whip 
their  convertibles  into  the  driveway,  wave 
grandly  at  the  parking  attendant,  and 
head  for  the  door  of  a  big  club.  Then  they 
assume  a  pose  and  "make  an  entrance." 


The  headwaiter  meets  them,  and  with  a 
theatrical  gesture,  the  young  ape  waves  a 
ten-dollar  bill  for  all  to  see,  slips  it.  to  the 
headwaiter.  That  worthy  says  "thank  you" 
out  loud  and  murmurs  "sucker"  under  his 
breath,  as  he  leads  them  to  a  conspicuous 
table  a  successful  star  wouldn't  have. 

From  then  on,  for  the  rest  of  the  evening, 
these  kids  go  through  their  paces,  feeding 
their  own  egos,  acting  their  heads  off. 

It's  Hollywood's  most  pitiful  comedy. 

Once  in  a  while  some  star  takes  over  a 
night  club  and  throws  a  party.  One  of  the 
most  fabulous  I  ever  saw  was  given  by 
Kay  Francis.  The  year  was  1928. 

Kay  bought  out  the  club  for  the  night, 
had  an  interior  decorator  transform  the 
nightspot  into  a  circus,  sawdust,  tent,  three 
rings,  animals  and  trapezes.  I  still  have  a 
picture  of  Carole  Lombard  doing  flips  on  a 
trapeze  in  an  evening  gown,  Walter  Pid- 
geon  playing  a  clown,  and  Jack  Oakie 
selling  pink  lemonade. 

Out  in  the  San  Fernando  Valley,  along 
Ventura  Boulevard,  they  have  a  poor  man's 
Sunset  Strip.  It  is  lined  with  night  clubs, 
too.  The  story  of  two  of  those  clubs  has 
added  to  the  Hollywood  legend. 

foy's  feud  .  .  . 

A  few  years  back,  not  far  apart  on  Ven- 
tura Boulevard,  there  were  two  cabarets, 
one  owned  by  Grace  Hayes,  mother  of 
Peter  Lind  Hayes,  the  comic;  the  other  was 
owned  by  Charlie  Foy.  You  may  be  old 
enough  to  remember  "Eddie  Foy  and  the 
Seven  Little  Foys."  Charlie  is  one  of  the 
younger  Foys,  only  he's  not  little  any  more. 

Twenty  years  ago,  Charlie  Foy  and  Grace 
Hayes  were  man  and  wife. 

A  number  of  years  after  they  were 
divorced,  they  built  these  clubs  not  far 
apart,  and  began  a  very  entertaining  feud. 
They  would  try  to  outdo  each  other  in  ser- 
vice, quality  of  acts,  food  and  novelties.  It 
was  great  for  trade,  because  everybody 
watched  to  see  who'd  come  out  on  top. 

When  Charlie  was  on  stage,  Grace  would 
sneak  into  his  club  and  heckle.  Charlie 
would  return  the  favor  later  in  the  eve- 
ning at  the  Grace  Hayes  spot. 

Six  years  ago  Grace's  club  caught  fire 
and  burned  to  the  ground.  Although  the 
insurance  investigators  determined  the 
cause  of  the  fire  as  a  leaky  gas  main,  Grace 
still  blames  it  on  the  heat  generated  by  her 
feud  with  Charlie. 

And  it  must  have  been  even  more  years 
agq,  that  Al  Jolson  got  up  in  the  Old  Plan- 
tation Club  in  Culver  City  (where  the 
mammoth  studios  of  M-G-M  now  stand) 
and  sang  for  two  and  a  half  hours  straight, 
just  because  he  liked  to  sing.  It  totaled 
about  fifty  thousand  dollars'  worth  of  sing- 
ing. And  the  topper  was  that  they  pre- 
sented him  with  his  dinner  check  before  he 
left,  and  he  paid  it. 

Hollywood  actors  have  noses  for  night 
clubs.  There  has  never  been  a  club  they 
couldn't  find.  Bill  Lundigan  told  me  that 
when  he  went  to  Mexico  City  recently,  he 
determined  to  find  one  out-of-the-way 
night  spot  untrod  by  Hollywood  feet. 

He  cornered  a  Mexican  faxi-driver,  told 
him  to  find  such  a  spot.  With  much  nod- 
ding of  head  and  loud  assurances,  the 
driver  sped  out  of  town,  took  a  narrow 
winding  alley,  a  secluded  rough  road 
through  deserted  dark  neighborhoods  and 
finally  skidded  to  a  stop  before  a  ram- 
shackle ranch  house  from  which  poured  the 
sounds  of  night-time  merry-making. 

Bill  paid  his  fare  and  pushed  open  the 
door.  Inside  the  door,  his  eyes  pierced  the 
fog  of  smoke  and  his  shoulders  drooped  in 
disappointment,  for  there,  sitting  at  the 
first  table,  tapping  their  feet  to  the  Latin 
rhythm,  sat  John  Wayne,  Director  John 
Ford,  and  Henry  Fonda! 

You  name  it — no  matter  what  it  is,  you 
can  bet  it  happened  in  a  night  club. 


/.  "Here's  how  I  manage  those  desk-to- 
dancing  dates,"  says  this  smart  career  girl. 
"I  wear  a  bright  cotton  suit  and  dark  tai- 
lored blouse  to  the  office.  And,  of  course, 
I  rely  on  new,  even  gentler,  even  more 
effective  Odorono  Cream.  Because  I  know 
it  protects  me  from  perspiration  and  offensive 
odor  a  full  24  hours." 

You'll  find  new  Odorono  so  safe  you 
can  use  it  right  after  shaving!  So  harmless 
to  fine  fabrics  .  .  .  protects  clothes  from 
stains  and  rotting!  And  Odorono  stays  so 
creamy -smooth  too  . .  .  even  if  you  leave 
the  cap  off  for  weeks! 


2.  "When  date  time  comes  I  change  to  a 
light  peasant  blouse,  tie  on  a  big  dark  sash, 
and  I'm  set  for  an  evening  of  fun.  I'm 
confident  of  my  charm  all  evening  too — * 
thanks  to  new  Odorono  Cream.  Because 
the  Halgene  in  Odorono  gives  more  effective 
protection  than  any  deodorant  known." 

New  Odorono  Cream  brings  you  an  im- 
proved new  formula  . . .  even  gentler,  even 
more  effective  than  ever  before  ...  all 
done  up  in  its  pretty,  bright  new  package. 
Buy  some  today  and  see  if  you  don't  find 
this  the  most  completely  satisfying  deodor- 
ant you  have  ever  used. 


T?eu>  Odorono  Crea/m  Sa^fij 
odor  a  feu^C  3A  Roars! 


(Now  in  new  25£  and  50jf  sizes,  plus  tax.) 


SAD  DAYS 

CAN  BE 

GLAD  DAYS 


RELIEVES  FUNCTIONAL 

PERIODIC  PAIN 


Mm-HUOACHf -'BLUES' 


the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 

GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


Hi,  clubbers!  We  hate  to  stat  off  on  a 
sour  note,  but  we're  anxious  to  announce 
a  brand  new  MSFCA  feature — the  Trouble 
Clinic,  a  special  department  where  all  you 
fans  with  problems,  troubles,  gripes  and  con- 
structive ideas  for  improving  clubs  can  let  off 
steam!  We'll  answer  all  your  problems  by 
mail,  as  we've  always  done,  but  we'll  try  to 
handle  the  most  interesting  '  puzzlers  in  this 
column. 

We  believe  that  99  per  cent  of  fan  clubs 
are  run  by  sincere  individuals;  that  most 
iniquities  stem  from  lack  of  experience,  insuffi- 
cient help  from  the  rank-and-file  clubbers,  and 
failure  to  understand  the  responsibilities  en- 
tailed in  running  a  club.  We  hope  that  the 
new  MSFCA  Trouble  Clinic  will  help  clear  up 
these  difficulties.  So,  if  there's  something  on 
your  mind,  let's  hear  about  it. 

Club  banter  .  .  . 

The  second  annual  International  Fan  Club 
League  Convention  will  be  held  in  Hollywood 
July  26  through  31.  Mrs.  Ellen  Roufs,  conven- 
tion chairman,  tells  us  that  this  year  there  will 
be  no  opposition  from  the  Motion  Picture  Pro- 
ducers' Assn.  .  .  .  the  Boston  Convention  of 
the  Nelson  Eddy  Music  Club  was  highlighted 
by  a  personal  appearance  of  the  club  honor- 
ary. Prexies  Rita  and  Jo  Mottola  were  so 
pleased  by  the  convention's  success  that 
they'll  have  a  similar  conclave  for  their  Rise 
Stevens  clubbers  in  N.  Y.  this  fall. 

Entire  membership  of  Dorene  Grenade's 
Helen  Gerald  Club  received  personal  invita- 
tions to  their  star's  graduation  exercises  at 
UCLA  .  .  .  Olga  Martinjack  was  the  winner 
of  Bobby  Beers  Club's  "If  I  Had  a  Date  With 


Bobby"  Contest.  The  prize:  a  date  with 
Bobby!  .  .  .  Hermina  Levitt's  Stuart  Foster 
Club  has  organized  a  "Junior  Section"  for 
girls  between  10  and  12  .  .  .  Mary  Kelly's 
International  Dick  Haymes  Club  trekked  to 
Central  Park  for  a  day's  outing  and  picture- 
taking  .  .  .  Copy  for  this  column  is  being 
edited  with  a  very  snazzy  pencil  which  is 
engraved,  "Alan  Ladd  Fan  Club  Member." 
It's  a  gift  from  prexy  Bill  Vaughn  .  .  .  Patsy 
Lee  is  coming  east  for  a  big  shindig  with  her 
clubbers  .  .  .  Burt  Slotky  is  reducing  member- 
ship dues  in  his  Marie  McDonald  Club  to 
50c,  as  a  special  offer  to  MSFCA  members. 
His  address:  4211  W.  14  St.,  Chicago.  .  . 
Pearl  Tice's  Mac  McGuire  Rangers  enjoyed  a 
spaghetti  party,  given  by  Mac  for  the  mem- 
bers. Music  was  provided  by  Mac  and  his 
Harmony  Rangers.  Incidentally,  Pearl's  Our 
Favorite  Stars  Club  will  boost  all  newcomers 
interested  in  the  club  .  .  .  Ellen  Couglin's 
Frankie's  United  Swooners  outfitted  their  two 
adopted  war  orphans  with  complete  ward- 
robes .  .  .  First  prize  in  Larry  Hampe's  mem- 
bership contest  for  the  Lizabeth  Scott  Club  is 
a  7-minute  recording  of  Liz  and  Burt  Lan- 
caster, from  Desert  Fury  .  .  .  Dorothy  Shay 1 
Clubbers  held  a  roller-skating  party  lot  \ 
Chicago  members  .  .  .  Barbara  Alfino's  Sinatra 
Club  has  adopted  Georgette  Francois,  the 
French  war  orphan  formerly  adopted  by  Elsie 
Ellovich's  club  .  .  .  Dottie  Danis's  club  for 
Frank  Sinatra  and  Gene  Williams  is  offering 
free  memberships  to  the  first  five  who've  seen 
Gene  in  person  (with  Claude  Thornhill's  ork) 
and  write  to  her  at  13716  Lincoln  Ave.,  High- 
land Park,  #3.  Detroit,  Mich.  .  .  .  M.  Ritt's  Duf-i 
fans    attended    (Continued   on    page  103) 


Highlight  of  Frankie  Laine's  Harem  Night  Club  engagement  in  N.  Y.  was  special  matinee  for  fan 
clubbers,  who  can't  attend  evening  shows.    (Note  that  bobby-soxers  are  now  New  Look  girls!) 


MONEY  NO  OBJECT 

(Continued  from  page  46) 


lettering    on    brown    wooden  shingles. 

The  store  itself  is  so  small  practically 
nobody  can  get  in  (exclusive,  you  know) 
and  the  prices  range  from  one  dollar  to 
$29.95  (not  exclusive  a  bit)  and  you  are 
free  to  buy  dresses,  stockings  and  costume 
jewelry  till  your  money  runs  out. 

The  decor  is  simple — antique  settee, 
knotty  pine  paneling;  there  are  ruffled 
curtains,  and  the  color  scheme  is  char- 
treuse, cocoa-brown  and  cream. 

noses  in  the  night  .  .  . 

The  girls  decorated  it  themselves,  at 
night,  and  Maureen  evilly  soaped  the  win- 
dows because  she  got  self-conscious  about 
the  number  of  noses  pressed  against  the 
pane. 

"They're  watching  for  runs  in  my  stock- 
ings," she  said.    "I  know  it." 

She  also  took  a  high-handed  attitude 
with  Los  Angeles'  garment  manufacturers, 
but  they  seemed  to  like  it.  She  went  in 
green  as  grass,  and  ordered  three  of  every- 
thing, and  they'd  look  at  her.  "But  Miss 
O'Hara,"  they'd  say.  "Three's  no  order. 
Ya  gotta  take  twelve,  ya  gotta  take  thir- 
teen— " 

"Can't  afford  it,"  she'd  say  sadly,  and 
they'd  give  her  three. 

Opening  day  there  was  a  new  problem. 
Every  other  merchant  in  the  valley,  being 
kindly  disposed  toward  the  new  members 
of  the  Better  Business  Bureau  and  the 
Chamber  of  Commerce,  sent  flowers.  So 
did  friends.  So  did  relatives.  There  were 
so  many  flowers  they  were  hanging  them 
on  the  walls,  and  all  three  of  the  girls 
were  sniffling,  they  were  so  touched  by 
the  sentiment. 

I  Finally,  the  flowers  in  place,  the  ciga- 
rettes set  out,  the  book  for  the  customers 
to  sign  open  and  waiting  (that's  to  get  a 
mailing  list,  innocent  reader),  the  door 
was  flung  wide. 

In  came  three  women.  They  stared, 
they  glared,  and  they  walked  out.  "Don't 
care  for  their  things,"  one  said. 

Three  Irish  tempers  flared.  Three  girls 
counted  to  ten.  The  next  customer  was 
different.  She  bought  a  bracelet— $2.00— 
and  signed  the  book,  and  acted  generally 
charming.  They  loved  her;  they  wanted 
to  pin  a  rose  on  her. 

strip  act  ... 

But  she  was  only  the  beginning.  Be- 
fore the  day  was  over,  the  dummy  in  the 
window  had  had  the  very  clothes  stripped 
off  her  back  twenty-three  times — every 
time  they  re-dressed  her,  some  woman  de- 
cided she  couldn't  live  without  that  very 
costume — and  the  joint  was  rocking. 

Late  that  night,  the  door  finally  locked, 
the  girls  sat  down  in  weary  bliss. 
;   "My  feet,"  Maureen  said.    "I  wish  I  had 
some  other  feet." 

"Your  eyes,"  Lorna  said.     "You  sure 
don't  need  any  other  stars — " 
;  A  timid  knocking  came  at  the  window. 

The  girls  looked  out.  Three  husbands 
— the  most  sheepish-looking  husbands 
you  could  imagine — were  standing  there. 

"Can  we  come  in?"  they  said. 

The  girls  said  no. 

"Please?" 

The  girls  said  yes. 

"Okay,  you  win,"  Will  Price,  who  be- 
longs to  Miss  O'Hara,  said  generously. 
"We'll  take  you  out  to  dinner." 

"You,"  said  Miss  O'Hara  coldly,  "may 
.carry  me  to  the  car.  And  for  dinner,  you 
)may  eat  crow.  I  am  going  to  bed." 
y  Then  she  kissed  him.  "You're  lucky," 
she  said.  "If  things  keep  up  like  today, 
you  can  have  a  mink  coat  for  Christmas." 


Soaping  dulls  hair. 
Halo  glorifies  it! 


Yes,  "soaping"  your  hair 
with  even  finest  liquid  or  cream 
shampoos  hides  its  natural 
lustre  with  dulling  soap  film 


•  Halo  is  made  with  a  new  patented  ingredient.  Halo — not 
a  soap,  not  a  cream — cannot  leave  dulling  film!  •  So  Halo  reveals 

the  true  natural  beauty  of  your  hair  the  very  first  time  you 
use  it,  leaves  it  shimmering  with  glorious  highlights.  •  Needs 
no  lemon  or  vinegar  after-rinse.  Halo  rinses  away, 
quickly  and  completely!  •  Makes  oceans  of  rich,  fragrant 
lather,  even  in  hardest  water.  Leaves  hair  sweet,  clean, 
naturally  radiant!  •  Carries  away  unsightly  loose  dandruff  like 
magic!  •  Lets  hair  dry  soft  and  manageable,  easy  to  curl! 
•  Buy  Halo  at  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


►  Halo  Reveals  the  Hidden  Beaut q  of  Your  Hair!  « 


•I)  KMlUlofc® 


beauty 
afoot 

3room  your  feet 
if  you'd  be  a  cinderella- 
footed  beauty  like 
Elizabeth  Taylor,  M-S-M  star, 
romping  playfully  through 
gay  days  at  the  beach! 
By  CAROL  CARTER 


Pretty  from  her  toes  on  up — Elizabeth  Taylor 


Why  sit  on  the  beach  and  envy  other 
women  who  are  luckier  than  you  about 
their  "days"?  Try  the  Tamp  ax  method  of 
monthly  sanitary  protection  and  then 
you  can  swim  any  day  of  the  month 
without  anyone's  being  the  wiser  .  .  . 
-  The  secret  of  Tampax  is  simple — it  is 
worn  internally!  Hence  there  is  nothing 
that  can  possibly  "show  through"  a 
snug  swim  suit,  whether  wet  or  dry. 

Tampax  is  the  scientific  answer  to  the 
feminine  monthly  hygienic  problem.  In- 
vented by  a  doctor,  it  has  only  1/15  the 
bulk  of  older  kinds.  It  is  made  of  pure 
surgical  cotton  compressed  within  dainty 
applicators  (for  easy  insertion) .  No  belts 
or  pins  are  required — and  no  sanitary 
deodorant,  for  Tampax  causes  no  odor. 
Quick  to  change;  easy  to  dispose  of. 
Can  be  worn  in  tub  or  shower  bath. 

Buy  Tampax  now  at  drug  or  notion 
counters.  Three  absorbency-sizes  to  suit 
varying  needs:  Regular,  Super,  Junior. 
An  average  monthly  supply  will  go  into 
your  purse  .  .  .  Tampax  Incorporated, 
Palmer,  Massachusetts. 


Accepted  for  Advertising 
by  the  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 

94 


■  Unless  you  go  swimming  in  high  but- 
ton shoes  or  cowboy  boots  your  feet  are 
bound  to  come  out  into  the  open  enough 
to  be  seen  by  everyone.  Of  course,  you 
can  run  like  mad  and  dive  right  into  the 
water  and  escape  scrutiny,  or  you  can 
quickly  pat  up  mounds  of  sand  around 
them  when  you're  sunning  yourself,  but 
wouldn't  you  like  to  frolic  like  Elizabeth 
Taylor  does  here,  or  again  on  page  36 
where  she  and  Jane  Powell  are  shown  on 
a  "Lazy  Date"?  Then  here's  for  happy, 
decorative  tootsies: 

Exercise  them.  Pick  up  stuff  like  mar- 
bles, pencils  and  hankies  with  your  bare 
toes.  Walk  on  the  outside  rim  of  your 
feet  like  King  Kong  when  you're  quite, 
quite  alone  and  have  the  shades  drawn. 
Rotate  your  feet  in  complete  circles 
from  the  ankle  while  you're  sticking 
them  out  over  the  edge  of  the  bed  at 
night,  or,  for  that  matter,  out  on  the  pier 
or  raft.  Running  along  the  beach  bare- 
footed is  a  regular  beauty  treatment  for 
your  feet. 

Look  out  for  "Athlete's  foot"  in  warm 
summer  weather,  especially  if  you  take 
showers  in  a  public  dressing  room  at  the 
beach.    Wear  your  own  wooden  clogs. 


"Athlete's  foot"  thrives  on  warmth  and 
moisture,  therefore  keep  your  feet  as 
cool  and  dry  as  possible  and  use  fungi- 
cidal powder  freely  on  your  feet,  espe-  j 
cially  between  toes. 

Scrub  your  feet  thoroughly  every  day  | 
with  soap  and  warm  water  and  use  a 
brush  on  them,  both  to  help  get  rid  of 
dead  skin  and  to  stimulate  circulation. 
If  your  feet  are  tired  and  generally  feel 
like  big,  hot  lumps,  run  alternate  hot  and 
cold  water  over  them  several  times. 
Then  spread  a  generous  amount  of  lubri- 
cating cream,  hand  lotion  or  antiseptic 
baby  oil  on  the  soles  and  massage  around 
the  toes  and  over  the  foot  right  up  to  the 
ankle. 

A  beauty  treatment  for  your  feet 
surely  includes  pretty  polish  for  your 
toes.  Cut  toe  nails  straight  across  to 
prevent  ingrown  nails.  Remove  any  old 
polish.  Soak  feet  for  a  few  minutes  in 
warm,  soapy  water.  Then,  with  an  orange 
stick  and  cuticle  oil,  press  cuticle  back 
gently.  Keep  your  toes  separated  with 
bits  of  cotton  or  cleaning  tissue  while 
you  put  polish  on.  Cover  the  entire  toe 
nail.  Two  coats  are  better  than  one  and 
will  keep  your  toes  pretty  for  days ! 


THEY  COULDN'T 

(Continued  from  page  60) 


embarrasses  her.  She'd  proved  her  love 
for  Dick  by  marrying  him.  He  looked  for 
response  in  his  own  kind  of  outgoing 
warmth,  which  wasn't  her  way.  Neither 
could  act  against  the  laws  of  his  nature. 

Their  troubles  started  early,  long  be- 
fore the  accident.  Squabble  and  make  up 
and  Dick  mostly  giving  in.  First  year 
stuff?  Maybe.  Only  the  pattern  kept  re- 
peating itself.  Let  it  happen  often  enough, 
and  a  rift  appears.  Let  it  happen  too 
often,  and  the  breach  widens  dangerously. 
In  her  heart  of  hearts  it's  possible  that 
Susie  was  waiting  for  Dick  not  to  give 
in.  She's  like  one  of  those  mettlesome 
horses  she  loved  to  tame.  A  masterful 
touch  might  have  turned  the  trick.  Dick's 
no  Petruchio. 

For  a  bitterly  ironic  twist,  take  the 
fateful  day  of  Susan's  injury.  Dick  didn't 
want  to  go  hunting  that  weekend,  don't 
ask  him  why.  Maybe  a  little  gnome  whis- 
pered something  in  his  ear.  More  likely, 
he  just  didn't  happen  to  be  in  the  mood. 
Susan  wanted  to  go,  and  they  went.  On 
the  way  up,  they  weren't  speaking. 

Then  Susan  shot  herself,  and  it  took  a 
year  before  they  could  be  sure  she  was 
going  to  live.  During  that  year,  everything 
blacked  out  but  Susan.  Dick's  heart,  mind 
and  energies  were  fixed  on  one  goal — to 
help  keep  her  breathing.  Meantime,  the 
outside  world  was  moved  to  sorrow  and 
compassion,  followed  by  an  all  but  rev- 
erent admiration  of  the  girl's  courage  and 
the  devotion  of  her  husband.  Suddenly 
they  found  themselves  on  a  pedestal, 
viewed  as  a  couple  of  plaster  saints.  They 
were  anything  but.  Which  takes  nothing 
from  Dick's  devotion  or  Susan's  indom- 
itable pluck. 

As  she  grew  stronger,  things  began 
missing  fire  again.  Her  very  condition 
made  Susie  more  forceful  than  ever.  To 
do  for  herself  was  almost  a  passion  with 
her.  Okay,  now  she  couldn't.  Fiercely 
determined  not  to  be  beaten  by  circum- 
stances, she  struggled  even  harder  to 
assert  her  will,  if  only  to  prove  that  what- 
ever happened  to  your  body,  your  spirit 
couldn't  be  broken. 

She'd  be  the  first  to  tell  you  of  her 
spitfire  temper.  In  the  old  days,  she'd 
cool  off  in  her  own  fashion.  Climb  into  a 
car,  grab  the  meanest  horse  she  could 
find,  fly  off  in  all  directions,  come  back 
meek  as  a  lamb  and  twice  as  sheepish. 
Now  she  was  tied  to  a  wheelchair,  facing 
what  she  had  to  face  with  more  valor 
than  most  of  us  could  begin  to  touch.  But, 
naturally  impatient,  her  helplessness  made 
her  more  so,  and  her  normal  outlets  were 
gone.  We  all  have  to  blow  off  steam. 
Susan  blew  it  off  to  the  people  who 
loved  her,  especially  Dick. 

"I  need  a  glass  of  water,  put  the  ashtray 
here,  get  me  a  kleenex,  let  the  dog  out." 


POSTMAN,  WON'T  YOU  RING? 

We  can't  understand  why  our  office 
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dotes. They're  a  cinch  to  write,  and 
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Short,  sweet  and  snappy — that's  the 
way  we  like  them.  And  true.  What 
happened  when  you  saw  that  movie 
star?  Or  are  you  still  blinking?  Just 
gather  your  wits  together,  kids,  and 
send  your  anecdote  to  the  "I  Saw  It 
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Each  thing  had  to  be  done  right  now,  in 
a  specific  manner  and  in  order.  It  was 
rather  confusing.  Susan  operates  at  a 
speedy  tempo,  Dick's  gait  is  more  leis- 
urely. He'd  hit  a  bump  with  the  wheel- 
chair that  he  should  have  seen,  and  Susie's 
nerves  would  snap.  Waiting  for  them  to 
snap,  he'd  make  nine  blunders  where  he 
might  not  have  made  any.  From  one  little 
nasty  crack  came  another. 

In  most  marriages,  when  you're  emo- 
tionally upset,  one  or  the  other  can  clear 
out  for  a  while.  Dick  was  no  freer  to  leave 
than  Susan.  Wherever  he  went,  his  mind 
would  be  back  with  her,  full  of  aware- 
ness of  his  responsibility  to  and  for  her. 

He  had  his  moods  too — plenty  of  them 
— and  they  didn't  match  hers.  Susan  would 
fly  off  the  handle  and  get  over  it.  Dick 
is  slow  to  anger,  but  hangs  on  to  it  longer. 
He'd  make  what  she  called  his  big  stone 
kisser,  which  drove  her  batty.  Brood  over 
his  career,  which  was  fast  getting  no- 
where. An  active  professional  life  would 
have  eased  the  strain.  But  though  Dick 
was  under  contract  to  M-G-M,  they  gave 
him  nothing  to  do.  This  created  an  un- 
natural situation,  which  made  for  more 
trouble.  Forget  that  Susan's  paralyzed. 
It's  normal  for  a  man  to  go  off  to  his 
job  mornings  and  come  home  at  night. 
All  day  you  miss  him.  When  he  gets  back, 
you  fly  to  meet  him,  you  have  this  and 
that  to  tell  each  other.  Susan  and  Dick 
just  sat  there,  constantly  together,  noth- 
ing to  do  but  get  on  each  other's  nerves. 

"Will  you  stop  playing  the  piano?  I'm 
supposed  to  be  resting." 

"What  about  that  radio  of  yours  that 
you  never  turn  off?" 

Time  and  again  Susan  would  say  to 
herself:  "Look,  sister,  you're  too  bossy, 
you  make  too  many  demands.  Why  don't 
you  knit  or  work  a  puzzle  and  shut  up?" 

Dick  would  say  to  himself:  "So  what  if 
she  loses  her  temper?  D'you  have  to  go 
round  with  a  face?  She's  got  it  heavy 
enough  without  any  help  from  you.  Put 
yourself  in  her  skin  and  see  if  you'd  do 
half  as  well." 

calm  before  the  storm  .  .  . 

For  a  while  they'd  manage  to  rectify 
things.  Only  the  good  times  didn't  last 
long  enough.  Sooner  or  later  they'd  be  at 
swords'  points  again. 

Barring  a  few  intimates  who  were  dear 
to  both,  they  didn't  even  like  the  same 
people.  Their  friendships  were  rooted  in 
two  different  sets  of  values,  and  on  this 
each  could  have  argued  till  Gabriel's 
trumpet  blew,  without  making  the  small- 
est dent  on  the  other's  convictions. 

Susan  sets  up  an  inflexible  moral  code 
for  herself  and  others.  She  was  rather 
strictly  brought  up,  but  that's  not  the 
whole  answer.  "Even  my  mother,"  she 
confessed  once,  "used  to  think  me  a 
weirdie."  She  was  19  before  she'd  go  out 
with  a  boy  who  took  a  drink,  and  if  he 
took  more  than  one,  she  was  through. 
On  the  subject  of  marriage,  she  feels  still 
more  strongly.  If  you're  married,  you're 
married,  and  cheating  is  the  unforgiveable 
sin.  Dick  agrees  for  himself.  For  others  he 
draws  no  line.  If  he  finds  a  man  good 
company,  that's  that.  What  said  man  does 
with  his  private  life  is  his  own  affair. 
Susan  can't  see  it — rather  can't  feel  it 
that  way.  Her  revulsion  against  those  who 
violate  her  ethical  standards  is  so  deeply 
ingrained,  she  can't  bear  them  in  the 
same  room  with  her. 

Apart  from  this  hard-and-fast  rule,  she's 
more  social  than  Dick.  He  looks  for  mental 
stimulation  in  his  friends.  If  he  finds  you 
dull,  goodbye.  Susan  finds  nobody  dull. 
She  likes  tall  people,  short  people,  round 
people,  flat  people  and  knows  how  to 
reach  common  ground  with  them  all. 
Lots  of  folks  who  enchant  Susan  bore 


it's  bing-time 
in  September 
with  crosby 
on  the  cover  of 
modern  screen 
on  sole 
august  10 


Richard  stiff.  At  parties  she's  always  the 
center  of  a  lively  circle,  but  always  has 
one  ear  and  eye  cocked  for  her  husband, 
trying  to  drag  him  in.  For  unless  he'd 
meet  up  with  some  congenial  soul,  he'd 
be  off  in  a  corner,  critical  and  aloof. 

Both  are  clear-sighted,  honest,  intelligent. 
They  saw  what  was  happening,  faced  it, 
and  tried  to  do  something  about  it.  Two 
years  ago  Susie  went  to  a  psychologist  and 
took  a  series  of  tests.  He  explained  her 
to  herself.  There  was  a  whole  lot  of  stuff, 
but  the  crux  of  her  problem  was  this: 
At  20,  she'd  been  thrown  among  a  bunch 
of  sophisticated  people  and  expected  to 
act,  by  her  lights,  like  a  woman  of  40. 

"When  you're  able  to  span  that  gap," 
he  told  her,  "when  you  say,  well,  some- 
body got  tight,  so  he  got  tight,  what  of 
it? — then   you'll   be   grown  up." 

She  conceded  that  this  was  a  legitimate 
viewpoint.  She  made  a  sincere  effort  to 
change.  She  couldn't  change. 

Still,  she  and  Dick  continued  to  hope 
and  try.  Neither  wanted  their  marriage 
broken.  They  talked  themselves  into  be- 
lieving that  things  would  improve  when 
such-and-such  happened.  When  Susan 
could  do  more  for  herself.  When  Dick 
started  getting  somewhere.  When  Susan 
returned  to  work.  When  they  could  build 
their  house  and  have  enough  room  and 
not  be  forever  under  each  other's  feet. 

Susan's  back  grew  strong  enough  to 
discard  the  brace.  She  could  dress  and  un- 
dress herself.  All  the  help  she  needed  was 
in  and  out  of  the  car.  She  made  Sign  of 
the  Ram,  doing  as  full  a  day's  work  as 
anyone.  Dick  and  Bill  Asher  wrote  the 
screenplay  of  Stranger  in  Town  with  an- 
other collaborator  and  sold  it  to  Colum- 
bia, where  they  produced  and  directed  it. 
Last  November,  still  hoping,  the  Quines 
gave  each  other  the  plans  for  a  new  house 
as  an  anniversary  gift. 

None  of  this  touched  the  heart  of  their 
problem.  They  were  still  two  people, 
pulling  opposite  ways.  Just  before  Christ- 
mas, the  kettle  boiled  over  again.  Due  at 
the  hospital  for  her  annual  checkup, 
Susan  went  in  and  stayed  a  week,  to  get 
out  from  under. 

For  months  before  going  to  New  York, 
she  wasn't  herself.  She  changed  as  her 
injury  had  never  changed  her.  Susan,  who 
loved  to  laugh,  quit  laughing,  grew  mopey 
and  depressed.  Susan,  who  loved  the 
radio,  never  turned  it  on.  Susan,  who'd 
notice  a  missing  eyelash  if  it  belonged 
to  a  friend,  didn't  seem  to  care  suddenly 
whether  her  friends  came  or  went. 

One  of  them  said:  "You  ached  for  her 
and  you  ached  just  as  much  for  Dick. 
You  knew  this  couldn't  go  on,  it  wasn't 
right,  but  how  could  it  end?  Dick  would 
never  take  the  initiative.  And  while  we 
knew  how  independent  Susan  was,  it 
never  occurred  to  us  she'd  be  that  in- 


dependent.    We  were  wrong,  of  course." 

Then  boom!  Susie's  in  New  York,  having 
a  ball.  Free  as  air  and  light  as  a  feather. 
"Practically  rumba-ed  in  my  wheelchair," 
she  told  someone  later.  At  home  she'd 
felt  dull,  bound  within  her  immediate 
circle,  unable  to  mix.  Here  she  felt  gay, 
rarin'  to  go  every  minute.  One  party  in 
particular  she  remembers — all  kinds  of 
people,  lots  of  exciting  discussion. 

Back  at  the  hotel,  she  thought:  "What 
a  wonderful  evening — "  when  another 
thought  whipped  across  it.  With  Dick 
along,  it  wouldn't  have  been  a  good 
evening.  She'd  have  been  watching  to  see 
if  he  liked  the  people,  she'd  have  been 
tense,  constrained,  she'd  never  have  been 
able  to  let  herself  go  like  this. 

Lying  there,  Susan  asked  herself  some 
questions.  How  long  can  we  go  on  bat- 
tling and  making  up?  Where  do  we  agree? 
We're  mad  more  than  we're  not  mad. 
The  minute  one  enters  the  room,  he  pulls 
the  other  down.  It  doesn't  make  sense. 
It's  not  Dick  or  me,  it's  us.  We  don't  be- 
long together. 

What  kind  of  person  am  I?  she  asked 
herself.  What  do  I  want?  She  wanted  to 
feel  the  way  she  felt  tonight,  like  a  bal- 
loon when  you  take  the  weights  off.  Once 
and  for  all  and  quietly  she  saw  it  now. 
More  than  anything  else  in  the  world,  she 
wanted  freedom. 

It  was  no  easy  decision  to  make  or 
accept.  It  hurt  them  both.  You  don't  go 
through  what  these  two  have  gone  through 
together,  and  flip  it  off.  Bonds  had  been 
forged  that  were  tough  to  snap.  Their 
clashing  temperaments  hadn't  made  ene- 
mies of  them.  Both  were  too  fair-minded. 
Both  valued  the  other's  qualities  too 
highly. 

They  could  have  patched  things  up  as 
they'd  done  dozens  of  times,  but  what 
for?  If  experience  teaches  you  nothing, 
you're  a  sucker.  Sooner  or  later,  the  break 
was  bound  to  come.  Let  it  come  now,  while 
they  were  young  enough  to  build  new 
lives.  Besides,  they  had  a  son  to  consider. 
Spook,  as  they  call  Timothy,  is  two. 
Nothing's  worse  for  a  child  than  to  raise 
him  in  an  atmosphere  of  discord.  He  was 
too  little  now  for  their  separation  to 
bother  him.  He'd  get  used  to  seeing  his 
daddy  come  and  go.  Why  wait  till  he  grew 
old  enough  to  be  hurt? 

So  they  took  their  decision,  knowing 
what  people  would  think.  Well,  let  them 
think  it.  Both  were  sick  to  death  of  the 
roles  they'd  been  cast  in — a  couple  of 
idols  in  a  niche,  too  good  to  be  true. 
It's  so  much  easier  to  idealize  than  to 
understand  that  here  were  two  humans 
who'd  found,  like  millions  of  others,  that 
they  didn't  get  along  and  weren't  living 
their  lives  to  please  public  opinion. 

When  the  news  broke,  the  expected 
cry  went  up:  "Oh,  she's  being  noble. 
Letting  him  go  for  his  sake."  At  which 
their  friends  hoot,  and  point  in  denial  to 


critic's  corner 


counting  sheep? 

Black  Bart — The  film  is  in  technicolor 
and  will  put  you  to  sleep  faster  than 
any  other  bright,  whirling  object  you 
ever  stared  at.  .  .  . 

John  McCarten,  The  New  Yorker 

Adventures  of  Casanova  at  the  Globe 
Theater  is  humbly  suggested  as  a  cure 
for  insomnia  in  cases  where  drugs, 
sedatives,  and  blunt  instruments  have 
failed. 

Archer  Winsten,  The  New  York  Post 


Love-quiz 


. .  For  Married  Folks  Only 


WHAT  SINGLE  MISTAKE  THREATENS 
HER  ONCE  HAPPY  MARRIAGE? 

A.  This  foolish  wife  failed  to  take  one  of  the  first  steps  usually 
important  to  marital  compatibility. 

Q.    What  is  that  first  step  so  vital  to  continual  marital  congeniality? 

A.  A  wise  wife  practices  sound,  safe  feminine  hygiene  to  safe- 
guard her  daintiness  with  a  scientifically  correct  preparation 
for  vaginal  douching  .  .  .  "Lysol"  in  proper  solution. 

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the  wiser,  better-adjusted  Susan  of  today. 

Ever  since  getting  back  from  New  York, 
she's  been  as  much  Susan  as  they've  ever 
known  her.  A  happy  silly  kid,  full  of  the 
devil,  disposition  out  of  this  world.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Dick's  the  more  lost  of  the 
two.  Dick  needs  the  sense  of  belonging, 
as  Susan  doesn't,  and  suddenly  everything's 
pulled  out  from  under  him.  ■  Not  that  he's 
being  noble  either.  He'll  find  himself.  And 
Susan  will  find  her  own  kind  of  happi- 
ness, which  she's  certainly  got  coming. 

Their  professional  plans  depend  on  many 
things.  Dick  would  rather  write  and  pro- 
duce than  act.  Though  it's  been  well  re- 
ceived at  sneaks,  Stranger  in  Town  isn't 
released  yet.  Dick's  chewing  his  nails,  and 
Susan  chews  right  along  with  him. 

Susan's  attitude  toward  pictures  is  clear 
and  well-defined.  She's  finicky  about  the 
kind  she'll  do.  At  best,  it's  tough  enough 
to  find  good  scripts,  let  alone  good  scripts 
built  around  wheelchairs.  "I'm  not  weak, 
and  I  refuse  to,  play  a  weak  sister." 

Hearing  this,  some  big-brain  came  back 
with  Lionel  Barrymore.  "He  works  all 
the  time." 

"Give  me  another  fifty  years,"  said 
Susie  drily,  "and  Til  do  the  same." 

What  she'd  really  like  is  to  go  to  law 
school  in  the  fall,  and  maybe  have  a  little 
radio  show  on  the  side  just  to  keep  her 
hand  in.  But  married,  separated  or 
divorced,  Dick  proposes  to  be  the  guy 
who  brings  home  the  bacon. 

I  hate  to  pull  the  old  corny  line  about 
two  such  uncorny  characters,  but  I  have 
no  choice.  They're  better  friends  right 
now  than  they've  been  in  years.  Dick 
phones  every  day  and  drops  in  often. 
He's  free  to  take  Spook  and  do  anything 
he  likes  with  him.  "With  me  too,"  says 
Susie.  "We  love  each  other  when  we 
don't  have  to  live  together." 

They've  met  this  second  crisis  in  their 
lives  as  straightforwardly  as  the  first,  and 
with  no  dregs  of  bitterness.  On  the  phone 
one  day  somebody  asked  Susan  who  her 
lawyer  was,  and  she  nearly  fell  over. 

"Lawyers  never  entered  my  head,"  she 
wailed  to  Dick  when  he  came  by  that 
afternoon.  "What  do  I  say  to  the  lawyer? 
Or  the  judge?  Dear  judge,  my  husband's 
real  nice,  and  he  thinks  I'm  real  nice.  Only 
he  plays  the  piano,  which  annoys  me. 
You  know  what  he'll  say  to  me,  don't 
you?  Scram,  sister,  he'll  say.  Dick, 
what'll  I  tell  him?" 

"Tell  him  I  conked  you  with  the  radio." 

"There's  an  idea,  why  didn't  you? 
Turn  around,  you've  got  fuzz  on  your 
pants.  I  can't  bear  to  see  you  with  fuzz 
on  your  pants.  How's  Thunder?" 

"Still  a  little  uneasy.  Can't  seem  to 
adjust  himself." 

Only  then  did  a  shadow  slip  across 
Susan's  face.  "Poor  darling,"  she  sighed. 
"He's  old  enough  to  be  hurt." 


that's 


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"Would  you  like  it  mounted?"  inquired 
the  photographer. 

"Oh,  that  would  be  wonderful,"  re- 
plied the  starlet.  "I  look  so  much 
better  on  a  horse." 

from   "Hollywood  Merry -Go -Round" 
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Jhrill  to  this  Vigorous  Drama 
of  Love  and  Daring 

in  Gay  18th  Century  England! 


IN  THE  GRAND  MANOR 

(Continued  from  page  34) 

and  the  swooping  draperies  are  sand- 
colored  with  a  brown  trim.  The  fur- 
nishings are  essentially  Queen  Anne  but 
intermingled  with  these  are  several  Sher- 
aton pieces. 

What  you  remember  best  about  Clau- 
dette's  drawing  room,  however,  is  the 
tremendous  portrait  of  her  mother  which 
dominates  the  scene.  The  portrait  of  Mrs. 
Colbert  looks  down  on  you  from  above 
the  couch.  It  recalls  to  mind  the  era  of 
the  Gibson  girls  and  it  makes  you  realize 
from  whom  Claudette  inherits  her  heart- 
faced  beauty. 

You  say  something  about  that  beauty, 
about  that  fragile  loveliness,  but  Claudette 
modestly  tells  you  to  stop  your  kidding. 
"Let's  go  into  the  playroom,"  she  says. 
"This  room's  too  formal  for  me." 

You  look  around  again.  "This  is  a  nice 
room  for  large  parties." 

Claudette  agrees.  "Only  you're  not  a 
large  party,"  she  says.  "So  let's  sit  in  the 
playroom.  I've  done  it  over.  I  think 
you'll  like  it." 

The  Pressman  playroom  was  once  fur- 
nished in  heavy  English  taproom  style  but 
now  it's  modern,  bright-colored  and  multi- 
functional, three  qualities  which  happen 
also  to  be  characteristic  of  Romanoff's  Res- 
taurant. 

The  playroom  is  equipped  as  I  told  you 
in  the  beginning,  with  a  projection  booth. 
It  also  boasts  a  small  bar,  a  large  fire- 
place, a  green  leathered  game  table.  Ev- 
ery chair — I  tried  them  all — is  comfort- 
able and  fanny  fitting. 

room  of  many  moods  .  .  . 

The  Pressmans  use  the  playroom  for 
practically  all  their  entertaining.  Here, 
they  show  movies,  play  backgammon,  and 
talk. 

The  basic  sand  color  is  carried  over 
from  the  hall  and  drawing-room.  The 
paneling  and  magnolia  beams  which  were 
once  mahogany -stained  have  recently 
been  sand-blasted  and  then  rubbed  with 
white  paint  and  burnt  umber  so  that  the 
room  is  now  very  light. 

The  carpet  is  beige  again  and  the  up- 
holstered pieces,  as  well  as  the  pillows 
and  lamp  shades,  offer  bright  accents  of 
chartreuse,  green,  and  red. 

The  room  is  large  but  the  furnishings 
are  divided  into  several  separate  and  flex- 
ible conversational  groupings.  In  front  of 
the  fireplace,  for  example,  is  a  love  seat 
which  faces  two  deep,  cushioning  chairs. 
These  are  covered  with  a  quilted  chintz 
fabric,  a  red -green  print. 

In  front  of  the  French  doors  which  lead 
to  the  terrace  there's  a  large  coffee-table 
flanked  on  three  sides  by  a  red  couch  and 
two  chairs. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  playroom,  directly 
beneath  the  projection  windows,  Claudette 
has  another  large  couch  and  a  few  inci- 
dental chairs,  and  when  she  shows  a  movie 
for  a  group  of  guests,  these  chairs  are 
shoved  into  a  line. 

I  think  what  pleases  Claudette  most 
about  her  playroom,  however,  is  the  in- 
genious manner  in  which  she's  been  able 
to  hide  her  projection  booth. 

Sam  Marx  of  Chicago,  the  well-known 
architect,  painted  for  her  a  large  still  life 
of  red  poppies.  These  poppies  match  in 
exact  color  the  redness  of  the  decorating 
motif,  and  their  canvas  is  large  enough 
to  cover  all  the  rectangular  apertures 
through  which  the  films  are  projected. 

The  painting  is  hung  on  one  long  iron 
hinge,  so  that  it  can  be  swung  aside  when 
the  movie  booth  is  in  use.  When  it's  not, 
that  Marx  painting  against  the  wall  is  cer- 


Edison  Marshall's  famous  novel 

THE  UPSTART 

now  yours  for  only 

All  of  his  life,  young  Dick  Fingers,  a  foundling, 
has  wondered  who  he  is.  His  hints  at  the  possi- 
bilities of  his  nobility  and  his  gentlemanly 
features  have  added  to  his  prestige  as  the  leader 
of  a  gang  of  pickpockets. 

But  Dick  longs  to  be  a  gentleman,  so  he  joins 
a  company  of  strolling  actors,  and  enters  upon 
a  new  and  engaging  world.  He  meets  sweet 
Penny  with  the  pagan  heart,  whom  he  imme- 
diately worships,  and  Annie,  who  doesn't  pre- 
tend to  have  any  of  the  polite  kind  of  morals. 
Dick  has  never  dreamed  of  such  companionship 
and  warmth,  and  his  goal  in  life  becomes  the 
love  of  Penny  Price. 

This  superb  drama  of  good  and  evil,  of  lust 
and  tender  passion,  is  so  vividly  portrayed  that 
no  reader  will  soon  forget  it. 


No.  233 


of  Mo^  ^ 


Another  best-selling  romantic  novel 
now  published  by  Dell  Books  for  25c 

student  nurse 

by  Renee  Shann 

Anna  Marsden  likes  her  position  at  a  fashionable 
private  hospital,  but  she  is  also  in  love  with  brilliant 
Dr.  Gerald  Trent.  And  since  the  doctor  is  going 
away  and  wants  Anna  to  go  with  him,  she  must  give 
up  one  or  the  other. 

Then  beautiful  young  Shirley  Davidson  makes  a 
dramatic  entrance  into  the  picture  and  makes  things 
even  more  complicated.  For  even  though  student- 
nurse  Shirley  almost  worships  Anna,  she  unwittingly 
falls  in  love  with  Dr.  Trent.  After  a  bitter  quarrel 
with  Anna,  the  doctor  meets  Shirley  in  the  park — and 
their  friendship  soon  ripens  into  passionate  love. 
Tangled  lives,  mixed  with  secret,  happy  hours  and 
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Here  is  a  story  of  love  and  hate,  strength  and  weak- 
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No.  234  a  gripping  emotional  drama. 


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tainly  one  of  the  most  beautiful  bits  of 
still-life  camouflage  that  I've  ever  seen, 
and  I'm  a  man  who's  seen  Lana  Turner's 
sweater. 

I  like,  too,  the  Pressman  dining  room. 
It's  rather  traditional,  the  furniture  ma- 
hogany, Duncan  Phyfe  and  Chippendale, 
the  walls  papered  in  a  pattern  of  pale 
green  and  white  bamboo,  the  table  seating 
ten,  perhaps  twelve. 

The  Pressmans  are,  of  course,  warm 
wonderful  hosts.  As  I  mentioned  before, 
Claudette  is  a  connoisseur  of  food  and 
drink.  She  collects  a  catholic  group  of 
recipes;  she  has  a  surprisingly  large  wine 
list.  I  say  surprisingly  large,  because  she 
is  no  lavish  party-giver.  A  few  congenial 
friends  for  dinner — and  that's  about  the 
extent  of  her  entertaining. 

You  see  these  two  Pressmans  are  pri- 
marily intellectuals.  For  example,  when 
you  talk  about  persons  Claudette  doesn't 
know,  the  first  question  she  asks  is,  "Are 
they  intelligent?" 

Most  actresses  don't.  They  ask,  "Is  he 
attractive?"  or  "Do  they  have  any  money?" 

Claudette,  like  all  girls  of  French  ex- 
traction, has  a  wide  streak  of  the  practical. 
She  knows  how  to  budget  household  ex- 
penses, and  this  acumen  is  naturally  car- 
ried over  into  her  professional  life;  hers 
has  been  one  of  the  longest  and  most  dis- 
tinguished careers  in  the  motion  picture 
industry. 

She  has  just  formed  a  company  with 
producers  Jack  Skirball  and  Bruce  Man- 


ning, to  be  known  as  Crest  Productions, 
and  her  first  picture  under  this  banner 
will  deal  with  the  homecoming  and  peace- 
time adjustment  to  civilian  life  of  a  Wac. 

What  Romanoff  likes  mostly  about  Clau- 
dette, in  addition  to  her  beauty,  is  her 
loyalty,  intelligence,  and  honesty. 

She  has  strong  ties  to  her  family,  great 
fealty  to  her  relatives. 

There  is  nothing  phony  about  Claudette, 
which  is  another  reason  why  I  love  her. 
Romanoff,  as  you  well  know,  is  a  tradi- 
tional hater  of  phonies.  He  can  spot  them 
a  mile  off,  and  he  can  vouch  that  every- 
thing about  Claudette  is  genuine.  Take 
her  hobby  of  collecting  miniature  china. 
This  collection  rests  in  her  bedroom,  a 
sunny,  cheerful  room  with  a  large  double 
Queen  Anne  bed  and  hand-painted  Chin- 
oiserie  wallpaper.  It  was  started  way 
back  in  1930,  and  when  Claudette  tells 
you  it's  her  hobby,  you  know  full  well 
that  this  is  no  ladylike  publicity  release. 
This  is  truth. 

For  truth  and  honesty,  gentility  and 
good  taste  constitute  the  integral,  distin- 
guishing fabric  of  Mrs.  Pressman — her 
character,  and  her  home.  I  for  one  am 
certain  that  my  poetical  predecessor  John 
Keats  had  something  like  them  in  mind 
when  many  years  ago,  he  left  the  world 
this  memorable  thought: 

"Beauty  is  truth,  truth  beauty  .  .  .  that 
is  all 

Ye  know  on  earth,  and  all  ye  need 

to  know." 


SHIRLEY  ON  THE  COVER 

(Continued  from  page  56) 


the  people  with  real  spunk  were  the  ones 
who  had  nerve  enough  to  ride  him.  He 
liked  to  buck. 

After  Spunky  came  Roanie,  a  pony  who'd 
been  in  the  circus.  He  could  dance,  and 
march,  and  he  was  altogether  enchanting, 
but  Shirley  lost  him  when  she  was  in 
Hawaii.  The  whole  family  except  for  her 
brother  George  was  in  Hawaii,  and  16- 
year-old  George  took  advantage  of  their 
absence  to  make  a  shrewd  deal.  He 
swapped  Roanie  and  another  horse — for  a 
saddle.  Then  he  didn't  have  a  horse  to 
ride  the  saddle  on.  And  when  his  father 


found  out,  he  wouldn't  have  been  able  to 
sit  down  to  ride  a  horse  if  he  had  had  a 
horse.  It  was  a  painful  swap,  all  around. 

Shirley  hopes  the  baby'll  like  sports,  but 
not  too  much.  "Muscles  are  fine — but  not 
for  girls."  And  she  hopes  she'll  have  a 
sense  of  humor — "and  that  Jack  and  I  will 
be  able  to  take  it." 

Right  now,  they're  calling  the  baby 
Susan,  and  saving  Linda.  If  she  grows  up 
tall  and  dignified,  and  insists  on  the  Linda, 
that's  her  privilege. 

But  they're  hoping  she  won't  grow  up  too 
fast.  She's  such  a  darn  cute  baby. 


Linda  Susan,  aged  4  months  and  looking  very  much  like  her  ma,  gets  her  first  taste  of  the  camera. 
Parents  Shirley  Temple   and   John   Agar  are   now  working   in   Selznick's   Baltimore  Escapade. 


DR.  HAND'S 

TEETHING  LOTION 

Just  rub  it  on  the  gums 


CROSSROADS 

(Continued  from  page  31) 


Now  the  studio  moves  in  with  the  body 
blow:  if  I  don't  sign  the  contract,  not  only 
won't  I  play  Jolson  but  I'll  be  cast  in  bit 
parts  in  every  low  budget  picture  the 
studio  makes  for  3V2  years.  By  the  time 
I've  served  my  sentence,  no  other  studio 
will  know  I  exist. 

Several  days  later  I'm  called  for  a  two- 
day  bit  in  a  Boston  Blackie  B.  I  play  the 
bit  role.  I  see  that  Columbia  means  to 
carry  out  its  threat  to  ruin  what  standing 
I  have,  I  crumble.  I  sign  the  contract.  I 
get  the  Jolson  role. 

It  makes  me  a  star  and  brings  me  a 
hatful  of  new  problems.  What  to  do  next? 
Some  studios  seem  to  know  how  to  build 
an  actor's  career — take  the  long  view. 
Look  what  Metro  has  done  for  Gable  over 
20  years.  Some  other  studios  take  some- 
thing good,  bleed  it  dry  and  throw  it  away. 
Their  only  interest  is  to  cash  in  quick  on 
any  success.  I  was  thrown  into  the  wrong 
part  in  a  poor  picture  (Down  to  Earth) ; 
then  because  I've  got  muscles  I  dueled 
my  way  through  a  corny  old  story  they've 
made  several  times  already  (The  Swords- 
man) and  after  that  they  concocted  an- 
other (Gallant  Blade),  which  is  nothing 
more  than  a  B-picture  version  of  The 
Swordsman. 

Columbia  was  trying  to  pacify  me  with 
promises  of  tremendous  things  to  come, 
and  an  immediate  offer  of  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars  as  a  bonus  for  good  work. 
I  said  fine.  (Who  turns  down  twenty-five 
thousand  dollars?) 

bonus  with  a  catch  .  .  . 

But  there  it  was  again — another  seven- 
year  contract  being  pushed  across  the 
desk.  No  sign  contract,  no  get  bonus.  It 
was  as  simple  as  that. 

I  said:  "I  need  a  lawyer." 

I  got  one.  The  lawyer  told  me  I  had  a 
case,  the  contract  I  had  signed  before 
doing  Jolson  was  invalid — undue  pressures 
were  used  on  me.  So  a  year  ago  last  June 
I  filed  suit  but  went  on  working  for 
Columbia  (with  those  swords)  because 
lawsuits  take  time  and  I  couldn't  ditch  the 
studio  until  I  knew  the  judge's  decision. 

About  eight  months  later,  the  case  came 
to  trial.  It  had  drama,  and  we  collected 
an  audience  of  some  proportions  each  day. 
On  one  side  of  the  tremendous  onyx- 
topped  table  down  front  below  the  judge,  I 
sat  with  my  lawyer.  Facing  us,  only  three 
feet  away  at  the  other  side  of  the  table, 
sat  my  boss  with  his  lawyer.  For  the 
better  part  of  two  weeks  we  said  polite 
but  frosty  good  mornings.  That  was  all. 

I  liked  the  judge.  He  seemed  interested 
and  on  his  toes.  He  must  have  gone  home 
each  night  and  studied  the  briefs  and  the 
day's  testimony.  He  asked  good  ques- 
tions. I  felt  that  he  believed  me  when  I 
told  my  story,  I  think  he  understood  that 
it  was  a  matter  of  my  freedom  more  than 
a  matter  of  money. 

Generally  after  a  trial  like  this  you  must 
wait  a  month  or  so,  without  any  inkling  of 
how  you've  done,  until  the  written  judg- 
ment is  handed  down.  But  this  judge  gave 
a  preliminary  verbal  decision  the  last  day 
of  the  trial.  I  don't  know,  but  I  like  to 
think  he  did  it  so  I  could  start  making 
my  plans.  The  decision,  when  we  heard  it, 
seemed  to  favor  Columbia  but  as  we 
listened  my  lawyers  and  I  thought  we 
heard  certain  things  in  my  favor. 

Had  we  heard  right? 

For  the  next  45  gruesome  minutes  we 
sat  in  tensed  anticipation,  waiting  for  the 
transcript  to  come  down.  When  we  read 
it  we  saw  that  we  had  not  won  a  clear- 


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cut  victory.  I  should  have  sued  sooner,  the 
judge  said.  By  delaying  I  had  weakened 
my  case — he  spoke  of  laches,  a  legal  term 
which  means  "to  linger."  But  actors  are  so 
used  to  being  pushed  around  that  it  nat- 
urally had  taken  me  rather  long  to  realize 
that  I  had  rights  and  could  defend  myself 
just  like  any  citizen.  The  judge  did  agree 
with  my  lawyer,  however,  that  I  had  signed 
the  contract  under  undue  duress. 

Betty,  who  had  held  my  hand  every 
day  in  the  courtroom,  said,  "Let's  cele- 
brate." We  went  to  a  movie  that  night, 
State  of  the  Union,  and  as  we  walked  in, 
Spencer  Tracy,  staring  straight  at  us  in 
enormous  closeup,  was  saying:  "Justice 
delayed   is  justice  miscarried." 

Betty  and  I  looked  at  each  other. 

There  was  the  usual  wait  of  a  month 
before  we  had  the  formal  judgment.  Here's 
what  we  liked: 

"The  defendant  (Columbia)  procured 
the  contract  and  the  execution  thereof  by 
plaintiff  (me)  by  the  exertion  of  undue 
influence  on  plaintiff  within  the  Section 
1575,  subdivision  1  of  the  Civil  Code 
of  the  State  of  California."  And  the  judge 
also  knocked  out  the  "specific  perform- 
ance" clause  of  the  contract. 

Though  apparently  I  am  still  under  con- 
tract to  Columbia,  my  lawyers  say  I  am 
now  free  to  work  elsewhere.  I  have  written 
a  letter  saying  that  I  don't  intend  to  work 
for  Columbia  any  more  and  will  accept  jobs 
at  other  studios.  Columbia  may  try  to 
collect  damages  if  I  do,  but  I  think  they 
would  have  a  poor  case. 

at  the  crossroads  .  .  . 

Now  I'm  at  the  great  crossroads. 

Like  Olivia  de  Havilland,  I  may  have 
an  irritating  wait  ahead.  Some  of  the 
studios  may  be  scared  to  use  me.  But  there 
are  independent  producers  who  don't  scare 
easily.  I'll  get  something  good  eventually. 

As  Betty  said  after  we  got  the  court 
decision,  "You're  not  an  old  man,  but 
you're  old  enough  to  deserve  more  pleasant 
working  conditions.  I  like  my  man  to  be 
able  to  sleep  nights." 

That's  the  dream  girl  I'm  married  to.  A 
perfect  mate.  Temperamentally  my  oppo- 
site. I'm  a  worrier.  Nothing  bothers  her. 

This  past  year  has  been  one  hit  in  the 
head  after  another  for  me,  but  so  long  as  I 
have  that  girl  I  can  take  it.  Our  marriage 
bucks  me  up.  With  all  these  contract  trou- 
bles I  couldn't  go  to  New  York,  where 
Betty  was  playing  the  lead  in  a  hit  musical 
(Call  Me  Mister).  But  when  she  knew  I 
needed  her,  she  left  the  show,  flew  out 
here. 

She  signed  up  with  Metro,  and  now  she's 
great  in  her  first  picture  (Big  City) . 

And  that's  another  thing  that  gets  me 
sore.  People  saying  her  successful  career 
will  break  us  up.  What  are  they  yelling 
about?  Betty's  always  had  her  own  career, 
and  I've  always  been  proud  of  her,  and 
the  better  she  does,  the  prouder  I  get.  I 
happen  to  love  the  woman.  What's  good  for 
her  makes  me  happy. 

My  latest  setback  is  a  purely  physical 
one.  Injured  myself  making  that  last 
sword  picture.  We  were  on  location  up  at 
June  Lake,  standing  in  frigid  water  up  to 
our  waists  for  several  days  doing  a  fight 
sequence.  The  swords  were  heavy  enough 
to  cause  trouble  and  the  addition  of  freez- 
ing water  made  the  exertion  fierce.  I  tore 
my  insides  and  have  only  just  said  good- 
bye to  the  doctors  and  nurses  at  Cedars  of 
Lebanon  Hospital  where  I  had  to  go  for 
a  hernia  operation.  They  gave  me  a  fabu- 
lous new  kind  of  analgesia  that  made  me 
love  the  whole  world  and  the  hospital 
when  I  came  to — but  in  time  it  wore  off, 
of  course,  and  the  recovery  process  has 
been  tedious.  I've  had  quite  enough  of 
hospitals  to  last  me  the  rest  of  my  days. 

What  am  I  doing  besides  getting  well? 

Reading  scripts,  talking  to  producers. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

One  day,  while 
living  in  N ew 
York,  I  had  occa- 
sion to  wait  for 
my  husband  at 
the  Hotel  Astor. 
Harry  James  was 
appearing  there 
at  the  time.  As  I 
was  standing  in 
the  lobby  a  girl  in 
a  large  black  hat 
and  plain  dress  came  over  and  asked 
me  where  Harry  James  was  playing. 
I  told  her,  and  added  that  I  loved  him 
and  his  playing.  She  smiled  and  said, 
"I  love  him,  too."  Later,  I  saw  her 
again,  but  this  time  Harry  James  was 
with  her.  She  smiled  at  me  and  said, 
"He's  my  man  now,"  and  I  recognized 
her  as  Betty  Grable. 

Mrs.  S.  Wolf 
Wilmington,  Delaware 


Couple  of  my  friends  have  written  a  pip 
of  a  comedy  I'd  like  to  do  and  maybe  we'll 
get  a  production  organized.  But  there  are 
endless  delays  and  I  find  I've  got  to  be 
patient.  I've  had  practice — waited  30  pic- 
tures for  my  first  real  chance.  I'd  like  to 
do  a  comedy,  not  that  I'm  a  comedian  you 
understand.  But  I  could  do  the  sort  of 
roles  that  Henry  Fonda  has  played,  a  stu- 
dious type  to  whom  funny  things  happen. 

Betty  thinks  the  best  thing  I  ever  did 
was  the  reporter  in  the  Actors  Lab  Pro- 
duction of  Arsenic  and  Old  Lace  (Cary 
Grant  did  the  role  in  the  movie)  that  we 
played  in  army  hospitals  during  the  war. 
In  that  show  I  was  the  only  sane  person 
in  a  house  swarming  with  crazy  people. 

The  kind  of  roles  I  think  I'm  suited  for 
are  a  few  oceans  and  continents  away 
from  the  scripts  Columbia  threw  at  me. 
I'm  interested  in  stories  a  little  closer 
to  life.  Some  actors  don't  care  what 
they're  in  so  long  as  their  popularity 
keeps  up  and  the  money  rolls  in.  For  Betty 
or  me,  the  main  thing  is  that  we  enjoy  our 
work,  think  it's  worthwhile  and  feel  that 
we  grow  as  the  years  go  by. 

You  know  this  acting  business  is  a  dog- 
eat-dog  battle  for  jobs  and  success.  Ninety 
per  cent  of  the  people  who  come  out  to 
Hollywood  on  contract  are  gone  within  a 
year.  From  a  statistical  point  of  view  I'm 
'way  ahead  of  average  already;  I've  had 
seven  years  and  I've  built  myself  some 
kind  of  reputation.  I  believe  in  being  real- 
istic— you  may  as  well  go  by  statistics. 
Anything  beyond  average  is  so  much  al- 
falfa. 

Okay,  so  I'm  not  kicking  about  the 
breaks.  I've  piled  up  some  good  ones.  I 
don't  see  any  reason  to  stop.  I  don't  be- 
lieve my  career  is  over;  I  do  believe  you 
can  sue  a  studio  (if  you've  got  a  decent 
case)  and  live  to  work  again;  I'm  positive 
you  can  love  your  wife  even  if  she  makes 
money.  As  for  my  personal  ideals,  and 
whether  they  can  hurt  me,  I  don't  know. 

There  again,  I'm  inclined  to  believe  in 
the  essential  willingness  of  the  average 
American  to  respect  freedom  of  opinion. 
Modern  Screen  printed  my  views  on  the 
Washington  investigation  in  the  March 
issue,  and  I've  been  pulling  mail  ever 
since.  Plenty  of  people  don't  agree  with 
my  views,  but  plenty  of  those  same  people 
agree  with  my  right  to  state  those  views. 
Maybe  they  realize  it's  not  the  easiest 
thing  in  the  world  to  be  honest  all  the 
time;  maybe  they're  aware  that  I  could 
have  traveled  a  less  rocky  road  if  I'd 
compromised  with  my  principles.  They 
seem  to  be  on  my  side,  and  I'm  glad.  It's 
not  so  hard  to  fight  for  your  future,  if  you 
know  you're  not  fighting  alone. 


THE  FANS 

(Continued  from  page  92) 


Naked  City  premiere  in  Cleveland  .  .  .  Shirley- 
Temple  Club  is  offering,  foreign  winners  of 
their  membership  contest  subscriptions  to 
Modern  Screen,  impossible  to  get  over  there 
.  .  .  James  Stewart  Club  turned  over  its  annual 
contribution,  $65,  to  Cancer  Research  .  .  . 
Jeanette  MacDonald  Club  (Farrington)  cele- 
brated its  10th  anniversary  in  June. 

NEW  TROPHY  CUP  SERIES! 

The  Seventh  MSFCA  Trophy  Cup  contest  is 
now  closed;  points  are  being  added  up  and 
winners  will  be  announced  next  month.  So, 
start  dusting  off  your  mantelpiece  for  one  of 
those  handsome  cups!  In  the  meantime,  re- 
member our  monthly  contests  continue.  We're 
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SCREEN  STORIES  and  FRONT  PAGE  DETEC- 
TIVE. 

Here  are  results  of  this  month's  contest  (last  lap, 
7th  Semi-Annual  series): 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners  (100  points): 
Loralie  Reese,  "The  Inhuman  Race,"  Donna  Reed 
Journal.  Gloria  Hagblom,  Editorial,  Teddy  Walters 
Journal.  Weber  McFarland,  "Curtain  Going  Up," 
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MURDER  BOY 

(Continued  from  page  71) 


he  asked  me  why  I  didn't  try  to  get  the 
top  role  in  a  certain  picture  that's  coming 
up. 

"I  said  everybody  knew  he'd  been  set 
for  the  part.  'Look,'  he  retorted,  'I  read 
the  book,  and  you're  a  dead  ringer  for 
the  guy.  Anyway,  I've  got  plenty  of  other 
pictures  I  can  do — go  ahead — see  if  you 
can't  change  their  minds.'  I  tested,  of 
course.  But  I  ask  you,  who  ever  heard 
of  one  actor  touting  another  for  the  very 
part  that  might  win  him  an  Academy 
Award?" 

Nobody  ever  did,  as  a  matter  of  fact. 
Following  in  the  wake  of  the  enthusiasm 
stirred  up  first  by  Vic  and  Director  Henry 
Hathaway,  public  response  to  Richard 
Widmark  has  made  him  a  marked  man  at 
20th  Century-Fox,  marked  as  one  of 
Darryl  Zanuck's  future  important  stars. 
Dick  will  be  another  tough  guy  in  Street 
With  No  Name,  giving  Mark  Stevens  a 
rough  time.  And  after  that  there  are  a 
variety  of  choice  roles  on  tap. 

There's  no  doubt  about  it,  Dick  Wid- 
mark is  about  to  become  a  big  wheel 
in  movies.  But  that's  nothing  new  in  his 
life.  He's  always  been  the  class  of  any 
league  in  which  he  chose  to  play.  Yet, 
when  the  smoke  of  competition  clears 
away,  and  he  comes  in  first,  Dick  habitu- 
ally scratches  his  head  of  unruly,  semi- 
blonde  hair  and  mutters  inwardly,  "Well, 
whattya  know?" 

In  the  first  place,  the  world  should  never 
have  heard  of  Dick  Widmark.  He  was 
born  in  a  place  called  Sunrise,  Minnesota, 
which  he  thinks  may  have  had  a  couple 
of  dozen  inhabitants.  But  before  he  had 
learned  to  pull  on  his  own  britches  a  chain 
of  circumstances  began  to  operate  on  his 
future,  thanks  to  his  father. 

Carl  Widmark  was  and  is  a  man  of 
ideas.  Today  he  is  sales  manager  for  Gen- 
eral Outdoor  Advertising.  When  Dick  was 
trying  to  mutter  a  few  first  words,  his 
father  was  moving  the  family  from  one 
town  to  another — Sioux  Falls,  South  Da- 
kota, then  to  Henry,  Illinois,  and  several 


other  places  between  Maine   and  Calif. 

Dick  and  his  brother  Don  never  had 
to  worry  about  where  the  next  meal  was 
coming  from,  but  they  were  constantly 
asking,  "Hey,  Pop,  how  long  are  we  going 
to  live  in  this  town?" 

The  boys  began  to  consider  each  new 
home  base  as  a  personal  challenge,  and 
thereby  developed  a  loyalty  for  each  other 
that  has  stuck  through  the  years.  Prob- 
ably this  was  most  noticeable  when  Dick 
and  Don  approached  a  swimming  hole  in 
a  town  the  name  of  which  both  have 
long  since  forgotten.  The  kids  in  the  water 
noticed  the  two  silent  strangers,  clam- 
bered out  and  surrounded  them. 

"Whatsyer  name,  kid?"  the  ringleader 
asked. 

"Don's  his  name,"  Dick  answered,  being 
aged  eight  and  two  years  senior. 

"Dick's  his,"  Don  volunteered. 

"Can  ya  swim?" 

"Nope,"  they  replied  in  unison. 

"Well,"  the  big  boy  announced,  "you're 
gonna  learn." 

With  that  they  picked  up  Dick  and 
tossed  him  into  the  river.  He  came  up 
struggling,  his  hands  churning  under  his 
chin,  dog  fashion.  Somehow,  he  got  to 
the  bank,  swallowing  a  couple  of  quarts 
of  water  on  the  way — just  in  time  to  see 
Don  go  sailing  through  the  air. 

"Hey!"  he  sputtered  indignantly,  "He's 
too  little — he'll  drown." 

With  that,  Dick  launched  himself  back 
into  the  water  to  save  his  brother.  By  the 
time  he  came  up,  Don  had  reached  the 
bank,  turned  around  and  jumped  back  in 
to  save  Dick.  It  could  have  gone  on  like 
that  all  day  if  the  other  kids  hadn't 
finally  pulled  them  both  out,  more  un- 
conscious than  alive. 

They  had  learned  to  swim,  but  they 
were  humiliated,  individually,  and  for 
each  other.  The  net  result  was  a  battle 
royal,  after  which  they  returned  home  for 
dinner.  Carl  Widmark  looked  up  from  a 
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of  rubber  and  said,  "I  see  you  boys  have 
been  getting  acquainted  again." 
1  "Yeah,"  Dick  replied,  squinting  through 
a  pair  of  black  eyes. 

"Uh-huh,"  Don  echoed  over  a  cut  lip. 
"And  we  can  swim,  too." 

When,  some  years  later,  Dick  was  twen- 
ty, a  graduate  of  Lake  Forest  College  and 
an  instructor  in  public  speaking,  Don  was 
still  helping  out.  It's  no  cinch  to  be 
teaching  kids  you've  run  around  with  on 
the  campus.  It  is  doubly  no  simple  thing 
when  your  brother  and  your  best  girl  are 
in  the  same  class. 

A  couple  of  students  just  couldn't  take 
"Professor  Widmark"  seriously. 

Every  time  Dick  opened  his  mouth, 
they'd  mutter,  "How  true,  how  true,"  or 
"Indubitably,  Professor.  Indubitably." 

Dick  wanted  to  keep  his  teaching  job,  so 
he  couldn't  ask  them  to  step  outside.  But 
Don  could — and  did. 

After  that,  there  was  no  trouble. 

Dick  remembered  a  lot  of  things  like 
this  one  night  when  the  telephone  rang 
and  his  mother's  voice,  strained  with  grief, 
announced  that  Don  had  been  killed  in 
action  when  his  bomber  was  shot  down 
over  Germany. 

Later,  Don's  personal  effects  were  sent 
home,  but  the  tragedy  still  didn't  seem 
real.  It  wasn't.  In  a  few  months  came 
word  that  Don  and  his  crew  had  tried  to 
blaze  their  way  through  19  German  fighter 
planes.  They  had  to  give  up  when  the 
bomber  began  to  fall  apart.  Three  of  them 
lived  through  it,  Don  coming  down  with 
his  parachute  in  flames,  to  fc>ecome  a 
prisoner  of  war. 

Drama  like  this  is  pried  out  of  Dick 
only  by  patient  cross-examination. 

He  prefers  to  remember  small,  slap- 
happy  stories. 

gotta  be  a  football  hero  .  .  . 

For  instance,  in  high  school,  Dick  had 
a  monumental  yearning  to  be  a  member 
of  the  football  team.  He  weighed  a  skinny 
125  pounds,  but  he  had  the  stretch,  so 
he  went  out  for  the  team  and  took  a 
thorough  beating  in  every  scrimmage. 
Still,  it  was  nice  to  know  that  on  Sat- 
urdays when  the  team  trotted  out  onto 
the  field,  his  best  girl  was  watching 
from  the  stands.  It  would  have  been  nicer 
if  the  coach  had  let  him  in  the  game,  but 
that  didn't  happen  for  a  couple  of  years. 

Still,  he  kept  at  it,  and  one  day  the 
big  moment  arrived. 

"Widmark,"  the  coach  barked  when  the 
score  was  nearly  187,000  to  0  in  Prince- 
ton High's  favor,  "get  in  there — and  play 
your  heart  out." 

Widmark  got  in  there  as  the  team  lined 
up  close  to  the  sidelines.  It  wouldn't  do 
to  let  anyone  know  how  excited  he  was, 
so  he  assumed  a  nonchalant  stance  at 
his  position — right  end  on  the  defensive. 
Widmark,  the  athlete,  turned  to  a  fan 
who  was  carrying  a  portable  radio  and 
asked,  "Hey,  Joe,  what's  the  score  of  the 
Northwestern  game?" 

At  that  moment  the  opposition  stormed 
over  Dick  and  scored  a  touchdown. 

Came  the  kickoff,  an  exchange  of  punts. 
Dick  was  again  near  the  sidelines.  This 
time  he  was  determined  to  pay  attention. 
But  as  the  ball  was  snapped,  the  fan  with 
the   radio   yelled,   "Hey,  Widmark." 

Dick  automatically  turned  his  head. 

"The  Northwestern  score — "  That's  all 
Dick  heard.  The  opposing  halfback  cut 
him  down,  and  the  fullback  ran  47  yards 
for  another  score. 

Right  end  Widmark  was  yanked  back 
to  the  bench. 

His  best  girl  went  home  from  the  game 
with  the  fan  who  had  the  portable  radio. 

However,  you  can't  keep  a  good  man 
down.  When  baseball  season  rolled  around, 
the  coach  discovered  that  Widmark  could 


hit  like  a  fool,  and  did.  He  hit  the  ball  up, 
out,  and  into  the  mitt  of  an  outfielder. 

It  is  Dick's  contention  that  a  more  sane 
youth  would  have  given  up  sports  for 
Home  Economics,  but  he  was  stubborn. 
He  fought  the  thing  through  until  in  his 
Senior  year  at  Lake  Forest,  he  became  a 
first-string  end,  and  he  had  one  really 
spectacular  game.  On  opening  kickoff 
at  Homecoming,  he  tackled  the  receiver 
on  the  one  yard  line.  During  the  first 
quarter,  he  intercepted  three  passes,  lived 
in  the  enemy's  backfield,  and  generally 
behaved  like  an  all-American.  Then,  as 
he  wobbled  around  from  sheer  exhaust- 
ion, he  was  led  off  the  field. 

"Great  game,  Widmark,"  the  coach  cried. 

Dick  looked  at  him  with  a  blank  stare. 
"What  town  is  this?" 

Later  he  came  to  long  enough  to  ex- 
plain that  he  had  been  kicked  in  the 
head  on  the  first  play  and  hadn't  known 
what  he  was  doing. 

"I  have  since  come  to  the  conclusion," 
he  likes  to  explain,  "that  before  every 
major  endeavor  I  should  be  kicked  in 
the  head." 

The  truth  of  the  matter  is  that  Dick 
was  a  better  than  average  football  player, 
despite  his  weight.  He  was  good  enough 
to  cause  a  minor  feud  between  the  foot- 
ball coach  and  the  college  dramatic  coach. 
The  dramatic  department  had  Dick  sched- 
uled for  the  leading  role  in  Counsellor- 
at-Law,  but  the  brains  of  the  athletic  de- 
partment insisted  that  he  should  be  home 
in  bed  early  resting  up  his  muscles  in- 
stead of  tiring  out  his  brain  at  rehearsals. 
As  usual,  Dick  came  up  with  a  solution. 
He  sprained  his  ankle  in  scrimmage,  and 
the  play  went  off  without  a  hitch. 

Along  about  this  time,  romance  came 
into  the  life  of  Richard  Widmark.  She 
was  Jean  Hazlewood,  a  petite,  intelligent 
freshman  whose  hair  was  best  described 
as  "brownette."  If  she  didn't  see  Mr. 
Widmark  every  day,  it  was  because  he 
was  smothered  by  his  activities,  and 
not  for  the  reason  that  he  got  lost  in  a 
phone  booth  calling  someone  else. 

They  were  more  or  less  "going  steady" 
when  Dick,  faced  with  the  fact  that  he 
was  engaged  in  a  romance,  suddenly  got 
scared.  Things  had  never  become  "serious" 
with  him  before.  He  and  Jean  tapered  off. 

After  that,  Jean  began  to  go  around  with 
Dick's  best  friend.  One  night  while  she 
was  sitting  in  a  convertible  outside  the 
library,  waiting  for  him,  who  should  come 


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by  but  that  big  activity  man,  Dick  Wid- 
mark. 

He  hesitated,  stopped  and  said,  "Hello, 
Jean." 

And  that  did  it  again. 

Thereafter,  there  was  no  doubt  in  any- 
one's mind  about  who  went  with  whom, 
or  what  girl  could  be  voted  most  likely 
to  become  Mrs.  Richard  Widmark. 

After  her  junior  year,  Jean  went  to 
New  York  to  study  at  the  American 
Academy,  lose  her  Midwestern  twang  and 
try  acting.  Dick,  who  had  been  saving  a 
little  money  here  and  there  through  his 
jobs  at  grocery  and  drug  stores  and  as 
circulation  manager  of  the  Kewanee  Star, 
found  himself  with  $500  in  the  poke  and 
a  yen  to  travel. 

He  got  together  with  a  friend  named 
Freddie  Gottlieb,  also  possessor  of  $500. 
They  packed  knapsacks,  picked  up  a 
couple  of  bikes  and  booked  passage  on  a 
freighter,  bound  for  Europe. 

This  was  1937,  and  $1,000  got  two  people 
three  and  a  half  months  of  foreign  travel. 
Dick  and  Freddie  had  a  fine  time,  even 
in  Germany. 

"Storm  troopers  even  helped  us  with 
our  bikes  and  baggage  from  one  train  to 
another,"  Dick  reported  later,  "and  in 
restaurants  they  were  most  polite.  The 
policy  at  the  time  was  to  be  nice  to 
Americans." 

When  Dick  came  home,  he  knew  one 
thing:  he  was  going  to  make  money  as 
fast  as  he  could.  Even  a  less  intelligent 
young  man  might  have  come  to  that 
conclusion,  because  as  he  took  Jean  in 
his  arms,  with  her  family  looking  on,  he 
had  three  cents  in  his  pocket. 

Being  three  cents  from  broke,  no  young 
man  in  his  right  mind  speaks  of  marriage, 
particularly  to  a  girl  who  happens  to 
be  the  daughter  of  a  prominent  Chicago 
banker.  It  also  follows,  that  between  the 
beginning  of  a  kiss,  the  end,  and  while 
the  boy  is  still  looking  into  the  girl's 
eyes,  his  whole  future  can  change.  Dick 
Widmark  knew  there  wasn't  enough 
money  in  teaching,  and  he  was  giving  it 
up. 

A  couple  of  months  later,  he  was  saying 
goodnight  to  Jean  at  the  door  of  the 
American  Woman's  Club  in  New  York. 
They'd  been  discovering  New  York,  from 
Greenwich  Village  art  studios  to  little  beer 
joints  in  the  Bronx,  missing  nothing  with 
the  possible  exception  of  Grant's  Tomb, 
which  was  merely  an  oversight  and  no 
offense  to  the  General  intended. 

"I'd  like  to  be  able  to  say  that  I  walked 
the  streets  of  New  York  for  months  on 
end,  looking  for  work.  That  I  had  to  hock 
the  watch  and  the  gold  cuff  links  I  didn't 
have — just  to  keep  eating,"  Dick  says. 
"But  I  had  a  friend  who  was  a  director 
in  radio,  and  I  could  speak  lines  pretty 
well,  and  the  first  thing  I  knew  I  was 
making  more  money  than  I  dreamed  of. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

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New  York  with 
my  brother  Hum- 
phrey. Coming 
home,  my  brother 
who  loves  to  wan- 
der, started  walk- 
ing away  jrom  me. 
I  called  after  him, 
"Humphrey,  Oh, 
Humphrey."  Just 
then  a  man  with 
dark  glasses  came  up  to  me  and  said 
in  a  low  voice,  "Are  you  calling  me, 
sister?"  To  my  amazement  it  was 
Humphrey  Bogart! 

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Dick  figured  then  Jean's  family  would  be 
delighted  to  count  him  in  as  the  son-in- 
law,  but  he  reckoned  without  Craig 
Hazlewood's  philosophy.  Mr.  Hazlewood 
had  a  deep  conviction  that  becoming  the 
wife  of  an  actor  is  something  which 
should  not  happen  to  any  offspring  a  father 
really  loves. 

So  Jean  and  Dick  decided  on  a  "cooling 
off  period,"  just  to  make  certain  how 
serious  they  were,  and  Jean  went  home 
to  her  family. 

And  Dick  discovered  just  how  miser- 
able a  Widmark  could  be  even  if  he  was 
clicking  off  around  $1,500  a  week  being 
Joyce  Jordan's  neurotic  husband  in  the 
morning.  Aunt  Jenny's  harum-scarum 
nephew  in  the  afternoon,  and  Front  Page 
Farrell  at  night.  In  a  week  he'd  written 
Jean  that  he  must  see  her  on  a  matter  of 
utmost  importance,  and  if  she  didn't  ob- 
ject, he'd  fly  to  Chicago. 

Two  days  later  he  received  a  telegram: 
Father  says  it's  all  right. 

The  wedding  took  place  in  the  First 
Methodist  church  at  Evanston,  Illinois,  on 
Saturday  afternoon. 

At  eight  o'clock  Sunday  morning,  Dick 
was  at  radio  rehearsal,  and  that  was  only 
the  beginning. 

"I  understand,  dear,"  Jean  said  to  Dick 
in  their  suite  at  the  Waldorf.  "The  radio 
shows  are  important.  And  I'm  not  so 
lonely  when  I  can  listen  to  you  groan  as 
a  gangster  hits  you  over  the  head  with 
an  iron  pipe." 

Dick  turned,  gradually,  to  the  theater, 
appearing  in  a  lot  of  flops.  There  were  ex- 
ceptions, however,  like  Kiss  and  Tell.  And, 
of  course,  agents  began  to  hound  him. 
Dick  held  out — not  because  he  wasn't 
ready  for  Hollywood,  but  because  he'd 
learned  a  thing  or  two  about  setting  up 
a  good  deal.  In  this  case,  Zanuck  was  the 
answer. 

Jean,  by  now  a  little  mother,  playwright, 
and  magazine  research  expert  said  to  her 
husband: 

"Dick,  I'm  sure  that  when  you  get  to 
Hollywood  you'll  find  just  the  right  sort 
of  place  for  us  to  live." 

"You  can  count  on  me,  darling,"  Dick 
replied. 

He  delivered,  too,  that  boy.  He  located  a 
house  just  off  Mulholland  Drive — not  far 
from  the  homes  of  Gene  Tierney,  Gregory 
Peck  and  Errol  Flynn.  When  the  big  day 
arrived,  he  proudly  drove  the  little  woman 


and  two-year-old  Ann  Heath  Widmark 
to  their  new  home  on  the  top  of  a  high 
mountain. 

It  was  really  beautiful  up  there,  and 
the  house  was  a  dream.  A  family  could' 
be  happy  there  forever. 

That's  what  they  thought.  Two  months 
later,  they  moved  into  a  white  colonial 
bungalow  on  a  quiet,  level  street  in  Santa 
Monica. 

What  happened:  One  afternoon,  Dick 
walked  out  in  the  backyard,  that's  all. 
Ann  Heath  was  sunning  herself  on  a 
blanket. 

"Pretty  nice,"  Dick  thought,  his  gaze 
roving  around  the  garden  which  spread 
out  green  and  peaceful. 

Then  ice  water  chased  the  blood  around 
his  respiratory  system.  Ten  feet  away, 
gazing  with  beady  eyes  at  the  Widmark 
offspring  was  a  rattlesnake.  For  an  in- 
stant, Dick  didn't  move.  Seconds  later,  he 
had  a  big  stick  in  his  hand.  It  sailed 
through  the  air,  and  missed!  At  the  same 
instant,  he  heard — whap! — and  the  snake 
shuddered  and  slumped  to  the  ,srass 
writhing  in  agony. 

The  gardener  appeared  out  of  the  bushes, 
shaking  his  head. 

"Lucky  thing  I  happened  to  be  here 
just  now,"  he  said  calmly.  "We  been 
gettin'  an  uncommon  number  of  these 
pesky  rattlers  this  fall — musta  killed  four 
or  five  already  in  one  month." 

Dick  didn't  wait  to  hear  the  rest.  Ann 
Heath  was  back  in  her  crib  inside  the 
house,  and  Jean  was  on  the  telephone, 
calling  real  estate  agents. 

They  still  get  to'  see  the  sunset  every 
now  and  then,  by  driving  down  to  the 
ocean  whieh  is  only  a  few  blocks  away, 
and  since  Dick  has  stopped  being  some- 
body else's  neurotic  husband  on  the  radio, 
life  is  so  peaceful.  Dick  also  has  a  chance 
to  really  be  domestic  now.  He  worked  in  a 
bakery  once,  and  every  so  often,  he  goes 
into  the  kitchen,  and  bakes  some  bread. 
Later,  he  reappears,  flour  in  his  hair,  and 
an  apologetic  look  in  his  eyes. 

"Jean,"  he  says,  "we've  got  to  have  a 
much  bigger  family — and  a  lot  more 
friends.  I'm  used  to  baking  on  a  pro- 
duction line  basis,  and  it's  going  to  take 
months  for  us  to  get  rid  of  all  those 
loaves  I've  got  out  there  in  the  kitchen." 

"I  knew  it,"  Jean  says,  getting  up  and 
embracing  the  baker.  "Things  had  been 
quiet  for  three  whole  days." 


SHE  WAS  ONLY  16 

(Continued  jrom  page  45) 


It  wasn't  a  very  romantic  deal  at  first. 
They'd  go  out  as  a  threesome,  the  third 
being  Mac.  Only  Mac  didn't  ride.  So  Liz 
and  Dan  went  cantering  off  on  Sundays, 
and  Mac  joined  them  for  dinner.  It  took 
Dan  six  months  to  eliminate  his  chum. 
In  the  process  he  nearly  eliminated  him- 
self. 

One  rainy  day  they  borrowed  an  old 
car  with  a  hitch  on  it,  and  trailered  some 
horses  out  to  the  valley  for  hunting.  En 
route  the  rain  became  a  deluge.  They  got 
the  horses  stashed  away  in  a  friend's 
stable,  but  couldn't  budge  the  car  out  of 
the  mud.  Liz  phoned  her  mother.  Would 
it  be  all  right  if  she  stayed  with  these 
friends  overnight?    Fine,  said  Mother. 

Next  afternoon  they  dug  the  car  out. 
Dan  asked  Liz  to  have  dinner  at  his 
house.  She  phoned  her  mother.  Would 
it  be  all  right,  etc.?   Fine,  said  Mother. 

What  Dad  said  when  Mother  told  him, 
Liz  never  asked.  But  with  the  salad, 
Dailey's  maid  brought  in  a  message.  Miss 
Hofert  was  wanted  on  the  phone. 

"I  think  you'd  better  come  home,"  said 


Dad.   He'd   never   sounded   more  cross. 

"I'll  come  home,"  she  replied  with  dig- 
nity, "right  after  dinner." 

Well,  dignity  was  one  thing,  and  the 
remembered  tone  of  Dad's  voice  was 
something  else.  There  were  times,  Liz 
decided  as  Dan  drove  her  homeward, 
when  the  men  in  one's  life  were  best  kept 
apart. 

"I'll  just  run  on  in,"  she  said  airily. 

"No,  I'll  walk  you  to  the  door." 

"I'd  rather  you  didn't." 

He  walked  her  to  the  door.  By  no  ac- 
cident, Dad  opened  it.  "Won't  you  come 
in,  Mr.  Dailey?"  Like  he  was  rehearsing  for 
East  Lynne. 

They  all  sat  down.  "Mr.  Dailey,  I'm 
sure  you  don't  know  how  old  Elizabeth 
is." 

"Please,  Dad,"  she  moaned. 

"So  I'm  going  to  tell  you.  She's  16,  and 
has  her  school  work  to  keep  up — " 

Dan  nearly  fell  off  the  chair.  Liz  sat 
white  and  stricken.  This  was  curtains, 
she'd  never  see  him  again.  As  the  door 
closed  behind  him,  she  spoke  one  fruity 


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line.  "How  could  you  do  this  to  me!"  and 
trailed  like  a  broken  lily  to  her  room.  For 
the  next  two  weeks  she  didn't  speak  to 
Dad  at  all.  He  undoubtedly  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief  when  the  boy  friend  recovered 
sufficiently  to  phone  again. 

Dan  took  her  to  dinner.  "Why  didn't 
you  tell  me  you  were  only  16?" 

"You  try  it,  and  see  what  it  does  to  your 
social  life." 

"How  come  you're  in  college  at  your 
age?" 

"I  skipped  a  couple  of  grades.  It's  done 
every  day.   Let's  forget  it,  shall  we?" 
"No,"  said  Dan. 

Thereafter  he  kept  it  on  a  friendly- 
and-fatherly  basis,  saw  that  she  got  home 
on  time,  patted  her  head,  silly  stuff  like 
that.  But  he  didn't  brush  her  off,  which 
had  been  her  greatest  worry,  and  the 
rest  would  take  care  of  itself  .  .  . 

She  was  18,  when  she  saw  Dan  off  to 
the  induction  station  in  '42,  but  a  war  had 
been  added,  and  he  was  still  trying  to 
keep  things  light.  "I'll  be  seeing  you, 
honey." 

"Goodbye,"  said  Liz,  and  drove  home 
with  an  emptiness  inside,  which  she  tried 
to  fill  by  taking  a  war  plant  job  for  the 
summer.  It  helped.  What  helped  more 
were  Officer  Candidate  Dailey's  letters. 
In  New  Jersey,  Officer  Candidate  Dailey 
found  himself  good  and  lonesome  for  his 
girl.  His  practical  notions  went  up  the 
flue. 

"It's  cheaper,"  he  wrote  coyly,  "for  a 
second  lieutenant  to  be  married  than 
single." 

"Is  it?"  Liz  wrote  back,  playing  dumb 
while  her  heart  sang. 

December  21st,  Lieutenant  Dailey  ar- 
rived in  California  with  an  8-day  leave. 
In  the  swirling  station  there  was  nothing 
noteworthy  about  seeing  one  small 
blonde  swallowed  in  the  arms  of  one  large 
second  lieutenant.  She  emerged  to  hear 
him  ask:  "Well,  what  do  you  think? 
Think  we  oughta  get  married?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "I  haven't 
said  much  to  Mother — " 

"Okay,  we'll  go  down  and  get  a  license. 
If  we  use  it,  we  use  it.  If  not,  nothing's 
lost  but  two  bucks." 

The  license  attended  to,  they  dropped 
in  at  the  studio  where  Dan  broke  the 
news  to  all  comers,  leaving  Liz  no  choice 
but  to  do  the  same  by  her  mother.  "I 
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107 


started  hustling.  They  couldn't  reach 
Dad.  He  was  on  a  plane,  coming  home 
from  a  business  trip.  His  cab  drove  up 
just  as  they  were  leaving  for  a  party. 

"Hello,  you  two.  Am  I  in  time  for  the 
wedding?" 

"Dad,  how  did  you  know?" 

"Read  it  in  the  paper."  One  arm  went 
around  Liz.  "Looks  like  Elizabeth's  old 
enough  to  get  married." 

The  wedding  was  on  Christmas  Day, 
the  bride  wore  white,  the  livingroom  was 
trimmed  with  silvertips.  John  Raitt  sang, 
and  Dan  looked  very  solemn  till  the  cere- 
mony ended.  Then  he  got  yaks  for  kissing 
the  bride  so  long.  Next  day  they  left  for 
Dayton. 

Like  all  Gaul,  the  Dailey  marriage  is 
divided  into  three  parts.  Before  Dan 
went  away,  while  he  was  away,  after  he 
got  back. 

part  one  .  .  . 

The  first  part  was  spent  in  various 
places,  mostly  uncomfortable,  which 
bothered  neither  of  them.  They  lived  on 
Dan's  army  pay.  From  the  start  Liz  had 
a  theory,  which  she  promptly  put  into 
practice.  A  smart  girl  makes  her  hus- 
band's interests  her  own.  In  Dayton  she 
took  civil  service  exams,  and  worked  for 
a  liaison  officer.  That  way,  she  learned 
something  about  the  army.  In  New  York 
she  got  a  job  as  a  Powers  model.  That 
way  she  learned  something  about  show 
business.  They  took  quarters  where  they 
could  find  them.  Places  where  you 
shared  the  bathroom  and  washed  in  the 
kitchen.  A  basement  with  spiders  jump- 
ing out  of  the  corners.  One  room  so  small 
that,  to  open  the  closet,  you  had  to  sit  on 
the  bed,  and  Dan  got  so  many  smacks  on 
the  head  from  the  ceiling  that  she  chris- 
tened him  Lumpy.  What  they  lacked  in 
soft  living,  they  made  up  in  laughs. 

Part  II  we  skip  over  lightly.  The  laughs 
faded.  Dan  went  overseas  to  serve  with 
the  88th  Infantry.  Liz  went  to  M-G-M. 

Life  began  again  in  May  '46,  when  Dan 
phoned  her  from  Texas,  last  of  the  Metro 
actors  to  be  discharged.  They  found  an 
apartment.  The  studio  signed  Dan  to  a 
new  contract,  but  no  roles  were  forth- 
coming for  three  months.  Then  Al  Mel- 
nick,  Dan's  agent,  phoned. 

"How'd  you  like  to  make  a  picture  with 
Betty  Grable?  I  showed  them  that  stuff 
with  Powell — "  (Originally,  Dan  and 
Eleanor  Powell  had  been  set  for  Me  and 
My  Gal.  Some  of  the  dance  routines  had 
been  shot  before  the  war  shoved  Dailey 
out  and  Gene  Kelly  in.  This  was  the  foot- 
age Melnick  had  run  for  20th  Century- 
Fox.)  "Now  they  want  to  see  you — " 

Partly  through  the  courtesy  of  Louis 
B.  Mayer,  Dan  got  the  job.  20th  liked  him 
fine,  but  were  understandably  reluctant  to 
build  an  M-G-M  player  to  stardom.  As  a 
personal  favor,  Mayer  released  him  from 
his  contract. 

The  only  other  hitch  was  his  name. 
"We  think  you  ought  to  change  it." 

"Okay,"  said  Dan  evenly.  "Let's  change 
it  to  Schmohopper." 

So  that  subject  was  dropped.  As  Dan 
Dailey,  he  went  into  Mother  Wore  Tights, 
and  how  he  came  out  you  know. 

The  baby,  Dan  Dailey  III,  was  born 
last  September  18th.  On  the  17th,  Liz 
finally  found  a  house,  and  went  scooting 
out  to  the  studio  to  tell  Dan.  "It's  got  this 
Bar  Room,  huge,  sort  of  semi-detached, 
good  for  dancing.  You  can  beat  your 
drums  to  death  without  waking  The 
Wattymelon."  (The  Wattymelon  was 
their  tender  pre-natal  name  for  their 
child.) 

At  dinner,  to  celebrate,  Liz  splurged  on 
a  large  garlic  salad. 

At  1  A.M.  she  felt  a  pain.  Served  her 
right,  eating  garlic!  Then  it  dawned  on 
108  her  that  garlic  wasn't  the  answer.  When 


sweet  and  hot 

by  leonard  feather 

**Highly  Recommended 
*Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

CAMPUS  SLEUTH — Neither     Could     I:  Freddy 
Stewart  (Capitol) 

A  DATE  WITH  JUDY — Judaline:  It's  a  Most 
Unusual  Day:  *Ray  Noble  (Columbia) 
It's  a  most  unusual  record!  The  Unusual 
opus  gets  a  workout  that  makes  it  sound 
like  a  whole  Broadway  musical  show 
crammed  into  ten  inches  of  wax.  Anita 
Gordon's  in  the  cast,  of  course. 

LULU  BELLE— Sweetie  Pie:  *Johnny  Mercer-Pied 
Pipers  (Capitol) 

Sound  vaguely  familiar?  It  should — John 
Jacob  Loeb  wrote  this  ditty  in  1934.  (He 
also  earned  immortality,  for  me  anyway, 
by  creating  that  great  song  title,  Horses 
Don't  Bet  On  People.) 

ON  AN  ISLAND  WITH  YOU  title  song:  *Xavier 
Cugat  (Columbia);  Hal  Mclntyre 
(M-G-M);  Squadronaires  (London). 
Takin'  Miss  Mary  to  the  Ball:  *Kay  Kyser 
(Columbia)  ;  Jack  Smith  (Capitol)  ;  Squad- 
ronaires (London);  Helen  Carroll — Satis- 
fiers  (Victor). 

If  I  Were  You:  *Andy  Russell  (Capitol); 
Jimmy  Dorsey  (M-G-M):  Freddy  Martin 
(Victor). 

Charisse:  *Xavier  Cugat  (Columbia). 
Yes,  there's  plenty  of  recordings  on  all 
four  songs  from  this  newly-released  M-G-M 
musical.  Reasons?  The  movie  companies 
set  their  words-and-music  plans  a  long  way 
ahead.  As  we  write,  seven  of  the  ten  songs 
on  the  Hit  Parade  are  available  on  discs 
made  before  the  ban.  The  other  three  have 
been  recorded  with  vocal  accompaniment. 


she  turned  on  the  bedlight,  there  lay  Dan 
wide  awake.  "I've  known  it  for  an  hour." 

All  the  way  to  the  hospital,  he  was  love- 
ly and  calm  like  that.  "Mustn't,  bump 
The  Wattymelon."  His  authority  was  so 
persuasive  that  when  Liz  woke  up  a  few 
hours  later,  feeling  very  woozy,  she  re- 
fused to  take  vital  statistics  from  anyone 
else.  "Wha'd  we  have,  husband?" 

"Dan  Dailey  the  third." 

"Whaz  he  look  like?" 

"Exactly  like  me,  poor  kid.  But  bear 
up,  honey.  At  least  he's  got  all  his  fingers 
and  toes.   I  counted." 

"How  many?" 

"Ten." 

Her  eyes  flew  open.  "Ten  apiece?"  He 
nodded.  "Izzenatsweet?"  cooed  Liz,  and 
fell  asleep. 

The  baby  looks  less  startlingly  like  Dan 
now,  more  like  a  baby.  His  father  calls 
him  The  Hambone,  and  sings  him  to  sleep 
with  Danny  Boy.  Once  he  loaned  his 
favorite  blue-with-white-polka-dots  robe 
to  a  friend  who'd  stayed  overnight.  See- 
ing the  robe,  little  Dailey  laughed.  See- 
ing the  wrong  man  inside  it,  he  set  up  a 
roar.  Big  Dailey  pooh-poohed  the  whole 
thing,  while  his  chest  swelled  six  inches. 

Liz  is  five-foot-four.  "Five-foot-three," 
says  Dan,  and  she  hits  him  over  the  head. 
He's  a  foot  taller.  He  calls  her  Stumpy, 
and  she  calls  him  a  glandular  case.  His 
collection  of  names  for  her  includes 
Spear  jaw  (her  chin  comes  to  a  point)  and 
TWB  or  Tight  With  a  Buck.  All  their 
bills  are  sent  to  the  manager,  Liz  handles 
the  cash.  Keeps  it  in  a  special  green 
leather  purse,  known  as  The  Miser's 
Purse,  and  gives  him  what  he  feels  he'll 
want  for  the  week.  "Now,"  he  complains, 
"I  know  what  they  mean  by  the  dole." 

Their  humor  matches.    So  does  their 


sense  of  values.  So  do  most  of  their  tastes.  ' 

Which  doesn't  mean  they  haven't  had  j 
adjustments  to  make. 

For  instance,  Dan's  a  spur-of-the-mo- 
ment guy.  He  hates  planning  ahead.  He'll 
come  home  and  say:    "Why  aren't  you 
getting  dressed?   We're  going  to  So-and- 
so's."   That's  the  first  she's  heard  of  it. 
Or  he'll  say:  "A  couple  of  friends  might 
drop  in."  And  before  you  know  it,  there's  1 
a  gang  of  30  in  the  Bar  Room.  This  used  j 
to  throw  her.  Now"  she  keeps  the  larder  i 
stocked,    and    herself   ready.    Now  she 
knows  that  when  Dan's  with  a  horse,  he 
forgets  time.    She  can't  plan  dinner  for 
6  or  7:30.  When  his  key's  in  the  lock,  the  \ 
vegetables  go  on. 

She  used  to  ask  him  to  put  up  a  hook. 

"I'd  rather  work  two  extra  hours  and 
pay  a  man  to  do  it." 

By  the  same  token,  he  doesn't  want  her  ' 
stewing  round  the  house.  Liz  is  efficient. 
If  she  can't  get  capable  help,  she  does 
things    herself.    Besides,    with    a  baby, 
there's  enough  work  for  two  women. 

"I  don't  care  if  it  never  gets  done,"  ' 
says  the  male.   "I  didn't  marry  you  be- 
cause you  could  scrub  and  iron,  but  be- 
cause you're  fun.  It  pleases  me  better  if  i 
you're  rested  when  I  come  home." 

So  when  she's  tired  from  ironing,  she 
keeps  her  mouth  shut. 

Dan's  not  the  good  housekeeper's 
dreamboy.  He's  learned  to  stick  his  dirty 
clothes  in  the  hamper,  but  ashtrays  to 
him  are  still  something  you  hit  or  miss.  ;i| 
Liz  has  quit  flinching  about  it.  Rugs  you 
can  buy.  You  can't  buy  a  set  of  new 
nerves  that  are  frayed  from  nagging. 

What  matters  in  marriage  is  under-  |( 
standing  each  other.  One  morning  Dan  I 
told  her  they  were  taking  a  friend  to  j 
dinner. 

"Let's  eat  at  home,"  said  Liz,  who'd  ;' 
never  cooked  a  meal. 

Where  other  men  might  have  gibed  or  L 
at  least   expressed   a   doubt,   Dan  said: 
"All  right,"  kissed  her  and  took  off.    If  ! 
your  wife  wants  to  cook,  you  don't  scare  f 
her  out  of  it.  Liz  went  to  the  dime  store,  t 
bought  17  cookbooks,  stuck  them  full  of  jjj 
markers  and  fixed  up  a  chart:  at  5: 45  you 
do  this,  at  6  you  do  that.  At  7  they  were 
eating  a  topflight  meal  of  baked  ham,  j 
creamed  onions  and  asparagus. 

"Liz,  you're  marvelous." 

"With  the  chance  you  took,  brother,  I  j 
couldn't  afford  to  miss." 

dailey  dancing  .  .  . 

She  understands  that  when  Dan's  work-  I 
ing,  everything  else  blacks  out.  He  hears 
nothing,    sees    nothing    but    the    dance  I 
routines  and  the  picture.  Right  now  he's 
making  Burlesque  with  Grable.  Liz  knows 
he'll  come  home,  grab  a  beer,  head  for  the 
Bar  Room,  put  on  a  Harry  James  or 
Benny  Goodman  record,  and  start  with  ,! 
the    drums.    This    is    partly    relaxation,  | 
partly  an  inner  drive  toward  perfection. 

After  dinner,  he'll  go  back  to  the 
drums.  If  Liz  wants  conversation,  she'll 
yell  at  him  over  the  racket. 

Even  their  Friday  night  separations  no 
longer  seem  odd.  Before  their  marriage, 
Dan  had  a  standing  date  with  Al  Melnick 
for  dinner  and  the  fights.  After  their  mar- 
riage, the  dates  continued  to  stand.  Liz 
joined  them  a  couple  of  times,  but  Dan 
didn't  care  for  it.  "Men  smoking  and 
yelling  and  swearing,  it's  no  place  for 
women."  Now  she  goes  to  the  movies 
with  friends,  and  lets  the  boys  have  their  j 
fun  in  peace. 

One  big  problem,  however,  remains  un- 
solved. The  man  met  her  so  young  that  i 
he  can't  get  over  treating  her  like  a  kid. 

"Will  you,  for  Pete's  sake,  quit  patting 
me  on  the  head?  I'm  24,  and  the  mother 
of  a  son." 

"Okay,  okay,"  says  Dan,  patting  her  on  i 
the  head.  j 


Ipvdy  Dresses  Given  ioYou  f 


If  there's  one  thing  every  woman  can 
always  use,  it's  a  NEW  DRESS !  Espe-    ,  y 
cially  when  it's  beautifully  made  in 
the  latest  style  and  the  newest  colors  and 
fabrics  such  as  those  shown  on  this  page. 
How  would  you  like  to  receive  one,  two,  three 
or  even  more  lovely  Fall  dresses,  without  pay- 
ing a  penny  of  cost?  That's  right,  without  pay- 
ing out  a  single  cent  in  cash!  Well,  here's  your  , 
chance.  It's  a  remarkable  opportunity  offered  j 
by  FASHION  FROCKS,  INC.,  America's 
largest  direct  selling  dress  company.  Our 
dresses  are  bought  by  women  in  every  state, 
and  nearly  every  county.  We  need  new  rep- 
resentatives right  away  to  take  orders  in  spare  time 
and  send  them  to  us.  Any  woman,  even  without 
previous  experience,  can  act  as  our  representa- 
tive. Whether  you.  are  married  or  single  — 


SUIT  YOURSELF  in  soft, 
frost-striped  COHAMA  suit- 
ing—neat, trim,  and  tricky! 


HOW  WOULD  YOU  LIKE 
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Marie  Patton,  Illinois— took  in  an  average  of  $39  a 
week,  this  past  year. 

Mrs.  Carl  C.  Birch,  Maryland— earned  an  average  of 
$36  a  week— and  loved  every  minute  of  it! 
Mrs.  Claude  Burnett,  Alabama  —  averaged  $31.50  a 
week  right  in  her  home  community. 


housewife  or  employed  —  you  can  get  the  chance  to  obtain 
stunning  dresses  as  a  bonus— dresses  that  will  not  cost  you  a 
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commissions— up  to  $23  and  $25  a  week,  or  more!  You 
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every  order,  you  get  paid  in  cash  on  the  spot. 

NO  CANVASSING  —  NO  EXPERIENCE  NECESSARY 

Y   Don't  think  you  need  experience.  Every  dress  carries  the 
J    famous  seal  of  Good  Housekeeping  Magazine,  and  is 
sold  on  a  Money  Back  Guarantee.  When  women  see  these 
exclusive  styles— so  different  from  run-of-the-mill  dresses— 
so  easy  to  buy  without  going  to  crowded  stores— they  just 
can't  help  but  order  2  and  3  at  a  time!  Women  can't  resist 
the  alluring  new  fashions  created  especially  by  Constance 
Bennett,  glamorous  movie  star  and  "one  of  the  world's 
ten  best-dressed  women."  Miss  Bennett's  name  alone 
makes  orders  so  easy,  about  all  you  have  to  do  is  write 
i  dE2^      them  down.  What  a  pleasant  way  to  take 

I  ^iSliii     m  steaaV  cash  earnings  week  after  week! 

\  *  J^ifl  Can't  you  use  a  handy  extra  income  — 
La  £L  *T  especially  with  Christmas  coming  on? 
H  Jj$      And  wouldn't  you  like  your  own  lovely 

H»     ,„L  dresses  without  cost?  Here's  your  chance. 

Just  mail  the  coupon  below! 

START  EARNING  RIGHT  AWAY  I 

So  many  women  are  taking  this  easy 
way  to  make  money,  there  aren't  too 
many  openings  left.  So  don't  put  it 
off.  Get  started  earning  extra  money 
for  the  things  you  want.  Your  Style 
Portfolio— with  samples  of  America's 
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and  mail  it  today! 


.  .  .  fascinating  star 
of  stage,  screen, 
and  radio.  One  of 
the  world's  ten 
best-dressed 
women.  Designer 
for  Fashion  Frocks. 


My  designs  for  these  lovely  Fashion 
Frocks  were  inspired  by  the  $200  to 
$300  dresses  that  drew  so  many 
compliments  when  I  wore  them 
myself.  I'm  so  proud  to  offer  them 
at  a  tiny  fraction  of  that  cost." 


DESK  A2054, CINCINNATI  25,  OHIO 


FASHION  FROCKS,  INC. 

Desk  A2054,  Cincinnati  25,  Ohio 

Yes— I  am  interested  in  your  opportunity  to  make  money 
in  spare  time  and  get  my  own  dresses  without  a  penny  of 
cost.  Reserve  my  Free  Portfolio  and  send  me  full  informa- 
tion, without  obligation. 


Name 

Address 

INC.  J 

City 

7nnt> 

KtatP 

Age- 


Dress  Size- 


City  or  country,  at  work  or  at  play  —  wherever 
you  turn,  you'll  find  more  and  more  people  smoking 
Camels.  Why?  Let  your  "T-Zone"  tell  you.  (That's 
T  for  Taste  and  T  for  Throat.)  Let  your  taste  tell 
you  about  Camel's  marvelous  flavor.  Let  your  throat 
discover  that  wonderful  Camel  mildness  and  cool- 
ness. See  why,  with  smokers  who  have  tried  and 
compared  different  brands  of  cigarettes,  Camels  are 
the  "choice  of  experience." 


According  to  a  Nationwide  survey: 
MORE  DOCTORS  SMOKE  CAMELS 
THAN  ANY  OTHER  CIGARETTE 

Three  leading  independent  research  organizations  asked  one  hun- 
dred thirteen  thousand,  five  hundred  and  ninety-seven  doctors 
what  cigarette  they  smoked.  The  hrand  named  most  was  Camel, 


TURKISH  &  DOMESTIC 
BLEND 
CIGARETTES 


Let  your  "T-Zone"  tell  you  why! 

T  for  Taste . . . 
T  for  Throat... 

that's  your  proving 
ground  for  any 
cigarette.  See  if 
Camels  don't  suit 
your  "T-Zone" 
to  a  "T." 


ft.  J.  Reynolds 
Tohoeco  Co., 
Wineutn-Salem, 
N.C. 


I  Ov 

CAMAY 


Everybody's  talking  about  the  new  Bath-Size  Camay.  Buying  it. 
Trying  it.  Praising  it  to  the  skies!  Because  this  bigger  Camay 
makes  every  bath  a  luxurious  beauty  treatment.  Bathe  with  it  every  day 
of  your  life— and  your  skin  will  be  lovelier  from  head  to  toe. 
And  you'll  rise  from  your  bath  just  touched  with  the  delicate, 
flower-like  fragrance  of  Camay,  the  Soap  of  Beautiful  Women! 


NOW  IN  2  SIZES! 

Use  Regular  Camay  for  your 
complexion— the  new  Bath-Size 
for  your  Camay  Beauty  Bath. 


©CIS  150054 

AUG  17  1348 


says  this  sparkling  junior  model 


And  cover-girl  Louise  Hyde's  crowded 
date-life  owes  plenty  to  her  Ipana  smile! 


Having  a  high  time  is  no  novelty  for 
luscious  New  Yorker,  Louise  Hyde.  A 
radiant  personality  with  a  radiant  Ipana 
smile,  20-year-old  Louise  is  a  top-flight 
Thornton  model.  And  as  for  dates  — 
Louise  has  a  calendarful.  Her  smile  is  a 
magnet  for  the  lads !  For  a  date-winning 
smile  of  your  own,  follow  Louise's 
"model"  dental  routine:  Regular  brush- 
ing with  Ipana  Tooth  Paste,  then  gentle 
gum  massage.  Get  a  tube  of  Ipana  today! 


Air-minded.  Louise  is  learning  the  know-how 
of  flying.  But  she  doesn't  need  coaching  in  care 
of  her  teeth  and  gums.  She  knows  that  firm, 
healthy  gums  are  important  to  sparkling  teeth, 
a  radiant  smile.  So  she  never  misses  her  Ipana 
dental  care ! 


This  is  fun,  too!  Louise  loves  Ipana's 
livelier  flavor— the  way  it  leaves  her 
mouth  refreshed,  her  breath  sweet.  Try 
Ipana!  And  follow  your  dentist's  ad- 
vice about  gum  massage.  (9  out  of  10 
dentists  recommend  massage  regular- 
ly or  in  special  cases,  according  to  a 
recent  national  survey.) 


Under  the  spell  of  Louise's  enchanting  smile, 
her  handsome  date,  Bill  Loock,  dreams  as  he 
drives.  Clever  Louise  —  to  guard  that  date-bait 
smile  with  Ipana !  For  more  dentists  recommend 
and  use  Ipana  than  any  other  tooth  paste,  a 
recent  national  survey  shows. 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


SEPTEMBER,  1948 

modern  screen 

stories 

THE  GREATEST  GIFT  (Frank  Sinatra)  *  by  Kirtley  Baskette  16 

STRICTLY  FROM  DIXIE  (Bing  Crosby)...  by  Hedda  Hopper  36 

MY  BROTHER  IS  A  FAKE!  (Bob  Mitchum)  by  Julie  Mitchum  38 

THE  GARNER  GANG  (Peggy  Ann  Garner)  •  40 

MY  FAVORITE  HOLLYWOOD  DESIGNERS  by  Cobina  Wright  44 

FUN  HOUSE  (June  Allyson-Dick  Powell)  by  Jane  Wilkie  46 

HOLLYWOOD'S  STRANGEST  ROMANCE  (Guy  Madison-Gail  Russell) 

by  Jack  Wade  50 

JOAN  OF  ARC  (Ingrid  Bergman)  by  Jose  Ferrer  52 

"I'M  GOING  TO  MARRY  TY!"  (Tyrone  Power)  by  Linda  Christian  56 

I  HATED  MYSELF   by  Burt  Lancaster  58 

HOW  LONG  CAN  YOU  STAY  GREAT?  (Ginger  Rogers)  by  George  Benjamin  60 

MR.  GRANT  BUILDS  A  DREAM  (Cary  Grant)  by  Erskine  Johnson  64 

THE  CASE  OF  THE  GULLIBLE  BRIDE  (Lana  Turner)  by  Kaaren  Pieck  66 

THE  NEW  TARZAN  (Lex  Barker)   68 

THERE  WAS  A  GIRL  ...   by  Alida  Valli  70 

THEY  WANT  TO  GET  MARRIED  (Wanda  Hendrix-Audie  Murphy) 

by  David  McClure  74 

features 

TO  OUR  READERS   4 

LOUELLA  PARSONS'  GOOD  NEWS   6 

DOROTHY  KILG ALLEN  SELECTS:  "Rope"   32 

CHALLENGE  TO  HOLLYWOOD    35 

departments 

REVIEWS  by  Jean  Kinkead  22 

INFORMATION  DESK                                                             by  Beverly  Linet  33 

FASHION    by  Constance  Bartel  77 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  88 

THE  FANS   by  Shirley  Frohlich  100 

ON  THE  COVER:  BING  CROSBY 


WADE  H.  NICHOLS,  editor 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
MAXINE  FIRESTONE,  assistant  fashion  editor 
BEVERLY  LINET,  information  desk 


TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 
CHRISTOPHER  KANE,  story  editor 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 

BOB  EEERMAN,  staff  photographer 

BERT  PARRY,  staff  photographer 

JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 

CHARLES  SAXON,  cartoon  editor 

GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 

IRENE  TURNER,  research  editor 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  261  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 

Vol.  37,  No.  4,  September,  1948.  Copyright,  1948,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  261  Fifth  Ave.,  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary,  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave.,  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  George  T.  Delacorte,  Jr.,  President;  Helen  Meyer,  Vice-President/ 
Albert  P.  Delacorte,  Vice-President.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in  U.  S.  A. 
and  Canada  $1.80  a  year;  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the 
post  office,  Dunellen,  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the 
return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


o 

°  o 


shocked 


£jid detyhtecf 
naughty  | 


misbehaves... 


loves  if! 


Q  \ 


Two  great  stars  as 
you've  never  seen  them 
before  . .  .  clowning,  kissing, 
kidding,  cavorting,  in 

M-G-M'S  comedy 
hit  of  the  year. 


LUCILLE  WATSON- NIGEL  BRUCE 

y 


D 


Screen  Play  by  WILLIAM  LUDWIG.  HARRY  RUSKIN  and  ARTHUR  WIMPERIS 
Adaptation  by  GINA  KAUS  and  MONCKTON  HOFFE 
Based  Upon  the  Novel  "The  Nutmeg  Tree"  by  MARGERY  SHARP 


0RD-EU7ABEIH  TAYlflR 
RO 

Directed  by  JACK  CONWAY  Produced  by  EVERETT  RISKI N 


CE 


A  METRO-GOLD WYN-MAYER  PICTURE 


Advertisement 
*       *       *       *  * 

Don't  be 
Half-safe! 

by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 

At  the  first  blush  of  womanhood  many  mys- 
terious changes  take  place  in  your  body.  For 
instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under  your 
arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type  of  perspi- 
ration you  have  never  known  before.  This  is 
closely  related  to  physical  development  and 
causes  an  unpleasant  odor  on  both  your  per- 
son and  your  clothes. 

There  is  nothing  "wrong"  with  you.  It's  just 
another  sign  you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a 
girl  ...  so  now  you  musr  keep  yourself  safe 
with  a  truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers— Underarm  odor  is  a  real  handi- 
cap at  this  romantic  age,  and  the  new  cream 
deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially  to  over- 
come this  very  difficulty.  It  kills  this  odor 
on  contact  in  2  seconds,  then  by  antiseptic 
action  prevents  the  formation  of  all  odor  for 
48  hours  and  keeps  you  shower-bath  fresh. 
It  also  stops  perspiration  and  so  protects 
against  a  second  danger— perspiration  stains. 
Since  physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  can  now  cause  your  apocrine  glands 
to  fairly  gush  perspiration,  a  dance,  a  date, 
an  embarrassing  remark  may  easily  make 
you  perspire  and  offend,  or  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  are  not  alike  — so  remember 
—  no  other  deodorant  tested  stops  perspira- 
tion and  odor  so  completely  yet  so  safely  as 
new  Arrid.  Its  safety  has  been  proved  by 
doctors.  That's  why  girls  your  age  buy  more 
Arrid  than  any  other  age  group.  In  fact,  more 
men  and  women  everywhere  use  Arrid  than 
any  other  deodorant.  It's  antiseptic,  used  by 
117,000  nurses. 

Intimate  protection  is  needed  —  so  protect 
yourself  with  this  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears.  This  new  Arrid, 
with  the  amazing  new  ingredient  Creamogen, 
will  not  crystallize  or  dry  out  in  the  jar.  The 
American  Laundering  Institute  has  awarded 
Arrid  its  Approval  Seal— harmless  to  fabrics. 
Arrid  is  safe  for  the  skin— non-irritating— can 
be  used  right  after  shaving. 

Don't  be  half-safe.  During  this  "age  of  ro- 
mance" don't  let  perspiration  problems  spoil 
your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe  — be  Arrid-safe! 
Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get  Arrid  now  at  your 
favorite  drug  counter  —  only  39tf  plus  tax. 


4  ★        ★        ★         ★  ★ 


HENRY  MALMGREEN  and  I  have  been  spending  a  lot  of  time  lately  weeping 
on  each  other's  shoulders.  It's  not  very  dignified,  but  we  never  did  feel  good  in 
stiff  shirts.  "Henry,"  I  say,  "this  is  the  end."  He  nods  his  head,  and  hands  me 
the  towel.  Sitting  at  my  desk  right  now  is  the  new  editor  of  Modern  Screen. 
His  name  is  Wade  Nichols,  and  he's  a  swell  fellow  (I  even  let  him  use  my  type- 
writer). What's  more,  you'll  probably  love  him  better  than  you  do  me— which 
makes  me  even  sadder  .  .  . 

BUT  TALKING  ABOUT  my  fading  glory  reminds  me  of  a  story  in  this  issue. 
It's  called  "How  Long  Can  You  Stay  Great?"  We  really  don't  know,  but  we 
did  a  little  digging  into  the  past  of  a  few  Hollywood  ladies — Ginger  Rogers  for 
one,  before  and  after  her  golden  Oscar,  Crawford  for  another,  Myrna  Loy — and 
by  the  time  they  got  me  out  of  the  file  cabinet  I  had  more  leg-art  in  my  arms  than 
you  can  shake  a  xhorus  line  at.  Some  of  it's  there  in  pictures  on  page  62.  Ah, 
all  those  gorgeous  flappers  I  never  got  to  wine  .  .  . 

WHICH  LEADS  ME  somehow  to  Jose  Ferrer,  the  stage  actor.  Drunk  with 
beauty — that  man.  Ingrid  Bergman's  the  beauty.  Jose's  making  his  movie 
debut  with  her  in  Joan  Of  Arc.  We  managed  to  get  him  seated  in  our  guest 
chair  before  we  started  work  on  him.  "Loveliest  woman  in  the  world,"  he 
kept  muttering,  "a  goddess."  "Bergman?"  we  said.  "Bergman,"  he  said.  I 
forced  a  pencil  into  his  fist.  "Write  it  down,"  I  whispered  menacingly.  Jose 
did.  And  the  story  glows.  It's  on  page  52.  And  the  page  glows.  Really, 
there's  a  sort  of  golden  haze  .  .  . 

CARY  GRANT  would  know  what  1  mean.  About  hazes.  People  say  ever 
since  Grant  met  Betsy  Drake  he's  been  walking  around  in  one.  Betsy's  young 
and  pretty,  and  last  year  she  made  a  name  for  herself  on  the  English  stage.  Well, 
she  and  Grant  happened  to  be  on  the  same  boat  coming  back  to  America.  Of 
course,  they  met.  And  it  was  a  moonlit  night.  I'm  a  guy  who  takes  boats  .  .  . 
but  I'm  not  bitter,  and  this  "Mr.  Grant  Builds  A  Dream"  is  a  nice  story.  It'll 
make  you  starry-eyed.    It's  on  page  64. 

BY  THE  WAY,  I  just  noticed  something  about  women.  Maybe  I'm  slow  to 
grasp  things,  but  they  finally  come  through  to  me.  Take  Hedda  Hopper  and 
Dixie  Crosby  when  they  get  together.  What  do  they  talk  about?  Men.  What 
do  any  two  women  talk  about?  Any  three  women? — Only  Dixie  can  cover 
ground.  Four  boys  and  Bing.  Hedda,  who  knows  a  little  more  about  women 
than  I  do,  has  something  to  say  herself.  She  says  a  person  like  Dixie  ought 
to  take  a  couple  of  bows.  Turn  to  page  36  and  you'll  see  what  Hedda  means. 
As  for  me — even  if  you  don't  want  it,  Dixie — here's  my  hand  .  .  . 

ALBERT    P.  DELACORTE 


ALAN 


DONNA 


"How  Can 
I  Love  You  ? 
You're  The 
Wife  Of 
The  Man 
I  Killed!" 


The  story  of  a  strong  man  with 
ambition  gone,  on  the  edge  of 
the  precipice,  staring  numbly 
into  (disgrace  and  oblivion. 

The  story  of  a  softly -radiant 
woman,  whose  tender  inspira- 
tion leads  him  back  to  fight 
again  and'  love  again. 

The  story  of  an  adventure 
where  cowards  quit  early  and 
weaklings  never  finish  at  all ! 


with  GEORGE 

MACREADY 

GEORGE 

COULOURIS 

HAROLD 

VERMILYEA 

HENRY 

TRAVERS 

Produced  by 

ROBERT  FELLOWS 

Directed  bv 

JOHN  FARROW 

Original  Screenplay  !>y  Jonathan 
Latimer,  Charles  Marquis  W  arren 
and  William  Vi'ister  Haines 


LADD  REED 


A  Great  Love  Story 

That  Comes 
Shining  Through 


A  Paramount  Picture 


Ladd  Lovers  Will  Shout: 
"I  Told  You  So!" 
People  Who  Have  Never  Seen 
Him  Before  Will  "Discover' 
A  Great  New  Dramatic  Star! 


ouella 


Liz  Taylor  shows  a  puzzled  Farley  Granger  how  to  use  chop-sticks.  Marsh 
Thompson  (rt.)  knows  the  art.  It's  opening  night  at  Ah  Fong's,  a  Chinese 
restaurant  on  Vine  St.  Place  is  filled  with  expensive  oriental  figurines. 


Kay  Kyser  gets  a  mouthful  of  Ah  Fong's  fried  shrimp  from  Danny  Kaye  as 
Mrs.  Kyser  (Georgia  Carroll)  and  Mrs.  Kaye  look  on.  Danny's  planning 
to  return  to  Broadway  in  the  late  fall  to  star  in  a  new  Cole  Porter  musical. 


MODERN  SCREEN  has  a  new  editor— he's  Wade  Nichols. 
Ciro's  Herman  Hover  threw  a  party  in  his  honor,  and  nobody 
wanted  to  go  home.    Guy  Modison  rhumbaed  with  Vera  Ellen. 


M-G-M  celebrated  opening  of  its  FM  radio  station  with  a  cocktail  party. 
Among  first  to  come  were  Johnnie  Johnston  and  his  wife  Kathryn  Grayson. 
The  Johnstons  are  expecting  their  baby  in  Nov.,  will  adopt  anolher  later. 


Station  K-M-G-M  is  one  in  a  series  that  Metro  plans  to  own  and 
operate.  Ben  Gage,  Larry  Parks  and  Betty  Garrett  give  the  old  rah-rah 
cheer  for  success.  Larry  left  recently  for  stock  work  in  Worcester,  Mass. 


K-M-G-M  party  was  attended  mostly  by  Metro  players.  Van  Johnson 
brought  wife  Evie  to  opening  ceremonies.  Van's  selling  $125,000  mansion 
Metro  lent  him  money  to  buy.     He  wants  smaller  house,  no  headaches. 


I  Shur'n  you  wouldn't  be  knowin'  your  girl 
friend,  so  much  has  happened  since  I  left 
Hollywood  to  "do"  the  Continent.  Gulliver's 
got  nothing  on  Parsons  for  travels. 

At  this  writing,  I've  covered  only  Ireland 
and  England  for  movie  notes,  but  there  is 
much  to  tell  you. 

Victor  Mature  and  his  Kiss  of  Death  are 
both  favorites  in  Ireland,  the  grand  little 
island  I've  come  to  love  so  well.  What  won- 
derful people,  the  Irish — and  how  they  love 
Americans  and  American  films.  Walt  Disney 
is  an  idol  and  Best  Years  of  Our  Lives  ran 
fourteen  weeks. 

If  you  think  WE  have  all  the  gilded  movie 
palace  theaters  in  America,  you  should  see 
the  Savoy  Theater,  which  seats  4,000  and  has 
a  world-famous  restaurant  operating  along 
with  the  filmings — in  Dublin,  of  course. 

But  Ireland  has  practically  no  film  pro- 
duction, or  stars,  of  its  own  so — let's  move 
on  to  London  where  I  met  many  of  the  British 
stars  plus  old  friends  from  Hollywood  who 
are  over  here  making  movies. 

*        *  * 

Buster  Collier  and  his  attractive  wife, 
Stevie,  gave  me  a  welcoming  cocktail  party 
I  shall  never  forget. 

What  a  thrill  it  was  to  walk  into  their 
beautiful  London  apartment  and  find  the  first 
person  to  greet  me — Spencer  Tracy,  that  guy 
I  love! 

Spence  is  here  making  Edward,  My  Son 


with  Deborah  Kerr,  and  he  has  completely 
won  the  heart  and  respect  of  everyone  who 
has  met  him.  It  is  impossible  to  over-estimate 
the  fine  impression  he  has  made,  particularly 
coming  on  the  heels  of  the  Lana  Turner 
debacle. 

Poor  Lana,  apparently  everything  she  did 
was  wrong! 

The  British  particularly  objected  to  her 
appearing  nightly  at  the  midget  auto  races, 
half  owned  by  her  husband.  Bob  Topping. 
Those  races,  they  felt,  were  a  commercial 
sports  event  and  they  didn't  like  a  movie 
star  as  "bait"  at  the  box  office. 

On  the  other  hand,  everything  Spence  has 
done  is  exactly  right.  He  has  lived  very 
guietly — in  fact,  the  cocktail  party  in  my 
honor  is  the  only  social  appearance  he  has 
made.  But  he  has  given  intelligent  and  in- 
teresting interviews  to  the  press  and  cooper- 
ated in  every  way.  He  has  been  a  good-will 
ambassador  plus,  and  believe  me,  you  can 
be  proud  of  him. 

I  noticed  when  our  host  invited  Tracy  to 
have  a  cocktail  toasting  me,  he  said,  "I'll 
toast  Louella  in  good  old  American  pop,  if 
you  don't  mind" — and  he  did. 

Deborah  Kerr  looked  perfectly  stunning  and 
I  whispered  in  her  ear,  "Are  those  Holly- 
wood clothes?"  She  answered,  "Shhhh — 
YES."  Her  hair,  by  the  way,  is  very  short, 
an  American  fad  this  British  charmer  brought 
back  to  her  native  country  with  her. 


And  before  we  get  off  the  subject  of  this 
cocktail  party,  let  me  say  if  you've  never 
eaten  Tomato  Pie — an  English  hors  d'oeuvre 
— you've  missed  a  treat. 

*  *  * 

Our  second  night  in  London,  Dr.  Martin 
and  I  dined  with  the  Tony  Martins  (Cyd 
Charisse),  and  the  British  went  almost  as 
balmy  over  Tony's  act  at  the  Palladium  as 
they  did  over  Danny  Kaye.  Other  Holly- 
wooders  at  Tony's  dinner  party  were  Allan 
Jones  and  Jack  Durant,  two  American  boys, 
very  popular  with  the  Londoners. 

"Who  ever  started  the  libel  that  British 
audiences  are  cold?"  asked  Tony.  "I  love 
them." 

*  *  * 

My  first  official  party  to  meet  the  British 
stars  was  given  by  J.  Arthur  Rank,  inter- 
nationally famous  British  producing  bigwig. 
And  it  was  here  I  met  most  of  the  British 
actors  and  actresses  who  had  previously 
been  just  "names"  to  me. 

Stewart  Granger  is  even  more  handsome 
— if  possible — off  screen  than  he  is  on.  I 
told  him  I  remembered  him  in  Caesar  and 
Cleopatra. 

"That  one,  I  wish  you  would  forget,"  he 
laughed.  Well,  I  must  say  after  meeting 
him,  the  role  did  not  do  him  justice.  Off  the 
record,  I  think  he  would  like  very  much  to 
come  to  America,  but  with  Rank  trying  hard 
to  make  enough  pictures  to  make  up  for  the 


Bing  Crosby  surprised  the  town  (and  com- 
mentator George  Fisher)  by  attending  Em- 
peror Waltz  premiere  in  a  tux — with  fedora. 


Afterwards,  in  Beverly  Hills  Crystal  Room, 
Joan  Crawford  and  Greg  Bautzer  were  among 
guests  at  Bing's  first  "gala"  premiere  party. 


Mickey  Rooney  refused  to  identify  his  blonde 
date.  Emperor  Waltz  opening  was  strictly 
formal,  the  first  to  be  lelevised  (over  KTLA). 


John  Agar  and  Shirley  Temple  (in  new  short  ermine  coat) 
say  a  few  words  in  honor  of  Bing,  for  M.C.  Fisher's  mike. 
Shirley  will  write. a  daily  column  on  "How  To  Bring  Up  Baby." 


shortage  caused  by  the  new  British  tax  law, 
we  both  realized  that  was  a  tactless  subject 
to  discuss. 

England's  favorite  star,  Margaret  Lock- 
wood,  is  attractive  but  so  conservatively 
dressed  she  would  never  be  taken  for  a  film 
star  in  the  U.S.A.  It  was  amusing  to  hear 
her  tell  about  the  run-ins  with  the  British 
censors  over  the  low-cut  gowns  she  wears 
on  the  screen.  She  was  certainly  covered  up 
when  I  met  her. 

*        *  * 

It  wasn't  until  the  dinner  given  me  by  Sir 
Alex  Korda  that  I  finally  caught  up  with  fas- 
cinating Robert  Donat,  probably  England's 
most  popular  movie  star  next  to  Laurence 
Olivier. 

I  was  delighted  to  be  seated  next  to  him 
at  dinner.  He  is  so  handsome — and  I  must 
say,  healthy — that  I  am  amazed  at  the  well- 
circulated  stories  about  his  bad  health. 

I  wasn't  long  in  finding  out  he  bitterly  re- 
sents those  rumors  that  he  is  on  his  "last 
legs."  Had  to  laugh  when  he  said,  "I  do 
catch  cold  in  the  winters — but  that's  about 
the  measure  of  it.  When  Danny  Kaye  was 
here  he  told  me  that  I  would  not  catch  colds 


if  I  came  to  Hollywood.    Is  that  quite  true?" 

Yankee  patriot  that  I  am,  I  had  to  admit 
that  Californians  sometimes  do  catch  the 
sniffles. 

The  soooo  beautiful  Renee  Asherson  with 
whom  Donat  is  supposed  to  be  madly  in  love 
was  also  present,  and  a  lovelier-looking  girl 
I  have  seldom  seen.  She  has  that  "English 
complexion"  we're  always  hearing  about — 
pure  peaches  and  cream,  minus  wakeup  aids. 
In  Hollywood,  I  would  have  asked  a  couple 
of  equal  prominence  about  their  wedding 
plans,  but  one  thing  I  learned  fast  in  jolly 
old  England  is  that  things  aren't  so  jolly  if 
one  gets  off  on  personal  subjects.  And  mar- 
riages are  considered  highly  personal! 

But  Donat  did  speak  of  women  in  gen- 
eral. "In  general,"  he  smiled,  "they  nag  too 
much. 

"Nagging  is  the  prime  failing  of  the  fair 
sex,"  he  went  on.  "Always  'where  have  you 
been?' — 'why  didn't  you  wear  your  top 
coat?' — 'do  this — do  that.'  Men  hate  that 
sort  of  thing,  you  know." 

He  was  being  amusing,  but  I  doubt  if  a 
Hollywood  star  would  have  been  so  frank 
about  the  ladies  who  buy  movie  tickets. 


A  few  hours  later  we  were  off  to  Norway, 
but  I  will  have  to  wait  until  next  month  to 
tell  you  about  that  spot,  plus  Sweden  and 
Denmark  where  so  many  of  our  greatest  stars 
hail  from — Garbo,  Bergman,  Jean  Hersholt 
and  Sonja  Henie. 

Also,  I'll  have  news  of  picture-making  in 
Italy,  where  I  expect  to  meet  Tyrone  Power 
and  many  other  Hollywood  stars,  and  Paris 
— but  those  spots  are  another  chapter.  Mean- 
while, I  don't  want  you  to  miss  any  of  the 
news  from  Hollywood,  so  I  have  asked  my 
assistant,  Dorothy  Manners,  to  put  you  hep 
to  what's  happening  since  I  left.  Okay,  Miss 
M. — you  are  on. 

*        *  * 

Alan  and  Sue  Ladd  called  up  and  said, 
"Come  out  and  spend  a  quiet  Saturday  night 
with  us.  There  will  be  just  a  few  people, 
Betty  Hutton  and  her  husband  and  the  Mac- 
donald  Careys." 

And  that's  how  the  least  quiet  Saturday 
I've  ever  spent  got  started. 

Oh,  the  beginning  was  all  right.  It's  a 
beautiful  drive  in  the  sunset  to  the  Hidden 
Valley  Ranch  of  the  Ladds  with  its  stables, 
farm  houses  and  beautiful  blue  swimming 


0X 


Let  Nestle  Colorinse  give  your 
hair  sparkling,  natural-looking  color  and 
highlights.  Not  a  permanent  dye  or  a 
bleach,  Nestle  Colorinse  washes  out 
completely  with  shampooing.  Delicately 
scented,  easy  and  absolutely  safe  to  use. 

COLORINSE 


KEEP  HAIR  IN  PLACE  ALL  DAY  LONG 

Delicately  scented  Nestle  Hair  Lacquers 
keep  all  styles  of  hair-dos  well  groomed. 
104, 254  and  504  at  all  toilet  goods  counters. 


NMtte-  originator*  of  pcrmanont  wavlnt-  Meridcn.Cona. 


10 


Frankie  Boy  does  a  once-over-lightly  on  "Nature  Boy,"  assisted  by  composer  of  the  song,  Eden 
Ahbez.  It's  preparation  for  Sinatra's  fall  stint  on  Hit  Parade  radio  program.  He's  signed  for 
straight  52  weeks  at  $7,500   per  week,   highest  salary  ever   paid   a   singer  on   that  show. 


pool  banked  with  flaming  scarlet  geraniums. 

And  everything  looked  peaceful  enough 
when  we  arrived  to  find  Betty  Hutton  and 
her  good-looking  husband,  Ted  Briskin,  get- 
ting the  last  of  the  sun's  rays  beside  the 
pool,  and  Alan  and  Macdonald  Carey  hop- 
ping around  taking  colored  camera  shots. 

All  this  lasted  exactly  ten  minutes  before 
— but  let  me  give  it  to  you  blow  by  blow. 

"Stand  up  in  that  chair,"  said  Alan  to  Mac, 
"I  can  get  a  better  shot  of  you." 

Those  were  the  last  sane  words  spoken  the 
rest  of  the  night.  Mac  stood  on  the  chair, 
as  told — but  in  doing  so  he  hit  his  head 
against  a  slanting  beam  from  the  barbecue 
pit,  practically  tore  his  forehead  off,  and  with 
blood  gushing  from  his  head  all  over  his 
face,  he  was  rushed  to  the  nearest  hospital 
by  Ted  Briskin. 

In  rapid  succession  the  following  events 
took  place: 

Ted  Briskin  got  a  speeding  ticket. 

Somebody  ran  over  the  Ladds'  pet  dog. 

The  dog,  in  its  agony,  bit  Alan's  hand. 

Both  dog  and  Alan  packed  into  the  station 
wagon  for  a  wild  ride  to  the  same  hospital 
where  Macdonald  Carey  was  having  seven 
stitches  taken  in  his  head. 

The  cook  dropped  ten  uncooked  steaks  in 
the  dirt  carrying  a  big  tray  from  the  kitchen 
to  the  barbecue. 

Alan  called  from  the  "vet's"  that  his  hand 
was  all  right,  but  they  had  to  give  the  dog 


four  transfusions,  he'd  lost  so  much  blood. 
Sue  was  crying. 

Betty  Hutton  was  wringing  her  hands. 
The  cook  washed  off  the  steaks. 
Alan  called  that  the  dog  would  live. 
Dinner  was  served  at  11  p.m. 
Oh,  those  early  dinners  and  quiet  evenings 
in  the  country! 

*  *  * 

Gloria  De  Haven  and  John  Payne  made 
up  after  a  six-weeks'  spat,  just  as  everyone 
hoped  they  would. 

These  two  are  sensible  kids  and  they  love 
each  other  and  their  children.  But  now  and 
then  career  trouble  sets  in. 

When  Gloria  was  going  strong  at  M-G-M, 
John's  contract  lapsed  at  20th.  When  things 
finally  picked  up  for  him  in  a  big  way,  Gloria 
was  no  longer  with  M-G-M  and  she  hadn't 
made  a  picture  since  the  birth  of  their 
second  child. 

Now  if  they  could  just  both  get  going  at 
the  same  time,  their  tangles  would  be  solved. 

*  *  * 

Every  year  Sonja  Henie  tosses  a  party  in 
Hollywood,  but  how  in  the  world  is  she  ever 
going  to  top  her  last  one? 

For  sheer  eye-filling  beauty,  there's  never 
been  another  like  it. 

The  terraced  garden  of  her  home  was 
adorned  with  statues  of  illuminated  ice  that 
would  have  been  dazzling  if  the  "ice"  around 
Sonja's  neck  hadn't  been  even  more  blinding. 


HUMPHREY 

ROGART 


EDWARD  G. 


fit' 


3  TV 


LAUREN 


WARNER  BROS. 


PRESENT 


A  STORY  AS  EXPLOSIVE  AS  ITS  CAST! 


..lionel  RARRYMQRE  claire  TREVOR 

»dTHOMAS  GOMEZ-JOHN  RODNEY-  johTOston  •  jSwa'id  ® 

Scr..„  Ploy  by  P,ctod  Brooks  and  John  Hu!,on  .  tot*,  on  A.  Play  by  MAXWEU  ANDEPSON  A,  P,od»«d  on  rh.  Soolon  Sto,*  8,  rh.  fl^ri.te  Company  .  -lie  by  Mo,  S..,n"  ^ 


11 


George  Montgomery  and  Di- 
nah Shore,  at  Universale  party 
in  honor  of  British  star-pro- 
ducer   Edana    Romney  (left). 


Charles  Boyer  and  Jean   Pierre  Aumont,  two  Gallic      Dan  Duryea,  Yvonne  DeCarlo  and  Don  Taylor  were  a  gay. 
charmers,  turned  out  to  help  their  hosts  greet  Miss     trio  at  Universal  party.   Poor  Yvonne  suffered  a  damaged 
Romney.    Boyer  may  do  a  film   in   France  this  fall.     vertebra  later,  must  spend  3  months  in  a  neck  brace. 


Honest — about  three  strands  of  beautifully 
matched  and  sized  pear-shaped  diamonds 
were  her  only  ornaments — but  she  needed 
nothing  more  to  set  off  her  simple  gown  of 
white  starched  lace. 

Sonja  looked  like  a  beautiful  little  figurine 
greeting  her  300  guests  in  the  moonlight. 

On  the  lower  terrace,  the  tennis  court  had 
been  transformed  into  a  night  club  with  full- 
sized  dance  floor  and  orchestra. 

I  sat  at  the  table  with  Ingrid  Bergman  and 
Dr.  Peter  Lindstrom — and  dor't  ever  let  any- 
one tell  you  that  Bergman's  husband  is  stiff 
and  reserved.  He  was  having  the  time  of 
his  life  rhumba-ing  with  his  wife  (they're 
good,  too!)  or  Jennifer  Jones. 

He  was  really  disappointed,  I  think,  when 
he  didn't  win  the  "grand  prize"  for  the  best 
rhumba — if  it  had  been  for  the  most  en- 
thusiastic, he  would  have  won  hands  down! 

But  Anita  Colby  (with  Clark  Gable,  of 
course)  won  the  big  basket  of  caviar  and  all 


sorts  of  delicious  things  for  hors  d'oeuvre. 

The  funniest  event  of  the  night  was  Alfred 
Hitchcock  giving  Van  Heflin  the  first — and 
I'm  sure,  the  LAST — cigar  he  will  ever  smoke. 
There  was  a  bad  moment  or  two  when  you 
couldn't  tell  Van's  face  from  one  of  several 
green  balloons  tied  to  the  back  of  his  chair. 

What  a  hostess  that  Sonja  is!  What  a 
party! 

Fashion  Fads:  Doris  Day  wears  a  "date 
belt" — on  which  dangle  seven  discs  with  the 
days  of  the  week  printed  on  the  front.  On 
the  back  is  a  space  for  an  escort's  name — 
which  can  be  erased  as  the  date  changes. 

Diana  Lynn  has  a  small,  smooth  straw  hat 
of  cloche  shape  that  can  be  worn  for  sports 
or  dinner.  Here's  how:  Daytimes,  it  is  worn 
natural  with  different  colored  grosgrain  bands. 
At  night,  she  stretches  dotted  gold  lace  net — 
or  black  lace — over  the  entire  bonnet,  and 
it's  cute  as  all  get-out. 


Latest  stunt  with  little  ivory  elephants  is 
to  string  them  on  a  necklace  around  the  neck. 
Very  cute  with  low-neckline  brown  dresses. 

Hi-Lights  of  the  Month:  The  ultra-dramatic 
story  that  the  father  Loretta  Young  had  never 
seen  had  died  in  the  charity  ward  of  Gen- 
eral Hospital.  But  the  true  story  reflected 
no  discredit  on  the  lovely  star.  Her  father 
had  walked  out  on  her  mother  and  three 
sisters  when  they  were  babies.  But  when 
Loretta  heard  of  his  existence  just  two  years 
ago,  she  arranged  with  her  lawyer  to  con- 
tribute to  his  support.  The  whole  thing  reads 
like  a  Loretta  Young  movie  script. 

Errol  Flynn's  surprise  appearance  as  guest 
of  honor  at  a  church  bazaar  in  Jamaica. 
Fortified  by  slight  sips  from  the  pink  lemon- 
ade bowl,  Errol  auctioned  off  jellies,  jams, 
hand-knitted  ties  and  kicked  in  with  a  check 
for  $1,000  of  his  own  to  help  the  good  cause 
along. 

That  Bing!    What  a  guy  he  is.    When  he 


12 


KEECHIE:  A  tender  heart  in  a  tough 
world.  All  a  girl  can  do  to  help  the 
hoy  she  loves  . .  .  Keechie  does ! 


BOWIE:  Just  a  kid... who's  seen  too 
much  of  the  crooked  side  of  life . . . 
not  enough  of  the  straight ! 


CHICKAMAW:  He s  a  guy  you  can 

trust ...  to  knife  you  in  the  back 
when  he  gets  sore! 


TWO  KIDS... 
outside  the  law! 

Desperate. ..hunted. ..yet  so  in 
love!  This  is  their  story,  the 
one  the  screaming  headlines 
never  told!  _ 


THE  TWISTED  ROAD 


starring 


Cathy  O'Donnell  •  Farley  Granger 
Howard  da  Silva 

with 

Jay  C.  Flippen  •  William  Phipps  •  Ian  Wolfe 
DORE  SCHARY  In  Charge  of  Production 

Produced  by  JOHN  HOUSEMAN  .  Directed  by  NICHOLAS  RAY 
Screen  Pla'p  by  CHARLES  SCHNEE 


T-DUB*  Knows  but  one  law  . . .  his 

own!  Has  but  one  weapon... a  gun! 


jer  Dorothy  Kirsten  (who  took  over  Al  Jolson's  radio  show  for  the  summer) 
with  Ray  Miliaria1  at  the  Paramount  commissary.  Ray  and  his  wife  lost  the  baby 
they  were  expecting  early  next  year.  They  have  one  other  child,  Danny,  aged  8. 


til  mta>s 


heard  Rhonda  Fleming  was  unhappy  about 
her  billing  in  Connecticut  Yankee,  he  told 
Paramount  to  set  her  up  in  big  type,  same 
size  as  his.    It  takes  a  big  guy  to  do  that. 

The  surprise  dating  of  Jane  Wyman  and 
Peter  Lawford  has  the  town  talking.  Don't 
take  it  too  seriously.  He  isn't  exactly  Janie's 
type  for  serious  romancing,  but  he's  a  charm- 
ing date.  Pete,  who  had  a  yen  for  Rita 
Hayworth  several  months  ago,  seems  to  be 
concentrating  on  the  more  mature  glamor 
girls — much  to  the  annoyance  of  the  belles 
of  his  own  set. 

Well,  guess  this  is  all  this  month.  Your 
girl  friend,  LOP,  will  be  back  again  for  the 
entire  department  next  month. 

•        *  * 

Close-up  of  Burt  Lancaster:  His  two  front 
teeth  separate,  so  the  studio  sent  him  to  a 
dentist  who  put  a  brace  in  the  back  (you 


can't  see  it)  which  draws  them  together. 
He  thinks  the  brace  is  so  wonderful,  he  looks 
intently  at  everyone's  mouth.  Girls  and 
women  get  fluttery  about  this.  But  he's  only 
looking  to  see  if  they  have  a  dental  separa- 
tion so  he  can  tell  them  about  his  wonderful 
discovery  .  .  .  He  whistles  cheerfully,  but 
off  key  .  .  .  When  he's  not  working  in  love 
scenes,  he  goes  on  an  onion  sandwich  binge. 
On  the  other  hand,  nothing  infuriates  him 
like  an  "onion  eater"  breathing  down  his 
neck  in  a  theater  .  .  .  He's  excited  over  his 
Norma  Productions,  his  own  movie  company, 
named  after  his  wife  .  .  .  He's  surprising  to 
interview  because  of  his  really  excellent 
knowledge  of  political,  music  and  art  subjects 
.  .  .  When  he's  really  hepped  up  about  some- 
thing, he  clenches  his  hands  and  his  teeth  .  .  . 
He  lives  at  the  beach  and  is  as  tanned  as  a 
nut  .  .  .  Nightclubs  see  him  very  seldom  .  .  . 


He  takes  all  the  fuss  about  his  "overnight" 
success  in  stride  and  quotes  the  story  about 
his  wife  opening  a  charge  account  at  a  smart 
shop.  When  she  said  she  was  Mrs.  Burt  Lan- 
caster, the  custodian  of  the  accounts  asked,  "Is 
your  husband  employed  locally?"  It's  Burt's 
favorite  story  when  people  tell  him  he  is 
famous  after  just  a  few  pictures  ...  He  has  a 
burning  belief  in  the  screen  as  a  medium  of 
propaganda — the  right  kind  of  propaganda, 
that  is  ...  In  his  personal  wardrobe  he  has  a 
dark  blue  suit,  gray  »uit,  and  the  rest  is  sports 
and  lounge  stuff.  He  thinks  he  should  get  a 
dinner  jacket  in  case  somebody  invites  him 
to  something  formal,  but  he  just  can't  quite 
get  around  for  a  fitting  .  .  .  His  swim  trunks 
are  yellow  ...  He  is,  by  turn,  casual,  in- 
tense, athletic,  lazy,  opinionated,  modest, 
moody,  gay — and  for  Louella's  and  my  money, 
the  hottest  bet  since  Clark  Gable. 


14 


1tA   Vy  of  *W»,cft'S 


His  life. ..fabulously  exciting! 

His  times'/^S 


■ 

His  heartbreak 


His  triumphs.. 


mericas  greatest  era ! . . . . 
told  for  the  first  time ! 

i 

while  millions  cheered !.... 


Allied  Artists  Productions,  presents 


&  * 


A'-'*t 


Hear  These  Ail-Time  Hits! . . . 
*  "Singin'  In  The  Rain" 

,  **  "I'm  Nobody's  Baby"  r± 

/sT  "I'll  Get  By"  J 

"After  The  Ball" 
"Wait  'Till  The  Sun  Shines,  Nellie' 
"Take  Me  Out  To  The  Ball  Game' 
...and  many  more! 


ROY  DEL  RUTH'S 


starring  WILLIAM 


CLAIRE 


Production 

CHARLES 


mm  LEVENE-william  mw-mm  NIESEta  BRIGGS';=;f  Y  DRRUIHEjoe  KAUFMAN  bobTonsidinegeorge mm  u 


On  Father's  Day 
you  get  neckties  or 
a  pipe,  but  Frank  Sin- 
atra got  Christina — 
the  finest  gift  of  all,  the 
gift  the  day  was 
named  for  .  .  . 

BY  KIRTLEY  BASKETTE 


m 


i 


"So-o-o  big,"  says  Frankie  to  Nancy  Sandra  and  Frankie,  Jr.,  "and  you  can 
call  her  Tina."  Baby  Christina  was  born  June  20th,  weighed  in  at  8  lbs.,  14 
ozs.  Now  Pop  can  relax,  start  work  on  Take  Me  Out  To  The  Ball  Game. 


■  So  this  is  what  it's  like  he  thought. 
You  sit  in  a  chair  that  couldn't  be  comfort- 
able if  it  was  made  out  of  duck  down,  and 
you  stare  at  a  newspaper  you  can't  read, 
and  it's  a  mile  down  the  hall  to  those 
swinging  doors  with  the  fuzzy  glass,  and  the 
floor's  polished  slick  and  smells  like 
medicine.    You  don't  hear  a  thing  except  some 
rubber  soled  pat-pats  when  the  nurses 
glide  in  and  out,  and  when  you  look  that 
way  your  heart  slams  against  your  vest  like 
Gang-Busters. 

Frankie  Sinatra  stared  at  the  lone  guy 
sitting  across  from  him  in  the  agony  alcove 
at  the  Cedars  of  Lebanon  Hospital 
maternity  ward  and  got  an  unseeing  stare 
back.   "Poor  joker,"  he  thought.   "He  was 
here  hours  before  me."   Frankie  jerked  a  look 
at  his  wrist  watch  for  the  umpteenth  time. 
Almost  3:30  A.  m. — when?  Why, 
Sunday,  June  20th, — Father's  Day!  Whaddya 
know — Father's  Day! 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  began  beating 
the  rubber  tiled  floors,  like  fathers  have  been 
doing  since  hospitals  were  invented  and 
before,  and  that  made  him  grin.    "Just  like  a 
movie  script,"  he  said.  He  thought  back 
a  few  hours. 

There'd  been  the  radio  show  that  night, 
the  Hit  Parade,  and  he'd  come  up  with  an 
oldie  besides  the  hit  list  tunes,  just  for  the 
Father's  Day  {Continued  on  page  18) 


16 


In  business,  must  she  begin  with  — 

□  Good  follow-through 
D  All  the  answers 
D  A  promising  career 


What's  a  jilted  jane  to  do  ? 

□  Let  his  memory  linger  on 

□  Pursue  him  by  mail 

□  Get  herself  a  hobby 

If  last  summer's  knight  beams  at  someone 
else  this  season— no  use  toting  the  torch. 
Now  is  the  hour  to  get  yourself  a  hobby. 
Something  fun  and  worthwhile— that  keeps 
your  brain,  or  hands,  or  tootsies  (why  not 
learn  to  tap  dance?)  active.  Fight  off  "cal- 
endar" blues,  too,  with  the  self-assurance 
Kotex  brings.  You  see,  there's  extra  pro- 
tection in  that  exclusive  safety  center  of 
Kotex.  Helps  preserve  your  peace  of  mind. 
Puts  wings  on  worry! 


Your  first  job?  Calm  those  jitters.  The  boss 
won't  expect  you  to  be  a  quiz  kid.  But  he  does 
demand  dependability.  Don't  be  a  promiser; 
finish  what  you  start.  Good  follow-through 
is  a  business  must  And  don't  try  the  vacant 
chair  routine  on  "those"  days.  No  excuse, 
with  the  new,  softer  Kotex!  Dependable  is 
definitely  the  word  for  such  miracle-softness 
that  holds  its  shape.  You  can  stay  on  the 
job  in  comfort,  for  Kotex  is  made  to  stay 
soft  while  you  wear  it 


Which  togs  are  best  for  "tubby"? 

D  A  tweed  suit 

□  A  gabardine  dress 

D  A  sweater  and  skirt 

Lassie  with  the  buxom  chassis  — buy  your 
togs  with  special  care!  Ixnay  on  sweaters. 
Steer  clear  of  tweeds.  (Heavy  fabrics  add 
bulk.)  To  pare  down  your  upholstery, 
select  smooth,  figure-flattering  materials. 
Gabardine,  for  instance— for  casual  wear. 
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Everything  could  be  kopasetic— if  she  could 
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Man  a//  of/ier  san/fary  na/?fohs 


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THE  GREATEST  GIFT 

(Continued  from  page  16) 


angle,  "Daddy,  Dear  Old  Daddy."  Then 
—he  didn't  know  what  had  got  into  him — 
but  in  the  aftershow  when  he  gave  out 
with  the  inevitable  request,  "Nancy  With 
the  Laughing  Face,"  he'd  come  to  that  line, 
" — sorry  for  you,  she  has  no  sister — "  and 
instead  he'd  sung  it,  " — tomorrow  this 
time,  she'll  have  a  sister — " 

Now  why  did  he  do  that?  The  doctor 
had  said  Nancy's  baby  was  four  days  off. 
The  doctor  said  it  looked  like  a  boy  for 
sure,  and  so  did  Nancy's  mother  and  all 
her  girl  friends,  by  the  signs,  the  shape 
of  things  to  come  and  all  that.  Why  did 
he  pull  that  "sister"  line? 

Frank  had  to  think  of  something,  so  he 
recapped  the  evening.  He'd  tagged  all  the 
Sinatra  set  as  usual  right  after  the  NBC 
studio  lights  flicked  off — Axel  Stordahl, 
Sammy  Cahn  and  Julie  Styne,  Don  Ma- 
guire,  Dick  Jones,  Bobby  Burns. 

"Coming  out  to  the  house  for  'the  game,' 
aren't  you?   Nancy's  making  pizza." 

That  was  the  Saturday  night  usual. 
Charades  at  his  place  in  Toluca  Lake  and 
everybody  invited,  everybody  showing  up. 
But  this  night  something  was  wrong. 
"Sorry,  Frank,  I'm — uh — going  down  to 
the  boat,"  said  Axel.  "Some  other  time," 
dodged  the  others.  "No  thanks — I'm 
bushed  for  sleep"  .  .  .  "Got  me  a  date"  .  .  . 
"Sorry." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you  guys?" 
Frankie  had  frowned.  "I  haven't  got  a 
brush-off  like  this  in  years.  And  just 
when  I  might  need  you,  too." 

Then  somebody  held  him  in  a  conver- 
sation and  when  he  rolled  up  at  home 
later  on  they'd  all  swarmed  him,  "Happy 
Father's  Day,  Pops!  Maybe  you'll  be 
needing  these."  And  the  gag  presents 
peppered  him — dinky  didies,  toy  hot  water 
bottles,  safety  pins,  cod-liver  oil  and 
Q-tips.  They'd  framed  him  (with  Nancy 
in  cahoots) — a  surprise  Father's  Day  baby 
shower. 

So  there  they  were  around  midnight 
knocking  themselves  out  with  "indica- 
tions" as  usual,  drinking  beer,  making 
signs  and  faces  and  frantic  poses  and  then 
Nancy  said  she  thought  she'd  put  the 
pizza  in.  But  the  way  she  said  it  sounded 
funny,  and  he'd  followed  her  into  the 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"Don't  worry,  Mother.  That's  Henry!" 


kitchen.  Funny  little  spasms  were  cross- 
ing her  face  and  he  could  read  that  face 
so  well.  "I  don't  feel  too  good,"  she'd 
smiled  crookedly. 

"Let's  get  out  of  here,"  said  Frankie. 
So  they'd  ducked  out  the  back  door,  to 
the  garage,  and  rolled  over  Cahuenga  pass 
to  the  hospital  in  Frank's  blue  convertible 
Cad,  daring  the  cops  to  catch  them.  No- 
body knew  where  they  were  or  what  went 
on  until  the  phone  rang  and  Frankie's 
voice  told  the  gang.  "Stick  around — it 
won't  be  long  now." 

So  here  he  was — in  on  the  father  act  at 
last — and  it  was  still  all  sort  of  unreal. 
First  time,  with  little  Nancy,  now  8,  Frank 
had  rehearsed  until  midnight  with  Tommy 
Dorsey's  band,  falling  asleep  on  a  sofa  at 
the  Astor  Hotel  in  New  York,  dog  tired. 
The  phone  rang  next  morning  at  nine  to 
wake  him.  "You're  the  father  of  a  baby 
girl."  So  he'd  missed  the  main  event  and 
he'd  always  felt  cheated  somehow.  And 
with  Frankie,  Junior,  he'd  been  out  in 
Hollywood  making  Higher  and  Higher 
and  again  Nancy  had  gone  it  alone  back 
in  New  Jersey.  But  this  time — what  a 
break,  what  a  lucky  break,  he  thought. 

A  shadow  fell  across  him  and  it  was  the 
doctor.  He  heard  "Congratulations,  a  fine 
baby  girl,  eight  pounds,  fourteen  ounces." 

Frankie  looked  at  the  other  guy.  He 
was  there  first.  This  would  be  his.  "Con- 
gratulations," he  said. 

"You,"  said  the  doc. 

"Me?"  It  sank  in.  Practically  a  nine- 
pound  girl — a  Sinatra  like  that  born  to 
old  skinny  No-blood  and  his  petite  wife? 

"Baby's  perfect,  so's  your  wife — and  I've 
got  a  message,"  said  the  man.  "First  thing 
she  said  coming  out  of  the  delivery  room 
was,  'Tell  my  husband  to  go  home  and 
get  some  sleep.  He  needs  it'." 

"Sleep?  Not  me,"  laughed  Frankie.  "Say, 
this  is  my  lucky  night." 

town  crier  .  .  . 

He  clinked  his  nickels  in  the  pay  phone 
then  and  called  home.  "Spread  the  news," 
he  told  them  out  at  the  house.  He  called 
his  mother,  ill  in  a  Hoboken  hospital.  He 
called  Nancy's  mother  in  Hollywood.  He 
called  everyone  he  could  think  of  who 
ought  to  know  and  before  he  knew  it,  it 
was  dawn  and  he  was  still  high  as  a  kite 
and  shaking  with  excitement.  He  drove 
home  around  five  o'clock  and  the  gang 
was  still  there,  reading  him  wires,  and 
the  phone  was  buzzing,  red  hot. 

"Perfect  timing,  as  usual,"  Dave  White, 
his  radio  producer,  telegraphed. 

"I  got  room  in  the  act  for  another 
Sinatra,"  Jimmy  Durante  phoned.  By  the 
time  the  morning  radio  spread  the  news, 
the  wires  and  calls  had  piled  up.  Frankie's 
fan  club  told  him  they  were  sending  off  a 
CARE  bundle  with  the  money  assessed 
for  Christina's  baby  present.  Little  Nancy 
ran  upstairs  and  came  down  with  a  pack- 
age. "Here  Daddy,"  she  said.  "Happy 
Father's  Day."  Frankie  ripped  it  open. 
Diapers.  He  swept  her  up,  gave  her  a 
hug.  "You  cutie,  who  put  you  up  to  that?" 

"Now,"  begged  Nancy,  "do  we  go  to 
Kiddieland?"  Frankie  remembered  he'd 
promised  the  kids  a  Father's  Day  treat  at 
the  merry-go-round  carnival  down  on  La 
Cienega.  "Sorry,  honey,  next  Sunday  for 
sure.  Daddy's  got  to  go  to  the  hospital 
to  see  Moma  and  Tina." 

"Who's  Tina?"  Nancy  wanted  to  know. 

"Good  Gosh,"  Frankie  said.  "I  forgot 
to  tell  you  kids.  She's  your  new  sister!" 

That's  the  way  it  was  all  the  next  day. 
Frank  didn't  know  what  time  it  was  or 
what  he  was  saying.  June  20  was  next  to 


I 


All  the  excitement,  suspense  and 
gripping  drama  of  the  world's  most  treasured 
story  comes  brilliantly  to  the  screen ! 

J^.  iS^lrt/iur0  <S^lan&  presents 

"01,I?11  fWIif" 

STARRING 

ROBERT  NEWTON 

ALEC  GUINESS  •  KAY  WALSH 
FRANCIS  L.  SULLIVAN 
with  HENRY  STEPHENSON 
and  introducing  JOHN  HOWARD  DAVIES  as  Oliver  Twist 

DIRECTED  BY  DAVID  LEAN  •  PRODUCED  BY  RONALD  NEAME 

The  Team  That  Gave  You  "Great  Expectations" 

Screenplay  by  DAVID  LEAN  and  STANLEY  HAYN  ES 
A  Cineffuild  Production 

Released  by  EAGLE  LION  FILMS 

SSrin^  to  fife  <U  unfaettal/e  character, 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— help9  clean  out  decaying  food  particles — 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol? 
ishing  agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gently  and  safelyl" 

LATER-Thanlcs  to  Colgate  Dental  Cream 


20 


Always  vse 

^  COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM 

after  you  eat  and  before 
every  dale 


the  longest  day  in  the  year  and  he  could 
use  it  that  way.  He  did  everything  a 
brand  new  poppa  does — grinned,  raved, 
got  his  back  slapped,  even  smoked  a  cigar, 
though  they  usually  make  him  sick. 
Around  midnight,  after  forty  hours  on  his 
feet,  he  crawled  in  the  hay  prepared  to 
blank  out.    But  he  couldn't  sleep. 

What  went  running  round  and  round 
inside  Frank  Sinatra's  weary  brain  was 
"I'm  lucky.  I  am  really  lucky."  And  he 
wasn't  kidding  with  himself,  not  Frankie. 

Lucky,  he  knew,  because  first  of  all  he 
had  Nancy  with  the  laughing  face.  Nancy 
who  had  all  the  spirit  and  spunk  in  the 
world,  who'd  stepped  out  with  him  just 
four  days  ago,  bulging  or  not,  to  see  Lena 
Home,  at  Slapsy  Maxie's,  because  Lena 
was  closing,  and  she  was  a  friend.  Nancy, 
who  never  admitted  a  pain  until  that  last 
minute  when  it  was  necessary. 

Lucky,  thought  Frankie,  that  Nancy 
had  come  through  without  a  hitch,  giving 
him  a  baby  girl  perfect  as  a  summer 
peach.  Lucky  she  was  a  girl  too,  the  girl 
they'd  both  hoped  and  prayed  for.  Lucky 
they'd  called  her  "Christina,"  his  favorite 
name,  next  to  Nancy  (it  would  be 
Thomas,  they'd  decided,  if  it  were  a  boy). 
Lucky  he,  Frankie,  had  a  break  in  the 
bustle  of  his  business  when  the  Big  Time 
arrived;  lucky  he'd  got  those  four  busi- 
ness trips  East  out  of  the  way  early  in 
the  expecting  stretch.  Lucky  he'd  turned 
down  that  Columbia  Record  Convention 
in  Atlantic  City  at  the  last  minute. 


Luckiest,  he  figured  to  be  home  where 
they  could  use  him  right  now.  Lucky  the 
recording  ban  was  on,  believe  it  or  not, 
and  that  his  radio  show  would  be  off  the 
summer  air  soon,  and  that  the  bobby-sox 
squealer  heat  had  subsided,  that  he'd  have 
time  to  be  what  he  liked  to  be  best,  a 
home  guy  with  his  wife  and  kids.  Lucky 
he  was  starting  Take  Me  Out  to  the  Ball 
Game  at  M-G-M  to  keep  him  tied  tight  to 
Hollywood  where  he  wanted  to  be,  where 
he  could  get  the  most  fun  out  of  Tina. 

Frankie  rolled  over  and  stared,  hollow- 
eyed  but  happy,  at  the  surface  of  Toluca 
Lake,  with  the  willows  sweeping  the 
moonlight. 

This  would  be  the  last  time  he  slept 
luxuriously  in  the  big  bed,  he  reflected. 
Nancy  would  be  home  next  week  with  the 
baby  and  then  he'd  have  to  bunk  in  with 
Frank,  Junior.  There  wasn't  a  nursery 
in  the  joint.  Not  a  spare  room.  He  grinned 
again.  "The  Sinatras  have  by-golly  out- 
grown their  house!  Okay,"  said  Frank,  to 
himself,  "we'll  have  three  more  babies  and 
then  build  a  new  one!" 

But  there  wasn't  even  enough  room  for 
a  worry  that  night.  Except  a  tiny  one. 
Before  Frank's  tired  body  and-  nerves 
blacked  out,  he  puzzled  his  brow  for  a 
second  on  a  strictly  professional  problem. 

"Now,"  he  asked  himself,  "how'm  I 
going  to  say  'Good  night,  Nancy,  good 
night,  Frankie,  and  good  night,  Tina,  too, 
and  still  have  time  to  sing  songs  and  sell 
cigarettes  on  the  radio?" 


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QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  September  issue?  WRITE  THE 
NUMBERS  I,  2,  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES. 


The  Greatest  Gift  (Frank 

Sinatra)   □ 

Strictly  From  Dixie  (Bing 

Crosby)  by  Hedda  Hopper  □ 

My  Brother's  A  Fake!  (Bob 

Mitchum)   □ 

The  Gamer  Gang  (Peggy  Ann  _ 

Garner)   □ 

Fun  House  (June  Allyson-Dick 

Powell)   □ 

My  Favorite  Hollywood  Designers 

by  Cobina  Wright   □ 

I'm  Going  To  Marry  Ty!  by  Linda 

Christian  as  told  to  Robert  Peer  O 
Joan  Ot  Arc  (Ingrid  Bergman)  .  .  Q 


Hollywood's  Strangest  Romance 

(Guy  Madison-Gail  Russell)  .  .  .  □ 
/  Hated  Myself  .  .  .  by  Burt 

Lancaster   □ 

The  Case  Of  The  Gullible  Bride 

(Lana  Turner)  □ 

Mr.  Grant  Builds  A  Dream 

(Cary  Grant-Betsy  Drake)  □ 

How  Long  Can  You  Stay  Great? 

(Ginger  Rogers)   □ 

The  New  Tarzan  (Lex  Barker)  .  .  .  □ 
There  Was  A  Girl  (Alida  Valli)  .  .  □ 
They  Want  To  Get  Married 

(Wanda  Hendrix-Audie 

Murphy)   □ 

Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  Q 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues:  List  them,  I,  2, 

3,  in  order  of  preference  

What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 

3,  in  order  of  preference  

My  name  is.....   '  -.  ■  

My  address  is....  

City   Zone   State   I  am  years  old 


ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT.,  MODERN  SCREEN. 
BOX  125.  MURRAY  HILL  STATION.  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


What  Did  This  Bewitching 
Queen  Really  Want. . .  m 

the  doctor's  cure  or.. .the  Doctor? 

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Here  Is  True 
History  as  Lively  and  Exciting  as  FOREVER  Amber! 


AROLINE,  the  beautiful  young 
Queen  of  Denmark,  was  said 
to  be  ill  with  a  fever.  So 
handsome  Dr.  Johann  Struensee, 
newly  appointed  physician  to  the 
royal  household,  was  summoned  to 
attend  her.  From  the  moment  he  en- 
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reclining  luxuriously,  her  golden  hair 
loosened  about  her  head,  the  doctor  be- 
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For  there  was  no  haughtiness  in  the 
Queen's  eyes— only  an  amused  and  cal- 
culating look.  This  was  not  the  trou- 
bled patient  he  expected,  but  a  de- 
lightful and  inviting  woman! 


What  did  she  really  want  of  him— 
the  court  physician— and  a  commoner? 
How  could  he  dare  to  read  her  mind, 
with  his  reputation  and  his  personal 
safety  at  stake? 

Neither  Caroline  nor  Johann  knew 
that  their  entire  future— and  the  future 
of  their  country— hung  in  the  balance 
at  that  moment. 

Set  against  the  glittering  background 
of  the  royal  court  of  18th  century 
Denmark,  "The  Queen's  Physician"  is 
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checked  below: 

□  The  Golden  Hawk  Q  Annie  Jordan 

O  Came  a  Cavalier 

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Mrs.  \ 
Miss  ) 


Address 


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City,  Zone 
&  State  .  . 


If  under  21, 

Occupation  Age,  please.  .  .  . 

•Same  price  in  Canada:   105  Bond  St.,  Toronto  2 


21 


by 
JEAN 
KINKEAD 


End  of  World  War  II  has  seen  a  rebirth  of  gang  warfare  in 
Center  City,  USA.  Youthful  leader  of  the  new  "scientific"  crime 
syndicate  is  Richard  Widmark.    Barbara  Lawrence  is  his  wife. 


FBI  agent  Mark  Stevens  is  assigned  to  learn  identity  of  the 
gangsters,  wins  Widmark's  confidence  by  working  out  in  his 
gymnasium.  Eventually,  he's  accepted  as  a  member  of  the  ring. 


Stevens  finds  Widmark's  gun,  which  he  suspects  is  a  murder 
weapon.  He  fires  gun  to  get  sample  bullet  for  proof,  is  discov- 
ered, trapped — until  FBI  chief  (Lloyd  Nolan)  and  his  men  close  in. 


THE  STREET  WITH  NO  NAME 

This  is  a  new  kind  of  cops  and  robbers  movie, 
a  tremendously  thrilling  story  taken  from  the 
files  of  our  FBI.  It  is  not  a  tale  of  smooth-talk- 
ing, wise-cracking  amateur  sleuths,  but  of 
magnificently-trained  men  of  high  courage,  the 
graduates  of  the  FBI  Academy  in  Quantico,  Va. 

Eugene  Cordell  (Mark  Stevens)  is  one  of 
these  hand-picked  guys,  and  the  assignment 
he  is  given  is  a  difficult  and  dangerous  one. 
There  have  been  a  number  of  murder-robberies 
around  Center  City.  All  that  is  known  of  the 
gang  responsible  for  them  is  that  they  are  very 
young  and  that  one  of  them  uses  a  Luger.  Then, 
at  last,  following  a  night  club  murder,  there 
is  a  more  tangible  clue — a  driver's  license 
found  at  the  scene  of  the  crime  bearing  the 
name  of  Robert  Danker  (Bob  Patten).  Danker, 
a  vagrant  with  an  unsavory  record,  is  appre- 
hended, questioned  and  put  in  jail  while  his 
alibi  is  checked.  Later,  when  Inspector  Briggs 
(Lloyd  Nolan)  of  the  FBI  goes  to  tell  Danker 
that  his  innocence  has  been  conclusively 
proved,  it  is  learned  that  he  has  been  bailed 
out  by  a  bonding  company,  and  that  night  his 
body  is  found  off  the  main  highway  covered 
with  knife  wounds.  The  youngster  had  obvi- 
ously been  framed. 

Eugene  Cordell,  masquerading  as  an  ex- 
convict  named  George  Manley,  is  ordered  to 
follow  as  closely  as  possible  in  Danker's  foot- 
steps, get  involved  with  the  same  ruthless 
gang,  and  then  at  the  right  moment  hand  them 
over  to  the  Bureau.  It's  a  large  order,  and  be- 
fore it's  accomplished  Gene  is  almost  cooked 
on  a  couple  of  occasions. 

Richard  Widmark,  cold-eyed  and  harsh- 
voiced  is  completely  believable  as  Alec  Styles, 
the  leader  of  the  gang.  This  fellow  is  a  really 
top-notch  actor.  Mark  Stevens  was  never  better, 
and  Barbara  Lawrence  as  Widmark's  coarse 
wife  is  excellent.  Special  mention,  too,  goes  to 
Lloyd  Nolan,  Donald  Buka  and  John  Mclntyre. 
For  the  scare  of  your  life,  see  this  chill-packed 
tribute  to  Edgar  Hoover's  stout-hearted  boys. 
— 20fh-Fox. 


22 


A  Date  With  Judy:  Sophisticated  Liz  Taylor  and  naive  Jane  Powell  in  a  teen-age  comedy. 


A  DATE  WITH  JUDY 

This  is  a  good  little  story  about  some  at- 
tractive young  people  and  their  problem 
parents. 

Judy  is  played  by  lane  Powell  who  sings 
well,  looks  heavenly  and  is  altogether  en- 
trancing. Guileless  as  a  two-year-old,  she  is 
completely  under  the  thumb  of  her  sophisti- 
cated friend,  Carol  Pringle  (Elizabeth  Taylor). 
Carol  and  her  brother  Oogie  (Scotty  Beckett), 


who  adores  Judy,  are  poor  little  rich  kids.  Al- 
though loaded  with  dough,  they  are  virtual 
orphans,  for  their  mother  is  dead  and  their 
father  (Leon  Ames)  is  too  busy  to  spend 
much  time  around  the  house.  Judy,  on  the 
other  hand,  has  two  loving  parents  (Selena 
Royle  and  Wally  Beery). 

Woman-of-the-world  Carol  explains  to  the 
naive  Judy  that  middle-aged  men  can  all  bear 
watching,  and  poor  Judy  begins  eyeing  her 


dad  for  Symptoms.  He  begins  taking  rhumba 
lessons  secretly  from  Carmen  Miranda  in 
order  to  surprise  his  wife  on  their  anniversary, 
and  Judy,  seeing  them  together,  suspects  the 
worst. 

All  the  while  this  is  going  on,  Judy  and 
Carol  are  both  swooning  over  the  new  boy  at 
the  drugstore  (Robert  Stack)  while  old  Oogie. 
still  mad  about  Judy,  is  perishing  with  jeal- 
ousy. There's  a  happy  ending  for  everybody 
of  course,  and  the  whole  business  leaves  a 
very  nice  taste  in  your  mouth. 

Elizabeth  Taylor  is  the  surprise  of  the  pic- 
ture, for  she  has  grown  into  a  breath-takingly 
beautiful  girl.  Jane  Powell  is  a  honey;  so  full 
of  personality,  you  just  love  to  watch  her. 
Robert  Stack,  a  bit  out  of  his  league  as  far 
as  age  goes,  is  better-looking  than  ever.  In 
such  fast  company,  it  could  be  hard  to  single 
out  the  best  supporting  player,  but  to  our  way 
of  thinking  there's  just  no  question  but  that  it's 
Carmen  Miranda.  With  those  wicked  eyes, 
that  wiggle,  that  way  with  a  song,  she's  plain 
wonderful.  Xavier  Cugat's  swell  band  makes 
A  Date  With  Judy  just  about  perfect  among 
teen-age  films. — M-G-M. 

MICKEY 

This  is  the  story — and  a  pleasant  one  it  is 
— of  Mickey,  a  pretty  little  tomboy  who  grows 
up  in  spite  of  herself.  Lois  Butler,  as  Mickey,  is 
easy  as  an  old  shoe,  remarkably  poised  in  her 
first  film  and  blessedly  free  from  cute  manner- 
isms. Furthermore,  she  has  a  sweet,  true  sing- 
ing voice. 

Her  story  is  a  familiar  one — the  one  about 


STAMPEDING  ACROSS  THE  SCREEN... GREATEST  OF  OUTDOOR  SPECTACLES! 


JOAN  LESLIE*  JAMES  CRAIG 'JACK  OAKIE  in  "NORTHWEST  Produced  and  Directed  by  Albert  S.  Rogell  •  Story  and  Screenplay  by  Art 
STAMPEDE"  in  Cinecolor  with  CHILL  WILLS,  VICTOR  KILIAN  Arthur  and  Lillie  Hayward  •  Suggested  by  Saturday  Evening  Post  Article, 
and  The  Dog,  "FLAME"  •  Executive  Producer  DAVID  HERSH    "Wild  Horse  Roundup"  by  Jean  Muir  •  An  EAGLE  LION  FILMS  Production 


the  girl  whom  all  the  boys  like,  just  like  a 
brother.  Mickey  is  the  star  pitcher  on  the 
neighborhood  ball  team,  but  it's  the  bits  of 
fluff  who  get  bids  to  the  school  dances.  Mickey's 
metamorphosis  from  caterpillar  to  butterfly  will 
delight  the  teen-agers,  and  the  scene  in  which 
she  swishes  into  the  local  cokery  in  satin  and 
sables  on  the  arm  of  a  smooth  Older  Man 
(John  Sutton)  will  simply  kill  them.  For  the 
adult  trade  there's  the  love  story  of  Mickey's 
doctor  dad,  an  attractive  widower  (Bill  Good- 
win) and  the  lovely  aunt  (Irene  Hervey)  of 
Mickey's  chum.  Cathy,  (Mickey's  exuberant 
pal,  incidentally,  is  Beverly  Wills,  Joan  Davis' 
daughter,  and  a  chip  off  the  old  block.) 

There  are  a  few  scenes  in  the  film  that  are 
a  bit  hard  to  take,  principally  the  ones  involv- 
ing Mickey's  slap-happy  baby-sitting.  However, 
the  story  for  the  most  part  is  warm  and  home- 
spun. Good  family  entertainment.  Hattie  Mc- 
Daniel  with  her  own  special  brand  of  humor 
steals  every  scene  in  which  she  appears, 
Skippy  Homeier,  Mickey's  long-legged  first 
love,  is  just  as  he  should  be,  and  Leon  Taylor 
is  properly  obnoxious  as  the  local  mama's 
boy.  Mickey  is  hardly  a  distinguished  film, 
but  it's  good  fun,  and  sixteen-year-old  Lois  But- 
ler is  a  real  addition  to  the  Hollywood  scene. 
— Eagle-Lion. 

DEEP  WATERS 

There  are  two  situations  in  this  frankly 
sentimental  movie,  both  old  but  still  good  for 
some  tugs  at  the  heart.  One  involves  the  gal 
who  fears  the  sea  (Jean  Peters,  in  this  case) 
desperately  in  love  with  a  sea-going  man 


Deep  Waters:  Dana  Andrews,  Anne  Revere,   Dean  S+ockwell,  Jean   Peters  in  love-tale. 


(Dana  Andrews).  The  other  is  the  small 
orphan  boy  (Dean  Stockwell)  longing  for 
someone  to  love,  someone  who  will  love  him 
in  return.  The  two  stock  situations  are  success- 
fully wedded  to  make  a  fresh  and  palatable 
film. 

Ann  Freeman  (Jean  Peters)  is  a  social 
worker,  and  twelve-year-old  Donny  (Dean 
Stockwell)  is  one  of  her  more  difficult  cases. 
She  has  placed  him  in  several  inland  homes, 
but  each  time,  Donny,  product  of  a  long  line 


of  Maine  fishermen,  has  run  away,  homesick 
for  the  sea.  Ann  compromises  to  the  extent  of 
placing  him  in  a  home  in  a  fishing  village — 
the  home  of  Mary  McKay  (Anne  Revere) — 
but  she  wants  him  to  stay  away  from  the 
boats. 

When  Ann  discovers  that  he  is  working 
Saturdays  on  Hod  Stillwell's  (Dana  Andrews) 
lobster  boat,  she  is  both  horrified  and  furious. 
She  and  Hod  have  broken  their  engagement 
because  they  realized  that  he  could  never  be 


.  f  roduced  by  PAUL  HENREID  •  Directed  by  STEVE  SEKELY-  Screenplay  by  DANIEL  FUCHS  •  Based  Upon  a  Novel  by  MURRAY  FORBES  25 


Avoid  underarm 
irritation . . . 


.use 


MARYALICE  WARD  Is  one  of 

the  beautiful  Powers  models 
who  uses  Yodora  regularly 
for    its    soothing  protection. 


ODORA 

the  deodorant  that  is 
ACTUALLY  SOOTHING 


Wonderful !  Yodora  stops  perspiration  odor 
safely,  quickly  .  .  .  yet  is  positively  soothing  to 
normal  skin.  Made  with  a  face  cream  base, 
with  no  harsh  acid  salts  to  cause  irritation, 
Yodora  actually  helps  soften  your  skin,  like  a 
face  cream.  No  other  known  deodorant 
gives  this  PLUS  protection.  Try  Yodora,  the 
soothingest  deodorant.  Tubes  or  jars,  10*,  30*, 
60*.  McKesson  &  Robbins,  Bridgeport,  Conn. 


For  FAST  RELIEF 

"Lazy"  muscles,  put  to  unaccustomed 
use,  welcome  the  comfort  given  by 
vigorous  rubbing  with  Absorbine  Jr. 


26 


happy  as  a  landlubber  and  she  would  be 
miserable  as  a  fisherman's  wife.  Ann  knows 
that  she  can't  cure  Hod  of  his  sea  fever,  but 
she's  determined  not  to  let  it  get  a  hold  on 
little  Donny.  To  this  end,  Ann  forbids  Hod  ever 
to  take  her  young  charge  out  on  his  boat 
again. 

Distracting  Donny  from  the  water  is  like 
trying  to  divert  the  Gulf  Stream,  but  when  he 
sees  that  things  are  hopeless,  he  makes  up 
his  mind  to  run  away,  stealing  a  camera 
which  he  then  pawns  to  finance  the  trip.  He  is 
started  on  the  road  to  delinquency,  and  there 
is  just  one  thing  that  will  save  him — someone 
with  unswerving  faith  in  him.  How  Donny's 
dilemma  develops,  and  how  Ann  and  Hod 
work  out  their  problem  makes  nice  sobby 
watching. 

Jean  Peters  is  pleasant  but  unspectacular  in 
the  role  of  Ann.  Dana  Andrews  is  good,  par- 
ticularly in  the  scenes  with  the  youngster. 
Anne  Revere  and  Cesar  Romero  (love  that 
accent)  make  much  of  their  supporting  roles. 
Deep  Waters  with  its  fine  footage  of  a  storm 
at  sea,  some  lovely  close-ups  of  a  little  boy's 
face,  is  a  picture  you'll  surely  want  to  see. — 
20th-Fox. 

TWO  GUYS  FROM  TEXAS 

This  bit  of  Technicolor  foolishness  won't  tax 
your  gray  matter  very  much,  but  if  it's  escape 
you're  after,  climb  aboard. 

Dennis  Morgan  and  Jack  Carson,  as  Steve 
Carroll  and  Danny  Foster,  are  a  pair  of  down 
and  out  night  club  entertainers  who  simply  can- 
not hold  a  job  on  account  of  Danny's  "Zoo- 
phobia." Every  time  he  sees  an  animal — and 
anything  from  an  oyster  on  the  half  shell  to  a 
silver  fox  jacket  will  do — he  goes  absolutely 
crazy.  He  gibbers  and  jabbers,  paws  the 
ground  and  hears  loud  scary  music  inside  his 
head.  And  bing!  Carroll  and  Foster  are  fired. 

En  route  to  California  to  look  for  a  job  in  the 
world's  oldest  car,  they  run  out  of  gas  and 
proceed  via  hitch-hike  and  foot  to  a  dude  ranch 
to  get  help.  The  ensuing  complications  are  un- 
believable. Steve  falls  madly  in  love  with  Joan 
Winston  (Dorothy  Malone)  the  proprietress, 
for  one  thing.  For  another,  Danny  gets  himself 


psychoanalysed  and  becomes  a  lion  of  a  man. 
Furthermore,  their  car  is  stolen  and  they  wind 
up  in  jail  accused  of  a  robbery  that  they  don't 
know  a  thing  about.  To  cap  the  climax,  Danny 
finds  himself  unwittingly  astride  a  wild  horse 
in  the  annual  rodeo,  and  wins  bags  and  bags 
of  money. 

Some  of  the  gags  are  a  little  tired  to  be  sure, 
and  the  whole  nonsensical  business  is  a  bit 
long  and  drawn  out,  but  there  are  some  good 
songs  by  Sammy  Cahn  and  Jules  Styne,  some 
fine  shots  of  the  wish-you-were-there  sort  of 
dude  ranch,  and  just  looking  at  newcomer 
Dorothy  Malone  is  a  pleasure. 

Go  see  it,  just  for  fun. — War. 

THE  DUDE  GOES  WEST 

This  is  an  unlikely  little  fable  of  guys,  guns 
and  gals  in  the  wild  west  of  the  1870's.  Liza 
(Gale  Storm),  a  pouting  female  en  route  to 
Arsenic  City,  Nevada,  with  the  map  to  her  dead 
father's  gold  mine,  meets  up  with  Daniel 
(Eddie  Albert),  a  young  fellow  hoping  to  set 
himself  up  as  a  gunsmith  in  Arsenic  City.  With 
him  it's  love  at  first  sight;  not  so  with  her.  She 
is  rude,  dull  and,  for  our  money  not  even 
pretty,  but  Daniel  moons  over  her  through  reel 
after  endless  reel. 

He  rescues  her  from  a  band  of  unscrupulous 
people  who  are  after  the  map,  saves  her  scalp 
when  two  million  Indians  pounce  on  them  in 
the  middle  of  the  desert.  Eventually,  at  the 
very  end,  she  gives  him  a  sick  smile  and  allows 
as  how  she  really  loved  him  all  along. 

This  is  one  of  the  more  anemic  Westerns. 
The  plot  should  be  in  the  Smithsonian  Institute 
(it's  that  aged)  and  the  acting  is  strictly  vanilla 
stuff,  except  for  Jimmy  Gleason  who  does  right 
by  the  part  of  Sam,  a  bewhiskered  old  pros- 
pector who  can  really  put  over  a  cowboy  song, 
and  good-looking  Gilbert  Roland  as  Pecos,  one 
of  the  countless  badmen.  Sophisticated  Binnie 
Barnes  is  miscast  as  head  of  the  gang  that 
wants  the  map,  and  Eddie  Albert  is  like  a  fish 
out  of  water  in  a  straight  role. 

Produced  by  the  King  Brothers,  Frank  and 
Maurice,  who  really  should  know  better,  The 
Dude  Goes  West  is  only  for  the  most  insatiable 
Western  fans. — Mono. 


Two  Guys  From  Texas:  Jack  Carson,  Dennis  Morgan,  Dot  Malone  on  dude  ranch. 


~%cfa(j-  see  tfie  astvn/s/i/ny 

c/ffirence  ingourstin/ 


//?  t/ie  most c/ra mat/a  beauty  test  ei/er 


"Better  than  my  own  favorite 
face  powder!". . .  that's  how  enthusiastic 
women  from  Coast  to  Coast  rated  the 
amazing  New  Woodbury  Powder. 
4  out  of  5  preferred  Woodbury  to  the 
powder  they  were  using!  And  Woodbury 
won  on  an  average  of  4  to  1  over  all 
leading  brands  of  powder. 

Actually  women  preferred  Woodbury  for 
every  beauty  quality!  They  raved  about,  its 
"satin-smoothness  on  the  skin". . . 
loved  its  richness  of  shade  that  gives  a 
warmer,  livelier  color-glow! 

Discover  now  that  New  Woodbury 
Powder  makes  the  most 
dramatic  difference  on  your  skin . . 
that  it  is  literally  the 
world's  finest  face  powder. 


4 'tot 


7//?i 


\oO 


be 


6^ 


7w/ce/VeH// 

New  Secret  Ingredient 

gives  a  satin-smooth  finish  to  your 

skin.  It  gives  a  natural  "unpowdered"  look 

...yet  covers  tiny  blemishes. 

New  Revolutionary  Blending! 

In  all  cosmetic  history  there  has  never 
been  anything  like  Woodbury's  new 
"Super-Blender."  It  gives  wannest,  liveliest 
shades . . .  finest-ever  texture! 


6  exc/fing  sfodes 

Get  New  Woodbury  Powder— in  the  new  "Venus"  box— at  any  cosmetic  counter.  Large  size  $1.00.  Medium  and  "Purse"  sizes  30tf  and  15#  (plus  tax). 


27 


Stronger  Grip 


Won  t  Slip  Out 


*  CRIP-W0yV. 


ASK  F 


28 


ime 


Beyond  Glory:  Neurotic,  guilt-stricken  veteran  Alan  Ladd  falls  in  love  with 
Donna  Reed,  his  commanding  officer's  widow.     Her  faith  helps  him  get  well. 


BEYOND  GLORY 

If  ever  there  was  a  contrived  plot,  it's  the 
one  in  Beyond  Glory.  As  briefly  as  possible, 
this  is  it.  A  three-minute  delay  in  reaching  his 
appointed  post  in  combat  leaves  Rocky  Gilman 
(Alan  Ladd)  a  broken  man.  He  is  convinced 
that  he  turned  yellow  at  the  zero  hour  and  thus 
deliberately  postponed  his  attack.  The  delay 
caused  the  death  of  his  commanding  officer 
Harry  Daniels  (Tom  Neal)  for  which  Rocky 
blames  himself,  and  his  tortured  mind  keeps 
him  from  readjusting  to  civilian  life.  After 
drifting  from  job  to  job  and  getting  ever  more 
neurotic,  he  meets  Daniels'  widow  (Donna 
Reed),  falls  in  love  with  her  and — sustained 
by  her  faith  in  him — determines  to  enter  West 
Point. 

He  does  brilliantly  in  his  studies,  becomes 
cadet  captain,  and  then — like  a  bolt  from  the 
blue — is  ordered  before  a  Congressional  Board 
of  Investigation  charged  with  forcing  one  Ray- 
mond Denmore  (Conrad  Janis),  a  petulant 
plebe  (which  is  West  Point  slang  for  fresh- 
man), to  resign  from  the  Academy  without 
justification.  Denmore's  lawyer  (George  Coul- 
ouris)  accuses  Rocky  of  being  "untruthful,  per- 
haps even  criminal,"  and  sets  out  to  prove 
same  through  the  testimony  of  an  army  psychi- 
atrist who  claims  he  heard  Rocky  admit  that 
he  caused  Daniels'  death. 

The  flashback  technique  is  employed  from 
this  point  on,  and  it  is  confusing  as  well  as  un- 
speakably annoying.  Every  once  in  a  while, 
just  as  you  think  you're  getting  on  with  it, 
seeing  light  at  last,  there's  a  flashback  to 
Tunisia  or  to  the  psychiatric  ward  or  to  the 
seedy  little  hotel  room  off  Times  Square,  until 
you  could  scream.  At  length,  Rocky's  room- 
mate and  old  war  buddy  Cadet  Sergeant 
Loughlin  (Dick  Hogan)  takes  the  stand  and 
tells  (in  flashback  form,  natch)  what  really 
happened  in  those  three  momentous  minutes  in 
Tunisia.  Seems  that  poor  Rocky  was  wounded 
by  a  German  tank  and  passed  out  cold;  that 
he  hadn't  been  yellow  at  all,  simply  blotto. 

Rocky  turns  to  Loughlin  after  he  has  finished 
testifying  and  says,  completely  deadpan,  "Why 
didn't  you  tell  me  this  before?"  A  kid  in  back 


of  me  quipped  "Now  he  tells  me,"  and  the 
scene  got  a  laugh  instead  of  the  hush  that 
was  no  doubt  anticipated  by  the  script  writer. 
Beyond  Glory  is  a  great  deal  of  ado  about 
nothing.  Alan  Ladd  deserves  a  better  deal 
than  this  and  so  does  sweet-faced  Donna  Reed. 
Better  luck  next  time,  kids. — Para. 


LULU  BELLE 

Had  this  one  been  played  for  laughs  it 
would  have  come  off  a  great  deal  better  than 
it  does.  Unfortunately,  it  doesn't  come  off  at 
all  as  straight-faced  melodrama.  Dorothy 
Lamour,  who  is  such  a  dish  in  a  sarong,  turns 
up  as  a  Southern  songbird  of  the  gaslight  era. 
Using  men  as  her  ladder,  she  climbs  from  a 
honky-tonk  in  Natchez  to  a  glittering  Broad- 
way stage.  The  men  involved  are  George 
Montgomery,  Greg  McClure,  Albert  Dekker 
and  Otto  Kruger,  cast  respectively  as  a  strug- 
gling young  lawyer,  a  prize  fighter,  a  boxing 
promoter  and  owner  of  a  supper  club,  and  a 
great  industrialist. 

Every  man  who  comes  under  Dot's  spell 
winds  up  in  frightful  straits.  George  takes  to 
drink  over  her.  McClure,  the  handsome  fighter, 
gets  his  face  bashed  in  fighting  about  her. 
(After  which  he  makes  one  startling  appear- 
ance out-Frankenstein-ing  Karloff.)  Albert 
Dekker's  club  fails  when  Lulu  Belle  leaves  his 
show.  And  poor  Otto  Kruger  is  bumped  off 
visiting  her  dressing  room. 

The  cumulative  effect  of  so  much  corny  and 
improbable  disaster  is  inevitably  mirth.  And 
when  Albert  Dekker,  who  was  such  a 
smoothie  when  Lulu  Belle  first  took  him  over, 
reappears  as  a  down-and-outer,  be-wigged, 
be-spectacled  and  bewildered,  it's  too  much. 

Dorothy  Lamour  does  her  darndest  with  the 
stupid  Mae  West-ish  role,  but  she's  not  at  her 
best  by  any  means.  Talented  Glenda  Farrell 
is  wasted  in  the  role  of  Lulu  Belle's  idiotic  best 
friend.  The  others,  although  struggling  for 
composure,  are  obviously  embarrassed. 

David  Belasco  and  Edward  Sheldon  wrote 
this  as  a  play  years  and  years  ago.  It  should 
have  been  allowed  to  rest  in  peace. — Col. 


MELODY  TIME 

Here  are  seven  of  the  best  Disney  shorts  put 
together  in  the  manner  of  a  series  of  vaude- 
ville acts.  The  result  is  seventy-five  minutes 
of  enchantment.  This  film  is  sure  to  appeal 
hugely  to  the  small  fry,  and  each  little  sketch 
is  so  artistically  done  that  it  can't  help  but 
captivate  adults  as  well. 

One  of  the  best  of  the  seven  is  the  short 
about  "Johnny  Appleseed"  which  tells  the 
delightful  folk  tale  of  a  frail  little  man  with 
a  lion's  heart  who  went  west  with  the  pioneers, 
armed  only  with  his  Bible  and  his  apple- 
seeds.  He  left  his  mark  wherever  he  went  in 
the  form  of  great  foaming  apple  orchards. 
Dennis  Day  is  Johnny's  voice,  and  he  couldn't 
possibly  be  better. 

Equal  to  the  above-mentioned  in  charm  is 
"Once  Upon  a  Wintertime,"  in  which  we  hear 
Frances  Longford's  rich  and  pleasing  voice. 
This  one  has  horse-drawn  sleighs  and  falling 
snow,  ice  capers  and  romance.  Perfect  cooler- 
offer  for  an  Indian  summer's  day. 

The  kids  will  go  for  Pecos  Bill,  a  fabulous 
lad  who  is  raised  with  a  family  of  coyotes 
and  grows  up  to  be  the  roughest,  toughest 
hombre  you  ever  did  see.  And  then  Cupid 
lands  a  heavenly  haymaker  and  Bill's  weak 
in  the  knees  with  love!  Roy  Rogers  is  Bill's 
voice,  and  don't  think  the  youngsters  won't 
shriek  with  glee  when  they  hear  it. 

"Bumble  Boogie"  with  Freddie  Martin  sup- 
plying the  piano  background  is  a  wonderfully 
imaginative  little  thing  involving  the  night- 
mare flight  of  a  bumble  bee.  "Blame  It  On  the 
Samba"  cleverly  combines  human  actors  with 
animated  figures,  and  Ethel  Smith  makes 
superfine  music  on  the  organ.  "Little  Toot"  is 
the  cute  story  of  a  naughty  Mickey  Rooney-ish 
tugboat  who  succeeds  at  length  in  making  Big 
Toot,  his  daddy,  proud  of  him.  The  Andrews 
Sisters,  in  good  voice,  sing  his  story.  And 
"Trees"  is  a  dramatization  of  the  lyrical  ver- 
sion of  Joyce  Kilmer's  well-loved  poem,  with 
Fred  Waring  and  the  Pennsylvanians  making 
it  memorable. 

Do  see  Melody  Time.  You'll  come  away  with 
a  song  in  your  heart. — RKO. 


Melody  Time:  Luanna  Patten,  Bobby  Driscoll, 
Roy  Rogers  in  Disney's  musical  cartoon  fantasy. 


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29 


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Tap  Roots:  Susan  Hayward  and  newspaperman  1 
Van   Heflin  in  Technicolor  Civil  War  drama. 

TAP  ROOTS 

Tap  Roots  has  for  its  setting  Mississippi  at 
the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War.  Here,  you'll 
find  some  exciting  hand  to  hand  fighting 
scenes,  some  lovely  Technicolor  countryside 
and  a  couple  of  very  pretty  gals,  but  you 
won't,  unfortunately,  see  a  very  good  picture. 

Morna  Dabney  (Susan  Hayward)  has 
been  engaged  to  Clay  Maclvor  (Whitfield  ; 
Connor)  for  some  time,  and  although  their 
new  home  is  almost  completed,  Morna  feels 
that  they  shouldn't  marry  because  of  the  war. 
Susan's  old  grandfather  (a  ridiculously 
overdrawn  character  with  a  rough  way,  but 
a  heart  of  gold)  predicts  practically  on  his 
deathbed  that  if  this  beautiful  and  fiery 
granddaughter  of  his  doesn't  marry  and 
settle  down  immediately,  she  will  come  to 
no  good  end. 

As  it  turns  out,  the  old  fellow's  a  pretty  good 
prophet.  Susan,  in  rapid  succession,  is  thrown 
from  her  horse  and  paralyzed  from  the  waist  ^ 
down — forever,  her  doctor  says;  she  loses  her 
man  to  flirtatious  and  able-bodied  sister  (Julie 
London);  and  in  a  brave  attempt  to  put  off  a 
surprise  attack  on  the  people  of  the  Lebanon 
Valley  where  she  lives,  she  unwittingly 
brings  destruction  to  those  she  loves  best. 

The  film's  chief  weakness  is  its  miscasting. 
Susan  Hayward  doesn't  come  off  at  all  as  the  ; 
impetuous  gal  her  grandfather  describes.  She 
is  entirely  too  tearful  and  totally  lacking  in 
inner  fire,  as  is  Van  Heflin  who — as  the  no- 
torious newspaper  man  in  love  with  Susan 
throughout — isn't  nearly  as  swashbuckling  as 
one  would  like.  Boris  Karloff,  as  an  American 
Indian  with  a  British  accent,  seems  a  bit  em- 
barrassed about  the  whole  thing. 

Interesting  as  a  little-known  chapter  of 
American  history — the  fight  for  the  Lebanon 
Valley — the  picture  is  not  worthy  of  its  fine 
cast. — Univ. -Int. 

THE  VELVET  TOUCH 

There  seems  to  be  a  vogue  current  in 
Hollywood  for  murder  movies  in  which  the 
audience  knows  "whodunit,"  but  the  people 
in  the  movie  do  not.  Such  a  tale  is  The  Velvet 
Touch  with  Ros  Russell  playing  a  hot-headed, 
heavy-handed  wench  who  does  in  her  un- 
scrupulous producer  and  erstwhile  love,  Leon 
Ames.   The   story   is   exciting   enough,  with 


The  Velvet  Touch:  Ros  Russell  plays  ambitious 
actress;  Leon  Ames,  her  unscrupulous  producer. 


Sydney  Greenstreet  playing  an  admirable 
police  captain,  but  it  has  one  big  fault.  Ros's 
nance,  Leo  Genn,  the  man  whom  she  adores, 
the  man  for  love  of  whom  she  conks  poor  Leon 
Ames  a  fatal  conk,  is  totally  inadeguate. 

Rosalind  Russell  plays  the  part  of  Valerie 
Stanton,  a  great  comedienne  who  yearns  to 
do  the  dramatic  role  of  Hedda  Gabler.  At  a 
party  she  meets  architect  Michael  Morrell 
(Leo  Genn)  and  falls  dead  in  love  with  him. 
Morrell,  a  cliche  expert  if  there  ever  was  one, 
encourages  her  in  her  dramatic  aspirations. 

Valerie's  producer,  Gordon  Dunning  (Leon 
Ames),  is  violently  opposed  to  her  doing 
Hedda  Gabler,  and  when  she  tells  him  that 
she  plans  to  do  it  for  another  producer,  he  is 
furious.  First  he  tries  to  reason  with  her,  then 
he  threatens  to  tell  Morrell  about  her  past.  At 
this  point,  Valerie  lets  him  have  it. 

There  is  an  immediate  inquest,  and  all  the 
evidence  points  to  Marian  Webster  (Claire 
Trevor),  another  actress  who  has  long  been  in 
love  with  Dunning.  The  subsequent  unraveling 
of  the  mystery  is  engrossing,  but  the  ending  is 
not  entirely  satisfactory. 

Rosalind's  husband,  Frederick  Brisson,  pro- 
duced this  film,  and  he  has  done  a  good  job. 
It  is  swift  and  entertaining,  with  Leon  Ames, 
Claire  Trevor  and  Greenstreet  outstanding  in 
their  roles.  Ros  is  excellent  in  her  dramatic 
portrait  of  a  woman  with  a  guilty  conscience. 
—MO. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

The  day  Mel 
Torme  was  to  be 
a  guest  of  a  local 
record  shop,  I 
turned  out  with 
the  rest  of  the 
girls.  Mel  was 
standing  right 
next  to  me  auto- 
graphing  my 
record  when  I  no- 
ticed the  empty 
pipe  dangling  from  his  mouth.  "Hey," 
I  said,  "there's  no  tobacco  in  your 
pipe."  "I  know,"  he  answered,  "I 
don't  smoke." 

Rose  Hull 

New  Britain,  Conn. 


You  can  say  "yes 
to  Romance 


95 


Veto  says  "now 
to  Offending! 


Veto  says  "no"  — to  perspiration  worry  and  odor! 

Soft  as  a  caress  .  .  .  exciting  .  .  .  new — Veto  is 
Colgate's  wonderful  cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy, 
always  smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you  lovely  all  day! 
Veto  stops  underarm  odor  instantly  .  .  .  checks  perspiration 
effectively.  And  Veto  lasts  and  lasts — from  bath  to  bath! 
You  feel  confident  .  .  .  sure  of  exquisite  daintiness. 

Veto  says  "no"— to  harming  skin  and  clothes! 

So  effective  .  .  .  yet  so  gentle — Colgate's  lovely, 
new  cosmetic  deodorant,  Veto,  is  harmless  to  any  normal  skin. 
Harmless,  too,  even  to  your  filmiest,  most  fragile  fabrics. 

For  Veto  alone  contains  Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  ingredient 
to  make  Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant  can  be  like  Veto! 
So  trust  always  to  Veto — if  you  value  your  charm! 

Trust  always  to  Veto  if  you  value  your  charm! 


Cloro 

kilgai  en 
selects 


// 


rope 


// 


Farley  Granger,  a  psychopath;  James  Stewart,  his  former  teacher,  in  Rope. 


■  Artful  Alfred  Hitchcock,  de  luxe  experi- 
menter in  methods  of  crimes  and  ways  of 
criminals,  has  erected  a  landmark  in  movie- 
making with  his  picture  called  Rope. 

There  never  has  been  anything  like  it 
on  the  screen. 

Never  have  actors  in  the  medium  of  cellu- 
loid been  subjected  to  such  gruelling  tests 
of  memory  and  performance.  Never  has  a 
director  compromised  less  with  the  de- 
mands of  Hollywood  tradition  and  the  al- 
leged tastes  of  movie  audiences.  Never 
has  the  Johnston  office  stamped  its  okay  on 
such  a  vicious,  if  compelling,  combination 
of  neuroticism,  cynicism,  sadism  and 
murder. 

This  is  the  answer  to  the  pundits  who 
cry  for  more  intelligent,  more  "adult" 
movies.  Here  is  one  not  aimed  at  the 
twelve-year-olds,  the  devotees  of  the  horse 
operas,  or  the  admirers  of  musicals  fea- 
turing old  songs  and  Betty  Grable's  knees. 
Rope '  takes  the  unpleasantly  fascinating 
story  of  two  educated,  good-looking,  so- 
phisticated and  more  than  somewhat  psy- 
chopathic young  men  of  Manhattan  who  de- 
cide to  commit  a  murder  to  prove  their 


superiority,  and  photographs  it  rigidly  with- 
in the  boundaries  of  the  area  in  which  the 
crime  would  occur  in  actual  fact:  namely, 
a  three-room  apartment.  There  are  no 
concessions  to  action,  variety  or  physical 
excitement. 

Yet,  despite  the  limits  which  he  placed 
upon  himself  for  the  sake  of  accuracy  and 
daring  cinematic  experiment,  Hitchcock 
manages  his  customary  quota  of  suspense 
and  surpasses  himself  in  achieving  a  nerve- 
racking  mood  from  the  opening  scene  until 
the  end.  It  is  an  almost  unbearably  dread- 
ful story,  but  audiences  are  going  to  re- 
main cemented  to  their  seats  while  it  un- 
folds. 

Jimmy  Stewart  is  the  big  name  of  the 
cast,  and  he  does  a  fine  job  as  the  off- 
center  professor  who  first  suspects,  then 
solves  the  crime,  but  the  most  remarkable 
performances  in  the  film  are  given  by  John 
Dall  and  Farley  Granger  as  the  two  hor- 
rendous young  men.  They  create  such  an 
atmosphere  of  abnormality  and  evil  that  the 
mind  cringes  and  the  stomach  sickens, 
watching  them;  they  are  superbly  cast  and 
their  versions  of  what  amount  to  New  York 


counterparts  of  Loeb  and  Leopold  must 
have  fulfilled  Hitchcock's  most  optimistic 
dreams. 

They  are  abetted  by  Joan  Chandler,  an 
excellent  young  actress  with  strength  and 
intelligence,  and  Edith  Evanson,  who  con- 
tributes considerably  to  the  suspense  by 
her  portrayal  of  the  maid  in  the  murder 
apartment.  All  the  casting  was  done  with 
a  sure  hand  and  a  feeling  for  the  New 
York  mood. 

Rope  is  the  first  film  in  Hollywood  his- 
tory to  be  shot  a  whole  reel  at  a  time  with 
no  breaks  for  close-ups,  inserts  or  changes 
of  camera  angle.  The  film  was  put  in  the 
camera,  the  actors  moved  and  spoke,  and 
the  picture  was  taken  with  perfect  con- 
tinuity— another  major  contribution  to  the 
final  effect  of  chilling  realism.  Also,  it  is 
the  first  Hitchcock  excursion  into  homicide 
to  be  done  in  Technicolor — a  factor  that 
adds  to  the  general  atmosphere  of  glossy 
horror. 

The  motion  picture  fan  who  doesn't 
hurry  to  see  Rope  is  cheating  himself  of  not 
only  an  exciting  evening  of  drama  but  a 
firsthand  view  of  a  slice  of  cinema  history. 


32 


INFORMATION  DESK 

by  Beverly  Linet 

JOHN  AGAR, 
handsome  hubby 
of  Shirley  Temple, 
was  born  at  Lake 
Forest,  111.,  on  Jan. 
31,  1921.  He  is 
6'  4",  weighs  190 
lbs.  and  has  blue 
eyes  and  blond 
hair.  You  can 
write  to  him  at 
RKO,  Hollywood, 
Calif.,  and  see  him  in  Fort  Apache. 


PATRICIA  NEAL 
debuts  in  John 
Loves  Mary.  Was 
born  in  Packard, 
Kentucky,  on  Jan. 
20,  1926.  She  is 
5'  7Vz",  weighs  130 
lbs.  and  has  hazel 
eyes  and  brown 
hair.  She  can  be 
reached  at  Warn- 
ers, Burbank,  Cal. 


ROBERT  STACK 
returns  to  the 
screen  in  A  Date 
with  Judy.  Bob 
was  born  in  Los 
Angeles,  Califor- 
nia, on  Jan.  12, 
1919.  He  is  6'  tall, 
weighs  175  lbs., 
and  has  blue  eyes 
and  blond  hair.  Is 
a  bachelor.  Reach 
him  at  Paramount,  Hollywood,  Calif. 

Minnie  Kent,  Seattle:  Here  is  the  music 
from  Date  with  Judy:  Judaline,  I'm 
Strictly  on  the  Corny  Side,  Temptation, 
Through  the  Years,  It's  a  Most  Unusual 
Day,  Home  Sweet  Home,  Love  is  Where 
You  Find  it,  Quanto  Le  Gusto,  Cook- 
ing with  Glass,  Vamo  a  Rumbio. 

Norma,  Salisbury,  Conn.:  VIC  DA- 
MONE  was  born  in  Brooklyn,  N.  Y '., 
on  June  12,  1928.  He  is  6',  weighs  170 
lbs.,  and  has  brown  eyes  and  brown  hair. 
Is  unmarried.  Write  him  at  260  W. 
Broadway,  New  York  City.  JOHNNY 
BRADFORD,  star  of  NBC  Television, 
radio,  and  Victor  records,  was  born  in 
Long  Branch,  N.  J.,  on  July  2,  1919.  He 
is  5'9"  tall,  and  has  blue  eyes  and  brown 
hair.  Write  to  him  at  Station  WNBW, 
N.  B.  C,  Washington,  D.  C. 

Is  the  heat  driving  you  to  the  movies, 
and  are  movie  questions  driving  you  to 
distraction?  Yes?  Well  send  your  ques- 
tions to  Beverly  Linet,  Information 
Desk,  MODERN  SCREEN,  261  5th 
Avenue,  N.  Y.  16,  together  with  a  self- 
addressed,  stamped  envelope. 

FREE  OFFER:  Send  a  self -addressed 
envelope  for  HOW  TO  START  A 
FAN  CLUB.  ACADEMY  AWARD 
LIST  SINCE  ORIGIN. 

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challenge 
to  Hollywood 


UJUl 


■  In  1943,  you,  Katharine  Hepburn,  retorted  to 

Claire  Luce's  attack  on  the  then-vice-president  of  the  United  States, 

Henry  Wallace.  Speaking  of  Mrs.  Luce's  newly-coined  word 

"Globaloney,"  you  said,  "It's  cheap — it's  the  cleverness  that  goes  with 

fancy  shoes  and  chic.  Let  someone  try  to  look  ahead  seriously  and 

bravely  to  the  problems  of  the  post  war,  and  attempt  to  create  a 

pattern  of  decency  in  the  world  to  come,  and  he  will  be  a  mark  for  silly, 

meaningless  wisecracks.   The  more  high-minded  and 

intent  a  man  like  Mr.  Wallace  is,  the  simpler  it  is  to  make  him 

appear  ridiculous.  It's  always  easy  to'  satirize  greatness." 

In  1944,  you,  Eddie  Bracken,  announced  that  you  were  backing  Thomas 
E.  Dewey  (then  running  against  Franklin  D.  Roosevelt)  for 
President.  "I  .state  my  case,  even  though  I  may  be  ruined  for  taking 
this  position,"  you  said. 

In  1947,  you,  Olivia  De  Havilland,  a  working  Democrat,  said:  "I  am  a 
middle  of  the  roader.  I  used  to  belong  to  the  Independent  Citizens 
Committee.  That  went  left  of  the  middle,  so  I  resigned." 

We  have  chosen  you  three — actors  and  citizens — because  you 
present  widely  differing  political  philosophies.  We  challenge  you  because  you 
(and  others  like  you)  have,  in  the  past,  had  the  courage  to  speak  your 
minds.  We  want  you  to  have  that  courage  again,  in  this 
most  crucial  election  year. 

It  is  every  individual's  duty  to  vote,  in  a  democracy.   More,  it  is  every 
individual's  right  to  state  his  beliefs.   You  movie  people  have 
the  advantage  of  being  in  the  public  eye;  you  can  put  your  views  across, 
you  can  wield  tremendous  influence. 

If,  through  fear  of  diminishing  box  office  returns,  or  the  malice  of 
congressional  committees,  you  refuse  to  speak  out,  it's  your  privilege.  But 
once  you've  surrendered  your  right  to  free  speech,  you've  surrendered 
it  for  all  time.   You've  invited  any  publicity-seeking  congressional 
committee  to  trample  all  over  you  because  they  know  they  can  get  away 
with  it.  You've  admitted  that  any  ordinary  man  in  the  street  who  says 
what  he  thinks  has  more  civil  rights  than  you  have.  You've 
allowed  yourselves  to  be  discriminated  against  because  you're  public 
idols.  It  doesn't  make  sense. 

This  is  a  year  not  to  be  afraid,  and  you,  in  Hollywood,  can  set  the  pace. 


EDITOR 


35 


Dixie  and  Hedda  on  the  Crosbys'  porch  in  Holmby  Hills.  Now  Bing's  building  a  house  in  Carmel,  close  to  his  favorite  golf  course'. 


■  "No  doubt  about  it,  Hedda,"  grinned  Dixie  Crosby, 
'something's  come  over  Bing.  You  don't  suppose  he's  going 
social  all  of  a  sudden,  do  you?" 

I  laughed  right  out  loud.  I  couldn't  help  it.  The  picture 
of  Bing  Crosby  worrying  about  who's  doing  what  with  whom 
in  Hollywood  struck  me  about  as  cockeyed  as,  say,  Hum- 
phrey Bogart  playing  with  dolls! 

'  Take  the  premiere  of  The  Emperor  Waltz,"  Dixie 
began.  "All  of  a  sudden  that  evening  Bing  strolled  in  my 
room  and  said,  'Well,  let's  get  ready.'  " 

"What  for — bed?"  I  asked.  "It  was  around  that  time — 
eight  o'clock." 

"My  girl,"  he  explained,  "for  your  information,  tonight 
is  a  mammoth  milestone  in  Hollywood  history.  Tonight's 
the  premiere  of  The  Emperor  Waltz — ahem — my  latest 
triumph!" 

"I  asked  him,  'Are  you  feeling  all  right?    I  sent  those 


premiere  tickets  back  to  Paramount  over  a  week  ago.'  " 
Bing  said,  "I  think  maybe  they'll  let  us  in.   Where's  my 

tuxedo?" 

"If  you  can  punch  your  way  through  the  moths,  it 
might  be  in  that  dark  closet  corner!"  said  Dixie.  "But  be 
sure  to  take  off  the  Landon-For-President  button!" 

As  for  me,  Hopper,  I  admit  I  shook  my  head  in  surprise 
when  I  spied  Dixie  and  Bing  at  The  Emperor  Waltz 
premiere — and  when  I  met  them  later,  too,  at  producer 
Henry  Ginsberg's  party,  saw  them  romantically  serenaded 
with  fiddled  love  songs.  Not  long  ago,  too,  back  in  New 
York,  Bing  and  Dix  actually  took  in  a  big  Paramount  birth- 
day party  in  his  honor,  and  in  Hollywood  a  couple  of  step- 
pings  out  at  Mocambo,  a  deux,  was  my  tip  that  it  was  high 
time  I  caught  up  on  my  old  pal,  Dixie  Lee  Crosby.  When 
the  Crosbys  start  stepping  out  in  public,  something's  cooking. 

Well,  I've  always  loved  Dixie,  {Continued  on  page  76) 


I 


nr 


u 


toui  Dii 


There's  always  been 
something  missing  in  the 
Crosby  picture,  and 
now  Hedda  tells  you  what 
— one  of  the  cutest 
Hollywood  wives,  one  of 
the  cleverest  Hollywood 
mothers.    Her  name  is 
Dixie  Lee  .  .  . 


In 


nIi  a 


It's  always  baseball  for  Linnie,  Dennis,  Gary   (in  the   fancy  pants)   and  Phil   (Linnie's  twin).  Mom  bears  uf 


37 


"Tough?  He  never 

hits  old  ladies  and  that  look 

on  his  face  is  the  one 

he  was  born  with,"  says 

sister  Julie,  remembering 

Bob  as  a  kid,  remembering 

Bob  with  love  .  .  . 


my  brother's  a  fake! 


■  My  brother's  a  fake.  That's  what 

I  said.   I'm  sick  of  people  murmuring,  "Oh, 

Mitchum!"  the  way  they'd  say,  "Oh, 

Baby-Face    Nelson,"    or    "Oh,  Pretty-Boy 

Floyd."  My  brother's  as  sensitive  as  the  next  guy. 

He  practically  never  murders  anybody, 

and  he  doesn't  eat  raw  meat  three  times  a  day. 

Tough?  How  can  I  think  of  him  as  tough? 

I  keep  remembering  the  little  kid  who  used  to 

think  he  was  completely  dressed  as  long  as  he  had 

his  hat  on  his  head  (the  rest  of  him  could  be 

au  naturel) .  That's  Mitchum  to  me. 

So's  the  fourteen-year-old  boy  who  ran 
away  from  home  to  explore  the  swamps  of  Okeechobee 
in  Florida;  so's  the  boy  who,  when  he  was  a 
little  older,  cut  himself  in  twenty  places  (it  was  the  first 
time  he'd  shaved)  but  kept  grimly  on  until  he'd  fin- 
ished— about  two  thimbles  of  blood  short  of  bleed- 
ing to  death! 

Little  pictures  of  Bob  keep  popping  into  my 
mind,  and  connecting  up  to  make  one  big,  com- 
plete picture  of  him.  Maybe  it's  not  the  picture 
you'd  expect,  but  it's  all  true,  every  line  of  it. 

When  critics  commented  on  the  realistic 
way  he  played  the  disillusioned  army  captain  in 
The  Story  of  G.  I.  Joe,  I  couldn't  help  telling  myself  that 
playing  an  army  captain  was  nothing  for  him. 
At  six,  he  played  a  cowboy  and  was  gone  from  home 
all  day  on  a  roundup  in  which  he  lassoed  a 
whole  herd  of  big  black  horses  in  the  railroad 
switch  yards  not  far  away!    It  is  true  that  Bob 
didn't  come  home  (Continued  on  page  91) 


I 


mitchum 


38 


Brownies  and  potato  chips  are  a  must — and  gossip  goes 
with  them  in  Pe^gy  Ann's  kitchen.  (L.  to  r.)  Connie 
Marshall,  Arden  Black,  Peggy  Ann  and  Faith  Pennington. 


Waiting  for  the  boys  is  easier  when  there's  jazz  to  be 
heard.  Peggy  Ann's  record  library  is  one  of  the  largest  in 
Hollywood.    Stan  Kenton  and  Mel  Torme  are  favorites. 


The  gang  was  born  in  Palm  Springs  during  an  Easter  va- 
cation— kids  have  been  pals  since.  (Above)  Harry  Macy 
sits  up  front  in  Peg's  '47  Ford.  Destination:  Harry's  pool. 


It  started 

two  years  ago — 

a  bunch  of  kids 

from  Hollywood 

getting  together. 

It  never  ended — 

the  gay  whirl, 

the  bright  laughter  .  .  . 

the 

garner 
gang 

■  "Gang,"  states  Webster's  Collegiate,  solemnly. 
"A  company  of  persons  acting  together  for  some 
purpose,  usually  criminal." 

"Webster,"  cries  Peggy  Ann  Garner's  mother. 
''You  said  it!"  And  maybe  she's  thinking  of  Friday 
nights,  and  the  phonograph  screaming  raucously 
(Stan  Kenton's  "Peanut  Vendor,"  over  and  over)  and 
the  noise  of  a  million  feet  crashing  pitilessly  on  the 
floors,  until  a  poor  woman  can  only  sit  back  and 
pray  for  the  riot  squad  to  break  up  the  party. 

Two  years  ago,  it  started.  Peggy  Ann  had  gone 
to  Palm  Springs  on  her  Easter  vacation  to  visit 
Barbara  Whiting,  her  very  dearest  pal.  She'd  no 
sooner  arrived  than  the  phone  rang.  Darrylin 
Zanuck  (guess  whose  daughter  she  is)  was  throwing 
a  party  that  night,  and  if  there  was  one  thing  Peggy 
Ann  and  Barbara  favored,  it  was  parties.  They 
went,  they  met  Bob  Dozier,  Harry  Macy,  Fred  Soil, 
Arden  Black,  Connie  Marshall,  Faith  Pennington, 
Frank  Cole  and  Jim  Potter  (a  group  of  young 
sports  whose  families  are  all  more  or  less  involved 
in  the  movie  industry)  and,  somewhere  along  the 
line,  they  became  a  "gang." 

The  kids  all  go  to  the  same  schools  (either  Uni- 
versity High,  or  Beverly  High) ;  most  of  them  have 
cars  (Peggy  Ann's  is  a  '47  Ford  convertible,  tan) ; 
and  their  activities  are  endless.  They  swim,  they  ride 
horses;  they  barn-dance;  (Continued  on  next  page) 


A  When  the  portable  phonograph's  set  up.  .and  the  food's  in  the 
refrigerator,  the  kids  relax.  Here,  Arden  Black's  getting  "the  works" 
— Frank  Cole  and  Fred  Soil,  have  a  small  tug  of  war  with  the  lady. 


A  young  man  has  to  keep  fit — and  Jim  Potter  knows  how.  He 
stretches  out  on  the  diving  board  and  gets  a  massage.  Peggy 
Ann  and  Connie  (the  only  actresses  in  the  group)  give  it  to  him. 


(Continued  from  preceding  page)  they  sit  around  Harry 
Macy's  pool  (the  day  we  snapped  'em  for  instance) ;  and 
they  play  hide  and  seek  in  a  cemetery  because  they  think 
it's  more  fun  that  way. 

As  far  as  music  goes,  they  like  Stan  Kenton  and  Mel 
Torme,  and  that's  putting  it  so  mildly  it's  ridiculous. 
They  detest  nearly  everybody  else's  music  with  equal-  vigor. 

Arden  Black,  who's  a  year  older  than  Peggy  Ann,  and 
Connie  Marshall,  who's  a  year  younger,  all  had  the  same 
lunch  period  this  last  school  year,  and  they  did  so  much 
more  talking  than  they  did  eating,  they  probably  lost 
weight.  There  was  one  pretty  stark  discussion,  the  day 
Peggy  Ann  faced  the  others  and  said  grimly,  "We  forgot 
the  Kenton  concert  last  night."  It  was  all  too  true,  and 
for  one  mad  moment,  they  considered  killing  themselves, 
but  a  couple  of  the  boys  came  along  and  insulted  them, 
and  life  went  on. 

Peggy  Ann  had  been  hoping  to  spend  the  summer  at 
Lake  Arrowhead  with  Arden  and  Arden's  family,  but  an 
Eagle-Lion  picture  came  up) — a  picture  called  The  Big  Cat, 
opposite  Lon  McCallister — and  for  this,  she  has  to  go  to 
Utah,  on  location.  They  tell  her  it's  lovely  in  Utah,  all 
mountains,  and  she's  pleased  with  the  idea. 

Modern  Screen's  got  one  chunk  of  advice  for  Eagle- 
Lion,  however:  Before  you  start  your  closed  trucks  rolling 
toward  Utah,  Eagle-Lion — look  inside.  You  may  find  one 
of  them  filled  with  a  bunch  of  teen-agers.  You'll  know 
them  by  their  loud  shirts  and  by  the  record  on  the  victrola. 
The  record  will  be  "The  Peanut  Vendor."  The  teen-agers 
will  be  "The  Garner  Gang." 


Harry  Macy  plays  host  to  Peggy  Ann  at  the  barbecue.  Fav- 
orite summer  spots  -for  the  gang  are  Catalina  and  Balboa. 
Peggy  Ann's  going  to  Utah  this  year,  though,  for  Big  Cat. 


Everybody  swims,  but  Jim  Potter,  Connie,  Fred  Soli  and  Peggy  Ann  stage  afight  first.  Peggy's  Mom  thinks  there  ought  to  be  more  gangs  like  Garner's. 


the 

garner 
gang 


my 

favorite  hollywood 

Their  price  tags  |J  ^       ^  ff  Tl  AT*C 

could  give  you  a  head-  \_J_  V7  ^  Lfe^  1  J  \J  _L 

ache,  but  these  x^_>/ 
designers  take  care.     .  ~      #  . 

They  line  their  ty  Lobllia  Wright 

salons  with  satin,  and 
beautiful  models 
and  music  .  .  . 


Designer  Howard  Greer  claims  Paris  fashions  are  over-rated — says  their 
popularity  is  based  on  snob  appeal.  He  works  out  his  ideas  with 
dolls  and  sketches.  Below,  tie  drapes  miniature  model  of  Eve  Arden. 


Head-designer  at  M-G-M,  Irene  has  own  establishment,  too.  One  of  he 
pet  customers  is  Esther  Williams  (above)  whose  "figure  is  wonderful.' 
Hepburn  also  rates  high;  Irene  thinks  Kate  has  excellent  eye  for  design 


Soft  music  floats  over  Loretta  Young's  head  in  Adrian's  Green  Room, 
a  plushy  salon.  Attendant  adds  finishing  touch  to  her  gown  of 
cerise  chiffon;  it's  called  "The  Flame  That  Went  Out  Dancing." 


■  Hollywood  designers  are  a  pretty  clubby  lot. 
They  figure  they  have  nothing  to  learn  from  Paris, 
and  maybe  they  haven't. 

I  guess  my  five  favorites  are  Adrian,  Irene, 
Howard  Greer,  Marusia,  and  Madame  Genia. 

Adrian  was  once  a  designer  for  M-G-M,  and 
there  he  learned  the  tastes  of  stars  like  Joan 
Crawford  and  Loretta  Young.  He  learned  them 
so  well  that  both  these  ladies  still  come  knocking 
at  his  door. 

I  sat  in  the  Green  Room  of  his  Beverly  Hills 
salon,  the  other  day,  watching  Loretta  model  a 
cerise  chiffon  gown.  She  was  on  a  little  platform 
flanked  by  pillars,  in.  front  of  a  stage-setting 
backdrop,  and  soft  music  drifted  over  her  head, 
while  attendants  pinned  and  tucked.  Adrian  re- 
quires three  fittings  per  gown,  but  he  makes  them 
painless. 

Incidentally,  he  hates  the  New  Look.  "The 
Dowdy  Look,"  he  cries  bitterly,  against  the  rising 
tide.  "Those  horrible  sloping  shoulders;  those 
clumsy  skirts!"  If  you  want  a  suit  with  shoulder 
pads,  Adrian's  still  doing  'em  that  way.  He'll  let 
d  customer  cTioose  color  {Continued  on  page  117) 


Marusia  started  designing  professionally  two  years  ago,  at 
the  suggestion  of  friends.  Her  low-cut  gowns  (here,  Paulette 
Soddard  wears  one  of  sunset-satin)  have  built-in  supports. 


fun 


house 


"It's  a  palace,"  Junie  said. 
'We'll  rattle  around."  But  the  Powells 
have  turned  a  big,  cold  mansion 
into  a  cozy,  laugh-filled  home. 

By  JANE  WILKIE 


Powells  moved  into  -English   manor  home  last  spring. 


■  A  house  that  is  lived  in  and  loved  is 
almost  certain  to  reflect  the  personality 
of  its  owners.  Which  is  why  the  house 
belonging  to  the  Richard  Powells,  though 
it's  big  and  rambling,  and  dignifiedly  sur- 
rounded by  spacious  lawns  and  formal 
rose  gardens,  still  maintains  a  rather 
gleeful,  carefree  air.  Its  owners  live, 
let  live,  and  work  at  cross  purposes,  half 
the  time. 

Last  spring,  right  after  they  bought  the 
place,  Richard  announced  that  he  was 
going  to  hack  down  the  tree  in  back  of 
the  drying  yard. 

June  stiffened.  "No.  No  more  trees 
down,  Richard.  Please!" 

"My  dear  girl,"  said  Richard,  "it  simply 
has  to  come  down.  It  keeps  the  sun  off 
the  clotheslines." 

A  half  hour  later,  June,  who  had  dis- 
appeared, came  driving  toward  the  house, 
a  leafy  object  protruding  from  the  win- 
dow of  her  car. 

"What's  that?"  said  Dick. 

"A  peach  tree,"  said  June.  "For  every 
tree  you  cut  (Continued  on  next  page) 


Lamps  that  light  the  Powell  home  are  exquisite  heirlooms  of  silver  or  brass. 
With  the  aid  of  Dick's  patient  teaching  and  a  few  good  books,  June  can  now 
distinguish  between  genuine  antiques  and  latest  shipment  from  Grand  Rapids. 


Wrought-iron  patio  furniture  was  pushed  into  corners  to  make  room  for  ping-pong  table,  which  June  bought  to  surprise  Dick 


June's  mania  for  cleanliness  is  evident  in  the  kitchen,  which  This  large  chair  is  a  piece  June-  selected  herself — <jnd 
is  all-white,  except  for  few  touches  of  red.  Dish  towels  and  Dick  hasn't  made  her  send  it  back  yet!  Tiered  curtains  are 
china,,  as  well  as  bath  towels,  sheets  and  linens  are  pure  white,    beige  and  green;  book  shelf  is  only  one  in  the  entire  house. 


fun  house 


The  den  is  the  first  place  Dick  lands  when  he  comes  home  from  Diet's  study  serves  as  a  game  room  for  his  fishing,  hunting 
work  on  The  Pitfall.  Here,  he  can  talk  on  the  phone  for  2  and  yachting  equipment.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Powell  also  conduct  the 
hrs. — uninterruptedly.   (Note  clock  in  shield  over  fireplace.)      secretarial  work  of  the  household  at  this  bleached  oak  desk. 


The  walls  of  three  rooms  were  broken  through  to  make  June 
and  Dick's  over-sized  bedroom.  Centered  in  the  predominantly 


pink  setting  is  June's  circular  writing  desk,  where  the  star 
of  Little  Women  studies  her  script  in  comfortable  solitude. 


Deep  green  Is  the  key  color  in  the  living  room,  and  the  dark  huge  hooked  rug,  woven  for  them  by  an  elderly  couole  The 
wood  paneling  has  been  bleached.  The  Powells  are  proud  of  the      coffee  table  before  the  fireplace  is  a  game  table,  cut  down. 


(Above)  Close-up  view  of  the  top  surface  of  June's  desk. 


(Continued  from  page  46)  down  I'll  plant  another  one." 

And  she  has.  The  Allyson  Forest  Conservation  Plan 
has  been  going  on  as  long  as  they've  been  in  the  house. 
And  as  of  this  writing,  there  is  a  peach  growing  on  the 
Powell  estate.  The  fruit  in  question  is  an  inch  in  diameter, 
but  every  visitor  is  led  to  the  sacred  spot  and  made  to 
examine  and  exclaim  over  this  wonder. 

Inside  the  house,  Mrs.  Powell  has  learned,  through 
trial  and  error  (mostly  error)  about  antique  furniture, 
a  subject  on  which  Mr.  Powell  is  a  connoisseur.  Where 
he  is  concerned,  antique  furniture  does  not  mean  horse- 
hair sofas,  velvet  portieres  or  frightening  chairs.  It 
means,  rather,  beautiful  old  tables  whose  wood  has  been 
carefully  rubbed,  and  exquisite  pieces  of  crystal,  china, 
silver  and  brass.  The  furniture  blends  with  the  leaded 
windows  and  oaken  beams  as  though  it  had  been  built  into 
the  house.  Dick  has  lectured  and  explained  at  great 
length  to  his  wife,  and  with  the  added  information  of  a 
few  good  books,  June  can  now  (Continued  on  page  112) 


49 


■  If,  a  couple  of  years  ago,  you  had  marked  a  dot  on 
a  street  map  of  Los  Angeles  to  indicate  where  Gail  Rus- 
sell lived,  and  another  one  to  represent  the  location  of 
Guy  Madison's  home,  you  would  have  noticed  that  the 
two  dots  were  widely  separated.  But  one  dot — the  one 
that  represented  Guy — was  restless.  It  kept  roving  as 
Guy  kept  changing  his  address.  First  it  was  in  Los 
Angeles  proper.  Then  it  skittered  round  into  the  San 
Fernando  Valley  and  stayed  there  a  while.  Then,  just 
the  other  day,  came  a  decisive  move.  It  jumped  south, 
clear  across  the  Santa  Monica  Mountains,  to  nestle — 
need  we  say  it? — right  up  against  the  first  dot! 

That  was  when  Hollywood,  which  has  been  watching 
these  dots,  you  may  be  sure,  sat  up  and  said,  "Ah-ha!" 

So  close  are  these  dots  now,  that,  were  they  twinkling 
lights  in  the  heavens,  astronomers  would  class  them  as 
companion  stars- — stars  that  travel  together.  And  the 
astronomers  would  be  right,  of  course.  Guy  and  Gail 
certainly  travel  around  a  lot  together.  They  have  been 
doing  it  for  three  years.  And  that's  exactly  why  Holly- 
wood is  in  a  dither  to  find  out  what  it  is  all  about. 

Three  years!  What  are  they  trying  to  do — re-establish 
the  old-fashioned,  long  engagements?  Where  are  they 
going  with  their  'romance — or  have  they  been?  One  of 
the  strongest  mass  hunches  in  town  is  that  they  are 
secretly  married  and  have  been  for  some  time.  Gail  says 
no.  Guy  says  no.  But  how  do  they  say  it?  Well,  judge 
for  yourself. 

Along  the  padded,  east  wall  of  Ciro's  (padded  decora- 
tively,  you  understand,  and  not  as  a  reflection  on  the 


"They  share  dishes," 
says  one  waiter.  "They're 
married."  "They  speak  with  their 
eyes,"  says  another. 
"They're  not."  Hollywood's 
favorite  guessing  game  is  still: 
Are  Guy  and  Gail  married? 

BY  JACK  WADE 


romance 


mental  state  of  any  of  its  patrons)  there  are  some  attrac- 
tive tables  for  two.  Seated  at  one  of  these  the  other 
night  were  Guy  and  Gail,  and  Guy  was  talking  to  a  friend: 

"No,  I'm  not  going  to  get  married  until  I'm  really  set 
in  pictures."  He  looked  at  Gail  and  they  exchanged  an 
understanding  smile.  "Being  together  when  you're  not 
married  is  nice,  but  when  you're  married,  it  could  be  dull." 

Gail  nodded.  "I  understand  Guy's  feelings  perfectly," 
she  declared.  "I  would  want  to  help  his  career,  not  hurt 
it,  and  right  now  his  appeal  is  to  the  romantic-minded. 
Marriage  might  hurt  it.  He  has  enough  on  the  ball  so 
that  with  hard  work  he  should  establish  himself  with 
everybody.  When  that  happens,  well,  we'll  wait  and  see." 

Nice  talk.  Why  doesn't  Hollywood  believe  it?  Well, 
it's  because  Guy,  even  while  he  is  talking  as  above,  can 
also  supply  you  with  the  last  detail  of  his  idea  of  a 
perfect  "dream  home,"  even  to  the  kitchen  color  scheme 
and  the  size  and  shape  of  the  patio  flagstones.  He  has 
it  down  so  pat  you  can't  help  feeling  that  somewhere 
there  are  exact  architect's  plans  that  he  has  been  study- 
ing— and  architects  don't  sweat  over  their  drafting  boards 
for  the  indefinite  future! 

It's  also  because  Gail,  even  while  she  is  agreeing  with 
Guy,  is  staring  at  him  so  dreamily  and  being  so  sweetly 
domestic  about  it!  Do  you  begin  to  get  the  idea  now? 
Hollywood  has  found  it  just  a  little  hard  to  believe  that 
these  two,  so  enamored  of  each  other  that  they  spend 
evenings  reading  each  other's  eyes,  have  been  able  to 
sell  themselves  the  cold-blooded  proposition  that  romance 
can-wait  for  career.  (Continued  on  page  98) 


JKfeat 
picture,  as  seen 
by  one  oj 
its  ijreat  stars, 

Jose  stirrer 


■  Having  come  to  Hollywood  direct 
from  the  Broadway  stage,  I  was  in- 
clined to  be  a  trifle  snobbish  about 
movies,  I  think.  Any  movies.  So  it 
was  particularly  strange  that  my  first 
screen  experience  should  have  been 
with  Joan  of  Arc.  Because  Joan 
is  not  an  ordinarily  good  picture;  it's 
much  more.  Joan  is  great. 

It's  great  because  of  the  care  and 
attention  that  was  lavished  on  every 
detail;  it's  great  because  of  Ingrid 
Bergman,  the  star;  it's  great  because 
its  inspiration,  Joan  of  Arc,  was  one 
of  those  rare  creatures  who  shape  the 
world  toward  a  more  lovely  end.  Joan 
of  Arc  looked  for  the  truth,  she  fol- 
lowed the  truth — ultimately,  she  died 
for  what  she  believed  to  be  the  truth. 
Miss  Bergman  felt  very  deeply  about 
the  Joan  story,  and  her  feeling  com- 
municated itself  to  even  the  most 
sophisticated  actors  among  us. 

Naturally  there  was  a  lot  of  fooling 
around  on  the  set  in  between  shots; 
there  were  girl  extras — very  pretty, 
too — and  the  atmosphere  often  wasn't 
conducive  to  deep  thought.  But  just 
let  Bergman  get  going,  and  people 
hushed,  listened  almost  awe-struck. 

I  remember  having  dinner  with 
Bergnjan  one  night.  She  lit  a  cigarette, 
and  I  was  startled.  "I've  never  seen 
you  smoke  before,"  I  said. 

[Continued  on  next  page) 


r 


Si  — 


1  "Joan  of  Arc  with  her 
peasant  family.  She  alone 
knows  (through  herVoices) 
of  her  mission  to  save 
France  from  the  English. 
Her  face  shows  dedica- 
tion." 


2  "Here  Joan  begs  me 
(the  Dauphin)  to  allow 
her  to  lead  the  French 
armies  to  victory.  Any- 
body can  see  I'd  have  to 
yield  to  such  transports." 


3  "Joan  is  wounded  in 
battle — this  is  typical  of 
the  sort  of  thing  the  Dau- 
phin let  Joan  do  for  him, 
while  he  sat  back  and 
enjoyed  a  dissolute  life." 


4  "Through  Joan's  efforts 
I  am  crowned,  yet  even 
at  the  moment  when  my 
dream  of  becoming  King 
has  been  achieved,  I  sus- 
pect Joan  of  ambition."  , 


photos  by  don  ornitz  53 


JoanojJKrc 


5  "Jacques  D'Arc  has  a  meeting  with  Joan,  after  the  Coronation. 
•He's  awed  by  his  now-famous  daughter.  Joan  is  preoccupied, 
fears  betrayal  before  France  shall  be  completely  liberated." 


(Continued  from  preceding  page)  She 
smiled,  half-embarrassed.  "I  don't  smoke  in 
my  Joan  costume.  It's  just  a  little  sign  of 
respect." 

Ingrid  Bergman  -herself  commands  enough 
respect  so  that  it's  worth  a  brief  mention. 
She  has  dignity;  she's  the  most  beautiful 
thing  in  the  world;  she's  a  decent  person. 
For  me,  and  the  rest  of  the  cast,  she  set  the 
mood,  during  the  shooting  of  Joan. 

People  work  remarkably  well  together, 
anyway,  when  that  kind  of  mutual  feeling 
exists.  Take  your  Don  Ornitz,  for  instance — 
he  used  his  camera  like  an  artist;  he  got 
rich  pictures.  I  watched  him  work  on  several 
occasions;  his  patience  was  infinite,  his  en- 
thusiasm limitless. 

I  commend  you  to  his  pictures  on  these 
pages — and  because  I  am  still  with  this 
motion  picture  in  spirit,  I  am  going  to  tell 
you  the  highlights  of  the  story.  I'm  going 
to  write  the  captions.  I'll  write  them  from 
the  point  of  view  of  the  Dauphin — later 
crowned  King  of  France — which  weak  and 
dissolute  character  I  portray  in  the  film.  I 
hope  his  sins  will  not  be  held  against  me. 


6  "As  King,  I  sell  Joan  out,  make  her  disband  her  army;  she  surrenders  her 
sword. back  to  God.  This  brooding  picture  is  symbolic  of  the  Joan  story — 
the  altar  and  the  sword,  the  combination  of  military  and  religious  effort." 


8  "Joan  is  led  to  the  cemetery,  given  her  last  chance  to  recant.  Knowing 
herself  forsaken  by  me,  and  exhausted  beyond  her  strength,  she  gives  in 
signs  with  her  mark  a  paper  claiming  her  Voices  were  sent  by  the  devil.' 


54 


7  "Forbidden  by  me  to  continue  fighting,  Joan  is  ambushed  by  a  group  of  English  soldiers,  captured,  brought  to  trial  before  an  English  Ecclesi- 
astical court  as  a  witch.  Throughout  her  trial,  she  hopes  I,  her  King,  will  ransom  her;  steadfastly  she  refuses  to  recant,  to  betray  the  Voices 
which  have  shaped  her  destiny.   Even  in  the  torture  chamber,  face  to  face  with  the  executioner,  weak,  unfed,  afraid — Joan's  faith  abides." 


9  "Back  in  her  cell,  Joan  speaks  again  with  her  Voices,  has  a  renewal  of 
faith,  and  resolves  to  die  bravely.  'The  pain  will  not  be  little,  but 
it  will  end,'  she  says.   She  is  driven  to  the  stake  in  a  wooden  cart." 


10  "A  priest  holds  up  a  crucifix  for  Joan  to. see.  Out  of  the  flames 
come  her  last  words,  'Jesus,  Jesus  .  .  .'  And  the  executioner,  who 
watches,  says,  'I  shall  be  damned,  for  I  am  burning  a  saint.'  " 


55 


Here,  for  the  first  time  anywhere,  Linda  Christian  tells  all — 
says  when,  where  and  whether  she'll  marry  Tyrone  Power! 


■  Ever  since  Tyrone  Power  and  Linda  Christian  met  last  year, 
in  Rome,  there's  been  intense  curiosity  about  their  plans.  Up 
until  now,  however,  those  plans  have  remained  a  secret.  Here, 
for  the  first  time,  a  family  friend  gets  Linda  to  tell  all — and 
part  of  what  Linda  says  is  marriage!  Whether  or  not  events 
work  out  the  way  Linda  expects,  Modern  Screen  prints  this 
document  as  a  matter  of  great  public  interest. 

The  night  we  said  goodbye,  in  Rome,  Tyrone  and  I  walked 
toward  Fontana  di  Trevi,  the  most  beautiful  fountain  in  the 
city. 

We  seemed  to  be  a  long  way  from  the  rest  of  the  world. 
The  water  of  the  fountain  was  bathed  in  silvery  moonlight. 
Ty  pointed  at  the  many  lira  coins  in  the  water : 

"Sign  of  luck?"  he  asked.  "Just  like  good  old  Chinatown, 
back  home?" 

I  shook  my  head. 

"Fontana  di  Trevi  has  a  history,  Ty.  People  throw  coins 
into  it  if  they  want  to  come  back  here.  They  say  their  wishes 
always  come  true."    For  a  few  minutes  we  stood  in  silence. 

Ty  searched  his  trouser  pockets  for  two  lira  coins.  He 
gave  me  one,  looked  at  me  for  a  second,  then  threw  the  other 
into  the  glittering  fountain. 

My  heart  was  beating  fast  as  I  watched  my  coin  follow  his. 
I  closed  my  eyes  and  made  a  wish. 

And  now,  seven  months  later,  my  wish  is  about  to  come 
true.  In  a  few  days,  Ty  and  I  will  be  Teaving  on  the  maiden 
flight  of  a  TWA  Constellation  from  Chicago  to  Lisbon,  and 
from  Lisbon,  we'll  drive  on  to  Rome.  We  have  planned  this 
trip  to  the  smallest  detail. 

We  started  to  make  preparations  as  soon  as  Ty  found  out 
that  he  was  going  to  star  in  Prince  of  Foxes.  It  began,  with 
"Spanish  lessons.  I  was  the  instructor.  While  living  in  Mexico, 
I  had  learned  to  speak  the  language  like  a  native.  Ty  was  a 
wonderful  pupil. 

I  shall  never  forget  one  afternoon  at  my  house  when  I  tried 
to  explain  the  word  "to  break."  Usually  I  have  a  very  easy 
time  acting  out  the  different  words,  and  their  meanings.  Just 
like  playing  charades.  But  that  day  I  was  lost.  I  broke  a 
pencil  into  two  pieces,  right  in  front  of  Ty's  eyes.  The  blank 
expression  on  his  face  was  discouraging.  I  broke  a  second 
pencil.  Ty's  face  contorted.  Two  pencils  later,  his  eyes  lit  up: 
'To  fracture,"  he  burst  out  proudly. 

I  shook  my  head. 

"To  shatter,"  after  the  fifth  pencil. 

He  looked  tired  now,  and  a  little  disheartened.  "I  know  it 
couldn't  be  'to  break,'  "  he  said.  "That's  too  simple." 

I  couldn't  keep  a  straight  face  any  longer,  and  soon  we  were 
both  hysterical. 

Teaching  Ty  Spanish  was  only  part  of  our  preparation.  To 
take  along  the  right  kind  of  clothes  presented  another  serious 
problem.  We  had  only  limited  space  on  board  the  Constella- 
tion, and  also  in  the  car  that  was  to  take  us  to  Rome.  Ty 
decided  to  take  just  three  suits,  and  his  flying  jacket. 

I  shall  take  just  slacks,  blouses,  a  couple  of  cotton  dresses 
which  can  easily  be  washed  and  ironed  on  the  trip,  one  evening 
dress, -and  one  bathing  suit.  Which  reminds  me  of  another 
ludicrous  story. 

Ty  informed  me  that  our  regular  bathing  suits  would  never 
do  in  Portugal.  "Men  have  to  wear  suits  with  attached  tops," 
he  said.  "And  women  aren't  allowed  on  the  beaches  unless 
they  wear  one-piece  bathing  suits  with  short  skirts." 

I  was  horrified.   Where  could  I  {Continued  on  page  119) 


I  hated  myself... 


If  he'd  gone  Holly- 
wood, Burt  couldn't  do  honest 
portrayals  of  real  people.- 
Stills  above  are  from  Sorry, 
Wrong  Number. 


burt 
kncaster 


a  while  ago,  and  it  all  started 
the  day  my  wife,  Norma  came  back 
from  the  beauty  parlor  looking- 
very  annoyed.    It  seems  that  a 
number  of  women  had  commented 
on  how  lucky  she  was  to 
be  married  to  Burt  Lancaster. 

"If  one  more  person  tells 
me  that,"  she  fumed,  "I'll  give  her 
a  whatfor  she  won't  forget!" 

I  laughed  and  said,  "Well, 
you  are  lucky,  kid.    In  fact,  I'm 
going  to  call  you  Lucky  from 
now  on." 

She  didn't  like  that  much, 
and  I  reached  out  to  her  but  she 
turned  away.    I  laughed  again. 
Her  head  swung  back  and  she 
looked  at  me  oddly.   Then  I  heard 
my  laugh  still  sounding  in  my 
ears  and  realized  there  was  something 
in  it  I  didn't  like;  something 
puffed-up  and  condescending, 
that  didn't  go  well  with  the 
moment  at  all.    I  got  the  feeling 
that   there  was  a  stranger 
present;  that  he  had  used  my  voice 
to  air  his  high-flown  opinion  of 
himself,  and  that  my  wife  had  sensed 
it  immediately.    We  both 
knew  who  he  was.    His  name 
was  "Big  Shot"  and  it  would 
be  better  if  he  went  away. 

I  sat  down  later  by  myself  and 
thought  about  it.   I  remembered 
what  Mark  Hellinger  once  told  me. 

"You're  a  nice  enough  guy, 
Burt,"  he  said.  "Nice  enough  now. 
But  you'll  go  Hollywood.  They 
all  do  sooner  or  later." 

"Not  me,  Mark,"  I  said. 

He  just  laughed.  Now  I  know 
what  he  meant.   The  truth  is  that 
I'm  having  trouble.   I'm  having 
trouble  staying  the  same  fellow 
I  was  when  I  first  came  out  here. 
It's  nothing  new,  but  that 
doesn't  {Continued  on  page  114) 


59 


how 


can 


you 
stay6reat? 


Ginger's  slipping, 
and — her  friends  say 
— she  tossed  the 
banana  peel  herself. 
She  tried  to 

run  the  whole  show,  and 

somewhere  along 

the  line  she  lost  her  way  .  .  . 

BY  GEORGE  BENJAMIN 


Star 


THESE  STARS  ARE  HOLLYWOOD  VETERANS 


No.  Years 
of  Pics  in  Pics 


- 


JEAN  ARTHUR  42  20 

CONSTANCE  BENNETT  44  24 

JOAN  BENNETT  53  19 

JOAN  BLONDELL  56  18 

CLAUDETTE  COLBERT  51  19 

JOAN  CRAWFORD  49  23 

BETTE  DAVIS  59  18 

MARLENE  DIETRICH  23  18 

DXENE  DUNNE  36  18 

KATHARINE  HEPBURN  24  16 

MYRNA  LOY  72  23 

JEANETTE  MACDONALD  28  19 

GINGER  ROGERS  54  18 

ROSALIND  RUSSELL  34  14 

ANN  SHERTOAN  56  15 

BARBARA  STANWYCK  52  19 

LORETTA  YOUNG  68  31 


60 


THE  TRIUMPH.  Ginger  reached  her  peak  at  29,  with  Kitty  Foyle  Oscar.    Producer  D.  Hemp'stead  and  mother  Rogers  shared  thrill. 


■  In  the  spotlight  they  looked  like  sisters — Ginger  Rogers 
and  Lynn  Fontanne.  Yet  Ginger  was  twenty-nine  and  Fon- 
tanne  fifty. 

The  first  lady  of  the  stage  was  handing  the  first  lady  of 
the  screen  her  Academy  Oscar  for  Kitty  Foyle. 

That  was  eight  years  ago,  but  it's  a  scene  few  who  saw 
have  forgotten:  The  great  Fontanne  in  a  simple  evening 
gown,  poised,  gracious  and  beautiful,  despite  her  middle  years, 
radiating  accomplishment,  dignity  and  success.  Ginger,  drip- 
ping black  lace,  slim,  young,  eager,  ambitious,  riding  high. 
It  was  one  of  the  most  popular  awards  ever  bestowed  in 
Hollywood.  Minutes  before,  Jimmy  Stewart,  another  com- 
parative kid  actor,  had  dodged  from  the  dais  like  a  scared 
jackrabbit,  clutching  his  Oscar  for  Philadelphia  Story.  It 
was  a  big  night  for  youth.  It  pepped  up  every  struggling 
young  actor  and  actress  everywhere  who  watched  or  listened. 


What  happened  this  night  could  happen  to  any  one  of  them. 

As  Lynn  Fontanne  smiled  understandingly,  Ginger  broke 
into  tears,  choked  with  the  emotion  of  the  moment. 

That  night  she  was  real.   That  night  she  was  great. 

A  few  weeks  ago,  Lynn  Fontanne,  now  nearing  sixty,  came 
to  Hollywood  with  Oh,  Mistress  Mine,  her  umpteenth  Broad- 
way hit,  and  the  screen  world  turned  out  to  honor  her. 
Where  was  Ginger  Rogers?  Idle,  in  a  slump,  and  on  strike 
against  herself. 

That's  a  sad  study  in  contrasts  which  should  never  have 
happened.  It  shouldn't,  but  it  does.  And  in  Hollywood 
always,  for  some  bizarre  reason,  it  happens  around  those 
mythically  murderous  middle  years.  The  silliest  super- 
stition ever  dreamed  up  to  haunt  a  movie  star's  nightmares 
is  "forty  fever."  Why  a  star  of  Ginger  Rogers'  experience — 
eighteen  years  in  pictures — should  {Continued  on  next  page) 


WAMPAS  BABY.  Loretta  Young,  a  Wampas  starlet  at  16  (above),  has  been  in  films  since  she  was  4,  won  her  first  Oscar  this  year.  She's  35. 


PERFECT  SIREN.  20-year-old  Myrna  Loy  had  silent  film  reputation  as  BAD  SISTER.  Drab  little  Bette  Davis  had  only  a  supporting  role  ir\ 
an  Oriental  vamp.  Graduating  to  Perfect  Sweetheart,  Perfect  Wife  this  1930  film.  The  tide  turned  in  1934,  with  Of  Human  Bondage. 
and  Perfect  Mother  roles,  Myrna,  now  43,  has  kept  her  popularity.      Fiery  new  Davis  later  won  two  Oscars — for  Dangerous,  Jezebel. 


62 


DANCING  DAUGHTER..  Joan  Crawford  started  her  Hollywood  climb  in  the  flaming  '20's, 
went  on  to  dramas  like  Forsaking  All  Others,  Shining  Hour.  After  two  flops  in  1944, 
Joan  "retired"  temporarily;  was  re-established  with  Oscar-winner  Mildred  Pierce,  in  '46. 


how 

lon6  can 
you 
stay^reat? 


{Continued  from  page  61)  lose  her  level 
head  before  the  bugaboo  of  vanishing 
girlhood  is  a  mystery  hard  to  explain. 
Ginger's  thirty-seven,  a  mere  babe  in 
arms  as  actresses  with  her  talents  go. 
Yet,  she's  choosing,  during  this  period  in 
her  life,  to  act  up  instead  of  act.  Whose 
fault? 

"Ginger  tossed  the  banana  peel  for 
herself  to  slip  on,"  says  a  producer  who 
knows  her,  likes  her,  and  hates  to  see  it 
happen.  "For  one  thing,  she  insists  upon 
playing  twenty-year-old  girls.  For  another, 
she's  running  the  whole  show  herself  and 
running  it  all  wrong.  But  she  won't 
admit  it.  Why,  after  The  Magnificent 
Doll,  which  everyone  who  wasn't  blind 
could  see  was  a  horrible  mistake,  she  said, 
'I  don't  care;  I  still  like  it.'  She's  had 
foup  lousy  pictures  in  a  row  and  she's 
slipping  like  a  greased  pig,  but  she  won't 
listen  to  advice.  There's  nothing  the  mat- 
ter with  Ginger  Rogers  that  one  great 
picture  won't  cure.  But  right  now  she 
doesn't  believe  in  doctors." 

That's  a  fairly  sage  sum-up  of  what 
ails  Ginger  Rogers  today,  careerwise,  that 
is.  She's  feeling  no  particular  pain,  of 
course,  financially.  As  one  Hollywood 
joker  put  it,  "What  money  Fred  Mac- 
Murray  left  around  Hollywood,  Ginger 
Rogers  has."  Her  price,  around  $300,000 
a  picture,  is  up  with  that  of  the  biggest 
box-office  stars  in  Hollywood,  although 
how  long  it  will  stay  there  if  she  goes 
stubbornly  along  her  lonesome  way,  is  a 
question. 

"If  she'd  put  herself  in  the  hands  of  a 
good  studio,  just  as  a  star,  nothing  else, 
she'd  snap  out  of  it  fast,"  says  another 
diagnostician.  "Don't  think  any  studio  is 
going  to  risk  the  kind  of  money  Ginger's 
salary  represents  without  making  sure  it 
comes  back  home."  But  instead  of  being 
"just  a  star"  lately,  Ginger  Rogers  has 
been  trying  to  make  like  a  one-girl  band. 
Her  last  all-Rogers  production,  Wild  Cal- 
endar, was  "postponed  indefinitely"  after 
a  year's  work  and  worry.  Before  she 
gave  up  on  that,  Ginger  was  making  busi- 
ness deals,     {Continued  on  page  104) 


Mr. 
Grant 

builds 

a 

dream 


by  Erskine  Johnson 


They  were  standing  on 
deck  in  the  moonlight,  the  night 
he  discovered  a  dream.  Her 
name's  Betsy  Drake  and  her  future's 
as  bright  as  her  eyes. 


Cary's   with    Betsy"  (opposite)    in    his   new  film. 


■  It  was  the  first  night  out  from  England, 
on  the  Queen  Mary,  bound  for  New  York  City. 

From  high  up  among  the  tiered  decks  floated 
the  strains  of  music  that  spoke  of  dancing  and  ship- 
board romance.   The  swank  supper  salon  of  the 
luxury  passenger  liner  boasted  an  equally  swank 
supper  clientele. 

The  tall,  handsome  American  sitting  at  Merle 
Oberon's  table,  large  hands  smothering 
an  after-dinner  coffee-cup,  was  Cary  Grant, 
returning  home  from  a  picture-talk  trip 
with  producers  in  London.    His  eyes  wandered 
around  the  room,  struck  a  snag  and  held. 

"That  girl — I've  seen  her  somewhere."  His 
eyes  held  on  their  target. 

Oberon  wasn't  having  any.    "Now,  Cary. 
Isn't  that  an  old  saw  from  a  bon  vivant 
like  you?" 

"No,  really  I  have." 

Lucien  Ballard,  Merle's  husband,-  said,  "What 
girl?"  and  Merle  couldn't  stand  the  suspense 
any  longer,  so  she  turned  toward  the  target. 

Across  the  dance  floor  sat  two  girls,  but 
it  was  obvious  that  Cary  meant  the  one  with  the 
dark  brown  hair  and  bushy  eyebrows.  With 
a  face  almost  plain,  but  striking,  the  girl  in  ques- 
tion continued  the  business  of  changing 
rare  roast  beef  into  nourishment,  unaware  that 
she  was  the  subject  of  discussion. 

"But  of  course  you  have,"  said  Merle  Oberon, 
"that's  Betsy  (Continued  on  page  96) 


64 


She  had  no  right  to 
privacy,  they  told  her,  and 
Lana  believed  them. 
She  smiled  at  the  press  like  a 
lady  should — but  those 
boys  were  no  gentlemen! 

BY  KAAREN  PIECK 


GULLIBLE  BRIDE 


In  Paris,  Lana  (in  Three  Musketeers)  coaxed  husband  Bob  into  the  salon  The  lucky  guy  is  Frank  Brewer,  British  auto 
of  Jacques  Fath  (right),  French  designer.  While  visiting  occupation  troops  racer.  The  Toppings  introduced  the  Midget 
in  Germany,  Lana  was  stricken  with  flu,  is  now  recuperating  in  France.      Autd  sport  to  England;  venture  was  a  flop. 


66 


Lana's  mis-handled  London  press  conference  resulted  in  public  lambasting.  Reporters  were  pushed  around,  made  to  wait  for  guest-of-honor. 


■  In  the  merry,  merry  month  of  May,  Miss  Lana  Turner  of 
Hollywood  set  off  with  Mr.  Robert  Topping  of  Connecticut, 
Palm  Beach  and  Park  Avenue,  on  a  honeymoon.  They'd  been 
victims  of  a  lot  of  nasty  publicity;  they'd  had  people — 
ostensibly  friends — turn  their  marriage  into  a  joke  and  a 
three-ring  circus;  the  newspapers  had  been  cruel.  If  the 
Toppings  were  a  little  bitter,  it's  no  wonder.  If  they  wanted 
a  portion  of  privacy  it's  no  wonder  either.  But  the  press  isn't 
paid  to  take  movie  stars'  feelings  into  account,  and  a  movie 
star  is  fair  game,  and  the  press  has  had  itself  a  day  again. 

In  New  York,  in  London — wherever  Lana  went — she  was 
lampooned,  lambasted,  and,  ultimately,  left  coldly  alone.  By 
the  time  this  last  gift,  privacy,  was  tendered  her,  however, 
the  damage  had  been  done. 

According  to  the  British  press,  soon  after  Lana  arrived  in 
England,  printed  cards  announcing  a  press  conference  were 
issued  to  reporters.  The  reporters,  who  claimed  they  hadn't 
asked  to  come,  claimed  further  that  Miss  Turner  showed  up 


briefly,  remarked  that  the  studio  hadn't  told  her  about  the 
matter,  and  left.  The  next  day,  after  having  been  briefed, 
Miss  Turner  showed  up  for  a  little  longer — but  very  late. 

And  the  sad  fact  is  that,  once  again,  Lana  was  a  victim  of 
circumstances.  If  she'd  been  a  completely  self-assured — and 
selfish — girl,  she'd  have  told  her  studio  to  leave  her  in  peace, 
that  she  was  on  her  honeymoon;  that  they  needn't  bother 
setting  up  any  press  conferences  because  she  wouldn't  go  to 
"  them — and  that  would  have  been  that. 

Lana  is  a  reasonably  amiable  girl.  She  knows  she's  not 
entitled  to  an  overload  of  privacy.  She  had  resigned  herself 
to  going  along  with  a  gag,  even  at  the  expense  of  her  honey- 
moon and  her  first  vacation  in  months.  For  not  going  along  too 
gracefully,  you  can  almost  forgive  her.  Half  the  time,  no- 
body let  her  know  where  she  was  supposed  to  be  going  anyway ! 
Furthermore,  movie  stars  get  handed  some  pretty  tough  sched- 
ules; they're  shoved  around  from  place  to  place;  they're  told 
what  people  to  smile  pretty  at — and  (Continued  on  page  104) 


Lex  Barker  is  the  I  Oth 
movie  Tarzan,  and  even  Edgar 
Burroughs,  the  Ape-Man's 
creator,  says  Lex's  muscles  aren't 
all  between  his  ears! 


th 


e  new  <sarzan 


■  Jerry  Hoffman,  who  is  a  publicity  man,  was 
talking  to  Lex  Barker,  who  is  Ros  Russell's  boy 
friend  in  The  Velvet  Touch. 

"Man,"  Hoffman  said  lugubriously,  "I  have  been 
looking  at  tests  for  Tarzan  all  morning,  and  there 
is  nothing  hammier  than  a  well-built  guy  with  his 
shirt  off!" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Barker  coolly,  rippling 
six  or  seven  muscles  under  his'  jacket. 

Hoffman  gasped,  retreating.  Then  he  rushed  to 
his  boss,  Sol  Lesser,  to  whom  he  told  all.  And  that 
is  how  Alexander  Chrichlow  (Lex)  Barker  became 
an  ape-man. 

Lex  is  not  too  proud  to  be  thrilled  about  it, 
either. 

He  is  the  tenth  movie  Tarzan;  of  the  others, 
Johnny  Weissmuller  was  best-known.  Weissmuller 
made  11  of  the  23  Tarzan  epics,  but  a  fellow  gets 
tired,  hanging  by  his  heels,  and  after  a  while  the 
anguish  in  his  eyes  was  such  that  Mr.  Lesser 
couldn't  ignore  it.    That  was  where  Lex  came  in. 

Lex,  who  was  born  in  Rye,  New  York,  went  to 
Princeton  for  a  couple  of  years,  quit  to  become  an 
actor,  enlisted  in  the  Army  in  1941,  was  seriously 
wounded  and  invalided  home  (he  came  out  a 
major).  He's  married  to  a  lady  named  Constance 
Thurlow,  and  they  have  two  kids — Lynne,  five, 
and  Alec  III,  one. 

Edgar  Rice  Burroughs,  Tarzan's  creator  (he 
started  the  whole  thing  back  in  1914  when  he  pub- 
lished a  book  called  "Tarzan  and  the  Apes")  still 
has  to  approve  of  any  action  involving  his  hero, 
and  Mr.  Burroughs  likes  Lex  fine.  He  gave  him  a 
complete  set  of  Tarzan  books,  and  a  talking-to. 
"I've  seen  hundreds  of  men  who  wanted  to  play 
Tarzan,  over  the  years,"  he  said  sadly,  at  one  point. 
"Most  of  their  muscles  were  between  their  ears." 


WHEN  YOU'RE  FACED  WITH  DRIVING  PROBLEMS... 


000 


with  Greyhound! 


THE  SWIFT  PACE  of  modern  living  demands  occasional 
and  complete  relaxation  .  .  .  letting  down,  taking  it  easy. 
And  that  is  exactly  what  Greyhound  offers,  in  generous 
measure,  when  you're  traveling! 

Check  over  the  different  kinds  of  trips  you  take  in  a  year 
—vacationing,  shopping  in  the  city,  week-ending  with  friends, 
commuting,  traveling  for  business,  or  just  sight-seeing— and 
you'll  find  that  they  offer  a  lot  more  travel  ease,  more  peace 
of  mind,  if  made  in  a  Greyhound  Super  Coach.  The  reclining- 
chair  comfort  of  the  modern  Greyhound  bus  is  unequaled. 
But  it  is  especially  good  to  know  that  one  of  the  world's  best 
and  safest  drivers  is  at  the  wheel,  competent  in  any  kind 
of  traffic  and  in  any  weather,  ready  to  take  you  quickly  to 
city  or  farm,  across  the  county  or  the  continent— even  into 
neighboring  Canada  or  Mexico. 

The  cost?  Much  less  than  driving  your  own  car,  much 
lower  than  other  kinds  of  public  transportation.  Relax  with 
Greyhound  next  time  you  take  a  trip! 


Transportation  fcrAU-the  Nation 


GREYHOUND 


th 


ere  was 


...  a  girl  from 

Italy  I  still  remember — 

happy,  shy,  full  of 

wonder — a  girl  I'll  never 

find  again,  the  girl 

I  used  to  be  .  .  . 


"A  VERY  LITTLE  GIRL:  Of  this  photograph  I  recoil  nothing,-  but 
I'm  afraid  it's  me.  The  bouquet  and  the  birthday  suit  were  probably 
a  joke  of  father's.    If  I'd  been  wiser  I'd  certainly  have  protested!" 


■  "Guarda  gli  uccellini!" 

You  may  not  know  what  this  means  but  you 
have  heard  it  in  your  life — even  if  not  in  Italian 
as  I  have  written.  It  is  what  people  say  to  a 
child,  all  the  world  over,  when  they  are  having 
the  little  one's  picture  taken — "Look  at  the 
birdie!"  On  these  pages  of  Modern  Screen  (and 
how  Modern  Screen  got  them  I  still  do  not 
know ! )  is  proof  that  I  looked  at  the  birdie  many 
times  when  I  was  growing  up.  Today,  of  course, 
in  Hollywood,  it  is  all  different.  I  must  not  look 
at  the  camera.  If  I  do  the  cameraman  will  lift 
his  head  from  behind  it  and  his  lips  will  move 
silently — and  though  I  will  not  hear  him  I  will 
know  he  is  saying  many  bitter  .things  about  me ! 

About  the  picture  taken  of  me  when  I  was 
hardly  more  than  a  baby — the  birthday  suit  one 
in  which,  with  one  hand  I  hold  flowers  and  with 
the  other,  for  some  reason,  I  hide  my  tummy — 
I  do  not  recall  anything.  My  memory  does  not 
go  back  that  far.  If  it  did,  I  would  ask  myself 
why  did  I  not  protest  against  it?  Why  did  I 
not  get  up  and  break  my  contract? 


But  there  is  one  thing  I  can  say  about  this 
picture;  when  I  got  a  little  older  I  thought  for  a 
moment  that  I  had  discovered  why  it  was  taken. 
My  father,  who  was  a  professor  of  philosophy  at 
the  University  of  Milan,  always  wanted  me  to 
follow  in  his  footsteps.  He  would  discuss  with 
me,  in  an  easy  way,  many  of  the  ancient  Greek 
philosophers  whom  he  greatly  admired.  One 
day  I  happened  to  be  in  a  museum  and  I  saw 
the  sculptured  forms  of  some  of  these  philoso- 
phers. They  had  nothing  but  their  birthday  suits 
on  too,  and  it  struck  me  at  once  that  perhaps 
my  father  had  been  trying  me  out  for  the  part! 

I  was  born  in  Pola,  Italy,  which  is  in  the  north, 
and  the  last  important  town  on  the  railroad  be- 
fore you  come  to  Jugo-Slavia.  In  Pola  I  was  a 
pure  blonde,  even  white-haired.  But  when  I 
got  to  be  about  three  my  hair  started  to  darken 
and  about  this  time  my  parents  moved  to  Como, 
which  is  on  the  Lake  of  Como.  And  that  summer 
they  took  me  on  a  vacation  to  The  Trentino,  in 
the  Alps,  to  see  my  grandmother  and  my  great-, 
grandmother.  It  was  on  {Continued  on  next  page) 


70 


"BEFORE  MY  FALL:  Father,  mother  and  I  went  for  a  vacation  to  the 
Alps  when  I  was  4.  I  remember  1  wanted  to  sail  my  boat  in  the  pond, 
but  I  had  to  pose.  Afterward,  I  fell  into  that  pond,  nearly  drowned!" 


"IN  BORROWED  PEARLS:  1929  was  an  exciting  year  for  me.  At  the  age 

of  9,  I  thought  I  was  enchanting  in  this  party  costume.  Mother  lent 
me  her  pearls,  the  dress  was  that  of  a  Hungarian  csardas  dancer." 


"MOTHER  STOOD  BY:  She  guided  me  wisely  through 
adolescence,  my  boy-hating  period.  She  sent  me  to 
Rome  so  I  would  be  spared  father's  last  suffering." 


'SCHOOLGIRL  DIARY:  This  is  cTscene  from  one  of  32 
films  I  made  in  Italy.  Once  I'd  studied  at  the  Acad- 
emy in  Rome,  but  they  told  me  I  had  no  talent." 


there  was 
a 

girl... 


"HALF  MY  HEART:  I'm  happy  in  Hollywood  with  my 
husband  Oscar  and  our  son.  But  mother  and  grand- 
mother in    Italy  are  never  far  from   my  thoughts." 


(Continued  from  preceding  page)  this  trip 
that  the  picture  showing  me  standing  be- 
tween my  father  and  mother  and  holding 
on  to  their  hands,  was  taken.  It  was  almost 
the  last  picture  ever  taken  of  me! 

If  you  look  closely  at  me,  you  will 
see  that  I  am  not  too  pleased  about  things. 
This  is  because  I  did  not  want  to  waste  time 
having  my  picture  taken;  I  wanted  to  play 
with  my  boat. 

My  uncle,  my  father's  brother,  had  also 
come  for  a  visit  and  had  brought  his  two 
boys;  Manlio,  who  was  ten,  and  Guido 
who  was  just  a  few  months  younger  than 
I.  Guido  was  a  most  polite  boy  and  I 
liked  to  play  with  him  for  that  reason.  We 
were  sailing  boats  across  a  pond  when  I 
was  called  away  to  have  the  picture  taken. 
Then  I  ran  back  to  Guido. 

We  played  on  happily,  all  by  ourselves, 
until  I  leaned  over  too  far  to  get  my  boat, 
and  fell  in.  The  water  closed  over  my  head. 
Guido  turned  around  and  walked  away.  I 
remember  coming  up  and  seeing  him  go, 
and  I  remember  struggling ;  I  had  no  breath 
or  time  to  scream — I  could  only  gasp. 

The  older  people  were  together  in  a 
group,  discussing  weighty  things,  when  my 
mother  noticed  Guido  approaching.  As 
she  tells  it,  she  thought  then  to  herself, 
what  a  nice,  well-mannered  child  he  was. 
He  came  up  and  stood  by  quietly,  too  much 
the  little  gentleman  to  interrupt  his  elders. 
But  his  father  noticed  how  intently  he 
seemed  to  be  watching  everyone  who  spoke 
and  asked  him  why. 

"I  am  waiting  for  a  pause  that  I  may  say 
something,  Father,"  Guido  replied. 

Everyone  laughed  and  someone  said, 
"With  us,  such  a  pause  may  not  come  for 
hours.  What  is  it  you  have  to  say?" 

"It  is  about  my  cousin,"  Guido  told  them. 

"Oh,"  said  my  father.  "Where  is  she?" 

"She  is  in  the  pond,"  answered  Guido 
gravely.  (Continued  on  page  101) 


72 


coco*&**y 


JJ 

El 

i  1 1 

II  L1 

COLOR  P/?# 

MARGARINE 


Finest  Flavor  You  Ever  Tasted  — 
SEALED  IN  at  the  Peak  of  Freshness! 


Just  taste  creamy,  golden  Delrich ! 
Discover  its  delicate,  country- 
sweet,  fresh  goodness.  The  day 
Delrich  is  made — all  its  good- 
ness and  freshness  is  sealed  in. 
Yes,  the  flavor  is  perfected  and 
protected ! 

Thousands  Switching  to 
Delrich  E-Z  Color  Pak  Margarine! 

You,  too,  will  prefer  delicious, 
rich  Delrich  for  its  flavor  and 
new,  easy  way  to  color.  Ends 


mixing  bowl  mess.  Turns  golden 
inside  the  sealed  bag.  And  it's  so 
easy  to  make  neat  quarters  or 
patties  for  the  table.  No  mold 
needed. 

Enjoy  Delrich  now!  No  tax 
on  your  time,  energy  or  budget ! 
And  every  pound  is  packed  with 
natural  food  energy — enriched 
with  15,000  units  of  Vitamin  A. 


.jgmm  MARGARINE 


DT.  C.  P.  CO.,  1948 


Tke  CUDAHY  fac&ctu?  Cb. 


Delrich  and  E-Z  Color  Pak  are  the  trademarks  of  The 
Cudahy  Packing  Co.  for  its  margarine.  Whether  yon 
ask  for  ''Delrich"  or  "E-Z  Color  Pak" — they  both 
mean  the  margarine  that's  a  New  American  Favorite. 


73 


"There's  nothing 
wrong  between  us  that 
marriage  wouldn't 
fix  up,"  Audie  Murphy 
says,  and  Wanda 
Hendrix  doesn't  answer, 
but  her  eyes  have 
love  in  them,  and  fear  . 

BY  DAVID  MCCLURE 


Wanda  Hendrix  and  Audie  Murphy 


married 


■  About  two  years  ago,  Hollywood  was  set  a-quiver  by  a 
fresh,  young  romance  that  blossomed  in  its  midst.  Audie 
Murphy,  boyish  number-one  hero  of  World  War  II,  had  lost 
his  heart  to  petite  starlet  Wanda  Hendrix.  And  what's  more 
Wanda  was  enthusiastically  reciprocating  his  attention.  They, 
were  in  love,  and  no  doubt  about  it. 

They  were  in  love,  and  they  looked  wonderful  together. 
That  they  differed  radically  in  both  temperament  and  experi- 
ence, nobody  seemed  to  notice. 

,  Calloused  correspondents  shelved  their  cynicism  and  clucked 
approving  tongues.  Here  at  last  was  an  idyll  of  which  the  film 
colony  could  be  justly  proud.   Well,  we're  not  saying  they're 


74 


Most  decorated  hero  of  the  war,  Audie  will  play  the  lead  in  Bad  Boy.  Wanda's  set  to  play  opposite  Tyrone  Power  in  Prince  Of  Foxes. 


wrong.  It's  just  that  in  Hollywood,  where  so  many  people 
marry  first  and  regret  it  later,  kids  like  Wanda  and  Audie  have 
a  double  temptation  to  go  ahead,  take  their  chances,  and  hope 
for  the  best.  Whether  you  think  Audie  and  Wanda  would  be 
right  or  wrong  to  marry,  here's  their  story. 

There  was  drama  in  their  very  meeting.  After  being  lion- 
ized by  Hollywood  and  meeting  most  of  its  famous  personali- 
ties, Audie  had  remained  singularly  unimpressed.  Then  one 
day  he  chanced  to  pick  up  a  magazine.  On  the  cover  was 
Wanda's  picture.    That  was  it.    Here  was  the  girl  for  him. 

"I  had  never  met  anyone  like  Wanda,"  says  he.  "But  in 
the  back  of  my  mind  I  had  carried  a  vision  of  her  for  years. 


I  had  never  really  had  a  girl.  Not  even  during  the  war  did  I 
know  of  one  to  whom  I  cared  to  write.  While  other  fellows 
read  their  love  letters,  I  usually  cleaned  my  rifle.  The  girl  I 
loved  existed  only  in  my  imagination;  and,  believe  it  or  not, 
she  looked  amazingly  like  Wanda." 

Through  mutual  friends,  he  arranged  to  meet  her  at  a  din- 
ner party.  Wanda  admits  she  was  not  particularly  thrilled 
by  the  prospect.  Knowing  Audie  only  by  his  war  reputation, 
she  imagined  that  a  man  who  was  capable  of  putting  240 
Germans  out  of  action,  as  Murphy  had,  must  be  a  bit  on  the 
rugged  side.   And  Wanda  didn't  care  for  rough-necks. 

But  obligingly  she  accepted  the  (Continued  on  page  108) 


beauty  cream  shampoo 
leaves  your  hair 
more  beautiful  g 


"Photos  show  it,"  enthuses  Joy,  recent 
talent  scout  discovery.  "Shasta  leaves 
my  hair  with  a  lot  more  sheen.  And  so 
soft,  smooth!  Lovelier  all  three  ways! 
Shasta  helped  me  pass  my  screen  test." 


NEW!  Procter  &  Gamble's  amazing 
Shasta — the  beauty  cream  shampoo. 
NEW!  Fragrant,  satiny  Shasta  cream- 
cleanses  your  hair  .  .  .  beautifies  your 
hair  all  3  ways — as  no  soap — bar  or 
liquid — will!  In  one  Shasta  shampoo, 
your  hair  will  have 

•  that  lustrous  "alive"  look! 
•  that  sm-o-o-oth-as-satin  look! 
•  that  soft,  caressable  look! 

YES,  ALL  3!  Yet  your  hair  has  "body" — 
it's  not  limp,  not  dried  out.  Shasta  is 


safe,  kind  to  hair.  Makes  mountains  of 
lather  even  in  hardest  water.  Removes 
flaky,  unlovely  dandruff,  too.  And 
doesn't  spill  or  run  into  eyes. 

Hurry!  For  more  beautiful  hair  all 
three  ways — get  Shasta.  Convenient 
sizes.  All  toiletries  counters. 

Guaranteed  by 

PROCTER  &  GAMBLE'S       \Good  Housekeeping, 


STRICTLY  FROM  DIXIE 

(Continued  from  page  36) 


but  she  can  hand  me  the  most  delightful 
run-around  of  any  girl  I  know.  I've  even 
had  her  tease  me  like  this  with  a  straight 
face:  "You're  always  interviewing  peo- 
ple, Hopper,  but  you  never  interview  me. 
How  about  it?" 

I  called  her  bluff — and  it  took  me  three 
days  to  catch  her.  Dixie  was  home  all 
the  time;  she  admitted  it.  "But  I  was 
afraid  to  answer  that  phone,"  she  con- 
fessed. "I  knew  I'd  say  'yes'  to  anything 
if  I  talked  to  you.  So  look,  here  I  am 
being  interviewed  at  home — and  with 
pictures.  Bing  will  never,  never  believe 
this!" 

We  sat  on  the  roomy,  Italian  piazza  of 
their  big  stone  Holmby  Hills  house,  over- 
looking a  wide  lawn  being  rapidly  wrecked 
by  four  husky  reasons  why  Dixie  hasn't 
shared  Bing  Crosby's  public  life  for  the 
past  several  years.  Their  names  are  Gary, 
Philip,  Dennis  and  Lindsay,  the  Crosby 
kids.  They  aren't  pretty  but  they're  all 
good-looking.  Gary,  15,  looks  most  like 
Bing,  in  the  face,  that  is.  But  his  frame's 
like  a  shot-putter's^-176  pounds!  He  was 
just  home  from  Bellarmine  School  where 
he  covered  himself  with  glory,  made  such 
good  marks  he  didn't  have  to  take  finals. 
I  asked  him  about  it. 

"Yeah,  I  was  terrific,"  he  grinned.  "Made 
the  JV  baseball  team  and  the  frosh,  too —  i 
second  base."     Gary  said  the  Crosbys  ' 
would  have  practically  a  squad  at  Bellar-  j 
mine  next  year.    Denny  and  Phil  go  up 
there,  too. 

"All  I  can  say,"  sighed  Dixie  at  that 
point,  "is  Heaven  help  that  school!" 

The  young  Crosbys  have  a  softball  team 
of  their  own  right  now,  padded  out  with  ; 
some  other  kids.   They  play  a  pickup  nine 
from  Paramount.    "Boy,  did  we  take  'em 
last  time!"  Phil  gloated.    "Twenty-three  J 
to  eleven!"  Denny  still  had  the  remains  j 
of  a  black  eye  he  got  when  he  stopped  a  j 
fast  one. 

"Baseball,  baseball,  that's  all  I  hear," 
sighed  Dixie.    "It's  those  darned  Pitts-  i 
burgh  Pirates  of  Bing's.    Of  course,  the  I 
kids  have  caught  it  now.    They  rattle  off 
batting  averages  and  league  standings  like  , 
BUI  Stern.    Every  night  we  have  radio 
box  scores  for  dinner.   I  start  to  open  my  | 
mouth  and  I   (Continued  on  page  84) 


beauty  cream 


Jeanne  Cagney— 

currently  triumphing  in  United  Ar- 
tists' talked  about  movie,  The  Time  of 
Your  Life.  It's  brother  Jimmy  Cag- 
ney's  movie  version  of  the  hit  Saroyan 
play,  and  it's  one  of  those  daring  con- 
troversial movies  the  critics  almost 
come  to  blows  about.  Everyone  is 
cheering  Jimmy  for  producing  it,  and 
Jeanne  for  her  wonderful  portrayal  of 
an  ex-burlesque  queen  in  a  bar-room. 

Jeanne  models  MODERN  SCREEN'S 
choice  for  your  first  fall"  costume — 
a  gabardine  suit-dress  you  can  wear 
this  minute  without  a  coat,  and  all 
through  winter  under  your  topper.  We 
love  the  pointed  and  draped  peplum, 
the  double  lines  of  stitching  and  the 
soft  bow  at  the  throat.  Comes  in  olive 
green,  brown,  copper,  and  copen  blue. 
Sizes  9-15.  By  Minx  Modes. 

For  price  and  where  to  buy,  see 
page  94. 

Pins  by  Coro.  Gloves  by  Kislav. 
Colored  luggage  by  T.  Anthony.  Suit- 
case Miss  Cagney  leans  against,  by 
Tommie  Traveller. 


MARK  O'DANIELS*  of  Broadway,  young  lead  in  the  hit  play,  "For  Love  or 
Money,"  previews  your  fall  wardrobe.  We  exposed  him  to  advance  autumn  fashions, 
said  "choose!"  This  bustle  suit-dress  brought  the  gleam  to  his  eye.  Likes  stripes,  he 
explained.  Thought  the  little  ruffle  up  the  front  very  tricky.  Ajid  approved  (blush) 
the  cute  look  the  cagily  draped  bustle  gives  to  the — uh — rear.  All  wool  jersey.  10-16. 
Black  with  tan,  red  or  green  stripes;  royal  with  black;  grey  with  pink.  By  Preston 
Casuals.  About  $22.95.  At  Bloomingdale's,  New  York.  Other  stores  page  94. 


MARK  DANIELS* of  Hollywood,  whom  you  loved  in  "Winged  Victory,"  and 
who  is  currently  appearing  with  Gene  Autry  in  Columbia's  "The  Last  Roundup," 
gave  the  "that's  for  me"  sign  to  this  cocoa  colored  suit  with  black  braid  frogs.  Very 
dramatic,"  that  braid  stuff,  declared  Mr.  Daniels.  And  the  little  waist  looks  as  though 
a  fellow  might  like  to  put  his  arm  around  it  (he  said).  Also,  the  skirt  looks 
very  whirlable,  unquote.  Tegra  rayon,  in  red,  green,  blue,  cocoa.  Junior  sizes  9-15. 
By  Junior  Clique.  About  $14.95.  At  Stern's,  New  York.  Other  stores  page  94. 


is 
o 


*One  and  the  same  guy,  of  course.  79 


Excitement 
afoot 


GOLD  HEEL  and  gold  scroll 
on  black  suede  sling-back. 
By  Deb  Shoes. 


LOUIS  HEEL  —biggest  shoe  fashion 
news  of  the  year.  Black  suede  Glamour 
shoe  by  Bourbeuse.  $14.95. 


GOLD  BUTTONED  triple  straps  on 
black  suede  pump  with  wedge 
heel,  high  back.  By  Deb  Shoes 


SIDESWEPT  STRAP,  jutting  heel  cuff. 

black,  green,  cocoa. 

By  Velvet  Step.  About  $7.95. 


HIGH  SCALLOPED  heel  cuff. 
Brown,  cinnamon,  or  slate  grey  suede; 
or  black  patent.  By  Trim  Tred.  About  $10. 


SILVER  EDGED  straps  on  black  suede 
platform.  Also,  brown,  green. 
By  Twenty-Ones.  About  $12.95. 


For  where  to  buy  these  Modern  Screen  fashions,  turn  to  page  94. 


80 


Ideas 

needn't  be 


CELESTIAL 
Red  or  Green 
Cobra  finish 


COMET 

Black  suede  finish 
Brown  suede  finish 
Red,  Green,  Brown 
Alligator  finish 


Lovely  4- inch  heelers  for  your 
Summer-into-Fall  maneuvers!  Here's  positive  proof 
that  you  needn't  pay  high  prices  for  high  fashions! 


VENUS 

Black  suede  finish 
Brown  suede  finish 
Red,  Green,  Brown 
Alligator  finish 


Sizes  2'2  to  10,  B  width 
Sizes  6  to  9,  AA  width 


ORDER  BY  MAIL 


Mary  Jane  stores  in: 
Philadelphia,  Peoria, 
Toledo,  Baltimore, 
Wilmington,  Miami, 
Detroit,  Louisville, 
Fort  Worth,  Chicago, 
Minneapolis,  . 
San  Antonio,  Gary, 
Atlantic  City,  and  other 
principal  cities. 


Send  check  or  money  order 
and  we'll  pay  postage 


MARY  JANE  SHOES,  119  Beach  St.,  Boston,  Mass.,  Dept.  M. 
Please  send  me  prs.  of  Platforms  at  $3.99  pr. 


Style  Name 

Color  (1st  Choice) 

(2nd  Choke) 

Size 

Width 

CELESTIAL 

VENUS 

COMET 

Name . . 
Address 
City  .  .  . 
Check  □ 


.  State . 


  Zone . 

Money  Order  □  C.O.D.  Q 

When  ordering  C.O.D.,  curfonw  agrees  lo  pay  $3.99  plus  charges 


81 


Shine/ 
lady? 


LATTICE  BACK  on  double- 
strapped  black  suede.  .. 
By  Toni  Drake.  About  $12.95 


w 


HAND  SEWN  MOCCASIN 
with  braided  instep, 
side  strap.  By  Mary 
Jane.  $4.99. 


TOUCH  OF  GOLD 
on  vamp  of  black 
suede-finish  ballerina. 
Removable  ankle  strap. 
By  Mary  Jane.  $299. 


SUEDE  GHILLIE  with 
calf  trim  and  wedge  heel. 
Black,  brown  or  green. 
Newporters  by  Kays- 
Newport.  About  $6.95. 


RED  CALF  BOW  on  grey 
suede  wedge  heel  pump. 
By  Mode  Art  Junior. 
About  $10.95. 


HIGH  RIDING  TONGUE 
on  wedge 

heel  pump.  Gold-tipped 
grosgrain  tie.  By 
Hi-Jinks.  About  $4.98.. 


82 


RED  COLT  leather  ballerina, 
with  detachable  ankle  strap. 
By  Prima  Dollerina.  $5.95. 


For  where  to  buy  these  Modern  Screen  fashions,  turn  to  page  94. 


order  your  back  to  school  wardrobe  by  mail  from 


STYLE 
#407 


STYLE 
#403 


STYLE  #403- 
2  piece  wool  and  rayon 
bolero  suit.  Sure  to  be 
the  favorite  of  your 
school  wardrobe.  Metal 
buttons.  Colors: 
Grey  Hill  black  trim;  Gild 
k       will  browa  trie;  Taa 
with  brm  trln.  Sizes 
911-1315-17.  AIsb  ii 
sizes  W-IM4-IS-IB. 


STYLE  #407- 

2  piece  Iridescent,  Striped 
Taffeta  with  Rayon  Faille 
contrast.  Demure  for 
class... dressy  for  Saturday 
night  parties.  Colors: 
Black  with  black  Iridescent 
stripe;;  Blown  with  brown 
Iridescent  stripes;  Greai 
with  sreen  Iridescent 
strifes,  la  sizes  9-11 13- 
15-17.  Also  In  sizes 
10-1214-16-19. 


Ttf 


•  <4 


> 


$098- 


STYLE 
#403* 


STYLE  #403  A— Crepe 
blouse  with  mandarin 
collar  and  sleeves. 
'    Pearlized  buttons  and 
combination  Grosgrain 
ribbon  trim.  Ideal  company  for 
the  bolero  suit,  la  sizes  30-32- 
34-36-38.  While  only. 


STYLE 
#402 


STYLE 

L°vabl, 


i 


40/- 


Peter 


Wool 


STYLE 
#408 


and 


rayon 


belt  \ 


Whentt 
c°nfrast 


Wet, 


or»n  Plaid. 


■  and 


toes  J 


doubu 


"»8  w/de 


''13-/5 


Pr°ngs.  tej 
II  Als»  i 


black 


sizes 


STYLE  #402 

2  piece  "Loch  Lomond"  darling.  Black 
jacket  with  plaid  Peter  Pan  collar  and 
plaid  sleeve  cuffs.  Genuine  wool  and 
rayon  material  in  Red  and  Green  plaid  an 
White  background.  Sizes  911-13-15-17.  Also  la 
sizes  10- 12- 14-16-18. 


STYLE  =408 
1  piece  Campus 
Beauty.  Rayon 
Faille  skirt,  checked  taffeta  top. 
Jewel  neckline  with  contrasting  bow, 
belt.  In  Black,  Brawn  and  Emerald  Green 
with  Checked  Tallela  Waist  (either  multicolor 
ar  sell-color).  In  sizes  9-11-13- 15-17.  Also  in 
sizes  10- 12- 14  16- II. 


i  PREVIEW  FASHION  SHOPS  Dept. 
1 275  Seventh  Avenue  MS-9 
I  New  York  1,  N.  Y. 

Send  these  lovely  dresses  on 
approval.  I'll  pay  postman 
the  total  amount  indicated, 
plus  postage  and  C.  O.  D. 
charges.  If  not  delighted,  I 
may  return  any  or  all  dresses 
for  relund  within  live  days. 
In  New  York  City  add  2%  please  PRINT 
Sales  Tax.  Allow  two  weeks 
or  less  for  delivery. 


Style  No. 

Size 

1  st  Color  Choice 

2nd  Color  Choice 

Price 

407 

8.98 

403 

12.98 

403  A 

3.98 

401 

7.98 

402 

8.98 

408 

7.98 

Total 


NAME. 


SEND  NO  I 


C.  O.D. 

MONEY  ORDER 


ADDRESS. 
CITY. 


ZONE. 


.STATE. 


MONEY 


□  SEND  FREE  CATALOG    □  NOTE:  If  you  send  payment  with  orderwe  pay  all  postage  charges. 


Visit  our 
Wilkes  Barre  Store 
288  South  Maie  St. 


83 


84 


SHOES 


For  these  reasonably  priced  shoes, 
write  for  the  .name  of  your  dealer 
PETERS  SHOES  COMPANY,  SAINT  LOUIS 


(Continued  from  page  76)  get  five  loud 
'S-h-h-h-h's.'  'Look,'  I  told  'em,  'if  you 
don't  come  off  the  playing  field  long  enough 
to  eat,  I'm  taking  a  tray  to  my  room!' " 

Gary  was  swinging  a  bat  dangerously 
close  to  our  ears. 

"You  going  to  be  a  baseball  player 
when  you  grow  up,  Gary?"  I  asked  him, 
ducking. 

"Nope,"  said  Gary.  "I'm  gonna  be  a 
veterinarian.    I  love  animals." 

"You're  going  to  need  a  vet,  if  you 
don't  put  that  bat  down!"  said  Dixie.  She 
turned  to  me  sadly.  "Anything  ladylike 
around  here  is  a  dead  duck.  But  I'll  get 
even — if  it  takes  me  twenty  years.  I  can't 
wait  until  I'm  a  grandmother  and  I  hope 
they're  all  girls.  I'm  going  to  spoil  them 
rotten  and  teach  them  all  to  spit  in  their 
daddy's  eyes!" 

But  I  don't  believe  she  means  it.  Dixie's 
so  used  to  her  slam-bang  brood  that  when 
a  little  femininity  threatens  she  really 
worries.  Bing  calls  Phil  "The  Dude," 
because  of  all  the  kids,  he's  the  one  who 
keeps  his  face  clean,  his  clothes  tidy. 
Phil  and  Denny  (10)  are  twins,  and  until 
recently,  Denny  could  double  most  mo- 
ments for  a  Dead  End  kid  in  the  groom- 
ing department.  Then  strange  things 
started  to  happen — Denny  got  a  girl,  Doris. 
"The  other  night  I  clocked  him  on  the 
telephone,"  Dixie  revealed.  "A  full  half 
hour!"  Denny  also  started  carrying  a 
comb  and  carefully  patted  a  wave  in  his 
hair.  Dixie  couldn't  take  it.  "I've  got  news 
for  you,"  she  told  him.  "This  new  person- 
ality of  yours  stinks!" 

"I  don't  have  to  worry  about  Linny  yet, 
he's  too  little,"  sighed  Dixie,  "and  so  far 
Gary's  hopeless.  He  just  won't  dress  up. 
'No  girl's  gonna  look  at  me  anyway,'  he 
says,  'so  what's  the  difference?' " 

"Look,"  Dixie  told"  him.  "I'm  a  girl  and 
I've  got  to  look  at  you!" 

"They're  all  hams,"  sighed  Dixie.  She's 
never  seen  either  of  the  two  pictures  the 
kids  made.  "I  couldn't  take  it,"  she  ex- 
plained. But  she  did  catch  a  radio  pro- 
gram they  did  with  Bing  and  Clifton 
Webb.  "They  took  over  the  show  like 
Grant  took  Richmond,  and  the  next  morn- 
ing they  were  scrapping  over  who  got  the 
best  laugh  line,  who  made  fluffs  and  who 
didn't,"  said  Dixie.  "I've  got  to  get  'em 
out  of  Hollywood." 

She  must  already  be  up  at  Bing's  Ne- 


vada ranch  for  the  summer.  It's  near 
Elko,  where  Bing  was  made  honorary 
mayor  the  other  day.  All  the  kids  had 
their  crew  haircuts  when  I  saw  them. 
They  were  jabbering  about  their  rough- 
riding  plans.  All  have  their  own  cow 
ponies  and  Gary  can  drive  the  tractor; 
they  get  paychecks  according  to  their  ef- 
forts. Bing's  ranch  is  a  working  one, 
no  tennis  court,  no  swimming  pool. 

"That's  not  my  idea  of  a  ranch,"  ad- 
mitted Dixie,  "but  Bing  says  if  we  have 
a  pool  all  the  cowhands  will  be  in  it  and 
nobody'll  ever  work."  Every  Crosby, 
except  Dixie,  roams  around  all  summer 
in  Levis  and  ten-gallon  hats;  everybody 
rides  Western  saddle  but  her.  "I'm  the 
sissy,"  she  admitted.  "I'm  a  jodhpur-and- 
English  saddle  girl.  I  also  take  baths — 
you've  got  to  have  some  style  around  a 
place!" 

Dixie  likes  ranch  life  as  much  as  the 
rest  of  the  family  but  she  confessed  she 
views  it  with  mixed  feelings  as  far  as  her 
sons  are  concerned.  After  a  whole  sum- 
mer of  the  rugged  life  it  takes  months  to 
repair  the  damage.  "The  first  report  cards 
after  a  summer  on  the  range  are  enough 
to  make  my  hair  curl,"  she  said.  "  'D' 
in  deportment,  'D'  in  application,  'D'  in 
grammar,  'D'  in  everything.  They  us- 
ually wind  up  with  'A's'  in  the  spring,  but 
it's  a  worry." 

Worst  of  all,  Dixie  thinks,  is  the  cow- 
waddie  talk  the  kids  pick  up.  They  call 
her  "Maw"  and  Bing  "Paw"  and  their  girl 
friends  "heifers"  for  months  afterward. 
As  she  said,  "I  just  get  them  whipped 
back  into  shape  where  they  don't  whittle 
the  table  and  tuck  the  cloth  in  their  necks 
when  off  we  go  again." 

The  big  excitement  in  Dixie  and  "Bing's 
life  right  now  is  the  new  home  they're 
building  in  Northern  California  overlook- 
ing Bing's  favorite  golf  course,  Pebble 
Beach  on  Carmel  Bay.  It's  a  modern 
house.  "What  period  furniture?"  I  asked 
Dixie.  "Furniture,  period,"  she  cracked 
back.  "I  don't  know.  All  I  know  is  that 
it's  being  built  for  service,  and  not  for 
style." 

They're  going  to  live  there  all  the  time 
and  sell  the  big  mansion  where  we  talked. 
Bing  dreams  of  coming  to  Hollywood  only 
to  make  pictures.  They'll  move  north  in 
September  as  soon  as  the  kids  are  safely 
set  in  school.    (Continued  on  page  89) 


MODERN  SCREEN 


5^ 


"The  end!  In  the  book  it  was  just  the  beginning!' 


We've  shown  you  so  many  shoes 
that  you  probably  think  we've 
gone  craiy.  And  we  have — we're 
absolutely  shoe-crazy!  And  can 
you  really  blame  us?  Aren't  the 
shoes  this  year  just  wonderful? 
Here  are  three  more  pairs  to 
make  you  go  feet  first  this  fall. 


RED  WRAP- ABOUND  anklet 
platform  sandal.  Alligator-grain 
calf.  Also  comes  in  black,  green, 
and  brown.  By  Mary  Jane.  $3.99. 


CRISS-CROSS  ankle  strap  on  a 
low  wedge  pump.  The  heel  ends 
in  a  high  V.  Black  or  brown 
suede.  By  Butterfly.  About  $6.95. 


TWO  STRAPS  and  a  buckle 
closing  on  the  vamp  make  this 
suede  flat  look  different,  Tam- 
borina  by  Daytimer.    About  $6. 


The  shouting's  about 
"News  Maker". . .  middy- line 
headliner  by  Doris  Dodson. 
White-ground  plaid 
wool-and-rayon  in 
combinations  of  blue  and 
rust;  green  and  maroon; 
red  and  black.  Junior 
sizes  9  to  15.  under 
eighteen  dollars. 


t 


For  where  to  buy  these  Modern  Screen 
fashions  turn  to  page  94. 


WHITE  FOR  THE  NAME  OF  YOUR   LOCAL  SHOP 


.  DORIS  DODSON,    DEPT.  M5S  ST.  LOUIS  1,  MISSOURI 


I 


i 


SATURDAY  NIGHT   .  .  .  Five  smart  girls  Below,  left.  Ginger's  mad  for  yellow— wears  pale  lemon 

climb  into  five  smart  girdles.  After  all,  it's  a  heavy  date.  girdle  with,  nylon  lace  lastique  sides,  nyralon  panels.  Also 

Each  knows  the  figure's  the  glamor ;  the  girdle's  the  figure.  blue,  nude,  black.  By  Flexees,  $7.95.  Flexaire  bra,  $2.50. 

Top,  left.  Jill  wears  twin  satin  hearts  on  pantie  girdle.  Below,  center.  Meg  wears  pantie  girdle.  Elasticized  rayon 

Knitted  elastic  with  nylon.  Bones  at  waist  prevent  rolling.  satin  panels  and  leno  (nylon,  rayon,  elastic)  sides.  Remov- 

White,  blue,  nude.  By  Flexnit.  $5.95.  Peter  Pan  bra,  $2.  able  contour  crotch.  Nude,  white,  blue.  By  Fortuna.  $5.95. 

Top,  right.  Leave  it  to  June  to  wear  the  latest.  She  sports  Below,  right.  Bette  puts  on  her  face  and  lets  Stardust  take 

a  black  girdle  with  bright  plaid  taffeta  panel.  Sides  are  care  of  her  figure.  Her  girdle  has  leno  sides,  satin  elastic 

marquisette  leno.  $6.95.  Plaid  bra,  $2.  Both  by  Perma  Lift.  panels.  Nude,  white.  $3.98.  Satin  bra,  $1.25.  By  Stardust. 

For  Where  to  Buy  see  page  94 

86 


ALL  YOU  WANT  in  a  NEW  FALL  dress 

...IS  NOW  YOURS  at  less  than 
you  ever  expected  to  pay. 


&>4H  MAIL 

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can  you  get  these 
Unusual  NEW  FALL  dresses 


ADORABLE  YCftf  in  stripes  —  Look  at  the 
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diagonally  —  new  and  smart  —  in  the  swinging, 
whirling  skirt,.  Snug  fitting  pointed  bodice,  ties 
in  the  back  for  flattering  fit.  Matching  striped 
collar;  ribbon  bow.  Washable,  colorfast  WUN- 
DALIN  Cotton.  Multicolor  stripes  feature  Navy 
or  Brown.  Misses'  sizes:  12,  14,  16,  18,  20.  Junior 
sizes:  9,  II,  13,  15,  17.  Only  3.98 


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YOUR  PL Ah> .jfAVCNRITt  —  A  two-piecer  for 
style,  but  made  in  one  piece  for  more  flattery — 
stays  together;  no  extra  bulk.  You'll  love  the  rich 
plaid,  /us/  righf  for  fall.  Crisp  white  pique 
Peter  Pan  collar,  patent  belt,  double  row  of 
buttons.  Full  skirt  with  inverted  pleats,  in  smart 
solid  color  BEAUTITEX.  Three  rows  of  ric-rac 
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Washable,  colorfast.  Navy  or  Brown  combina- 
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YOUR  CHECKED  DARLING  —  You'll  love  this 
crisp,  neat  looking  checked  cotton  darling.  Just 
feel  how  its  MAGIC  DIRNDL  waistline  with  12 
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full,  billowing  skirt,  outlined  with  felt  ric-rac  and 
colorful  flowers — all  washable.  Admire  the  Peter 
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FLORIDA  FASHIONS,  INC.,     Sanford.  45  Florida  (B) 

Please  sand  me  these  NEW  FALL  DRESSES  at  "Save  More  Money"  ' 
prices  plus  postage  and  C.O.D.  charges.  I  may  return  purchase 
within  ten  days  if  not  satisfied.  (You  save  C.O.D.  fee  by  enclosing 
purchase  price  plus  postage;  20c  for  the  first  dress  and  5c  for  each 
additional  dress.  Same  refund  privilege.) 


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Do  your  friends  a  favor — they'll  thank  you.  Include  their  order 
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ON  THE  RADIO  I  heard  a  haunting  song 
about  a  new  shampoo:  "Dream  Girl  .  .  . 
beautiful  Lustre-Creme  Girl."  Since  I  was 
no  "dream"  in  Jim's  eyes,  it  gave  me 
new  hope  for  my  dull-looking,  unruly  hair! 


HAPPY  MEI  A  noted  hairdresser  gave  me  a 
Lustre-Creme  shampoo  with  magic  results. 
"Use  it  at  home,  too,"  he  said.  "It's  not  a 
soap,  not  a  liquid,  but  a  dainty,  new  cream 
shampoo  with  lanolin.  It  glamorizes  hair!" 


Lonely  bachelor-girl  becomes 
alUSTRE-CREMElream  Girl 


JIM  TURNED  ROMANTIC  ...  the  night  we  dined  at  his  country 
club.  Someone  switched  on  a  radio  and  there  was  the  Dream  Girl 
song.  Jim,  for  the  first  time,  noticed  my  hair — now  so  lovely,  thanks 
to  my  home-shampooing  with  Lustre-Creme.  "Say,"  he  whispered, 
"that  song  fits  you.  How  about  being  my  Mrs.  Dream  Girl?" 


For 

Soft, 
Glamorous 
"Dream-Girl" 

Hair 


Whether  you  prefer  the  TUBE  or  the  JAR, 
you'll  prefer  LUSTRE-CREME  SHAMPOO 


YOU,  TOO  .  .  .  can  have  soft,  glamorous  "Dream 
Girl"  hair  with  magical  Lustre-Creme  Shampoo. 
Created  by  Kay  Daumit,  to  glamorize  hair  with 
new  3-way  loveliness: 

1.  Fragrantly  clean,  free  of  loose  dandruff 
2.  Glistening  with  sheen 
3.  Soft,  easy  to  manage 
Lustre-Creme  is  a  blend  of  secret  ingredients — 
plus  gentle  lanolin,  akin  to  the  oils  in  a  healthy 
scalp.  Lathers  richly  in  hard  or  soft  water.  No 
special  rinse  needed.  Try  Lustre-Creme  Shampoo ! 
Be  a  lovely  "Lustre-Creme"  Dream  Girl.  4-oz. 
jar  $1.00;  smaller  sizes  in  jars  or  tubes,  49^  and 
25i.  At  all  cosmetic  counters.  Try  it  today! 

Kay  Daumit,  Inc.  ISuccessor)  91  9  N.  Michigan  Ave.  .Chicago,  III. 


sweet 
and 

hot 

m  m  li  m   by  leonard  feather 

**  Highly  Recommended 
*  Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

BIG  CITY  —  Don't  Blame  Me:  **King  Cole 
( Capitol ) . 

This  one  came  out  after  we  made  up  last 
month's  list  of  recordings  of  the  song;  but 
Nat  recorded  it  two  or  three  years  ago, 
and  it  sounds  more  relaxed  and  sincere 
than  some  of  his  more  recent  things.  (But 
don't  get  us  wrong,  we  love  Nature  Boy!) 

DATE  WITH  JUDY — Judaline:  "Johnnie  John- 
ston (M-G-M);  Ray  McKinley  (Victor); 
George  Paxton  (M-G-M);  Pied  Pipers 
(Capitol). 

MELODY  TIME — Blue    Shadows    on    the  Trail: 
*Gene  Autry  (Columbia). 
At  last,  a  record  of  Blue  Shadows  by 
someone  who  sounds  as  if  he's  been  west 
of  Boston! 

TWO  GUYS  FROM  TEXAS— Every  Day  I  Love 
You  and  Hankerin':  *Dick  Haymes 
(Decca).  I  Don't  Care  If  It  Rains  All 
Night  and  At  The  Rodeo:  Guy  Lombardo 
(Decca). 

WHIPLASH — Just  For  Now:  "Helen  Forrest 
(M-G-M);  *Frank  Sinatra  (Columbia); 
Ink  Spots  (Decca). 

If  you  can  remember  when  Helen  Forrest 
sang  with  Harry  James — or  a  little  farther 
back,  with  Benny  Goodman — you'll  like  this 
romantic  side,  one  of  her  best,  with  lush 
Harold  Mooney  string  backgrounds.  Helen 
sounds  more  like  her  old  self  again. 

HOT  JAZZ 

DIZZY  GILLESPIE — Ool-Ya-Koo  (Victor). 

Dizzy's  most  complicated  lyric  since  Oopa- 
pada  and  Oop-Bop-Sh-Bam  .  .  .  they 
should  give  away  a  glossary  with  each 
copy.  Other  side,  Good  Bait,  has  more 
music,  less  comedy. 

TONI  HARPER— **Candy  Store  Blues  (Colum- 
bia). 

Toni,  nine  years  old,  sings  the  blues  as  if 
she'd  really  lived.  Don't  miss  this! 

STAN  HASSELGARD — """Swedish  Pastry  (Cap- 
itol). 

Can  you  imagine  Bing  hiring  Frankie  to 
sing  in  his  new  picture?  That's  how  it 
seemed  when  Benny  Goodman  recently 
hired  clarinetist  Hasselgard,  a  young,  6 
ft.  3  in.,  blond  Swede  who  came  over 
here  last  year  to  study  journalism.  Benny 
heard  him  at  a  jam  session  in  Hollywood, 
hired  him  on  the  spot.  On  this  disc  he's 
with  Red  Norvo  and  other  stars.  Look  out, 
Benny,  you're  building  your  biggest  rival 
since  Artie  Shaw! 

WOODY  HERMAN — *Keen  and  Peachy  (Colum- 
bia). 

ART  TATUM  —  **Smoke  Gets  in  Your  Eyes 
(Victor). 

CLAUDE  THORNHILL — "Anthropology  (Colum- 
bia). 


(Continued  from  page  84) 

I,  for  one,  certainly  hate  to  see  them 
leave  Hollywood. 

When  they  decided  to  make  the  move 
Bing  mused,  "But  won't  you  hate  to  leave 
all  your  friends  here,  Dix?" 

"What  friends?"  asked  Dixie.  "I've  got 
three."  One  is  a  girlhood  chum  she  knew 
back  in  Chicago,  another's  Alice  Ross, 
who  used  to  be  Sue  Carol's  secretary,  and 
the  third  is  Sue  herself.  But  Sue  and 
Alan  Ladd  live  so  far  away  on  their  Hid- 
den Valley  Ranch,  Dixie  seldom  sees  her 
any  more.  With  the  boys  away  at  school 
and  a  smaller  house  on  her  hands,  Dixie 
hopes  to  enjoy  the  club  life  she  loves  right 
at  Pebble  Beach,  and  Bing  can  ride  his 
ambition  to  be  California  State  amateur 
champ  some  day. 

"I'll  still  be  a  golf  widow,"  said  Dixie, 
"but  at  least  I  can  see  the  Old  Man  pass 
by  on  the  fairway  now  and  then!" 

rocking-chair  set  .  .  . 

Dixie  told  me  about  the  recent  trip  to 
New  York  she  took  with  Bing.  The  orig- 
inal idea  was  a  jaunt  for  laughs  and  a  gay 
holiday  around  the  big  town.  "Know 
where  Bing  checked  us  in?"  she  grinned. 
"The  Garden  City  Hotel,  way  out  on  a 
golf  course  on  Long  Island.  Three  old 
ladies  were  sitting  on  the  front  porch, 
knitting.  'You  ought  to  make  friends  with 
them,  they  look  like  fun,'  Bing  said.  The 
nerve  of  that  guy!" 

Dixie  lasted  ten  days,  instead  of  the 
month  she  planned.  The  golf  madness 
had  Bing.  She  saw  him  only  between  cad- 
dies. "I'll  see  you  in  California,"  she  said 
at  last,  hopping  a  plane  home. 

I  asked  her  if  she  played.  "Bing  bought 
me  the  loveliest  set  of  matched  clubs 
years  ago,"  she  said.  "They've  been  all 
over — from  Bermuda  to  Hawaii,  the  best- 
traveled  set  of  clubs  in  Hollywood,  may- 
be, and  they're  still  in  cellophane!"  Her 
size-up  of  golf  is:  "What  point  is  there 
in  hitting  a  ball  and  then  walking  ten 
miles  to  get  it?" 

At  home  Bing's  always  on  the  dot  for 
dinner  when  he  says  he'll  be,  and  he  eats 
anything,  hot  or  cold,  with  an  appetite 
built  for  a  horse,  having  no  picky  prefer- 
ences whatever  and  usually  keeping  in 
touch  with  his  double  dozen  interests  on 
the  phone  right  through  the  meal,  which 
drives  Dixie  nuts.  I  discovered  a  lot  of 
things  that  afternoon  from  Dixie  that  I 
didn't  know  about  Bing. 

For  instance,  Bing  really  spends  a  lot 
of  money  on  his  clothes;  they're  all  ex- 
pensive and  not  so  very  funny-looking. 
"Just  on  him,  they  look  that  way,"  Dixie 
thinks.  The  only  thing  she's  never  dared 
buy  for  him  are  pajamas.  Any  color  is 
okay.  Bing's  so  color-blind  he  won't 
know  the  difference  anyway.^ 

Another  thing  about  old  rather  Crosby. 
"He's  an  early  riser,"  said  Dixie,  "like 
President  Truman."  The  Crosbys  (except 
on  their  recent  step-out  nights)  fold  up 
always  at  ten,  eight  o'clock  at  the  ranch, 
and  Bing's  up  with  the  birds. 

"That  doesn't  sound  like  an  ex-musi- 
cian to  me,"  I  told  Dix. 

"That's  why  he's  an  'ex -musician,'  she 
said.    "He  always  hated  night  work." 

Dixie  also  surprised  me,  revealing  that 
Bing  likes  to  take  long  walks  alone,  just 
like  Garbo.  "He  doesn't  take  'em  with 
me,  though,"  she  added.  "I  agree  with 
Jimmy  Van  Heusen  (Bing's  songwriter 
pal)  that  'walking's  corny.'  " 

As  we  talked  I  admired  the  beautiful 
heavy  gold  ring  set  with  diamonds,  top 
and  bottom,  that  highlighted  Dixie  Cros- 
by's expressive  hands.  She  slipped  it  off. 
"Bing  got  it  for  me  in  Paris,  and  this 
bracelet  watch  to  match,"  indicating  an- 
other gold  bauble  on  her  wrist. 

"I'd  call  that  fairly  thoughtful,"  I  re- 
marked. 


"Bing's  not  forgetful,"  laughed  Dixie. 
"Not  any  more.  You  know  what  I  used 
to  do?  When  we  were  first  married,  Bing 
just  couldn't  remember  our  anniversary. 
I  fixed  that.  When  he  forgot,  I  went 
down  to  the  most  expensive  jewelry  shop 
I  could  find  and  bought  myself  an  anni- 
versary present  that  wasn't  cheap.  Bing 
learned  fast." 

We  went  into  the  vagaries  of  husbands 
further  then,  and  I  learned  more  secrets 
about  Dixie's.  "He  never  has  the  faintest 
idea  what  I'm  wearing,"  she  said.  "Take 
today.  He  sprang  the  news  we  were  off 
to  the  races  tomorrow.  Neither  Bing  nor 
I  took  in  Santa  Anita  this  year;  he's  cooling 
off  on  horse  racing  a  little.  This  is  our 
first  look  at  Hollywood  Park. 

"Anyway,  when  Bing  gave  me  that 
news,  I  said,  'Okay,  but  I'll  have  to  beat 
it  to  the  beauty  parlor.'  He  said,  'What 
for?' 

"  'You  big,  blue-eyed  dope,'  I  told  him, 
'for  my  hair,  of  course,  if  I'm  going  to  be 
seen  out  in  public!' 

"  'Nuts,'  he  came  back.  'Just  put  it  up 
in  a  beret  and  let's  go.'  Imagine — after 
eighteen  years  married  to  me  you'd  think 
he'd  know  better.  To  make  it  worse,  he 
said,  'Who  do  you  think's  going  to  look 
at  your  hair,  anyway?'  " 

"Can't^  you  get  Bing's  goat  now  and 
then?''  I  wanted  to  know. 

"Easy,"  said  Dixie,  "although  usually  I 
don't  plan  it  that  way.  You  know  at  the 
Emperor  Waltz  premiere,  I  was  crazy 
about  the  picture,  and  halfway  through 
I  told  Bing  so. 

"  'No  kidding?'  he  purred,  pleased. 

"  'It's  swell,'  I  told  him.  You  know  I 
can't  wait  to  see  if  those  pups  turn  out  to 
be  thoroughbreds.'  He  gave  me  a  low 
look.  'You  aren't  interested  in  how  the 
story  turns  out  or — maybe  what  happens 
to  me?' 

"  'Nope,'  I  said  without  thinking.  'I'm 
interested  in  the  dogs.' 

"'Well,  catch  you!'  said  Bing.  You 
know,  I  think  he  was  a  little  hurt.  Why, 
there"*s  the  lord  and  master  now — himself 
and  in  person!" 

surprise  for  the  master  .  .  . 

Anr1  so  it  was — Bing  peeking  around  the 
corner.  He  looked  startled  enough  to  see 
me,  but  Bing  always  looks  startled  a  little 
bit.  "Hi,  Hopper,"  he  said.  "What's  going 
on  here,  anyway?" 

"An  interview — and  with  pictures,"  said 
Dixie  slowly  to  let  it  soak  in. 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  stated  Bing  (and 
Dixie  winked  I  told  you) .  "What  did  you 
give  her — that  Wampas  Baby  Star  shot 
back  in  1929?" 

"Uh-uh,  my  new  look,"  said  Dixie. 
"Hedda — get  a  load  of  Bing's." 

I'd  already  had  a  flaming  eyeful  of  Cros- 
by's splendor.  Maroon  slacks,  a  table- 
cloth red-check  shirt,  beige  tweed  jacket, 
wide  straw  hat  with  a  flowered  band. 

"Sort  of  quiet,  don't  you  think?"  said 
Bing. 

"Is  anything  quiet  in  this  house?"  asked 
Dixie. 

Well,  maybe  by  now  you  get  the'  idea. 
That's  the  Crosbys.  Dixie  and  Bing  and 
"the  Knotheads"  too,  as  Bing  calls  the 
kids.  They're  my  favorite  Hollywood 
family,  and  long  may  they  wave!  I'd  like 
to  see  more  of  them,  myself,  and  I'm  cer- 
tainly not  alone  there.  So  would  several 
million  other  people.  Until  now  there's 
been  something  missing  in  the  Crosby  pic- 
ture, and  maybe  now  you  know  what — 
one  of  the  cutest,  cleverest  and  swellest 
of  Hollywood  wives.  With  her  boys  prac- 
tically ready  for  the  draft,  I'm  hoping 
Dixie  will  have  time  soon  to  meet  the 
people  even  more  and  let  the  people  meet 
her.  Take  it  from  me,  they're  in  for  a 
treat  if  they've  never  known  Mrs.  Bing 
Crosby. 


Clever  draping  makes  this  high  shade  lush  quality 
Rayon  Gabardine  a  stand-out.  It's  exquisitely  tailored 
and  fashioned  and  is  finely  saddle-stitched,  in  contrast- 
ing color,  to  give  it  that  made-to-order  look.  It  can't  be 
duplicated  anywhere  at  this  exceptionally  low  price 
and  you'll  be  amazed  at  how  expensive  it  really  looks. 
Colors:  Beige,  Aqua,  Winter  White,  Gray,  Black,  Kelly. 

S,ZES  $1/^98 

Junior  ..  .9-11- 13-15-17  H|K 
Reg.  .  10-12-14-16-18-20 
Large  38-40-42-44-46-48 


r 


■SEND  NO  MONEY  — SENT  ON  APPROVAL- 
BONNIE  GAYE,  Inc.  Dept.  421 
207  S.  Garfield  Ave.,  Monterey  Park,  Calif. 

Please  send  me  The  Beau-Drape.  I'll  pay 
postman  S  10.98  plus  C  O  D.  postage  with  the 
understanding  I  may  return  dress  in  10  days 
for  full  refund  if  not  satisfied. 


SIZE 

1ST  COLOR  CHOICE 

2ND  COLOR  CHOICE 

NAME  

ADDRESS. 
CITY. 


CITY  ZONE  STATE   g9 


modern  screen  fashions 


90 


BEDTIME  STORY  .  .  .  After  a  romantic  date, 
sentimental  nightie!  Meg,  on  bed,  wears  diaphonous  nylon 
Tricot  with  transparent  net  bodice,  net  straps.  By  Blue  Swan. 

June,  with  mirror,  wonders  how  he  liked  her.  She  dotes  on 
black  slips  under  date  dresses,  wears  well-cut  crepe  with 
fitted  lace  top.  Also  white,  tea  rose.  By  Miss  Swank.  $3.98. 

Jill  muffles  a  yawn  in  a  swoony  satin  nightie  with  shirred 
bodice.  Square  neck  is  edged  with  ribboned  eyelet,  plus  im- 
ported French  lace.  Pink  or  blue.  By  Shirley  Ray.  §7.95. 


FOR  WHERE  TO  BUY 
see  page  94 


Ginger  hangs  up  her  undies  wearing  a  lacy  yellow  slip  with 
dreamy  full  skirt.  Lace  net  bodice,  and  deep  lace  net 
flounce.  Ice  pink,  black,  white.  By  Milray-Florette.  $1.99. 

Ginger  likes  half-slips  under  suits,  so  she's  just  sudsed  her 
cute  new  one  for  tomorrow.  Rayon  crepe,  with  deep  ruffle  to 
flare  out  her  full  skirt.  White,  pink.  By  Miss  Swank.  $4.98. 

Bette  is  another  who  loves  the  swish  of  lace  under  full  skirts. 
Her  slip  has  a  ruffle  V  of  lace  in  back;  a  lace  bodice  and  a 
V-midriff  in  front.  Pink,  blue,  white.  By  DuBenay.  $5.98. 


MY  BROTHER  IS  A  FAKE 

(Continued  from  page  38) 


with  the  horses.  That  was  because  they 
all  got  away  by  jumping  over  a  passing 
freight  train.  But  you  only  had  to  look 
at  his  face  to  know  that  he  not  only  be- 
lieved the  tall  story  he  was  telling,  he 
was  living  it  all  over  again.  And,  be- 
sides, he  had  what  was  left  of  the  lasso 
to  prove  it — about  a  foot  and  a  half  of 
frayed  shoelace! 

I  think  that  Bob  is  especially  fortunate 
in  that  he  had  a  background  of  three 
kinds  of  American  life  before  he  was  in 
his  middle  teens.  He  was  born  and  spent 
his  early  childhood  in  the  middle-sized 
town  of  Bridgeport,  Connecticut.  His 
later  schooling  and  boyhood  came  in  the 
big  city — New  York.  And,  in  between, 
he  learned  what  farm  living  was  at  our 
grandmother's  place  in  Delaware. 

In  Bridgeport  he  learned  a  lot  of  things, 
including  the  fact  that  it  is  comparatively 
easy  for  a  boy  to  get  drowned,  killed  by 
a  car  or  lost  within  easy  walking  distance 
of  home. 

To  get  drowned,  all  you  have  to  do  is 
decide  to  go  fishing  off  the  pier  along 
about  March  when  the  water  is  still  icy 
cold.  You  take  your  little  eight-year-old 
brother,  Jack,  after  promising  your  moth- 
er you'll  make  sure  he  doesn't  fall  in.  Of 
course,  you  are  only  ten  yourself,  but 
ten  is  big  stuff.  Ten  can  sail  a  line  way 
out  into  the  river.  Ten  can  stand  right 
on  the  edge  of  the  pier — and  ten  can  slip! 

The  water  is  so  cold  that  your  body  is 
just  one  congealed  pucker  when  you 
come  to  the  surface  screaming.  It's  so 
cold  you  can't  even  think  of  being  fright- 
ened; you  can  only  think  of  getting  out. 
And  that  screaming  you  are  doing  is  auto- 
matic, just  to  keep  your  lungs  from  freez- 
ing. Somehow  other  boys  appear  on  the 
pier,  miraculously.  The  sleeves  of  two 
overcoats  are  knotted  together  and  this  is 
the  rescue  line  that  finally  helps  you 
clamber  to  safety.  And  when  you  get  home 
you  can't  understand  your  mother  being 
so  horrified.  You  kept  your  word,  didn't 
you?    Jack  didn't  fall  in,  did  he? 

that  look  .  .  . 

I  read  an  article  about  Bob  only  the 
other  day.  "He  has  a  sad,  sometimes  even 
a  drawn  look,  as  if  strange,  deep  thoughts 
are  always  with  him,"  it  said.  Well,  we 
all  know  about  that  woebegone  look  at 
home.  In  fact,  it  was  called  to  our  at- 
tention by  a  doctor  when  Bob  was  nine! 

He  was  hit  by  a  car,  one  day,  and 
knocked  unconscious  and  carried  into  the 
house.  He  came  to,  while  the  doctor  was 
examining  him.  He  wanted  to  get  up  but 
the  doctor  held  him  down  with  one  hand. 

"I  can't  let  this  boy  up,  Mrs.  Mitchum," 
he  said.  "I  can't  find  any  fractures  or 
contusions — but  that  face  of  his,  that  ex- 
pression! It  shows  clearly  that  something 
is  wrong." 

"Oh,  that?"  exclaimed  my  mother.  "Oh, 
bless  your  heart,  doctor,  all  my  children 
look  that  way!" 

That's  the  same  woebegone  look  that 
my  grandmother  got  when  she  sent  Bob 
down  to  the  cellar  one  day  to  get  some 
preserved  peaches  and  he  stumbled  onto 
the  wine  barrel  instead.  Or  when  he 
decided  that  smoking  corn  silk  was  sissy 
stuff  and  experimented  with  dried  slivers 
of  pea  pods.  Or  when  he  tried  to  defend 
his  little  brother  Jack  against  a  big  kid. 
He  got  knocked  down  and  got  up  again. 
He  got  knocked  down  again  and  got  back 
up.  Four  more  times  he  was  knocked 
down  before  he  was  completely  out. 

"Why,  oh  why,  didn't  you  stay  down 
when  you  saw  you  had  no  chance?"  we 


<r<D 

eepsake 

DIAMOND  RINGS 


Zke  "Proud Cook". . . 
it's  a  Keepsake! 


The  ring  to  symbolize  your  love  ...  the  ring  to  reflect  your 
heart's  devotion  is  a  genuine  registered  Keepsake  Diamond  Ring 
...  the  most  treasured  and  traditional  symbol  of  the 
engagement.  Only  one  diamond  in  hundreds  meets  the  exacting 
standards  of  excellence  in  color,  cut  and  clarity  which 
distinguish  every  Keepsake  Diamond  Ring.  Identify  Keepsake 
by  the  name  in  the  ring,  and  the  words  "guaranteed  registered 
perfect  gem"  on  the  tag  .  .  .  as  illustrated.  Let 
comparison  prove  that  a  Keepsake  gives  you  higher 
quality  and  greater  value  than  an  ordinary  ring 
of  the  same  price.  Better  jewelers  are 
authorized  Keepsake  Jewelers. 
Prices  from  $100  to  $5000. 


Anywhere  in  the  U.S.A.,  for 
Ihe  name  of  your  local 
Keepsake  Jeweler,  call  West- 
ern Union  by  number  and  ask 
(or  Operator  25. 


All  rings  illustrated  available  in  white  as  well  as  natural  gold. 
Rings  enlarged  to  show  details.  Prices  include  Federal  tox. 

Look  for  the  nome  "Keepsake"  in  the  ring,  and  require 
the  Keepsake  Certificate  of  Guarantee  and  Registration. 


A.  MALDEN  Ring  675.00 
Also  $575 
Wedding  Ring  150.00 
♦  Man's  Diamond  Ring  125.00 
Available  at  $75  to  250  to 
match  all  engagement  rings 

B  HEATHER  Ring  350.00 
Also  $100  to  2475  and  in 

platinum  $300  to  3450 
Wedding  Ring  12.50 


C.  AURORA  Ring 
Wedding  Ring 


125.00 
62.50 


KEEPSAKE  DIAMOND  RINGS,  A.  H.  Pond  Co.,  Inc. 
120  E   Washington,  Syracuse  2,  New  York 
send  the  useful  20-page  book,  "The  Etiquette  of  the  Engagement  and 
Wedding,"  with  illustrations  ond  prices  of  Keepsake  Rings  and  the  name  of 
the  nearest  Keepsake  Jeweler.  I  enclose  10c  to  cover  mailing. 


MSC  9  48 


91 


— 


StITDOOR  «V*S? 


fin* 

A1S 


|  Prs. 

Color 

Material 

Size 

Price  1 

KAYS  NEWPORT,  Dept.D.  Newport,  R.I. 
Please  send  me  "Tiptoe"  BALLERINAS  in: 


Name  

Address. 
City  


_State_ 


Check  □      Money  Order  □       C.O.D.  □ 


in  Black  Suede 

Sizes  3  to  10 


ALSO,  the  same  hand-fashioned,  hand- 
lasted  BALLERINA5  with  SOFT  LEATHER 
SOLES  in  red,  green,  black  or 
white  leather.  Sizes  3  to  10. 


Q50 


State  regular  shoe  size  for  correct  fit 
Write  for  new  fashion  catalogue 


WINNER., 
on  all 
counts! 


i 


pantie 


•  Wears  longer,  can't  run 

•  Warp  knit-fine  Tricot 
Jersey  weave 

•  Hip-sized  for  fit,  comfort 
and  wear 

•  Launders  deftly,  no 
shrinking,  no  ironing 

Two  styles . . .  Elastic  Leg 

Hollywood  Brief,  and 

Self-Band  Bottom  in  IIP? 

lovely  ice  pink,  buttercup, 

baby  blue,  tearose,  or  pure  white. 


MONTEREY  UNDERGARMENT  CO.,  INC. 
118  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.Y. 


MONEY  FOR  YOU  S2S  FB"iAMii" 

PROFIT-  SELLING- FIFTY  H  BOXES  FEATURE  OVni^X 

personal 

CHRISTMAS  CARDS 
amo  STATIONERY 


CHRISTMAS  CARDS:  Deluxe  em- 
bossed, name  printed  cards,  50 
for  $1  up.  Stationery,  Candlettes. 
35  top  money-makers.  NO  MONEY  NEEDED 
TO  START.  Gift  Offers,  extra  bonus.  Write 
today  for  sample  Feature  Box  on  approval. 

EMPIRE  CARD  "ttffltfEr 


WATCHES 

608  FIFTH  AVE. 
NEW  YORK  20,  N.  Y. 


asked  when  he  was  brought  home.  "Why 
get  up  again  and  again  until  you  are  cut 

to  pieces?" 

He  didn't  answer  at  that  moment.  He 
didn't  answer  until  we  were  occupied  with 
something  else  and  then  his  answer  was 
to  sneak  out  of  the  house,  hunt  up  that 
bully — and  get  knocked  out  again! 

This  kept  up  for  two  more  meetings 
with  that  tough  kid;  then  Bob  won!  Not 
the  fight.  But  his  dogged  persistence 
made  the  bully  nervous.  He  figured  this 
long-faced  boy  would  never  stop.  He 
called  a  truce  and  promised  to  lay  off 
little  Jack  from  then  on. 

If  you  caught  Bob  in  Out  of  the  Past, 
you  will  remember  those  scenes  with 
Rhonda  Fleming  in  which  he  is  very 
skeptical  about  her  good  faith;  the  sort 
of  squinty  glint  shooting  out  of  his  eyes 
when  he  is  listening  to  her  lie  to  him. 
The  moment  I  saw  this  I  recalled  the  time 
that  look  was  born.  Bob  was  hardly  out 
of  the  toddler  stage. 

There  was  a  then-desolate  region  in 
Bridgeport  known  as  "The  Eagle's  Nest" 
and  Bob  decided  that  a  place  with  a  name 
like  that  should  have  eagles.  He  looked 
all  day  for  them  and  by  night  searching 
parties  were  looking  for  him.  He  was 
tired  and  disgusted  when  they  found  him, 
and  always  after  that,  whenever  anyone 
mentioned  "The  Eagle's  Nest,"  a  squint 
of  distrust  would  show  up  on  his  face. 

Oh,  I  could  write  a  book.  Which  re- 
minds me  that  Bob  Mitchum  is  probably 
the  only  man  in  the  world  who  is  "twice 
bookish."  This  goes  back  to  when  the 
bar-bell  fad  hit  American  boydom.  All 
of  his  friends  successfully  solicited  their 
parents  for  money  with  which  to  buy 
those  muscle -builders — the  long  bars  on 
which  additional  weights  can  be  attached 
as  one's  strength  develops.  Naturally,  the 
kids  all  started  bragging  to  Bob  about 
how  powerful  they  were  getting;  the  in- 
timation being  that  Bob  would  be  a 
weakling  by  contrast.  It  was  a  frightening 
prospect  and  Bob  ran  to  his  mother. 

"Mom,  do  you  have  money  to  get  me 
a  set  of  bar-bells?"  he  asked. 

She  shook  her  head.   "Maybe  later." 

"How  much  later?" 

"A  few  months,  perhaps." 

Bob  sat  down  and  started  thinking.  His 
face,  naturally  long  and  sad,  got  longer 
and  sadder.  Then  his  eyes  widened  and, 
as  mother  tells  it,  she  knew  he  had  hit  on 
something.    She  was  right! 

a  book  a  day  .  .  . 

Bob's  bar-bell  consisted  of  two  big  suit- 
cases which  he  dragged  out  of  a  ward- 
robe, and  a  pole  which  he  inserted  through 
the  handles,  so  that  the  suitcases  hung 
from  both  ends.  The  weights?  Books. 
Know  anything  that  will  make  a  suitcase 
heavier?  He  started  by  half  filling  them 
and  worked  up  to  the  point  where  he 
could  hoist  them  stuffed  solid. 

Many  a  man  has  become  intelligent 
reading  good  literature  but  Bob  is  the 
only  one  I  know  who  also  got  physically 
stronger! 

Bob  doesn't  like  to  fly.  He  can't  give 
any  reason  for  it.  Yet,  it  may  be  funny, 
but  I  can  go  back  and  touch  three  or  four 
places  in  his  life  where  such  a  dislike 
might  have  been  born.  The  first  time  we 
lived  in  a  high  apartment  house  and  he 
got  dizzy  looking  down  to  the  street  from 
the  window.  Or  the  great  money-making 
scheme  when  he  and  Jack  got  a  job  in 
New  York  delivering  groceries.  That 
could  have  done  it. 

Their  boss  paid  them  very  little,  the 
understanding  being  they  would  make  it 
up  in  tips.  But  you  can't  get  a  tip  unless 
you  deliver  personally  and  in  too  many 
apartment  houses  the  superintendent  in- 
sisted that  they  send  their  packages  up 
(Continued  on  page  95) 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 

Dear  you: 

For  all  we  know,  you  may  be  reading 
this  sprawled  lazily  in  a  vacation  ham- 
mock— a  shady  tree  overhead  and  a 
long  cool  glass  of  lemonade  in  your 
hand.  Or  perhaps  you're  toasting  on  the 
beach.  But  as  far  as  we're  concerned 
—it's  fall. 

For  the  past  month  we've  been  look- 
ing at  fall  fashions — the  bright  wools, 
cute  corduroy's  gay  plaids,  tricky  new 
shoes — all  sorts  of  fashion  excitement 
which  will  be  ready  for  you  when  the 
football  season  opens  and  both  you  and 
the  weather  suddenly  turn  brisk. 

This  issue  we're  giving  you  an  advance 
peek  at  what  you'll  be  wearing  after 
Labor  Day.  We  kick  off  with  the  darling 
suit  dress  Jeanne  Cagney  wears  on 
page  77.  We  chose  it  because  we  think 
it's  a  honey  of  a  style  which  would  be 
becoming  to  practically  anyone — and 
also  because  it  was  picked  as  a  winner 
by  the  Minx  Modes  Board  of  Review. 

The  Minx  Modes  people  make  those 
darling  junior  clothes  which  come  from 
Saint  Louis  and  they're  smart  enough 
to  let  girls  Hke  you  help  do  the  design- 
ing. Their  idea  is  that  the  girls  who  wear 
the  clothes  should  be  the  ones  to  decide 
what  the  clothes  should  look  like.  So 
twice  a  year  they  invite  a  group  of 
career  and  college  girls  to  come  to  Saint 
Louis  and  look  over  the  fashions  they're 
considering  making — before  they  make 
them. 

The  gals  gather  from  all  over  the 
country,  and  form  the  Minx  Modes 
Board  of  Review.  They  sit  down  with 
pencil  and  paper,  and  watch  the  parade 
of  proposed  Minx  Modes  fashions  for 
the  coming  season.  Then  the  voting  be- 
gins. They  vote  anonymously  on  each 
model — whether  they  love  it,  like  it  just 
so-so,  or  turn  thumbs  down. 

After  the  votes  are  counted,  the 
dresses  which  get  a  rave  from  two-thirds 
of  the  judges  are  manufactured  and 
turn  up  in  your  favorite  store  just  when 
you  want  them.  The  rest  are  scrapped. 
You'll  hardly  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
the  olive  green  suit  Jeanne  Cagney 
'wears  was  one  of  the  numbers  that 
wowed  the  Board  of  Review — natch. 

We  think  it's  a  honey  for  this  in- 
between  season,  because  it's  cool 
enough  to  keep  you  comfortable  during 
some  of  those  hot  days  we  get  in  Sep- 
tember— and  yet  it's  autumn-y  enough 
to  look  like  next  season.  Besides,  it  does 
such  nice  things  for  your  figure. 

Connie  Bartel 


l&U&hf  4fG444Uf  CHSUt&i 

the  Lift  that  reuer  iets  vou  douiii 


Your  dainty  "Perma-lift"*  bra  is 
specially  constructed  to  add 
allure  to  your  youthful  figure. 
The  exclusive  cushion  insets  at 
the  base  of  the  bra  cups  gently 
and  healthfully  support  your 
bust  from  below,  never  lose  that 
support  through  countless  wash- 
ings and  wear.  See  the  lovely  new 
styles  and  fabrics  at  your  favor- 
ite corsetieres\  Buy  a  "Perma- 
lift"  bra — America's  Favorite  to- 
day— $1.50  to  $3.50. 

Enjoy  the  comfort  of  a  new  Perma— 
lift"  Girdle — No  Bones  about  it,  stays 
up  without  stays. 

•" Ptr'na'lift"  and  "Hickory"  are  trademarks  of 
A.  Stein  W  Company  (Met.  V.  S.  Pat.  Od-> 


REG  U.S.  POT.  OFF. 

BRASSIERES 

THE  LIFT  THAT  NEVER  LETS 

VOU  DOWN 

uoctti 

DRESS  a  2-piece  peasant  pet! 


The"NEW  LOOK" Length 

FASHIONABLE  THE 
YEAR  ROUND! 


The  most  flattering,  glamorous  TWO- 
PI  EC  E  peasant  costume  you've  ever 
seen!  Blouse  is  fine  WHITE  eyelet 
embroidered  batiste,  trimmed  with  rib- 
bon that  matches  the  skirt.  (You'll  love 
the  low  neck  and  puff  sleeves!)  Skirt  is 
rich  rayon,  ever  so  full,  with  wide  band  of 
ribbon-trimmed  eyelet  at  the  hem.  E  VE  RY 
woman  can  wear  this  Hollywood  style! 
Black,  Red,  Green,  Powder  Blue,  White 
Regular  Sizes  10  to  18  —  Junior  Sizes  9  to  17 

2  WAYS  TO  ORDER 

1.  Send  payment  with  order;  we  pay  postage 
—  you  save  postage  and  C.  O.  D.  fee. 

2.  We  mail  C.  O.  D.,  if  you  prefer. 

BETTY  CO-ED  of  Hollywood 

Dept.  287,  6402  Hollywood  Boulevard 
Hollywood  28,  California 


ORDER  BY  MAIL  NOW! 


87  ■ 


Betty  Co-Ed  of  Hollywood,  Dept.  287 
6402  Hollywood  Boulevard 
Hollywood  28,  California 
Please  send  "Beau-Bait"  Dress  at  $10.98 
I  enclose  payment  Q  Mail  C.  O.  D.  [~] 
Sizes:  10  12  14  16  18  (Circle  your  size) 

Junior  sizes:  9  1113  15  17 
Colors:  Black □  Red □  White □  BlueQ 
Q  Green  (Mark  1st  and  2nd  color  choice) 

Name  . 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY  THE  MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

Prices  on  merchandise  may  vary  throughout  country 


Address. 
City  


94 


 Zone  State. 

.ia  add  2  J/2J  Sales  Tax 


Gabardine  suit-dress  with  pointed  peplum, 
worn  by  Jeanne  Cagney  in  the  full  color 
photograph  (page  77)  about  $16.95. 

Baltimore,  Md.— O'Neill  &  Co.,  114  N. 

Charles  St.,  Joan  Junior,  Second  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Saks-Mth,  34th  St.  & 

Broadway,  Junior  Miss  Dept.,  Second 

Floor 

San  Antonio,  Texas — Frost  Brothers,  217 
E.  Houston  St.,  Junior  Deb  Dept.,  Sec- 
ond Floor. 

Bustle  suit-dress  with  striped  skirt  (page 
78) 

Kansas  City,  Mo. — John  Taylor  Dry  Goods 

Co.,  1036  Main  St. 
Los    Angeles,    Calif. — Judds-  Specialty 

Shop,  Westwood  Village — and  all  other 

Judds    Specialty    Shops  throughout 

California 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Bloomingdale's,  59th 
St.  &  Lexington  Ave.,  Misses'  Sports 
Dresses,  Third  Floor 

Rochester,  N.  Y. — B.  Forman  Co.,  46  S. 
Clinton  Ave. 

Cocoa  colored  suit  with  black  braid  frogs 
(page  79) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Stern's,  41  West  42nd 
St.,  Junior  Shop,  Third  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Loth- 
rop,  10th  &  G  Sts.,  Teen  Age  Apparel, 
Fourth  Floor,  North  Bldg. 

LOUIS  HEEL  pump  (page  80) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Mary  Lewis,  746  5th 
Ave.,  Shoe  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

SIDESWEPT  STRAP,  jutting  heel  cuff  pump 
(page  80) 

Dunkirk,  N.  Y.—Park  Shoe  Store 

HIGH  SCALLOPED  heel  cuff  pump  (page 
80) 

Tulsa,  Oklahoma — Vande  vers,  14  E.  5th 
St. 

SILVER  EDGED  straps,  platform  pump 
(page  80) 

Cleveland,  Ohio— The  Higbee  Co.,  Public 
Square,  Women's  Shoe  Dept.,  Third 
Floor 

LATTICE  BACK,  double  strapped  pump 
(page  82) 

Cincinnati,  Ohio — The  John  Shillito  Co., 
7th  and  Race  Sts. 

HAND  SEWN  MOCCASIN,  TOUCH  OF 
GOLD  suede-finish  ballerina  flat  (page  82) 
also  RED  WRAP-AROUND  anklet  platform 
pump  (page  85) 

Baltimore,  Md. — Mary  Jane  Shoe  Store, 

38  W.  Lexington  St. 
Chicago,   111. — Mary   Jane   Shoe  Store, 

9030  Commercial  Ave. 
Detroit,  Mich. — Mary  Jane  Shoe  Store, 

1051  Woodward  Ave. 
Philadelphia,  Pa. — Mary  Jane  Shoe  Store, 

1009  Market  St. 

SUEDE  GILLIE  with  wedge  heel  (page  82) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Franklin  Simon,  5th 
Ave.  &  38th  St.,  Shoe  Dept. 

RED  CALF  BOW,  wedge  heel  pump  (page 
82) 

Rochester,  N.  Y.—B.  Forman  Co.,  46  S. 
Clinton  Ave.,  Collegienne  Shoes,  Third 
Floor 


HIGH-RIDING  TONGUE  wedge  heel  pump  j 
(page  82) 

Order  by  mail  from:  Vicki  of  Boston, 
89  Beach  St.,  Boston,  Mass. 

RED  COLT  leather  ballerina  flat  (page  82)  ! 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Mary  Lewis,  746  5th 
Ave.,  Shoe  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

CRISS-CROSS   ankle   strap   wedge  pump 
(page  85)  i 

New  York,  N.  Y.—Mary  Lewis,  746  5th 
Ave.,  Shoe  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

TWO  STRAPS  flat  shoe  with  buckle  closing 
(page  85) 

Pittsburgh,  Pa. — Rosenbaum  Co.,  Perm 
Ave.  &  6th  St.,  Shoes,  Third  Floor 

Jill's  twin  hearts  pantie  girdle  and  bra 
(page  86) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Blackton  Fifth  Avenue 

June's  black  girdle  with  plaid  panel  and 
matching  bra  (page  86) 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Bloomingdale's,  59th 
St.  &  Lexington  Ave.,  Corset  Dept., 
Second  Floor 

Ginger's  pale  lemon  girdle  and  matching 
bra  (page  86) 

New  York,  N.  Y.—Saks-34th,  34th  St. 
&   Broadway,   Foundation   Garments,  ' 
Fifth  Floor 

Meg's  pantie  girdle  with  contour  crotch 
(page  86) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Blackton  Fifth  Avenue 

Bette's  leno  and  satin  elastic  girdle  and 
matching  bra  (page  86) 

New  York,  N.  Y.—Gimbels,  33rd  St.  & 
Avenue  of  the  Americas,  Downstairs  i 
Underwear  Dept. 

June's  black  slip  with  lace  top  (page  90) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Stern's,  41  West  42nd 
St.,  Lingerie  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

Jill's  nightie  with  shirred  bodice  (page  90) 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Bloomingdale's,  59th 
St.  &  Lexington  Ave.,  Underwear,  Sec-  ! 
ond  Floor 

-  i 

Ginger's  yellow  slip  with  full  skirt,  lace  j 
net  bodice  (page  90) 


At:     Darling    Shops  throughout 
country 


the 


Ginger's  half-slip  with  deep  hem  ruffle 
(page  90) 

Chicago,  111. — Madigan  Brothers,  4030 
Madison  St. 

Bette's  V-midriff  slip  with  ruffle  V  of  lace 
in  back  (page  90) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim,  Collins, 
33  W.  34th  St.,  Lingerie  Dept.,  First 
Floor 


How  to  Order  Modern  Screen  Fashions 

(1)  Buy  in  person  from  stores  listed. 

(2)  Order  by  mail  from  stores  listed. 

(3)  Write  Connie  Bartel,  Modern 
Screen,  Box  125,  Murray  Hill  Sta- 
tion, New  York  16,  N.  Y. — for  store 
in  your  vicinity. 


(Continued  from,  page  92) 
in  the  dumbwaiter  from  the  cellar  below. 

At  first  Bob  tried  painting  the  word 
TIP  in  large  letters  on  a  milk  bottle  which 
he  sent  up  with  every  delivery.  But  it 
would  just  come  back  empty.  So  his 
next  move  was  to  go  up  with  the  pack- 
ages himself — even  if  this  meant  climbing 
into  the  tiny  dumbwaiter  compartment, 
crouching  in  an  uncomfortable  ball,  and 
having  Jack  hoist  him.  This  worked  out 
a  little  better,  but,  unfortunately,  he  was 
often  too  heavy  for  little  Jack  to  handle, 
and  getting  off  the  ground  was  a  trick. 
One  day  Jack  had  him  up  about  even  with 
the  first  floor  when  he  couldn't  hold  on 
to  the  rope  any  longer.  Down  came  Bob, 
groceries  and  dumbwaiter  in  a  crash 
landing;  just  one  goulash  mess  1  at  the 
bottom  of  the  shaft.  That  ended  that 
enterprise! 

I  think  that  my  favorite  memory  of  Bob 
is  when  he  was  still  in  grammar  school 
and  decided  that  American  meals  needed 
pepping  up.  One  day  when  he  got 
home  from  school  to  learn  (via  a  note 
on  the  mantelpiece)  that  mother  and  I 
were  out  shopping,  he  realized  his  great 
chance  had  come.  He'd  make  supper  for 
the  family. 

We  saw  his  achievement  spread  out  on 
the  dining  room  table  as  soon  as  we  got 
in.  For  a  few  seconds  it  looked  great — 
that  is,  if  you  will  admit  tired  women 
will  eat  anything  if  they  don't  have  to 
cook  it  themselves.  There  seemed  to  be 
two  courses:  big  thick  sandwiches — and 
something  addled-looking  in  plates.  The 
sandwiches,  it  developed,  contained  ham 
sliced  a  quarter  inch  thick  on  an  even 
thicker  base  of  horseradish  sauce.  In  the 
plates  were  eggs  and  bananas  scrambled 
together! 
tasty  dish  .  .  . 

He  couldn't  understand  why  we  sat 
down  and  howled — until  he  took  a  bite 
of  one  of  his  ham  and  horseradish  spe- 
cials. Then  he  howled  and  ran  for  the 
water  cooler! 

It  was  in  the  writing  end  of  entertain- 
ment that  Bob  was  first  interested.  He 
was  barely  out  of  high  school  and  I  was 
in  the  first  throes  of  a  vaudeville  career 
when  he  took  to  making  up  little  songs 
and  "patter"  for  my  routine.  His  way  of 
writing  was  quite  unorthodox.  He  would 
get  a  small  stub  of  pencil,  stick  it  into  his 
pocket,  and  then  go  lie  on  the  beach  all 
day.  By  nightfall,  the  song  or  playlet, 
whichever  it  was  he  was  creating,  was  all 
formed  in  his  mind.  Taking  out  his  pen- 
cil stub  he  would  write  steadily  until  it 
was  finished. 

Well,  all  these  assorted  facts  are 
the  little  odds  and  ends  of  Bob  Mitchum 
that  nobody  seems  to  have  been  able  to 
stuff  into  the  stories  that  have  appeared 
about  him  so  far.  Somebody  once  did 
write  that  he  was  caught  stealing  as  a 
little  boy.  But  they  forgot  to  add  that 
he  was  stealing  a  rose  for  his  mother! 
Somebody  else  mentioned  that  he  was  a 
failure  in  his  first  business  attempt  in 
Long  Beach — parking  cars.  They  didn't 
dig  deeply  enough.  He  wasn't  a  failure. 
He  quit  because,  as  he  said,  "Aw,  parking 
cars  is  about  as  interesting  as  shuffling 
cards,  and  can  you  imagine  doing  that 
all  day  long?" 

Not  long  ago  I  went  to  see  a  preview 
of  Bob's  new  picture,  Blood  on  the  Moon. 
He  has  quite  a  fight  scene  in  it  and  while  it 
was  going  on  I  heard  someone  in  the  seat 
ahead  of  me  say,  "Look  at  those  padded 
shoulders  of  his!" 

I  couldn't  help  leaning  over  and  saying, 
"I  beg  your  pardon  but  Mr.  Mitchum  has 
a  28  inch  waist,  a  45  inch  chest  and  his 
shoulders  are  a  good  two  feet  across!" 

See  what  I  mean?  You've  got  to  have 
all  the  details  to  know  the  man. 


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COLORS:   Tea-rose  □   while  u 

and  2nd  color  choice)  . _.  .  cash  Q  .  .  . 

,  an,  enc.os.n,  c  eCka  Money 
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WANDERER 

Wedge  or 
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SPRITE 

in  Black  Suede 
Brown  Suede,  Black  Leather.  - 
In  Sizes  5  to  9,  Narrows; 
31/2  to  9,  Mediums. 

 o  &L>i$Jyjh£iL_ 

89  BEACH  STREET,  BOSTON,  MASS. 

Please  send  me  Smooth  Stuff  

Size  Color  ;  @  $3.98 

Wedge  Heel  □;  Regular  Heel  □ 

Name  

Add  ress  

City  State  


Skillfully  crafted 
of  finest  leathers 
in  Mahogany  Brown, 
Black,  and  Russet 
Red.  In  sizes 
5  to  10,  Narrows; 
3  to  10,  Mediums. 


Cheek  □  Money  Order  □  C.  O.  D.  □ 


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Regular  Heel 


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For  the  heavenly 
look  you  love . . . 
star-spangled  mock 
diamonds  blazing  on 
royal  blue,  Chinese  red 
or  Nile  green  or  black 
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authentic  heirloom 
jewel  reproductions 
for  which  Donna 
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Set 

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See  these,  and  a 
the  other  beautifu 
costume  pieces  in 
the  Starloom* 
series  at  your 
favorite  store,  or 
MAIL  COUPON 


Pat.  Pend. 


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Enclosed  find  check  Q  Money  order  Q 


1  tern 

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Plus  20%  Fed  Tax 


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Address  

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MR.  GRANT  BUILDS  A  DREAM 

(Continued  from  page  64) 


Drake,  the  actress,  she's  returning  from — " 

"From  a  triumph  as  the  star  of  Deep 
Are  The  Roots  on  the  London  stage!" 
Cary  finished  the  sentence  in  a  rush,  and 
added,  thoughtfully,  "Attractive  girl.  I 
saw  her  in  the  play;  I  thought  she  was 
wonderful." 

"Would  you  like  to  meet — ?"  But  Merle 
never  finished  the  question,  because  Cary 
jumped  in: 

"Do  you  know  her?" 

Merle  said  she  did,  and  a  few  minutes 
later,  Cary  Grant  and  Betsy  Drake  were 
face  to  face  with  the  open  door  of  an 
introduction  between  them. 

He  said,  "Care  to  dance?" 

She  nodded  her  soft  firm  chin,  and 
melted  into  his  arms.  The  two  of  them 
became  a  single  gliding  figure  on  the 
dance  floor,  as  music  consumed  the  world 
around  them.  .  .  . 

Six  months  later,  the  scene  is  Stage  12 
at  the  RKO  Studio  in  Hollywood.  Two 
dressing  rooms  stand  side  by  side.  The 
name  on  one  says,  "Betty  Drake";  the 
name  on  the  other  is  "Cary  Grant."  On 
the  Bulletin  Board,  the  name  of  the  pic- 
ture is,  Every  Girl  Should  Be  Married. 

The  male  star  of  the  picture  is  Cary 
Grant,  and  his  leading  lady — on  and  off 
the  screen — is  Betsy  Drake. 

This  is  how  it  happened.  .  .  . 

After  they  finished  their  dance  aboard 
the  Queen  Mary,  they  turned  and  wan- 
dered out  on  deck.  The  wind  touched  her 
hair,  as  they  moved  across  to  lean  against 
the  rail  and  watch  the  lights  from  port- 
holes make  a  phosphorescent  garden  bloom 
below  them  in  the  water. 

"Tell  me  about  yourself,"  Cary  said. 

"I  was  born  in  Paris,"  she  began.  .  .  . 

Betsy  Drake  was  the  first  of  three  chil- 
dren born  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Carlos  Drake, 
then  residents  of  Paris,  where  Mr.  Drake 
operated  an  American  travel  agency,  and 
dabbled  in  writing  on  the  side. 

Her  father's  writing  is  the  only  talent 
clue  to  be  found  in  the  Drake  family. 
His  book,  Mr.  Aladdin,  is  in  the  bookstalls 
now. 

"When  I  was  six  years  old,  the  family 


came  back  to  America — "  She  told  how 
her  mother  and  father  had  been  divorced, 
with  Betsy  stringing  along  with  her  father. 

Her  paternal  grandfather  had  founded 
the  Drake  Hotel  System  in  this  country, 
and  her  father  went  back  to  work  for  the 
chain.  This  meant  that  they  moved  often, 
lived  in  hotels,  and  Betsy's  education  was 
broken  up. 

At  last,  bored  with  school  and  burning 
with  ambition,  Betsy  quit  the  educational 
merry-go-round,  and  went  to  New  York 
to  go  on  the  stage. 

As  it  happens  to  so  many,  it  happened 
to  Betsy  Drake.  No  jobs. 

She  turned  to  the  next  best  thing  she 
knew,  and  landed  a  job  modeling.  Hers 
was  one  of  the  faces  you  have  seen  in 
your  magazines  and  catalogues.  "I  was 
a  Conover  girl,"  she  told  Cary. 

"But  I  didn't  like  it.  I  modeled  for 
fashions  in  Vogue  and  also  for  the  Sears, 
Roebuck  Catalogue.  I  was  the  face  on 
the  farmhouse  floor." 

Eventually,  Betsy  found  herself  an 
agent.  His  first  try  landed  her  a  place  as 
an  understudy  in  Only  the  Heart,  a  Broad- 
way play  that  turned  out  to  be  Only  A 
Flop.  She  never  once  went  on  the  stage, 
because  the  play  didn't  last  long  enough 
for  anyone  to  get  sick. 

Her  second  try  at  the  New  York  Stage 
was  again  as  an  understudy.  This  time 
to  Eva  LeGallienne,  who  was  starring  in 
the  Broadway  opus,  Therese,  with  Vic- 
tor Jory  and  Dame  May  Whitty.  That 
one  flopped,  too,  and  without  giving  Betsy 
a  break  before  the  footlights. 

Foot-loose  and  fancy-free  once  again, 
Betsy  fell  back  on  her  agent's  ingenuity, 
and  that  worthy  came  up  with  a  screen 
test  for  Hal  Wallis  in  Hollywood.  Wallis 
signed  her  for  a  year,  so  Betsy  moved 
bag  and  baggage  to  California's  glamor 
capital,  with  high  hopes  for  a  screen 
career. 

But  when  she  appeared  at  the  studio, 
trouble  began.  They  wanted  to  go  all  out 
for  glamor  on  a  remake  job,  changing  the 
natural  Betsy  Drake  into  the  usual  Holly- 
wood type,  trimming  her  eyebrows,  paint- 
ing bigger  lips  on  an  already  generous 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"He's  going  to  try  and  fix  it!" 


mouth,  putting  her  hair  on  top  of  her 
head  instead  of  letting  it  flow  in  a  soft 
frame  around  her  wide  eyes.  She  said  no. 
They  wanted  to  change  her  name,  and 
she  said  no  again.  "I  don't  want  you  to 
change  my  name,  even  if  it  does  sound  like 
the  name  of  a  cow."  She  sat  idle  for  one 
solid  year,  and  the  only  thing  she  did  was 
have  the  measles.  Then,  soured  on  Holly- 
wood, tired,  disgusted,  and  homesick  for 
the  sidewalks  of  New  York,  she  packed 
her  bags  again,  and  headed  east. 

Once  more  her  shoe-leather  took  a 
beating  as  she  made  the  rounds  to  all 
stage  producers  looking  for  a  part  in  a 
play.  Finally,  she  was  called  to  read  for 
the  starring  role  in  Deep  Are  the  Roots, 
and  was  signed  to  play  the  lead  for  the 
London  Company. 

She  was  a  smash  in  the  British  Isles. 
That  was  last  year,  and  the  play  ran  from 
February  to  September. 

On  the  deck  of  the  Queen  Mary,  lean- 
ing against  the  rail,  Betsy  told  all  this  to 
Cary  Grant. 

It  was  a  delightful  evening,  and  they 
became  fast  friends  aboard  the  Queen 
Mary  during  the  all-too-short  crossing. 
They  saw  each  other  a  few  times  in  New 
York,  then  Cary  headed  for  his  own  baili- 
wick in  Hollywood. 

Now  here  is  where  the  rumor  hens  of 
Hollywood  began  to  hatch  their  chicks. 
They  said  that  the  minute  Cary  arrived 
in  Hollywood,  he  began  heating  up  the 
long  distance  wires  to  Betsy  in  New  York. 
"He  calls  her  every  night,"  they  clucked. 

betsy  goes  west  .  .  . 

The  studio  says  that,  in  three  weeks, 
Betsy  came  to  Hollywood  of  her  own  will. 

In  any  case,  Betsy  came  to  Hollywood. 
And  after  she  arrived  and  installed  her- 
self in  a  modest  apartment,  she  called 
Cary. 

The  next  day  Cary  took  Betsy's  hand  in 
his  hot  widdle  fist  and  marched  her  over 
to  RKO  to  meet  that  studio's  big  produc- 
tion boss,  who  was  then  Dore  Schary. 

He  probably  said  something  like,  "This 
is  the  girl  I've  been  telling  you  about," 
and  proceeded  to  do  a  good  selling  job, 
because  Schary  promptly  ordered  a  screen 
test  made  then  and  there  in  his  office. 
And  the  capper  was  that  Schary  himself 
made  the  test  with  her. 

The  test  scene  was  with  Betsy  standing 
in  the  middle  of  Dore's  office  telling  him 
about  her  career.  She  is  scared  stiff  and 
keeps  backing  away  across  the  room  until 
she  backs  right  into  the  fireplace  and 
singes  her  derriere. 

The  test  was  so  convincing  that  Schary, 
when  he  saw  it,  said,  "Fine;  she's  great, 
sign  her  up  to  a  contract." 

That's  where  Mr.  Grant  threw  in  another 
two  cents'  worth.  "You  can  sign  half  of 
her,  Dore,  the  other  half  goes  to  Selznick." 

Dore  settled  for  half,  and  once  again 
Cary  took  Betsy's  hand  in  his  hot  widdle 
fist  and  led  her  over  to  meet  David  O. 
Selznick. 

The  Selznick  test  was  equally  success- 
ful and  found  Betsy's  "name  like  a  cow" 
on  a  second  dotted  line. 

Now  here's  where  the  gossipers  took  a 
hand  again.  They  claimed  romance  be- 
tween Cary  and  Betsy — and  they  also 
spread  it  around  that  Cary  had  a  financial 
interest  in  Betsy's  contract,  which  Cary 
tells  me  "just  ain't  so!" 

Grant's  only  proviso  in  the  deal  was 
that  he  could  borrow  Betsy  for  any  inde- 
pendent production  he  might  want  to 
make,  which  is  a  clause  in  her  two  con- 
tracts, and  everybody  is  happy  as  sin 
about  the  whole  thing. 

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cast  Betsy  Drake  as  the  feminine  lead, 
and  Hartman  suited  the  action  to  the 
thought. 

Hence,  on  Stage  12  at  RKO,  you  will 
find  two  dressing  rooms,  side  by  side, 
with  the  names  Cary  Grant  and  Betsy 
Drake  on  the  two  doors. 

That's  the  way  I  found  them  when  I 
went  over  to  get  the  straight  dope  on 
this  story. 

I  looked  for  Cary  around  the  set  and 
they  told  me  he  was  in  the  dressing  room. 

"You'll  find  a  changed  man — this  is  a 
new  Grant,"  they  said.  "He's  the  new 
personality  boy  of  Stage  12."  This  was 
a  little  strange.  Cary's  usual  deportment 
around  a  picture  set  is  quiet,  business- 
like, a  bit  preoccupied  until  he  gets  into 
rehearsal,  or  a  take,  then  he's  a  ball  of 
fire.  When  the  shot  is  over,  he  goes  over 
and  sits  down  quietly  and  waits  for  his 
next  turn  before  the  cameras. 

But  before  long,  I  could  see  what  they 
meant.  He  was  all  over  the  set,  laugh- 
ing, joking,  being  entertaining. 

Then,  after  I  had  succeeded  in  slowing 
him  down  to  a  walk  and  was  talking  to 
Betsy  alone,  he  came  back  from  a  quick 
scene  and  poked  his  head  in  the  door 
with  a  grin  saying,  "Don't  tell  Erskine 
anything  he  shouldn't  know." 

Betsy  Drake  is  definitely  Cary's  type. 
She  is  quiet,  unassuming,  honest  and 
straightforward.  Her  conversation  runs  to 
intellectual  subject  matter.  Yet  she  is  an 
"off-beat"  character,  a  pixie  with  a  won- 
derful sense  of  humor.  She  is  not,  and 
never  will  be,  a  production  line  beauty, 
molded  to  the  Hollywood  type. 

Neither  of  them  will  discuss  marriage, 
or  romance,  but  they  go  to  the  Farmers 
Market  and  shop  through  it  hand  in  hand 
looking  for  cottage  cheese  salads. 

In  the  picture  Every  Girl  Should  Marry, 
Betsy  plays  the  part  of  a  small  town  girl 


who  shocks  all  her  friends  with  an  en- 
tirely new  philosophy  of  "how  to  get  a 
man." 

She  is  a  salesgirl  in  the  baby  section 
of  a  department  store,  and  one  day  a 
baby  doctor  (Cary  Grant)  enters  to  buy 
a  pair  of  booties  for  a  baby  he  has  de- 
livered. 

The  girl  looks  him  over,  sells  him  the 
booties  and  then  says  to  herself,  "There's 
the  man  I'm  going  to  marry."  Putting 
her  plan  to  work,  she  courts  him,  sends  him 
gifts,  calls  him  up,  and,  in  the  end,  gets 
him. 

Hollywood  says  the  picture  is  pro- 
phetic, that  Betsy  Drake  will  get  Cary 
Grant  off  the  screen  as  well  as  in  the 
picture.  I  didn't  see  any  signs  of  a  strug- 
gle either  way. 

When  I  asked  him  about  the  reason  for 
helping  an  unknown  girl  to  stardom  in 
Hollywood,  he  said  something  straight 
from  the  shoulder. 

"Erskine,  you  know,  as  well  as  I  do, 
that  anybody  needs  a  helping  hand  in 
Hollywood.  Nobody  makes  it  alone.  So  I 
help  this  girl  get  started.  I'm  a  business 
man;  it's  a  good  investment.  RKO  and 
Selznick  can  make  her  a  star,  and  will. 
Then  I  can  borrow  her  for  my  own  inde- 
pendent pictures.  What's  wrong  with 
that?" 

I  couldn't  argue  with  that  reasoning. 
How  can  she  miss  being  a  star  with  two 
big  studios  behind  her,  and  starring  in 
her  first  picture  opposite  Grant? 

As  I  started  to  leave  them,  I  men- 
tioned the  picture  again.  "You  know,"  I 
said,  "with  the  title  of  this  picture  and 
the  rumors  about  your  own  romance  all 
over  town,  the  studio  will  probably  wind 
up  by  having  you  two  married  right  after 
the  picture  is  released." 

Cary  glanced  up  quickly,  grinned,  and 
said,  "Not  a  bad  idea!" 


HOLLYWOOD'S  STRANGEST  ROMANCE 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


Take  a  trip  around  the  town  to  the 
places  Guy  and  Gail  go;  talk  to  the  people 
who  greet  them  there.  Take  Kings,  where 
the  kids  like  to  go  for  sea  food  and  where 
they  have  an  upstairs  table  in  a  dark 
corner  every  time  they  come.  They  have 
been  going  there  for  two  and  a  half  years 
and  their  favorite  waiter  is  Marty.  He 
has  seen  them  happy  and  he  has  seen 
them  sad.  He  has  brought  them  every- 
thing from  Oysters  Rockefeller  to  hot 
dogs.    What  does  Marty  think? 

"Married,"  he  says.  "That's  what  I 
think.  In  the  time  I've  known  them,  he 
has  always  been  sweet  to  her.  He  is  still 
sweet.  But  now  he  doesn't  jump,  know 
what  I  mean?" 

Is  that  his  only  reason? 

"No,  other  things  too,"  he  goes  on. 
"Used  to  be  they'd  both  order  the  same 
thing.  Now  they  order  what  each  likes. 
And  then,  like  a  lot  of  married  couples, 
they  share  each  other's  dishes,  know  what 
I  mean?  Besides,  they  mix  a  lot  of  busi- 
ness in  with  the  meal  now.  They  go  over 
their  picture  lines,  criticize  each  other  on 
how  they  do  them,  all  that  stuff." 

Over  at  the  Sportsman's  Lodge,  which 
is  in  the  valley,  Richard,  the  maitre  d', 
doesn't  agree  with  the  above.  He  points 
to  the  table  where  Guy  and  Gail  like  to 
sit.  It's  in  a  sort  of  niche  and  overlooks 
not  only  the  rest  of  the  dining  room,  but 
a  romantic  waterfall  and  miniature  lake 
outside. 

"No,  they're  not  married,"  he  claims. 
"They  come  for  dinner  and  they  stay' till 
they  close  the  place.  Is  that  marriage? 
If  she  has  no  appetite  he  gets  worried 


and  keeps  ordering  different  dishes  until 
she  eats.  Is  that  marriage?  They  talk 
to  each  other  all  night  without  words.  Is 
that  marriage?" 

A  couple  of  weeks  ago,  when  the 
Tallyho  Club  threw  a  press  party  for  the 
opening  of  a  new  duo  piano  team,  Guy 
and  Gail  showed  up  early  and  stayed  late. 
After  they  left,  there  was  a  sharp  division 
of  opinion.  Nick,  the  maitre  d',  led  the 
not-married  faction.  "They're  too  de- 
voted," said  Nick,  admitting  to  being  a 
happily  married  man  himself. 

But  Ted  Kaye,  one  of  the  pianists,  held 
they  were  newlyweds.  He  reported  that 
Gail  and  Guy  requested  he  play  "Falling 
In  Love  With  Love,"  and  that,  he  claimed, 
is  a  favorite  with  newlyweds. 

And  so  it  goes,  from  Charlie  Foy  who 
says,  "No,  they're  not  married.  They 
have  too  much  fun,"  to  Peg  O'Cleary  who 
runs  "Talk  O'  The  Town"  and  says,  "Of 
course  they're  married.  He's  always  wor- 
ried someone  is  going  to  spill  a  drink  on 
her  dress." 

Not  long  ago,  Guy  and  Gail  spent  an 
afternoon  at  Jimmie  Fidler's  pool.  After 
they  left,  Jimmie  was  heard  to  comment, 
"I  have  never  been  convinced  that  those 
two  are  not  already  married." 

Pressed  for  reasons,  Jimmie  couldn't 
give  any  definite  ones.  It  was  just  the 
way  they  acted  all  afternoon,  he  said. 
Then  he  rubbed  his  chin  reflectively  and 
let  it  go  at  that. 

You  would  suppose  that  since  both  Gail 
and  Guy  are  seen  with  other  partners 
when  a  quarrel  is  reported  between  them, 
they  must  surely  not  be  married.  For 


instance,  Guy's  been  "noted  at  Kings  with 
Judy  Clark  (but  not  at  the  same  table!) 
and  Gail's  had  dates  with  many  of  the 
eligibles  who'd  like  to  rate  steady  with 
her.  But  the  next  thing  you  know  the 
two  will  be  seen  together  again. 

Yet,  they  are  due  to  be  separated.  By 
the  time  you  read  this,  they  will  be. 

Guy  should  be  in  the  East  working  in 
summer  stock,  with  appearances  sched- 
uled on  the  straw  hat  circuit  around 
Philadelphia  and  on  Cape  Cod.  One  of 
the  plays  he  has  been  rehearsing  is  John 
Loves  Mary.  Since  no  eastern  trip  is 
planned  by  Gail — not  so  far,  at  any  rate 
— they  won't  be  together  again  until  Guy 
returns  to  make  When  A  Man's  A  Man 
with  Rory  Calhoun,  well  into  the  fall. 

One  thing  is  certain.  Guy  is  taking  his 
career  very  seriously.  He  told  a  friend 
the  other  day,  "You  can  always  get  mar- 
ried, but  my  work  has  to  be  done  right 
now. 

"My  getting  a  break  on  the  screen  was 
a  kind  of  freak,"  he  said.  "The  public 
liked  me  immediately,  although  I'm  no 
shakes  as  an  actor.  Therefore,  I'm  going 
to  have  to  work  hard  and  make  as  much 
money  as  I  can  before  I'm  out — which 
could  happen  tomorrow." 

Maybe  this  is  the  real  Guy;  the  small- 
town boy  with  a  streak  of  conservatism 
in  him  that  motivates  careful  considera- 
tion of  every  step  in  his  career. 

That  may  be  it.  But  in  the  meanwhile 
there  are  all  sorts  of  guesses.  One  of  the 
most  cynical  explanations  of  the  romance 
was  delivered  a  few  days  ago  by  a  studio- 
wise  veteran  who  was  hiding  from  the 
sun  in  a  cocktail  bar. 

"That  Guy  Madison-Gail  Russell  deal?" 
he  said.  "You  know  what  that's  all  about? 
It's  just  a  duplication  of  Who  is  going  to 
play  Scarlett  O'Hara! 

"Why  it  was  David  Selznick  who  kept 
the  country  in  a  tizzy  wondering  who 
was  going  to  play  Scarlett,"  he  pointed 
out.  "Now  he's  doing  the  same  thing  in 
a  personal  way,  with  one  of  his  most 
valuable  stars,  Guy  Madison.  Who  will 
be  Mrs.  Madison?  Much  talk.  Much 
publicity.    Same  deal." 

"Yes,  but  is  this  fair  to  Gail  Russell?" 
a  listener  wanted  to  know. 

There  was  a  snort.  "It's  all  to  her 
benefit,  too,  isn't  it?  Who  will  marry 
Gail?    Same  deal  again." 

"Well,  who?" 

But  the  wise  bird  didn't  answer.  His 
eye  had  been  caught  by  something  dancing 
around  on  the  bar — a  sort  of  tiny,  flick- 
ering circle.  He  wanted  to  know  what 
it  was,  and  someone  said  it  was  probably 
a  beam  of  sunshine  reflected  horizontally 
by  the  rear-view  mirror  of  a  parked  auto- 
mobile. The  cynic  shuddered,  and  slunk 
away  deeper  into  the  darkness.  And 
that's  where  most  of  Hollywood  finds  it- 
self about  Guy  and  Gail — in  the  dark. 


$5  FOR  YOUR  MEMORIES 

Lots  of  things  must  have  happened  to 

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a  suntan  or  growing  older.  We'd  love 
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stars.  Did  you  happen  to  meet  one,  and 
did  he  invite  you  to  dine  at  Ciro's? 
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the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 

THE  WINNERS:  Congratulations  to  the 
winners  of  our  Seventh  Semi-Annual  Modern 
Screen  Trophy  Cup  Contest.  They  are: 
League  One,  Club  Crosby,  Ruth  Ness'  top- 
notch  crew  for  Bing. 

Runners-up  in  League  One:  Second  place, 
Rita  and  Jo  Mottola's  Nelson  Eddy  Music 
Club  and,  third  place,  Margaret  and  Joy 
Nicholin's  Nelson  Eddy  International  Club. 

In  League  Two:  Gerry  Kee's  terrific  Alan 
Ladd  Legionnaires.  Runners-up  in  League 
Two:  Second  place,  Kit  Pritchett's  Dennis 
Morgan  Club.  Third  place.  Jack  Carson  Club. 
Loretta  Verbin,  prexy,  and  Peggy  Pearl's  Alan 
Ladd  Club. 

League  Three:  Margaret  Staley's  Cream 
City  Club  for  Perry  Como.  Runners-up:  Second 
place,  Lee  Dyer's  Rand  Brooks  Club.  Third 
place:  Pat  Maben's  Dan  Duryea  Club,  and 
Ann  Ling's  Frank  Sinatra  Club. 

New  Trophy  Cup  Contest:  Below,  you 
will  find  the  results  of  the  first  lap  in  our 
Eighth  Trophy  Cup  Series.  Now  is  the  time 
to  get  in  the  race,  build  your  club's  score. 

Individual  prizes:  In  addition  to  bringing 
glory  and  precious  points  to  your  club,  you'll 
be  helping  yourself  to  a  super-duper  per- 
sonal prize  if  you  win  our  writing,  editing, 
candid  snap,  or  original  art  work  competi- 
tions. Take  a  peek  at  the  lush  loot:  those 
wonderful  EBERHARD  FABER  Harmatone  Pen 
and  Pencil  sets,  in  a  variety  of  colors,  or 
smart  black;  LA  CROSS'S  pretty-pretty  Look 
Twice  Lipstick  and  Nail  Polish  Combos  in 
just  the  right  shades  for  your  summer  tan; 
TANGEE's  smart  Trip-Kit,  loaded  with  your 
favorite  cosmetics,  subscriptions  to  SCREEN 
ROMANCES,  FRONT  PAGE  DETECTIVE,  and 
those  dandy  little  DELL  Mysteries  and  more! 

Mail:  Please  address  mail  to:  MSFCA, 
Modern  Screen,  Post  Office  Box  125,  Murray 
Hill  Station,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 

8th  SEMI-ANNUAL  MSFCA  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 
This  Is  My  Best:  (100  points)  "My  Hometown," 
Dolores  Loomis,  Perry  Como  journal  (Staley). 
"Tidbits  and  Tea  Leaves,"  Sunny  Shaffer,  Carole 
Landis  journal.  "Let's  Talk  About  Fan  Club  Jour- 
nals," Mary  Grootenboer,  Carole  Landis  journal. 
"Inside  Antioch,"  Amber  Livingston,  Dan  Duryea 
journal  (Grant).  "Male  Call,"  Ray  Piker,  Graham 
Covert  journal.  "Stars  'n'  Stuff,"  Eleanor  Cicca- 
rone,  Marilyn  Maxwell  journal.  Best  Editors:  (250 
points)  League  1,  Jean  Meade,  Hoy  flogers  journal. 
League  2,  Lenore  Becker,  Lon  McCallister  journal. 
League  3  (tied),  Irene  Ashcroft,  Freddie  Stewart 
journal;  Bill  Vaughn,  Alan  Ladd  journal.  Best 
Journals:  (500  points)  League  1,  John  Garheld 
journal.  League  2,  Gene  Kelly  journal.  League  3 
(tied).  Favorite  Stars,  Jack  Smith  (R.  Farrington) 
Duryea  (Grant).  Best  Artist:  (150  points)  Flor- 
ence Sanders,  Gene  Kelly  journal.  Best  Covers: 
(250  points)  League  1,  none  qualified.  League  2. 
Larry  Douglas  journal.  League  3,  Lizabeth  Scott 
journal.    Best  Correspondents  (50  points)  League 

1,  Berenice  Olsen,  Gene  Autry  Club.  League  2, 
Marion  Hesse,  Ginger  Rogers  Club.  League  3,  Jo 
Miller,  Patrice  Munsel  Club.  Most  Worthwhile  Ac- 
tivities: (250  points)  League  1,  Nelson  Eddy  (Mot- 
tola  Club  (donated  $50  to  Cancer  Fund).  League 

2,  Ginger  Rogers  Club  (donated  food  parcels  to 
Dutch  families).  League  3  (tied),  Sinatra  (Mois- 
son)  Club  (collected  15  lbs.  of  clothing  for  overseas 
relief);  Vanessa  Brown  Club  (collected  clothing 
for  DP  students);  Perry  Como  (Travnicek)  Club 
(gave  $35  to  the  Hospitalized  Veterans'  Fund). 
Membership  Increases  (100  points)  League  1,  Bill 
Boyd  Club.  League  2,  Musical  Notes  Club.  League 

3,  Howard  Duff  (Ritt)  Club.  Candid  Camera  Win- 
ners: (100  points  for  first  prize,  50  points  for  oth- 
ers) First  prize,  Joel  Pacilio,  Sinatra  C.  Ellen  Di 
Simone,  Sinatra  C.  (Ling).  Janis  Sargent,  Peggy 
Cummins  C.  Shirley  Warren,  Richard  Jaeckel  C. 
Berenice  Olsen,  Gene  Autry  C.  Bertie  Keffer,  Sina- 
tra C.  (Barone). 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 
GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


THERE  WAS  A  GIRL . . . 

(Continued  from  page  72) 


They  got  me  out  in  time — but,  just 
about!  And  while  I  never  blamed  Guido, 
I  never  cared  much  from  then  on  for  boys 
who  were  too  polite. 

After  I  recovered  I  went  to  my  great- 
grandmother's  room  to  tell  her  what  hap- 
pened. It  was  necessary  that  I  tell  her 
because  nobody  else  seemed  able  to  com- 
municate with  her.  She  was  so  old  she 
could  not  understand  anyone  except  very 
young  children.  We  spoke  across  a  hun- 
dred years  of  time  almost — she  was.  102 
and  I  was  three  and  a  half! 

Everyone  said  they  could  not  figure  out 
what  she  was  talking  about,  but  she  made 
perfect  sense  to  me.  I  loved  her  house 
which  I  thought  most  funny,  with  peaks 
on  it  like  the  mountains  all  around,  and 
I  was  crazy  about  the  walls  in  her  room 
which  were  covered  with  dozens  of  pic- 
tures; scenes  of  peasant  girls  laughing, 
playing,  and  working.  I  would  go  to  the 
wall  and  pose  like  those  girls. 

In  Italy,  children  do  not  start  school  as 
a  rule  until  they  are  six.  But  when  I 
was  five  I  had  already  learned  to  read  at 
home,  so  I  entered  the  first  grade.  (I  con- 
tinued to  be  a  very  good  student  until 
I  was  eleven,  and  then  something  hap- 
pened. For  some  reason  I  suddenly  took 
on  a  taste  for  playing  and  going  to  the 
movies  and  giving  advice  to  other  girls!) 

I  was  about  eight  when  I  went  to  my 
first  costume  party  and  you  can  see  me 
in  what  I  wore — the  dress  of  a  Hungarian 
csardas  dancer.  Those  are  my  mother's 
pearls  around  my  neck  and  my  left  wrist. 
The  costume  was  made  by  a  dressmaker 
in  town  who  specialized  in  fancy  attire 
for  parties.  The  pose  is  by  me,  with  a 
good  deal  of  coaching  by  the  photographer. 

actresses  are  made  .  .  . 

The  fact  that  I  am  in  a  costume  picture 
at  the  age  of  eight  does  not  indicate  in 
any  way  that  I  already  was  thinking  of 
the  stage  and  screen  as  a  career.  A  love 
for  drama  was  not  something  that  was  in 
me  from  the  start.  No  one  in  our  family 
had  ever  been  an  actor  or  actress  (al- 
though my  mother  had  had  early  train- 
ing as  a  concert  pianist  and  my  father 
didn't  seem  to  mind  losing  money  invest- 
ing in  syndicates  to  bring  opera  companies 
to  our  town). 

Later  on  in  school  I  was  given  a  part 
in  a  "serial"  stage  play — with  still  no  idea 
of  the  stage  as  a  life  work.  There  is  a 
picture  of  the  play  you  may  notice;  I  am 
on  the  right  with  dark  polka-dot  dress 
and  white  apron,  standing  with  one  leg 
crossed  in  front  of  the  other.  We  used  to 
|  give  this  play  every  January  6th,  St.  Nich- 
olo  Day — which  is  the  same  as  Christmas 
here.  I  was  lucky  that  I  grew  very  fast 
while  the  play  was  rehearsing  and  was 
not  suitable  for  the  original  part  planned 
for  me.  In  that  case  I  would  have  had 
to  be  the  dog  whom  you  see  in  the  fore- 
ground, with  my  face  always  covered! 

Oh,  yes,  two  things  more  come  to  me 
as  I  look  at  this  picture.  I  see  I  am  wear- 
ing bangs,  and  I  hated  them!  And  I  see 
I  have  lost  all  my  blondness. 

During  these  school  days  it  might  be 
interesting  to  note  that  we  children  were 
all  learning  what  our  elders  called  (but 
'  only  in  private)  "fresh  history."  It  seems 
that  a  gentleman  by  the  name  of  Musso- 
lini was  in  charge  of  things  and  he  had 
\  all  the  old  history  books  rewritten.  In 
the  new  ones,  all  of  Italy's  long  story 
seemed  to  revolve  around  one  event — ■ 
Mussolini's  march  on  Rome!  Also,  as  a 
consequence  of  Mr.  Mussolini's  ideas,  we 
children  all  had  to  wear  uniforms  and  do 


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102 


a  great  deal  of  formation  marching.  I 
marched  and  marched  and  marched  in 
school,  and  I  had  a  sneaking  hunch  that 
one  fine  day  Mr.  Mussolini  was  planning 
some  more  fresh  history  and  would  order 
us  to  march  all  the  way  to  Rome  again. 
We  were  so  far  north,  as  I  saw  by  the 
map,  and  Rome  so  far  south,  that  I  won- 
dered whether  he  would  permit  us  to  go 
at  least  half  way  by  train. 

But  one  march  on  Rome  in  a  century 
was  enough  and  the  order  for  the  second 
one  never  came.  I  continued  in  school 
and  when  I  was  thirteen  I  was  attending 
high  school  in  Como  and  wondering  why 
the  boys  didn't  look  at  me  very  much. 
Not  that  I  cared  the  least  bit,  as  I  kept 
on  telling  my  friends.  It  just  annoyed  me 
that  I  would  have  to  help  pass  notes  in 
school,  from  boy  to  girl  and  from  girl  to 
boy — and  not  one  note  for  me!  That  cer- 
tainly gave  me  a  very  low  opinion  of  boys 
in  general  and  I  decided  that  maybe  my 
father  was  right.  I  would  study  Aristotle 
and  Plato  and  all  the  other  Greeks  and 
become  a  great  philosopher!  And  then 
when  any  boy  tried  to  give  me  a  note  I 
would  tear  it  up  in  a  thousand  pieces. 

That's  the  picture  of  me  about  the  time 
I  made  this  decision — the  one  where  I'm 
standing  next  to  my  mother,  and  she  is 
in  a  dark  jacket  and  scarf  around  her  neck 
to  match,  and  I'm  in  a  white  middy. 

As  it  turned  out,  I  didn't  take  up 
philosophy  too  seriously.  I  compromised 
between  that  and  youthful  romance  by 
becoming  a  tomboy  for  a  while.  This 
meant  being  late  for  school  often,  riding 
my  bicycle  like  mad  through  town,  row- 
ing a  boat  on  the  lake  and  generally 
spending  a  lot  of  time  alone. 

Along  about  this  period  I  found  a  great 
friend  and  made  an  enemy,  all  at  once. 
The  enemy  was  my  mathematics  teacher 
at  school.  Mathematics  was  something  I 
didn't  catch  very  easily;  it  took  a  lot  of 
explaining.  When  this  teacher,  an  old 
man  who  was  quick  to  lose  his  temper, 
didn't  bother  to  help  me  much  I  got  very 
bitter.  It  didn't  improve  matters  when 
he  heard  that  I  referred  to  him  as  "Pata- 
tina"  or  "Small  Potato"  because  he  had  a 
nose  that  looked  like  one. 

end  of  a  tomboy  .  . 

But  my  new  friend  made  up  for  him. 
Her  name  was  Itala  and  she  worked  as 
a  secretary.  Itala  was  a  young  lady  al- 
ready, almost  nineteen,  and  I  admired  her 
so  much  that  being  a  tomboy  gradually 
lost  its  charm  for  me.  I  decided  that 
growing  up  to  be  a  woman  was  perhaps 
not  so  bad. 

Shortly  after  this  a  strange  thing  hap- 
pened. My  mother  told  me  I  was  to  spend 
Christmas  vacation  with  relatives  in 
Rome,  leaving  her  and  my  father  behind 
in  Como.  I  could  not  understand  why  I 
should  leave  them  at  such  a  time  and 
she  did  not  explain.  The  real  reason  was 
that  my  father  had  had  a  bad  heart  attack 
and  the  doctors  were  gloomy  about  his 
chances  of  recovery.  Holding  my  father 
and  me  together  was  the  closest  of  bonds; 
I  adored  him,  and  my  mother  thought  me 
too  young  to  stay  home  and  watch  the 
suffering  of  his  last  days. 

Today,  my  mother  in  Italy  has  another 
heart  patient  on  her  hands,  her  own 
mother.  It  is  these  two  that  you  see 
together  reading  a  letter  which  I  sent 
them  after  reaching  the  United  States. 

I  was  about  fourteen  when  I  got  to 
Rome.  To  know  its  effects  on  me  you 
will  have  to  imagine  an  American  girl 
from  say,  Bloomington,  Illinois,  or  Helena, 
Montana,  or  Macon,  Georgia,  being  sud- 
denly shipped  overnight  to  live  in  New 
York.  It  was  bewildering  at  first;  so  many 
different  people,  so  much  activity  and 
color  to  the  daily  life,  so  many  new 
things  to  see  and  wonder  about!  And 


then,  quite  by  chance,  I  met  a  girl  who 
mentioned  very  casually  that  she  was  a 
student  at  the  Italian  Motion  Picture 
Academy.  I  was  intrigued;  I  saw  a  chance 
to  continue  my  schooling  without  having 
to  face  mathematics  again. 

I  entered  the  school,  but  shortly  after- 
ward came  word  that  my  father  had  died, 
and  I  forgot  all  about  the  movies.  I  took 
the  first  train  home  and  helped  my  mother 
prepare  for  the  funeral.  Until  the  hour 
we  buried  my  father  not  a  tear  passed  my 
eyes.  When  we  got  home  after  the  serv- 
ices I  went  to  bed  and  slept  for  two  days! 

At  my  mother's  suggestion,  I  returned 
to  Rome  and  continued  my  course  at  the 
motion  picture  academy.  Some  of  my 
girl  classmates  are  in  the  dormitory  scene 
shown  here  and  taken  from  one  of  my 
pictures. 

All  the  girls  who  attended  the  school 
wore  a  sort  of  uniform  when  on  the  out- 
side. It  was  grayish-blue  in  color  and 
what  you  would  call  here  a  smock.  It 
may  not  sound  too  smart  but,  neverthe- 
less, we  were  all  quite  proud  of  it.  We 
were  sure  we  would  all  be  famous  some 
day.  That  may  be  why  three  of  us  got 
excited  one  afternoon  when  we  were 
riding  a  bus  to  school  and  noticed  a  dis- 
tinguished-looking gentleman  eyeing  us. 

"I'm  sure  he  is  a  big  producer,"  whis- 
pered one  of  the  girls.  "We  have  im- 
pressed him  and  he  is  thinking  of  putting 
us  in  one  of  his  shows." 

The  other  girl  and  I  laughed  at  this  but 
we  hadn't  gone  a  few  blocks  further  be- 
fore this  man  approached  and  bowed  to 
each  of  us  in  turn. 

an  offer  from  the  "producer"  .  .  . 

"If  I  am  not  presuming,  young  ladies," 
he  began,  "may  I  state  that  I  admire  you 
all  very  much?" 

We  shivered  in  anticipation  as  we  nod- 
ded and  let  him  know  he  wasn't  presum- 
ing and  he  could  talk  on,  if  he  liked. 

"Fine!"  he  cried  out  heartily.  "Then 
without  further  preliminaries,  I  wish  to 
make  an  interesting  offer  to  you.  Are  you 
interested  in  an  offer?" 

We  nodded  again. 

"I  thought  about  it  the  minute  I  saw 
your  smocks,"  he  said.  "I  would  like  for 
all  of  you  to  become  barladies  at  my 
saloon." 

From  that  day  on  we  used  to  put  smocks 
over  our  smocks  when  in  the  street! 

At  the  end  of  my  first  year  in  the  acad- 
emy, when  it  seemed  reasonable  to  be- 
lieve that  there  was  a  career  ahead  of  me, 
I  was  suddenly  dismissed  by  the  school 
heads!  They  simply  told  me  that  I  pos- 
sessed little  talent  and  was  wasting  their 
time  and  mine.  And  that  was  that!  I 
packed  up  and  went  back  to  my  relatives 
— and  there  I  found  my  mother.  She  had 
come  to  Rome  for  a  week's  visit. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  I  was  ready  to 
return  to  Como  when  my  mother  sug- 
gested it  would  only  be  polite  if  I  called 
at  the  school  to  make  my  goodbyes.  And 
that  is  when  my  life  took  a  movie -plot 
twist.  Just  as  we  were  entering  the 
school,  a  director  and  producer  (who  were 
looking  for  a  feminine  lead  for  their  pic- 
ture) were  walking  out,  quite  dissatisfied 
with  the  candidates  they  had  seen.  They 
stopped  me  and  asked  if  I  was  a  stu- 
dent. I  said  I  was  an  ex-student.  They, 
in  turn,  corrected  me.  I  was  probably 
more  than  an  ex-student,  they  said.  I 
was  their  new  star.  They  only  wished  to 
see  some  tests  of  me  before  making  a  final 
decision. 

That's  the  way  it  happened.  In  ten 
years  in  Italy  I  made  32  pictures  and  here 
I  have  made  Miracle  of  the  Bells,  Paradine 
Case  and  now,  Weep  No  More.  Thus  the 
world  has  lost  a  good  barlady  or  philosophy 
teacher — the  latter  not  so  good  probably. 


there's  a 
reason  why 


this  is  America's 
favorite  bobby  pin 


All  over  the  country,  smart  heads  turn  to  Gayla  Mold-Bobs  to 
keep  hair  kSvely,  smootfi^in  place.  Hold-Bobs  slide  jfn  smoothly, 
stay\more  securely,  feel  bdtter,  hold  betterJJTiey're  strong 

yet  flexible.  The  small  heads  are  "invisible." 
And  the  rounded-for-safety  ends  won't  catch 
hair.  Remember,  only  Hold-Bobs  have 

these  exclusive  features. 

-m 1  " 


&OU}&X.W.  HOLD-BOB 


OLD-BOB 

BOBBY  PINS 

"Gayla"  means  the  best  in  bobby  pins*  hair  pins  curlers 


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103 


Soaping  dulls  hair. 
Halo  glorifies  it ! 


Yes,  "soaping"  your  hair 
with  even  finest  liquid  or  cream 
shampoos  hides  its  natural 
lustre  with  dulling  soap  film 

V^Halo  — not  a  soap,  not  a  cream 
—  contains  no  sticky  oils,  nothing  to  hide 
your  hair's  natural  lustre  with  dulling 
film.  Made  with  a  new  patented 
ingredient,  Halo  brings  out  glossy, 
sMmmering  highlights  the  very  first 
time  you  use  it!  Its  delightfully  fragrant 
lather  rinses  away  quickly,  completely 
in  any  kind  of  water— needs  no  lemon  or 
vinegar  rinse.  For  hair  that's  naturally 
colorful,  lustrously  soft,  easy  to 
manage — use  Halo  Shampoo! 
At  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


~y  Not  a  soap, 
not  a  cream  — 
cannot  leave 
dulling  film! 

Quickly, 
effectively  removes 
dandruff  from  both 
hair  and  scalp! 

Gives  fragrant, 
soft-water  lather 
even  in  hardest 
water! 

Leaves  hair 
lustrously  soft,  easy 
to  manage — with 
colorful  natural 
highlights! 


104 


Halo  reveals  the  hidden  beauty  of  your  hair! 


THE  CASE  OF  THE  GULLIBLE  BRIDE 

(  Continued  from  page  67) 


regardless  of  theories  to  the  contrary,  some 
of  them  do  like  to  think  for  themselves. 
They  just  don't  often  get  the  chance. 

Lana's  not  an  ill-tempered,  huffy  girl. 
At  the  opening  of  the  Midget  Car  Races 
(the  enterprise  Bob  Topping  brought  to 
England)  the  Mayor  of  Fulham  introduced 
her  as  "Laura  Taylor,"  which  might  have 
infuriated  a  real  prima  donna.  Lana 
laughed,  said  her  proper  name  nicely,  and 
proceeded  to  be  attentive  to  the  Mayor  all 
evening.  She  also  smiled,  waved,  and 
generally  acted  charming  in  an  attempt 
to  please  the  50,000  spectators  who'd  shown 
up. 

She  didn't  get  any  credit  for  these  ges- 
tures, and  maybe  she  didn't  deserve  any. 
Being  a  pleasant  human  being  doesn't  rate" 
medals.  But  she  didn't  deserve  the  riding 
she  got,  either.  She  didn't  deserve  to  have 
various  papers  report  that  the  only  thing 
she'd  said  in  approximately  two  weeks 
was,  "I  love  the  English  country.  3>he 
grass  and  trees  are  so  wonderfully  green." 
At  that,  she  might  have  said  worse. 

Some  of  the  misunderstandings  abroad 
were  obviously  due  to  differences  in  psy- 
chology on  the  two  sides  of  the  ocean. 
There's  less  hero-worship  of  celebrities 
there.  In  England,  furthermore,  a  news- 
paper is  a  strictly  utilitarian  machine — 
four  crammed  pages,  and  just  so  many 
paragraphs  and  so  much  time  to  devote  to 
the  doing  of  various  big  names.  For  this 
reason,  the  bitterness  of  English  newsmen 
who  feel  their  time  has  been  wasted  is 
extreme. 

In  any  case,  the  sarcasm  of  the  news- 
papers— and  this  goes  for  New  York,  as 
well  as  London — was  certainly  not  echoed 
by  the  average  citizen.  Outside  her  hotel 
in  the  Strand,  Lana's  fans  lined  the  street 
and  cheered.  It  was  almost  as  though  they 
knew  she'd  had  a  rough  time,  and  felt  she 
was  a  good  kid  who  meant  well.  It  was 
almost  as  though  they'd  said,  "We're  all 
human;  don't  let  it  get  you,  Lana." 


HOW  LONG  CAN  Y00 
STAY  GREAT? 

{Continued  from  page  63) 


casting,  hiring  and  firing,  even  re-writing 
the  script — all  the  while  she  was  working 
in  It  Had  to  Be  You  with  Cornel  Wilde.  No 
wonder  the  critics  observed  acidly  that 
Ginger  Rogers  "huffed  and  puffed"  through 
that  ill  fated  effort.  She  was  slaving  away 
Sundays  and  evenings  —  even  between 
takes. 

Ginger  tripped  starry-eyed  up  to  the 
altar  in  the  very  first  scenes  of  It  Had  to 
Be  You,  an  innocent,  girlish  bride  of 
eighteen.  She  shouldn't  have  done  it.  Gin- 
ger's not  the  only  star  who  clings  to  her 
youth,  though. 

Joan  Crawford  suffers  agonies  every  time 
anyone  whispers  that  she's  past  forty,  yet 
life  started  all  over  again  for  Crawford  at 
that  very  "fatal"  age  with  her  best  dra- 
matic job,  Mildred  Pierce,  with  her  only 
Oscar.  She's  a  better  actress — and  a  more 
valuable  one — today  than  she's  ever  been. 
Yet  her  vanished  girlhood  can  make  her 
life  miserable,  at  the  very  time  when  she 
should  be  revelling  in  the  sweets  of  a  dis- 
tinguished Hollywood  career  she's  earned 
the  hard  way. 

Greer  Garson's  balk  against  playing  a 
mother  of  grown  children  in  Mrs.  Miniver 
is  a  classic  example  of  the  folly  of  making 


a  fight  against  maturity.  In  spite  of 
herself,  Mrs.  Miniver  made  Greer  Holly- 
wood's "first  lady." 

Or  take  Greta  Garbo,  who,  last  year  was 
offered  the  leading  part  in  Emperor  Waltz, 
opposite  Bing  Crosby. 

"No,"  she  gloomed,  "I  look  too  old." 

"Wait,"  said  Paramount  execs.  "We'll 
give  you  any  cameraman  you  choose,  any 
director  you  name  to  make  a  test.  It  will 
be  shot  behind  closed  doors.  Not  a  soul 
will  ever  see  it  but  you.  If  you  don't  like 
what  you  see,  it  will  be  destroyed." 

She  shook  her  divine  head. 

"You  know  Bing  and  like  him,"  they 
argued  further.  "You  saw  Ingrid  Bergman 
play  with  him  and  make  a  hit  in  Bells  of 
St.  Mary's." 

"I  could  never  look  young  like  Ingrid 
Bergman,"  vetoed  Garbo. 

Garbo  is  the  greatest  star  in  the  history  of 
Hollywood.  She's  still  a  superfine  actress. 
But  she  can't  see  through  the  shadows  of 
the  years. 

On  the  other  hand,  take  a  quick  gander 
at  the  hardy  perennials  in  Hollywood's 
garden  of  stars,  the  ones  with-  the  solid 
sense  to  realize  that  everybody  has  birth- 
days and  that  the  number  is  strictly  a  case 
of  who  cares.  Eighteen  years  ago  Ginger 
Rogers  got  her  Hollywood  start  in  Young 
Man  of  Manhattan  starring  a  French  actress, 
Claudette  Colbert.  Claudette's  been  star- 
ring since.  Being  frank,  Claudette  announced 
the  other  day,  "I'll  be  forty-five  soon.  I'm 
going  to  quit  acting  and  direct."  That's  her 
choice  and  ten  to  one  she'll  be  terrific. 

let  the  years  roll  by  .  .  . 

Irene  Dunne  is  in  her  late  forties  and 
absolutely  unconcerned  about  it.  She  didn't 
feel  one  puny  pang  about  having  grown-up 
kids  in  Life  With  Father,  or  I  Remember 
Mama.  Myrna  Loy  started  out  playing  the 
perfect  siren,  back  in  the  silents.  She's 
been  the  perfect  sweetheart,  the  perfect 
wife,  the  perfect  mother  in  natural  succes- 
sion as  the  years  rolled  by. 

Barbara  Stanwyck  says,  "I'm  forty"  and 
refuses  to  touch  out  the  silver  in  her  hair. 
And  Marlene  Dietrich,  who  was  once  a 
ballyhooed  glamor  queen,  is  today  the  most 
down-to-earth  lady  in  Hollywood.  The 
misery  and  suffering  she  saw,  and  the 
great  satisfaction  she  collected  from  com- 
forting GIs  during  the  war,  made  her  a 
new  and  more  wonderful  woman. 

Marlene  has  no  calendar  complex  left. 
When  her  daughter,  Maria,  learned  she  was 
to  become  a  mother,  Dietrich  was  shouting 
the  news  to  the  rooftops.  "The  day  I  be- 
come a  grandmother  will  be  the  happiest 
day  of  my  life,"  she  said. 

There  are  reasons  why  the  difference  of 
a  few  seasons  brew  career  complexes  in 
the  outlooks  of  some  Hollywood  stars.  For 
one,  stars  in  the  spotlight  who  marry 
younger  men— even  if  only  slightly  younger 
— acquire  almost  immediately  a  very  thin 
skin  when  it  comes  to  acting  their  ages. 

Joan  Crawford,  Greer  Garson,  Norma 
Shearer — all  of  these  are  or  have  been 
teamed  up  for  better  or  worse  with  juniors. 
They're  among  the  edgiest  stars  about 
growing  old  on  celluloid.  Norma  even 
dropped  out  of  pictures,  although  she 
could  call  her  shots  at  M-G-M,  where  she's 
a  big  stockholder. 

Ginger  Rogers  is  eight  years  older  than 
her  husband,  Jack  Briggs — but  what  of  it? 
They've  been  happy  as  larks  all  the  time, 
and  Ginger  in  person  could  pass  for  a 
woman  of  thirty  any  day  in  the  week.  Her 
figure's  as  streamlined  as  it  ever  was,  there 
aren't  any  wrinkles  in  her  cute  face,  she's 
a  working  Christian  Scientist  by  religion 
and  looks  on  the  sunny  side  of  life. 

Privately,  she's  in  Heaven  when  she's  in 
threadbare  Levis  up  on  the  4-R  (Rogers' 
Rogue  River  Ranch)  and  it's  no  pose. 
Which  makes  it  seem  all  the  more  silly  that 
a  straight  shooting  girl  like  her  should  fall 


New  loveliness  for  the  skin  that  does  not  like  being  buried 
under  a  heavy  foundation!  Here  is  a  powder  base  that 
does  not  coat  your  face  with  greasy  paste! 


A  finer  base — softer,  more  flattering! 

No  "coated"  look!  No  oily  feel — it's  greaseless! 

Now — make  your  powder  cling  longer — your  make-up 
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•  Feather-light !  Greaseless !  Leaves  no  oily  shine  .  .  . 
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for  that  same  perpetual-youth  come-on. 

As  one  producer  puts  it,  "Ginger  looks  at  , 
a  script  and  says,  'Oh,  but  I  can't  play  this. 
The  girl's  twenty-two.  We'll  have  to  make  I 
her  twenty-four!' "  [ 

She's  claimed  in  public  many  a  time,  "I'm  I 
not  ashamed  of  being  over  thirty-five,"  and 
few  people  who  know  her  think  she  is — off 
the  screen,  that  is.  It's  just  that  habit  somej 
stars  contract,  of  looking  back  on  their 
good  old  days  and  trying  to  stay  the  same. 
Ginger  has  plenty  of  good  old  days  to  look' 
back  on.  The  Astaire -Rogers  years,  for  in- 
stance. 

There  never  has  been  a  team  with  such 
charm,  rhythm  (and  box  office)  as  Ginger' 
Rogers  and  Fred  Astaire. 

One  reason  Ginger  finally  split  up  with 
Fred  was  because  of  that  cocky  yen  of 
hers  to  lean  on  nobody.  She  experimented 
next  with  comedy,  and  the  experiment  i 
worked.  In  the  hands  of  a  couple  of  smart  j 
guys,  Garson  Kanin  and  George  Stevens, 
who  knew  what  she  had  and  what  to  doi; 
with  it,  Ginger  proved  herself  a  terrific^ 
comedienne.  Bachelor  Mother  couldn't 
have  been  cuter.  Vivacious  Lady  and  Stage , 
Door  were  swell.  Then  Ginger  sailed  into 
Kitty  Foyle  and  true  Hollywood  greatness. 

No  star  ever  merited  a  bigger  build-up 
than  Ginger  Rogers  did  as  "the  white  col- 
lar girl."  After  Kitty  Foyle,  she  was  the 
idol  of  millions  of  working  girls  every- 
where. She  couldn't  have  been  sitting 
prettier.  But  her  Oscar  honor  made  her 
determine  to  be  more  of  a  lady  on  the 
screen. 

Ginger  didn't  want  to  be  the  working 
girl  any  more;  she  wanted  to  be  the  boss. 
Pretty  soon  she  chose  Lady  in  the  Dark,  ai; 
tour  de  force  written  for  Gertrude  Law- 
rence on  Broadway.  It  made  money  be- 
cause all  pictures  made  money  then,  but, 
her  success  was  a  grand  illusion.  She  lost  a 
healthy  hunk  of  her  loyal  Rogers  rooters. 
She  gained  back  some  with  The  Major  and 
The  Minor  which  was  good  Rogers  fare, 
cute  and  funny.  Playing  a  12-year-old  brat 
briefly  wasn't  playing  a  character  for  keeps. 
Ginger's  scenes  in  pigtails  were  wonderful; 
fun  but  audiences  knew  she  was  only  kid- 
ding, of  course.  She  wasn't  actually  asking 
her  fans  to  believe  she  was  half  her  age, 
as  she  has  been  lately.  l 

Ginger's  slide  started  before  The  Mag- 1 
nificent  Doll.  It  started  in  Heartbreak,  a 
French  re -make  and  one  of  those  farces 
the  French  can  pull  off  perfectly  and  Hol- 
lywood falls  flat  on  its  face  with.  But 
Ginger  picked  it  for  herself.  Still  that  was 
nothing  to  the  career  boner  she  pulled  try- 
ing to  play  Dolly  Madison  in  the  White 

  1 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

At  one  of  my  danc- 
ing recitals,  when 
I  was  quite  young, 
I  was  surprised  to 
find  that  the  new 
accompanist  on  the 
piano  was  a  love- 
ly, raven-haired 
teen-ager.  She 
asked  me  to  call 
her  Moneta.  The 
audience  was  com- 
pletely captivated  by  her  poise  and 
refinement,  as  well  as  by  her  won- 
derful talent  as  a  pianist.  "Isn't  she 
beautiful?"  I  said  to  a  friend.  "She 
should  be  a  movie  star."  Moneta 
overheard  me  end  whispered,  "Thanks, 
Baby-Face,  I  Mnk  you  are  cute,  too." 
Neither  I  nor  the  audience  there  that 
night  was  very  much  surprised  when 
my  pianist  became  one  of  the  most 
well-known  stars — Linda  Darnell. 

Jo  Anne  Pennington 
Dallas,  Texas 


I  House,  in  the  film  The  Magnificent  Doll. 
i     Her  friends  warned  her  against  it,  but  the 

more  advice  she  got,  the  deafer  Ginger 

turned. 

Magnificent  Doll  was  terrible,  of  course. 
Ginger's  speeches  were  long  and  dull,  she 
miscast  herself  and  the  fans  wouldn't  ac- 
cept her.  But  she  still  says,  "I  don't  care." 

With  that  attitude,  the  future  doesn't 
look  good  for  Ginger.  It's  okay  for  any  star 
to  yearn  for  better  things,  but  she's  got  to 
have  perspective  enough  to  admit  her  mis- 
takes and  correct  them. 

Ginger  won't  run  back — not  yet.  She 
says  she  wants  another  Kitty  Foyle,  but 
Kitty  Foyle  wasn't  an  all-Rogers  produc- 
tion. She  was  only  the  star.  If  she'd  stick 
to  that  modest  status,  there  still  isn't  an 
actress  in  town  to  give  her  a  race  in  her 
particular,  popular  bracket.  There  isn't  an- 
other "Ginger  Rogers  type"  on  the  horizon; 
there  isn't  another  Ail-American  girl,  there 
isn't  as  charming  and  cute  a  comedienne 
when  she  has  the  right  story.  None  of 
those  middle-distance  disguises  like  lens 
screens  and  makeup  masks  are  needed  to 
put  Ginger  Rogers  in  shape.  All  she  has 
to  do  is  step  in  front  of  a  camera  in  the 
hands  of  a  producer  who'll  tell  her — in- 
stead of  her  telling  him. 

Will  she?  Who  knows?  Ginger  won't  say 
anything.  She's  still  giving  interviews 
through  written  questionnaires  and  getting 
a  bad  press.  She's  still  censoring  all  stills, 
ducking  candid  cameras.  But  if  she'd  for- 
get her  pride  and  holler  "Help,"  Ginger 
Rogers  could  be  greater  than  ever. 

new  lease  on  life  .  .  . 

Life  can  begin  at  forty,  or,  having  begun 
long  ago,  can  take  on  a  new  lease.  Look  at 
Loretta  Young,  with  thirty  years  of  picture 
making  behind  her,  winning  her  first  Oscar 
this  year.  And  the  good-looking,  graying 
guy  who  teamed  with  her  in  the  Academy 
spotlight  last  February,  Ronald  Colman — 
why,  as  a  spindly  unknown  brat,  Loretta 
played  in  his  starring  picture,  The  Rescue, 
back  in  the  silent  days. 

Age  for  age's  sake — is  it  so  awful,  really? 
Listen — there  was  a  wonderful  actress,  a 
few  years  ago,  who  thought  maybe  she  was 
through  after  a  long  and  distinguished  life 
of  acting.  When  she  couldn't  get  any  jobs, 
she  smiled  philosophically,  collected  her 
modest  life's  savings,  and  decided  to  open 
a  ham-and-egg  cafe  joint  in  Paris,  France, 
right  down  from  the  Ritz,  figuring  she'd 
have  her  old  Hollywood  pals  dropping  by 
to  patronize  her. 

But  before  her  boat  sailed,  a  wise  Holly- 
wood scenarist,  Frances  Marion,  wrote  a 
picture  role  especially  for  her  and  then  got 
this  from  the  studio,  "Sign  up  an  old 
woman  to  star — are  you  crazy?" 

"Let  me  try  her,  and  I'll  pay  for  the  test," 
said  Frances. 

Well,  not  too  many  seasons  after  that,  the 
same  studio  staged  an  Anniversary  Tes- 
timonial Banquet  for  this  same  old  lady 
which  was  the  greatest  single  tribute  any 
Hollywood  actress  ever  received.  All  news- 
reels  and  press  wires  covered  the  event  and 
i  it  was  broadcast  far  and  wide  with  the  late 
:  Will  Rogers  running  the  show.  Why  not? 
She  was  just  the  box-office  champ  of  Holly- 
wood, that's  all,  the  most  beloved  movie 
star  all  over  the  world.  She  was  just  Marie 
Dressier. 

Studios  can  slip  up,  too,  you  see,  and 
Hollywood  wise  men  make  gosh-awful 
wrong  guesses.  But  so  can  stars — like  Gin- 
ger Rogers. 

How  long  can  you  stay  great  in  Holly- 
wood? Well,  the  old  gag  still  goes  around 
that  "a  star  is  just  as  good  as  her  last 
picture."  I  think  a  better  one  is,  "she's  as 
good  as  her  next  picture."  I,  and  thousands 

:  of  good  friends  who  niiss  Ginger's  sparkle 
and  bounce  on  the  screen  say  this:  "We 
miss  you,  we  want  you — act  for  us,  but  act 

ryour  age!" 


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107 


SAYS  i 

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•  "It's  a  heavenly  gentle  action!  No  wonder 
SweetHeart  Care  is  my  pet  rave,"  says  Nancy. 
"It  leaves  my  skin  with  a  soft,  radiant  glow." 

So  help  your  skin  have  that  dream-come-true 
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love  the  creamy  softness  of  SweetHeart's  pure, 
mild,  fragrant  extra  lather  that  has  a  gentle 
floating  lift.  Pictures  taken  through  the  micro- 
scope prove  it. 

Countless  bubbles  bathe  the  outer  pore  open- 
ings .  .  .  lift  off— float  away— dirt  and  dry  skin 
flakes.  Exciting  natural  smoothness  and  true  ra- 
diance are  revealed.  And  the  lovely  SweetHeart 
fragrance  adds  to  your  thrilling  appeal. 


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the  new,  large  bath  size.  SweetHeart's  extra 
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vacation  days  are  over.  Win  and  hold  that 
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liness of  your  SweetHeart  complexion! 


THEY  WANT  TO  GET  MARRIED 

(Continued  from  page  75) 


In 

iil 
ill 
si 

2 


invitation  and  got  the  surprise  of  her  lif 
The  hero  proved  to  be  a  slender,  hanc' 
some  youth  of  twenty -two.  He  had  ur 
usual  poise  and  a  keen  sense  of  humd 
His  voice  was  gentle,  but  charged  wif 
quiet  authority.  Within  a  few  weeks  si. 
had  custody  of  all  of  his  medals;  and  jP 
had  a  batch  of  her  photographs,  loving^ 
inscribed. 

They  shunned  publicity;  stayed  clei 
of  night  clubs;  and,  chaperoned  by  Wanda ! 
parents,  took  outings  in  the  mountain 
where  they  hunted  and  fished  for  divei 
sion.  Legend  has  it  that  their  favorif 
hangout  in  town  was  an  ice-cream  park' 
That  Murphy  denies.  He  loathes  ice  crear 

Soon  the  pair  was  being  described  s 
"America's  most  romantic  sweethearts^ 
Wanda  was  likened  to  a  dewy  mornir? 
rose,  Audie  was  pictured  as  modesty  pei 
sonified.  jj 

Actually  Audie  is  about  as  shy  as 
hand-grenade  with  the  fuse  lit.  By  natui 
he  is  an  idealist;  but  experience  has  forced  f 
him  to  be  a  realist.  The  war  gave  himl! 
tough,  cynical  vision  which  is  in  constat; 
conflict  with  an  innately  warm  heart.  H 
mind  is  sensitive;  his  temper,  quick.  B  > 
jumps  to  conclusions  and  acts  on  impuls  '3 
Often  he  later  regrets  his  action. 

"I'm  afraid  to  put  my  dukes  down  le? 
I  get  hit  where  it  hurts,"  he  once  told  m/  :t 
And  that  is  a  vital  aspect  of  his  character  f< 

He  has  true  modesty;  but  is  capable  f 
more  indignation  than  Leo  Durocher  argvi 
ing  with  an  umpire.  Being  direct  an 
sincere  himself,  the  false  warmth  of  mo 
Hollywood  gatherings  irritates  and  err' 
barrasses  him.  He  avoids  them  whenew 
he  can.  So  in  some  quarters  he  is  thougF 
to  be  anti-social.  He  talks  little  becau?1 
he  has  little  to  say.  Since  a  lack  of  sut«  $ 
ject  matter  is  considered  no  valid  excu.^  f. 
for  keeping  quiet  in  filmland,  his  attituC1 
is  mistaken  for  shyness.  1 

His  face  is  marked  by  a  wistful  sadne;  | 
which  makes  older  women  want  to  moth< 
him  and  younger  ones  regard  him  as  "tiffjf 
kid  brother  I  would  like  to  have." 

Wanda  is  more  gregarious.  She  lik< 
people  in  general  and  believes  th; 
mingling  with  them  socially  is  important  I 
both  her  and  Audie's  careers.  On  th 
point,  they  often  violently  disagree.  Tfc'.fc1 
average  party  Murphy  attends  with  fi 
luctance  and  misgivings. 

"I  dislike  the  back-slapping  and  throat1  K 
cutting  that  usually  go  on  at  these  soci!l;  ?s 
affairs,"  Audie  explains.    "I  don't  drinP 
I  don't  particularly  care  about  dancinjf 


critic's  corner 


The  best  that  can  be  said  for  Song 
Of  My  Heart  is  that  it  has  actors  in  it; 
and  except  for  Sir  Cedric  Hardwicke 
as  a  Grand  Duke  and  Mikhail  Rasumny 
as  a  servant,  most  of  them  look  as 
though  they  might  protit  better  by  some 
other  line  of  work. 

Otis  Guernsey,  Jr.,  The  Herald  Tribune 

Along  with  Mr.  Cantor  and  Miss 
Davis,  If  You  Knew  Susie  has  Master 
Bobby  Driscoll,  aged  8.  He's  about  the 
best  argument  I  know  for  the  passage 
of  a  federal  child-labor  amendment. 

John  McCarten,  The  New  Yorker 


it! 
61 


31! 

a 

I 

si 


■*ff  hate  to  waste  an  evening  prattling  non- 
fense.  So  I'm  bored  stiff  at  these  events, 
jrhen  there's  always  the  chance  of  run- 
ning into  trouble." 

j  At  one  party,  Wanda  wanted  to  dance; 

i^udie  did  not  feel  like  it.   A  slight  tiff 

Ensued.  And  Lawrence  Tierney  gallantly 

interceded  in  Wanda's  behalf, 
uijj  "Get  away,"  said  Audie  in  a  deadly, 
ijuiet  voice.    "Get  away  from  us  in  a 
tj  [hurry."  Tierney  suddenly  decided  he  had 
ymsiness  elsewhere. 

Li  Except   for   her   fine   dramatic  talent, 
panda  is  a  normal,  wholesome  girl  with 
reckles  on  her  face  and  an  occasional  run 
fb  her  stockings.  She  dwells  in  a  modest 
Burbank   home   with   her   parents,  who 
Concentrate  on  remaining  normal  beings, 
jler  father  still  plies  his  trade  as  a  car- 
penter. Her  mother  is  active  in  community 
jflub  work.  Wanda  helps  with  the  domes- 
iljLjic  chores.  Most  of  the  money  she  makes 
Is  being  salted  away  for  the  future. 
I  Audie    lives    alone    in    a  ramshackle 
Ipartment  for  which  he  pays  $37  a  month, 
pituated  on  a  busy  street  corner,  it  is  as 
koisy  as  a  machine  shop.    For  decora- 
Sons,  the  place  has  Wanda's  picture,  a 
low  of  cowboy  boots,  several  lurid  paint- 
jljngs  inherited  from  a  former  roommate, 
^nd  a  German  sniper's  rifle  with  which 
_  ludie  was  severely  wounded, 
flj!  Though  he  does  much  of  his  own  cook- 
Hi,]pg,  Murphy  can  not  abide  housework  in 
sjieneral.    So    his    apartment    is  usually 
Itrewn   with   old   newspapers,  unopened 
es  hail,  clothes,  and  an  assortment  of  empty 
M  In  cans.  When  a  wave  of  energy  strikes 
eujiim,  he  sets  to  with  a  vengeance  and 
jabors  until  the  small  hours  of  the  morn- 
fig  to  get  his  quarters  ship-shape. 


i  the  gym  .  .  . 

For  a  long  while  he  had  no  room  at 
11.  He  slept  on  a  cot  in  Terry  Hunt's 
gymnasium.  Henry  Morgan,  the  radio 
|omedian,  told  me  of  the  matter.  He  was 
lighly  indignant  because  the  nation's  top 
ero  had  had  to  sleep  in  a  gym. 
I  investigated  the  case  and  found  that 
Ludie  enjoyed  his  quarters.  The  stacked 
Jots  reminded  him  of  army  barracks.  And 
te  liked  the  company  of  the  men  who 
lung  around  the  gym. 
"Besides,"  said  he,  "there's  a  principle 
eJ.[ivolved.  If  I  pay  $125  for  an  apartment, 
e  next  man  will  have  to  do  the  same, 
nd  maybe  he  can't  afford  it." 
At  that  time,  Audie  was  working  in 
j^feyond  Glory.  His  salary  was  over 
200  weekly.  But  he  was  helping  support 
pree  brothers  and  sisters  whom  he  had 
pmoved  from  an  orphanage  directly  after 
i  is  army  discharge.  Also,  he  was  buying 
ipem  a  house.  So  during  his  Hollywood 
journ  Audie  has  never  had  much  cash. 
He  spends  what  he  has  freely.  Too 
4|enerous  for  his  own  good,  he  likes  to 
tertain  his  friends  at  expensive  res- 
urants;  and  he's  a  soft  touch  for  any 
rasite  that  puts  the  bite  on  him.  When 
gives  presents,  they  are  usually  cost- 
He  is  mortally  afraid  that  they  will 
unworthy  of  the  person  for  whom  they 
te  intended.  Typically,  he  once  spent 
lie  bulk  of  his  last  twenty  dollars  buying 
n  orchid  for  Wanda. 

i  So  it  is  only  partially  true  that  a  lack 
|f  money  has  prevented  their  long-ex- 

[:cted  marriage.  They  could  have  pooled 
eir  finances  and  lived  comfortably 
lough.  But  this  Murphy  refuses  to  do. 
e  intends  wearing  the  pants  in  the 
imily.  And  if  he  has  a  wife,  he's  going 
p  support  her.  By  that,  he  does  not  mean 
kerely  supplying  the  bread  and  butter, 
fe  wants  to  give  her  everything  her  heart 
lesires.  Wanda  would  settle  for  far  less. 
|  When  they  first  met,  she  was  virtually 
n  unknown  young  actress  who  had  done 
everal  small  parts  in  pictures.  Audie  was 
■jnder   contract   to   James    Cagney.  No 


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109 


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great  rift  lay  between  their  careers.  Th< 
discussed  marriage.   Everyone  took  the 
engagement  for  granted;  but  they  nevs  f 
got  around  to  actually  tying  the  old  knti 

Then,  as  the  little  Mexican  girl  wl 
gave  Robert  Montgomery  a  bad  time  \ 
Ride  The  Pink  Horse,  Wanda  zoomed  in 
prominence  overnight.  Paramount  quid  fp 
ly  shoved  her  into  the  feminine  lead  t  ^ 
Now  and  Forever  and  followed  it  wil  I' 
another  starring  role  in  Tatlock's  Million  % 
She  was  on  her  way.  Every  studio 
town  wanted  to  borrow  her.  She  witsi 
finally  loaned  for  the  part  opposite  Tyrojfto 
Power  in  Prince  of  Foxes. 

Already,  critics  are  hailing  her  as  tji  6 
acting  find  of  the  year.    Her  career 
assured.  She  has  both  the  talent  and  til1' 
opportunity  to  attain  top  stardom  and 
hold  it.  But  can  she  hold  Audie?  I  thii 
not,  unless  he  reaches  a  professional  su,  £j 
cess  equal  to  hers.    There's  that  prii 
again.  -  '.^ 

For  the  past  year,  Audie  has  been  lr 
ing  largely  on  promises.  He  has  be»J 
mentioned  for  a  dozen  pictures  and  on 
appeared  in  two.  His  name  has  bej 
generously  bandied  about  for  publici 
purposes;  so  the  public  has  been  givcj 
the  impression  that  he's  worked  far  mo, 
than  he  has. 

He  has  the  ability.  John  Farrow,  wl 
directed  him  in  Beyond  Glory,  tells  r.c 
that  Audie  possesses  as  much  innate  ac 
ing  talent  as  any  beginner  with  wha 
he  has  ever  worked.  That  includes  Ah 
Ladd.  Audie  is  very  good  at  dialects;  ai 
in  mimicry  he  can  top  Wanda. 

At  first  Audie  was  not  overly  enthu§ 
astic  about  the  movies  as  a  career, 
hit  Hollywood  on  a  chance  invitation  froj  ^ 
James  Cagney,  and  when  offered  an  ac 
ing  contract,  he  took  it.   The  professic_ 
he  figured,  was  as  good  as  any  other. 

Not  until  he  met  Wanda  and  startt 
thinking  of  marriage  did  he  begin  pus} 
ing  himself.  Then  he  found  out  that  ; 
of  the  glad -handing  and  back-slapping  ] 
had  received  did  not  add  up  to  a  job.  I 
was  offered  several  bit  parts  which  wou, 
have  given  him  little  money  and  expeif  ) 
ence.  But  his  name  would  have  providi 
the  pictures  with  a  lot  of  publicity.  Aud 
turned  them  down.  He  resents  having  r. 
war  record  exploited  to  sell  films. 

He  turned  to  writing.  For  the  past  s 
months  he  has  been  industriously  settii 
down  his  service  experiences.  The  stoi 
has  good  commercial  possibilities  both 
a  book  and  as  a  picture.  It  may  be  tf 
solution  to  the  financial  problem  of  ma: 
riage.  ~1 

Meanwhile,    his    film    prospects  loc 
brighter.   He  is  due  to  play  the  lead 
Bad  Boy,  which  goes  into  production 
early  fall.    The  yarn,   dealing  with  tl 
reformation  of  a  juvenile  delinquent, 
right  down  his  alley.    And  the  pictu: 


ol 
; 
o 
a 


1 ;  ai 


il 
iri 


ay  easily  do  for  him  what  Ride  The  Pink 
nse  did  for  Wanda. 

But  that  would  settle  only  the  career 
mbles.  As  two  youngsters  in  this  con- 
sed  and  turbulent  modern  world,  they 
ast  iron  out  mental  and  emotional  dif- 
•ences  before  they  can  live  in  harmony, 
hen  Audie  was  discharged  from  the 
my,  he  was  classified  as  50%  disabled 
ysically.  An  old  wound  occasionally 
ins  him.  He  still  has  violent  headaches 
d  nosebleeds  as  hangovers  from  shell 
icussion.  A  nervous  stomach  often 
ases  him  to  bend  double  in  the  middle 
meals.  Nightmares  haunt  his  sleep, 
ooding  about  the  dead  comrades  and 
i  horrors  of  combat,  he  sometimes  falls 
;o  black  moods  during  which  he  does 
t  want  to  talk  to  anyone — even  his 
isest  friends. 

IVanda  tries  hard  to  understand  his  con- 
ion  and  make  allowances  for  it.  But 
w  can  she  really  see  what  lies  in  his 
art  and  soul?  At  about  the  time  she 
s  playing  Snow  White  in  a  little  thea- 
■  in  Florida,  Audie  was  charging  over 
>ody,  fireswept  hills  in  Europe.  On  one 
:asion,  he  was  forced  to  lie  in  a  hole 
th  two  dead  Germans  beneath  him  and. 
dead  pal  on  top.  How  can  one  explain 
the  home -folks  what  such  experiences 
to  a  man's  mind? 

^.udie's  three  closest  friends  in  Holly- 
od  are  Al  Foster,  Volney  Peavyhouse, 
i  Earl  McCaskill.  Al,  a  Cherokee  In- 
in,  works  as  a  garage  mechanic.  Volney, 
ex-army  pilot  who  flew  35  perilous 
ssions  during  the  war,  is  attending  a 
otography  school.  Earl,  an  ex-police- 
m  who  was  crippled  by  a  criminal's  gun, 
as  a  filling  station. 

nda's  the  extrovert  .  .  . 

\udie's  fondness  for  these  people  is 
ired  by  Wanda,  but  she  nevertheless  is 
ually  happy  with  a  movie  crowd.  She's 
:  extrovert. 

3oth  Audie  and  Wanda  are  stubborn 
army  mules.  After  a  spat,  they  will  go 
DUt  eating  their  hearts  out  for  several 
ys  before  either  gives  in  enough  to  call 
?  other  up  on  the  phone  and  straighten 
!  matter  out. 

rhis  they  do  in  long  conferences  which 
ually  wind  up  in  Audie's  car.  They 
:use,  deny,  admit,  discuss,  and  finally 
d  up  with  their  arms  around  one  an- 
ler.  It  never  fails.  Neither  gives  a  hoot 
out  any  other  person.  And  that's  the 
ig  and  short  of  it. 

in  a  moment  of  calmness,  Murphy  says, 
here's  nothing  wrong  between  us  that 
irriage  wouldn't  fix  up." 
\nd  that  point  Hendrix  couldn't  argue 
th  him. 

What  do  you  think? 


hat's 


Victor  Mature  was  telling  about  a 
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voice. 

"She  was  so  ugly,"  said  Mature,  "that 
I  can  just  visualize  a  Peeping  Tom 
!  reaching  in  and  pulling  down  her  win- 
dow shade." 

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FUN  HOUSE 

(Continued  from  page  49) 


identify  rare  furniture  markings,  tell  p: 
from  oak,  and  real  wormholes  from  thos 
bored  with  an  awl  a  few  weeks  ago.  In 
the  early  days  of  their  marriage,  she  usee 
to  stand  happily  in  the  doorway  while 
delivery  man  tugged  a  table  into  thi 
house.  Richard  would  take  a  fast  look  - 
it  and  exhale  sadly. 

"That  was  made  in  Grand  Rapids,"  he' 
say,  "only  yesterday." 

"But  Richard — "  . 

"Honey,  it'll  have  to  go  back.  Unless 
you  want  apples  growing  out  of  it  this 
spring." 

They  have  kept  most  of  the  furniture 
bought  for  their  first  house,  adding  onljl 
what  has  been  necessary  for  their  new  and 
larger  home,  a  fact  which  points  to  a  futurd 
lived  among  furniture  that  will  become  par] 
of  their  lives.  This  is  perhaps  the  onljj 
instance  in  which  Dick  is  satisfied  with  the! 
status  quo  of  his  home.  He  has  a  penchant 
for  changing  things  and  when  he  buys  a 
house,  the  place  is  no  longer  safe.  He  rips 
out  walls,  adds  windows  and  removes  doori 
with  astounding  rapidity.  Their  curreni 
bedroom  was  originally  three  rooms,  no- 
made  into  one  huge  one,  with  June's  tin; 
dressing  room  at  one  end.  Dick  discoverei 
that  the  door  to  the  den,  when  open,  tool 
away  wall  space,  so  he  split  the  door  down 
the  center,  put  brass  hinges  across  the 
break,  and  the  door  now  folds  neatly  in! 
half,  and  into  a  corner,  leaving  room  along 
the  wall  for  a  chair. 


it's  iake  with  dick  .  .  . 

For  her  part,  June  has  recently  chose: 
and  to  Dick's  complete  satisfaction,  tl 
long  coffee  table  for  the  front  room,  t' 
mammoth  chairs  in  dark  green,  a  very  6. 
and  handsome  gateleg  table,  and  the  u^ 
holstery  material,  a  striking  glazed  chintz, 
for  the  endless  couch  that  runs  the  length 
of  the  living  room  wall.  Mimicking  Dick'* 
inventive  turn  of  mind,  she  bought  a  port- 
able captain's  desk  and  had  it  remade  to 
unfold  into  a  backgammon  board.  This 
turned  out  to  be  an  unhappy  thought.  They, 
have  played  only  once,  because  the  playing 
pieces  do  not  fit  into  the  board. 

But,  says  June,  the  board  looks  very 
nice  anyway. 

Comfort  is  the  keynote  of  the  entire 
house,  and  despite  the  quiet  elegance  oi 
the  rooms,  there  isn't  a  thing  you  can't  put 
your  feet  on,  with  the  exception  of  the 
aforesaid  glazed  chintz.    The  colors  are 
warm  and  comfortable,  the  living  room  and? 
den  walls  are  a  restful  green  topped  by 
bleached  oak  beams.   The  bedroom  follows 
the  color  scheme  of  the  one  in  the  previou: 
house,  a  deep  pink,  except  that  the  wall 
this  time  are  done  in  a  quilted  paper 
white  with  a  trace  of  pink,  and  the  car 
peting  is  the  same  pink  as  the  materi 
set  into  the  wardrobe  doors  and  the  leatb 
top  of  June's  circular  desk.  The  fireplai 
in  the  bedroom  is  of  white  marble,  wi 
striking  silver  andirons,  and  the  lamps  ari 
beautifully  worked  silver  with  white  o 
pink  shades.    The   living  room  floor 
covered  almost  wall  to  wall  with  a  hand- 
some, hand-woven  oval  rug,  whose  colors 
are    predominantly    brown    and  green 
The  dining  room's  low  ceiling  and  walla 
are  papered  in  a  cozy  print  of  chartreuse 
and  green,  and  beige  and  dark  green  cot 
tage  drapes  hang  at  the  deep-silled  win 
dows.    A  priceless  cabinet  stands  at  on 
end  of  the  room,  tastefully  decorated  wit! 
rare  old  china,  and  three  round  tables^ 
are  used  for  dinner  parties. 

There  was  a  piano  in  the  living  room. 
Until  the  night  June  looked  fondly  at  her 


husband  and  said,  "Honey,  you  study  your 
script,  and  I  shall  play."  June  plays  the 
piano  in  a  rather  aching  fashion,  and  the 
next  night  found  Dick  studying  his  script 
in  the  big  chair  next  to  the  spot  where  the 
piano  had  been. 

The  purchase  of  house  linens  has  always 
been  a  favorite  pastime  of  Mrs.  Powell's. 
On  one  unhappy  day  she  ordered  a  stack  of 
things  running  from  doilies  to  bathmats,  all 
with  the  same  monogram  to  be  worked  on 
each  piece.  The  bill  was  staggering,  and 
cowed  by  the  total  figure,  she  kept  the  news 
from  Dick  as  long  as  possible.  He,  poor 
man,  eventually  was  informed  of  the  ex- 
penditure, but  he  acquiesced  gracefully. 

All  of  the  Powell  linens  are  white.  There 
has  never  been  a  tinted  towel  in  the  house, 
a  fact  that  may  be  connected  with  June's 
addiction  to  cleanliness.  The  kitchen  is 
pure  white,  so  are  the  dishtowels  and  most 
of  the  china.  All  bedlinens  or  face  towels 
are  snow  white,  marked  only  by  the  inevi- 
table' monogram  in  pale  colors. 

June  and  Dick  have  worked  together 
with  considerable  harmony  in  appointing 
their  house,  despite  a  few  stumbling  blocks. 
The  living  room,  extremely  large,  was  most 
difficult  to  furnish,  but  it  finally  has  been 
completed  and  the  Powells  spend  most  of 
their  time  there  now.  Dick  has  a  plan  hang- 
ing fire  to  install  one  of  his  model  ships  on 
the  wall  over  the  fireplace,  surrounding  it 
with  a  shadow-box  picture  frame  and  lin- 
ing the  background  with  green  cloth  to 
contrast  with  the  bleached  oak. 

There  is  a  powder  room  on  the  first  floor, 
just  off  the  entrance  hall,  that,  is  the  bane 
of  June's  life.  It  is  not  only  truly  elegant, 
but  is  lined  entirely  with  mirrors,  items 
which  June  considers  more  or  less  horrible. 
It  is  a  quirk  unusual  in  actresses,  indicative 
of  an  astounding  lack  of  conceit. 

latest  find  .  .  . 

Her  most  recent  acquisition  for  the  house, 
a  ping-pong  table,  was  made  without  con- 
sulting Dick.  She'd  yearned  two  years  for 
one,  and  finally  she  drove  to  a  sporting 
goods  store  and  made  the  purchase,  inquir- 
ing when  it  could  be  delivered. 

"Tomorrow  morning,"  said  the  salesman. 

June  looked  crushed.  "I  did  want  to  play 
this  afternoon,"  she  said.  "Maybe  you  could 
put  it  in  my  car?" 

"What  kind  is  it?" 

"A  Cadillac  sedan.  You  could  tie  it  on 
the  roof." 

He  smiled.  "In  that  case,  Mrs.  Powell, 
your  car  wouldn't  have  a  roof." 

She  looked  so  crestfallen  that  he  couldn't 
bear  it.  He  disappeared  and  returned  min- 
utes later,  much  happier.  "The  owner  of 
the  store  says  he  will  have  it  delivered  im- 
mediately— on  top  of  his  station  wagon."  . 

And  so  June  drove  home,  followed  by 
a  huge  table  over  a  station  wagon,  and 
played  table  tennis  all  afternoon.  When 
Dick  came  home  she  was  sitting  demurely 
in  the  den. 

"Go  out  in  the  patio,"  she  said  meekly, 
"and  see  what  you  see." 

He  was  back  in  a  minute,  peeling  off  his 
coat.  "Come  on,  I'll  play  you  a  game  before 
dinner." 

She  brightened.  "You  mean  you're  not 
mad?" 

"Of  course  not,  smudgepot.  It's  just  what 
I've  always  wanted." 

She  followed  him,  wondering  why  she 
hadn't  bought  one  in  1946.  And  now  the 
table  sits  on  the  brick  patio,  and  discom- 
bobulates  the  entire  scheme  of  things,  in- 
asmuch as  the  lawn  furniture  has  necessar- 
ily been  piled  in  corners  to  make  room  for 
the  sports  equipment. 

Listed  among  June's  accomplishments  is 
her  exceptional  ability  to  iron  beautifully, 
a  talent  learned  in  her  New  York  days  when 
she  struggled  with  each  individual  ruffle. 
She  has  taught  Teru,  her  Japanese  maid,  to 


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8  fyd-Wmd  mis 
s  Blonda  tfe  Fsets 

sbeui  lampax 

Alert  to  all  things  modern,  this  young 
titian-top  has  something  to  say  on  the 
subject  of  Tampax  for  monthly  sanitary 
protection. 

RED-HEAD:  Isn't  Tampax  marvelous — the 
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BLONDE:  I've  been  thinking  very  seri- 
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should. 

RED  -  H  EAD :  Millions  of  women  use  Tampax 
and  are  you  any  different  from  them? 
BLONDE:  Tampax  must  be  good  to  be 
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RED-HEAD:  You  11  be  surprised  at  how  free 
it  makes  you  feel  and  how  much  it  improves 
your  morale  at  such  times! 

Tampax  is  worn  internally  and  absorbs 
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No  bulges  or  ridges  under 
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Super,  Junior)  at  drug  and  no- 
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Massachusetts. 


NO  BELTS 
NO  PINS 
NO  PADS 
NO  ODOR 


iron  equally  well,  and  one  day  she  decided 
to  investigate  the  washing  department, 
more  out  of  curiosity  than  ambition.  She 
opened  the  pantry  closet  that  houses  the 
washing  machine  and  eyed  the  white  mon- 
ster with  uncertainty.  She  read  the  direc- 
tions, poked  an  armful  of  clothes  into  the 
machine,  and  blithely  disregarded  instruc- 
tions to  add  a  half  cup  of  soap  by  pouring 
in  a  whole  box  of  soapchips.  After  all,  ac- 
cording to  Allyson,  nothing  can  be  too 
clean. 

She  was  upstairs  ten  minutes  later  when 
she  heard  an  uproar  from  the  direction  of 
the  kitchen.  Casey  and  Pat,  the  two  minia- 
ture poodles,  were  yipping  and  bouncing 
about  in  great  agitation,  and  June  flew 
downstairs  to  investigate.  The  pantry  floor 
was  covered  knee-high  with  glittering  soap- 
suds, in  the  middle  of  which  were  the  dogs, 
having  the  time  of  their  lives.  After  con- 
siderable skidding,  June  rescued  them  from 
the  flood  and  was  confronted  by  her 
husband. 

"What  on  earth — "  began  Dick. 

"I  guess,"  said  June  sheepishly,  "I  for- 
got to  close  something  on  the  washing 
machine." 

"Possibly  the  door,"  suggested  Powell. 

After  a  year  of  this  sort  of  thing,  the 
house  is  gradually  changing  its  original  ap- 
pearance of  formal  reserve.  A  stranger 
might  not  notice  it,  but  if  you  know  the 
Powells,  the  house  seems  to  smile  at  you  as 
you  turn  into  the  driveway. 


I  HATED  MYSELF  .  .  . 

(Continued  from  page  58) 


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make  it  any  the  less  deadly.  It  isn't  just 
the  business  of  whether  you  act  the  same 
to  your  old  friends  or  pamper  yourself 
with  luxuries  and  the  like.  It  is  far  more 
important  than  that.  It  is  a  threat  to  your 
whole  usefulness;  and  since  real  happi- 
ness is  bound  up  in  being  honestly  useful, 
it  concerns  happiness  as  well. 

The  idea  is  this:  I  am  a  young  man  who 
has  worked  hard  most  of  his  life,  and  the 
best  thing  I  can  bring  to  my  present  busi- 
ness of  acting  is  the  honest  experience 
and  reactions  of  such  a  fellow.  As  such, 
I  stand  a  chance  of  being  effective  in  en- 
tertainment because  as  such  I  will  be  be- 
lieved and  accepted  by  the  people  before 
whom  I  appear.  The  second  I  stop  being 
that  fellow  and  start  being  a  Special  Per- 
son, I  start  killing  the  most  valuable  thing 
any  man  has,  his  own  identity. 

Hollywood  has  a  thousand  little  traps 
to  fit  you  into  the  system,  and  he  who 
refuses  to  fit  lives  an  uncomfortable  life. 
You  go  to  a  restaurant  where  people  are 
waiting  for  tables.  You  are  content  to 
join  them.  No  good.  There  is  a  little 
flurry  in  the  group  and  a  waiter  comes 
through. 

"If  you  will  come  with  me,  Mr.  Lan- 
caster, we  will  have  a  table." 

You  start  to  say,  "That's  all  right.  I  can 
wait  .  .  ."  and  you  realize  that  everyone 
is  looking  at  you.  A  minute  •  ago,  when 
they  didn't  recognize  you,  you  were  one 
of  them.  Now  you  are  something  apart. 
Whatever  you  do,  you're  going  to  seem 
a  phony.  There  is  nothing  left  to  do  but 
follow  the  waiter. 

At  the  studio  you  walk  onto  the  set  and 
one  of  the  set  hands  straightens  up  with 
a  start  when  he  sees  you. 

"I'll  get  your  chair  for  you  right  away," 
he  announces. 

You  stop  him.  "I  can  get  my  chair," 
you  tell  him.  "I  appreciate  your  kindness, 
but  it  isn't  necessary." 

He  looks  at  you,  his  whole  attitude  one 
of  defeat  as  you  go  ahead  and  get  it  your- 
self.   The  rest  of  the  day  you  can  feel 


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PUFFY  PETE 


him  staring  and  you  know  that  all  you 
have  done  is  thrown  a  monkey  wrench  into 
Hollywood's  well-oiled  gears. 

The  worst  of  it  is  that  the  same  system 
extends  away  from  Hollywood,  too,  in 
those  places  where  professional  people  are 
accustomed  to  gather.  Once,  in  New 
York,  I  had  an  appointment  for  a  maga- 
zine interview  at  a  swanky  east  side  club. 
You  know  the  club.  The  host  is  famous. 
He's  always  either  barring  someone  from 
entering  or  handing  someone  else  a  val- 
uable gift.  He  did  both  with  me  inside 
of  five  minutes. 

I  arrived  there  a  few  minutes  before  the 
appointment  wearing  what  I  generally 
wear:  white  shirt,  blue  suit,  dark  shoes. 
The  haughty  doorman  not  only  made  no 
move  to  open  the  door  for  me,  but  stood 
so  I  couldn't  open  it.  I  told  him  I  was 
due  inside.  He  studied  a  while,  and  then 
grudgingly  admitted  me.  Inside  I  had  to 
go  through  it  all  over  again  with  the  cap- 
tain of  waiters.  His  decision  was  that  I 
might  sit  at  the  bar — but  no  more. 

Inasmuch  as  I  was  to  be  interviewed  by 
a  lady,  it  seemed  to  me  more  fitting  to 
get  a  table.  Ignoring  the  captain  I  made 
for  a  corner  of  the  dining  room.  Out  of 
the  side  of  my  eye,  I  saw  the  captain 
straighten  up  angrily  and  start  for  me. 

Now  up  to  that  minute  I  was  getting 
what  you  might  say  the  average  American 
gets — the  snub-off.  And,  oddly  enough, 
though  I  was  sore,  I  was  also  getting  a 
bang  out  of  it.  Maybe  all  the  coddling 
I  had  been  receiving  in  Hollywood  had 
built  up  an  anger.  Who  knows?  I  waited 
for  that  captain  to  get  to  me  with  almost 
joyful  anticipation.  Maybe  we  would  do 
battle.  Maybe  I'd  turn  yellow  and  make 
for  the  bar  like  a  whipped  dog.  But  it 
was  not  to  be. 

the  captain  turns  .  .  . 

One  of  the  bus  boys  must  have  recog- 
nized me  because  I  caught  a  flash  of  him 
grabbing  the  captain's  arm  and  heard  a 
fast,  whispered  exchange  between  them. 
As  I  reached  the  table  someone  was  al- 
ready pushing  a  chair  under  me.  Directly 
in  front  of  me  the  captain  appeared,  per- 
forming a  transformation  of  character  that 
belonged  on  the  stage;  he  was  calling  me 
by  name.  Before  I  could  catch  up  to  the  new 
status  of  things,  a  bottle  of  champagne, 
compliments  of  the  host,  was  set  on  the 
table.  It  was  all  over,  my  little  moment 
of  average -man-treatment.  The  lard  was 
being  slapped  on  again. 

Perhaps,  if  I  didn't  have  an  ambition 
to  produce  pictures,  I  would  not  take  all 
this  so  seriously.  I  am  not  sure.  But  I 
do  want  to  produce  pictures  and,  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned,  the  better  pictures 
from  now  on  will  be  those  that  depict 
both  people  and  situation  faithfully.  How 
will  I  ever  be  able  to  know  what  is  true 
and  what  is  false  in  my  own  life  if  my 
way  through  it  is  always  so  greased  that 
I  never  rub  against  a  rough  corner  or  see 
an  honest  face? 

In  Kiss  The  Blood  Of  My  Hands  there 
are  a  lot  of  sequences  in  which  I  drive  a 
truck  but  my  features  are  not  recogniz- 
able because  the  action  takes  place  in 
shadowy  night  scenes.  As  is  the  custom, 
a  double  was  put  on  to  take  my  place  in 
these  shots.    I  kicked. 

"But  why  do  you  want  to  drive  the 
truck?"  asked  the  producer.  "Nobody  will 
know  it's  you." 

I  tried  to  explain  that  since  I  was  sup- 
posed to  be  a  truck  driver  I  wanted  to 
feel  like  one.  They  let  me  do  it,  but  I  doubt 
very  much  whether  I  convinced  anyone. 

A  good  illustration  of  what  I  mean  is  a 
picture  on  the  screens  of  the  country's 
theaters  today — and  not  too  many  people 
are  seeing  that  picture.  About  a  year  ago, 
I  was  called  by  a  major  studio  and  asked 
to  play  opposite  one  of  the  industry's  top 


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Citii  State  Aae  


actresses.  I  took  the  script  home  and  re- 
ported by  telephone  the  next  day  that  I 
would  rather  not  play  the  part.  They 
asked  me  if  I  would  come  over  and  ex- 
plain my  objections. 

When  I  walked  into  the  office  of  the 
head  of  the  studio  I  found  a  half  dozen 
of  his  top  men  seated  around  him.  I  knew 
that  they  were  assembled  for  only  one 
purpose:  to  overawe  me. 

They  had  years  of  experience  among 
them — a  total  of  more  than  a  hundred 
years  in  aggregate.  Nevertheless,  I  went 
over  the  script,  page  by  page,  and  told 
them  why  I  didn't  like  it.  My  objection 
was  simple.  I  didn't  find  the  man  I  was 
supposed  to  play  believable. 

When  I  was  finished  they  started  in  on 
me.  They  pointed  out  that  I  was  setting 
up  my  own  immature  judgment  against 
the  judgment  of  a  group  of  men  who  had 
made  some  of  the  most  important  pictures 
in  history.  They  tore  my  argument 
apart  technically.  They  even  won,  you 
might  say.  Except  that  I  still  refused. 
The  picture  was  made  and  it  proved  to 
be  an  awful  bust.  Now  I  don't  for  a  mo- 
ment take  this  as  an  indication  that  I  am 
a  genius.  I  said  no  in  the  producer's 
office  for  Jhe  same  reason  that  people  are 
saying  no  when  the  picture  plays  their 
neighborhood  theater.  I  just  didn't  like 
the  guy  I  had  to  play.  Neither  vdo  the 
people  who  see  him  on  the  screen. 

why  couldn't  they  see?  .  .  . 

What  worries  me  is,  why  didn't  the  pro- 
ducers see  it  as  well?  When  did  they  lose 
their  appetite  and  appreciation  for  truth 
and  where  did  they  pick  up  the  false 
values  which  made  them  think  they  had 
something  worthwhile?  I  think  I  know. 
It  starts  with  superficialities  that '  appear 
at  first  to  be  harmless  features  of  Holly- 
wood living  but  grow  to  be  deep-rooted 
snares  that  hold  one  back  from  realism. 

"Aw,  you're  hipped  on  the  subject, 
Burt,"  said  a  friend  of  mine  just  the  other 
day. 

Maybe.  But  I  have  a  deep  hunch  I  am 
right.  Soon  after  I  began  to  feel  this  way, 
I  did  something  that  some  people  thought 
odd.  I  asked  the  studio  for  a  little  space 
where  I  could  put  the  horizontal  bars  on 
which  I  used  to  do  my  act.  I  also  sent  for 
my  old  vaudeville  partner,  Nick  Cravatte, 
to  work  out  with  me.  We  go  through  our 
routine  almost  daily.  Swinging  on  those 
bars  does  something  for  me.  Sometimes 
in  the  middle  of  a  session,  I  realize  that 
for  minutes  I  have  forgotten  all  about 
Hollywood;  again  I  have  been  just  a 
guy  who  happens  to  be  an  acrobat  and 
is  busy  doing  his  work.  It's  a  wonderful 
feeling. 

not  mr„  but  buddy  .  .  . 

Once,  in  this  mood,  I  noticed  that  spots 
of  rust  were  beginning  to  appear  on  some 
of  the  shackles  that  hold  the  apparatus 
firm.  Without  thinking,  I  walked  down  to 
the  shops  in  the  studio  and  asked  a  fellow 
if  I  could  have  a  little  lead  paint.  He 
looked  at  me  casually  and  said,  "Come 
back  after  a  while,  buddy.  I'm  too  busy 
to  bother  now." 

"Okay,"  I  said  and  turned  away.  I  had 
gone  about  a  dozen  steps  before  I  re- 
membered that  he  had  called  me  "buddy" 
and  realized  that,  not  only  had  he  failed 
to  recognize  me  as  one  of  the  studio  stars 
— I  had  forgotten  about  it  myself! 

Maybe  you  won't  understand,  but  some- 
how that  was  a  really  great  moment  for 
me! 

Because  I  know  the  world  is  not  a  place 
where  everybody  is  supposed  to  take 
special  pains  to  be  nice  to  Burt  Lancaster. 
And  if  I  can  hold  that  thought,  Hollywood 
notwithstanding,  I  won't  have  to  hate 
myself  any  more,  and  my  trouble  will 
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MY  FAVORITE  HOLLYWOOD 
DESIGNERS 

(Continued  from  page  45) 


and  material,  but  beyond  that,  he  brooks  no 
interference. 

Howard  Greer,  who's  an  equally  out- 
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bin  and  Rita  Hayworth)  claims  that  Paris 
fashions  are  over-rated.  "The  legend  that 
Paris  is  the  style  capital  of  the  world  is 
kept  alive  by  a  lot  of  snobbish  buyers  and 
frustrated  women's  fashion  writers  who  like 
to  make  trips  abroad,"  he  says  sternly. 

Next  to  women's  fashion  writers,  Greer 
disapproves  of  women  fashion  designers. 
"They're  too  egocentric;  they  design  things 
that  would  flatter  themselves.  They're  not 
objective — " 

He  also  informed  me  that  Joan  Crawford 
can't  wear  tight  skirts,  Greer  Garson  can't 
be  talked  out  of  anything  once  she's  made 
up  her  mind,  and  Claudette  Colbert  always 
starts  off  with  a  lot  of  brave  new  ideas,  and 
ends  up  with  a  Peter  Pan  collar. 

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Pan  collars  she  looks  good." 

He — Greer — and  Adrian  have  been  es- 
tablished for  years;  so  has  Irene,  who's  not 
only  head  designer  at  M-G-M,  but  also  runs 
her  own  place  away  from  the  studio.  She 
likes  to  outfit  Esther  Williams  ("Such  a 
figure!"),  Katharine  Hepburn  and  Judy 
Garland. 

Marusia  and  Madame  Genia  are  newer  to 
the  designing  scene,  and  they  both  think 
Paris  fashions  are  nice — but  not  for  Ameri- 
can women.  Too  complicated,  they  say. 
Genia  once  had  her  own  salon  in  Paris,  and 
she  should  know. 

The  story  connected  with  Marusia's  start 
in  business  is  amazing.  She's  married  to 
Don  Wilson,  the  Jack  Benny  announcer, 
and  two  years  ago,  the  whole  Benny  gang 
was  supposed  to  take  a  trip  to  Hawaii.  Ma- 
rusia designed  herself  a  wardrobe.  The 
trip  was  called  off.  Result:  frustration.  So 
Marusia  gave  a  small  fashion  show  for  her 
friends.  We  came,  we  stared,  we  tried  to 
tear  the  things  right  off  her  back. 

"You  ought  to  be  designing  profession- 
ally!" somebody  said  with  awe,  and  Ma- 
rusia smiled  sweetly,  and  proceeded  to  do 
just  that. 

I  recently  looked  on  while  Paulette  God- 
dard  bought  a  Sunset-satin,  off-the- 
shoulder  job  from  Marusia,  who  specializes 
in  rather  low-cut  gowns,  complete  with 
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While  waiting  on 
line  to  get  into 
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studio,  I  noticed  a 
man  with  long 
hair  who  looked 
like  he  was  badly 
in  need  of  a  hair- 
cut. Since  my 
father  is  a  barber, 
I  remarked  to  my 
friends  that  peo- 
ple like  him  could  put  my  Dad  out  of 
business.  The  man  overheard  me  and 
said  he  was  sorry.  Later,  in  the  studio, 
I  was  shocked  to  learn  that  the  victim 
of  my  joke  was  Ray  Milland.  He  had 
let  his  hair  grow  long  for  a  movie  he 
was  making. 

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Bronx,  New  York 


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Marusia  serves  her  customers  champagne 
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these,  "you  will  never  have  an  embarrassing 
moment  in  one  of  my  creations." 

All  five  of  these  designers  have  two  shows 
a  year.  In  May  (for  fall  and  winter  things) ; 
in  December  (for  spring  and  summer) . 
Adrian  uses  ten  models  (he  has  six  regu- 
lars all  year  round)  and  Irene,  Genia  and 
Greer  each  uses  five.  Marusia  does  her 
own  modeling — all  of  it. 

Genia's  clothes  are  most  expensive — they 
start  at  $350 — but  she  justifies  this  by  say- 
ing they  never  go  out  of  style.  She'll  fix 
you  a  basic  daytime  or  evening  dress  that 
you  can  wear  ten  different  ways,  by  tricking 
it  up  with  a  scarf,  a  belt,  a  pin.  Ingrid 
Bergman's  been  heard  to  say,  "Genia  de- 
signs a  dress  so  it  is  a  perfect  setting  for  a 
woman.  Men  notice  the  woman,  not  the 
dress." 

Genia  uses  dolls  for  miniature  models; 
there's  a  Bergman  doll,  an  Ida  Lupino  doll, 
etc.  (Howard  Greer  likes  this  system,  too.) 

Irene  (and  Greer  and  Adrian)  use 
sketches,  and  Irene  also  has  individual  mus- 
lin "forms"  or  "dummies"  with  the  exact 
dimensions  of  the  star  she's  designing  for. 

Marusia,  who's  practically  a  one-woman- 
band,  designs  her  own  fabrics,  embroiders 
the  samples,  and  then  sends  them  to  Italy 
where  the  material's  made  up  and  dyed. 

None  of  the  designers  likes  to  name  any 
special  dress  he  or  she  considers  his  "best," 
but  Greer  has  a  weakness  for  Shirley 
Temple's  wedding-gown;  Irene  remembers 
fondly  a  Dietrich  wardrobe — Dietrich  was 
going  to  Europe  with  it,  and  it  was  designed 
for  "a  woman  in  love" — and  as  far  as 
Adrian's  concerned,  it  wasn't  Loretta 
Young's  acti%g  that  won  the  Oscar  this 
year,  it  was  his  emerald  green  dress! 

The  stylists  all  state  emphatically  that 
the  stars  have  no  designing  ability  what- 
ever. "Acting  and  dress-making,"  Greer 
states,    "are    two    different  professions." 

Stars  are  often  difficult.  There  was  the 
lady — she  has  a  reputation  for  too  many 
flowers  and  feathers  anyhow — who  came 
into  Madame  Genia's  last  month,  and  got 
sloe-eyed  over  a  cocoa  taffeta  gown.  "I'll 
take  that,"  she  said,  "if  you'll  put  plenty  of 
embroidery  on  the  skirt." 

Madame  Genia  held  a  hand  to  her  head. 
"Oh  no,"  she  said. 

"Unless  you  put  embroidery  on  the  dress," 
said  the  star,  "you  won't  have  me  for  a 
customer." 

Madame  Genia  smiled  politely.  "Then  I'm 
sorry,  Miss  X,"  she  said.  "I  won't  have  you 
for  a  customer." 

Which  reminds  me  of  Howard  Greer's 
caustic  observance  about  the  same  star. 
"If  somebody  didn't  watch  her,"  he  says, 
"she'd  wear  three  hats  at  a  time." 


that's 


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"Having  wonderful  time,"  said  the 
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"I'M  GOING  TO  MARRY  TY!" 

(Continued  from  page  57) 


get  a  one-piece  bathing  suit  with  an  at- 
tached skirt?  Surely,  no  one  had  such  a 
monstrosity  in  stock  any  more.  No  need 
to  have  worried,  though.  One  telegram 
to  mother  in  Mexico,  and  by  return  mail, 
a  black  woolen  suit  with  lace  trimmings 
and  hip-pockets  arrived.  Paris  fashion 
1924.    Strictly  Clara  Bow  type. 

Our  next  and  rather  unpleasant  prep- 
aration consisted  of  getting  a  series  of 
shots  and  vaccinations.  Typhus.  Tetanus. 
Smallpox.    But  it's  all  over  now. 

Ty,  Jim  Denton  (Ty's  friend  and  20th 
Century-Fox  publicist)  and  I  will  leave 
Chicago,  make  two  stops  (in  Newfound- 
land and  the  Azores),  and  then  land  in 
Lisbon.  Mother  will  fly  to  Lisbon  from 
Mexico  City  and  meet  us  at  the  air- 
port. So  will  Ariadna,  my  sister,  who  is 
coming  from  Switzerland.  My  brothers, 
Gerry  and  Eddie,  also  wanted  to  join  us, 
but  Gerry  will  have  to  attend  to  his 
import-export  business  in  Mexico,  and 
Eddie,  who's  only  16,  can't  stay  away  from 
school  long  enough. 

We'll  all  drive  to  a  small  hotel  about  20 
kilometers  outside  Lisbon.  In  1939  Ty 
was  there.  He  described  it  so  well,  I  feel 
I  already  know  the  place.  We'll  stay  two 
days.  Ty  and  Jim,  who  always  accom- 
panies Ty  on  his  trips,  will  drive  to 
Madrid  in  Ty's  new  convertible  which 
has  already  been  shipped  to  Portugal. 

Mother,  Ariadna  and  I  will  fly  directly 
to  Tangiers,  where  my  sister  is  going  to 
be  married  to  Ellio  Rikki,  the  well-known 
engineer  and  yachtsman.  Ellio,  who  is 
half  Spanish  and  half  Italian,  and  Ariadna 
will  make  their  home  in  Rome,  although 
Ellio's  family  is  living  in  Tangiers. 

date  in  madrid  .  .  . 

A  week  later,  mother,  Ellio,  Ariadna 
and  I  will  fly  to  Madrid  to  meet  Ty  and 
Jim,  and  continue  our  journey  together. 

Our  next  stop  will  be  Valencia.  There 
we'll  put  the  car  on  board  ship  and  take 
a  cruise  to  Ivetza,  a  small  island  on  the 
west  coast  of  Spain.  Next,  on  to  Majorca 
where,  Ty  says,  the  bull  fights,  music  and 
aroma  of  orange  blossoms  are  equalled 
nowhere  in  the  world.  After  spending 
three  or  four  days  on  the  island,  we'll 
take  a  ship  to  Barcelona. 

Throughout  Spain,  Ty  will  be  the  guide, 
since  Spain  is  one  of  the  few  European 
countries  I've  never  seen,  but  always 
dreamed  about  and  wanted  to  visit.  I 
speak  the  language  and  have  studied  their 
customs.  But  you  don't  really  know  any 
country  until  you've  lived  in  it. 

As  soon  as  we  cross  the  border  into 
France,  Ty  and  I  will  change  places,  and 
I'll  be  guide. 

Our  first  French  stop  will  be  St.  Paul, 
a  picturesque  little  town  not  far  from  the 
Mediterranean.  I  have  a  very  special 
reason  for  wanting  to  show  it  to  Ty. 

Ariadna  and  I  went  there  last  year.  I 
remember  the  sunny  day  when  we  took  a 
walk  through  the  town.  Narrow,  cobble- 
stone streets.  Iron  gates.  Small,  ancient- 
looking  balconies.  Overhanging  roofs. 
Flower-boxes  on  the  windows.  An  at- 
mosphere of  leisure  and  content. 

We  came  to  an  old  house,  with  rusty 
iron  gates,  and  painted  shutters.  Crouched 
low  to  the  ground,  it  was  huddled  against 
the  mountain  skirts.  There  was  some- 
thing  strange   and   mysterious   about  it. 

"I've  got  to  go  inside,  Ariadna,"  I  said, 
as  we  stopped  in  front  of  the  wooden  door 
hung  on  two  rusty  hinges. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  gulped,  "you  can't  do 
that,  Linda."  But  while  she  waited  out- 
side, frightened  and  protesting,  I  slowly 


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opened  the  door,  then  closed  it  again 
quietly,  for  fear  of  attracting  attention. 
I  don't  really  know  what  had  come  over 
me,  breaking  into  a  strange  house,  but  I 
couldn't  resist. 

It  was  almost  dark  in  the  hallway.  But 
through  the  window  on  the  far  side,  the 
garden  glowed  and  the  trees  were  afire 
with  sunshine  in  the  sleepy,  vine-covered 
patio.  I  could  hear  the  splashing  of  a 
fountain. 

Tiptoeing  past  the  door  on  my  right,  I 
ascended  the  winding  stone  stairway.  On 
the  second  floor  was  another  door — partly 
open.  Still  on  my  toes,  I  pushed  the  door 
open  all  the  way. 

Suddenly,  my  heart  stopped  beating, 
Facing  the  door,  in  a  grandfather's  chair, 
sat  a  lean,  dry  woman  with  ancient  eyes, 
looking  as  though  she'd  lived  there  for 
a  hundred  years.  Her  expression  was 
grave,  almost  to  a  point  of  sorrow.  She 
couldn't  have  weighed  more  than  sixty 
pounds. 

I  don't  really  have  an  explanation  for 
my  strange  behavior,  but  when  she  opened 
her  lips  to  say  something,  I  screamed  and 
ran  downstairs.  I  don't  know  what  she 
wanted  to  tell  me,  but  her  lips  moved  as 
though  she  meant  "wait,"  in  French. 

Once  outside  the  house,  I  grasped 
Ariadna's  arm  and  we  headed  back  to  our 
hotel  as  fast  as  we  could. 

"You'll  be  all  right  tomorrow,  Linda," 
Ariadna  said.  But  the  next  morning  she 
wouldn't  go  back  to  the  old  house  with 
me,  and  I  didn't  dare  to  go"  alone  and  to 
find  out  who  the  woman  was  and  what 
she  was  doing  in  that  lonesome  house  all 
by  herself. 

'  I've  told  Ty  about  it.  I've  spoken  to 
him  about  the  mixture  of  curiosity  and 
fear  that  drew  me  back  to  the  house.  He 
has  promised  to  take  me. 

After  St.  Paul,  we  will  go  to  Portofino, 
a  small  Italian  fishing  village  on  the  tip 
of  the  peninsula  between  Genoa  and  Ra- 
pallo.  It's  a  beautiful  spot,  quiet  and 
restful.  The  hotels,  there  are  only  two, 
are  built  in  the  same  style  as  the  build- 
ings the  fishermen  live  in.  Two  or  three 
stories  high.  Painted  in  pastels.  In  Por- 
tofino, automobiles,  tourists  and  running 
water  are  practically  unheard  of. 

Eventually  my  father  will  meet  us  in 
Rome.  Henry  King,  the  director  of  Prince 
oj  Foxes,  will  also  be  there  to  discuss  with 
Ty  the  final  preparations  for  the  picture. 

But  Rome  will  be  only  the  beginning 


ick 
tr- 


for  Ty  and  me.  Once  more  we  will  pack 
our  suitcases  for  the  most  important  jour 
ney  of  our  life.  The  exact  date  of  the 
departure  depends  on  the  shooting  sched- 
ule of  the  picture.  If  it  starts  immediately 
after  we  get  to  Rome,  we'll  have  to  wait 
three  or  four  months.  If  we  have  an  extra 
two  weeks,  we'll  leave  immediately. 

Our  destination — Florence. 

Our  purpose — marriage! 

We  hope  to  have  the  ceremony  held  in 
the  chapel  of  my  old  school,  Paggio  Im- 
periali,  a  little  church  on  top  of  a  hill 
overlooking,  the  city.  From  the  square  in 
front  of  the  church  entrance,  you  can  look 
down  on  Florence  and  the  beautiful  river 
Arno. 

I  always  knew  that  if  I'd  ever  get  mar- 
ried, this  would  be  the  place  I'd  choose. 

Both  Ty  and  I  are  Catholic.  According 
to  California  law,  his  divorce  from  Anna- 
bella  won't  be  final  until  January.  But 
according  to  the  law  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  Ty  has  never  been  legally  mar- 
ried, because  Annabella  was  divorced 
previously.  The  Catholic  Church  doesn't 
recognize  divorces.  This  being  the  case,  we 
hope  we'll  be  allowed  to  go  ahead  with  our 
plans.  (If  something  goes  wrong,  we  will 
of  course  have  to  wait  until  Ty's  divorce 
from  Annabella  becomes  final,  and  we'll 
most  likely  be  married  in  the  States,  in 
February.) 

We  want  our  marriage  very  quiet.  No 
expensive  trousseau.  No  champagne.  No 
crowds.  Our  only  guests  will  be  my  par- 
ents, my  sister  Ariadna  and  her  husband, 
and  Jim  Denton. 

I  shall  wear  a  simple  white  dress,  the 
mantilla  my  mother  wore  at  her  wedding, 
and  my  grandmother  and  great-grand- 
mother wore  to  theirs.  My  only  jewelry 
will  be  a  golden  brooch,  the  Lady  of 
Guadalupe,  the  patron  saint  of  Mexico. 
Last  Christmas  I  gave  Ty  a  little  medal 
of  the  Lady  of  Guadalupe  also.  He  has 
worn  this  on  a  chain  around  his  neck 
ever  since. 

We  are  hoping  to  honeymoon  in  Switz- 
erland. When  we  do  get  back  to  Cali- 
fornia, we  want  a  home.  And  a  family, 
of  course.  I  shall  give  up  my  career  as 
an  actress,  and  stick  to  painting  and  sculp- 
turing— and  trying  to  make  Ty  happy. 
We  feel  our  private  lives  have  been  in  the 
spotlight  too  long  already. 

All  we  want  to  be  from  then  on  is  just 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tyrone  Power  of  Beverly 
Hills,  California. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"When  I  say  Back  ...  I  mean  Back!" 


DR.  HAND'S 

TEETHING  LOTION 

Just  rub  it  on  the  gums 


You  use.  lipstick,  of  course-arid  for  that  very  reason  your 
eyes  need  added  allure.  Perhaps  you've  never  realized  (until 
just  this  moment)  that  neglected  eyes  appear  pale  and 
drab  in  contrast  with  made-up  Hps.  Now  see  how  easily 
Maybelline  glorifies  the  eyes  and  restores  color  balance. 
With  a  few  simple  brush  strokes  of  Maybelline  Mascara, 
lashes  look  naturally  darker,  longer  and  more  luxuriant.' 
The  soft,  smooth  Maybelline  Eyebrow  Pencil  accents 
brows  gracefully,  making  them  much  more  expressive. 

What  a  thrilling  difference!  With  completely  flattering 
make-up.  your  entire  face  radiates  charm!  So  never 
neglect  to  accent  your  eyes.  Add  Maybelline  to  your 
Deauty  routine  and  look  your  loveliest  always. 


maybelline 
:ake  mascara 

a  beautiful  gold-tone 
letal  vanity,  $1.  Re- 
ills,  50c,  Black, 
irown.  Blue.  (Also 
i  25c  and  10c  sizes.) 


MAY  BELLINE 
CREAM  MASCARA 
(applied  without 
water)  comes  in  handy 
leatherette  case,  Si 
(Also  in  25c  and  10c 
sizes.)  Shades:  Black, 
Brown,  Blue. 


MAYBELLINE  EYE- 
BROW PENCIL,  soft, 
smooth  quality,  fine  point — 
so  easy  to  usel  Purse  size,  10c. 
Professional  size,  25c.  Black. 
Dark  Brown  and  Light  Brown. 


MAYBELLINE  EYE 
SHADOW  in  subtle 
shades;  Blue,  Brown.  Blue- 
gray,  Green,  Violet,  Gray. 


IB  153445 


" 


Give  yourself  the  new,  flawlessly  pretty  complexion  that  Solitair  creates  so  quickly. 
Solitair  applies  smoothly  to  give  you  a  new-found  loveliness — a  complexion  so  fresh 
appearing,  so  gentle  soft.  No  artificial  "made-up"  look — no  "starched,  stiff"  feeling. 
Because  Solitair  is  a  special  feather-weight  cake  'make-up.  Combines  creamy  smooth 
foundation'  and  finest  "wind-blown"  face  powder.  It's  a  complete  make-up — as 
flattering  as  candlelight!  Cleverly  hides  little  blemishes.  Gives  flawless,  poreless-looking 
beauty  to  even  the  loveliest  complexion.  Does  wonders  for  ordinary  skin.  And  stays 
pretty  so  much  longer!  Like  many  expensive  night  creams,  Solitair  contains  lanolin — 
to  help  guaTd  against  dryness.  No  wonder  millions  prefer  it!  You  will,  too!  Only  $1.00. 


Seven  new 
fashion-right  shades 


Cake  Make-Up 

and 

Fashion-Point  Lipstick 


SKIN-SAFE  SOLITAIR!  The  only  founda- 
tion-and-powder  make-up  with  clinical 
evidence* — certified  by  leading  skin 
specialists  from  coast  to  coast — that  it 
DOES  NOT  CLOG  PORES,  cause  skin 
texture  change  or  inflammation  of  hair 
follicle  or  other  gland  opening.  No  other 
liquid,  powder,  cream  or  cake  "founda- 
tion" make-up  offers  such  positive  proof 
of  safety  for  your  skin. 
*biopsy-specimen 


Gown  by  Ceil  Chapman 


NEW  BEAUTY,   TOO  — 
FOR   YOUR   LIPS  ! 

Say  "Solitair  *Fashiort-Point"  and 
get  the  one  and  only  lip- 
stick with  a  point  shaped 
to  fit  your  lips.  Gives 
the  cleanest,  sharpest 
outlines  without  brush 
or  applicator.  Goes  on 
creamy  smooth — stays 
faultless  longer.  Made 
with  lanolin.  Six  exciting 
new,  radiantly  flattering 
reds.  Mounted  in  America's  most 
beautiful  lipstick  case  of  gleaming 
polished  metal.  81. 00. 

♦Slanting  cap  with  red-enameled  circle  identifies 
the  famous  Fashion-Point,  and  shows  you  exact 
color  of  lipstick  inside.  U.  S.  Patent  No.  2162584. 


THE  WINNER! 

bringing  a  New  Kind  of 
Beauty  to  your  skin 

WOODBURY 
POWDER! 


"More  warmth,  more  life 
in  Woodbury  shades!" 
—vows  Jeni  Freeland  of 
Knoxville,  Term.,  in  praise  of 
New  Woodbury  Powder. 


"Smoothest  look  my  skin 
has  ever  known!"  says 
Leona  Fredricks  of 
Miami  Beach,  Florida. 


"J  never  used  to  wear  powder- 
hate  that  'made-up'  look.  But  Woodbury 
gives  skin  a  glow  that's  super!"  writes 
Kay  Crystal  of  Pelham  Manor,  N.  Y. 


TWICE  NEW! 

New  Secret  Ingredient  gives  a 
smooth-as-satin  finish  to  your  skin! 

New  Revolutionary  Process ! 

Woodbury  "Super-Blender"  gives  warmest, 

liveliest  colors,  finest-ever  texture. 

6  exciting  shades—  Get  New  Woodbury 
Powder— in  the  new  "Venus"  box  — at  any 
cosmetic  counter.  Large  size  $1.00.  Medium  and 
"Purse"  sizes  30«*  and  15<*.  (plus  tax) 


You  can 

say  "yes" 

to  Romance 


Veto  says  "no" 
to  Offending! 

Veto  says  "no" — to  perspiration 
worry  and  odor!  Soft  as  a  caress  .  .  . 
exciting,  new,  Veto  is  Colgate's  wonderful 
cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy  and 
smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you 
lovely  all  day!  Veto  stops  underarm  odor 
instantly,  checks  perspiration  effectively. 

Veto  says  "no"—  to  harming  skin 
and  clothes!  So  effective  ...  yet  so 
gentle — Colgate's  Veto  is  harmless  to  nor- 
mal skin.  Harmless,  too,  even  to  filmy, 
most  fragile  fabrics.  For  Veto  alone  con- 
tains Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  ingredi- 
ent to  make  Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant 
can  be  like  Veto! 

Tit  VST  ALWAYS  TO  VETO 

Ml-  YOU  VALUE  VOUit  CHARM! 


OCTOBER,  1948  fl 

modern  screen 

stories 

WHY  CAN'T  THEY  STAY  MARRIED?  by  Hedda  Hopper  28 

BLOOPFACE  AND  THE  BABE  (Judy  Garland)   by  "Jimmie"  Garland  32 

LET'S  HAVE  A  HAYRIDE  (Farley  Granger,  Lon  McCallister,  Jerry  Courtland, 

Geraldine  Brooks,  Mary  Hatcher  etc.)  by  Bonnie  and  Reba  Churchill  34 

THE  GABLE  WOMEN  (Clark  Gable)  by  Dorothy  Kilgallen  38 

LOVE  IS  SO  TERRIFIC!  (Jane  Powell)   40 

SHE  WAS  A  GOOD  GIRL  .  . .  (Rita  Hay  worth)  by  Eduardo  Cansino-  44 

THIS  IS  MY  BEST  by  Cobina  Wright  46 

"EVIE'S  OTHER  HUSBAND"  (Van  Johnson)  ..by  Erskine  Johnson  48 

FABULOUS  HONEYMOON  (Karin  Booth)  by  Christopher  Kane  50 

GUY  MADISON:  IN  PERSON  by  Florence  Epstein  52 

"IT'S  NOT  A  DREAM,  DARLING"  (Comel  Wilde-Pat  Knight)  by  Ida  Zeitlin  56 

END  OF  A  MYSTERY  (Robert  Walker)  by  Jack  Wade  58 

FIGHTING  LADY  (Laraine  Day)  by  George  Fisher  60 

INTIMATE  VIEW  (Errol  Flynn)  by  Carl  Schroeder  62 

features 

TO  OUR  READERS   4 

LOUELLA  PARSONS'  GOOD  NEWS   6 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "A  Foreign  Affair"   14 

EDITORIAL:  "Before  God  and  Man"   27 

departments 

MOVIE  REVIEWS  by  Jean  Kinkead  16 

FASHION  by  Connie  Bartel  65 

YOUR  LETTERS    68 

NEW  FACES  :   77 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  78 

THE  FANS   by  Shirley  Frohlich  84 

BEAUTY:  "Naturally  Young  and  Pretty"  by  Carol  Carter  94 

ALSO  SHOWING    118 

ON  THE  COVER:  JUDY  GARLAND 


WADE  H.  NICHOLS,  editor 

SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR,  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
MAXINE  FIRESTONE,  assistant  fashion  editor 
JEAN  KINKEAD,  contributing  editor 


CHRISTOPHER  KANE 


story  editors 


WILLIAM  JEFFERS 
TOM  CARLILE,  western  manager 
ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 
BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 
BERT  PARRY,  staff  photographer 
GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 
IRENE  TURNER,  research  editor 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  261  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York 

Vol.  37,  No.  5,  October,  1948.  Copyright,  1948,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  261  Fifth  Ave..  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave..  Chicago  1,  Illinois.  George  T.  Delacorte,  Jr.,  President;  Helen  Meyer,  Vice-President; 
Albert  P.  Delacorte,  Vice-President.  Single  copy  price,  1  5c  in  (J.  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in  U.  S.  A. 
and  Canada  $1.80  a  year;  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the 
post  office  Dunellen.  N.  J.,  under  Act  of  March  3,  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the 
return  of  unsolicited  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
of  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No.  301778. 


With  these  Great  Stars . . .  and  the  Splendor  of  Technicolor . . . 
M-G-M  presents  Dumas'  Exciting  Story  of  Love  and  Adventure! 

For  the  first  time  in  motion  picture  history . . .  the  complete  romance . . .  the  full  novel  just  as  Alexandre  Dumas  wrote  it! 


LanaTiirner 

as  Lady  de  Winter  . . .  lovely  as  a 
jewel,  deadly  as  a  dagger,  the  wick- 
edest woman  in  all  Christendom! 


Gene  Kelly 

as  D'Artagnan  .  .  .  young  and 
handsome  soldier  of  fortune  .  .  . 
a  dashing,  audacious  lover! 


June  Allyson 

as  Constance  .  .  .  golden- haired 
beauty  entangled  in  a  web  of 
treachery  and  intrigue! 


as  Queen  Anne  . . .  dazzling  as 
her  gilded  palace  . .  .  for  her, 
men  dared  a  thousand  perils! 


FrankMorgan  -  Vincent  Price  •  Keenan  Wynn  •  John  Sutton  •  Gig  Young; 

Screen  Play  by  Robert  Ardrey    .     Directed  by  GEORGE  SIDNEY    .    Produced  by  PANDRO  S.  BERMAN 

A  Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  Picture 


1 


VASELINE  CUTICLE 

TRADE  MARK® 

AND  NAIL  CREAM 


Helps  prevent  cuticle  hangnails 

Simple  to  use 
$>■  Keeps  cuticle  smoother,  suppler 
4~.  Richly  lubricating 
5.  Coaxes  fingertips  to  petal- 
softness 


6-  Makes  manicures  quicker, 
sleeker 

{'  Delightfully  fragrant 

Gives  hands  that  well- 
groomed  look 
0-  Daintily  peach-colored 

10.  In  sparkling  crystal  jar 


IT'S  NOT  THAT  we  dislike  Clark  Gable.  There's  every  reason  to  believe  he's 
a  very  good  guy.  Even  plays  a  handy  game  of  golf.  It's  this  business  about 
the  women — the  way  they  fall  before  him  like  broken  lilies.  To  them  he's 
apparently  Don  Juan  and  Lancelot  and  King  Arthur  combined.  There  are  five 
ladies  we  can  mention  (and  we  do  on  page  38)  who've  given  themselves  to  the 
Gable  cause.  As  we  said,  the  man's  all  right — but  he  certainly  makes  it  tough 
for  the  rest  of  us! 

COME  TO  THINK  of  it,  Cornel  Wilde  doesn't  have  it  so  bad,  either.  Lately, 
he's  been  spending  time  convincing  his  gorgeous  wife,  Pat  Knight,  that  she's 
awake.  They're  co-starring  for  the  first  time  in  The  Lovers,  and  Pat's  in  a 
daze.  She'd  been  dreaming  of  this  for  ten  years.  But  the  dream-state  doesn't 
show.    If  you  don't  believe  us,  you  can  see  for  yourself  on  page  56.  ' 

PICTURE  IT — a  blue  velvet  night,  soft  breezes,  the  smell  of  alfalfa.  We  did 
more  than  picture  it  (on  page  34) ;  we  climbed  into  our  dungarees  and  went 
along  on  a  hayride  in  the  San  Fernando  Valley.  The  whole  idea  belonged  to 
Reba  and  Bonnie  Churchill  (teen-age  columnists  who  knew  about  these  square- 
dance  parties  in  the  Valley).    But  the  night  .  .  .  that  belonged  to  us. 

WHICH  REMINDS  US  of  Modern  Screen's  writers.  We  don't  exactly  keep 
them  in  chains  (ask  a  few),  but  we  take  a  sort  of  proud,  benevolent  interest  in 
them.  We've  discovered,  for  example,  that  they've  cornered  the  radio  networks. 
Hedda  Hopper  (page  28) ;  Louella  Parsons  (page  6) ;  Dorothy  Kilgallen 
(page  14);  George  Fisher  (page  60);  Erskine  Johnson  (page  48) — each  one 
has  a  room  with  a  mike  .  .  . 

ERSKINE  EVEN  DECIDED  he'd  write  a  magazine  story  in  soap-opera  form. 
It's  called  "Evie's  Other  Husband."  The  man  is  Van  Johnson.  The  question 
is,  are  the  Johnsons  happy?  The  answers,  as  best  a  good  reporter  could  learn 
'em,  are  oh  page  48. 


APARTMENT  FOR 


Remember  September  is  Youth  Month— Saluting  Young  America 


LOUELLA 
PMSONS' 


Louella  Parsons  returned  with  her  husband,  Dr.  Harry  Martin,  on  the  S.  S. 
America,  after  a  European  vacation.  Louella  visited  her  Hollywood  friends, 
now  making  movies  in  England,  France  and  Italy,  was  feted  at  many  parties. 


■  Judy  Garland  is  a  sick,  sick  girl  again,  so 
ill  her  doctors  say  she  must  remain  off  the 
screen  for  months.  When  you  stop  to  think 
what  a  round  apple-cheeked  child  she  was 
just  a  few  years  ago,  these  recurring  col- 
lapses are  just  heart-breaking. 

Ginger  Rogers  was  rushed  in  to  replace 
Judy  in  The  Barkleys  of  Broadway,  with  Fred 
Astaire.  It  is  too  bad  that  it  took  this  serious 
illness  of  Judy's  to  accomplish  it — but  reunit- 
ing Ginger  and  Fred,  the  best  dance  team  we 
have  ever  had  on  the  screen — is  something 
to  shout  about. 

When  Fred  first  heard  his  former  dance 
queen  was  about  to  sign  as  his  co-star,  he 


kicked  up  his  heels,  plenty.  Not  that  he 
doesn't  want  to  make  a  picture  with  Ginger — 
but  he  thought  this  might  take  the  edge  off  an 
"independent"  movie  they  are  contracted  for 
in  which  they  share  in  the  profits. 

But  when  he  was  offered  another  "dancing 
lady"  fwho  shall  be  nameless)  Fred  gave  in 
— in  a  hurry.  He  considers  her  the  most  "un- 
dancing"  star  of  the  screen. 

*        *  * 

Let's  face  it.  Everyone  on  the  inside  in 
Hollywood  knew  things  had  not  been  going 
well  between  the  Rex  Harrisons  for  months! 

But  how  that  girl,  Lilli  Palmer,  came  through 
when  Rex  Harrison  was  in  the  spotlight  during 


the  investigation  into  Carole  Landis'  suicide! 
Rex  had  discovered  the  tragedy.  Carole's 
maid  said  he  was  a  frequent  diner  at  the 
house. 

Lilli,  who  had  been  in  New  York  for  weeks, 
caught  the  first  plane  back  to  Hollywood  to 
be  with  her  husband  and  to  deny  that  they 
had  been  having  any  domestic  trouble. 

She  went  up  in  everyone's  estimation  one 
hundred  per  cent  and  her  loyalty  and  devo- 
tion has  not  cost  her  a  single  movie  fan. 

Her  voice  was  trembling,  but  determined,  a 
few  hours  after  her  arrival  when  she  said  to 
the  reporters  swarming  around  their  Mande- 
ville  Canyon  home,  "My  place  is  by  the  side 


6 


George  Murphy,  Jane  Wyman  and  Eddie  Bracken  at  NBC's  "Let's  Talk 
Hollywood"  show.  Jane  has  moved  into  a  new  home  with  Maureen  and 
Michael.    It's  larger  (old  one  was  cramped)  gives  her  more  privacy. 


Marie  Wilson,  Ken  Murray  and  a  cast  member  celebrated  the  seventh 
year  of  Ken  Murray's  Blackouts  with  a  huge  cake.  The  birthday  show 
was  3223rd  performance!   Marie  and  Ken  are  only  original  members  left. 


Spike  Jones  ioo'<  his  nfsw  bride,  Helen  Srayco,  to  Paul  Draper's  opening 
at  Slapsie  Maxie's.  Spike  was  formerly  married  to  Patricia  Ann  Middle- 
ton.  They  have  a  daughter,  Linda  Lee,  7.  Helen  sings  with  Spike's  band. 


Hcdy  Lamarr  shared  a  Stork  Club  table  with  Bsa  Lillie  (star  of  Broadway 
smash,  Inside  U.S.A.)  and  Robert  Lantz.  Hedy,  who'll  make  Samson 
and  Delilah  for  DeMille,  says  she  and  John   Loder  won't  reconcile. 


of  my  husband.  If  he  returns  to  England,  I 
shall  go  with  him.  If  he  stays  here,  I  shall 
remain — naturally." 

There  was  not  one  word  about  her  own 
career — or  whether  it  would  be  best  for  her 
to  stay  in  Hollywood  where  she  is  off  to  a 
good  start.  Her  only  thought  was  about  Rex 
and  their  child. 

»         *  * 

Howard  Duff  has  it  bad  for  Ava  Gardner 
and  goes  into  a  minor  decline  every  time  she 
stews  out  with  someone  else.  This  boy  can 
really  light  up  a  torch  when  he  sets  his  heart 
to  it. 

Not  long  ago  when  Ava  was  "out"  when 


Howard  called,  he  rang  up  all  their  friends 
begging  them  to  use  their  influence  with  her. 

"What's  he  doing?  Trying  to  get  elected?" 
cracked  Ava  when  she  heard  about  it. 

Frank  Sinatra  said  a  sweet  thing  to  a  16- 
year-old  would-be  glamor  girl  who  was  em- 
barrassed almost  to  tears  because  her  father 
called  to  escort  her  home  from  a  party  at  nine 
p.m.! 

"Don't  you  worry,  honey,"  said  Frankie.  "In 
just  a  few  years  I'll  be  picking  up  my  little 
girl  at  nine  o'clock  and  believe  me,  she's  com- 
ing home  at  that  time." 

The  occasion  was  a  party  at  the  home  of 


Henry  Ginsberg,  popular  executive  at  Para- 
mount. Henry  had  planned  to  have  only 
grown-ups  for  dinner,  but  when  his  19-year- 
old  son  heard  that  songwriters  Jimmy  van 
Heusen  ("But  Beautiful")  and  Jimmy  Mc- 
Hugh  ("I  Can't  Give  You  Anything  But  Love") 
PLUS  Sinatra  were  to  be  among  the  guests,  it 
turned  into  a  bobby-sox  fiesta. 

Young  Ginsberg  trouped  in  with  20  'teen- 
agers who  immediately  plunked  van  Heusen 
at  the  piano  in  the  living  room  and  McHugh 
at  the  piano  in  the  den  and  had  Frankie  run- 
ning between  them  for  hours. 

When  Betty  Hutton  showed  up — it  became 
a  Tin  Pan  Alley  dream! 


Get  hot,  fresh,  delicious  Hi  Pop 
Popcorn  anywhere  — the  Nation's 
popular  food  confection.  Served 
I  from  sparkling  Manley  Popcorn 
"-.Machines  at  your  movie  theatre 
and  variety  store  or  wherever 
good  popcorn  is  sold.  Ask  your 
food  store  for  Hi  Pop  in  the  red  and  white 
candy  cane  package.  Make  your  own  popcorn 
at  home.  Remember  —  Hi  Pop  is  the  same  fine 
corn  movie  shows  feature. 


E  CANDY  STRIPED  PAC 


Enrou+e  to  Italy  for  work  on  a  movie,  Ty  Power  and  Linda  Christian  stop  off  at 
Madrid.  Because  his  divorce  decree  from  Annabella  doesn't  become  final  until 
January,  studio  execs  have  asked  them  to  put  off  proposed  marriage  in  Europe. 


Only  discord  of  the  whole  musical  evening 
was  when  the  fore-mentioned  baby  siren  was 
hauled  home  to  meet  the  curfew  deadline. 
Said  Frankie  to  the  host,  at  closing  time,  "This 
is  the  first  time  I've  sung  for  my  dinner  in 
years!" 

*         *  * 

Prettiest  party  of  the  summer  was  hosted 
by  Dinah  Shore  and  George  Montgomery  in 
their  garden  just  before  Dinah  took » off  for 
London. 

All  the  girls  were  invited  to  wear  Spanish- 
type  clothes — so  most  of  them  showed  up  in 
off-the-shoulder  peasant  blouses  and  bright 
skirts  of  every  hue  in  the  rainbow. 

A  big,  fat  moon  came  up  at  just  the  proper 
time  to  illuminate  the  gleaming  dinner  table, 
almost  bowed  down  with  red  and  white  blos- 
soms, and  the  shadowy  figures  of  guitar  play- 
ers strolling  around  the  grounds. 

Alan  Ladd,  who  ate  three  helpings  of  the 
hot  Spanish  food,  was  yelling  for  Susie  to 
bring  water  to  put  out  the  fire.  Alan  is  the 
envy  of  every  actor  (and  actress)  in  town. 
That  boy  can  really  EAT  and  without  putting 
on  a  pound.    T'aint  right,  somehow. 

His  leading  lady,  Donna  Reed,  one  of  the 
real  beauties  of  this  town,  looked  like  a  dream 
in  all-white,  very  form-fitting,  and  the  newly 
skinny  Anne  Baxter  gave  her  a  run  for  top 
beauty  honors  in  an  electric  blue  skirt  and 
matching  blouse. 

All  the  gals  sported  their  new  short  hair- 
cuts— including  the  hostess.  Dinah's  whole 
personality  has  changed  with  her  new  perky 
hair-cut.  Says  she  feels  "sassy,"  too. 

The  Montgomerys  do  a  charming  thing  for 
their  departing  guests.    They  have  big  bou- 


quets of  flowers  picked  from  the  garden  and 
present  all  couples  with  armsful  of  posies  just 
before  they  drive  off. 

*  *  * 

I  still  have  a  few  movie  star  memories  from 
my  trip  abroad  I  want  to  tell  you  about: 

Rita  Hayworth  looked  like  a  baby  Camille 
lying  on  a  chaise  longue  in  the  patio  at  the 
delightful  cocktail  party  Freddie  Brisson  (Ros 
Russell's  husband)  gave  in  my  honor  in 
Cannes. 

Rita,  just  out  of  the  French  hospital  after  a 
serious  siege  of  anemia,  was  still  taking  medi- 
cine and  her  doctors  had  told  her  to  take  it 
easy. 

She  looked  dreamy  with  her  hair  now  so 
dark  it  is  almost  brown  and  wearing  one  of 
the  low-cut  sports  dresses. 

The  surrounding  scenery  was  out  of  this 
world,  but  I  am  sure  the  Frenchmen  paying 
such  ardent  court  around  Rita's  chaise  longue 
behaving  like  love-smitten  Armands,  saw 
nothing  but  la  Hayworth. 

I  might  add  that  Rita  has  made  up  her  last 
year's  feud  with  the  French  press.  She  even 
went  so  far  being  sweet  as  to  give  a  Siamese 
cat  to  one  of  the  Paris  reporters  for  his  little 
daughter. 

No,  indeed — you  hear  no  criticism  of  la 
belle  Rita  in  la  Belle  France  these  days! 

If  you  ask  me — you  can  forget  those  rumors 
that  she  has  any  intention  of  trying  to  effect  a 
reconciliation  with  Orson  Welles.  That  is  over 
and  done  with. 

*  *  * 

Ingrid  Bergman,  never  known  as  a  "clothes 
horse,"  had  a  most  embarrassing  moment  in 
Paris  until  Schiaparelli,  world-famed  designer, 


ENTERTAINMENT! 


i 


Advertisement 
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Don't  be 
Half-safe! 


VALDA 


by 

SHERMAN 


At  the  first  blush  of  womanhood  many  mys- 
terious changes  take  place  in  your  body.  For 
instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under  your 
arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type  of  perspi- 
ration you  have  never  known  before.  This  is 
closely  related  to  physical  development  and 
causes  an  unpleasant  odor  on  both  your  per- 
son and  your  clothes. 

There  is  nothing  "wrong"  with  you.  It's  just 
another  sign  you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a 
girl  ...  so  now  you  must  keep  yourself  safe 
with  a  truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers— Underarm  odor  is  a  real  handi- 
cap at  this  romantic  age,  and  the  new  cream 
deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially  to  over- 
come this  very  difficulty.  It  kills  this  odor 
on  contact  in  2  seconds,  then  by  antiseptic 
action  prevents  the  formation  of  all  odor  for 
48  hours  and  keeps  you  shower-bath  fresh. 
It  also  stops  perspiration  and  so  protects 
against  a  second  danger— perspiration  stains. 
Since  physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  can  now  cause  your  apocrine  glands 
to  fairly  gush  perspiration,  a  dance,  a  date, 
an  embarrassing  remark  may  easily  make 
you  perspire  and  offend,  or  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  are  not  alike  — so  remember 
—  no  other  deodorant  tested  stops  perspira- 
tion and  odor  so  completely  yet  so  safely  as 
new  Arrid.  Its  safety  has  been  proved  by 
doctors.  That's  why  girls  your  age  buy  more 
Arrid  than  any  other  age  group.  In  fact,  more 
men  and  women  everywhere  use  Arrid  than 
any  other  deodorant.  It's  antiseptic,  used  by 
117,000  nurses. 

Intimate  protection  is  needed  —  so  protect 
yourself  with  this  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears.  This  new  Arrid, 
with  the  amazing  new  ingredient  Creamogen, 
will  not  crystallize  or  dry  out  in  the  jar.  The 
American  Laundering  Institute  has  awarded 
Arrid  its  Approval  Seal— harmless  to  fabrics. 
Arrid  is  safe  for  the  skin— non-irritating— can 
be  used  right  after  shaving. 

Don't  be  half-safe.  During  this  "age  of  ro- 
mance" don't  let  perspiration  problems  spoil 
your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe  — be  Arrid-safe! 
Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get  Arrid  now  at  your 
favorite  drug  counter  —  only  394  plus  tax. 


Host  John  Garfield  chats  with  Beatrice  Pearson 
at  a  Hollywood  party  in  her  honor.  Beatrice  is 
debuting  in  Tucker's  People  starring  Garfield. 


Leaving  soon  for  London  where  he'll  make  Britannia  Meil'S,  Van  Heflin  and  his  wife  dine  at  Stork. 


came  to  her  rescue,  in  the  nick  of  time. 

Bergman  had  flown  over  from  London  to 
attend  a  big  charity  affair  at  the  Eiffel  Tower. 
She  was  told  it  was  strictly  an  outdoor  event 
— so  she  showed  up  with  only  a  suit. 

When  she  arrived  in  Paris  and  found  it  to 
be  one  of  the  dressiest  occasions  of  the  bril- 
liant social  season — she  didn't  know  what 
to  do. 

"If  I  do  not  show  up,"  Ingrid  wailed  to  me 
over  the  'phone,  "they  will  say  I  do  not  have 
the  interest  of  the  poor  French  children  at 
heart.  If  I  do  appear,  they  will  say  'That 
Bergman — she  has  never  known  how  to  dress.' 
And  I  do  not  have  time  to  have  a  gown  fitted." 

But  when  Schiaparelli  heard  of  her  plight, 
she  sent  her  post-haste  the  most  divine  white 
gown  you  have  ever  put  your  eyes  on  and, 
believe  it  or  not,  the  fit  was  so  perfect  you 
would  have  sworn  it  was  poured  on  Ingrid. 

She  was  the  hit  of  the  event,  so  cute  with 
her  speech  in  French  with  that  slight  Swedish 
accent! 

Later  on,  I  sat  next  to  Ingrid  at  the  party 


given  by  Edith  and  William  Goetz  of  the  film 
colony.  She  said  to  me,  "Please,  please, 
Louella — say  that  there  is  no  truth  in  the  cruel 
rumors  that  my  husband  and  I  are  separating. 
I  am  expecting  him  to  join  me  as  soon  as  pos- 
sible. He  wanted  to  fly.  But  I  want  him  to 
take  the  boat  because  I  fear  for  his  safety." 

Does  that  sound  like  trouble?    Not  to  me. 
*  .     *  * 

The  next  week,  in  London,  the  Goetzes  gave 
a  wonderful  party  in  honor  of  Jack  Benny, 
Mary  Livingstone,  Phil  Harris  and  Marilyn 
Maxwell,  who  absolutely  wowed  the  conser- 
vative British  when  their  show  opened  at  the 
Palladium. 

While  we  were  still  in  the  theater,  Alice 
Faye  rushed  up  and  threw  her  arms  around 
my  neck  saying,  "I'm  so  homesick.  Isn't  it 
awful  when  everything  is  so  exciting  here?" 
Talk  about  modesty — that  girl  is  ready  to  let 
Phil  Harris  take  the  bows  for  the  family  for 
the  rest  of  their  lives. 

When  Alice  was  introduced  to  the  audience 
they  stamped  and  cheered  but  she  just  re- 


Rebel  bride  of  a  man  she'd 
never  kissed!  Pledged  to  share 
his  home . . .  but  not  privileged 
to  claim  his  love !  Until  one  day 
.  .  .  one  fateful  day  .  .  .  along 
came  a  Tall,  Dark  Stranger ! 


DORE  SCHARY  presents 


LORETTA  YOUNG  .  WILLIAM  HOLDEN 
ROBERT  MITCHUM 


11 


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Jack  Carson  threw  a  party  at  his  Sherman  Oaks  home  and 
invited  hypnotist  Fred  Schneider  to  put  his  guests  to  sleep. 
Willing  guests  were  Michael  O'Shea  and  wife  Virginia  Mayo. 


Best  subject  was  Janis  Paige,  who  sang  and  With  Schneider's  help,  Jack  managed  to  get 
rocked  her  arms  when  told  she  had  a  baby  his  pal  Dennis  Morgan  into  the  pool.  Carson 
Th  them.  Carson  tried  to  hypnotize  Janis,  failed.      hoped  hypnotist  would  cure  him  of  insomnia. 


fused  to  go  up  on  the  stage  and  take  a  bow. 

Close  down  in  the  front  row  I  spotted  Dana 
Andrews  and  his  attractive  wife.  Dana  was 
literally  mobbed  every  time  he  appeared  on 
the  streets  and  I  can  say  the  same  for  Toe 
Cotten. 

Funny  thing — at  home,  the  fans  do  not  al- 
ways recognize  Joe.    But  the  British  seem  to 

spot  him  ten  blocks  away. 

*  *  * 

And  now  I  might  add  the  topper  which  con- 
cerns the  antics  of  Orson  Welles — who  else? 

Cannes  will  never  stop  talking  about  his 
"swim"  in  Le  Loupe  River  in  his  birthday 
suit,  surprising  the  astonished  natives  out  of 
their  wits  and  embarrassing  friends  unfortu- 
nate enough  to  be  along  on  this  bit  of  au- 
thentic "exhibitionism." 

When  I  left  Europe,  he  was  holidaying  in 
Capri  with  his  fiancee,  the  beautiful  Italian 
Lea  Padovani.  In  Rome,  'tis  said,  he  is  very 
jealous  of  his  sweetheart  and  has  a  minor  fit 

if  she  is  out  of  his  sight. 

*  *  * 

Audie  Murphy  is  back  from  that  junket  to 
France,  but  just  before  he  took  off  I  asked  him, 
"When  are  you  going  to  marry  Wanda  Hen- 
drix?"  He  said,  "We  have  to  get  engaged, 
first."  And  that's  that.  I  think  the  real  reason 
those  kids  don't  take  the  plunge  is  that  Audie 


feels  he  can't  support  her  in  movie-star  style. 
Our  most-decorated  war  hero  doesn't  make  a 
big  salary.  He  is  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  but  I 
think  little  Wanda  is  really  in  love  with  him  and 

I  hope  the  kids  get  together. 

*  *  * 

Don't  say  I  said  so,  but  Clark  Gable  and 
Marilyn  Maxwell  had  a  bit  of  a  flirtation  on  the 
boat  going  to  London.  But  once  Clark  arrived 
in  France  he  had  eyes  for  only  Dolly  O'Brien, 
the  glamorous  socialite,  who  makes  no  bones 
about  being  a  grandmother.  Clark  is  really 
crazy  about  Dolly,  as  I've  said  several  times 
before.  But  whether  or  not  Mr.  Gable  will  ever 

get  married  again  is  a  great  big  question  mark. 

*  *  * 

Dennis  Morgan  tells  me  he's  not  kicking  up 
his  heels  about  making  more  Two  Guys  pic- 
tures with  Jack  Carson.  Certainly  they  have 
been  successful  at  the  box-office — but  frankly, 
I  wouldn't  blame  Dennis  and  Jack  if  they  did 
feel  they  had  made  enough  of  them.  Well,  a 
long  time  ago,  two  big  stars,  Edmund  Lowe 
and  Victor  McLaglen,  got  into  the  same  kind 
of  teaming  rut — and  when  they  separated  they 
were  never  as  successful. 

Incidentally,  Dennis  has  been  working  so 
hard  he  still  hasn't  found  time  to  furnish  com- 
pletely his  beautiful  but  enormous  home  near 
the  Rose  Bowl  in  Pasadena. 


dorothy  kilgallen 


selects 
"a  foreign 
affair" 


Congresswoman  Jean  Arthur,  investigating  Gl  "morale"  in  Germany,  discovers 
Army  Captain  John  Lund  "fraternizing"  with  night  club  fraulein  Marlene  Dietrich. 


■  Once  in  a  wonderful  while,  some  Holly- 
wood genius  achieves  the  perfect  combina- 
tion of  wit,  plot,  sentiment  and  Americana 
that  comes  out  of  the  cinema  oven  as  a 
brilliant  confection  of  entertainment. 

Frank  Capra  has  done  it.  George 
Stevens  has  done  it.  So  has  Preston  Sturges. 

In  the  enchanting  Paramount  concoction 
called  A  Foreign  Affair,  Charles  Brackett 
and  Billy  Wilder  do  it  with  the  flourish  of 
master  chefs. 

Their  theme  is  post-war  Berlin  and  a 
Congressional  committee  assigned  to  in- 
vestigate the  "morale"  (here  a  synonym 
for  morals)  of  the  American  troops  sta- 
tioned in  Germany^— which  sounds  like  a 
stuffy  basis  for  a  story  but  turns  out  to  be 
wonderful  fun.  Its  treatment  is  light- 
hearted,  yet  not  without  heart.  It  is  full 
of  jokes,  but  full  of  truths,  too.  It  con- 
tains an  admirable  mixture  of  imaginative 
fiction  and  good  eyewitness  reporting.  The 
result  is  a  terrific  piece  of  entertainment 
from  the  first  laugh — when  Jean  Arthur  is 
shown  looking  remarkably  like  a  rather 
well-known  blonde  ex-Congresswoman  who 
shall  be  nameless  because  everyone  will 
think  of  her  instantly  anyway — to  the  final 
boff  when  Marlene  Dietrich  exits  to  what 
one  may  assume  to  be  a  fate  considerably 
better  than  death  at  the  hands  of  five  GI's. 

Ex-GI's  will  roar  with  appreciative 
laughter  at  the  predicaments  of  the  prin- 
cipals in  A  Foreign  Affair,  which  Army-wise, 
must  have  a  loud  ring  of  authenticity.  The 
soldier  sitting  next  to  me  when  I  saw  it  was 
coming  apart  at  the  seams. 

The  film  is  remarkable  not  only  for  the 
quality  of  its  dialogue  but  for  its  atmos- 
phere of  authenticity.  The  shots  of  Berlin 
— real  ones,  not  studio  sets  or  miniatures — 
are  as  fascinating  and  appalling  as  any 
post  V-E  Day  newsreels.  It  is  amazing 
that  their  starkness  could  be  mixed  suc- 
cessfully with  comedy,  but  Brackett  and 
Wilder,  those  old  celluloid  alchemists,  do 
it  with  a  sure  pair  of  hands. 

And  the  actors  hired  to  assist  them  in  the 
unfolding  of  a  deft  screenplay  must  have 
made  the  directing  chore  a  pleasure.  John 
(Ah,  Girls!)  Lund,  in  a  new  brunette  and 
be-mustached  guise,  is  as  ruggedly  sexy  as 
Gable,  but  younger  and  smoother  around 
the  acting  edges.  Jean  Arthur  is  her  cus- 
tomary bright,  raucous-voiced,  enchanting 
self,  and  Marlene  Dietrich  gives  every  ap- 
pearance of  enjoying  herself  hugely  in  the 
most  suitable  role  she  has  had  for  a  decade. 
Playing  an  amorous  fraulein  with  a  sharp 
eye  for  nylons,  she-gives  a  genuine  charac- 
terization and  gets  her  laughs  with  the  fine 
timing  of  a  burlesque  comic. 

There  aren't  many  like  this  one.    See  it! 


THE  DRIVE! 

40,000  hooves 
thundering  across 

the  vast  plains 
and  mighty  rivers 

of  a  sprawling 
continent! 


THE  RAILROAD! 

Pouring  across 
the  tracks,  the  herd 
reaches  the  farthest 
frontier  of 
civilization! 


COVERED  WACOM' 


CIMARRON 


THE  AMBUSH! 

Bullet  against 
flaming  arrow  as 
blood-mad  savages 
ride  the  ring 
of  death! 


AND  NOW- 

HOWARD  HAWKS'  GREAT  PRODUCTION 

RED  RIVER 


THE  FEUD! 

Vengeance . . .  exploding 
in  the  fury  of  a 
desperate  fight 
to  the  finish 
. . .  bringing  new  glory 
to  a  great  new  star- 
Montgomery  Clift! 


HOWARD  HAWKS'  "RED  RIVER" 

starring  juHn  WAYNE  ;  MONTGOMERY  C LIFT  •  Walter  brennan  •  joanne  dru 

With  HARRY  CAREY,  Sr.- COLEEN  GRAY -JOHN  IRELAND  •  NOAH  BEERY.  Jr.  •  HARRY  CAREY,  Jr.  •  PAUL  FIX 
From  the  Saturday  Evening  Post  story,  "The  Chisholm  Trail",  by  Borden  Chase 
1  Screenplay  by  Borden  Chase  and  Charles  Schnee 

Executive  Producer,  CHARLES  K.  FELDMAN  ■  DIRECTED  AND  PRODUCED  BY  HOWARD  HAWKS  •  RELEASED  THRU  UNITED  ARTISTS 


15 


Brooding  over  his  father's  death  which  he  has  solemnly  vowed 
to  avenge,  Hamlet  denounces  his  mother,  the  Queen,  for  having 
married   her  husband's   brother    (also  his  murderer)    in  haste. 


Ophelia,  now  spurned  by  the  once-adoring  Hamlet,  is  ultimately 
driven  insane  by  the  death  of  her  father  (accidentally  stabbed 
by  Hamlet).  Wandering  aimlessly  into  a  stream,  she  drowns. 


by  Jean  Kinkead 


Her  brother  Laertes  blames  Hamlet  for  the  deaths  of  his  kins- 
men. Egged  on  by  the  King,  he  challenges  the  unhappy  Prince 
to  a  duel  in  which  Hamlet  shall  die  by  both  sword  and  poison. 


HAMLET 

Laurence  Olivier's  majestic  Hamlet  is  no  mere 
photographed  stage  play.  It  is  swift-moving, 
action-packed  cinema,  so  beautifully  directed 
and  produced  that  one  is  scarcely  aware  that 
on  screen  it  is  the  Thirteenth  Century.  Somehow, 
the  time  is  now;  the  centuries-old  problems, 
immediate  and  urgent.  Shakespeare's  four- 
hour  tragedy  has  been  edited  and  cut  so  that 
it  emerges  as  a  two-and-a-half-hour  movie. 
Many  of  its  more  obscure  passages  and  obso- 
lete words  have  been  changed  and  miracu- 
lously, this  has  heightened  one's  interest  in 
the  story  without  in  any  way  sacrificing  the 
poetry  and  grandeur  of  the  original  lines. 

The  story,  familiar  to  every  high-school  stu- 
dent, is  briefly  this:  Prince  Hamlet  of  Denmark 
(Laurence  Olivier)  is  grieving  terribly  over  his 
father's  death,  and  is  even  more  sick  at  heart 
that  his  mother  has  married  his  father's  brother, 
Claudius,  when  King  Hamlet  has  been  dead  but 
a  few  weeks.  The  ghost  of  King  Hamlet  has 
been  appearing  nightly  to  the  castle  guards, 
and  one  night  the  distraught  young  prince 
stands  watch  to  see  whether  his  father's  rest- 
less spirit  brings  a  message.  A  message  it 
brings,  and  a  grisly  one. 

Seems  that  King  Hamlet  did  not  die  of  natural 
causes  but  was  foully  murdered  by  Claudius 
that  the  latter  might  gain  both  the  throne  and 
Denmark's  fair  Queen  Gertrude  (Eileen  Herlie) 
for  himself.  Hamlet's  ghost  bids  young  Hamlet 
to  avenge  this  hideous  crime,  and  to  that  end 
the  Prince  now  dedicates  himself. 

He  accomplishes  ^Continued  on  page  28) 


16 


UNIVERSAL-  INTERNATIONAL  presents 


ill 


Starring 

ROBERT 


WALKER 

AVA 

GARDNER 

DICK 

HAYME 


U«OR0us  STASEKASE  .  .  .  NOW  AGLOW  ON 


with 


EVE  ARDEN  *  OLGA  SAN  JUAN  *  tom  conway 

Screenplay  by  Harry  Kurnitz  &  Frank Tashlin  ■  Based  on  the  Musical  Play  •  Music  by  Kurt  Weill  •  Book  by  S.J.  Perelman  &  Ogden  Nash  •  Lyrics  by  Ogden  Nash 

Directed  by  WILLIAM  A.  SEITER  Produced  by  LESTER  COWAN 


DeLong  Bob  Pins  hold  your  hair  as  firmly 
as  a  thriller  holds  your  attention  . . . 
The  Stronger  Grip  DeLong  boasts  about  is 
no  mere  slogan  dreamed-up  by  ad-writers 
. . .  It's  a  fact  as  cold  and  hard  as  the 
high-carbon  steel  that  goes  into  these 
quality  bob  pins  . . .  Try  them  and  see  how 
much  better  DeLong  Bob  Pins  stay  in 
your  hair,  how  much  longer  they  keep  their 
strength  and  springy  action . . .  You'll 
never  go  back  to  the  wishy-washy  kind  of 
bob  pin  that's  in  your  hair  one  minute  and 
in  your  lap  the  next.  Always  remember— 


Stronger  Grip 

Won't  Slip  Out 


Quality  Manufacturers  for  Over  50  Years 

BOB  PINS  HAIR  PINS  SAFETY  PINS 

HOOKS  &  EYES  HOOK  &  EYE  TAPES 

SNAPS  PINS  SANITARY  BELTS 


his  aim  at  frightful  cost.  He  mistakingly  mur- 
ders Polonius  (Felix  Aylmer),  the  father  of 
his  beloved  Ophelia  (Jean  Simmons).  Ophe- 
lia loses  her  mind.  He  sees  his  mother  die  by 
her  own  hand,  accidentally  kills  his  friend 
Laertes  (Terence  Morgan),  and  eventually 
dies  himself.  - 

This  wholesale  slaughter  as  seen  in  a  stage 
play  is  rarely  moving  or  effective.  Here  it  is 
both.  You  will  walk  out  of  the  theater  feeling 
shattered,  yet  strangely  uplifted.  '  Olivier's 
Hamlet  is  really  quite  a  thing! 

The  acting  is  uniformly  fine.  Laurence  Olivier 
is  a  sensitive  Hamlet,  with  an  excellent  flair  for 
humor.  Eighteen-year-old  Jean  Simmons  is  a 
beautiful  and  tear-evoking  Ophelia.  Norman 
Wooland,  in  his  first  major  role,  is  perfect  as 
Horatio,'  the  wise  and  steadfast  friend,  and 
Eileen  Herlie  is  a  strong  and  lovely  Queen 
Gertrude.  This  is  a  history-making  film,  full  of 
new  visual  and  oral  devices,  but  what  i .  more 
important — it  is  superlative  entertainment. — 
Univ.-Int. 

THE  ILLEGALS 

Meyer  Levin,  a  young  American  writer, 
wrote,  produced  and  directed  this  moving 
semi-documentary  film  about  displaced  Jews 
on  their  perilous  way  to  Palestine.  Not  a  mem- 
ber of  the  cast  is  a  professional  actor,  not  a 
penny  was  expended  on  expensive  sets.  Con- 
sequently, the  film  is  neither  polished  nor  slick. 
It  is  merely  the  heart-breakingly  accurate  pic- 
ture-story of  a  brave,  long-suffering  people  told 
with  the  poignance  of  understatement. 

Mika  and  Sara  Wilner — played  by  Yankel 
.Mikalowitch  and  Tereska  Torres  (Mrs.  Meyer 
Levin) — are  young  Polish  Jews  who  want  more 
than  anything  else  to  have  their  expected  child 
born  in  Palestine.  Via  the  new  Jewish  under- 
ground railway,  the  Brayha,  they  make  their 
arduous  way  to  a  secret  port  in  Italy,  thence 
by  Haganah  ship  across  the  Mediterranean 
to  Israel.  Their  separation  and  reunion  is  the 
film's  personal  story,  but  the  big  drama,  of 
course,  involves  a  whole  people. 

The  movie  was  photographed  along  the 
route  actually  taken  by  displaced  Jews,  and  the 
people  one  sees  being  herded  like  swine  into 


freight  cars  are  not  Hollywood  extras,  but 
human  beings  whose  filth  and  terror  are  all  too 
real.  The  tired  old  man  falling  in  the  snow  al- 
most at  journey's  end,  the  frightened  girl  in 
childbirth  in  the  stifling  hold  of  the  Haganah 
ship,  the  patient  little  boy  with  his  crust  of 
bread,  these  are  our  fellow  men  experiencing  j 
the  indignities  of  the  lowest  animals. 

The  Illegals  (as  these  homeless  people  are 
known  to  the  British  Tommies)  is  a  crude  film. 
It  pulls  no  punches.  It  isn't  pretty  or  pleasant.  1 
Neither  has  it  a  happy  ending.  But  we  should  I 
all  see  it,  with  our  hearts  as  well  as  our  eyes, 
and  having  seen  it,  perhaps  some  of  us  will  be 
moved  to  do  something  about  it.  Produced  by 
Meyer  Levin  for  Americans  for  Haganah. — 
20th-Fox. 

THE  BABE  RUTH  STORY 

Adapted  from  Bob  Considine's  book  of  the 
same  name  and  painstakingly  produced  by  Roy 
Del  Ruth,  this  is  a  heart-warming  tribute  to 
baseball's  beloved  Sultan  of  Swat. 

The  Babe  Ruth  Stoiy  goes  way  back  to  1906 
when  George  Herman  Ruth,  a  potential  juvenile 
delinquent,  was  jack  of  all  trades  in  his  father's 
saloon.  Bitterly  unhappy,  George  left  his  father 
and,  of  his  own  volition,  went  with  his  kind- 
eyed,  soft-spoken  friend — Brother  Matthias — to 
a  Baltimore  orphanage — St.  Mary's  Industrial 
School  for  Boys.  Sustained  by  the  Brother's  faith 
in  him,  the  high-spirited  youngster  grew  up  on 
the  right  side  of  the  law,  learned  the  tailoring 
trade  well,  but  spent  every  free  second  on  the 
baseball  diamond.  With  the  help  of  Brother 
Matthias,  he  got  his  first  job — pitching  for  the 
Baltimore  Orioles. 

The  Babe's  career  is  followed  faithfully,  as 
he  moved  from  the  Orioles  to  the  Red  Sox  to 
the  Yankees,  and  eventually — as  a  paunchy 
slugger  in  his  forties — to  the  Braves.  The  film's 
last  scenes  show  him  slugging  for  his  life  in 
New  York's  French  Hospital. 

Although  the  Bambino's  gay  days  have  been 
white-washed  considerably,  and  there  is  no 
mention  whatever  of  his  stormy  first  marriage. 
Baseball's  bad  boy,  as  shown  here,  is  still 
no  angel.  There's  one  sequence  in  which  he 
turns  up  at  the  Children's  Hospital  on  Christmas 


The  Illegals:  Accurate  picture-story  of  displaced  Polish  Jews  on  their  perilous  way  to  Palestine. 


1 


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II 


19 


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Eve,  a  very  plastered  Santa  Claus,  and  another 
shows  him  cutting  up  in  a  Follies  dressing  room. 
These  colorful  bits  give  depth  and  meaning  to 
a  story  that  might  easily  have  been  over-sen- 
timentalized. All  the  cherished  anecdotes  are 
here,  lots  of  good  old  songs,  wonderful  nos- 
talgia. It's  a  baseball  fan's  dream  picture  and 
solid  entertainment  for  us  bench-warmers  who 
don't  know  a  base-hit  from  a  hole-in-one. 

The  story  isn't  perfect.  Bill  Bendix  as  the 
teen-age  Ruth  is  pretty  unbelievable,  and  a  few 
of  the  hospital  scenes  are  just  too  corny.  How- 
ever, Bendix's  portrait  of  Ruth  is  a  warm,  hu- 
morous and  sympathetic  one.  Claire  Trevor  is 
adequate  as  his  wife.  Charles  Bickford  does  a 
fine,  restrained  job  as  Brother  Matthias  and 
Fred  Lightner,  as  Yankee  manager  Miller  Hug- 
gins,  is  just  plain  magnificent. — Mono. 

EMBRACEABLE  YOU 

This  is  a  maudlin  little  concoction  about 
two  kids — Dane  Clark  and  Geraldine  Brooks 
— who  are  living  on  borrowed  time. 

Seems  that  Eddie  Novoc  (that's  Dane),  a 
young  hoodlum,  is  about  to  drive  an  unsavory- 
looking  chap  named  Sig  Kelch  (Richard  Rober) 
home  from  an  evening  of  gambling — and  mur- 
der. The  car  plunges  forward  suddenly  and, 
to  Eddie's  horror,  it  knocks  down  a  girl.  (That's 


Geraldine.)  Kelch  won't  let  Eddie  stop  to  see 
how  badly  she's  hurt,  but  the  thing  preys  on 
Novoc's  rntnd,  and  when  he  finds  an  account 
in  the  paper  he  goes  to  see  the  girl,  Marie 
Willens,  in  the  hospital. 

The  newspaper  story  had  said  that  the  girl 
had  a  brother  in  Milwaukee,  and  Eddie  pre- 
tends he's  a  friend  of  the  brother's.  When 
Marie  tells  Ferris  (Wallace  Ford),  the  detec- 
tive in  charge  of  her  case,  about  her  visitor 
she  confides  that  she's  just  a  bit  puzzled  for 
she  has  no  brother  in  Milwaukee.  She  had 
fibbed  to  the  newspaper  reporters  so  that  she 
wouldn't  appear  to  be  a  waif  with  neither  kith 
nor  kin.  Ferris  immediately  suspects  that  Eddie 
is  the  hit-and-run  driver  and  when  he  learns 
from  Marie's  doctor  (Douglas  Kennedy)  that 
Marie  has  a  blood  clot  in  her  bloodstream 
which  means  certain  death  within  a  few 
weeks,  he  decides  on  a  course  of  action. 

He  tells  Eddie  that  he  knows  he's  guilty, 
but  that  he  won't  pull  him  in  for  a  while,  and 
he  orders  him  to  make  Marie  happy  for  the 
rest  of  her  short  life. 

Eddie  sells  his  car  to  get  some  cash,  rents 
a  plush  apartment  for  the  bewildered  Marie 
who  has  no  idea  that  she  is  doomed.  When 
he  runs  out  of  money,  he  blackmails  Kelch  to 
the  tune  of  $1,000.  Eventually,  of  course,  Marie 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

Want  to  save  money?  Don't  buy  MODERN  SCREEN — get  it  for  nothing!  Get 
three  issues  free!  November,  December  and  January  copies  are  waiting  to  be 
mailed  to  the  first  500  of  you  who  answer  the  Questionnaire  below.  The  thing  is — 
we  want  to  write  about  the  stars  you  want  to  read  about.  What  could  be  simpler? 
What  could   be  smarter  than   being   among   the  first   500  on   our   mailing  list? 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  October  issue?  WRITE  THE 
NUMBERS  I,  2,  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES. 


Why  Can't  They  Stay  Mattied?  by 
Hedda  Hopper   □ 

Bloopface  and  the  Babe  (Judy 

Garland)   □ 

Iter's  Have  A  Hayride!  □ 

The  Gable  Women  by  Dorothy 

Kilgallen   □ 

Love  Is  So  Terrific!  (Jane  Powell)  .  □ 

She  Was  A  Good  Girl  (Rita 

Hayworth)   □ 

This  Is  My  Best  by  Cobina  Wright  □ 


"Evie's  Other  Husband" 

(Van  Johnson)   □ 

Fabulous  Honeymoon  (Karin 

Booth)   -  □ 

Guy  Madison:  In  Person   □ 

"Ifs  Not  A  Dream,  Darling" 

(Cornel  Wilde-Pat  Knight)   □ 

Intimate  View  (Errol  Flynn)  ...  □ 
Fighting  Lady  (Laraine  Day)  □ 
End  Of  A  Mystery  (Bob  Walker)  □ 
Louella  Parsons'  Good  News  □ 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  MALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  

What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference  

What  MALE  star  do  you  like  least?  

What  FEMALE  star  do  you  like  least?  *  

My   name  is.-  

My  address  is  •  

City   Zone   State   I  am  years  old 

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT..  MODERN  SCREEN. 
BOX  125,  MURRAY  HILL  STATION.  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


Embraceable  You:  Dane  Clark  and  Geraldine 
Brooks  live,  love  excitingly  on  borrowed  time. 


and  Eddie  fall  desperately  in  love,  and  when 
Marie  learns  that  she  has  just  a  week  or  two 
left  to  live,  she  begs  him  to  marry  her.  Kelch 
shows  up  on  their  wedding  day  intent  on 
putting  Eddie  out  of  the  way — and  there  is 
excitement  and  gunplay.  Is  there  a  wedding? 
That  we're  not  going  to  tell. 

The  story,  obviously,  is  pretty  preposterous. 
However,  it  manages  to  generate  a  lot  of  ex- 
citement, and  furthermore  it's  quite  a  tear- 
jerker.  That  will  appeal  to  the  ladies,  and  for 
the  guys,  there's  Geraldine  Brooks,  who  is 
really  worth  seeing. — War. 

THE  BLACK  ARROW 

This  is  Fifteenth  Century  England  right  after 
the  War  of  the  Roses.  (The  war  between  the 
House  of  York  and  the  House  of  Lancaster.) 
Sir  Richard  Shelton,  a  Yorkist,  returns  victori- 
ously to  Tunstall  Castle  to  learn  that  his  father 
is  dead — murdered  in  cold  blood  by  their 
neighbor,  Lancastrian  John  Sedley — and  that 
his  uncle.  Sir  Daniel  Brackley,  is  now  in  charge. 
Sir  Richard  can  hardly  believe  his  ears,  for  in 
spite  of  political  differences,  Sedley  and 
Richard's  father  were  always  good  friends.  At 
length  Uncle  Dan  convinces  Sir  Richard  that 
the  amazing  news  is  true  indeed,  and  he  also 
tells  him  that  the  wicked  man's  daughter, 
Joanna  (Janet  Blair)  has  been  made  a  ward 
of  the  crown  and  placed  in  Dan's  custody. 

Sir  Richard  is  prepared  to  hate  the  girl — 
flesh  and  blood  of  his  father's  murderer — but 
she  is  very  beautiful,  and  he  falls  for  her 
instead.  Joanna  reveals  to  Richard  that  Uncle 
Dan  is  his  father's  murderer,  not  Sedley;  and 
that  her  pa — whom  everyone  thinks  has  been 
executed — is  hiding  out  in  the  forest  with  a 
band  of  loyal  followers.  The  young  lovers  try 
to  take  to  the  woods  in  search  of  dad  and 
aim -st  lose  their  lives  in  the  attempt.  Daunt- 
less Sir  Richard  risks  his  neck  several  more 
times  before  he  and  his  gal  finally  get  together. 

This  is  spotty  entertainment.  It's  fine  when 
one  is  watching  Edgar  Buchanan  as  Lawless, 
the  Lancastrian  archer  who  so  accurately  dis- 
patches black  arrows  with  their  rhyming  mes- 
sages. He  is  hearty  and  invigorating.  However, 
Louis  Hayward — who  is  constantly  referred  to 
as  "the  boy" — is  a  bit  mature  for  Stevenson's 
dashing  young  Sir  Richard.  Janet  Blair  of  the 


I'm  a  safety-first  gjrj  with  Mam 


As  a  skating  partner,  Beautiful— you  keep  the  boys 
going  around  in  circles . . .  around  you.  And  with  Mum 
for  protection  against  underarm  odor,  you'll  stay  nice 
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The  Black  Arrow:  In  15+h-Century  England,  Louis 
Hayward  falls  for  his  uncle's  ward,  Janet  Blair. 

divine  figure  and  flair  for  light  comedy  is  a 
fish  out  of  water  as  the  sappy,  eyelash-batting 
Joanna. 

Too  bad  that  this  costume  film  (adapted  from 
Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  book  of  the  same 
name)  comes  out  simultaneously  with  ifamief. 
The  comparison  is  fairly  odious. — Col. 

PITFALL 

This  is  a  thriller  with  more  than  the  usual 
impact  because  its  characters  are  ordinary 
people  like  you  and  me.  You'll  find  here  no 
monsters  or  mobsters — just  a  plain  guy,  his 
pretty  wife  and  their  freckled-faced  little  boy. 
They  look  like  the  sort  of  family  the  song-writers 
love — Molly  and  me.  That  sort  of  thing.  But 
they  wind  up  in  a  tabloid  murder  case.  Why? 
Because  of  the  Pitfall — Lizabeth  Scott. 

The  morning  the  trouble  begins,  John  Forbes 
(Dick  Powell)  is  complaining  to  his  wife  Sue 
(Jane  Wyatt)  about  the  deadly  monotony  of 
their  lives.  He's  weary  of  the  insurance  busi- 
ness, wants  to  do  something  wild  and  wonder- 
ful like  sailing  to  the  South  Seas.  He  leaves 
home  a  perfect  set-up  for  any  kind  of  adven- 
ture, and  when  he  gets  to  his  office  the  adven- 
ture is  waiting. 

Mac  MacDonald,  a  private  detective  em- 
ployed by  the  insurance  company  to  check  up 
on  claims,  tells  John  that  he  has  discovered 
some  of  the  loot  Embezzler  Bill  Smiley  (Byron 
Barr)  bought  with  embezzled  funds;  and  he 
gives  John  the  address  of  Mona  Stevens, 
Smiley 's  girl.  Smiley  having  been  bonded  by 
John's  firm,  it's  John's  job  to  recover  what 
goods  he  can.  He  finds  Mona  to  be  a  singularly 
disturbing  gal — reckless,  beautiful,  utterly  un- 
orthodox in  her  approach  to  life.  John  goes  off 
the  deep  end  completely,  can't  stay  awfciy  from 
her.  Where  does  it  all  end,  and  who  kills 
whom?  Go  see  for  yourself. 

This  is  a  tense,  sophisticated  job — all  the 
more  terrifying  because  it  could  happen  to  you. 
Dick  Powell  is  excellent,  equally  at  ease  in 
the  film's  funny  and  dramatic  moments.  Jane 
Wyatt  is  wholly  believable  as  the  wise  and 
attractive  Sue.  Lizabeth  Scott  is  more  poised 
and  even  more  beautiful  than  she's  been  in 
her  previous  films.  But  the  sock  performance 


Pitfall:  Seductress  Liz  Scott  lures  family  man 
Dick    Powell.     Raymond    Burr    provides  chills. 

of  the  movie  is  Raymond  Burr's.  This  hulking 
guy  is  as  chill-making  in  his  own  way  as 
Richard  Widmark — and  that's  really  big-time. 
Don't  miss  this  one.  It's  a  honey. — U.A. 

THE  EYES  OF  TEXAS 

Good  once  more  triumphs  over  evil  and  that 
dauntless  Roy  Rogers  squeaks  through  still 
another  hair-raising  adventure.  In  this  true-to- 
formula  Western,  Roy  is  a  U.  S.  Marshal  who 
tracks  down  two  old  baddies — flint-eyed  at- 
torney Hattie  Waters  (Nana  Bryant)  and  her 
current  sucker,  Vic  Rabin  (Roy  Barcroft). 
This  is  the  story: 

At  Thad  Cameron's  camp  for  war-orphanned 
boys,  word  is  received  that  Thad's  (Francis 
Ford)  favorite  nephew  Frank — believed  dead 
in  Anzio — is  alive  and  headed  for  home.  Thad's 
lawyer,  Hattie  Waters,  is  attending  to  the  de- 
tails of  Frank's  homecoming,  and  when  Thad 
goes  to  her  office  to  talk  things  over  she  per- 
suades him  to  make  a  new  will  leaving  half 
of  his  considerable  fortune  to  his  camp  and 
half  to  Frank. 

On  his  way  home  from  her  office,  Thad  is 
killed  (right  before  our  eyes)  presumably  by 
wolves.  U.  S.  Marshal  Roy  Rogers  isn't  satis- 
fied that  wolves  caused  the  death,  and  when 
he  discovers  an  injured  dog  near  the  spot 
where  the  body  was  found,  he  suspects  some- 
one of  deliberately  setting  wild  dogs  on  poor 
Thad.  Later,  when  a  sharp-looking  character 
blows  into  town  purporting  to  be  old  Thad's 
nephew  Frank — well,  our  Roy  just  knows 
something's  up. 

His  seach  for  evidence  leads  him  into  grave 
danger  countless  times,  also — on  the  pleasant 
side — into  the  office  of  Dr.  Cookie  Bullfincher 
(Andy  Devine)  where  he  meets  up  with  pretty 
Penny  Thatcher  (Lynne  Roberts),  Cookie's 
nurse.  There's  a  satisfactory  conclusion  with  a 
minimum  of  mush,  which  will  delight  the  kids, 
if  not  their  big  sisters. 

The  scenes  of  Roy  in  the  saddle  and  of  Roy's 
horse  Trigger  making  friends  with  the  wild  dog 
are  the  best  in  the  picture.  The  songs  are  easy 
listening,  especially  the  screwy  one,  "Grave- 
yard Filler  of  the  West"  sung  by  the  Sons  of 
the  Pioneers.  For  the  most  part  though,  this  is 


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pretty  predictable  stuff,  and  it  seems  too  bad 
that  there  is  so  much  unnecessary  violence  in- 
asmuch as  thousands  of  impressionable  young- 
sters will  see  it.  Sure,  they'll  eat  it  up — but  is 
that  good? — Rep. 

THAT  LADY  IN  ERMINE 

This  was  Ernst  Lubitsch's  last  film,  and  it's 
unfortunate  that  his  name — which  used  to  be 
almost  a  money-back  guarantee  of  quality — 
is  connected  with  this  weak  and  silly  business. 
Loaded  with  talented  people  like  Betty  Grable, 
Douglas  Fairbanks,  Jr.,  and  Cesar  Romero, 
filmed  in  heavenly  Technicolor,  this  should  be 
something  special,  but — thanks  to  an  atrocious 
script — it  is  an  unmitigated  disappointment. 

Betty  Grable  plays  a  dual  role.  She  is  not 
only  Angelina,  an  Italian  countess,  in  the  year 
1861,  but  also  Francesco — Angelina's  great- 
great-great  grandmother  who  saved  the  Ber- 
gamo Castle  from  the  Hungarians  300  years  be- 
fore. Angelina's  portrait  comes  to  life  at  mid- 
night every  night,  and  this  barefoot  minx  in  the 
ermine  coat  bolluxes  things  up  nicely  for  her 
great-great-great  granddaughter.  By  day  the 
Countess  Francesco,  recent  bride  of  Mario 
(Cesar  Romero)  who  is  off  with  his  troops, 
keeps  a  handsome  Hungarian  colonel  (Doug 
Fairbanks)  at  arm's  length;  but  by  night  An- 
gelina comes  out  of  her  frame,  pretends  that  she 
is  Francesco  and  makes  violent  love  to  him. 
The  poor  infatuated  colonel  is  mighty  confused, 
as  is  the  audience  by  the  time  this  long  nonsen- 
sical affair  draws  to  its  ridiculous  conclusion. 

Betty  Grable  sings  a  couple  of  poor  songs 
adequately,  dances  unspectacularly  and  hard- 
ly shows  her  legs  at  all.  Her  particular  brand 
of  verve  is  completely  lost  here.  Cesar  Romero 
struggles  valiantly,  but  is  pulled  under  by  the 
weight  of  his  lines.  Douglas  Fairbanks.  Jr.,  who 
loo'ss  more  and  more  like  his  stunning  dad.  is 
wasted  in  his  stupid  role.  Designed,  no  doubt, 
rss  escape  cinema,  this  one's  just  a  ponderous 
24  mistake. — 20th-Fox. 


MOONRISE 

Here  is  another  youthful  killer  for  whose 
plight  the  audience  is  supposed  to  bleed.  This 
time  it's  Danny  Hawkins,  hammily  played  by 
Dane  Clark.  Danny's  father  was  hanged  for 
killing  a  doctor  whose  negligence  contributed  to 
his  wife's  death,  and  Danny  has  grown  up 
branded  as  a  murderer's  son,  taunted  cease- 
lessly by  his  contemporaries. 

One  night,  there's  a  particularly  bitter  fight, 
and  Danny,  beside  himself  with  fury,  heaves  a 
rock  at  Jerry  Sykes,  his  enemy  of  long-standing, 
killing  him  instantly.  On  the  heels  of  this  bit  of 
brutality,  he  borrows  his  friend's  car  and,  driv- 
ing seventy  or  eighty  miles  an  hour,  cracks  up, 
nearly  finishing  himself  and  the  three  kids  with 
him.  A  few  reels  later,  Danny  hurtles  from  a 
moving  ferris  wheel  to  escape  The  Law,  and 
shortly  thereafter  all  but  chokes  the  life  out 
of  Billy,  the  village  idiot — well  played  by 
Henry  Morgan. 

About  here  one's  pity  for  Danny  runs  out. 


That  Lady  In  Ermine:  Betty  Grable  plays  dual 
role,  confuses  love-struck  Doug  Fairbanks,  Jr. 


One  cannot  help  but  compare  this  cowardly, 
violent  young  man  with  Bowie  (Farley  Gran- 
ger) the  youthful  criminal  in  The  Twisted  fload 
who  is  essentially  gentle,  essentially  fine.  There 
is  nothing  fine  about  Danny,  even  though  the 
incredible  ending  attempts  to  give  him  a  heart 
of  gold. 

Gail  Russell,  as  Danny's  girl  Gilly,  is  the 
film's  bright  spot.  She's  lovely  to  look  at  and 
her  under-playing  is  exquisite  relief  from 
Clark's  heavy-handed  emoting.  Ethel  Barry- 
more,  strong-faced  and  with  that  wonderful, 
unforgettable  voice,  is  excellent  in  her  too-brief 
appearance  as  Danny's  grandmother.  Allyn 
Joslyn  is  splendid  as  the  sheriff,  and  Rex  In- 
gram is  just  right  as  Danny's  old  crony. 

Pictures  like  Mooniise,  and  there  are  a  lot 
of  them,  are  a  little  like  the  gory  third  page 
of  a  tabloid.  They  carry  you  along  with  the 
swiftness  of  their  pace,  with  their  cheap  sensa- 
tionalism, but  they  send  you  home  feeling  just 
a  bit  dirty.  Producer  Frank  Borzage  can  do 
better  than  this. — Rep. 

SORRY,  WRONG  NUMBER 

This  celebrated  radio  drama  by  Lucille 
Fletcher  has  been  sucessfully  converted  into 
a  full-length  movie,  and  while  it  has  lost  some 
of  its  heart-stopping  force  in  transition,  it  is 
still  a  thoroughly  terrifying  business. 

It  is  the  story  of  one  evening  in  the  life  of 
Leona  Stevenson  (Barbara  Stanwyck),  bed- 
ridden with  a  heart  condition.  As  the  picture 
opens  she  is  trying  to  reach  her  husband's 
office  to  learn  why  he  hasn't  come  home  for 
dinner.  The  operator  tells  her  repeatedly  that 
there  is  no  answer,  but  while  she  is  stubborn- 
ly holding  on  to  the  receiver  she  intercepts 
a  horrible  telephone  conversation.  Two  men 
are  plotting  a  murder  which  is  to  take  place 
that  night  at  11:15.  Her  murder. 

Leona  tries  unsuccessfully  to  trace  the  call, 
then  frantically  calls  the  police  who  tell  her 
that  with  so  little  to  go  on,  there  is,  of  course, 
nothing  they  can  do.  All  alone  in  the 
big  shadowy  townhouse,  Leona's  nervousness 
mounts  every  second.  Distraught  by  her  hus- 
band's failure  to  appear,  completely  unnerved 
by  the  phone  conversation  she  has  overheard, 
(Continued  on  page  116) 


Moonrise:  As  a  murderer's  son,  Dane  Clark 
leads  bitter  life,  brightened  by  Gail  Russell. 


•ffolL  woods  NEWEST  Glamour  Secret 


RITA  HAYWORTH 


STAR  OF 

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BEFORE 


GOD  AND  MAIN 


Lilli  stands  by  Rex 

as  he  faces  reporters  in  Carole 

Landis  suicide  case. 


Dear  Lilli  Palmer: 

Some  people  say  that  in  Hollywood  there  is  no 
simple,  human  decency.   They  hold  that  the  town  lives 
by  the  law  of  the  jungle;  that  its  individuals  are 
selfish — guided  only  by  savage  ambitions  and  desires. 
They  find  plenty  of  examples  to  support  their  argument. 

But  you,  Lilli  Palmer,  are  proof  that  it's  not  wholly  so. 

When  your  husband.  Rex  Harrison,  was  dragged 
into  the  limelight  after  the  death  of  his  friend,  Carole  Landis, 
you  and  he  were  a  continent  apart.    The  inevitable 
rumors  had  already  been  spread  .  .  .  reports  that  you  and  he 
'  had  decided  to  go  your  separate  ways.   But  in  this  time  of 
crisis  in  the  life  of  the  man  you  had  sworn  to  stand 
by  "for  better  for  worse,"  you  didn't  hesitate.   You  went  to 
his  side  when  he  needed  you  most. 

It  would  have  been  easy  for  you  to  judge,  to  place 
blame,  to  harbor  a  hurt  in  your  heart.   Easier  still, 
you  could  have  stayed  aloof,  taking  no  chances  with  your 
own  brightly-hopeful  career. 

You  knew  what  the  cynics  would  say.   They'd  see 
your  act  'of  devotion  as  something  arranged  to  place  your 
husband,  a  great  new  box-office  magnet,  in  a  better  light. 
They'd  speak  of  you  as  a  woman  without  pride,  returning 
for  appearances'  sake  to  a  man  whose  love  you'd  been 
unable  to  hold. 

But  you  ignored  the  poisoned  tongues.   To  you,  as  a  woman 
of  character,  there  was -no  question  of  what  to  do.- 
In  the  memorable  words  which  Louella  Parsons  quotes 
elsewhere  in  this  issue,  you  said  simply,  "My  place 
is  by  the  side  of  my  husband." 

You  honored  a  vow  made  before  God  and  man.   You  remembered 
your  promise — "for  better  for  worse" — when  things 
were  worst. 

You're  an  honest  woman,  Lilli  Palmer,  and  courageous,  too. 


EDITOR 


"I  shouldn't  ever  be  married."  Orson  Welles  told  Hedda, 
while  he  and  Rita  Hayworth  were  still  man-and-wife.  Rita 
finally    agreed — after    three    hectic    years    with    her  genius. 


This  picture  of  John  Payne  and  Gloria  De  Haven  at  the 
Stork  Club  was  snapped  just  following  their  latest  reconcilia- 
tion.   At   present,    John    is    saying  '  they   should    never  part. 


Has  Hollywood 
re-written  the  vows  to 
read,  "until  we  change  our 
minds"?  Hedda 
explains  those  Humpty- 
Dumpty  movie  homes — 
and  why  they  fall! 

bq  hedda  hopper 


whu  can't 


■  'I  shouldn't  ever  be  married,  Hedda."  a  famous 
young  man  once  told  me  gloomily,  knitting  his  heavy 
black  brows.  "I'm  not  the  husband  type.  I'm  an 
artist.  When  I  work  I  actually  forget  I  have  a  wife." 

At  that  time,  he  was  not  only  married,  but  the 
father  of  a  baby  girl.  At  that  time,  his  wife  had  just 
walked  out  on  him,  unable  to  take  his  wild  genius 
any  more.  She  came  back  and  he  produced  a  picture 
with  her,  and  it  started  all  over  again.  Then  again 
it  stopped.  He's  chasing  his  dreams  in  Rome,  as  I 
write,  and  she's  in  Paris,  having  a  nervous  break- 
down. The  baby's  in  Hollywood,  in  care  of  a  nurse. 
And  Orson  Welles,  that  irresistible,  irresponsible 
rascal,  and  Rita  Hayworth,  are  divorced,  their  home 
smashed  to  bits  for  the  second  time. 

"I've  made  a  jackass  of  myself,  Hedda,"  another 
tortured  young  man  told  me  bitterly,  calling  me  at 
home  from  his  bed  in  a  hospital.  "I  can  see  how 
cruel  I've  been,  how  I've  hurt  my  wife.  She's  too 
good  for  me,  but  if  she'll  just  have  me  back  I'll  make 
all  this  right'  to  her." 

"See  that  you  do,"  1  told  him,  and  maybe  he  has. 
He's  signed  over  everything  he  owns  to  his  wife  and 
baby.  He's  doing  everything  he  can  to  control  a 
temper  made  touchy  by  illness.  His  sweet  little 
partner  called  me  just  the  other  day.  She'd  just 
visited  Mark  Stevens  on  location  and  Annelle  said, 
"Things  couldn't  be  better,  Hedda.  We're  more  in 
love  than  ever.  I'm  going  right  back  to  Colorado 
to  be  with  him.    We're  so  happy  .  .  ." 

I  was  at  Le  Papillon  Cafe  in  New  York  a  few 
weeks  ago  and  I  ran  into  another  charming  fellow  I 
know.  "Have  a  cocktail  with  me,"  he  invited,  smil- 
ing pleasantly,  as  he  knows  how  to  smile.  I  accepted 
and,  after  the  first  sip,  he  said,  "You've  never  liked 
me."  I'm  frank;  I  admitted  he  was  right  on  that. 
"But,"  argued  this  sophisticated  young  man  pleas- 
antly, "you're  a  great  friend  of  my  wife's,  and  I  want 
you  to  consider.  You  don't  think  Gene  would  come 
back  to  me  after  a  year's  separation,  plan  another 
baby  by  me  unless — well,  unless  I  had  a  few  good 
points,  do  you?" 

"No,"  I  granted,  "I  don't."  (Continued  on  page  30) 


28 


j      whq  can't  theq  staq  married? 


December,  but  Frank  soon  came  to  his  senses,  "made  it  up"  to  was  a  high-salaried  star;  Oleg,  a  struggling  designer.  But  love  won 
Nancy.  The  new  Sinatra  baby  has  further  cemented  their  marriage.      out,  and  instead  of  divorce,  they're  expecting  another  child  soon. 


ij 

(Continued  from  page  28)  Later  I  talked 
to  Gene  Tierney,  and  changed  my  opinion  j 
still,  further.    Those  three  •  conversations,  j 
those  three  scenes  (and  more  like  them) 
flashed  through  my  mind  the  other  day  asjl 
vivid  as  Technicolor  and  twice  as  real.  The 
reason  was :  I'd  opened  a  letter  on  my  desk.  I 
It  was  from  a  puzzled  young  wife  in  the  I 
Midwest.   I've  been  reading  a  lot  of  others  jj 
like  it  from  all  over,  lately.    But  this  one  J 
uncannily  posed  my  own  disturbed  thoughts  . 
in  print,  and  I  want  to  spell  it  out  right  j 
here,  to  bring  into  the  open  something  I've 


Ultra-conservqtive  Ray  Millands  have  had  their  ups  and  downs,  too. 
During  The  Lost  Weekend,  nervous  temperament  threatened  their 
security.     But  deep  affection  and  a  mature  outlook  saved  them. 


30 


Mark  Stevens'  torrid  whirl  with  Hedy  Lamarr  was  quickly  and  publicly  repented.  He,  Annelle  and  Mark,  Jr.,  are  together  again. 


been  meaning  to  mention  for  many  months. 

"Dear  Hedda,"  -she  wrote.  "Is  nothing 
]  sacred  in  Hollywood?  What's  this  silly 
[  New  Look  that  marriage  is  wearing  out 
I  there?  Have  they  rewritten  the  vows  to 
|  read:  'until  we  change  our  minds,'  instead 
!  of  'until  death  do  us  part'?  Can't  these 
|  too-rich,  too-famous  couples  make  up  their 
|  minds?     Can't  they  stop  picking  daisy 

petals  with  domesticity  and  divorce?  'Yes 
'  we're  married;  no,  we're  not'?    We  know 

divorce  back  here,  and  we're  used  to  that. 

Hollywood  divorces,  of  course,  are  famous 

— or  maybe  infamous  is  the  word.  But 


this  'yes-no-here-we-go'  business  is  too  con- 
fusing for  a  country  gal.  I'm  curious— and 
maybe  yo.u  can  set  me  straight.  Has  Holly- 
wood marriage  turned  into  a  quick-change 

act?" 

Well,  I  know  just  what  she  means  and 
how  she  feels  about  Hollywood's  domestic 
ins  and  outs. 

Patchwork  marriages,  I'm  tempted  to 
tag  them  sometimes.  On  the  surface,  it 
seems  all  that  holds  some  wishy-washy 
homes  together  is  a  helping  of  glamor  glue, 
.or  some  not-so-Scotch  tape,  which  is  to 
say — too  much  money  and  too  little  sense. 


Sometimes  the  Humpty-Dumpty  homes  of 
Hollywood,  tumbling  and  cracking  and 
patching  together  again,  loom  as  downright 
disgusting. 

We've  had  more  hot-and-cold  couples 
this  season  than  Mr.  Anthony  could  handle 
in  a  week  of  Sundays.  John  Payne  and 
Gloria  DeHaven,  for  instance,  whirling  in 
and  out  of  each  other's  arms  like  adagio 
dancers.  A  model  marriage  of  solid  citizens, 
like  Ronald  Reagan  and  Jane  Wyman, 
teeter-tottering  throughout  suspenseful 
months,  with  tickets  to  Las  Vegas  and 
return  tickets     {Continued  on  page  86) 


oatfkae 
and 
the 
babe 


by '  jimmie"  garland 

For  us,  her  sister 
opened  a  window  on 
a  childhood  world  that 
glowed  with  magic, 
a  world  of  funny  faces  and 
silly  games  and  cotton 
candy,  a  Judy  Garland  you 
never  knew  before  .  .  . 


■  There's  a  spot  in  Easter  Parade  where  I  let  out 

such  a  yip,  it's  a  wonder  they  didn't  run  me  in  for 

disturbing  the  peace.    What  probably  saved 

me  was  that  everybody  else  was  whoopin'  and  hollerin' 

too.   Only  to  them  it  was  merely  a  riot.   To  us 

Garlands,  it  was  all  mixed  up  with  old  family  stuff. 

At  one  point  in  the  picture,  Judy  and  Fred  Astaire 
are  walking  down  the  street,  and  she  wants  to  prove  she's 
as  good  whistle-bait  as  the  next  one.  so  he  drops 
behind  and  tells  her  to  show  him.    At  first  nothing 
happens,  then  all  of  a  sudden,  surprise !    The  heads  start 
turning,  and  you  get  the  close-up  of  Judy 
pulling  this  face.   The  Bloopface,  we  used  to  call  it.  A 
little  thing  Judy  stitched  up  one  afternoon  .  .  . 

We  were  three  kids  in  the  back  seat  of  the  car. 
Nothing  much   on  our  minds.     "Let's  see  who  can 
make  the  most  horrible  face,"  said  Susie. 

Her  contribution  and  mine  are  gone  with  the 
wind.    But  we  both  wound  up  hysterical  over  Judy, 
sitting  there  with  her  eyes  crossed  and  her  cheeks 
ballooned  and  the  tongue-tip  sticking  out,  sober  as  a 
judge.   It  was  always  like  that.   Judy  could 
fracture  Susie  and  me,  playing  it  straight. 

Just  then  the  signals  change,  Daddy  pulls 
up,  and  quick  as  a  wink  Judy  has  her  face  through  the 
window.   Folks  in  the  next  car  do  a  bug-eyed  double-take, 
but  by  the  time  Mother  turns  round  to  see  what 
goes,  our  little  pet's  snoozing  peacefully  in  her 
corner.    Anyhow,  that's  when  the  Bloopface  started, 
and  for  years  we  used  it  to  scare  people  in  cars.  Then 
we  grew  up  and  forgot  it,  till  Judy  pulled 
it  out  for  this  scene  in  Easter  Parade. 

That's  one  thing  I  like  about  my  sister. 
Judy  can  no  more  help  being  funny  than  breathing. 
She'll  look  at  you  out  of  those  mournful  big  eyes, 
describe  a  session  at  the  dentist's  where  she  really  suffers, 
and  have  you  rolling  on  the  floor.    Her  comedy  sense 
is  something  you  have  to  be  born  with,  and  she'd 
rather  play  one  clown  than  sixty-nine  glamor  dolls. 
She'll  go  out  of  her  way  to  make  herself  look  idiotic. 

The  day  she  reported  to  Wardrobe  for  the  tramp 
routine  in  Easter  Parade,  they  trotted  out  this 
form-fitting  tailored  jacket.    "What's  that  for?'.' 

"The  tramp  number.    Of  course  it'll  have  to  be 
torn  up  and  dirtied,  but  at  least  it'll  tit  you."' 

Judy  wafted  it  away.    "Let's  see  what  you've 
got  in  men's  coats,  size  40." 

She  and  Fred  were  supposed  to  be  dressed  alike. 
He's  not  exactly  the  torn-and-tattered  type,  and  he 
wasn't  quite  sure  how  far  Judy'd  want  to  go,  so  he'd 
try  something  on  and  ask:  "D'you  think  it's  too  much?" 

One  day  comes  a  double  knock  on  his 
dressing-room  door,  and  there  stands  a  vision. 
Baggy  trousers,  oversize  coat,  crumpled  silk  hat 
on  top  of  a  fright  wig,  two  front  teeth  blacked  out. 
"Think  it's  too  much?"  asks  Judy,  and  he  falls  apart. 

That's  after  they'd  been  working  together 
a  while.    Before  they    (Continued  on  page  108) 


Chill  night,  full  moon— and  a  hayride  for  Dick  Moore,  Reba  Churchill,   Farley  Granger,  Gerry  Brooks,  Doug  Dick  and  Martha  Hyers 


have 
a 


hayride! 


34 


by  reba  and  bonnie  churchill 


■  It  was  a  perfect  night 
"  for  a  hayride.  A  cool 
ocean  breeze  was  drift- 
ing in  through  the  can- 
yons. Riding  along  on 
the  fresh  wind  was  the 
smell  of  newly-mowed 
alfalfa.  And  riding  along 
in  a  newly-rented  team 
and  wagon  were  we,  feeling  slick,  by  cracky! 

The  evening  was  cool,  crisp  and  completely 
romantic.  The  fellas  were  sharing  their  jackets 
with  their  dates,  and  the  girls  would  shiver  a 
little  and  nestle  closer. 

Occasionally  a  motorist  would  pass  by  and 
honk  his  horn  and  wave.  The  car's  lights  would 
flash  across  the  wagon.  You  could  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Gerry  Brooks  resting  her  head  on 
Farley  Granger's  shoulder  .  .  .  Douglas  Dick 
holding  hands  with  Martha  Hyers  .  .  .  Then, 
the  car  would  pass  by,  and  it  would  be  dark 
and  quiet  again. 

We  felt  we  were  miles  from  Hollywood. 
Yet,  we  could  still  see  the  giant  searchlights 
from  some  premiere  piercing  the  sky.  Looking 
westward,  the  mountains  were  silhouetted 
against  the  heavens,  and  the  stars  appeared 
very  close. 

The  way  this  party  had  come  about  was 
interesting.  We — Reba  and  Bonnie,  that's 
us — write  a  movie  column  for  the  San  Fer- 
nando Valley  Times  (and  other  papers)  and 
we  go  around  to  studios  to  pick  up  news. 

The  commissary  at  RKO  is  always  meaty 
(or  fruitful,  if  you'd  rather)  and  this  particular 
day,  we  were  lunching  with  Martha  Hyers  and 
Johnny  Sands.  The  talk  turned  to  the  North 
Hollywood  Playground,  where  the  Dbsey-Do 
Club  has  weekly  square  dances,  and  suddenly 
the  idea  hit  us,  right  between  swallows  of 
malt.  Before  we  were  through,  we'd  planned 
a  moonlight  hayride,  a  square  dance,  and  a 
barbecue  supper. 

Then  we  dialed  some  of  our  favorite  people. 
"How  would  you  like  to  go  on  a  hayride?" 
we  helloed. 

Right  away,  Lon  McCallister  said  he'd  come. 
So  did  Coleen  Townsend,  and  Jerome  Court- 
land,  and  Terry  Moore,  and  Johnny  Sands,  and 
Mary  Hatcher,  and  Richard  Long  and  Dickie 
Moore  and  Farley  Granger.  .  .  . 

Which  is  a  lovely  way  to  begin  a  hayride. 

As  we  rode,  we  (Continued  on  page  37) 


Ride's  over,  so  hungry  hayseeds  storm  Redwood  Village  Restaurant 
for  spareribs.  They're  Martha,  Jerry  Courtland,  Terry  Moore, 
Johnny  Sands,   Mary  Hatcher,   Richard   Long  and'  Bonnie  Churchill. 


Doug  Dick  took  a  ribbing — along  with  his  spareribs — for  his 
flaming  red-gold  hair  (dyed  for  his  role  in  Rope).  (Below) 
Dick  Long  showed  Jo'hnny,   Mary  and    Bonnie  his  pet  table  stunt. 


Final  stop:  Dosey-do  Club's  square  dance.  Caller  Dave  Gray  (at  mike)  chants:  "Gals  Join  hands,  form  a  star;  fellas  clap  hands  where  they  are.' 


photos  by  bert  parry 


{Continued  from  page  35)  serenaded  driver 
Shorty  Haden  with  everything  from  "Working  on 
the  Railroad"  to  "Waltz  Me  Around  Again  Willie." 

The  repertoire  also  included  a  request  number 
from  Geraldine  Brooks. 

"Hey  gang,"  she  called,  "it's  Farley's  birthday. 
Let's  dedicate  our  next  number  to  him." 

"Shy  guy,"  Dick  Moore  said.  "Why  didn't  you 
tell  us?" 

"When  you  get  up  in  years  (23  you  know)  you 
don't  like  to  mention  such  things.  And  besides," 
Far  grinned,  "do  you  call  that  noise  singing?" 

Later  Mary  Hatcher  did  some  of  the  songs  she 
sang  on  Broadway  in  Oklahoma!  and  it  was  all 
quite  perfect.  That  is,  it  was  until  Shorty  made 
that  right-hand  turn.  The  singing  abruptly  stopped. 
We  had  deserted  the  main  road  and  were  clumping 
down  an  unpaved  lane,  the  team  unsuccessfully 
trying  to  dodge  the  holes  and  rocks  strewn  in 
their  path. 

The  wagon  rocked  from  side  to  side,  and  Farley 
staggered  to  his  feet,  tapped  Shorty  on  the  shoulder 
and  moaned,  "Stop  the  wagon.  We're  getting 
sea  sick."   This  from  an  ex-Navy  man! 

Shorty,  who  could  go  along  with  a  gag,  turned 
the  team  around  and    (Continued  on  page  104) 


Lon  and  Coleen  Townsend  liked  simple  steps.  She's  making 
Chicken  Every  Sunday  and  taking  mail  courses  at  Brig- 
ham  Young  U.    Lon  has  started  new  pic,  The  Big  Cat. 


Farley  and  Gerry  Brooks  (in  Embraceable  You)  added  a  boogie  beat  of 
their  own.  Pencil-thin  moustache  he's  grown  for  The  Enchanted  inspired 
Lon  McCallister  to  crack:  "My  good  man,  it  makes  you  look  hours  older!" 


A  couple  of  beat  square  dancers  were  Dick  Moore  and  authoress 
Reba.  After  four  months'  paralysis  in  Army  veterans'  hospital,  Dick's 
well  again  and  is  co-producing  (with' William  Lasky)  Feathered  Fury. 


37 


Virginia  Grey, 
who's  lasted  longest 
of  Gable's  women, 
has  the  temperament 
of  a  saint. 


gable  women 


Gay,  charming, 
beautiful — these  are  the 
current  crop  of  Gable 
women.  But 

can  any  of  them  lure  Clark 
into  marriage? 


by  dorothy  kilgallen 


Dolly  O'Brien,  4-times  married  and  grandmother  of  5,  is  intensely  feminine 
and  witty.  Clark,  a  poor  boy  who  worked  his  way  to  the  top,  was  impressed 
with  her  social  standing.  She's  Kilgallen's  choice  as  "most  likely  to  succeed." 


Iris  Bynum  (above  with  Bob  Hope)  is  at  the  bottom 
of  the  list  at  this  writing,  but  is  likely  to  zoom 
without  notice.     Their  romance  blows  hot  and  cold. 


.18 


Anita  Colby,  who  has  pep  and  personality  and  is  Newest  entry  in  Gable's  life  is  Nancy  Hawks,  ex-wife  of  Howard  Hawks, 
liked  by  everyone,  is  "only  a  pal."  Their  dates,  Gossips  were  agog  when  she  spent  3'/2  hours  kissing  Clark  off  to  Europe, 
though  very  much  publicized,  are  strictly  for  laughs.    But  it  was  a  vain  try  at  delaying  sailing  so  a  friend  could  make  the  boat. 


■  A  day  before  he  boarded  the  Queen  Mary  to  join 
urbane  and  fascinating  Dolly  O'Brien  in  what  a  con- 
siderable portion  of  New  York  society  was  predicting 
would  be  a  European  honeymoon,  Clark  Gable  told 
a  male  friend: 

"Take  it  from  me — no  matter  what  you  hear,  I'll 
never  get  married  again/' 

There  was  no  implication  in  this  that  he  had  given 
up  romance,  of  course,  and  immediately  subsequent 
events  proved  that  anyone  who  assumed  he  was  elimi- 
nating love  from  his  life  was  a  victim  of  groundless 
pessimism. 

Twenty-four  hours  later,  Manhattan  ship  news  re- 
porters issued  the  surprising  intelligence  that  it  had 
taken- him  three  hours  and  thirty-two  minutes  to  kiss 
elegant  divorcee  "Slim"  Hawks  goodbye  before  the 
liner  pulled  away  from  the  pier — and  waterfront  pho- 
tographers turned  in  glistening-eyed  pictures  of  Gable 
and  Mrs.  Hawks  to  prove  it. 

That  was  a  Friday. 

It  was  too  late  for  some  editors  to  kill  Saturday 
color-section  photographs  showing  Gable  hovering  with 
his  dynamo  smile  over  beautiful  Anita  Colby. 

The  public  that  studies  the  amorous  vagaries  of  mo- 
tion picture  stars  was  left  to  pay  its  money  and  take 


its  choice.  The  King  of  Rampant  Masculinity  had 
done  his  bit  to  give  them  plenty  of  choice. 

For  in  the  background  of  what  appeared  to  be  an  in- 
teresting romantic  quadrangle — in  the  chatter  at 
Romanoff's  and  the  notebooks  of  the  gossip  columnists 
— there  loomed  a  pair  of  lush  Gable-struck  beauties, 
either  one  of  whom  might  be  considered,  if  they  will 
excuse  the  expression,  a  dark  horse. 

There  was  blonde  Virginia  Grey,  the  girl  with  the 
perfect  disposition.  There  was  also  voluptuous  Iris 
Bynum,  the  girl  with  the  obvious-to-the-naked-eye 
allure. 

They,  with  Slim  and  Dolly  and  Anita,  comprise  the 
Gable  Women.  At  the  moment  of  going  to  press  this 
is  how  they  shape  up  on  the  Gable  "dope  sheet": 

Dolly  O'Brien — Most  Likely  To  Succeed,  if  anyone 
can. 

Slim  Hawks — Out  of  Nowhere,  a  Big  Surprise.  Could 
be  a  mutual  gag. 

Anita  Colby — A  Great  Friendship.  Lots  of  laughs, 
not  much  heat. 

Virginia  Grey — The  Longest  Lasting,  and  always  in 
the  running. 

Iris  Bynum — Blows  Hot  (Very  Hot)  And  Cold.  At 
the  bottom  of  the  list       (Continued  on  page  97) 


a  /tutf/ 
of feelin,<p= = =9na£e& 
&cm  want  Jo 
w/tyfat/e,  »to /,-<>:>  <£a*ie 
want  io  binff.  ?J¥mfj 
ffort  'tJmow  tea/, 
tAttif  orilif  Artofte  -  - 


High  in  the  sky  above  Los  Angeles,  Jane  Powell  and  Tommy  Batten  get  a 
panoramic  view  of  the  city.  They're  on  the  roof  of  Griffith  Parle's  famed 
planetarium.  On  clear  days  you  can  see  the  M-G-M  studios  20  miles  away. 


■  They'd  been  going  steady  for  a  while. 
Tommy  Batten  would  call  for  her  in  his 
broken-down  car,  and  usually,  they'd  pray 
their  way  over  to  the  Kappa  Sig  fraternity 
house.  Sometimes,  when  there  was  a  dance 
on,  the  boys  at  the  house  would  have  the 
cokes  lined  up,  and  the  pretzels,  and  the 
piles  of  phonograph  records.  Maybe,  they'd 
set  lighted  candles  around,  and  that  was 
it — the  date,  the  night. 

She'd  be  wearing  Tommy's  fraternity  pin, 
and  in  the  candlelight  it  would  gleam,  and 
in  the  candlelight  they'd  drift  into  each 
other's  arms,  wishing  the  music  could  last 
forever  .  .  . 

But  that  was  a  year  ago.  This  year  Jane 
returned  Tommy's  fraternity  pin.  They 
were  sitting  around  talking  about  their 
futures  when  it  happened. 

"Do  you  ever  think  about  going  out  with 
other  fellows?"  Tommy  had  asked. 

Jane  hadn't  thought  about  it.  But  she 
started  then,  and  when  she  held  the  pin  at 
arm's  length  they  were  both  ready  to  fall 
apart. 

"I  only  meant — "  said  Tommy. 

"You  don't  have  to  explain,"  said  Jane. 

But  it  wasn't  the  end  that  night.  It  was 
only  a  new  way  of  looking  at  things.  They're 
both  still  at  the  beginning  of  their  careers. 
Tommy,  who's  22,  has  just  been  graduated 
from  USC,  and  is  trying  to  get  into  tele- 
vision. Jane,  who's  19,  has  been  studying 
hard  for  her  first  complete  operetta,  The 
Student  Prince,  which  she'll  do  at  the  Greek 
Theater.  Her  latest  movie  is  A  Date 
With  Judy;   {Continued  on  next  page) 


On  their  way  to  the  beach  they  stop  ott  at  Wil  Wright's,  a  fancy  ice 
cream  parlor  on  the  Sunset  Strip.  Wil's  has  become  a  local  hangout  for 
Jane  (of  A  Date  With  Judy)  and  for  th  e  rest  of  the  younger  set. 


love  is  so  terrific! 


Jane  had  never  been  in  a  motor  boat  before,  so  Tommy  rented  one 
for  a  spin  on  the  Santa  Monica  Bay.  Later,  they  found  a  playground 
in   a   nearby   park — went  on   the   swings,  tried   out  the  see-saw! 


That  day  they  went  to  the  Clyde  Beatty  Circus  held  in  downtown 
Los  Angeles.  Jane  couldn't  take  her  eyes  off  this  day-old  Shetland 
pony — tried  holding  it  in  her  arms,  but  it  squirmed  free,  ran  to  Mom. 


photos  by  dan  omits 


(Continued  from  page  41)  They  both  finally  agreed  that  marriage  was  some- 
thing they'd  better  not  talk  about.  There  were  so  many  other  things  to  get 
settled,  and  they  were  young  and  they  should  be  free.  And  somehow,  after 
the  fraternity  pin  episode,  they  were  a  little  gayer.   They  relaxed. 

Now,  about  once  a  week,  Tommy  comes  over  to  Jane's  house,  and  they  plan 
their  evening.  Sometimes,  it's  dancing  at  the  Cocoanut  Grove — rhumba-ing 
is  their  specialty.  Sometimes,  they  go  to  the  Blackouts  (Ken  Murray's  variety 
show).  They  like  to  dine  in  small,  out  of  the  way  restaurants — the  Little 
Gypsy,  the  Bublichki — both  on  the  Sunset  Strip.   They  like  moonlight  cruises. 

Daytime  dates  are  lazy  and  long  and  full  of  salted  peanuts.  Picnics  at 
Griffith  Park,  visits  to  the  Zoo,  hours  beside  Jane's  tiny  pool  in  her  backyard. 

They  sit  in  the  deck  chairs  and  talk  about  silly  things.  Question:  Will  a 
toad  swim?  "Of  course,"  from  Jane.  "Not  at  all,"  from  Tommy.  They  hunt 
for  a  toad  and  place  him  gently  in  the  water  and  it  swims.  They  talk  about  the 
circus  sideshow  they  saw- — what  sort  of  rubber  is  in  the  India  rubber  man, 
what  happens  to  the  sword  when  it's  swallowed.  And  then  they  wander  up  to 
the  house  and  watch  the  carpenters  and  the  plasterers  pulling  it  apart  and 
putting  it  together.  Mr.  Powell's  idea  is  to  make  more  living  space — a  bigger 
dining  room,  a  bigger  kitchen,  another  bedroom — and  Jane  is  getting  a  soda 
bar  with  a  million  taps  for  the  playroom. 

Time  passes  easily,  and  too  quickly,  and  memories  begin  to  form.  The 
other  day,  for  instance,  Jane  went  to  the  door  and  found  Tommy  standing 
there,  a  little  paper  carton  in  his  hands,  his  eyes  resembling  a  St.  Bernard's. 

"Present  for  you,"  he  said,  and  turned  on  his  heel. 

"Well,  don't  run  away,"  said  Jane,  following  him.  She  followed  him  down 
to  the  pool.  There,  he  set  the  carton  down  and  opened  it.  Three  small  gold- 
fish blinked  their  eyes.   Tommy  dumped  them  unceremoniously  into  the  pool. 

"Keep  you  company  when  I'm  not  here,"  he  said. 

The  goldfish  died  in  two  days.   The  chlorine  in  the  water  overpowered  them. 
And  Jane  was  sad.    "Oh,  that  crazy  Tommy."  she  thought.   And  then,  with 
a  smile,  she  softly  repeated.  "Oh.  that  crazy  boy." 


42 


Dinner  at  the  Little  Gypsy,  a  small  Hungarian  restaurant .  with 
plenty  of  atmosphere.  George  Justus,  the  headwaiter,  always 
pays  special  attention  to  young  quests  like  Jane  and  Tommy. 


Romantic  violin  music  is  provided  at  rhe  Little  Gypsy  by  Jack  Scholl 
Tommy  and  Jane  love  to  go  out  dancing,  but  they're  not  night  club  fans 
Jane's  been  to  Ciro's  only  once — for  the  Photographers'  Ball  last  year 


End  of  a  perfect  date.  Tommy  and  Jane  watch  the  sunset  from  the  Santa  Monica  Palisades.  Next  stop:  Jane's  home  in  North  Hollywood. 


She's  Rita  Hayworth  now, 

but  her  father  still  remembers  the 

dark-haired  girl  she  was, 

the  Cansino  girl,  dancing  with  a 

rose  in  her  hair  .  .  . 


she  was  a  good  girl. . . 


by 

eduardo 
cansino 


■  "Rockabye  Baby"  sounded  like  very  queer 
music  indeed  for  a  Spanish  dance.   I  stopped  in  the 
middle  of  my  act  at  the  1 25th  Street 
Theater  in  upper  Manhattan  and  tried  to  fake 
something  to  that  funny  rhythm.  Then  the  conductor 
popped  up  in  the  orchestra  pit  before  me  and 
yelled  right  out  before  everybody, 

"Hey,  Cansino — it's  a  girl!" 

They'd  rushed  the  good  news  in  to  him 
from  the  office  telephone.    He  knew  it  before  I 
did.    That's  why  the  band  had  stopped 
gypsy  music  and  swung  into  a  cradle  refrain. 

Then  I  really  danced — right  off  the  stage, 
into  the  wings  and  all  the  way  down  to  the  hospital! 

That's  how  I  first  heard  of  a  certain  young  lady 
known  as  Rita  Hayworth.   I  was  one  of  the 
first  guys  to  see  her  and,  you  can  bet,  fall  in  love 
with  her.     But  then,  I  had  a  certain 
advantage.    You  see — I'm  her  dad. 

We  didn't  call  her  Rita  Hayworth  then. 
We  christened  her  Margarita  Carmen  (after  her 
two  grandmothers)  Cansino.    The  Cansino  was,  of 
course,  after  me — Eduardo  Cansino,  from  Seville,  Spain. 

I  know  a  pretty  sefiorita  when  I  see  one,  and  when  I 
saw  my  first  born  in  her  mama's  arms  my  grin 
could  have  lighted  up  Madison  Square  Garden. 
She  was  dainty  and  rosy,  with  close  black  curls  all  over 
her  cute  head.   I  thought  our  Margarita  was  the 
prettiest  girl  in  the  world,  and  I  haven't  changed  my 
opinion  on  that  in  29  years.    I  also  thought,  with  a  thrill 
that  maybe  only  a  member  of  a  theatrical  family 
like  the  Cansinos  could  feel,  "She'll  be  a  great  and 
beautiful  star  some  day."       {Continued  on  page  100) 


45 


"I  hate  ginghams,"  says  Donna  Reed,  who  wears  them  constant- 
ly in  The  Life  of  Monty  Stratten.  That's  why,  off-screen, 
Donna  loves  the  exquisite  tailoring  of  this  wool  gabardine  suit. 


Ida  Lupino  lives  high  in  the  mountains  and  finds  pedal  push- 
ers go  perfectly  with  a  mountain  top.  They're  practical  for 
gardening,    plastering,    or   receiving    her  friends   for  luncheon. 


■  No  matter  what  the  designers  decree  or  the  studios 
advocate  for  wear  on  the  screen,  our  Hollywood  glamor 
girls  have  very  decided  preferences  in  clothes  they  want 
for  their  personal  wardrobes. 
Just  listen  to  them: 

"I  hate  slacks!"  says  Dorothy  Lamour. 

"I  wouldmt  wear  anything  else  but  slacks  if  I  could," 
emphatically  states  Doris  Day. 

"I  adore  colorful  prints  and  casual  house  dresses,"  de- 
clares Virginia  Grey. 

"I  can't  stand  gingham  dresses,"  insists  Donna  Reed. 

"Love  those  Levis!"  shouts  Betty  Hutton. 


With  all  these  decided  tastes,  we  decided  to  find  out 
just  what  the  stars  like  the  best — and  why. 

Last  month  we  listened  to  the  designers  in  filmland  air 
their  opinions,  so  this  time,  in  answer  to  all  the  fan  letters, 
we  picked  up  our  pencil,  notebook  and  cameraman  and 
set  out  to  get  the  lowdown  from  the  stars  themselves. 

First  we  tackled  Donna  Reed  and  discovered  that  her 
preference  for  suits  of  all  descriptions  was  influenced  a 
great  deal  by  the  roles  she  plays  on  the  screen. 

"I  never  get  a  chance  to  dress  up  on  the  screen,"  Donna 
explained.  "I  always  play  the  helpful  wife,  the  help-mate, 
the  little  woman  who  is  doomed  {Continued  on  page  80) 


When  those  movie  queens 

pick  their  favorite  clothes, 
it's  strictly  a  case  of 
one  woman's  pleat  being  another 


woman  s  poison 


Dorothy  Lamour  (of  Lulu  Belle)  shuns  anything  that  re- 
sembles a  sarong  for  her  personal  wardrobe.  Favorite  out- 
fit is  embroidered  cocktail  suit  designed  by  Jean  Louis. 


kr 


"Slacks,  slacks,  slacks,"  votes  Doris  Day,  now  in  My  Dream  Is  Yours. 
She'd  wear  'em  all  the  time,  if  she  could.  Her  pets  are  these  white 
sharkskins,  which  go  well  with  either  splashy  jackets  or  striped  blazers. 


47 

/ 


Hollywood's  real  life 
soap  opera  asks:  Is  Van 
happily  married 
to  his  pal's  ex- wife? 
But  over  the  answer  hangs 
a  veil  of  secrecy  .  .  . 

BY  ERSKINE  JOHNSON 


■  One  morning  five  years  ago,  I  tuned  in  my 
radio  to  hear  a  syrup-voiced  announcer  drooling 
against  an  organ  background.  He  wanted  to  know 
whether  Helen  Hossenpfeffer  would  get  married? 
Get  divorced?    Or  get  a  new  French  Poodle? 

This  morning,  I  tuned  in  again  to  find  that  poor 
Helen  is  still  in  the  same  highly  confused  state. 
Radio's  soap  operas  squeeze  the  last  kernel  of 
corn  to  a  dry  powder. 

Now,  Hollywood  has  its  own,  real-life  soap  opera, 
and  the  eager  ears  of  our  town  flap  anxiously  to- 
ward each  new  chapter  of  "Evie's  Other  Husband." 

Evie  is,  of  course,  Evie  (Mrs.  Van)  Johnson. 
Before  that  she  was  Evie  (Mrs.  Keenan)  Wynn. 
Once  upon  a  time  she  was  just  "Evie."  But  that's 
where  the  story  starts  and  there  are  a  couple  of 
things  you  should  know  before  we  get  into  that. 

First,  the  studio  js  not  talking  (really)  about 
Van  and  Evie. 

Second,  Van  and  Evie  are  not  talking  about  Van 
and  Evie. 

Third,  those  are  the    (Continued  on  page  89) 


photos  by  hans  knopf 


50 


By  Christopher  Kane 


■  The  co-pilot  had  plunked  himself 

down  in  the  seat  next  to  hers,  and  was  talking. 

"There's  a  chimp  in  the  Central  Park  Zoo," 

he  said,  "he's  so  smart  he  spits  water  at  the  people." 

And  if  this  wasn't  insanity,  she 
thought  to  herself,  what  was?    Flying  from 
Hollywood  to  Palm  Beach  to  be  married  to 
a  man,  and  she  so  nervous  she  could  hardly 
remember  his  face,  and  this  maniac  was 
breathing  down  her  neck  about  a  zoo  in  the 
city  of  New  York. 

One  week  ago,  she'd  got  the  telegram  in 
Allan's  lyric,  simple  prose.  "Will  you  marry 
me?"  it  said,  and  it  seemed  a  tremendously 
logical  question.   She  was  lucky  in  a  lot  of 
ways.    The  studio  was  pleasant  about  a 
leave  of  absence;  there  was  this  dressmaker, 
Madeleine,  who  could  sew  like  a  dream 
if  you  gave  her  the  wisp  of  an  idea ;  and 
every  time  she,  Karin,  looked  at  her  wrist, 
she  saw  the  heavy  gold  bracelet  dangling 
from  it,  engraved  in  Allan's  handwriting,  saying, 
"Darling,  don't  forget." 

It  wasn't  a  warning  she  needed ;  she  never  forgot 
anything,  she  never  forgot  she'd  been  little  Junie 
Hoffman.    Little  Junie  Hoffman,  and  how  she 
grew.    Maybe  she'd  write  a  book,  full  of 
unglamorous  reminiscences. 

There  wasn't  anything  very  glamorous 
about  the  whole  Hoffman  family,  when 
you  came  right  down  to  it.   Good,  pleasant 
people  they  were,  but  not  fancy,  ever. 

Till  she  was  eight,  Junie  and  the  folks 
lived  in  Minneapolis.   Junie  had  a  younger 
sister,  Jenis,  and  an  older  brother,  Francis. 
Call  him  Francis,  though,  and  he  acted  as  if 
nobody's  said  anything.   He  hated  the  name. 
Fritzi,  he  finally  got  tagged,  and  it's  stuck  to  this 
day,  even  though  he's   (Continued  on  pa%e  64) 


The  Allan  Carlisles  honeymooned  aboard  the  yacht,  Tioga.  Karin  (of  Biq  City)  helped  hoist  the  sails,  manned  the  galley  when  the  steward  quit. 


J 


I 


tRSOt* 


■  Especially  in  the  summer,  Princeton  University  is 
a  beautiful  place — acres  of  green  lawn,  tall  trees 
thick  with  foliage;  stately,  Gothic  buildings;  music 
drifting  out  of  open  dorm  windows.  It's  old  and 
serene  and  full  of  wisdom.  And  one  hot  night  last 
July  it  was  brimming  over  with  bobby-soxers. 

Right  at  the  edge  of  the  campus  is  the  McCarter 
Theater.  That  night,  Guy  Madison  was  appearing 
there  in  the  comedy  John  Loves  Mary.  All  the 
seats  in  the  house  (1080)  were  sold  out. 

But  for  a  while  it  had  seemed  as  if  there'd  be 
no  play  at  all. 

Along  about  three  in  the  afternoon  the  leading  lady 
lost  her  voice.  They  sprayed  her  throat;  they  patted 
her  on  the  head;  they  pleaded  with  her  larynx,  and 
finally,  they  sent  her  to  the  hospital. 

Guy  put  in  a  hurry  call  to  Deer  Lake,  New  Jersey, 
where  he'd  acted  the  week  before,  and  his  former 
leading  lady,  Virginia  Gilbert,  rushed  right  over. 

"This  is  Virginia,"  Guy  said  to  the  cast.  And 
ten  minutes  later  the  curtain  went  up. 

When  it  came  down  after  the  last  act,  the  kids 
in  the  audience  set  up  a  shrieking  that  made  the 
stone  theater  rock.  Guy  took  five  bows,  and  then  he 
held  out  his  quivering  arms.  "Please,"  he  said.  "No 
more."  Someone  had  to  come  out  from  the  wings, 
and  lead  him  backstage. 

The  way  it  is  at  the  McCarter  Theater — a  couple 
of  guys  from  show  business,  Harold  Kennedy  (he 
acts)  and  Herbert  Kenwith  (he  directs)  leased 
the  place  from  Princeton  for  14  weeks.  They 
brought  their  own  company '  along  (the  Princeton 
Drama  Festival)  and  scripts  of  14  plays.  The  set-up 
is  strictly  professional.  You  can't'  sweep  the  stage 
in  the  morning  and  expect  a  walk-on  part  at  night. 
You  need  a  union  card  and  the  dust  from  Broadway 
on  your  shoes  before  Mr.  Kennedy  or  Mr.  Kenwith'U 
even  look  at  you. 

Every  week  another  Hollywood  star  comes  down 
and  takes  the  lead.  Joan  Caulfield  and  John  Payne 
appeared  in  The  Voice  {Continued  on  page  54) 


He  didn't  get  a  degree 
at  Princeton;  he  only 
got  a  booking.  But 
Madison  doesn't  need  a 
sheepskin  to  know  he 
made  the  grade! 

BY  FLORENCE  EPSTEIN 


52 


Summer  session  was  on  when  Guy  played  at  Princeton's 
McCarter  Theater.  Here,  he  walks  with  typically-dressed 
student.  "This  place  sure  is  builtl"  ©uy  remarked  later. 


Rehearsal  on  campus.  Director  Kenwith  (center)  found  Guy  eager  to  learn.  Here,  Frank  Max- 
well, Madison,  and  other  members  of  the  John  Loves  Mary  cast  go  over  lines.  After  he 
finished  run,  Guy  went  down  to  Texas  for  the  premiere  of  Texas,  Brooklyn  and  Heaven. 


Out  for  a  stroll.  Guy  met  Lee  (above).  "Are 
you  going  to  murder  me?"  she  asked.  Guy 
said,  "You  don't  have  a  worry  in  the  world." 


GUY  MADISON:  IN  PERSON 


Guy  starred 
Trenton,  N.  J. 


i  a  radio  show  broadcast  from  a 
dep't.  store.    700  kids  mobbed  him! 


(Continued  from  page  52)  Of  The  Turtle. 

Lucille  Ball,  who  feels  like  putting  a  gun  to  the 
head  of  every  wise-cracking  dame  she  ever  played, 
went  soft  in  Dream  Girl.  And  Larry  Parks  tried 
out  a  new  piece  called  A  Free  Hand. 

The  stars  like  the  feel  of  acting  before  a  live 
audience.  They  can  do  the  sort  of  roles  Holly- 
wood won't  let  them  try,  and  they  learn  a  lot.  * 

At  the  beginning,  for  instance,  Guy  Madison 
would  speak  his  lines,  drop  out  of  character,  and 
wait  around  for  the  next  cue  with  a  smile  on  his 
face.  The  audience  thought  it  was  cute.  The  cast 
was  slightly  annoyed.  All-day  rehearsals  broke  Guy 
of  the  habit.  Naturally,  he's  the  better  for  it. 

Some  people  think  summer-theater  work  is  a 
cinch.  After  all,  it's  mostly  in  the  country,  and 
if  an  actor  isn't  in  the  mood  he  can  bury  himself 
in  a  haystack.  Actually,  summer  work  is  a  grind. 
You  have  to  be  a  "quick-study"  (learn  your  part 
in  a  hurry  and  never  forget  it),  and  you  have  to 
keep  cool,  because  there's  usually  no  air-condition- 
ing in  the  theater,  not  even  in  Princeton.  (The 
lemonade  concession  is  a  gold  mine.) 

But  the  heat  on  the  stage  doesn't  bother  Guy. 
"It  relaxes  you,"  he  says  with  a  grin.  "And  the 
way  your  weight  drops  off,  you  can  eat  anything 
you  want" 

Ask  him  how  he  likes  the  idea  of  walking  on  a 
set  without  tripping  over  one  of  Mr.  Selznick's 
cameras — and  Guy'll'  tell  you  he  loves  it.  Then 
he'll  smile  and  strike  a  pose,  "Lady,"  he'll  say, 
"how's  this  for  emoting?" 


Director  Kenwith  and  Guy  check  receipts  at  the  box- 
office.  Openinq   riiqht  was   a  sell-out — 1,080  stubs. 


Backstage,  Guy  Madison  makes  up  for  his  role  as  re-  Showtime:  Virginia  Gilbert,  Ruth  Harker,  Bob  Noe  hear  how  Har- 
turned  vet.  Last  year  Guy  was  at  La  Jolla  Playhouse,    old  Kennedy  (on  knees)  saved  Guy's  life.  (Opp.  pg.)   Love  scene. 


54 


Wildes  meet  the  fans  outside  Lucey's  restaurant. 


A  couple  of  kids 
dreaming  the  old  dream  .  .  . 
their  names  in  lights, 
together  .  .  .  Cornel  Wilde 
and  Patricia  Knight  .  .  . 
And  then  Cornel  whispering 
softly  to  Pat,  "Oh,  darling, 
darling,  it's  come  true  ..." 

BY  IDA  ZEITLIN 


■  They  were  about  to  shoot  the  first  scene  of  The  Lovers. 
The  lights  were  set,  the  cameras  ready,  the  stand-ins  had 
left,  the  principals  were  on. 

The  young  man  turned  from  the  filing  cabinet — and  here 
was  this  blonde  vision  in  lavender  linen.  His  eyes  melted. 
"Why,  it's  you,  darling.  .  .  ." 

His  eyes  weren't  supposed  to  melt,  and  the  line  is  one 
you'll  never  hear  from  him  in  the  picture.  Him?  That 
was  Cornel  Wilde,  his  heart  in  high  because  the  blonde 
vision  was  Patricia  Knight,  his  wife. 

"Excuse  it,"  he  grinned.  "This  is  an  historic  moment." 

Historic  was  too  dull  a  word  for  it.  To  Pat  and  Cornel, 
this  was  a  symphony  by  Strauss,  a  Bendel  bonnet,  a 
Shakespeare  sonnet,  the  tops.  The  culmination  of  dreams. 
Once  a  boy  of  22  and  a  girl  of  17  fell  in  love,  deeply  and 
well.  Next  to  each  other,  they  loved  acting  best.  Batter- 
ing their  heads  against  Broadway  and  Hollywood,  they 
felt  the  bruises  less  because  all  the  time  they  were  building 


56 


Elated   over  their   co-starring   film,    The  Lovers,  Cornel   watches   Pat  in  her  dressing  room  as  she  prepares  for  solo  scene. 


their  own  particular  kind  of  shimmering  castle  in  Spain. 

Their  favorite  castle  was  the  one  with  the  marquee 
whose  lights  spelled  their  names  together — PATRICIA 
KNIGHT  and  CORNEL  WILDE. 
"   "Oh,  darling — do  you  think  it'll  ever  happen?" 

"We'll  make  it  happen." 

You  must  know  the  story  up  to  now:  The  long  bitter 
struggle,  the  hand-to-mouth  living,  the  hopes  that  dawned 
and  died,  the  crashing  disappointments.  Personal  heart- 
break on  top  of  professional  grief.  The  two  children  they 
lost  before  birth,  and  Pat's  slow  journey  back  to  recovery. 
But  through  the  bleak  pattern,  one  bright  thread  that  never 
tarnished — their  love  for  each  other.  If  love  flies  out  the 
window  when  poverty  enters  the  door,  the  Wildes  never 
knew  it.  Every  hard  knock  drew  them  closer  together. 
Often  enough  they  had  only  their  love  to  warm  and  com- 
fort them,  but  it  served.  .  .  . 

Then  the  lifting  of  the  clouds.  Wendy  was  happily  born. 


Cornel  broke  through  in  A  Song  to  Remember.  Now  Pat 
could  have  settled  back  on  a  silken  cushion — only  silken 
cushions  weren't  the  answer  for  Pat.  Millions  of  "girls  want 
to  act.  Thousands  try  and  give  up,  for  any  dozens  of 
reasons.  A  few  never  give  up.  They  can't.  They're 
driven  by  the  same  need  for  self-expression  that  drives 
an  artist  to  paint  or  a  scientist  to  explore  the  universe. 
Tell  them  not  to  act,  and  you're  practically  telling  them 
not  to  breathe.   Pat  was  one  of  the  few. 

Her  faith  in  Cornel  as  an  actor  had  sustained  him 
through  the  discouraging  years.  His  faith  in  her  as  an 
actress  was  equally  staunch.  When  20th  Century-Fox 
signed  her,  they  were  like  a  couple  of  kids.  Hauled  their 
pet  dream  out  of  the  mothballs  and  watched  it  glitter. 

"Maybe  now  it'll  happen!" 

"Now  it  can't  miss!" 

"Oh,  darling,"  breathed  Pat,  "it  would  be  too  perfect. 
But  even  if  they  don't  cast  us  (Continued  on  page  104) 


57 


Barbara  and  Bob  (of  One  Touch  of  Venus)  say  they'll  have  "millions  of  kids."    Reports  that  Babs'  father  objected  to  Bob  are  false. 


Because  of  Barbara, 
he's  a  strange,  brooding 
man  no  longer.  Because 
of  her,  life  for  Bob  Walker 
has  a  sweet,  fresh  flavor 
all  over  again  .  .  . 

By  JACK  WADE 


( Last  June,  we  featured  a  piece 
called  "The  Mystery  of  Bob  Walker."   We  told 
you  how  Bob,  who'd  gone  to  the  top  overnight, 
had  suddenly  walked  out  on  his 
career,  had  turned  into  a  moody  recluse.  Hollywood 
was  baffled.   But  almost  as  suddenly  as  it  happened, 
the  mystery  has  had  a  happy  solution.  Here's  how.) 
■  Book  One  of  Bob  Walker's  life  has  just  snapped 
shut,  bringing  to  an  end  the  phase  of  his 
career  that  saw  him  as.  a  strange,  even  haunting 
figure  on  the  Hollywood  scene,  after  his  divorce 
from  Jennifer  Jones. 

Book  Two  begins  right  now. 

The  Bob  who  has  been  floundering  about, 
professionally  as  well  as  romantically, 
is  no  more.    The  new  Bob  is  the  one  who 
decided  that  life  has  a  sweet  flavor  after  all  when 
he  met  brunette  and  vivacious  Barbara  Ford, 
daughter  of  the  famous  director,  John  Ford. 

The  new  Bob  (and  it  had  to  be  a  new 
one;  the  old  disinterested,  apathetic  Bob  could 
never  have  swung  it)  is  the  one  who  conducted 
s.o  whirlwind  a  courtship  of  Barbara,  and  so 
quick  a  marriage  (after  several  false  starts) 
that  jarred  movie  columnists  found  themselves 
stealing  each  other's  favorite  cliches  in  the 
confusion  to  hide  the  fact  that  they  didn't 
quite  know  what  was  going  on. 

But  they  can  be  consoled  by  the  fact  that 
neither  did  Bob  and  Barbara,  most  of  the 
time.  Their  first  idea  had  been  to  be  married  July  3rd 
at  the  Isthmus  on  Catalina  Island.  There 
was  a  reason  for   (Continued  on  page  95) 


photos  by  Bert  Parry 


Bob  and  Barbara 
(daughter  of  director  John 
Ford)  were  married  at 
Beverly  Hills  Club,  July  9. 
Only  attendants 
were  Nancy  Guild, 
Jim-  Henaghan. 


After  a  six-weelc  honeymoon  in  their  new  Early-American  style  ranch  home  in  Pacific  Palisades  (below),  Bob  will  start  About  Lyddy  Thomas. 


fighting 
lady 


■  Fireworks?    That's  too  mild  a  term 

for  what  went  on  during  the  shooting  of  Laraine 

Day's  new  and  wonderful  film,  My  Dear  Secretary. 

This  was  war :  A  fantastic  feud  between  a  beautiful 
star  and  her  producer.   Their  temperaments 
clashed  so  explosively  that  the  whole  affair  sounded 
more  like  a  supercharged  battle  film  than  incidental 
by-play  occurring  in  the  course  of  turning 
out  an  uproarious  comedy. 

Producer  Harry  M.  Popkin  fired  the  first  salvo. 
He   discharged  Director  Charles  Martin — two 
days  before  the  picture  was  scheduled  to  start.  No 
one  knows  exactly  what  happened — except  the 
two  principals  involved — and  they  aren't 
talking.   In  any  event,  Popkin,  in  a  huff,  ordered  Martin 
off  the  lot. 

Now  Martin  had  written  the  screenplay, 
and  having  him  chosen  as  director 
had  pleased  Laraine  mightily.  Thus,  when 
Producer  Popkin  called  Laraine  on  the  telephone 
that  night  and  blandly  asked  her  to  approve 
another  director,  the  second  front  opened. 

Then  and  there,  Laraine  refused  in  ringing 
tones  to  approve  any  change  in  directors.  Finally, 
before  midnight,  Popkin's  attorneys, 
Laraine's  attorneys  and  Martin's  legal  eagle 
got  in  a  huddle  and  ironed  out  this  first 
difficulty — and  Mr.  M.  was  again  set  to  direct  the 
picture. 

The  first  day  on  the  set,  leading  man  Kirk  Douglas, 
comedian   Keenan   Wynn   and   Director   Martin  were 
beaming  and  shaking  hands  and  wishing  each 
other  luck.    Laraine's  dressing  room  looked  like 
a  florist's  shop.    Keenan.  showed  Laraine  and 
co-star  Helen  Walker  a  card  from  Evie  and  Van 
Johnson — which  said  simply,  "Good  luck."    Evie,  of 
course,  is  Keenan's  ex-wife — which  prompted 
Laraine,  a  fast  girl  with    {Continued  on  page  110) 


She  used  to  be 
"Sweet  Laraine"  Day,  the 
most  untemperamental 
girl  in  pictures.. 
But  a  lady  can  turn  into 
a  tigress! 
By  George  Fisher 


Director  Charles  Martin,  Kirk  Douglas  and*  Laraine  rn  a 
rare  moment  of  peace  on  My  Dear  Secretary  set.  After 
a  friendly  start,  Laraine  gave  her  associates  a  rough  time. 


DELRICH 

£Z  COLOR  PAX  « 


A  R  G  A  R  I 


gfi/os  M/xwe  eom.  /mess! 


TRADE  MARK 


"Me?  Vve  tried  them  all — and  /  fake 
Del  rich  for  flavor/" 

"Are  you,  too,  fussy  about  flavor?  Wait  'til 
you  taste  creamy,  golden  Delrich  with  all  its 
delicious,  rich  goodness  . .  (The  delicate 

flavor  is  sealed  in — so  Delrich  naturally  tastes 
better,  fresher.)  Yes,  try  them  all  and  you,  too, 
will  say  that  Delrich  is  the  very  finest!" 


Just  Knead  the  Bag ! 


See  how  Delrich  turns  golden 
inside  sealed  bag!  An  original 
Delrich  discovery!  No  mixing 
bowl  mess.  No  mold  needed.  And 
it's  so  easy  to  make  neat  quarters 
or  patties  for  the  table. 

Try  Delrich  today!  A  new  Ameri- 
can favorite!  Economical — and 
so  nutritious.  Every  pound  is 


food  energy — en- 
15,000    units  of 


packed  with 
riched  with 
Vitamin  A. 

Delrich  and  E-Z  Color  Pak  are  the 
trade  marks  of  The  Cudahy  Pack- 
ing Co.  for  its  margarine.  Whether 
you  ask  for  "Delrich'.'  or  "E-Z 
Color  Pak"  —  they  both  mean 
America's  Finest  Margarine. 


VEGETABLE 

as.  MARGARINE 

mmm  ™e  <*°**y  pack.no  co. 

After  All—  "THE  TASTE  TELLS" 

THE  CUDAHY  PACKING  CO.,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


61 


■  Short  time  back,  a  fellow  named 
Errol  Flynn  bought  a  mink  coat  for  a 
lady  named  Nora.    She  is  his  wife. 

Now,  this  fellow  dislikes  formal  pre- 
sentations which  require  pat  and  tried 
expressions  of  thanks.  Consequently, 
he  simply  spread  the  coat  out  on  his  bed. 

They  were  going  to  a  party  later. 
This  gave  him  the  opportunity  to  ma- 
neuver Nora  into  going  into  the  bedroom 
alone.  They  were  sitting  quietly  in  the 
living  room  when  Errol  assumed  a 
pained  expression  and  inquired,  "Why 
is  it,  my  sweet,  that  you  never  get 
around  to  putting  the  studs  and  cuff 
links  in  my  dress  shirt?  Other  wives 
always  do  at  least  that  much  for  their 
ever-loving  husbands." 

Nora  looked  up  in  amazement. 

"Why,"  she  exclaimed,  "I've  always 
thought  you  liked  to  have  your  things 
left  alone.  All  you  had  to  do  was  ask 
me." 

"Huh!" 

Nora  promptly  went  into  the  bed- 
room. She  was  back  in  less  than  a 
minute,  her  face  red.  She  threw  herself 
on  the  davenport  in  tight-lipped  silence. 

Flynn  pretended  to  be  nonplussed. 
"What,"  he  said,  "seems  to  be  the 
matter?" 

"What's  the  matter?"  she  stormed. 
"Imagine  you  asking  me  that!  Why,, 
there's  another  woman's  coat  in  there  on 
your  bed,  you  .  .  .  you  ...  ! !" 

"Well,"  said  Flynn  reasonably,  "why 
don't  you  just  wear  it,  honey?  She'll 
never  know." 

Errol  Flynn  has  been  the  target  of 
more  unfounded  gossip  than  any  guy 
you  can  think  of.  And  knowing  how  the 
most  innocent  anecdotes  about  him- — 
like  the  one    {Continued  on  page  114) 


Uttle  lady  with 

Doctors  prescribe  CmaoonMdk  tor  rf 
^crcHine  vitamin  U3>  lu      Lcrribe  Carnation'.  JNauuu 

-36  pages  o ^  help'  fof  the 

o"  bobv.r  i'B«*"  °*  mi,k"r,C 
"Velvet  Blend  Book    .  afe 

,ion  Company,  Ocon 
or  us  Angeles  36,  Cam  ^ 


"from 


Contented  ^"fH 


RY  DOCTOR  K  N 


FABULOUS  HONEYMOON 

(Continued  from  page  51) 


married  and  the  father  of  three  children. 

The  year  she  was  eight,  Junie's  father 
bought  her  a  bike.  She  hadn't  asked  for 
it,  but  he  figured  she  needed  one;  all  the 
other  neighborhood  kids  were  bike-owners. 

She  was  halfway  down  the  hill  on  which 
they  lived,  before  she  realized  she  didn't 
know  how  to  ride.  It's  a  talent  she  picked 
up  in  an  awful  hurry. 

The  family  moved  around  some.  They 
were  in  Portland,  Maine,  and  in  Canada, 
until  Jenis  got  rheumatic  fever,  and  one 
of  the  doctors  said  California  was  the  ticket. 
They  hit  Los  Feliz  Hills,  in  California — it's 
sort  of  a  suburb  of  Los  Angeles,  as  almost 
everything  in  California  is. 

Junie  finished  high  school  there,  and  de- 
cided to  go  to  Canada  to  college.  It  was 
something  her  father  wanted;  his  family 
was  all  in  Canada.  She  was  walking  down 
a  Los  Feliz  street  one  afternoon,  mulling 
the  situation  over,  when  this  apparently 
drunken  driver  pulled  his  car  to  a  screech- 
ing stop  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  and 
came  tearing  over  to  her.  "I'm  a  photog- 
rapher," he  said.  "Here's  my  card.  I'd 
like  you  to  model  for  me." 

"I'm  going  to  college,"  Junie  said. 

"Look,"  said  the  man.  "I  can't  talk.  My 
car's  in  the  middle  of  the  street — " 

Well,  the  fact  is  she  never  got  to  college. 
The  even  stranger  fact  is  that  within  one 
week,  she  had  a  Paramount  contract  on 
the  strength  of  some  picture  or  other  that 
some  person  or  other  had  seen  in  some 
paper  or  other. 

"So  quickly,"  she  said  to  her  mother,  un- 
believing. And  her  mother,  who  wasn't 
quite  sure  how  to  take  any  of  it,  shook  her 
head. 

It  wasn't  much  of  a  Paramount  contract, 
really.  Junie  hung  around  about  six 
months  or  a  year,  and  they  didn't  give  her 
any  starring  parts,  so  she  left. 

"Starring  parts?"  people  say  to  her  to- 
day. "You  expected  starring  parts?" 

"Well,"  she  says  demurely.  "Up  until 
then,  I  was  such  a  whirlwind  of  a  success." 

She  was  too  impatient,  there  was  no 
question  of  it,  and  she  realizes  it  herself. 
She'd  been  a  little  spoiled,  she  had  a  lot  to 
learn.  But  being  the  good-natured  kid  she 
was  made  so  many  people  like  her  you 
can't  really  figure  that  retribution  ever 
caught  up.  She  went  from  good  to  better. 

There  was  Lucille  Ryman,  who  took  her 
to  Metro,  and  got  her  a  contract  there. 

One  year  at  M-G-M,  and  no  heavy  dra- 
(Continued  on  page  75) 


Ann  Miller— 

currently  dancing  her  way  through 
M-G-M's  Easter  Parade,  models  a 
blazing  corduroy  jacket  and  skirt  we 
think  will  be  a  sure  wow  with  your 
public.  Regard,  if  you  please — the 
chin-chin  collar — high  and  hugging, 
double-buttoned — and  with  that  smart- 
New  York  look  you  can't  miss.  View  the 
back — full,  flared — and  a  wonderful 
foil  for  the  slim  skirt.  As  for  the  skirt 
— we  think  there's  something  super- 
sophisticated  about  a  slim  one,  for  a 
change.  This  one  has  a  trouser  pleat, 
two  pockets.  And  naturally  you  can 
mix  and  match  the  jacket  and  skirt 
with  other  clothes,  too. 

Your  choice  of  red,  grey,  dark  green, 
maple  or  rust.  Skirt,  $7.95.  Jacket, 
$10.95.  Sizes  12  to  18.  By  Art-Mor. 
American  Knit  Gloves. 
Corduroy  ballet  shoes  with  crepe  soles 
by  Prima  Ballerina,  $4.95. 
For  WHERE  TO  BUY,  see  page  82. 


65 


...  on  the  double,  we  bet,  because  where 

is  the  male  who  doesn't  go  for  a  girl  in  a  sweater 

and  skirt?  Girl  on  the  left  teams  a- 

bright  plaid  bustle  skirt  (see  small  photo)  — with 

a  long-sleeved  flat  turtle  neck  sweater. 

Plaid  skirt  comes  in  green,  royal  or  red,  in  wool 

and  rayon.  About  $5.95.  By  Derby. 

■  Girl  on  right  wears  a  corduroy  skirt,  smoothly 
flared  in  front,  dreamily  full  in  back  (see 
small  photo)  —with  short-sleeved  notched  collar 
sweater.  Skirt  comes  in  royal,  red,  grey,  dark 
green,  beige  or  brown.  About  $8.95.  By  Junior 
Vues.  Wool  sweaters  in  blue,'  pink,  grey,  yellow, 
red,  pine  green,  aqua,  brown.  $4.98  each. 
Both  sweaters  by  Shepherd. 


for  where  to 

buy  these  modern  screen 

fashions  see  page  82 


66 


THE  STYLES 

WITH 

LI  N  IT 


creates  a  washable-starchable 
house-coat  of  great  distinction, 
soon  to  be  seen  at  the  leading 
fashion  shops.  "For  this  and  all 
washables,"  says  Dorian,  "we 
recommend  UNIT  Starch.  This 
finest  of  starches  restores  origi- 
nal finish  and  freshness." 


Such  a  versatile  garment! 

—  a  practical  breakfast- 
timer  that's  also  a  lovely 
tea-timer.  UNIT*  is  versatile 
too — the  ideal  starch  for 
men's  shirts,  bed  and  table 
things,  curtains,  lingerie  . . . 
UNIT  makes  cottons  look 
and  feel  like  linen,  keeps 
them  resistant  to  muss  and 
soil.  Ask  your  grocer  for 
UNIT.  , 


FOR  THE 


^         ©  C.  P.  R.  Co..  1948 


*LINIT  is  a  registered  trade-mark  distinguishing  this  product  of  Corn  Products  Refining  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


your 
letters . . . 

ONLY  PITY  FOR  LANA? 

Dear  Editor.  I  am  writing  this 
after  reading  "Watch  Your  Step, 
Lana"  in  the  August  issue. 

The  story  implied  Miss  Turner's 
"friends"  were  persecuting  her  in 
print,  that  she  did  everything  to 
please  the  press,  be  kind,  generous 
and  thoughtful  to  these  "friends," 
only  to  have  them  stab  her  in  the 
back.  Personally,  I  consider  Miss 
Turner's  latest  marriage,  in  fact  her 
whole  career,  one  of  the  biggest 
shows  of  exhibitionism  ever  staged. 
It  only  succeeded  in  making  her  look 
more  unflatteringly  conspicuous,  and 
very  stupid.  Those  who  must  contin- 
uously make  a  bid  for  attention 
deserve  nothing  more  than  pity. 

Mrs.  W.  J.  Smith,  Oakmont,  Pa. 

"LANA  WAS  WONDERFUL" 

Dear  Editor:  Recently  I  saw  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Bob  Topping  at  the  Casa 
Carioca  Nite  Club  in  Garmisch,  Ger- 
many, where  she  was  making  a 
personal  appearance  for  occupation 
troops  on  vacation.  It  is  my  belief 
that  Lana  is  in  love  with  Mr.  Top- 
ping and  therefore  I  want  to  wish 
them  all  the  luck  in  the  world.  I  am 
writing  this  letter  as  I  would  appre- 
ciate your  telling  Lana  and  Bob  that 
I  sincerely  want  to  thank  them  both 
for  coming  into  the  U.S.  occupied 
zone  and  entertaining  the  troops. 
Lana  was  wonderful  and  Mr.  Top- 
ping was  a  great  guy.  Please  thahk 
them  for  this  average  GI. 
Sid  Bricks,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.  (home) 

SORRY,  WRONG  PICTURE! 

Dear  Editor:  Re:  your  story,  "The 
Ten  Greatest  Gable  Stories,"  in  the 
July  issue:  In  the  caption  under  the 
picture  showing  Gable  with  his 
Oscar,  you  say  he  got  the  award  for 
Gone  With  The  Wind.  Actually  he  re- 
ceived it  for  It  Happened  One  Night. 
Sylvia  Rosenwartz,  Bronx,  N.  Y. 

ANYBODY  WANNA  FIGHT? 

Dear  Editor:  Why  doesn't  Elizabeth 
Taylor  wise  up?  She  is  very  pretty, 
and  she  knows  it,  but  I  think  Jane 
Powell  beats  her  in  looks  and  per- 
sonality and  figure  any  day.  I  used 
to  love  Liz  when  she  was  younger, 
but  at  16,  she  acts  and  dresses  as 
though  she  were  24.  Just  because 
she's  a  star,  it  doesn't  mean  she's 
Marie  Antoinette.  Let  her  be  a  sweet 
girl,  like  she  was  before.    Please ! 

Pat  Bauer,  Trenton,  N.  J. 


THOSE  suNING  TO  WEAR  BLUES 


.  .  .  and  I  haven't  a  thing  to  wear."  How  often  have  you  heard  a  girl  wail 
that  little  classic?  How  often  have  you  moaned  it  yourself?  That  old  "nothing  to 
wear"  routine  gets  to  sound  like  a  broken  record  whenever  girls  get  together.  Why? 
To  hear  the  gals  tell  it,  you'd  think  their  closets  boasted  nothing  more  than  a  row 
of  naked  hangers  and  a  pair  of  old  galoshes. 

Yet  they're  usually  the  very  same  girls  who  spend  their  lunch  hours  prowling 
around  the  stores;  spend  all  day  Saturday  shopping;  and  never  come  home  on 
payday  without  an  armful  of  packages.  How  come? 

We've  sat  in  on  many  a  feminine  gab-fest  on  fashion,  and  along  with  the  gen- 
eral chorus  of  no-clothes  complaints,  we've  also  heard  a  lot  of  other  laments  that 
seem  to  us  to  hold  the  key  to  the  mystery.  Listen  closely,  and  you'll  see  what  we 
mean: 

"MY  COAT  WON'T  GO  with  it  .  .  .."  Susie  just  blew  her  bankroll  on  a  dress-up  date 
number  that  ought  to  wow  the  stag  line.  And  what's  Susie  doing?  Putting  on  her 
warpaint  and  getting  ready  to  panic  the  people?  No.  Believe  it  or  not,  she's 
hanging  her  dress  back  in  the  closet — because  she  has  no  coat  to  wear  over  it. 

Now,  mind  you,  Susie  has  a  coat — and  a  very  nice  one.  It's  black,  it's  well  cut, 
its  lines  say  nice  things  about  Susie.  But  it's  slim.  And  Susie's  new  dress  has  a  skirt 
a  mile  wide.  Point:  slim  coat — full  skirt — no  go. 


"WHAT'LL  I  USE  FOR  SHOES? 

a  new  green  velveteen  suit. 


.  ."  Marilyn  came  home  last  payday  all  aglow  with 
It's  a  knockout  with  snug,  tiny-waisted  jacket,  silver 
buttons  and  a  full  skirt.  It's  the  suit  to  show  off  Marilyn's  petite  figure  and  beautiful 
red  hair.  But  .  .  .!  What's  Marilyn  going  to  do  for  shoes?  She  spent  so  much  on 
the  suit  she  can't  possibly  afford  new  shoes  until  the  next  time  she  collects  her  pay 
check.  And  now  that  she's  home  in  front  of  the  mirror,  she  sees  that  all  of  her 
shoes  are  much  too  low-heeled  to  set  off  the  suit. 

The  skirt,  naturally,  has  the  new  longer  length — and  it  looks  perfectly  gosh-awful 
with  low  heels.  (Not  that  some  low  heels  don't  look  wonderful  with  a  long  skirt. 
But  not  on  a  tiny  girl.  The  petite  type  definitely  needs  high  heels  to  carry  off  a  long, 
full  skirt.)  So  now  Marilyn  has  to  wait  two  fuming  weeks  before  she  can  wear  her 
new  pet.  Point:  Heel  height  must  go  with  skirt  length — or  you've  got  a  flop  on 
your  hands. 

■■i  cant  match  the  color  .  .  ."  Bettina  really  shouldn't  be  surprised.  What  does 
she  expect  when  she  buys  a  handbag  in  a  pistachio  green?  It's  true  the  bag  is 
handsome.  It's  a  big  shoulder-strap  job  in  a  really  swanky  calf.  But  where  is  Bettina 
going  to  find  something  else — scarf,  hat,  gloves — to  match? 

If  Bettina  were  the  type  to  stick  to  one  basic  background  color — black,  say — 
or  brown,  or  navy  blue — she'd  be  all  set.  Her  pistachio  bag  would  make  a  wonder- 
ful accent  against  any  of  these.  But  our  Bettina  is  a  pushover  for  unusual  color. 
She  already  owns  a  shocking  pink  blouse,  a  turquoise  skirt,  and  a  red  coat — all 
hanging  idly  in  her  closet  in  perfect  condition,  all  swearing  at  each  other,  and  all 
perfectly  unusable.  Now  her  new  bag  will  take  its  place  with  the  rest  of  the 
rainbow — because  she  can  never  get  anything  to  go  with  anything  else.  Point: 
The  most  delicious  color  is  pure  calamity — if  you  can't  mate  it  with  something  else. 

"IT  was  such  A  bargain  .  .  ."  Ava's  right.  It  was  a  bargain — in  a  sense.  $10.95 
— knocked  down  from  $22.95.  Big  saving.  But  of  course  Ava  wears  a  size  12,  and 
the  bargain  happened  to  be  a  14.  Then  too,  Ava  looks  best  in  high  necks — and 
this  job  had  a  neckline  down  to  here.  That  let  Ava  in  for  plenty  of  bra  trouble — 
and  even  when  she  had  bought  a  new  plunging  neckline  bra,  it  still  wasn't  flattering. 
On  top  of  that,  the  bargain  was  jersey — a  fabric  Ava  always  swore  was  too  cling- 
ing for  her.  But — of  course  it  was  a  bargain.  Or  was  it?  Point:  No  bargain  is 
worth  a  single  red  cent — if  you  can't  wear  it. 

.  .  .  catch  ON?  If  you're  continually  being  caught  short  on  occasions  when 
you  want  to  look  your  very  best,  it  probably  isn't  because  you  haven't  enough 
clothes — but  because  you  haven't  enough  clothes  that  were  meant  for  each  other. 

The  only  way  out  is  to  make  sure  that  every  single  thing  you  buy  is  right  in 
color,  silhouette  and  type  for  something  else  you  already  own.  Once  you've  got 
your  clothes  keeping  steady  company  with  each  other,  you're  ready,  willing  and 
fashion-able  for  whatever  comes  up! 


and 
you'll 

never 

y 

jr. 

walk 


alone 


For  these  reasonably  priced  shoes, 
write  for  the  name  of  your  dealer 
PETERS  SHOES  COMPANY,  SAINT  LOUIS 


69 


"looks  like  a 
good  team..." 


Printed  calico 
blouse  in   green,   blue,  red, 
brown.     $5.95.  Velve- 
teen skirt  in  green,  blue,  red, 
brown,  black.  $8.95. 
By  Alice  Stuart. 


Two-tone  shirt  in  ray- 
laine  flannel.  Green 
brown,  black,  with  ivory 
trast.  $7.95. 
Matching  skirt.  $7.95. 
By  Freshy. 


The  football  team  looks  like  a  winner  . 
and  so  will  you  in  a-  trim  top  and  skirt 


r  ... 


Wool    worsted  jersey 

with    gold  centered 

leather    buttons.    Red,  grey, 

cinnamon,  brown, 

black.  Blouse  $5.98. 

Skirt,  $7.98.  By  Rojay. 


Gabardine   jumper  in 
royal,   green,   luggage,  dark 
grey,  black.  $7.98.  Turtle 
neck  blouse  in  wool 
worsted  jersey.  $5.98. 
By  Loomtogs. 


Very  tricky  slim  skirt 
with  zigzag  buttons  on  one 
side.  Black,  brown,  dark 
green,  grey  rayon.  By  Cen- 
tury    Sportswear.  $7.95. 
Shepherd  sweater,  $2.98. 


Pins  by  Dona. 
American  Knit  gloves. 
Belt  by  Criterion. 


for  where  to  buy  these  modern  screen  fashions  see  pages  82  and  83 


II 


Uli 


ft 


Bet  he  said  he  likes  plaids — 
especially  on  you!    Far  left, 
junior  one-piece  dress  in  bright 
plaid  with  appealing  little 
velvet  bow  at  collar.    It's  a 
wool  blend  in  red-grey-blue; 
green-tan-red;    or   grey -yellow- 
red  plaid.   Junior  sizes  9-15. 
By  Meadowbrook  Jrs.  About  $7.95. 


Left,  ruffled  white  broad- 
cloth blouse  with  jeweled  buttons. 
By  Judy  Kent.   $4.98.  Side 
pocket  skirt,  with  leather  belt 
through  slits.  Grey  or  tan 
glen  plaid,  in  wool  and  rayon 
mix.   By  Rudley  Sportswear,  $4.99. 


Striped  turtle  neck  sweater 

in  all-wool  worsted.    Grey  with 

wine,  pink,  blue  or  black 

stripes.  Yellow  with  grey  stripes. 

Beige  with  green  or  brown 

stripes.    Also  solid  colors. 

By  Garland  Knitting  Mills,  $5.98. 

Wool  worsted  jersey  skirt  with 

all-around  unpressed  pleats. 

Grey,  oatmeal,  royal,  dark  green 

or  black.    By  Madison  Sportswear, 

$8.95.    Criterion  belt,  $5. 


for  where  to 
buy  these  modern 
screen  fashions 
see  pages  82-83. 


73 


what  is  so  rare  as  a 

half-size  suit? 


■  But  here's  a  trimming,  slimming  beauty — with  v-pockets, 
jeweled  buttons,  and  shoulder  pleats  to  give  a  graceful  line 
to  the  bosom.  Grey,  brown,  green  or  purple.  Sizes  12%-22%. 
By  Queen  Make  in  Tegra  rayon.  At  Abraham  &  Straus,  Brook- 
lyn. Jordan  Marsh,  Boston.  Carson,  Pirie  Scott,  Chicago.  J.  W. 
Robinson,  Los  Angeles.  Woodward  &  Lothrop,  Washington. 


74 


For  additional  store  information  see  page  83 


FABULOUS  HONEYMOON 

{Continued  from  page  64) 


matics  scheduled  for  Miss  Booth — by  then 
she  was  Karin  Booth — so  she  left  again. 

She  went  to  Warners,  made  a  test.  Lucille 
Ryman  got  hold  of  the  test  and  trotted  it 
back  to  Metro,  and  Karin  was  re-signed  at 
Metror-to  a  much  better  contract. 

The  next  year,  she  made  Unfinished 
Dance. 

All  the  ballet  dancing  she'd  ever  done, 
she  could  have  swallowed  like  an  aspirin, 
but  brazenly,  she  asked  for  the  part. 

Joe  Pasternak,  a  kindly  gentleman  who 
hates  to  dash  anyone's  hopes  to  pieces, 
interviewed  her  gently.  "My  dear  child," 
he  said.  "We  start  this  picture  in  six 
months.  And  for  the  other  dancer,  we  have 
Cyd  Charisse,  who's  a  great  artist." 

"In  six  months,"  Karin  said,  "you'll  see." 

She  studied  until  she  could  have  dropped; 
she  studied  until  her  mind  was  one  jumble 
of  entrechats,  and  tour  de  jambes,  and  glis- 
sades, and  pirouettes;  she  studied  until  she 
could  make  her  muscles  obey  her,  and  imi- 
tate, if  not  achieve,  art.  She  wasn't  a  won- 
derful dancer  at  the  end  of  six  months, 
but  she  could  convince  you  that  she  was, 
and  that  was  what  counted. 

All  her  good  breaks  came  together,  as  it 
happened.  Two  pictures — Unfinished  Dance 
and  Big  City — and  Allan. 

brief  encounter  .  .  . 

She'd  met  Allan  years  before,  briefly  at 
a  party.  In  '41,  it  was,  right  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  war.  The  party  was  in  Bev- 
erly Hills;  a  man  named  Jay  Carlisle  was 
throwing  it.  Karin  went  because  her  date 
took  her,  Allan  went  because  Jay  Carlisle 
was  his  brother.  They  looked  at  each 
other,  nothing  happened,  and  they  left  it 
that  way. 

Then  last  year,  they  met  again.  For  some 
reason,  it  was  all  different.  For  some 
reason,  they  went  dancing  every  night,  and 
they  ate  at  a  restaurant  out  at  the  beach, 
where  the  place  was  so  small  you  almost 
had  to  order  squab  instead  of  chicken,  and 
the  stars  hung  so  low  over  the  sand  they 
brushed  your  hair  as  you  passed. 

Neither  Karin  nor  Allan  is  much  of  a 
gabber.  Eventually,  Allan  said,  "Well,  I 
have  to  go  to  Florida  on  business,"  and 
they  said  goodbye,  and  off  he  went. 

His  telegram  of  proposal  came  later. 

June  1st,  they  were  married  at  the  home 
of  the  Byron  Ramsings,  in  Palm  Beach,  on 
a  street  called  Emerald  Lane.  The  bride 
wore  a  grey,  raw  silk  suit,  the  friend  who 
gave  her  away  just  barely  showed  up  in 
time,  and  it  was  a  lovely  wedding. 

The  honeymoon  trip  was  going  to  be 
made  on  Allan's  yacht,  the  Tioga,  so  they 
didn't  have  to  worry  about  tickets,  reser- 
vations, suitcases  or  flat  tires.  (All  they 
had  to  worry  about,  it  developed,  was  sea- 
sickness, lightning  storms  in  the  middle  of 
the  ocean,  and  various  stewards  who  were 
either  drunk  or  crazy.) 

After  the  wedding,  Karin  and  Allan  took 
stock.  "We  have  a  nice  cocktail  shaker," 
she  said.  "It's  a  present  from  Mrs.  So- 
and-So." 

"But  I  just  won  a  cocktail  shaker,"  he 
said.  "For  that  such  and  such  race,  with 
the  Tioga." 

"Umm,"  she  said. 

"Umm,"  he  said. 

They  were  silent.  "You  know,"  he  said, 
finally,  "that's  a  great  way  to  start  off-  a 
marriage.  A  yacht,  and  two  cocktail 
shakers." 

The  next  day,  they  left  for  the  Bahamas. 
They  cruised  around  for  a  couple  of 
months,  stopped  at  Cat  Cay,  picked  up 
some  of  the  special  gold  dollars  people  on 


mm 

m 


Dansant  and  Concerto 
in  Black,  Brown  Suede 
finish.  Cuban 
and  High  Heel. 


mPRT  STUFF ' 


The  loveliest  styles  you  ever 
dreamed  of  ...  at  the  lowest 
price  you  ever  imagined 


«>98 


In  sizes  SYi  to  9.  Narrom 
3'A  to  9,  Mediums. 
Genuine  Leather  Soles 


CONGO 

Congo  in  Black 
Suede  finish,  Brown,  Red, 
and  Green  Alligator 
finish.  High  Heel  only. 


^  A,A/t_ 

Wckl  footer*. 
89  BEACH  STREET,  BOSTON.  MASS. 
Please  send  me  Smart  Stuff 
Concerto  □     Congo  □     Dansant  □ 
Siie  Color  ;  @  $3.98 


High   Heel  □; 

Name  

Address  

City- 


Cuban  Heel  CD 


_State_ 


DANSANT 


Check  □  Money  Order  □  C.  O.  D.  □ 


that  island  gamble  with  (Karin's  going  to 
have  a  belt  made  of  them) ,  bought  Karin  a 
madras  skirt,  in  Nassau,  traveled  up  the 
Eastern  seaboard  to  New  York. 

Somewhere  along  the  line,  Allan  fished  a 
diamond  wedding  ring  out  of  a  box,  and 
handed  it  to  his  wife.  She'd  wanted  a 
plain  gold  one,  but  he  happened  to  feel  she 
deserved  diamonds,  and  that  was  that.  . 

Now  she  wears  both  of  them  at  once.  "It 
looks  kind  of  funny,"  he  says  occasionally, 
but  he  doesn't  put  any  conviction  into  his 
voice. 

She's  planning  to  buy  a  wedding  ring  for 
him,  even  though  he  steadfastly  refuses  to 
wear  one.  "I  don't  like  rings,"  he  tells  her. 

"You'll  be  mad  about  this  one,"  she  says. 

Life  on  the  Tioga  was  pretty  astonishing 
to  Karin.  She'd  never  been  on  a  boat  be- 
fore in  her  life,  and  she  was  frightened  for 
a  while.  "What  if  I'm  sick,"  she'd  wail, 
"and  disgrace  myself?" 

"Don't  worry  about  it,"  Allan  would  say 
serenely.  Serenity  is  one  of  the  most  no- 
ticeable things  about  the  man.  He  sits 
there  at  the  wheel  of  his  boat,  his  face  tan 
and  his  eyes  bright  blue,  the  way  the  eyes 
of  people  who've  lived  a  good  deal  on  the 
sea  sometimes  get,  and  if  he  knows  what  it 
is  to  be  troubled,  you  couldn't  guess  it. 

Conceivably,  he  knows  what  it  is  to  be 
troubled.  He  was  studying  music  in  Vienna 
when  the  second  World  War  broke  out; 
he'd  lived  abroad  for  years.  Much  of  his 
life,  many  of  his  friends  were  there.  But 
he's  got  this  quiet,  unneurotic  quality  of 
peace  about  him;  being  married  to  him, 
Karin  says,  is  pure,  simple  heaven. 

Anyhow,  she  didn't  disgrace  herself  on 
the  boat;  she  learned  to  help  with  the  sails, 
she  learned  to  steer  a  little,  and  the  days 
flew. 

The  dream-like  quality  of  the  voyage 
was  broken  only  by  a  succession  of 
stewards.  There  was  one — he  was  so  per- 
fect everyone  called  him  "Meadows" — and 
the  only  trouble  with  him  was  he  got  sea- 
sick every  time  the  boat  began  to  rock,  so 
he  gave  up  the  ocean,  and  the  Carlisles. 

water,  water,  everywhere  .  .'  . 

There  was  another — he  couldn't  stand  to 
see  an  open  whisky  bottle.  Once  a  bottle 
was  broken  into,  that  poor  fellow  didn't 
rest  easy  until  it  was  drunk  up.  He  drank 
up  several  of  the  best  bottles  around  the 
place  before  he  left. 

There  was  the  steward  who  had  the  habit 
of  cocking  his  head  sort  of  thoughtfully, 
when  Allan  or  Karin  was  giving  instruc- 
tions. "Yes,"  he  would  say,  from  time  to 
time,  "I  suppose  that  will  be  all  right." 

Finally,  there  was  the  fellow  who  got 
the  idea  Allan  and  Karin  loved  jellied  con- 
somme. Every  lunch  for  a  solid  three 
weeks,  he  served  them  jellied  consomme. 
They'd  go  shopping  when  the  boat  docked, 
buy  dozens  of  cans  of  tomato  juice,  and 
leave  them  strategically  placed  around  the 
galley.  The  steward  didn't  bat  an  eye. 
One  morning,  in  desperation,  Karin  ap- 
proached him.  "Please,"  she  said,  "this 
noon,  might  we  have  tomato  juice?" 

He  smiled  at  her  sweetly,  and  for  lunch, 
they  had  tomato  juice  and  jellied  con- 
somme. 

Right  now,  they're  without  a  steward, 
and  suffering  no  pain.  There  are  two  cabin 
boys,  everybody  pitches  in,  and  nobody's 
gone  hungry  yet. 

They  stopped  a  few  days  in  New  York  at 
the  Ambassador  Hotel,  saw  several  shows. 
Kind  of  a  bang-up  end  to  the  honeymoon, 
complete  with  nightclubs  and  fancy 
clothes. 

Karin  has  to  get  back  to  the  Coast  soon, 
for  a  new  picture,  and  this  one  ought  to 
tell  the  tale.  With  two  solid  hits  behind 
her,  a  good  picture  now  could  make  her.  a 
great  big  star.  As  for  Allan,  he's  willing 
to  go  along  and  watch.  Whatever  the  girl 
wants  is  okay  with  him. 


GOWN  BY 
HATTIE  CARNEGIE 


NEWPORT  SET,  an  outstanding  value 
in  yellow  gold.  Engagement  ring, 
$375.  Wedding  ring,  $200. 


Choose  your  diamond  ring  by  name  .  .  . 
by  trusted  name  .  .  .  Art-carved  .  .  .  beloved  by 
brides  of  1850  and  today.  America's  oldest 
and  largest  ringmaker  brings  you 
fine  diamonds  .  .  .  never  before  worn.  He  alone 

performs  every  step  in  the  making  of  your 
Art-carved  diamond  ring.  The  savings  from  this  world-wide  operation  are  yours 
in  prices  from  $75  to  $5000.  Ask  your  jeweler  to  show  you  the  name 
Art-carved*  in  the  ring,  on  the  tag.  Wedding  rings  from  $8 

FREE!  "How  to  Select  Your  Diamond 
Ring,"  a  new,  illustrated  booklet.  Write 
to  J.  R.  Wood  &  Sons,  Inc.,  Dept.  S-7, 
216  E.  45th  St.,  New  York  17,  N.  Y. 


Rings  onlnrged  tu  thaw  detail 


*  Trade  Mark  Re 


new 
faces 


ROBERT  ARTHUR   was  a 

disc  jockey  for  a 
radio  station  in  his 
home-town,  Aber- 
deen, Wash.,  when  he 
decided  to  chuck  radio 
for  a  chance  at  Hol- 
lywood. He  hitch- 
hiked all  the  way 
from  Aberdeen  and  gat  a  job  a  month  after 
he  arrived.  His  20th  Century-Fox  build-up 
began  with  Green  Grass  of  Wyoming  and 
you'll  soon  be  seeing  him  with  Gregory 
Peck  in  Yellow  Sky.  Bob  was  23  on 
June  18.  He's  5'  9"  tall  and  weighs  135 
lbs.;  has  blue  eyes  and  brown  hair. 

MONTGOMERY  CLIFT 

whom  you  discovered 
in  The  Search  and 
Red  River,  is  a  tal- 
ented Broadway  vet- 
eran of  10  hit  plays. 
His  stage  career  be- 
gan at  the  age  of  13, 
and  he's  appeared 
since  in  Our  Town, 
Skin  of  Our  Teeth,  with  Martha  Scott,  and 
There  Shall  Be  No  Night,  with  Alfred  Lunt 
and  Lynn  Fontanne.  Montgomery  was  born 
in  Omaha,  Nebraska,  in  October,  1920.  He's 
5'  11",  weighs  160  lbs.,  and  is  unmarried. 
He's  under  contract  to  Howard  Hawks 
and  his  next  picture  will  be  The  Heiress. 


SCOTT   BRADY,  who 

scored  a  hit  with  fans 
in  Canon  City,  was 
born  in  Brooklyn,  N. 
Y .,  on  September  13, 
1924,  and  is  Lawrence 
Tierney's  brother. 
Later  the  Tierneys 
moved  to  Westches- 
ter, where  Scott  attended  St.  Michael's 
High  School.  When  he  was  discharged 
from  the  Navy  in  1945,  he  enrolled  in 
the  Bliss-Hayden  Dramatic  School,  under 
the  GI  Bill  of  Rights  and  ten  months  later 
was  discovered  by  a  scout!  Scott's  6'  2" 
tall,  weighs  180  lbs.,  and  is  an  excellent 
swimmer,  boxer  and  rider.  Unmarried. 


LOIS  BUTLER,  who  WOH 

the  title  role  in  Eagle- 
Lion's  Mickey  with- 
out any  previous  act- 
ing experience,  is  16 
years  old  and  a  sopho- 
more at  John  Mar- 
shall High  School. 
She's  only  5  feet  high 
and  weighs  97  pounds.  She  was  born 
February  13,  1932,  in  Indianapolis,  Ind. 
Lois  has  a  singing  range  of  three  octaves, 
from  G  to  G  above  high  C,  and  has  sung 
with  the  Los  Angeles  Philharmonic  Orches- 
tra. Her  favorite  sports  are  volley  and 
basketball,  horseback  riding,  skating — and 
bread-baking. 


"HI,  HAYHEADI"  .  .  .  that  was  the  uncom- 
plimentary way  Don  greeted  me  the  night 
of  the  hayride  party.  Believe  me,  that  was 
the  last  straw!  I  made  up  my  mind  then 
to  do  something  about  my  dull-looking, 
unmanageable  hair. 


HOPEFULLY,  I  consulted  a  leading  hair- 
dresser. After  a  shampoo  with  Lustre- 
Creme,  my  hair  revealed  new  loveliness. 
"It's  not  a  soap,  not  a  liquid,"  he  said, 
"but  a  rich-lathering  cream  shampoo  with 
lanolin.  Use  it  at  home,  too!" 


For  Soft 
Gleaming 
Glamorous 
Hair 


Whether  you  prefer  the  TUBE  or  the  JAR. 
you'll  prefer  LUSTRE-CREME  SHAMPOO 


YOU,  TOO  .  .  .  can  have  soft,  gleaming, 
glamorous  hair  with  magical  Lustre-Creme 
Shampoo.  Created  by  Kay  Daumit,  to 
glamorize  hair  with  new  3-way  loveliness: 
1.  Fragrantly  clean,  free  of  loose  dandruff 
2.  Glistening  with  sheen 
3.  Soft,  easy  to  manage 
Lustre-Creme  is  a  blend  of  secret  ingre- 
dients—  plus  gentle  lanolin,  akin  to  the 
oils  in  a  healthy  scalp.  Lathers  richly  in 
hard  or  soft  water.  No  special  rinse  needed. 
Try  Lustre-Creme  Shampoo!  Be  a  lovely 
"Lustre-Creme"  Girl.  4-oz.  jar,  $1;  smaller 
sizes  in  jars  or  tubes,  49<!  and  250.  At  all 
cosmetic  counters.  Try  it  today! 
Kay  Daumit,  Inc.  (Successor) ,  91 9  N.  Mich.  Ave.,  Chicago,  III. 


DURA- GLOSS  nail  polish 

WITH  NEW  NYLON  BRUSH 


PINK  LAW 
Ni-T  5      H  Gi, 

LORR  LAS'' 


Lovely  Jane  Cartwright  and  Dura-Gloss  deep-toned  PINK  LADY 


6  c, 


SAYS  JANE 
CARTWRIGHT 


"Nail  polish  is  most  important  to  a  finished,  well-groomed 
look,"  says  famous  model  Jane  Cartwright.  "To  give  my  nails 
that  professionally-manicured  appearance  quickly  and  inex- 
pensively, I  use  Dura-Gloss.  It's  so  easy,  now— with  the 
Dura-Gloss  nylon  brush  that  directs  polish  just  where 
I  want  it  and  the  new  Dura-Gloss  Non-Smear 
Remover  that  lifts  off  old  polish  neatly  with- 
out a  single  smudge.".  .  .  More  and  more 
well-groomed  women  are  turning  to  Dura-Gloss 
because  of  its  many  fashion-right  shades,  its 
ease  of  application  and  economy. 

DURA-GLOSS  Nail  Polish  Remover,  lCty*  and  25f<* 


DURA-GLOSS 

lipstick 

i"wtciu^<5  fit 

sbaJjU) 

lacL* 


*plus  tax 


©1948,  Lorr  Laboratories,  Paterson,  N.  J.  •  Founded  by  E.  T.  Reynolds 


sweet 
and 
hot 


by  leonard  feather 

"Highly  Recommended 
*  Recommended 
No  Stars:  Average 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

EMPEROR  WALTZ — Friendly  Mountains:  Sammy 
Kaye  (Victor). 

LADY  IN  ERMINE — This  is  the  Moment:  *Jo 
Stafford  (Capitol);  Dinah  Shore  (Co- 
lumbia ) . 

If  parentage  means  anything,  this  song 
has  success  in  its  blood.  Music  is  by 
London-born  Frederick  Hollander,  who 
wrote  the  musical  score  for  the  picture 
that  brought  Marlene  Dietrich  to  Holly 
wood  [Blue  Angel),  and  lyrics  are  by 
Leo  Robin,  who  won  an  Academy  Award 
in  1938  for  Thanks  for  the  Memory. 
Strawberry-blonde  Jo  Stafford  sounds 
better  with  every  record. 
MIDNIGHT  WALTZ  —  Every  Time:  Jean  Sablon 
(Victor). 

NORTHWEST  STAMPEDE— Lazy  Stream:  Wayne 

King  (Victor). 
THE  NIGHT  HAS  A  THOUSAND  EYES— Love  That 

Boy:   Dinah   Shore    (Columbia);  *Johnny 

Mercer  and  the  Pied  Pipers  (Capitol). 
ROMANCE  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS— Run,  Run,  Run 

and    The    Tourist    Trade:  ""Charioteers 

(Columbia) . 

Remember  the  Cuban  scene,  when  singer- 
dancer  Avon  Long  gave  the  grim  facts 
about  the  tourist  racket?  And  the  calypso 
warning  to  run,  run,  run  when  you  see  a 
pretty  womun?  Both  these  cute  novelties 
were  recorded  by  the  Charioteers  during 
a  trip  to  England — which  means  they 
have  real  instrumental  backgrounds,  since 
there's  no  recording  ban  in  Britain! 
TWO  GUYS  FROM  TEXAS  —  Hankering:  *Gor- 
don  MacRae  (Capitol);  Tex  Beneke 
(Victor);  Harry  James  (Columbia).  I 
Don't  Care  If  It  Rains  All  Night:  *Tex 
Beneke  (Victor);  *Johnny  Mercer,  (Capi- 
tol); Harry  James  (Columbia).  There's 
Music  in  the  Land :  Art  Mooney  (  M-G-M  ) ; 
Vaughn  Monroe  (Victor).  Every  Day  I 
Love  You  (Just  a  Little  Bit  More):  *Jo 
Stafford  (Capitol);  Vaughn  Monroe  (Vic- 
tor); Mindy  Carson  (Musicraft).  I  Wan- 
na Be  a  Cowboy  in  the  Movies:  *Korn 
Kobblers  (M-G-M);  Beatrice  Kay  (Co- 
lumbia). 

WHIPLASH — Just  For  Now:  *Connie  Haines 
(Signature);  *Frank  Sinatra  (Columbia); 
Andy  Russell  (Capitol). 

ALBUMS 

BING  CROSBY  —  *Crosby  Classics,  Volume  II 
(Columbia) . 

Recorded  back  in  the  early  thirties,  when 
Bing's  baritone  was  closer  to  a  tenor, 
these  eight  tunes  (including  Temptation, 
Moonstruck  and  Ghost  of  a  Chance)  still 
make  good  listening. 
DUKE  ELLINGTON — **Mood  Ellington  (Colum- 
bia). 

Eight  original  tunes  recorded  late  in 
1947.  This  album  should  dispel  rumors 
that  the  Duke  is  slipping. 
SONGS  TO  REMEMBER — *Lorry  Raine  (Coast). 
Nice  singing  by  a  lovely  22-year-old 
redhead  from  Detroit,  who  started  on 
records  and  radio  with  Mark  Warnow. 
It's  good  to  hear  a  revival  of  that  great 
song  I'll  Remember  April.  Lorry  should 
be  in  pictures  soon. 


LETTER  FROM 
THE  FASHION  EDITOR 

Dear  You: 

Think  Louella  Parsons  does  a  lot  of 
party-going?  You  should  have  seen  the 
Fashion  Department  in  the  last  couple 
of  weeks! 

This  is  the  season  when  all  the  design- 
ers and  manufacturers  put  out  the  red 
carpet,  pop  the  champagne  corks,  and 
parade  their  winter  collections  for  the 
fashion  press.  To  give  you  an  idea  in 
one  single  week  there  were  132 — count 
'em — 132  parties  scheduled. 

We  didn't  make  quite  all  of  them, 
but  we  lunched,  brunched  and  dined  at 
the  St.  Regis,  Ritz-Carlton,  St.  Moritz, 
Waldorf  and  practically  every  other 
glamorous  spot  in  town — took  notes  on 
dozens  of  swoony  fashions — met  lots  of 
exciting  people.  We  had  ourselves  a 
time,  period. 

To  give  you  a  mere  hint — the  Barbi- 
zon  slip  people  threw  a  huge  cocktail 
party  for  Marsha  Hunt,  Albert  Drake, 
Faye  Emerson  and  a  couple  of  hundred 
other  people  .  .  .  and  then  hosted  the 
entire  group  at  the  theater  to  see  the 
play  of  their  choice.  (We  chose  Faye 
Emerson  and  Louis  Calhern  in  "The 
Play's  the  Thing.") 

Oleg  Cassini  had  a  cocktail  party  in 
his  sophisticated  new  salon,  and  we 
somehow  found  ourselves  visualizing 
Gene  Tierney  in  everyone  of  the  dra- 
matic evening  gowns  he  showed — won- 
der why? 

One  of  the  cleverest  fashion(  shindigs 
was  put  on  jointly  by  jewelry,  scarf,  glove 
and  belt  designers.  They  gave  a  very 
swanky  party  at  the  Pierre,  and  then 
sprang  a  surprise  in  the  form  of  a  movie 
screen  on  which  a  moving  pen  skillfully 
sketched  fashion  figures — a  la  the  out- 
of-the-inkwell  cartoons.  Then  a  beau- 
teous model  stepped  from  behind  the 
screen,  wearing  the  fashion  sketched, 
and  demonstrated  the  miracles  which 
could  be  performed  on  it  with  accessory 
switches. 

Naturally,  we  can't  describe  all  of  our 
giddy  doings — that  would  take  pages. 
But  we  can  tell  you  that  the  pick  of  the 
fashions  we  saw  will  be  turning  up  .  in 
forthcoming  issues  for  you  to  wear. 

After  all,  the  whole  point  of  our  party- 
ing is  to  snag  the  cutest  fashions — the 
fastest — just  for  you. 

Connie  Bartel 


the  BRA... 

with  highness  and  roundness 

 separation  and  LIFT. 

All  look  like  nature's  GIFT. 


Buy  a  wardrobe  of  FLEXAIRE  BRAS 
You'll  look  lovelier,  more  alluring, 


Insist  on  genuine 

FLEXEES  •  world's  loveliest  foundations 


•Reg.  T.  M. 


79 


Your  Shoes 


Sh 


owinq! 


^  ShinolA 

ft  WHITE 


WHITE 


#  Shinola's  scientific  comb.nat.on 
/  of  oily  woxes  helps  keep  shoes 
flexible-and  new-looking  longer. 
n  Shinolo  is  easy  to  apply  and  eco- 


s  to*  uTr^ 


Send  for 
our  illustrated 
Catalog  D 
showing  the 
variety  of  styles 
you  can  order 
by  mail! 

nderella 


59  TEMPLE  PLACE.  BOSION  11,  MASS. 


THIS  IS  MY  BEST 

(Continued  from  page  46) 


to  wear  housedresses  throughout  all  the 
reels.  That's  why  I  hate  ginghams.  They 
represent  drudgery  to  me. 

"My  favorites  are  suits.  Cocktail  suits, 
dinner  suits,  and  my  'very  special'  is  an 
all-service  suit  of  light  wool  gabardine 
with  a  black  skirt  and  a  flaming  red  hip- 
length  coat.  I  call  it  my  'cheerer-upper.' 
I  always  feel  comfortable  and  well  dressed 
in  it  and  it  really  gives  me  a  lift — the 
color,  I  mean." 

In  Ifs  a  Wonderful  Life  and  now,  again, 
in  The  Life  of  Monty  Stratton,  Donna  has 
to  wear  house  dresses,  but  she  can  at  least 
go  back  and  forth  from  the  studio,  ex- 
quisitely tailored. 

Dorothy  Lamour  likes  suits,  too,  but  she 
goes  in  for  very  elegant  ones.  Her  pet  is 
a  svelte  formal  suit  with  an  embroidered 
coat  and  a  gracefully  draped  skirt  which 
designer  Jean  Louis  did  for  her  before 
she  started  to  work  in  her  current  film, 
Lulu  Belle. 

Dottie  hates  slacks  because  she  thinks 
they  are  so  unbecoming  to  the  feminine 
figure.  She  prefers  flowing  lines  and  rich 
materials.  Anything  reminding  her  of  a 
sarong  will  be  tossed  right  out  the  window. 

Doris  Day,  on  the  other  hand,  is  a  big 
slacks  champion. 

"Brother,  if  anything  ruffles  me,  it's 
ruffles.  I  can't  stand  these  frilly  things 
and,  if  the  studio  would  let  me,  I'd  wear 
slacks  in  pictures,"  says  Doris,  who  is  now 
in  My  Dream  Is  Yours. 

"Maybe  it's  the  tomboy  in  me,  but  I 
don't  think  anything  is  more  comfortable 
and  looks  nicer  than  a  beautifully  tailored 
pair  of  white  slacks.  You  can  wear  a 
bright  coat  or  a  colorful  striped  blazer 
and  believe  me,  it's  a  pick-up.  I  loathe 
dressing  up,  and  perhaps  that's  why  I  love 
California;  I  don't  have  to.  I  don't  own 
a  hat  and  don't  intend  to.  Those  gals 
who  want  to  get  all  frilled  up  and  lunch 
at  Romanoff's  can  have  it.  It's  the  casual 
life  for  me." 

Ruth  Warwick  is  "plaid-happy."  Her 
mother  was  Annie  Laurie  Scott,  which 
may  account  for  it.  Anyway,  she  loves 
to  wear  plaids,  preferably  red,  black  and 
white  ones.  More  than  that,  she  even 
uses  the  same  plaid  material  and  pattern 
for  her  luncheon  cloths,  napkins  and  patio 
drapes  as  she  does  for  her  clothes. 

Another  gal  who  goes  for  household 
materials  is  Virginia  Grey.    When  Vir- 


ginia, who  is  currently  in  So  This  Is  New 
York,  saw  the  design  that  Barbara  Baron- 
dess  MacLean  had  made  for  the  fittings 
for  Ojai  Valley  Inn,  she  told  Barbara,  "I 
want  to  look  like  that  chair!" 

So  Barbara  whipped  up  a  peasant  skirt 
of  the  gay  and  colorful  print,  combined 
it  with  a  Valley  Green  crepe  blouse. 
Ginny  says,  "I  feel  like  a  tea-cozy." 

Ida  Lupino's  pet  is  a  pair  of  pedal 
pushers  of  blue  and  chartreuse.  It  isn't 
•  just  because  she  likes  to  bicycle.  Ida 
lives  way  up  on  a  mountain  top  and  she 
says  that  pedal  pushers  go  with  a  moun- 
tain top — they're  free  and  breezy. 

Ida's  anathema  is  a  beaded  dress.  For 
one  of  her  first  Hollywood  parties  she 
spent  two  weeks'  salary  on  a  creation  of 
bugle  beads.  "It  served  its  purpose  when 
it  came  to  making  an  entrance,  but  the 
exit  was  a  nightmare.  A  'friend'  of  mine 
said,  'Darling,  you  look  ravishing,  but 
there's  a  loose  thread  there  at  your  shoul- 
der.' She  pulled  it  and  I  literally  un- 
raveled all  over  the  party.  My  hostess 
was  still  picking  up  bugle  beads  around 
the  house  two  days  later.  Since  then  I've 
felt  about  a  beaded  dress  the  way  I  feel 
about  the  electric  chair." 

Joan  Bennett  likes  hostess  gowns  and 
Irene  Dunne  prefers  dresses  and  suits  of 
the  utmost  simplicity. 

But  the  most  rugged  individualist  of 
them  all  is  Betty  Hutton. 

"No  matter  what  Paris  says,"  declares 
Betty,  "I'm  not  going  to  clutter  up  my 
life  with  bustles  or  hobble  skirts.  I  like 
to  dress  appropriately  for  any  occasion 
outside,  but  when  I'm  home,  let  me  slip 
into  a  pair  of  Levis  and  live!" 

While  most  of  the  stars  we  talked  to, 
Donna  Reed,  Doris  Day,  Ruth  Warwick, 
etc.,  all  seemed  to  like  red  or  various 
shades  of  red,  it's  the  one  color  Hutton 
can't  stand  in  her  clothes. 

"You  know  why?"  she  asked.  '"When 
I  first  went  to  New  York  to  sing  with  a 
band,  the  orchestra  leader,  who  didn't 
know  clothes  from  a  lead  sheet,  thought 
I  should  make  my  first  appearance  in  a 
flaming  red  dress.  I  guess  he  didn't  have 
much  confidence  in  my  voice.  I  didn't 
either,  so  I  wore  a  red  dress  and  I  was 
so  frightened  and  nervous  I  laid  an  egg. 
Since  that_day  I  really  see  red  when  they 
show  me  anything  to  wear  in  that  color." 


MODERN  SCREEN 


how  to  buy 
modern  screen 
fashions 


If  there's  anything  the  Modern 
Screen  Fashion  Department  dotes  on,  it's 
letters  from  you  requesting  the  fashions 
we  feature.  We  get  a  distinct  thrill  out 
of  each  and  every  "where  can  I  buy?" 
letter  you  send  us,  and  nothing  makes  us 
happier  than  knowing  that  you  have 
walked  into  a  store,  and  have  bought, 
worn,  and  loved  an  M.  S.  Fashion. 

However,  sometimes  we  worry 
that  you  have  to  wait  too  long  for  the 
fashions  you  request.  If  you're  anything 
like  us,  you  want  a  dress  when  you  want 
it — rpractically  immediately. 

In  order  to  speed  up  your  receiv- 
ing the  M.  5.  Fashions  you  want,  here  are 
a  few  tips  on  how  to  buy: — 

buy  in  person: 

Go  to  the  store  in  your  city  listed  in 
the  Where  to  Buy  Directory,  and  be 
sure  to  go  directly  to  the  proper 
department  and  floor,  which  are  also 
listed. 

To  save  even  more  time,  take 
along  the  Modern  Screen  photo  of 
the  fashion  you  want.  If  you  haven't 
the  page  from  the  magazine,  be  sure 
to  tell  the  sales  girl  you  saw  it  in 
Modern  Screen. 

If  no  store  in  your  city  is  listed, 
write  to  Connie  Bartel  for  name  of 


buy  by  mall: 


Order  by    Check    from    any  store 

listed,  whether  in  your  city  or  not. 

Order  by  Money  Order  from  any 
store  listed,  whether  in  your  city  or 
not. 

Order  by  C.  O.  D.  from  any  store 

listed,  whether  in  your  city  or  not. 


how  not  to  buy: 


Please  don't  send  checks,  money 
orders,  or  C.  O.  D.'s  direct  to 
Modern  Screen. 

We're  not  equipped  to  handle 
them,  and  they  only  delay  your  order. 

Write  us  for  store  in  your  city — 
or  any  other  information,  and  we'll 
respond  promptly.  But  don't  send 
us  actual  payment — that  should  go 
only  to  stores. 

Thanks  for  your  cooperation — and 
here's  to  your  receiving  your  M.  S. 
Fashions  but  quickly! 


THE  LOVABLE  GIRL-OF-THE-MONTH 


loves  her 


MISS  BEVERLY  BURTON 
of  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


You'll  be  lovely,  too,  in  a 


HEDY  OF  HOLLYWOOD  offers 


The  Secret  of  an 
Exquisite  Bust-Line 

•  Why  let  an  unappealing,  dull  figure  spoil  your 
chances  for  romance!  Discover  the  secret  of  the 
wonderful,  new  EXQUISITE  FORM  "Disguise"  bra. 

...  Its  cleverly  hidden  foam  rubber   pads  will  add 
"ah's"  to  your  figure  and  romance  to  your  life. 

...  Its  new  front  opening  that  eliminates   all  back 
twisting  is  so  convenient  too. 

You'll  adore  the  lovely  lines  you'll  have  once  you've 
discovered  the  secret  of  a  "Disguise"  bra.  Order  by 
mail  from  HOLLYWOOD  today. 


DISGUISE 


by 


■                                          _  _  Dept.  1521 

HEDY  OF  HOLLYWOOD  ^ 

6253  Hollywood  B Ivd     ™£w  s  „  53.00  each. 

Pleasesend  me           DISbUist  Bust  , 

»#S£n»JWp  -ckD  (Mark  ,st 

and  2nd  color  choice).  .  .  cash  g  .  .  . 

,  am  enclosing  check  □  Money  ^  posta,e). 
(You  pay  postage). ..  Send  C.O.D.  H 


S/'zes: 

32,  33,  34,  35,  36 

Luxurious  Satin  in 
Tea-rose,  White 
and  Black 


HEDY  OF  HOLLYWOOD 

6253  Hollywood  Blvd.,  Hollywood  28.  Calif 


(Please  Print  Plainly) 


Address  . 


City 


State  • 

back  within  10-days 


because 
your 
dress 
is 


ROsg 


smooth 


82 


TRY  THESE 
FOR 


Black  or  black  and 
gold.  Sizes 

4  to  9,  medium 
width  only. 

$2^8 


DALTON  REED,  BOSTON  1,  MASS.  MS 

Send  me  prs.  n  □  e  □  h  □  at  $2.98  a  pr. 

Size  Color  . 

Name  (print)  

Address  

City  


_Zone_ 


_Stafe_ 


Check  □    Money  Order  □    C.O.D.  □ 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY  THE 

Pr/ces  on  merchandise  may  vary  throughout  country 

Corduroy  jacket  with  chin-chin  collar  and 
matching  skirt  worn  by  Ann  Miller  in  the 
full  color  photograph  (page  65) 

Los  Angeles,  Calif.— Trie  May  Co.,  Broad- 
way &  8th  St.  (Jacket  only) 

Madison,  Wis. — Harry  S.  Manchester, 
Inc.,  2  E.  Miffin  St.,  Thrift  Center, 
Second  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Blooming  dale's,  59th 
St.  &  Lexington  Ave.,  Misses  Sports- 
wear, Third  Floor 

Oklahoma  City,  Okla.— Kerr's,  Inc.,  312 
W.  Main  St.,  Budget  Sportswear  Dept. 

Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Loth- 
rop,  10th  &  G  Sts.,  Sportswear,  Third 
Floor,  North  Bldg. 

Ballet  shoes  worn  in  color  photo  (page  65) 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Best  &  Co.,  51st  St. 
&  Fifth  Ave. 
Plaid  bustle  skirt  (page  66) 
Detroit,    Mich. — Crowley,    Milner  Co., 
Gratiot    Ave.,    High    School  Shop, 
Fourth  Floor 
Hartford,  Conn.— Sage,  Allen  &  Co.,  900 

Main  St.,  Teen  Shop 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 

33  W.  34th  St.,  Teen  Dept.,  Balcony 
Pittsburgh,    Pa. — Joseph     Home  Co., 
Pennsylvania  Ave.,  High  School  Shop, 
Third  Floor 
Flat  turtle  neck  sweater  worn  with  bustle 
skirt  (page  66) 
Pittsburgh,  Pa.— Frank  &  Seder,  5th  Ave. 

&  Smithfield  St. 
St.    Louis,    Mo.— Sonnenfeld's,  610-18 
Washington    Ave.,    Accessory  Dept., 
Main  Floor 
Corduroy  skirt  with  flare  front,  full  back 
(page  66) 

Boston,  Mass. — Filene's,  Washington  St. 

Philadelphia,  Pa.—Strawbridge  &  Clo- 
thier, 8th  &  Market  Sts.,  Junior  Miss 
Sportswear,  Third  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Loth- 
rop,  10th  &  G  Sts.,  Junior  Miss,  Fourth 
Floor 

Short-sleeved,  notched  collar  sweater  worn 
with  corduroy  skirt  (page  66) 

Omaha,  Neb.— Fred  &  Clark  Haas,  205 
S.  16th  St.,  Sportswear  Dept.,  First 
Floor 

St.  Louis,  Mo.— Sonnenfeld's,  610-18 
Washington  St.,  Accessory  Dept.,  Main 
Floor 

Printed  Calico  blouse  (page  70) 

Denver,  Colo. — Denver  Dry  Goods  Co., 

16th  &  California  Sts.,  Sports  Shop, 

Second  Floor 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. — J.  W.  Robinson  Co., 

7th  &  Grand  Sts.,  Blouse  Dept.,  Street 

Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y.—McCreery's,  34th  St.  & 
5th  Ave.,  College  Shop,  Fourth  Floor 
Philadelphia,  Pa.—Strawbridge  &  Cloth- 
ier, Market  &  8th  Sts.,  Separates  Shop, 
Third  Floor 
Two-tone  shirt,  matching  skirt  (page  70) 
Write    to:     Freshy    Sportswear,  1410 
Broadway,  New  York  18,  N.  Y. 
Wool  worsted  jersey  top  with  leather  but- 
tons, matching  skirt  (page  71) 

Buffalo,  N.  Y.—J.  N.  Adam  Co.,  383  Main 

St.,  Sportswear  Dept.,  Fourth  Floor 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Oppenheim  Collins, 
33  W.  34th  St.,  Sport  Shop,  Third  Floor 
Gabardine  jumper  and  turtle  neck  blouse 
(page  71 )  , 
Boston,  Mass.— Filene's,  Washington  St., 

Sportswear  Dept.,  Fourth  Floor 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Martin's,  501  Fulton 
St.,  College  Shop,  Casual,  Fifth  Floor 
Louisville,  Ky .—Zellner's 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Gimbel's,  33rd  St.  & 
Ave.  of  the  Americas,  College  Shop, 
Third  Floor 


MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

Rayon  skirt  with  zig-zag  buttons  (page  71) 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Loeser's,  484  Fulton 
St.,  Sportswear,  Second  Floor 

Miami,  Fla. — Hartley's,  Sportswear,  Main 
Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Gimbels,  33rd  St.  & 

Ave.  of  the  Americas,  College  Shop, 

Third  Floor 
St.  Louis,  Mo. — Libson  Shops 
Sweater  worn  with  skirt  (page  71) 

St.    Louis,    Mo.— Sonnenfeld's,"  610-18 

Washington  St.,  Accessory  Dept.,  Main 

Floor 

Waukegan,  111. — Hein's,  Sportswear  Dept., 
Second  Floor 
One  piece  plaid  dress  with  velvet  bow  at 
collar  (page  72) 

Boston,  Mass. — Conrad  &  Co.,  19  Winter 
St.,  Downstairs 

Chicago,  111. — Carson,  Pirie  Scott  &  Co., 
State,  Madison  &  Monroe  Sts.,  Down- 
stairs 

Cleveland,  Ohio— The  Halle  Bros.  Co., 
1228  Euclid  Ave. 

Philadelphia,  Pa.— Gimbels,  9th  &  Mar- 
ket Sts. 

Pittsburgh,  Pa. — Kaufmann's,  5th  Ave  & 
Smithfield  St.,  Downstairs 

St.  Louis,  Mo. — Famous-Barr  Co.,  Lo- 
cust,   Olive    &    6th    Sts.,  Teentown, 
Downstairs 
Ruffled  broadcloth  blouse  with  jeweled  but- 
tons (page  72) 

Chicago,  111.— Goldblatt's,  333  S.  State  St. 

Milwaukee,  Wis. — Gimbels,  101  Wiscon- 
sin Ave.,  Hi  School  Shop,  Third  Floor 

New  York,  N.  Y.—Saks-34th,  34th  St.  & 
Broadway,  Teen  Dept.,  Second  Floor 

Philadelphia,  Pa. — Lit  Brothers,  Market 
&  8th  Sts.,  Teen  Shop,  Third  Floor 

Phoenix,  Ariz. — Diamond's,  Washington 
at  2nd  St.,  The  Teen  Town  Shop,  Sec- 
ond Floor 

Glen  Plaid  skirt  with  side  pockets,  worn 
with  ruffled  blouse  (page  72) 

St.  Louis,  Mo. — Salle  Ann  Shops 
Striped  turtle  neck  sweater  and  jersey 
skirt  with  unpressed  pleats  (page  73) 

Boston,  Mass. — Filene's,  Washington  St., 
Sportswear  Dept.,  Fourth  Floor 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Abraham  &  Straus, 
420  Fulton  St.,  Sportswear,  Second 
Floor,  Central  Bldg. 

Buffalo,  N.  Y. — Adam,  Meldrum  &  An- 
derson Co.,  398  Main  St. 

San  Francisco,  Calif. — Macy's,  Stockton 
&   O'Farrell   Sts.,   Sportswear  Dept., 
Second  Floor 
Half-size  suit  with  V  pockets  and  jeweled 
buttons  (page  74) 

Boston,  Mass. — Jordan  Marsh  Co.,  Wash- 
ington &  Avon  Sts.,  Misses  Thriftmode 
Dept.,  Fourth  Floor 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Abraham  &  Straus, 
420  Fulton  St.,  Daytime  Dresses,  Sec- 
ond Floor 

Chicago,  111. — Carson,  Pirie  Scott  &  Co., 
State,  Madison  &  Monroe  Sts.,  Day- 
time Dresses,  Second  Floor. 

Los  Angeles,  Calif. — J.  W.  Robinson  Co., 
7th  &  Grand  Sts.,  California  Patio 
Shop,  Fourth  Floor 

Washington,  D.  C. — Woodward  &  Loth- 
rop,  10th  &  G  Sts.,  Inexpensive  Dresses, 
Third  Floor 


How  to  Order  Modern  Screen  Fashions 

(1)  Buy  in  person  from  stores  listed. 

(2)  Order  by  mail  from  stores  listed. 

(3)  Write  Connie  Bartel,  Modern 
Screen,  Box  125,  Murray  Hill  Sta- 
tion, New  York  16,  N.  Y. — for  store 
in  your  vicinity. 


Lovely  CINDY  LOU  BAYES. 
chosen  by  famous  beauty  judges 
as  Miss  Stardust  of  1948. . . 
now  a  Harry  Conover  Cover  Girl. 


SEND  NO 
MONEY 

SENT  ON 
APPROVAL 


$ 


7 


98 

each 


-  THE 
RHUMBA 

As  refreshing  as 
flying  down  Rio  way. 

It's  the  dress  that 
makes  you  look  sweet 
and  charming,  with  a 
hint  of  the  glamorous 
and  dangerous.  Be- 
witching Black  Rayon 
Faille,  Sleeves  and 
Top  of  Multicolored 
Satin  Striped  Taffeta. 
Sizes  9-11-13-15-17. 
Also  in  sizes 
10-12-14-16-18. 


PREVIEW  FASHION  SHOPS  •  275  Seventh  Ave.,  New  York  I,  N.  Y. 


PREVIEW  FASHION  SHOPS  •  275  Seventh  Ave..  New  York  I,  N.  Y.  Dept.  DM-101 
Send  these  lovely  dresses 


on  approval.  I'll  pay 
postman  the  total  amount 
indicated,  plus  postage 
and  C.O.D.  charges.  If 
not  delighted,  I  may  re- 
turn any  or  all  dresses 
for  refund  within  five 
days.  In  N.  Y.  C.  add 
2%  Sales  Tax.  Allow  two 
weeks  or  less  for  delivery. 

NAME  !  

ADDRESS  

CITY_ 


THE 
SAMBA 

All  the  thrill 
South  American  party^ 
time  is  in  this,  your 
most  romantic  dress... 
with  its  adorable  gaucho 
collar,  trio  of  buttons 
at  the  neckline,  and 
Multicolored  Satin  Box 
Striped  Rayon  Taffeta 
Sleeves  and  Belt  Trim. 
In  Black  Rayon  Faille. 
Sizes  9-11-13-15-17. 
Also  in  sizes 
10-12-14-16-18. 


Style 

Size 

Price 

415 

7.98 

417 

7.98 

Total 

PLEASE  PRINT 

□  C.  8. 

J0NE_ 


_STATC_ 


'  NOTE:  If  you  send  payment  with  orf^^ojjw  £ljio£«Ee^hatejs. 


□  Check 
or  Money 
Order 


WRITE  FOR 
FREE 
k  CATALOG 


no  Bonis  ABOUT  IT 

Stays  up  without  stays 


There's  a  "Perma»lift"*  Pantie  de- 
signed just  for  you  — -  the  comfort- 
able pantie  preferred  by  millions  of 
smartly  styled  women.  The  exclu- 
sive magic  inset  designed  in  the 
front  panel  is  your  guarantee  that 
your  "Perma»lift"  Pantie  won't  roll 
over,  won't  wrinkle,  won't  bind, 
yet  it  stays  up  without  stays.  Be  ex- 
pertly fitted  at  jour  favorite  corset 
department.  Buy  and  try  a  "Perma* 
lift"  Pantie  today—  $5.00  to  $12.50. 

Enjoy  a  "Perma»lift"  Bra — Ame- 
rica's favorite  bra  with  "The  Lift 
that  never  lets  you  down." 

*"  Perma.lift"  and  "Hickory"  are  trademarks  of 
A.  Stein  &  Company  <Reo.  U  S.  Pat.  Off.) 


the  fans 


MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 

Ideas,  Inc.  Our  request  for  club  ideas  has 
brought  a  slew  of  swell  responses  and  we're 
going  to  pass  them  right  along  to  you :  Barbara 
Wright  of  L.A.  has  the  simplest  and  easiest  plan 
in  the  world  for  adding  small  change  to  your 
treasury.  She  says  go  out  into  the  pantry  or 
kitchen  and  collect  those  deposit  bottles!  The 
folks'll  be  happy  to  have  them  cleared  away — 
and  you  can  add  those  nickels  to  the  club's 
worthwhile  activity  or  snap  fund.  You'll  be 
surprised  how  those  five-cent  pieces  add  up! 
.  .  .  Urban  "Red"  Jones  (Jimmy  Lloyd  Club) 
calls  on  all  club  prexies  to  put  out  a  fan  club 
"Who's  Who"  (like  our  own  "Who's  Who  In 
Hollywood")  with  one  page  devoted  to  each 
club  honorary.  Each  club  supplies  copy,  snap 
and  its  share  of  expense  .  .  .  Phyllis  Pritchard 
writes  that  when  her  honorary,  Joan  Caulfield, 
mails  out  a  requested  photo  to  a  fan,  there's  a 
sticker  pasted  on  the  back  that  says,  "Join  the 
Joan  Caulfield  Fan  Club"  and  gives  the  name 
and  address  of  the  prexy.  It's  tripled  member- 
ship in  less  than  a  year!  .  .  .  Lee  Garber's  Mel 
Torme  Club  has  a  special  way  of  attracting  at- 
tention of  movie-mag  editors  when  clubbers 
request  stories  about  Mel.  Club  artist  Joan 
Cavaretta  makes  miniature  facsimile  editions  " 
of  each  magazine  solicited,  with  the  name  of  the 
magazine,  Mel's  picture,  the  mag's  trade  mark, 
price,  etc.,  on  the  cover.  It's  very  appealing  and 
bound  to  get  attention.  For  disk  jockeys,  Joan 
has  made  a  tiny  paper  record  in  a  petite  jacket 
of  its  own.  They're  cute  souvenirs.  (It  takes  a 
little  imagination  and  lots  of  lovin'  care  to 
dream  up  these  ideas.)  .  .  .  Dale  Dunham  of 
Concord,  Calif.,  suggests  a  White  Elephant 
Sale.  Everybody  brings  something  they  have  no 
use  for,  but  which  may  be  very  useful'  to  some- 
one else.  You  can  put  nominal  prices  on  the 
items  or  sell  them  at  auction.  All  money  is 
added  to  club  treasury.  For  a  more  ambitious 
club,  Dale  suggests  a  puppet  show  or  a  car- 
nival. By  permission  of  the  authorities,  use  a 
vacant  lot  and  set  up  your  tents  or  stalls — a 
candy  and  soft  drink  stand,  of  course,  and  a 
fortune  teller!  If  you  can,  a  "house  of  horrors" 
and  a  vaudeville  tent  .  .  .  Here's  a  wonderful 
game  for  club  meetings,  from  Doris  Burton  of 
Richmond,  Va.:  either  an  individual  or  team  of 
clubbers  acts  out  a  scene  in  pantomime,  using 
props  which  happen  to  be  in  the  room.  The 
others  try  to  guess  the  movie  the  scene  is  taken 
from — and  the  stars  .  .  .  Finally,  Loretta  Verbin 
of  Jack  Carson's  club  has  a  painless  way  of  re- 
minding clubbers  to  renew  membership.  In- 
stead of  notifying  them  coldly  "to  pay  up,  or 
get  out,"  Loretta  has  mimeographed  a  cute  car- 
toon that  says  pleasantly,  "For  another  fun- 
packed  year,  rejoin. . . ." 

Thanks  to  you  clubbers  who  submitted  your 
pet  ideas.  Winners  above  each  receive  a  year's 
subscription  to  MODERN  SCREEN! 

Trouble  Clinic:  For  years,  studios  who've 
objected  to  fan  clubs  have  been  yelling 
"Racket!"  So  here's  a  solution  from  a  famous 
MSFCA  club  prexy:  "If  the  studios  were  smart 
they  would  whip  up  fan  club  organizations  right 
in  the  studio  with  some  authority  on  them  who 
would  not  be  afraid  to  bounce  harmful  fans  out 
on  their  ear.  Then  they  could  work  in  conjunc- 
tion with  the  fan  magazines  and  this  way  there 
could  not  be  quite  as  much  racketeering  and 
trouble."  What  do  you  think?  Are  fan  clubs 


SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 
GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate 


rackets?  What's  your  solution? 

Louise  Warnes,  prexy  of  Jim  Brown's  Buddies, 
says,  "How  about  more  plugs  for  new  clubs 
with  new  stars  as  honoraries?"  Okay,  Louise, 
here's  a  batch  of  new  favorites  for  whom  we've 
got  promising  young  clubs.  For  info  on  how  to 
join  them,  drop  us  a  card:  Elizabeth  Taylor, 
Gary  Stevens,  Ron  Randall,  Jane  Powell,  Art 
Mooney,  Daryl  Hickman,  Nina  Foch,  Graham 
Covert,  Vanessa  Brown,  Kirk  Douglas,  Gene 
Nelson,  David  Street,  Rand  Brooks,  Martha 
Vickers,  and  Richard  Widmark. 

New  Prizes!  We're  putting  new  glamor  in 
our  Trophy  Contest  prizes!  Starting  this  month, 
we'll  give  away  Helena  Rubinstein's  Lipstick 
Four-Casts  to  the  winners  of  the  "This  Is  My 
Best"  Contest  (best  stories  and/or  poems 
printed  in  your  club  journals).  The  Rubinstein 
Four-Cast  is  a  handsome  plastic  case  contain- 
ing the  four  most  becoming  shades  of  lipstick 
for  your  type,  so  before  we  mail  out  your  prize 
(if  you're  a  winner!)  we'll  quiz  you  on  your 
hair-coloring.  Then,  you'll  have  the  four  lip- 
sticks you  need  to  wear  with  your  most  flatter- 
ing costume  colors!  It's  the  New  Look  in  lip- 
sticks, and  it's  as  chi-chi  as  the  name  Helena. 
Rubinstein  implies!  Of  course,  we've  still  got 
our  old  favorites,  too,  and  from  your  letters,  we 
know  you  love  'em!  For  the  club  artist,  there's 
TANGEE's  beautiful  Trip-Kit,  the  smartest  thing 
for  travel,  and  just  loaded  with  those  superfine 
Tangee  products — astringent,  powder  base, 
rouge,  etc.,  also  comb  and  mirror,  to  keep  you 
looking  like  a  movie  star  even  on  the  bumpiest 
bus.  And  for  you  expert  editors,  we've  got  those 
wonderful  EBERHARD  FABER  Harmatone  Pen 
and  Pencil  Sets.  Handsome,  smooth,  they  write 
like  a  dream!  Finally,  for  the  camera  bugs, 
there  are  free  subscriptions  to  DELL  magazines, 
and  DELL  Pocket  Books!  (Suitable  prizes  sub- 
stituted for  male  winners,  as  always!) 

8TH  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 
(2nd  Lap) 

Best  Journals:  500  points.  League  1.  Nelson  Eddy 
Golden  Notes  (Nicholin).  League  2.  (tied)  fieagan 
Record.  Jive  (Bob  Crosby).  Shirley's  (Temple) 
Scoops.  Golden  Comet  (Jeanette  MacDonald). 
Musical  Notes.  League  3.  (tied)  Burt  Lancaster 
journal.  Data  on  Dick  (Conte).  (loe)  Cotter.  Chron- 
icJe.  (Helen)  Geialdites.  Kamera  on  Kirk  (Doug- 
las). Best  Editing:  250  points.  League  1.  Janie  Ham- 
ilton, Bill  Boyd  R.  H.  News.  League  2.  Betty  Petrie, 
Club  Friendship  journal.  League  3.  Audrey  Cush- 
ing,  Atomic  (Bob)  Atchei.  Best  covers:  250  points. 
League  1.  Nelson  Eddy  Music  Club  journal  (Mot- 
tola).  League  2.  Alan  Ladd  (Bellino)  journal. 
League  3.  (tied)  Keese-Roberts  journal.  Swing  and 
Sway  Times  (Sammy  Kaye).  Best  Art  Work:  150 
points.  Eugenia  Holland,  Desi  Arnez  (Stilts) 
journal.  This  Is  My  Best:  100  points.  Ruth  Kellman, 
Editorial,  Ralph  Lewis  journal.  Georgia  Eustice, 
"Typically  Hollywood,"  Ralph  Lewis  journal.  Dee 
Fling,  "A  Tribute,"  fleagan  Record.  Rosemarie 
Chaney,  "Hold  Fast  Your  Dreams,"  Cotton  Chron- 
icle. Anita  Dobres,  "Young  America  At  The 
Movies,"  Alan  Ladd  journal  (Pearl).  Guen  Griffith, 
"Graduation,"  Hi-Lites  (Club  Friendship  journal). 
Membership  Increases:  100  points.  League  1.  Bill 
Boyd  Club.  League  2.  Dennis  Morgan  Club.  League 
3.  Bobby  Breen  Club.  Most  Worthwhile  Activities: 
250  points.  League  1.  Nelson  Eddy  (Mottola)  Club 
(donated  $35  to  Cancer  Fund  in  honor  of  Nelson's 
birthday).  League  2.  Jeanette  MacDonald  (Riley) 
(gave  $30  to  Children's  Village  for  Jeanette's 
birthday).  League  3  (tied)  Herb  Fields  Club 
(donated  $15  to  Jewish  Relief  Fund).  Sinatra  Club 
(Alfino)  (collected  baby  clothing  for  French  War 
Orphans).  Candid  Camera  Contest:  (First  prize  100 
points,  others  50.)  Marlyn  Sclater,  Roddy  Mc- 
Dowall  Club.  Geraldine  Schultz,  Gene  Autry  Club. 
Ron  de  Armond,  Charles  Korvin  Club.  Virginia 
Pink,  Bobby  Beers  Club.  Kathy  Campbell.  Darryl 
Hickman  Club.  Dory  Gehrke  Nelson  Eddy  (Mot- 
tola)  Club.  Best  Correspondents:  50  points.  League 
1.  Nancy  Bryan,  Bill  Boyd  Club.  League  2.  Rita  and 
Jo  Mottola,  Rise  Stevens  Club.  League  3.  Shirley 
Warren,  Garry  Stevens  Club. 


are  Lux  1 


My  Beauty  Facials  leave 
skin  softer,  smoother," 

says  Jane  Wyman 


This  is  a  complexion  care  that  really 
makes  skin  lovelier!  In  recent  Lux  Toilet 
Soap  tests  by  skin  specialists,  actually 
three  out  of  four  complexions  improved 
in  a  short  time. 

"My  Lux  Soap  care  brings  quick  new 
loveliness,"  says  Jane  Wyman.  "I  work 
the  creamy  fragrant  lather  well  in.  As  I 
rinse  and  then  pat  with  a  soft  towel  to 
dry,  my  skin  is  softer,  smoother." 

Don't  let  neglect  cheat  you  of  romance. 
Take  Jane  Wyman's  tip! 


85 


a  new 
kind  of 
bobby  pin! 


Here's  the  first  real 
improvement  in  bobby  pins!  A  new 

patented  shape,  scientifically 
designed  to  hold  better.  Stronger, 

yet  flexible,  easy 

to  open.  Yes, 
certified,  unbiased 

tests  prove  that 
Supergrip  holds 

144%  better! 


Gcu$£cC 


WHY  CAN'T  THEY  STAY  MARRIED? 


(Continued  from  page  31) 


"GAY  I  A"  MEANS  THE  BEST  IN 
BOBBY  PINS,  HAIR  PINS,  CURLERS 

)  1948,  GAYLORD  PRODUCTS,  INCORPORATED,  CHICAGO  16,  ILL. 


back,  confusing  everyone,  including  them- 
selves and  their  bewildered  children,  until 
Jane  decided  to  call  it  quits  for  keeps.  June 
Haver  and  her  trumpeteer,  Jimmy  Zito, 
calling  it  off  before  it  ever  started,  and  then 
when  it  did  start,  calling  it  off  again. 

How  do  they  get  that  way?  There  are 
always  stories  behind  the  stories  you  read 
— and  some  of  them,  believe  me,  are  lulus. 
For  instance,  the  on-again,  off-again  mar- 
riage of  Rita  Hayworth  and  Orson  Welles. 

The  second  act  of  that  bizarre  domestic 
drama  opened  right  before  Orson  directed 
Rita  in  The  Lady  From  Shanghai,  and  it 
ended  right  after  the  last  scene  was  shot. 
I  stood  on  that  set  and  watched  that  patch- 
up  in  action.  I  saw  Orson  mopping  up  the 
stage  floor  with  his  beautiful  wife  in  a 
high-tension,  super-melodramatic  scene — 
which  was  just  what  Rita  craved,  by  the 
way.  I  call  that  connubial  comeback,  "The 
Eighty-Thousand  Dollar  Makeup— or  Col- 
umbia Capers."  It  had  everything  in  it  ex- 
cept what  a  true  reconciliation  needs,  which 
is  humility,  sincerity  and  love. 

Rita  should  have  known  better.  Heaven 
knows,  she'd  had  plenty  of  the  one-time 
Boy  Genius  the  first  time.  As  he  says,  Or- 
son "forgot"  constantly  that  he  had  a  wife, 
when  anything  else  was  on  his  mile-a- 
minute  mind.  Politicking,  saving  the  world, 
making  speeches,  plotting  sensational 
broadcasts,  writing  plays  and  scripts,  act- 
ing, promoting,  flying  off  here  and  there  at 
the  drop  of  an  overnight  bag.  Orson's  not 
exactly  a  cozy  kid  to  have  around  the 
house.  That's  why  Rita  left  him  in  the 
first  place;  she  never  knew,  with  his  astral 
existence,  whether  he'd  be  coming  in  for 
dinner  when  she  was  having  breakfast,  or 
vice  versa. 

So  they  split.  Rita  handled  her  career 
and  home  twice  as  easily  without  Orson's 
jitters,  and  had  time,  too,  for  the  gaiety 
she  loves.  Orson  joined  old  Mercury  The- 
ater pals  on  Broadway,  launched  a  stage 
musical,  Around  the  World  in  80  Days — and 
lost  his  shirt  when,  owing  to  its  fabulous 
production  costs,  it  flopped  like  a  flounder. 
Part  of  the  shirt— in  fact  $80,000  of  it— be- 
longed to  a  big  shot  at  Columbia  Pictures. 
And  the  estranged  Mrs.  Welles  is  Colum- 
bia's biggest  box-office  star.  Right  then  the 
machinery  of  a  marriage  makeup  began  to 
turn.  . 

rita  plays  the  game  ... 

Here's  what  happened:  The  big-shot 
wanted  his  loan  to  Orson  back,  had  a  prom- 
ise tied  to  it  that  Orson  would  make  him  a 
picture.  Orson  had  to  come  through.  Also, 
Rita's  Columbia  contract  was  about  to  ex- 
pire, and  Columbia  wanted  it  renewed. 
How  about  Rita?  Well,  she  was  already  a 
big  success  as  a  musical  star,  but  she  longed 
for  finer  things,  yearned  to  be  a  dramatic, 
artistic  actress.  Add  those  factors  up  and 
what  do  you  get?  A  second  try  at  marriage 
on  an  artificial  basis— one  that  should  never 
have  happened. 

I'll  cut  it  short.  Orson  came  back  to  Hol- 
lywood with  a  picture  script.  He  went  out 
to  Rita's.  He's  a  salesman.  When  he  left, 
Rita's  head  was  spinning.  At  last  she  was 
to  be  a  dramatic  star,  directed  by  the 
Genius,  himself.  Orson  rewrote  the  script 
in  eight  days,  building  Rita  a  starring  part. 
Rita  signed  a  new  seven-year  contract  with 
Columbia.  Orson  moved  back  in  Rita's 
house;  they  were  "together  again."  But 
were  they?  Yep,  for  six  months — while  the 
picture  lasted. 

But  Orson  hadn't  changed,  hadn't  any  in- 
tention of  changing.  Anyway,  a  few  days 
after  I  walked  off  that  set,  Rita  told  me  in 


a  dead-tired,  emotionless  voice,  "Orson  and 
I  are  through,  Hedda.  Forever.  I  can't 
take  it  any  longer."  Whatever  made  her 
think  she  could? 

Now  they're  divorced  and  she's  legally 
Rita  Cansino  again.  Who  collected  the  hits 
in  that  second  inning?  Orson?  Rita?  I 
haven't  seen  Lady  From  Shanghai,  but  I 
hear  it's  pretty  weird.  It's  doubtful  if  it 
will  add  to  Orson  Welles'  stature  or  prove 
Rita  another  Bernhardt,  so  they'll  both 
wind  up  with  errors.  Who  got  his  money 
back — also  his  meal-ticket  star?  That's 
right,  the  Columbia  big-shot. 

Now,  that's  a  pretty  special  Hollywood 
return  engagement — but  they're  all  special, 
that's  the  point.  Hollywood  has  what  it 
takes  to  blow  a  familiar  domestic  crisis  into 
quicker  flame.  I'm  thinking  of  Mark  Stev- 
ens' marriage  mixup. 

A  year  or  so  ago  in  these  very  pages  of 
Modern  Screen  I  picked  Mark  as  the  most 
promising  young  star  of  the  year.  He'd 
proved  himself  loaded  with  talent,  author- 
ity, and  ambition.  One  of  his  best  assets 
was  his  young  wife,  Annelle.  First  time  I 
met  her,  I  said,  "There's  a  girl  with  her  head 
set  right  on  her  shoulders."  She'd  come  to 
Hollywood  to  get  in  pictures  herself.  She'd 
tossed  that  over  pronto  the  minute  she  said 
"I  do."  She  was  expecting  a  baby.  They 
were  living  in  a  tiny  guest-house  apart- 
ment in  the  hills  near  Pickfair,  victims  of 
the  housing  shortage.  Mark  was  sick, 
racked  with  pain.  He'd  already  been  in 
hospitals  numberless  times  to  have  his  back, 
injured  in  boyhood,  repaired.  And  Annelle 
had  nursed  him,  dressed  his  wounds,  min- 
istered to  his  moods  (which  ranged  in  Mark 
from  sky-high  elation  to  bottomless  de- 
spair, as  his  frustrations  drummed  on  his 
nerves).  There  were  picture  chances  he 
was  too  sick  to  grab,  there  was  cramped 
living,  a  pregnant  wife.  That  was  the  setup 
— and  both  Mark  and  Annelle  were  young. 

I  spotted  Mark  at  once  as  an  explosive 
character.  His  life  story  backed  me  up. 
Mark  had  blown  his  top  consistently 
throughout  his  wandering  young  career, 
he'd  been  a  problem  child,  a  runaway,  a 
rebel.  He  never  thought  he'd  get  married, 
he  told  me.  "I've  always  been  mean  to 
women,"  he  admitted  frankly.  But  still,  I 
sensed  character  and  guts  in  him. 

Now  Mark  Stevens  is  a  small-town  boy 
and  there  are  millions  like  him  all  over, 
yearning  for  the  Big  League,  its  fame  and 
its  fruits.   Only,  when  he  got  his  at  last, 


that's 


Members  of  the  movie  industry  get 
a  chance  to  attend  previews  and  are 
usually  put  on  the  spot  when  asked 
for  their  opinions.  After  a  preview  a 
producer  cornered  Oscar  Levant  and 
inquired,  "How  did  you  like  my  pic- 
ture?" 

"I  didn't  like  it,"  said  Levant  frankly. 

"Who  do  you  think  you  are,  not  to 
like  it?"  recoiled  the  producer. 

"Who  do  I  have  to  be,  not  to  like 
it?"  asked  Levant. 

from  "Hollywood  Merry-Go-Roitnd" 
bv  Andrew  Hecht 


I  Mark  couldn't  use  them.  Annelle  soon  had 
her  baby,  but  Mark  was  left  with  his  frus- 
trations. That's  when  he  lost  his  head,  de- 
cided to  have  this  fling  he  thought  he  rated. 

Unfortunately,  Hedy  Lamarr  swam  en- 
trancingly  in  view  at  the  psychological  mo- 
ment and  Hedy  was  fancy-free,  having  split 
with  her  husband,  John  Loder.  Three  chil- 
dren or  not,  Hedy  must  have  someone  to 
pay  court  and  flatter  her.  That  the  great 
and  glamorous  Lamarr  would  make  eyes  at 
him  was  the  most  fatal  flattery  to  Mark 
Stevens  in  his  mood.  So  off  the  beam  he 
went,  leaving  home  and  Annelle  for  a 
■  flirtation  that  Hedy's  husband,  John, 
summed  up  the  best  I've  heard.  "It's  quite 

|  all  right,  my  dear,"  observed  John  drily, 
"but  aren't  you  making  yourself  rather 
ridiculous?"  No  more  than  Mark  was.  The 
difference  was  he  came  to,  fast,  and  real- 
ized in  a  hospital  bed  with  his  bad  back 
acting  up  again  what  a  fool  he'd  been. 
That's  when  he  called  me  and  made  the 
vows  he's  kept,  so  far.  As  I  said,  Mark  has 
signed  over  every  cent  he  owns  to  An- 
nelle and  Mark  Richard,  their  baby  boy. 
I  hope  he  never  crosses  us  up  again — or 
rather,  crosses  up  himself  and  his  family. 
Now  let  me  turn  to  another  case.  I  said 

i  I'd  never  been  the  president  of  Oleg  Cas- 
sini's  fan  club.  Oleg's  grandfather  was  the 
Czar's  ambassador  to  Washington.  He's  an 
aristocrat,  touchy,  proud,  and  easy  to  mis- 
understand. 

Gene  has  always  been  madly  in  love  with 
her  fiery  little  count.  She  followed  him 
around  from  camp  to  camp  during  the  war, 
just  like  any  war  wife.  And  Oleg  did  do 
the  right  things,  I  had  to  admit.  He  dropped 
his  title,  became  a  U.  S.  A.  citizen,  enlisted 
when  trouble  began  and  won  his  way  up  to 
a  lieutenant's  bars.  Frankly,  I've  always 
thought  he  was  inconsiderate  of  Gene.  He 

I    had  so  many  fist  fights  and  hot-tempered 

'  scuffles  in  public,  and  they  embarrassed  her 
so  much.  But  that  wasn't  what  split  them 
up.  Pride  did  that. 

pride  and  prejudice  .  .  . 

From  the  start  of  their  marriage,  Gene 
was  a  successful  star.  Oleg  was  an  un- 
successful dress  designer.  Gene  has  told  me, 
"Our  trouble  was  just  as  much  my  fault  as 
Oleg's.  I  had  my  work,  I  was  making  a  big 
salary.  Oleg  had  only  his  pride.  But  I  love 
him  and  I  want  the  world  to  know  it."  Gene 
told  me  that  after  they'd  reconciled,  after, 
I  firmly  believe,  both  knew  they  were 
more  in  love  than  ever.  Two  months  after 
their  makeup,  Gene  found  she'd  have  a 
second  baby,  which  she's  expecting  soon. 
I  wish  her  and  Oleg  Cassini  all  the  luck  in 
the  world. 

But  no  matter  how  I  feel  about  Oleg, 
there's  another  boy  I  haven't  changed  my 
opinion  of  yet,  and  he'll  have  to  show  me 
before  I  will.  I  mean  John  Payne,  whose 
shaky  child-bride  marriage  with  Gloria  De 
Haven  will  be  wagging  Heaven  knows 
which  way  by  the  time  this  sees  print.  At 
the  present,  John  is  saying,  "I  love  my  wife 
and  my  children  and  we  all  love  each  other 
and  we  should  never,  never  part,"  or  words 
to  that  effect.  And  little  Gloria  is  saying 
nothing.  John  has  always  thought  he  was 
God's  gift  to  the  screen.  I  think  he's  a 
spoiled,  over-conceited  boy  all  wrapped  up 
in  himself  and  happy  being  unhappy — like 
a  character  in  a  Russian  novel. 

I  used  to  see  John  sitting  and  scowling 
in  Hollywood's  night  clubs  back  when  he 
was  married  to  Anne  Shirley.  "For 
Heaven!s  sake,"  I  told  him  one  night  to  his 
long/  sad  face,  "if  you're  that  bored  with 
it  all,  why  don't  you  go  home?  Why  sit 
here  and  torture  yourself?" 

"Anne  likes  it,"  sighed  Payne.  I've  seen 
i  him  sulking  the  same  lackadaisical  way 
lately,  with — and  without — his  bride.  Truth 
is,  John  doesn't  know  what  he  wants,  and 
hasn't  for  years.  He  thought  he  wanted  a 


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home  and  had  one  for  a  while  with  Anne 
and  their  baby.  He  made  a  picture  with 
Claudette  Colbert  and  came  up  with  a  good 
acting  performance.  Then  he  wanted  a 
serious  dramatic  career.  Claudette  brought 
that  on.  No  picture  Colbert  makes  is  a  fail- 
ure and  her  smart  French  mind  figured  the 
way  to  get  a  performance  out  of  John 
Payne,  cast  with  her  in  Remember  the  Day. 
She  flattered  the  socks  off  him.  She  built 
up  his  ego  until  he  came  through  with  a 
real  job,  the  best  of  his  life.  He's  con- 
sidered himself  a  great  thespian  since, 
which  I'm  sorry  to  say  he's  not.  Neither  is 
pretty  little  Gloria  De  Haven. 

Gloria's  a  child  of  separation  and  a  child 
of  the  theater.  Her  mother  and  father,  the 
Carter  De  Havens,  were  always  splitting 
up  and  coming  back  together  again — which 
has  nothing  to  do  with  Gloria,  except 
that  the  background  is  familiar.  M-G-M 
signed  her  purely  on  her  famous  stage 
name  and  her  looks.  She  got  a  build-up  far 
beyond  her  talents.  When  Gloria  said  in 
one  separation  spell  that  she  was  going  to 
leave  John  and  return  to  her  career,  people 
asked,  "What  career?" 

One  gnawing  misery  that  colors  John's 
yes-and-no  home  life  is  a  very  big  mistake 
he  made  at  the  studio  which  made  him  a 
star.  Johnny  had  an  iron-clad  contract 
with  20th  Century -Fox,  at  $4000  a  week  for 
four  more  years.  But  the  accumulated  ego 
of  many  Hollywood  years  wouldn't  let  him 
accept  the  fact  that  new  faces  with  new 
voices — say,  like  Dick  Haymes — were  get- 
ting the  parts  he  figured  he  should  be  hav- 
ing. When  he  was  offered  a  screen  job 
beneath  what  he  considered  his  dramatic 
dignity  he  stalked  into  Darryl  Zanuck's 
office  and  asked  for  his  release. 

To  his  stunned  surprise,  Zanuck  grabbed 
his  offer  like  a  fielder  grabs  a  pop  fly.  He 
was  out.  A  few  days  later  John  came  back 
in.  "I  made  a  mistake,"  he  began. 

"Maybe  you  did,"  Zanuck  told  him,  "but 
we  didn't." " 

I  could  go  on  forever  with  case  histories 
of  Hollywood's  switch  marriages,  bright  one 
minute,  blacked-out  the  next.  Stars  act  like 
children  of  the  rich  in  their  domestic  dipsy- 
doos;  they  lose  perspective  and  tie  their 
private  lives  too  often  to  the  erratic  kites 
of  their  public  careers.  They  magnify  the 
real  importance  of  this  hit,  of  that  flop,  lose 
their  heads  over  success  or  over  an  honor 
and  forget  what's  really  important  to  their 
lives — their  existence  as  persons. 

oscar,  the  home-wrecker  .  .  . 

I  don't  think  Jane  Wyman  would  ever 
have  let  a  wonderful  guy  like  Ronald  Rea- 
gan slip  out  of  her  life — even  temporarily — 
if  she  hadn't  been  nominated  for  an  Acad- 
emy Award.  Jane's  a  cute,  smart  little  girl 
with  considerable  talent.  She  came  up  from 
nowhere  and  struck  the  greatest  fortune  a 
girl  can  have — a  home,  beautiful  babies,  an 
adoring,  distinguished  husband,  and  career 
enough.  I'll  never  forget  the  night  she 
showed  me  her  first  mink  coat,  a  beauty 
that  cost  $5,000,  if  it  cost  a  penny.  She 
couldn't  stop  stroking  its  soft  surface. 
"Isn't  it  beautiful,  Hedda?  Aren't  I  lucky? 
Isn't  Ronnie  wonderful  to  buy  it  for  me?  I 
don't  deserve  it,"  she  said. 

Jane  was  thrilled  then  with  everything: 
her  home,  Ronnie,  the  kids,  her  friends. 
She  took  her  picture  career  in  stride,  run- 
ning it  in  second  place,  where  it  should  be 
with  a  lucky  girl  like  that. 

Now  the  home's  sold.  Jane  sold  it  when 
Ronnie  moved  out.  Ronnie,  who  was  so 
wonderful  all  those  years,  is  complained 
about  publicly  in  her  divorce  suit  as  having 
bored  Jane  with  his  Screen  Actors  Guild 
activities.  Jane  came  out  in  print  with  the 
silliest  statement  I  ever  expected  to  hear 
from  a  star — that  she,  a  wife,  couldn't  stand 
Ronald's  constructive  brilliance — when  it's 
his  very  activities  that  guarantee  her  salary 


WE  PINE  FOR  YOU 

Ah,  Indian  summer — we  love  it.  We 
wait  jor  it  all  year  round.  And  we  wait 
for  something  else,  too — your  "I  Saw  It 
Happen"  letters.  Really.  We  sit  here 
with  $5  bills  falling  out  of  our  pockets, 
just  pining  for  your  anecdotes.  You 
know  what  we  want.  True,  short  and 
amusing  incidents  about  you  and  a 
movie  star.  We'll  pay  $5  for  every  one 
we  use.  Make  us  happy.  Make  your- 
selves happy.  Fish  for  your  underwater 
pen — and  write  to  the  "I  Saw  It  Hap- 
pen" Editor,  MODERN  SCREEN,  261 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  New  York. 


and  the  career  she  now  prizes  so  highly! 
Why,  you'd  think  a  wife  would  be  busting 
with  pride  that  her  guy  was  that  smart! 

But  there  go  your  realities  in  a  fog  of 
sudden  fame.  Now  all  Jane  wants  out  of 
life  is  more  fame.  She  just  missed  the 
Oscar  in  The  Yearling.  Trying  to  rate  it  in 
Johnny  Belinda  was  what  snapped  her 
home  ties.  Forgotten  are  her  safe  anchors 
in  life,  her  husband  and  the  confused  kids, 
whom  faithful  Ronnie  still  takes  care  of  as 
"sitter"  at  Jane's  Malibu  place,  when  she 
has  to  run  off  to  a  radio  show  or  a  personal 
appearance. 

She  may  come  to  her  senses,  of  course,  as 
another  star  up  from  nowhere,  Frank 
Sinatra,  did,  when  the  accumulated  power 
of  mass  hysteria  sent  him  spinning  in  pur- 
suit of  Lana  Turner.  He's  made  it  up  to 
Nancy  by  now  and  I,  for  one,  am  very  glad 
indeed  that  Frank's  popularity  has  quieted 
down  a  bit.  I  know  he's  simply  crazy  about 
his  new  daughter,  Christina,  and  kicks  him- 
self every  time  he  thinks  of  his  strange 
interlude,  because  he's  told  me  so.  But 
Frank  had  the  basic  character  to  face  facts 
and  choose  right.  Others  around  this  town 
have,  too. 

Ray  Milland  and  his  marvellous  Mel,  for 
instance,  have  had  their  ups  and  downs 
under  pressure.  When  Ray  was  making 
The  Lost  Weekend  and  earning  his  Oscar, 
he  brought  his  creative  nervousness  and 
irritations  into  his  home.  But  Mel  is  one 
of  the  most  understanding  women  in  the 
world.  When  Ray  realized  he  was  miser- 
able without  her  and  begged  forgiveness,  it 
was  there.  A.  deep  affection,  cemented  by 
years  of  marriage  and  their  son,  an  older 
and  better-balanced  outlook  on  life,  mem- 
ories of  the  tough  times  they'd  shared — 
in  short,  maturity — enabled  them  to  work 
out  a  solution,  and  save  what  was  so  im- 
portant to  them  both. 

I'm  not  dismayed  too  much  when  younger 
stars  grope  and  grapple  awkwardly  with 
their  happiness.  Maybe  it's  to  be  expected 
of  kids  like  June  Haver  and  Jimmy  Zito, 
Mark  and  Annelle,  dizzied  by  too  sudden 
fame.  But  when  I  witness  the  sarne  wobbly 
wedding-waltzes  going  on  with  experienced 
couples  like  the  Reagans,  Greer  Garson  and 
Richard  Ney,  Rita  and  Orson,  I  hang  my 
head.  I  don't  even  want  to  look.  There's  no 
real  excuse,  even  in  Hollywood. 

Because,  even  in  Hollywood,  people  can 
live  together  if  they  have  the  stuff — faith 
in  each  other  and  love — as  well  as  they  can 
in  Podunk,  where  the  same  domestic  dis- 
cords grate  every  day,  only  you  don't  hear 
about  them.  Hundreds  of  happy  star  homes 
I  can  name  prove  that. 

So — it  isn't  the  World  War's  aftermath,  or 
flying  discs,  or  the  threat  of  television  that 
agitates  Hollywood's  patchwork  homes.  It's 
just  people — nine  times  out  of  ten — who've 
lost  their  good  sense  to  glamor  and  for- 
gotten this  elementary  fact  of  adult  life: 

That  marriage  is  one  act  which  doesn't 
thrive  on  Hollywood's  overemphasized  "I." 
The  magic  pronoun  that  still  turns  the  trick 


/%i*&&6>(e  cS«w  smile  wins 
a  passport  to  a  bright  new  world  ! 


Madeleine  Swenson,  French  War  Bride,  was 

a  Paris  manicurist  when  an  American  soldier  fell 
in  love  with  her  smile.  Two  years  later,  she  was 
one  of  France's  most  popular  cover  girls  .  .  . 
and  on  her  way  to  Mason  City,  Iowa,  to  marry 
her  soldier  fiance,  Warren  Swenson.  Madeleine's 
chance  at  cover-girl  fame  came  after  Warren  re- 
turned to  the  U.S.  and  began  sending  her  pack- 
ages which  contained,  in  her  words,  "always  your 
wonderful  Pepsodent."  "So  I  thank  Pepsodent 
today  for  my  big  chance,"  Madeleine  says.  "Al- 
ways now,  my  smile  is  a  Pepsodent  Smile!" 


The  smile  that  wins 
is  the  Pepsodent  Smile ! 


EVIE'S  OTHER  HUSBAND 

(Continued  from  page  49) 


only  ones  who  are  not  talking  about  Van 
and  Evie,  except  Keenan.  The  rest  of 
Hollywood  is  having  plenty  to  say.  And 
the  strong  winds  of  gossip  blow  all  sorts 
of  questions  around  these  parts. 

"Will  they  get  a  divorce?" 
.  "Will  they  stay  married?" 

"Why  doesn't  anybody  see  pictures  of 
them  with  the  baby?" 
"What's  the  matter  with  Van's  studio? 
j    His  publicity  is  terrible!" 

No  matter  how  thin  you  slice  it,  Van 
Johnson  has  been  in  trouble  since  the 
day  he  took  his  best  friend's  wife  unto 
himself  to  love,  cherish,  and  buy  knick- 
knacks  for. 

And  now  it's  about  time  to  go  back  and 
pick  up  the  thread  of  the  beginning  of 
Hollywood's  leading  soap  opera. 

The  story  starts  in  New  York,  with 
three  people  walking  around  through  show 
business,  arm  in  arm.   They  were  pals. 

The  dark-haired  guy  on  the  left  was 
Keenan  Wynn,  son  of  the  famous  come- 
dian, Ed  Wynn,  a  headliner  on  Broadway. 

The  girl  in  the  middle  was  Evie,  shar- 
ing her  smiles  and  her  doughnuts  equally 
with  the  dark  man  on  the  left  and  the  big 
blonde  baby-faced  boy  on  her  right  .  .  . 
a  Broadway  chorus-boy,  Van  Johnson. 

These  "Three  Musketeers"  had  great  fun 
on  the  main  stem,  living  high  when  the 
shows  were  running,  splitting  pennies 
when  they  weren't.  Taking  snapshots  in 
Central  Park  and  sipping  malts  at 
Schrafft's  brought  them  closer  together 
until  finally,  as  usually  happens.  Evie  had 
to  decide  between  the  two  of  them  and 
take  one. 

The  one  she  took  was  Keenan  Wynn, 
but  the  marriage  didn't  break  up  the 
threesome.  It  was  left  for  Hollywood  to 
do  that. 

Van  Johnson  was  the  first  to  get  the 
siren  call  from  the  Glamor  Capital  of  the 
World. 

The  radio  soap  operas  would  have  made 
a  big  thing  out  of  that  parting,  with  Evie 
dissolved  in  tears  and  a  strong  handshake 
saying  volumes  between  the  two  men. 
Well,  Evie  did  get  a  bit  dewy-eyed  over 
Van's  leaving  New  York,  and  there  was 
the  strong  handshake  between  Keenan 
and  Van,  and  then  the  train  pulled  out 
of  Grand  Central. 

In  Hollywood,  Van  went  first  to  Warner 
Brothers,  where  the  egg  he  laid  would 
have  done  justice  to  a  fair-sized  ostrich. 
It  wasn't  Van's  fault.  He  just  didn't  click. 

He  wrote  big  fat  letters  back  to  his  two 
best  friends  in  New  York.  He  bragged 
about  the  California  sunshine,   and  the 


ANOTHER  FINE  LEVER  BROTHERS  PRODUCT 


Madeleine  Swenson  knows  it,  people  all 
over  America  agree  — the  smile  that  wins  is 
the  Pepsodent  Smile !  Pepsodent  with  Irium 
is  their  3-to-l  favorite  for  brighter  smiles. 

Wins  3  to  1  over  any  other  tooth  paste 

—  families  from  coast  to  coast  recently 
compared  delicious  New  Pepsodent  with 
the  tooth  paste  they  were  using  at  home. 
By  an  average  of  3  to  1,  they  said  New 
Pepsodent  tastes  better,  makes  breath 
cleaner  and  teeth  brighter  than  any  other 
tooth  paste  they  tried.  For  the  safety  of 
your  smile  use  Pepsodent  twice  a  day— see 
your  dentist  twice  a  year! 


JUNE  ALLYSON  SAYS  .  .  . 

"Do  you  ever  think  how  lucky  we  are 
in  this  country?  Oh,  yes,  we  may  com- 
plain about  prices  and  conditions,  but 
all  we  have  to  do  is  read  the  foreign 
news  to  make  us  realize  that  our 
troubles  are  smaller  than  we  think.  And 
one  of  the  best  things  about  our  Ameri- 
can system  is  that  we  provide,  right  in 
each  community,  Red  Feather  services 
for  the  health,  recreation  and  welfare  of 
all.  There  are  more  than  1,100  Com- 
munity Chests  in  the  U.S.A.  Give  gen- 
erously this  year — give  enough  for  the 
child  care,  and  the  nursing  services,  the 
youth  activities  and  the  social  work. 
The  Red  Feather  needs  your  contribu- 
tion. Someday,  perhaps,  you  may  need 
its  help." 


DULL  DAYS 

CAN  BE 

GAY  DAYS 


RELIEVES  FUNCTIONAL 

PERIODIC  PAIN 

CRAMPS-HEADACHE -"BLUES1; 

"What  a  difference 


90 


picture  business.  Then,  he  let  his  hair  down 
and  told  them  how  much  he  missed  Broad- 
way and  the  stage,  and  them  .  .  .  mostly 
them. 

In  New  York,  Evie  and  Keenan  read 
Van's  letters  and  said,  "Poor  Van,  he 
should  have  stayed  in  New  York,"  and 
Evie  cried  another  little  tear  and  Keenan 
shook  his  head,  knowingly.  Then  they 
both  sat  down  and  wrote  Van  a  letter, 
telling  him  to  "Buck  up,  Old  Pal,  things 
are  tough  all  over." 

But  just  three  chapters  later  in  our  little 
soapsuds  drama,  Van  moved  his  freckled 
grin  from  Warner  Brothers'  Studio  over 
to  the  M-G-M  lot,  and  things  started  hap- 
pening. 

M-G-M  used  him  for  decoration  in  a 
couple  of  musical  pictures,  and  bobby- 
soxers  over  the  nation  hailed  their  new 
king!  Overnight,  Van  Johnson  was 
changed  from  a  nobody  to  a  somebody  .  .  . 
a  somebody  with  B-O,  standing  for  "Box- 
Office." 

He  had  more  scream-appeal  than  a 
strawberry-float,  and  the  M-G-M  officials 
all  joined  hands  and  danced  around  in  a 
circle,  singing.  "Goody,"  Goody,  Now  We'll 
Make  A  Profit,"  to  the  tune  of  "I  Got 
Rhythm." 

Evie  and  Keenan  wired  Van  their  con- 
gratulations when  he  was  chosen  "Chief 
Pull"  with  the  bobby-soxers.  Then,  I 
guess,  they  wrote  and  told  him  how  much 
they  missed  him  in  New  York.  Before 
long,  just  as  Van  was  right  on  top,  they 
came  out  of  the  New  York  heat  into  the 
Hollywood  heat. 

The  reason  for  their  coming  was  to 
give  Keenan  a  chance  to  make  a  screen 
test  at  M-G-M.  The  way  I  get  it,  they 
thought  that  Keenan  was  going  to  be  a  hot 
comic  (which  anybody  will  admit  he  is) , 
and  they  wanted  to  see  if  he'd  go  all  right 
on  the  screen.  If  the  test  turned  out  okay, 
the  offer,  they  say,  was  to  be  $3,000  per. 
(That's  per  week,  that  is!) 

The  Wynns  moved  into  the  Beverly 
Wilshire,  with  the  swimming  pool  out 
back,  and  told  M-G-M  they  had  landed. 
The  appointment  was  made,  the  test  was 
made,  and  Keenan  waited  for  the  verdict. 
A  morning  or  two  later  the  phone  rang 
and  the  studio  said,  "Come  on  out,  Keenan. 
We  want  to  talk." 

Evie  hinted  out  loud  that  she  hoped 
that  "what  they  wanted  to  talk  was  'tur- 


key,' at  three  G's  per,"  picked  up  her 
towel,  flicked  Keenan  a  kiss  and  headed 
for  the  pool. 

At  the  studio,  they  told  Keenan  that 
the  test  was  pretty  fair,  but  not  quite 
what  they  had  'suspected.' 

"No  three-grand  grade,  I  take  it,"  said 
Keenan. 

"No,  but  we'll  offer  you  $350,"  they 
countered,  and  Mr.  Wynn  said  "yes"  by 
putting  his  name  in  the  small  space  over 
the  dots.  Then  he  returned  to  the  Beverly 
Wilshire,  Evie,  and  the  pool. 

"I  know,"  greeted  Evie,  "the  test  was 
terrific  and  you  signed  for  the  three  thou- 
sand   sr  week  .  .  .  Whoopee!" 

"The  test,"  said  Keenan,  "was  fair,  and 
I  signed  for  three-fifty  per  week." 

With  which  Evie  pushed  Keenan  in  the 
,  pool. 

I've  often  wondered  why. 

I  forgot  to  mention  a  couple  of  things, 
and  where  the  radio  dramas  would  have 
devoted  most  of  the  two  years  to  them, 
I'm  devoting  the  most  of  a  couple  of  lines. 
The  two  things  were  Ned  and  Tracy.  Ned 
and  Tracy  are  boys,  age  six  and  four,  res- 
pectively, and  they  are  the  sons  of  Keenan 
and  Evie.  Now  they're  in  the  drama  if  we 
need  'em. 

Along  about  the  end  of  each  chapter  of 
a  soap  opera,  they  take  time  out  to  recap 
all  that  has  gone  before  and  bring  you 
up  to  date. 

At  this  point  we  have  the  Three  Mus- 
keteers in  Hollywood,  Evie  and  Keenan 
married,  with  two  sons,  Ned  and  Tracy, 
aged  six  and  four,  respectively,  and  Kee- 
nan has  a  job  at  $350  per  week  at  M-G-M. 

The  third  Musketeer,  Van  Johnson,  is 
the  idol  of  the  bobby-soxers,  and  the 
salvation  of  the  M-G-M  treasury.  His 
weekly  stipend  hits  a  healthy  four  figures, 
which  means  he  knows  where  his  next 
meal  is  coming  from. 

So  much  for  the  recap. 

The  next  chapter  is  a  heart-wringer. 

Van  Johnson  is  hurt  in  an  automobile 
accident.  You  may  remember.  More  sym- 
pathy spilled  through  the  mails  to  Van  in 
Hollywood,  than  is  spent  on  the  starving 
millions  all  over  the  world  today. 

When  they  patched  him  up,  he  went  to 
live  with  the  Keenan  Wynns  for  a  period 
of  recuperation.  Van  was  "their  best 
friend"  and  they  took  care  of  him.  Every- 
body knew  it  and  considered  it  wonderful 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"Let's  go  to  the  drive-in  theater — they're  showing  a  punk  movie." 


that  Van  had  good  friends  like  that  to  take 
care  of  him.  The  friendship  was  publicized 
all  over  the  country.  True  friendship  was 
something  grand  in  Hollywood. 

Now  listen  for  the  organ  mood  music 
backgrounding  the  tragic  scenes. 

One  day  in  1946  a  small  cloud  passed 
over  the  Hollywood  scene,  and  its  shadow 
touched  the  Three  Musketeers. 

I  don't  know  what  was  said,  but  the 
soap-opera  writers  would  put  down  the 
dialogue  something  like  this: 

NARRATOR:  It  is  evening  ...  we  are 
in  the  Wynn  parlor  .  .  .  Keenan  is  sitting 
reading  the  paper  and  Evie  is  just  sitting. 
She  looks  at  him  restlessly,  then  suddenly, 
she  speaks  .  .  . 

EVIE:  Uh,  Keenan. 

KEEN:  Hunh? 

EVIE:  I  was  just  thinking  .  .  . 
KEEN:  Uhhunh. 
EVIE:  Are  you  listening? 
KEEN:  Yes,  dear. 

EVIE:  I  said  ...  uh  ...  I  was  just 
thinking. 
KEEN:  Uhhunh. 

EVIE:  Keenan  Wynn!  Put  that  paper 
down  and  listen  to  me. 

KEEN:  Huh?  Oh  .  .  .  Yes,  dear  .  .  .  it's 
down. 

EVIE:  Well,  fold  it! 

KEEN:  Okay  .  .  .  (SOUND  OF  PAPER) 

.  .  there  .  '.  .  Now,  what's  on  your  mind? 

EVIE:  Well  ...  uh  ...  We  can  talk  like 
sensible  people,  can't  we? 

KEEN:  Why,  I  don't  know  ...  but  I'll 
try.  What  is  it  now,  the  gas  bill,  or  did 
I  drop  cigar  ashes  on  the  fl — 

EVIE:  NO!  It's  not  that  ...  uh  ...  Oh, 
you're  not  making  it  any  easier  for  me! 

KEEN:  Making  what  any  easier,  honey? 
What  is  it?  Spill  it. 

EVIE:  Keenan,  I  want  my  freedom. 

KEEN:   Freedom?  Why,  what  do  you 


EVIE:  I  mean,  I  want  a  divorce  .  . 
in  love  with  somebody  else. 

KEEN:  Honey,  you  can't  mean 
Why,  we've  been 

EVIE:  I  know 
for  seven  years  . 

KEEN:   And  now  you're 
Evie  .  .  .  wh — who  is  it? 

EVIE:  Van! 

KEEN:      Van  Johnson? 
FRIEND! 


.  I'm 
that! 


we've  been  married 
and  now  .  .  . 

.  oh,  no, 


My  BEST 


And  right  there,  you  would  get  a  music 
bridge  and  the  drooling  announcer  with 
the  syrupy  voice  would  ask  you  seventeen 
silly  questions  about  how  you  thought  the 
whole  thing  would  turn  out.  Then  he 
would  sell  you  enough  soap  to  cleanse  the 
world,*  and  fade  out  begging  and  brow- 
beating you  into  tuning  in  tomorrow  for 
the  outcome  .  .  .  as  though  you  would  miss 
it  for  anything  short  of  going  down  to  one 
of  those  audience  participation  shows 
where  you  could  win  an  electric  kitchen, 
a  free  permanent  and  a  second  honeymoon 
under  Niagara  Falls. 

Well,  that's  the  way  it  turned  out. 

can't  we  be  friends?  .  .  . 

On  January  24th  in  1947,  Keenan  and 
Evie  were  divorced  in  Juarez,  Mexico,  and 
just  23 Vz  hours  later,  Evie  married  Van 
Johnson  in  the  same  little  Mexican  village 
and  Keenan  was  the  first  to  congratulate 
them. 

And  such  a  storm  as  broke  from  the 
announcement  of  that  marriage  hasn't 
been  seen  in  this  hemisphere  since  before 
this  century.  Immediately,  a  written  wave 
of  protest  hit  the  studio.  Eight  million 
or  more  letters  flooded  the  mails  asking 
embarrassing  questions  about  why  the 
baby-faced,  be-freckled  idol  of  the  teen- 
agers had  married  his  best  friend's  wife. 

Everyone  had  known  about  the  friend- 
ship and  thought  it  was  wonderful.  Now 


CYD  CHARISSE,  FEATURED  IN 
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changed  my  whole  life 


I  was  but  definitely  a  lonely  heart. 

UNTIL:  ONE  DAY  I  READ 

"Want  to  attract  a  man?"  says  Cyd 
Charisse.  "Soft  hands  are  a  kind  of 
love-spell.  What  hand  care  do  I  use? 
Oh,  I  always  use  Jergens  Lotion." 

So  I  started  to  use  Jergens,  too. 


AND  NOW  —  a  man  all  my  own,  saying 
my  hands  are  so  soft . . .  saying  he  loves  me. 

It's  true— Jergens  is  for  even  softer, 
smoother  hands  today,  thanks  to  recent 
research.  Actually— 2  skin-care  ingredients 
many  doctors  swear  by  are  both  in 
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why  the  Hollywood  Stars 
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everyone  heard  about  the  marriage  and 
thought  it  was  horrible,  disgraceful,  dis- 
gusting, and  other  disagreeable  things. 

Within  the  next  week,  hundreds  of  re- 
ports came  in  from  theatres  throughout 
the  country  playing  Van  Johnson  pictures. 
Box-office,  they  said,  had  slumped  to  noth- 
ing and  then  disappeared.  Customers  pro- 
tested, and  stayed  away  in  droves. 

Even  blase  Hollywood  lifted  an  eyebrow 
in  surprise. 

The  studio  publicity  department  sat  and 
floundered  and  said  less  than  nothing.  But 
they  must  have  called  Van  and  told  him  to 
keep  his  trap  shut,  or -words  to  that  effect, 
because  he  and  Evie  weren't  talking  to 
anyone. 

Evie  has  a  reputation  in  Hollywood  for 
living  rather  high.  Van  went  right  out  and 
bought  a  $125,000  house,  formerly  owned 
by  Cedric  Gibbons,  M-G-M  art  director, 
and  they  moved  in,  taking  the  two  boys, 
Ned  and  Tracy,  with  them. 

Hollywood  tongues  wagged  a  little  over 
the  set-up  because  even  though  Van's  sal- 
ary hits  four  figures  per  week,  he  really 
doesn't  keep  much  when  deductions  are 
deducted.  There  were  rumors  of  his  having 
borrowed  on  his  salary  to  meet  his  new 
obligations.  As  often  happens,  some  gos- 
sipers  had  them  separating  before  they'd 
been  married  a  week. 

But  time  went  on,  and  the  main  head- 
ache of  the  Johnson  household  and  Van's 
studio  was  the  fall  in  box-office  take  on 
his  pictures. 

M-G-M  tried  a  new  tack.  They  put  Van 
in  two  dramatic  roles:  He  did  the  press 
agent  for  Spencer  Tracy  in  State  of  the 
Union,  and  turned  in  a  good  job.  He  played 
an  Army  sergeant  under  Gable  in  Com- 
mand Decision,  which,  at  this  writing,  has 
not  been  released. 

This  was  a  move  in  the  right  direction 
for  Van  and  the  studio.  They  seemed  to 
realize  that  their  baby-faced  boy  had  lost 
his  bobby-soxers,  and  so  they  were  shoot- 
ing for  a  different  audience.  Meanwhile 
they  said  nothing  more  about  the  marriage 
of  Van  and  Evie. 

blessed  event  .  .  . 

But  somebody  upped  and  announced 
that  Evie  was  "expecting,"  and  the  soap 
opera  started  all  over  again.  Hollywood's 
Secret  Marriage  was  on  the  conversational 
front  page  once  more  with  the  birth  of 
Schuyler  Van  Johnson,  January  6,  1948. 

The  birth  of  a  baby  in  a  star's  home  is 
news  in  our  town.  The  press  wanted  to 
take  pictures;  the  fan  magazines  wanted 
layouts  for  a  spread  on  "The  Van  John- 
sons In  Their  Happy  Little  Love  Nest," 
with  pictures  of  the  baby,  and  of  Van 
playing  father. 

Van  said  "No!" 

The  studio  said,  "No!" 

The  people  said,  "What's  up,  what  goes?" 
— and  then  started  their  rumors  again. 

They  were  sure  that  now  the  baby  was 
born,  Van  and  Evie  would  separate.  But 
they  didn't,  and  Van  went  on  to  make  a 
picture  with  June  Allyson,  titled,  The 
Bride  Goes  Wild.  It  was  a  return  to  the 
old  type  for  Van,  and  it  let  the  box-office 
records  stay  intact. 

Keenan  continues  on  his  merry  way, 
riding  his  motorcycle,  smoking  his  cigar, 
dating  a  different  girl  every  night  he  goes 
out,  and  finding  time  between  other  com- 
mitments to  appear  in  little-theater  plays. 

He  was  among  the  first  to  congratulate 
Van  and  Evie  on  the  birth  of  Schuyler 
Van  Johnson,  and  he  continues  to  be  a  fre- 
quent visitor  at  their  house  ...  to  see 
them,  and  to  see  his  two  youngsters,  Ned 
and  Tracy. 

When  Van  and  Evie  decided  to  take  a 
Honolulu  vacation  for  a  couple  of  weeks, 
recently,  Keenan  went  over  to  sit .  with 
the  kids.  But  something  happened  to  the 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

While  standing 
around  in  the 
lounge  of  the 
Racquet  Club  in 
Palm  Springs,  my 
attention  was  at- 
tracted by  a  strik- 
ingly beautiful 
woman.  Everyone 
in  my  party  won- 
dered who  she 
was.  I  turned  to 
the  man  standing  next  to  me.  "Who 
is  that  gorgeous  girl?"  I  asked  him. 
"She's  my  wife,"  he  proudly  replied. 
"You're  indeed  a  lucky  fellow,"  I  said, 
"and  what  is  your  name?"  He  smiled 
down  at  me  as  though  I  were  a  child 
and  answered,  "Cornel  Wilde,  honey." 

Mrs.  Morton  Phillips 
Eau  Claire,  Wisconsin 


vacation.  The  Johnsons  sailed  to  Hawaii, 
all  right,  but  when  they  arrived,  they 
stayed  right  with  the  ship  and  came  right 
back  home. 

The  gossip  train  rolled  on  that  one. 
They  blamed  the  return  on  everything 
from  a  final  scrap  between  Van  and  Evie, 
on  down  to  Van's  getting  seasick.  But 
they  came  back  home,  thanked  Keenan 
for  sitting  up  with  the  kids,  and  things 
went  on  as  usual. 

Now  comes  the  time  for  the  end  of  our 
little  soap  opera,  titled,  "Evie's  Other 
Husband."  And  here's  the  way  it  sums  up, 
from  the  way  I  see  it. 

Granted  that  Evie's  other  husband  was 
her  first  husband's  best  friend.  They  write 
songs  about  that  sort  of  thing,  and  the 
friendship,  after  all,  doesn't  seem  to  be 
broken.  Keenan  has  played  the  gallant, 
if  jilted,  gentleman  throughout.  He  has 
never  had  a  bitter  word  to  say,  which  takes 
care  of  his  side  of  the  story.  He  still  goes 
to  the  house  to  see  Van  and  Evie  and  his 
kids. 

But  what  about  Van  and  Evie?  Are  they 
happy?    Or  miserable? 

A  neighbor  says,  "You  can't  always  tell, 
but  from  all  I  see,  I'd  say  they're  as  happy 
as  any  newlyweds  anywhere.  They're 
generally  laughing  and  singing  when  I 
see  them  out  in  their  patio.  And  Van's  a 
mighty  proud  father.  He  takes  little  Schuy- 
ler out  for  a  sunbath  and  keeps  turning  the 
baby  over  like  a  pancake.  It  looks  like 
a  mighty  happy  family  to  me." 

A  tradesman  came  back  from  the  John- 
sons' with  this  report:  "I  don't  know,  but 
Van  looked  like  a  sorehead  to  me!  That 
guy's  got  something  on  his  mind,  and 
whatever  it  is,  it  ain't  good." 

Then  from  a  different  slant,  are  they 
completely  content  behind  their  wall  of 
secrecy,  and  just  because  of  that  secrecy 
have  become  victims  of  vicious  gossip? 

A  close  friend  said  to  me  at  a  cocktail 
party,  "Erskine,  you  should  lay  the  whole 
thing  wide  open.  Those  kids  are  as  happy 
and  contented  as  larks — I  know.  I've 
known  them  both  for  years.  Why  don't 
people  let  them  alone!  Vicious  gossip 
has  ruined  more  than  one  otherwise 
happy  marriage  in  Hollywood.  Look  what 
loose  tongues  did  to  Ronnie  and  Jane. 
I  think  it's  a  crime." 

But  I  had  only  to  walk  across  that  room 
to  hear,  "I  think  there's  something  mighty 
peculiar  about  Van  and  Evie's  marriage. 
If  everything's  jake  between  them,  why 
don't  they  go  out  more  together?  And 
why  all  this  secrecy?  Somebody's  trying 
to  cover  up.  I*Si  bet  it  doesn't  last  another 
six  months." 

And  what  about  the  studio?  What  do 
they  have  to  say?  "Of  course  Van  and 
Evie  Johnson  are  happy.    Why  shouldn't 


they  be?  They've  got  a  new  home,  a  fine 
baby.  Evie  is  a  good  wife  and  a  won- 
derful girl,  and  Van's  successful  in  pic- 
tures. What  more  could  you  ask  as  proof 
of  their  happiness?" 

But  a  source  claiming  to  be  "on  the 
inside"  says,  "If  you  ask  me,  the  studio 
has  told  them  they  have  to  keep  up  a 
front  on  their  marriage  to  save  Van's 
career.  His  box-office  has  fallen  off.  That's 
enough  reason  to  keep  up  a  front,  isn't  it?" 

Now  what  about  the  most  important 
reaction  of  all?  What  about  the  fans? 
They  don't  have,  the  facts,  except  that  Van 
is  married  and  a  father.  But  they  know 
how  they  feel  about  that.  Here's  what 
one  lady  wrote  to  me:  "I  never  had  much 
respect  for  Hollywood,  and  now  I  have 
none.  What  kind  of  a  town  is  it  that 
sanctions  the  business  of  a  man  taking  his 
best  friend's  wife?" 

But  there  were  more  letters  like  this 
one  from  a  young  lady  of  twenty:  "I  am 
no  bobby-soxer  anymore,  but  I  am  a  fan 
of  Van  Johnson's.  I  resent  every  word 
said  or  printed  against  Van  and  Evie.  Why 
not  face  it?  Love  does  some  funny  things. 
Maybe  Evie  should  have  married  Van  in 
the  first  place!  I  have  every  sympathy  for 
Keenan,  but  I  believe  Van  and  Evie  de- 
serve to  be  left  alone  to  be  happy  in  their 
own  way.  I,  for  one,  wish  them  the  best 
of  everything,  and  I'd  like  to  choke  the 
people  who  are  making  their  lives  miser- 
able with  whispered  slander." 

It's  a  cinch  that  here  is  one  case  where 
headlines  dealt  a  body  blow  to  a  Holly- 
wood career.  Ordinarily,  those  headlines, 
no  matter  what  they  say,  are  a  boost  to  a 
star's  success.  Headlines  never  hurt 
Charlie  Chaplin,  Errol  Flynn,  Laraine  Day 
or  Ka^r  Francis,  that's  for  sure.  Not  so 
with  Van  ...  he  may  never  recover  com- 
pletely from  that  first  announcement  of 
his  wedding  in  Mexico. 

And  what  about  the  studio?  They  have 
kept  that  wall  of  secrecy  about  this  mar- 
riage. It  is  customary  to  invite  the  press 
and  fan  magazines  up  to  the  house  and  let 
them  take  pictures  and  ask  questions  like 
crazy.  In  this  case,  the  studio  publicity 
department  took  one  picture  of  Van  and 
Evie  and  the  baby  .  .  .  then  they  passed 
that  picture  out  to  the  press. 

If  Van  and  Evie  are  happy  and  contented, 
then  the  studio  is  making  a  mistake  in  not 
releasing  complete  stories  on  them,  letting 
the  whole  thing  blow  over  like  other 
Hollywood  stories  have. 

Under  the  present  method  of  handling, 
all  tongues  are  set  to  gossip  over  the  least 
little  tidbit,  Van  and  Evie  are  stifled  under 
a  hush-hush  blanket,  and  all  ears  are 
eagerly  waiting  for  the  next  exciting  chap- 
ter in  Hollywood's  real-life  soap  opera 
TSvie's  Other  Husband." 


SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

Robert  Alda  was 
spotted  by  some 
people  waiting 
outside  a  broad- 
casting studio,  and 
soon  there  was 
quite  a  crowd 
around  him.  Ev- 
eryone insisted  on 
getting  his  auto- 
graph and  he  was 
very  nice  about  it, 
but  there  was  one  young  boy  in  the 
crowd  who'd  gotten  his  autograph 
four  times  and  was  asking  for  another. 
Robert  Alda  turned  laughingly  to  him 
and  said,  "If  you  get  my  autograph 
five  times,  you  can  turn  it  in  for  one 
of  Cary  Grant's!" 

Jean  Freeman 
Columbus,  Ohio 


For  the  skn  that 
doesn't  like  lieaw  foundation 

Here  is  a  different  foundation  cream — 
specially  designed  to  take  powder  smoothly 
and  lastingly— without  "coating"  your  face! 


Greaseless  powder  base!  No  oily  feel — 
No  "coated"  look!  Sheerer,  more  natural! 

It's  so  easy  to  have  make-up  look  softer  and  more 
becoming!  Before  powdering,  smooth  on  a  thin  film 
of  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream.  Feather-light!  Grease- 
less  !  Leaves  no  oily  shine — no  "stifled"  feeling. 
Can't  streak  or  discolor.  "Pond's  Vanishing  Cream 
is  perfect  for  powder  base,"  says  Lady  Daphne  Straight. 


''Before  make-up"  facial — so  quick! 
This  glamorizing  1-Minute  Mask 

\  "Re-style"  your  complexion  with  Pond's  Vanishing 

\  \  Cream  smoothed  on  for  a  1-Minute  Mask!  Cover  face, 
\  \  .  except  eyes,  with  a  cloak  of  the  cream.  After 

_  _      tp  one  minute,  tissue  off.  "Keratolytic"  action 
/  j~  of  the  cream  loosens  clinging  dirt  and  dead 

/  /  skin  flakes.  Dissolves  them  off!  Your  skin  looks 
/   /       clearer,  softer.  Make-up  stays  smooth  all  evening ! 


1 

I   "'  K  \  J»      $  %. 

ili#¥€» 

MM 

To.  ' 

*E/Ze  Szg^  SZ)tyiA?ie  Q/fra^At  —"I  always  save  60  seconds 
for  a  beauty  'lift'  with  a  1-Minute  Mask  before  I  go  out,"  says  this  beautiful 
English  peeress.  "Right  away,  my  skin  looks  brighter,  so  much  smoother!" 


Lois  Butler,  Eagle-Lion  star,  has  lovely  young-American-girl  look  with  light  makeup. 


naturally 

young  and  pretty 

by  Carol  Carter,  Beauty  Editor 


to  the  chorus  of  praise 
about  Tampax! 

"Marvelous"  to  the  enthusiastic  type, 
"sensible"  to  the  practical-minded  and 
"dainty"  to  the  fastidious — whatever  the 
point  of  view — the  praise  of  Tampax 
grew  louder  as  its  users  mounted  in  num- 
bers to  the  present  millions.  Tampax  dis- 
cards all  belts,  pins  and  external  pads  for 
monthly  sanitary  protection!  Is  it  any 
wonder  it's  popular? 

An  invention  of  a  doctor,  Tampax  is 
made  of  highly  absorbent  cotton  com- 
pressed in  easy-to-use  applicators.  It  is 
worn  internally — and  when  in  place  /'/ 
can  neither  be  seen  nor  felt.  No  bulkiness. 
No  chafing.  No  "ends"  to  show  under 
smooth-fitting  skirts.  Odor  cannot  form. 

Tampax  is  quick  to  change.  Disposal 
no  trouble  (only  1/15  the  size  of  external 
pad).  Something  else  women  appreciate 

  — there's  no  need  to  remove 

[•IjlJNUjl  Tampax  before  taking  bath  — 
'J'T'Kl  The  many-sided  advantages  of 
^^^^  Tampax  help  keep  up  your 
y^lUJ  morale  on  the  difficult  days.  Buy 
it  at  drug  stores  or  notion  coun- 
ters. Three  absorbencies  —  Regular,  Su- 
per, Junior.  Average  month's  supply  slips 
into  purse;  economy  box  holds  4  times 
this    quantity.    Tampax  Incorporated, 


by  the  Journal  of  the  American  Medical  Association 


■  Of  course  you  want  to  be  a  glamor  girl; 
perhaps  you  even  see  yourself  as  a  type  of 
femme  fatale!  Oh,  sure,  we  know — mother 
says  "no"  as  though  she  means  it  when  you 
show  a  little  daring  with  the  lipstick.  Very 
frustrating.  You're  perfectly  right  in  try- 
ing to  be  as  charming  and  attractive  as 
possible  and  mother  is  completely  sound  in 
objecting  to  an  over-sophisticated  paint  job 
simply  because  it  isn't  artistically  right  for 
you.  A  makeup  expert  in  New  York  or 
Hollywood  would  tell  you  the  same  thing: 
Freshly-scrubbed  and  shining-maned  youth 
is  so  lovely  to  see  that  you  should  use  only 
the  lightest  little  touches  of  lipstick  and 
powder  when  you're  early-teen-ish. 

Mother  is  very  likely  to  relent  if  she  sees 
that  you  have  artistic  sense  enough  to 


choose  a  lipstick  in  one  of  the  new  soft 
pink  shades,  along  with  a  lipstick  brush 
with  which  to  follow  the  natural  outline 
of  your  lips. 

'  Your  nail  polish  should  be  a  pretty, 
natural  pink  too — leave  those  dark  and 
daring  shades  for  your  30-year-old  aunt. 

A  light  dusting  of  powder  is  fine,  espe- 
cially over  the  shiny  spots.  Always  press 
your  powder  on  with  a  clean  puff  or  fresh 
ball  of  cotton  and  then  remove  the  excess 
with  a  powder  brush. 

For  the  next  year  or  two,  concentrate  on 
the  good  health,  bathing  and  hair-brushing 
that  will  give  you  the  spic-and-span  look 
that  is  the  very  basis  of  beauty.  That  will 
also  show  your  mother  you're  old  enough 
for  real  makeup! 


Carol  Carter,  Beauty  Editor 

MODERN  SCREEN  MAGAZINE,  P.  O.  Box  125,  Murray  Hill  Station,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 

Please  send  me  the  booklet  you  have  on  Teen-Age  Beauty  written  by  a  leading 
American  authority  on  skin  care  and  makeup.    Please  Print  your  name  and  address: 

NAME  

ADDRESS  

CITY  ZONE.   STATE  


END  OF  A  MYSTERY 

(Continued  from  page  59) 


picking  this  date.  As  Barbara  explained 
to  Bob,  it  was  the  28th  wedding  anniver- 
sary of  her  mother  and  father.  All  was 
arranged  and  it  was  a  closely  guarded 
family  secret  until,  as  family  secrets  will, 
it  leaked  out,  and  it  was  a  pretty  sure  bet 
that  when  Bob  and  Barbara  got  to  the 
Isthmus  of  Catalina,  that  end  of  the  island 
would  be  about  the  worst  place  in  Southern 
California  for  a  quiet  wedding. 

But  by  this  time  the  two  of  them  had 
come  to  realize  that  their  plan-making 
had  been  a  bit  love-muddled  for  other 
reasons: 

1.  Since  Bob  was  due  to  start  a  new 
picture  at  M-G-M  there  could  be  no 
honeymoon  trip  if  they  married  im- 
mediately. 

2.  Rennick,  the  decorator,  wouldn't  be 
through  with  the  new  Pacific  Pali- 
sades home  Bob  has  purchased  for  at 
least  a  month  to  six  weeks. 

3.  The  only  other  place  they  could 
live  was  Bob's  Beverly  Hills  apart- 
ment, but  in  that  case  they  would  have 
to  share  it  with  a  bachelor  friend  of 
Bob's,  who  wished  them  all  the  luck 
in  the  world,  but  was  darned  if  he 
would  go  out  house-hunting. 

4.  Their  best  friends,  Dick  and  Joanne 
Haymes,  could  not  attend  together  be- 
cause Dick  was  in  New  York. 

5.  Barbara,  with  a  world  of  clothes  to 
assemble,  wasn't  ready  anyway. 

So  they  decided  to  wait  a  few  months. 

If  only  they  had  told  the  world  the 
truth  there  would  not  have  been  those 
days  of  wild  guessing  and  even  wilder 
conjecturing  on  the  part  of  the  newspaper 
reporters,  who  seemed  column-bent  to 
predict  another  "miss-out"  for  Bob.  But 
it's  not  Bob's  way  to  court  the  press  and 
Barbara  was  too  steeped  in  plans  to  think 
of  it.  And  when  reporters  phoned  Bar- 
bara, when  Bob  was  present,  she  didn't 
know  what  to  say. 

"We  just  thought  we'd  go  together  a 
little  while  longer,"  she  ventured. 

press  puts  on  pressure  .  .  . 

That  brought  on  a  flying  barrage  of 
questions  from  the  always  skeptical  jour- 
nalists which  snowed  her  under  and  away 
from  the  telephone  permanently. 

Her  mother,  Mrs.  Mary  Ford,  was  a 
little  more  informative.  "They're  just  two 
kids  who  have  fallen  in  love,  and  haven't 
taken  time  to  think  about  other  matters," 
she  said.  "They  have  lots  of  things  to 
work  out." 

Well,  what  worked  out  was  that  Barbara 
couldn't  stand  the  incessant  ringing  of  her 
telephone  as  friend  after  friend  (and  some 
people  who  are  just  paid  to  find  out  about 
these  matters)  called  for  complete  reports 
on  what  was  going  on.  When  would  they 
get  married?  Where?  Why  had  they  can- 
celled the  Catalina  wedding? 

It  was  too  much.  Barbara  made  a  sud- 
den decision.  Bob  agreed.  It  was  so  sudden 
that  even  her  own  mother  didn't  know 
about  it  and  had  departed  for  a  Catalina 
week-end  only  a  few  hours  before.  Bar- 
bara got  hold  of  her  friend,  Nancy  Guild, 
and  Nancy's  husband,  Charles  Russell. 
Bob  reached  his  ever-faithful  pal,  Jim 
Henaghan.  Inside  of  a  few  hours,  arrange- 
ments had  been  made  and  the  two  were 
married  at  the  Beverly  Hills  Club. 

"Well!"  said  those  of  Bob's  friends  who 
felt  that  they  should  have  been  let  in  on 
the  arrangements. 

"Good!"  said  those  of  his  friends  who 
were  so  tickled  he  had  found  an  answer 
to  his  problems  that  they  had  no  time  to 
feel  disgruntled  about  being  kept  in  the 


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...you  can  give  yourself  this  soft, 
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Saves  up  to  one-half 
usual  waving  time. 

One-third  more  waving 
lotion ...  more  penetrating, 
but  gentle  on  hairl 

Longer,  stronger  end-papers 
make  hair  tips  easier  to  handle. 

Double-strength  neutralizer 
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Improved  technique  gives 
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creme  rinse. 


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95 


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■ 


Wonderful!  Yodora  stops  perspiration  odor 
safely,  quickly  . . .  yet  is  positively  soothing  to 
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with  no  harsh  acid  salts  to  cause  irritation, 
Yodora  actually  helps  soften  your  skin,  like  a 
face  cream.  No  other  known  deodorant  giv>s 
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dark  until  the  whole  thing  was  settled  and 
all  over  with. 

Yes,  Bob  has  found  an  answer.  He  has 
told  it  to  his  folks,  to  the  heads  of  his 
studio  (and  were  they  glad  to  see  a  smil- 
ing Bob,  instead  of  a  long-faced,  sober 
one,  for  a  change!)  and,  of  course,  to  Bar- 
bara, when,  on  a  week-end  trip  aboard  her 
father's  yacht,  The  Araner,  he  put  into 
words  what  had,  so  far,  been  only  a 
strangely  happy  beating  of  his  formerly 
aching  heart. 

The  whole  story  of  Bob  and  Barbara 
was  foreshadowed  when  he  first  made  up 
his  mind  about  her  a  few  months  ago,  and 
the  best  guess  as  to  where  this  happened 
places  it  in  the  home  of  a  mutual  friend, 
Dorothy  Miles,  publicist  at  20th  Century- 
Fox  Studios.  (That  is,  Dorothy  knew  both 
Bob  and  Barbara,  but  they  didn't  know 
each  other.)  It  seems  that  Barbara,  who 
frequently  visits  at  the  Dick  Haymes  home, 
heard  Dick  talk  about  Bob  when  the  two 
men  were  working  in  One  Touch  oj  Venus. 
Later  on  Barbara,  idly  talking  to  Dorothy, 
observed  that  Bob  sounded  interesting. 
Now  change  the  scene  and  we  find  Dorothy 
just  happening  to  ask  Bob  if  he's  ever  met 
Barbara.  She  learns  that  he  has,  but  that 
it  was  just  one  of  those  fleeting  intro- 
ductions, so  typical  of  Hollywood  parties. 

a  solid  "click"  ...  - 

Whether  Dorothy  knew  she  was  start- 
ing something  is  anyone's  guess — Dorothy 
won't  tell  you — but  it  is  a  fact  that  she 
invited  each  one  to  drop  in  at  a  little 
affair  she  was  giving.  Barbara  came,  and 
came  alone  in  her  own  car.  Bob  came 
alone  in  his  car.  They  left  separately,  too, 
but  each  with  plenty  to  think  about.  Be- 
cause, between  their  arrival  and  departure 
they  had  been  a  solid  pair,  a  "click"  that 
had  been  evident  to  everyone  else  in  the 
room. 

It  happens  that  way  sometimes — even  in 
Hollywood. 

Bob  had  seen  a  girl  who  was  a  revela- 
tion to  him;  a  vivid,  dark  beauty;  petite, 
trim,  essentially  feminine  in  every  way, 
yet  with  a  mind  as  sharp  and  clear  as 
anything  he  had  ever  encountered.  As  he 
warmed  to  the  animation  of  her,  Bob  may 
have  felt  a  growing  conviction  that  here 
was  good  medicine  for  him,  here  was  one 
who  could  help  widen  his  interests  and 
maintain  a  living  pace  that  would  pre- 
clude any  sinkings  into  the  despondencies 
that  have  reportedly  been  dogging  his  life 
and  threatening  to  mess  up  his  career.  At 
any  rate,  that  was  the  way  Bob  had 
acted;  as  if  he  'sensed  such  a  girl  was 
all  too  rare  for  Hollywood;  not  just  a 
pretty  little  somebody  with  a  mental 
horizon  circumscribed  by  such  matters  as 
clothes,  jewelry  and  gad-abouting,  but  a 
pretty  little  somebody  who  gave  every 
evidence  of  knowing  that  a  full  life  con- 
sists of  much  more  than  all  those  pleasant 
but  superficial  things. 

Barbara  had  seen  a  man  she  had  heard 
a  great  deal  about  from  his  friends — and 
who  lived  up  to  their  best  reports.  Be- 
hind his  light  kidding  and  in  the  general 
exchange  of  their  banter,  she  detected 
heart,  compassion  and,  perhaps,  a  little 
disillusionment  with  Hollywood.  With  it — 
and  all  the  more  effective  because  she,  as 
well  as  everyone  else,  knew  what  he  had 
been  through — was  an  easy,  mellow  atti- 
tude towards  life  in  general  and  his  ad- 
versities in  particular  that  drew  her 
strongly  to  him. 

Once  before  there  had  been  a  romance 
in  Barbara's  life — a  short-lived  one  with 
an  older  man.  Because  of  the  difference  in 
their  ages,  among  other  things,  her  family 
had  disapproved,  and  she  had  come  to 
see  it  their  way.  This  time  she  felt  that  her 
father  and  mother  would  second  her 
choice.  She  was  right.  Mary  and  John  Ford 
like  Bob  very  much.  Their  approval  is  a 


pretty  good  testimonial  for  Bob.  John 
Ford  knows  men.  He  has  done  nothing 
but  handle  men  for  the  best  part  of  his 
life.  For  that  matter,  he  knows  women; 
and  that  Barbara  has  not  only  been  a 
daughter  to  her  father,  but  a  companion 
as  well,  is  as  great  a  compliment  as  any 
that  could  be  paid  her.  Barbara  Ford  is 
everything  you'd  expect  John  Ford's 
daughter  to  be. 

That  was  the  beginning  of  the  new 
Walker  story.  It  will  continue  now,  but 
half-hidden  from  the  world,  in  a  secluded 
avocado  grove  in  Pacific  Palisades  where 
stands  a  California  ranch-house  on  a  slop- 
ing three  acres,  bounded  by  a  white- 
washed corral  fence.  The  house,  sur- 
mounted by  a  shake  roof  and  towered  over 
by  an  enormous  oak,  reaches  wide  arms 
out  to  anyone  who  comes  up  the  dusty 
road  to  the  gate.  The  Santa  Monica  hills 
hide  the  ocean  from  it,  but,  in  turn  they 
have  furnished  a  curling  ridge  of  land 
that  forms  as  warm  and  cozy  a  pocket  as 
any  home  site  has  ever  had — even  in  the 
State  of  California. 

There  is  no  pool,  but  there  are  stables, 
and  a  stream,  and  the  avocados  are  grow- 
ing like  sure-fire  prize-winners  all  over  the 
property. 

Inside  the  house  all  the  ceilings  are 
heavy  beamed  and  the  decoration  is  Early 
American  to  match.  Pine,  cherry,  and 
maple  furniture,  brass  and  pewter  orna- 
mentation and  accessories,  early  dishware 
— that's  what  Barbara  had  the  decorator 
install.  The  living-room  fireplace  is  a 
walk-in;  the  one  in  the  master  bedroom, 
where  Rennick  has  set  up  a  huge  canopy 
bed,  is  only  slightly  smaller  and  set  in  a 
corner. 

As  movie-colony  houses  go,  it  is  far 
from  pretentious,  but  it  is  comfortable  and, 
more  than  that,  it  has  an  air  of  solidity 
about  it.  It's  there,  and  for  Bob,  who  has 
long  needed  an  anchor,  it  represents  an 
uncertain  future  turned  into  a  prospect  of 
long  happiness. 

There  remain  only  two  more  figures 
who  must  be  considered  as  a  result  of  this 
marriage  and  Barbara  has  met  them  both: 
Bob's  two  sons,  Bobbie  and  Michael,  whose 
custody  he  divides  with  Jennifer.  They 
were  very  much  in  the  picture  throughout 
the  events  leading  up  to  the  marriage — 
in  fact  they  were  to  have  attended  the  first 
planned  wedding  in  Catalina.  Only  the 
suddenness  of  the  decision  prevented  their 
being  brought  to  the  Beverly  Hills  Club 
ceremony. 

one  of  the  boys  ... 

It  is  a  pretty  sure  bet  that  the  boys, 
whose  liking  for  Barbara  is  already  evi- 
dent, are  going  to  be  even  more  enthus- 
iastic after  they  go  to  sea  with  her  on 
The  Araner.  (Incidentally,  John  Ford  in- 
sists his  110-foot  ship  is  a  ketch,  not 
yacht — whatever  a  ketch  is.)  Wait  till  they 
see  Barbara  hook  and  land  a  swordfish 
bigger  than  she  is — as  she  has  a  number 
of  times  off  Acapulco,  Mexico.  If  •  that 
doesn't  win  their  respect,  she  is  ready  to 
don  her  jaunty  blue  denims,  take  the 
wheel  and  show  the  boys  how  to  make  a 
110-foot  yacht — beg  pardon,  ketch — do 
figure-eights  on  the  waters  of  the  blue 
Pacific. 

The  girl  Bob  Walker  has  married  is  a 
personality  in  her  own  right,  easily 
capable  of  re-shaping  a  man's  life  and 
making  it  count,  where  before  it  had 
missed.  It  is  quite  possible  that  she  has 
already  performed  this  little  miracle — the 
miracle  that  women  have  so  often  done 
before.  A  few  days  after  the  marriage 
someone  asked  Bob  how  he  felt.  His  an- 
swer was  full  of  enthusiasm  and  right  to 
the  point. 

"Like  a  new  man." 

What  else  could  any  man  ask  for  as  he 
gets  away  to  a  fresh  start  in  life? 


THE  GABLE  WOMEN 

(Continued  from  page  39) 


momentarily,  but  is  very  likely  to  zoom. 

They  make  an  intriguing  quintette.  Any 
producer  who  could  capture  their  personal- 
ities and  biographical  sketches  on  celluloid 
would  have  a  screenplay  as  bright,  brittle 
and  in  some  scenes  as  acid  as  anything  ever 
tossed  off  by  Clare  Booth  Luce.  Any  host- 
ess who  could  gather  them  all  around  one 
dinner  table  would  be  giving  the  Party 
Of  The  Year.  And  although  they  seem  to  be 
widely  different  types,  in  aggregate  they 
prove  two  things: 

1 —  Clark's  eyesight  is  still  in  fine  shape. 

2 —  He-men  like  good-natured  women. 
To  millions  of  feminine  minds  all  over 

the  world,  and  to  comparable  numbers  of 
surprisingly  unresentful  men,  Clark  Gable 
more  than  any  other  public  figure  symbol- 
izes supercharged  virility.  Sinatra  fans 
may  come  and  go,  Robert  Taylor's  profile 
may  seem  the  prettiest  thing  in  the  world 
for  a  season  or  two,  and  there  will  always 
be  garden-club  members  who  worship  Nel- 
son Eddy;  but  Gable  owns  the  largest  dis- 
cernible supply  of  the  magnetism  described 
as  animal,  and  few  women  breathe  with 
souls  so  dead  who  never  to  themselves 
have  said  "Wow!"  when  that  18-cylinder 
look  of  bold  insinuation  was  magnified  on 
the  neighborhood  movie  screen. 

It  may  be  reassuring  to  these  myriad 
females  to  know  that  Gable's  sex  appeal  is 
not  a  matter  of  greasepaint  and  cinema 
magic.  He  has  approximately  the  same 
effect  on  Glamor  Gertie  at  ten  paces  as  he 
has  on  Fannie  the  Fan  who  is  separated 
from  him  by  the  measureless  distance  be- 
tween Hollywood  and  the  topmost  row  of 
the  Music  Hall  balcony. 

A  case  in  point  is  Dolly  O'Brien — full 
moniker:  Dolly  Hylan  Heminway  Fleisch- 
man  O'Brien  Dorelis — who  has  had  a  full 
quota  of  romance,  millions,  popularity  and 
glamor  in  her  half  century  of  uninhibited 
living  but  who,  despite  her  sophistication, 
can't  seem  to  get  That  Gable  Something 
from  under  her  skin. 

Dolly  might  be  described  as  a  mature 
Southampton  Helen  of  Troy.  She  is  in- 
tensely feminine,  witty,  socially  glossy,  and 
rather  like  Ina  Claire  in  appearance.  Her 
clothes  are  always  superbly  chic  in  an  ex- 
pensive, understated  way  that  no  Holly- 
wood producer  would  accept  as  authentic  in 
a  wealthy  society  matron;  her  light'  hair  is 
short  and  crisply  waved,  her  smile  warm  as 
a  tropical  sun.  The  jewelry  she  wears 
invariably  seems  to  be  set  in  next  year's 


that's 


Two  starlets  were  talking  about  a 
third.  "She  married  an  actor,"  said 
one.  "And  a  swell  guy,  too." 

"What?"  exclaimed  the  other.  "That's 
bigamy !" 

And  Laurence  Olivier  tells  that  when 
Robert  Morley  heard  that  a  young  girl 
of  his  acquaintance  was  about  to  marry 
a  well-known  actor,  he  observed,  "She 
might  do  worse.  But  for  the  life  of  me 
I  can't  think  how!" 
from  "Hollywood  Merry -Go -Round" 
by  Andrew  Hecht 


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designs,  as  if  she  wouldn't  be  caught  in  last 
season's  diamonds,  but  she  never  looks 
blatantly  "dressed  up." 

She  is  four-times  married,  five  times  a 
grandmother,  but  her  wealth  of  experience 
seems  to  have  touched  her  only  lightly. 
She  is  built  like  a  figurine;  her  manner  is 
gayer  than  a  debutante's. 

Clark's  friends  figure  that  her  charm  for 
him  is  compounded  of  all  these  obvious 
assets  plus  the  not-to-be-underestimated 
fillip  of  her  social  position.  Protocol  and 
blue  books  often  have  an  exotic  fascination 
for  graduates  of  the  school  of  hard  knocks. 
Clark  is  one  of  these.  He  came  from  a  poor 
family,  sweated  in  oil  fields,  hopped  freight 
trains  and  spent  nights  of  his  youth  in 
flea-bag  hotels;  he  will  never  get  over  being 
impressed  by  women  who  know  more  than 
he  does  about  finger  bowls  and  footmen 
and  crepe  de  Chine  sheets. 

Dolly's  life  story  is  a  real  cinema  saga — 
give  it  to  Bette  Davis  or  Joan  Crawford  and 
the  audiences  would  say,  "Good  picture — 
but  what  a  plot!  All  that  couldn't  happen 
to  one  woman!" 

Her  first  husband,  Louis  Marshall  Hem- 
inway — rich,  of  course,  and  the  father  of 
her  two  sons — died  a  few  years  after  their 
marriage.  Her  next  husband  was  Julius 
Fleischman,  the  multi-millionaire  yeast 
king,  who  married  her  knowing  she  did  not 
love  him  but  wanting  her  at  all  costs.  She 
lived  the  life  of  utmost  luxury  until  she 
fell  madly  in  love  with  J.  Jay  O'Brien,  a 
professional  dancer  and  gentleman  jockey, 
and  asked  Fleischman  to  release  her  from 
their  union.  He  did— giving  her  $5,000,000 
as  a  farewell  settlement. 

Soon  after  she  married  O'Brien,  Fleisch- 
man died.  If  she  had  waited  just  a  little 
while,  her  fortune  would  have  been  $50,- 
000,000. 

a  few  millions,  more  or  less  .  .  . 

But  Dolly  never  seemed  to  miss  the  extra 
millions.  She  and  O'Brien  lived  in  what  ap- 
peared to  be  bliss  until  his  death  in  1940, 
and  after  a  period  of  mourning  she  began  to 
be  linked  with  other  men — always  famous, 
wealthy,  interesting  or  all  three.  Jimmy 
Walker,  gadabout  Mayor  of  New  York, 
was  one  of  them.  Jimmy  Cromwell,  once 
married  to  .Doris  Duke,  was  another. 
Handsome  socialite  Ronald  Balcom,  ex- 
husband  of  Millicent  Rogers  (who,  inci- 
dentally, had  a  brief  whing-ding  with 
Gable)  was  a  third  on  the  list. 

Then  Dolly  met  Clark.  Perhaps  because 
she  had  the  gift  of  camaraderie,  which  he 
prizes  in  women,  they  clicked  instantly. 
He  adores  women  who  are  amusing,  who 
like  to  tell — or  at  least  listen  to — a  bawdy 
joke,  who  will  drink  with  him  and  stay  up 
late  and  laugh  a  lot.  He  likes  women  to  be 
good-tempered,  easy-going,  anything  but 
neurotic  or  demanding. 

Dolly  filled  the  bill.  Before  long  they 
were  haunting  hideaways  to  keep  the  ser- 
iousness of  their  romance  from  hitting  the 
newspapers,  but  when  they  arrived  in  New 
York  simultaneously  and  checked  into  the 
same  hotel,  even  a  cooperative  management 
couldn't  keep  the  secret  from  breaking  into 
excited  print.  From  then  on  no  restaurant 
was  dim  enough  to  hide  the  fact  that  they 
were  holding  hands. 

But  Clark — just  like  in  the  movies — had  a 
rival.  He  was  Jose  Dorelis,  a  smooth  Bul- 
garian perfume -manufacturer  in  his  forties 
who  wore  a  monocle  in  his  left  eye  and 
could  top  Clark  at  that  old  non-American 
custom,  hand-kissing. 

What  happened  was  the  thing  that  could 
not  possibly  have  happened  in  the  movies: 
Clark  lost. 

In  the  middle  of  what  everyone  thought 
was  his  big  romance  with  Dolly,  she 
married  Dorelis.  And  to  her  intimate 
friends  she  offered  an  explanation  com- 
pletely foreign  to  the  Gable  legend: 


topping 

our  list  of  stars 
for  november 
lana  turner  on  the 
cover  of 
modern  screen 
on  sale 
October  8 


Clark  was  a  wonderful  guy,  she  said. 
But  Jose!  Ah! — he  was  so  much  more 
romantic! 

It  did  not  seem  to  occur  to  her  that  call- 
ing Dorelis  more  romantic  than  Clark 
Gable  put  him  several  notches  above 
Superman. 

However,  Superman  lasted  only  a  little 
over  a  year.  Dolly  filed  for  a  friendly 
divorce,  they  exchanged  extravagant  com- 
pliments, and  she  flew  back  to  Gable's 
muscular  arms. 

When  she  decided  to  go  to  Europe  this 
season,  Clark  decided  to  take  a  boat  trip, 
too.  There  was  every  indication  that  he 
was  not  going  to  France  just  to  see  the 
Louvre. 

But  the  experts  who  had  it  all  doped  out 
that  he  was  sailing  to  pay  court  to  the 
fabulous  Dolly  were  completely  thrown  by 
the  cosiness  of  the  scene  when  he  appeared 
at  the  Cunard-White  Star  pier  with  Nancy 
"Slim"  Hawks  on  his  arm  and  proceeded  to 
enact  a  loving  farewell. 

Slim  is  the  much-publicized  "best- 
dressed  woman"  who  most  of  Hollywood 
thought  was  going  to  marry  Leland  Hay- 
ward  when  his  divorce  from  Margaret  Sul- 
lavan  became  final.  Her  unabashed  fond- 
ness for  Gable  in  the  last  hours  of  his  New 
York  stay  threw  the  wisies  into  complete 
confusion. 

And  what  of  Anita  Colby,  Hollywood's 
most  glamorous  executive?  The  fans  were 
asking  that  one,  because  of  all  the  Gable 
dates,  she  has  received  the  most  publicity. 

Anita  is  one  of  those  girls  everybody 
likes.  It  seems  inconceivable  that  a  girl 
could  have  pep,  personality  and  perfect 
features  and  still  be  liked  by  women  as  well 
as  sighed  over  by  men,  but  Anita  has  been 
doing  the  trick  for  years  and  shows  no  sign 
of  losing  her  grip.  She  is  as  smart  as  the 
well-known  steel  trap,  ambitious  as  a  girl 
can  be,  and  successful — a  combination  that 
generally  produces  spectacular  unpopular- 
ity. But  her  sense  of  humor,  her  hearty 
laugh,  her  lack  of  cattiness  and  her  obvious 
good  character  have  made  it  possible  for 
her  to  stay  friends  with  glamor  girls,  big 
executives  and  casual  beaux,  without  any- 
one resenting  her  beauty  or  her  steady 
climb  up  the  movieland  ladder. 

His  intimates  are  convinced  that  if  ever 
Gable  had  a  platonic  love,  this  is  it.  He 
loves  taking  Anita  to  parties,  because  she 
is  so  pretty  and  such  a  good  sport,  and  she 
loves  going  with  him  because  he's  a  good 
sport,  too.  He's  also  Gable  and  every  other 
girl  in  the  place  is  gnawing  her  nails  in 
envy  and  the  attendant  publicity  is  very 
good  for  a  girl  who's  out  to  get  ahead  in 
the  world.  !i3ut  nobody  thinks  it  will  end  in 
marriage.  They  believe  Anita's  religious 
convictions  would  preclude  her  marrying  a 
man  who  had  two  previous  wives  still  liv- 
ing, and  they  believe  anyway  that  the 
romance  has  never  reached  the  point  where 


lamb's  yuAmll- 


I 


BE  READY  FOR  ROMANCE! 

•  Let  SweetHeart's  Floating 
Lift  Care  help  your  skin  look 
softer,  smoother,  lovelier.  Night 
and  morning,  massage  your 
face  for  one  minute  with 
SweetHeart's  extra  lather. 
Rinse  with  warm  —  then  cold 
water.  Skin  is  cleansed,  stimu- 
lated, more  radiant— delicately 
perfumed. 


^SweetHeart  Soaps 

FLOATING  U?T  3emHj  Cmv 

(\l[&ku  Votfaju  oimjL  Smv[ 


•  "My  complexion's  precious!  For  it's  really  the 
reason  I  get  so  many  big-pay  posing  jobs,"  says 
Ellen.  "So  it's  just  good  sense  to  use  SweetHeart 
Care.  It  leaves-my  skin  honey-smooth  with  a  lovely 
pink  and  white  freshness." 

You'll  love  SweetHeart's  Floating  Lift  Care! 
For  pure,  mild  SweetHeart  gives  fragrant,  creamy, 
extra  lather.  Lather  that's  luscious-soft  and  heav- 
enly gentle !  For  it  has  a  floating  lift. 

Pictures  taken  through  the  microscope  prove 
that  countless  bubbles  bathe  the  outer  pore  open- 
ings .  .  .  lift-  off— float  away— dirt  and  dry  skin 
flakes.  Lovely  natural  smoothness  and  true  radi- 
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fragrance  completes  your  glamour!  ' 


"The  Soap 
ffiat  AGREES  with 
Your  Skin 


it  was  that  serious.  It  was  always  more  in 
the  newspapers  than  in  the  heart. 

Some  months  ago  it  was  rumored  that 
Clark  and  Iris  Bynum  had  eloped,  and  he 
called  her  up  to  kid  about  it.  This  was,  in 
a  way,  a  natural  reaction,  because  their  re- 
lationship, while  close,  has  never  been  par- 
|  ticularly  sentimental  or  likely  to  wind  up 
at  a  lily-banked  altar. 

Iris  is  a  black-haired  Texas  beauty  with 
a    widow-peaked    forehead,  spectacular 
1     topography,  long  lacquered  fingernails  and 
I    an  avid  look.  Her  sultry  brand  of  appeal 
has  been  appreciated  by  such  connoisseurs 
of  torridity  as  Tony  Martin  and  George 
ji     Raft,   to   give   her   the   highest  possible 
j     kudos,  and  it  is  obvious  to  the  most  naive 
observer  that  when  she  and  Clark  share  an 
evening  at  the   Racquet   Club   in  Palm 
Springs,  it's  dynamite  meeting  T.N.T. 

Their  love  story  has  had  its  ups  and 
downs,  and  the  last  time  they  parted  Iris 
expressed  herself  rather  loudly  on  the  sub- 
ject of  Clark's  off-hand  treatment  of  the 
women  in  his  life — particularly  her. 

"I'm  tired  of  running  when  he  calls  up," 
she  said,  in  a  who-does-he-think-he-is- 
Clark-Gable  tone  of  voice.   "No  more!" 

The  betting  among  the  Hollywood  and 
Vine  bookmakers,  however,  was  that  a 
phone  call  and  the  right  tone  of  voice  from 
El  Gable  would  right  matters  with  Iris. 

A  complete  contrast  to  Iris  is  Virginia 
Grey,  the  girl  who  has  lasted  longest  in  the 
.Gable  story.  Most  students  of  his  biog- 
raphy think  she  was  his  first  love  after 
Carole  Lombard's  death,  and  he  has  con- 
tinued to  turn  to  her  for  warmth,  solace  and 
adventure.  She  is  an  actress,  in  films  and 
on  the  stage,  although  for  the  most  part  her 
stage  work  has  consisted  of  nothing  more 
exciting  than  summer  stock,  and  those  who 
know  her  say  she  not  only  looks  like  an 
angel  but  has  the  temperament  of  a  saint. 
Of  all  the  women  in  his  life,  she,  obviously, 
loves  him  the  most,  however  he  feels  about 
her,  for  whenever  he  tires  of  a  new  love,  or 
quarrels  with  a  wild  love,  she  takes  him 
back.  She  is  always  waiting.  She  has  never 
been  known  to  reproach  him  or  criticize 
him.  She  is  simply  there. 

She  has  been  quoted  as  saying: 
"Whatever  happens,  he  always  comes 
back  to  me." 

A  mutual  friend  of  hers  and  Clark's  said 
with  amazement: 

"I've  never  seen  anything  like  it.  He 
has  his  other  girl  friends,  his  other 
romances,  and  she  never  objects,  doesn't 
say  a  word.  When  he  calls  her,  she  runs 
to  him  like  a  little  girl." 
And  there's  the  big  question  mark. 
Who  will  get  Gable,  of  all  his  women — 
the  sweet  one,  the  one  who's  a  pal,  the 
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Mary  Lee  Scamahorn 
Los  Angeles,  Calif. 


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SHE  WAS  A  GOOD  GIRL 

{Continued  jrom  page  44) 


I  like  to  think  back  a  few  years  later 
.  .  .  and  see  a  little  girl,  three  years  old, 
standing  in  front  of  a  dressing-room  mir- 
ror backstage,  primping  and  scattering 
her  aunt's  makeup  all  over  the  place.  I 
danced  professionally  with  my  sister  then. 
Her  costumes  were  never  safe  when  Mar- 
garita was  around. 

Sometimes,  right  before  our  orchestra 
cue,  my  sister  would  cry  out  desperately, 
"My  lipstick,  my  earrings,  my  comb,  my 
castanets — they're  gone  again!  Where's 
that  Margarita?"  And  she'd  run  out  and 
rescue  them  just  in  time,  but  not  without 
a  struggle.  Because  even  then  you 
couldn't  get  a  pretty  costume  off  Rita 
without  a  battle.  Even  then,  she  knew 
when  she  looked  wonderful.  She  was 
super-feminine  from  the  start. 

Much  has  happened  to  my  Margarita — 
many  wonderful  things.  She  is  a  beau- 
tiful woman  now — and  a  famous  star. 
That's  what  she  always  wanted  to  be  and 
what  we  always  wanted  her  to  be,  too. 
That  was  her  heritage. 

born  to  dance  .  .  . 

We  Cansinos  come  from  Seville,  the  city 
almost  all  Spanish  entertainers  call  home. 
Dancers,  singers,  actors,  opera  stars,  mata- 
dors, toreadors,  even  strolling  gypsies 
spring  from  there.  I  don't  know  why  that 
is.  But  there  are  Seville  families  who 
have  been  theatrical  for  generations  be- 
yond memory.  In  our  clan  there  are 
three  generations  of  dancers  that  we 
know  of.  My  father  was  a  dancer  (and 
a  bull-fighter,  too).  My  mother  danced, 
my  brothers,  my  sisters,  my  nephews, 
nieces,  cousins,  sons  and  daughters  dance 
today.  I  married  an  American  dancer — 
whose  maiden  name — Hay  worth — Rita 
took  when  she  became  a  Hollywood  ac- 
tress. Rita's  blood  is  Irish-English  on 
that  side  of  the  house.  But  Irish,  English, 
Spanish,  or  what — it  was  all  a  stream  of 
talent.  Rita  was  literally  born  to  enter- 
tain. From  the  start,  I  caught  myself 
sizing  her  up  critically  with  a  dancing 
master's  eye,  watching  for  every  trait  of 
talent  and  temperament. 

When  Rita  was  a  baby,  we  lived  near 
Central  Park  in  New  York,  and  Mrs.  Can- 
sino  liked  to  take  Rita  and  her  brother, 
Eduardo,  Jr.,  there  for  fresh  air  and  a 
stroll  in  the  sun.  One  day,  two  huge 
stallions  broke  loose  from  a  carnival  and 
thundered  wildly  down  the  path  straight 
for  her.  There  was  just  time  for  my  wife 
to  snatch  Rita  and  Ed  away  from  their 
hooves  and  throw  them  against  a  stone 
wall  that  bordered  the  walk.  That  day 
the  two-year-old  Rita  missed  death  by 
inches  and  my  wife  was  ill  for  a  week 
from  the  shock.  Not  Rita,  though.  Al- 
though her  head  was  bumped  badly  by 
the  stone  wall,  she  didn't  cry.  Instead, 
she  scrambled  up  and  toddled  after  the 
wild  horses,  crying,  "Pretty  horsies!" 

When  I  heard  of  the  narrow  escape  I 
was  frightened,  of  course — but  pleased, 
too.  Margarita  had  courage.  More  im- 
portant— even  at  that  age  she  had  an  eye 
for  color  and  drama.  That  was  good  for  a 
future  dancer  to  have. 

I  was  touring  road-show  and  vaudeville 
circuits  constantly  when  Rita  was  a  baby 
—all  over  the  United  States.  Often  I  was 
gone  for  months  at  a  time.  I  took  Rita 
on  tour  with  me  once  when  she  was  only 
four  years  old  and  again  when  she  was 
six.  We  traveled  from  coast  to  coast.  We 
rattled  here  and  there  on  jerky  night 
trains,  slept  in  theatrical  hotels,  lived  the 
irregular,  rugged  life  of  show  people. 
Some  of  my  friends  thought  I  was  crazy 


to  take  a  little  girl  out  on  a  long  tour 
like  that.  But  I  reasoned,  "She  can't  learn 
too  young."  As  a  result,  she  was  a  sea- 
soned trouper  by  the  time  she  was  seven 
years  old — although  she  had  never  set 
foot  on  a  stage. 

When  Rita  was  still  a  small  girl  we 
moved  to  California,  where  I  opened  a 
dancing  school.  It  was  a  Cansino  family 
enterprise.  My  wife  took  care  of  the 
business.  I  taught,  and  all  my  children, 
nephews  and  nieces,  were  pupils.  I  put 
Rita  in  every  class  in  my  school.  I  fig- 
ured she  could  never  do  any  dance  too 
many  times.  Right  after  her  public - 
school  classes  she  always  came  running 
straight  to  my  dancing  school.  She  didn't 
have  time  to  play  with  the  other  kids  in 
the  neighborhood.  Sometimes,  we'd  all 
go,  family  fashion,  down  to  the  beach  for 
a  swim  and  as  an  extra  treat  take  in  the 
Venice  Fun  Pier,  which  Rita  adored.  But 
mostly  it  was  dance,  dance,  dance  for 
Margarita — learn,  learn,  learn.  And  al- 
ways far  in  the  back  of  the  class.  Not 
that  she  wasn't  good  enough  for  the  front. 
But  her  old  man  was  the  teacher  and  Rita 
couldn't  shine  in  his  classes  without  caus- 
ing trouble!  Rita  understood. 

I  knew  she  was  good,  but  I  didn't  know 
what  Rita  thought  about  herself— until 
her  first  performance.  I  didn't  see  it — 
but  I  heard  about  it,  from  Rita. 

Her  public  school  was  putting  on  a 
show  and  they  picked  Rita  to  do — of  all 
things — a  Japanese  dance.  She  really 
looked  a  lot  like  a  little  Jap  girl  then. 
Her  eyes  were  button-bright,  her  thick 
hair  shiny  black  and  worn  in  bangs  and 
a  glossy  bob.  I  worked  out  a  Japanese 
dance  for  the  occasion  and  rehearsed  her. 
But  the  day  of  the  show  I  couldn't  get 
away  from  school  to  see  Rita.  She  came 
home,  flushed  and  happy. 

"Well,"  I  asked  her,  "how  did  you  do?" 

"All  right,"  said  Rita. 

"Just  all  right?" 

"I  was  good,"  conceded  Rita. 

"How  good?"  I  pressed. 

Rita  came  out  with  it.  "I  was  very 
good,"  she  said. 

"That's  it!"  I  said.  "Always  be  very 
good,  always  be  certain  you're  very  good. 
That's  the  way  a  star  has  to  be."  Con- 
fidence— that's  essential  to  any  entertainer 
— and  I  knew  it.  Rita's  had  it  all  her  life 
from  that  moment  on. 

the  beginning  and  the  end  .  .  . 

Rita  handed  me  a  surprise  on  her  first 
professional  appearance.  That  was  on 
the  stage  at  the  Carthay  Circle  Theater, 
where  the  studios  held,  and  still  do,  many 
big  premieres.  My  school  was  near  the 
Carthay  at  the  time.  We  Cansinos  often 
danced  in  the  Franchon  &  Marco  stage 
prologues  the  Carthay  featured  in  those 
days,  and  we  were  engaged  to  do  so  that 
week.  Including  Rita. 

Oddly  enough,  this  one  was  to  be  my 
last  theatre  engagement — and  Rita's  first. 
To  me  then  it  was  like  passing  on  the 
torch  of  the  family  profession  to  Rita. 
I  taught  her  the  Spanish  dance  she  did 
for  the  Fiesta  prologue.  She  danced  it 
with  her  cousin,  Gabriel  Cansino.  My 
father,  Antonio  Cansino,  gave  Rita  an  old 
pair  of  castanets  which  had  been  in  the 
family  (I  still  have  them  as  one  of  my 
prized  souvenirs  of  Rita's  youth.)  My 
wife  sewed  the  costume.  I  had  no  idea 
before  she  went  on  how  good  she'd  be. 
I  knew  she  knew  how  to  be  good.  But 
you'd  never  guess  what  Margarita  could 
do  by  her  days  in  school.  She  was  easy- 
going and  relaxed.   Rita  was  not  one  to 


knock  herself  out  in  her  dad's  classes. 

That  night  I  sneaked  down  into  the  audi- 
ence between  my  act  and  hers  and  saw  the 
whole  thing.  Soon  I  was  grinning  and 
shaking  my  head.  "She  is  good,"  I  told 
myself.  "She  has  real  talent.  She's  a 
Cansino,  all  right."  Because  even  in  that 
simple  little  Spanish  dance  Rita  showed 
fire,  and  grace  and  personality.  She  and 
Gabriel  got  $150  between  them  for  the 
spot,  which  was  important,  because  it  was 
the  first  money  she'd  ever  earned  as  an 
entertainer — but  even  more,  she  got  her 
first  big  applause.  From  that  night  on — 
as  I  look  back — I  can  see  that  all  Rita  had 
eyes  for  was  a  career.  She  thought  she 
was  ready  right  then  to  turn  professional. 
I  didn't — and  very  soon,  because  I  didn't, 
I  almost  broke  her  heart. 

Rita  was  thirteen  at  the  time  of  that 
stage  debut.  Next  to  the  surprise  of  her 
grace  and  beauty,  the  biggest  eye-opener 
to  me  was  how  grown-up  my  girl  was 
getting  to  look.  Until  that  night  I  had 
never  seen  Rita  from  out  in  front,  sitting 
in  an  audience;  never  seen  her  lighted,  or 
costumed  with  lipstick,  powder,  jewelry 
and  form-fitting  gown.  When  she  came 
on  stage,  I  remember  exclaiming  to  my- 
self, "Why,  she's  a  young  woman — and 
a  beauty!"  It  shows  how  stage  glamor 
can  hypnotize  even  an  old  trouper  like 
me. 

But  Rita  was  still  just  a  little  girl,  I 
thought,  when  I  saw  her  the  next  day. 
In  fact,  I  frowned  to  myself  sadly,  she 
was  a  fat  little  girl.  That  was  my  great- 
est worry  as  Rita  passed  from  girlhood 
to  womanhood — her  weight.  At  fourteen, 
I  remember,  she  weighed  122  pounds.  It's 
hard  to  realize  when  you  see  her  trim, 
tall  and  perfect  figure  today — but  as  a 
growing  girl  she  was  actually  chubby. 

impatient  maiden  .  .  . 

Maybe  that's  why  I  kept  thinking  of 
her  as  a  little  girl  who  ought  to  stay  in 
school,  rather  than  as  Rita  saw  herself — 
a  young  lady,  grown  up  enough  and  im- 
patient to  start  a  career.  Those  opposite 
viewpoints  brought  some  tears  to  Rita's 
eyes  one  day — and  they  opened  mine  at 
the  same  time. 

The  depression  hit  into  the  success  of 
my  dancing  school  and  business  was  fall- 
ing off  around  1931.  I  decided  to  return 
to  the  dancing  career  I'd  abandoned  to 
teach.  When  I  was  offered  an  engage- 
ment at  the  Foreign  Club,  over  the  Mexi- 
can border  in  Tia  Juana,  I  decided  to  take 
it.  But  I  had  to  have  a  partner,  a  young, 
pretty  dancer.  In  my  school  was  a  very 
talented  girl  whom  Xavier  Cugat,  an  old 
friend  of  mine,  had  sent  to  me  to  train. 
She  was  frem  Mexico,  and  later  became 
famous  as  a  stage  and  screen  star  her- 
self.   Her  name  was  Margo. 

Margo  was  my  prize  pupil,  a  fine 
dancer,  and  more  mature  than  Rita.  I 
decided  on  Margo  for  my  partner  and 
started  to  make  plans  for  the  dance  act. 
One  night  I  announced  my  decision  at 
home,  to  my  wife.    Rita  was  listening. 

Suddenly  I  heard  sobs  and  I  stared  in 
amazement  as  Rita  ran  out  of  the  room 
and  slammed  the  door. 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?"  I  asked 
my  wife. 

She  shrugged.  "I  have  no  idea." 
Neither  of  us  suspected  the  truth.  Rita 
locked  herself  in  her  room  and  cried  most 
of  that  evening.  But  my  wife  finally 
wormed  the  truth  out  of  her.  She  came 
out  to  tell  me,  "Margarita  can't  under- 
stand how  you  can  be  taking  anyone  else 
but  her  for  your  partner.  She's  terribly 
hurt." 

I  lay  awake  long  that  night  facing  the 
realization — always  hard  for  a  father — 
that  my  little  girl  had  grown  up.  I  had 
been  tipped  off  unmistakably  by  her  tears 
that  she  wanted  a  career — right  now.  I 


GLAMOROUS  STAR   OF  OPERA. ..SCREEW..  .SAYS... 


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Massage  your  hands  with  snowy,  fragrant 
Pacquins  . . .  morning . . .  night . . .  whenever 
skin  is  rough,  chapped,  or  dry  and  you'll 
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Your  own  hands  will 
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Among  the  famous  stars 
who  use  Pacquins  are : 

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VERA  ZORINA 
RISE  STEVENS 
LYNN  FONTANNE 


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patrician!  If  household  tasks  have  rough- 
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day.  Pacquins  Hand  Cream 
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faithfully."  (Pacquins 
was  originally  formulated 
for  nurses  .and  doctors. ) 


On  Sale  at  All  Cosmetic  Counters 
in  United  States  and  Canada 


101 


NYLONS 

1 


51  GAUGE 
15-20  DENIER 

1  thread  equivalent 


77« 

I  IPR. 


3  for  «2-25 

# 

DIRECT  FROM  GAYLORD 


GAY LORD 
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wear  allow  this 
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SHADE 


SIZE 


/GAYLORD  Deptu  404.5th  Ave.,  McKeesport,  Pa.\ 


•  Please  send  pairs  of  Seam-liee 

!  NYLONS,  I  will  pay  postman  Vi  (or  3 
fc  pairs  for  $2.25)  plus  small  C.0.0.  Charges. 


If  prepaid  we  pay  postage.  Money-back  guarantee 

Print  name  and  address  along  margin  • 

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|  42-18  13th  Street,  Long   Island  City  1,  N.  Y. 

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Check  sizes  and  colors  wanted. 

NAME  

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_STATE_ 


i   SAVE  MONEYI  Check  here  if  you  enclose  ', 

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102    l   * 


had  been  thinking — "There's  lots  of  time 
yet.  She's  too  young."  I  knew  now  I 
was  wrong.  Age  isn't  always  measured 
in  years.  Rita  was  ready.  What  if  she 
did  quit  school?  She  was  a  Cansino  and 
born  to  dance.  Next  morning  I  told  her 
she  would  be  my  dance  partner.  That 
was  the  real  start  of  Rita's  career. 

We  practiced  for  three  solid  months — 
four  hours  in  the  morning,  four  hours 
in  the  afternoon  without  let-up.  Rita's 
girlish  pounds  melted  away,  her  figure 
slimmed  out  into  the  right  curves  in  the 
right  places.  I  polished  every  Spanish 
dance  I'd  taught  her.  I  put  on  the  fin- 
ishing touches  and  made  her  a  profes- 
sional dancer.  Rita  was  only  15  when  we 
danced  at  the  Foreign  Club.  In  one  way, 
we  were  a  curiosity.  People  would  bring 
their  friends  to  watch  us  and  have  them 
guess  what  we  were!  They'd  always  say 
"brother  and  sister."  They  couldn't  be- 
lieve we  were  father  and  daughter  and  I 
suppose  a  lot  of  bets  were  won  that  way! 

Soon  we  had  a  better  offer  and  went  to 
Agua  Caliente,  just  below  the  Border. 
Agua  Caliente  was  then  in  its  hey-day  and 
the  favorite  resort  for  Hollywood  pro- 
ducers, directors  and  stars.  Many  of  my 
old  New  York  stage  friends,  now  in  the 
movies,  looked  me  up — and  all  fell  for 
Rita.  The  big  shots  of  the  studios  saw 
her,  too — and  soon  we  were  commuting 
between  Agua  Caliente  and  Hollywood, 
making  screen  tests. 

We  made  six.  None  was  any  good. 
Because  the  camera  saw  what  I  saw,  be- 
neath Rita's  dance -floor  costumes  and 
grown-up  grace:  she  was  still  a  little  girl 
— too  young  to  play  the  parts  they  lined 
up  for  her.  One  still  makes  me  laugh  to 
think  of  it — they  tested  Rita  to  play  a 
vampire.    At  fifteen! 

Rita  was  impatient,  but  never  impulsive. 
I  never  saw  her  get  angry  or  tempera- 
mental. She  took  my  advice.  She  was 
a  good  girl,  a  good  daughter.  Finally  our 
chance  in  Hollywood  came — not  much; 
only  a  solo  dance  for  Rita,  a  few  feet  in 
the  Fox  film,  Dante's  Injerno.  But  I  knew 
it  was  a  good  showcase  for  Margarita,  and 
I  wasn't  wrong. 

Studio  executives  raved  when  they  saw 
the  rushes.  Rita  was  in  pictures!  And 
she  was  only  16  years  old. 

couldn't  say  "boo"  .  .  . 

At  the  time  she  was  signed,  of  course, 
Rita  was  no  actress  at  all.  She  could 
barely  say  "boo"  when  it  came  to  speak- 
ing lines.  But  she  plunged  into  drama 
school  and  worked  as  hard  as  she  had  at 
dancing.  It  was  six  months  before  she 
said  one  line  into  the  mike — and  I'll  never 
forget  that  first  disastrous  part.  It  was 
just  a  few  lines  in  a  picture,  a  Warner 
Baxter  picture,  El  Gaucho.  The  Argen- 
tine theme  was,  naturally,  what  got  Rita 
the  job;  and  she  was  a  dancer  again,  but 
with  dialogue.  She  prepped  for  her  big 
moment,  working  like  a  beaver. 

Her  call  was  for  seven  in  the  morning. 
We  thought  that  meant  seven  at  make- 
up, filming  later — but  no!  Seven  was  the 
hour  set  to  shoot  pictures  and  we  arrived 
with  no  makeup  or  costume  at  that  fatal 
hour.  What  was  worse,  Rita's  scene,  with 
the  star,  Warner  Baxter,  was  the  very 
first  scene  of  the  day.  They  could  do 
nothing  until  they  filmed  that. 

It  was  a  terrible  morning.  While  poor 
Margarita  tried  to  throw  on  her  costume 
and  makeup  for  the  biggest  chance  of 
her  young  life,  the  assistant  director 
barked  angry  scoldings  over  her  shoulder 
every  minute.  The  company  waited  an 
hour  '  and  a  half.  By  the  time  Rita  did 
arrive  she  was  so  nervous  she  was  in 
tears.  And,  of  course,  too,  she  blew  her 
precious,  well-studied  lines  sky-high!  I 
doubt  if  she  ever  would  have  got  through 
her  first  scene  without  a   certain  gal- 


lantry which  I'll  always  remember  on 
Warner  Baxter's  part.  He  saw  the  ter- 
rified, nerve-wracked  girl  in  a  spot  and 
after  her  third  blow-up  made  a  terrible 
one  himself.  "You  see,"  he  laughed,  "I 
can  do  it,  too."  That  broke  the  tension 
and  Rita  was  all  right.  I'll  always  believe 
that  Warner  blew  up  on  purpose. 

I  never  felt  so  sorry  for  Rita  in  my  life 
as  I  did  that  morning,  unless  it  was  a 
morning  several  months  later  when  she 
suffered  the  greatest  heartbreak  of  her  ex- 
perience— a  wound,  incidentally,  which  still 
gives  her  a  twinge  to  remember  today. 

Rita  was  picked  by  Winfield  Sheehan. 
Fox's  production  boss,  to  play  the  title 
role  in  Ramona.  She  had  taken  all  the 
tests  successfully;  the  part  was  hers.  She 
even  had  her  costumes  made  and  fitted, 
her  script  memorized.  Then,  24  hours 
before  she  was  due  to  step  on  the  set, 
Fox  merged  with  20th  Century  and  Dar- 
ryl  Zanuck  moved  into  the  production 
seat.  He  canceled  Rita's  star  job  in  Ra- 
mona. Probably  he  was  right;  neither 
my  wife  nor  I  thought  Margarita  was 
ready  to  star.  Just  the  same,  to  Rita  it 
was  like  seeing  the  pot  of  gold  at  the 
rainbow's  end  snatched  right  away  from 
outstretched  fingers.  It  was  a  terrible 
disappointment  to  a  16-year-old  girl  with 
stars  in  her  eyes. 

She  was  heartbroTten.  She  cried  all 
day  and  into  the  night — at  home— not  at 
the  studio;  Rita  was  too  proud  for  that. 
I  told  her,  "Now  listen,  honey,  that  can 
happen  to  anybody  at  any  time  in  show 
business."  For  a  whole  week,  I  took  her 
to  the  beach,  to  picture  shows,  anywhere 
to  get  her  mind  off  the  disappointment. 
But  she  never  forgot.  Some  years  later, 
when  20th  Century-Fox  borrowed  her  to 
star  in  Blood  and  Sand,  Rita  had  the 
satisfaction  of  being  brought  back  at  a 
big  star's  salary — many  times  what  her 
contract  paid  her  then.  And  she  couldn't 
help  gloating  a  little  over  that.  She's  very- 
human,  that  daughter  of  mine. 

Only  a  few  weeks  after  Ramona  was 
snatched  away,  Rita's  first  picture  con- 
tract ended — and  with  it  Rita's  budding 
career  as  a  Hollywood  actress.  She  fought 
her  way  back,  the  hard  way,  through 
Hollywood  "horse  opera"  Westerns,  tack- 
ling them  with  the  same  determination 
and  courage  (she'd  never  ridden  a  horse 
in  her  life  until  she  did  for  a  camera) 
that  she  had  everything  else.  Along  the 
way,  perhaps  I  helped  some,  but  mostly 

MODERN  SCREEN 


'May  I  go  in  and  look  for  my  little  sister?' 


"Couldn't  find  her!" 


it  was  Rita  who  soaked  up  camera  know- 
how  and  confidence,  and  brought  her 
checks  home  to  her  mother  to  bank. 

Rita  still  carries  with  her  to  every  set 
the  toy  monkey  doll  we  gave  her  for  good 
luck  on  her  first  picture  part  back  when 
she  was  sixteen.  She  still  loves  to  gather 
with  our  family — all  the  dozens  of  dancing 
cousins — on  every  birthday  and  Christ- 
mas— for  a  family  fiesta  to  dance  and  sing 
the  old  Spanish  songs  and  dances.  She 
can  still  twirl  into  a  flashing  chapanecos 
or  step  with  me  into  a  gay  side-splitting 
jota  while  her  grandfather  strums  the 
guitar.  When  she  made  her  first  visit 
to  Mexico — long  after  she  was  a  star — 
and  saw  her  first  bullfight,  she  came  back 
home  and  acted  it  out  for  the  whole 
Cansino  family,  moving  through  the  ac- 
tion with  the  grace  of  a  natural-born 
toreador.   She's  our  girl,  still! 

In  fact,  we  all  have  to  watch  our  step 
or  she'll  shower  us  with  generosities. 
During  the  war  I  mentioned  the  need  of 
a  record  machine  for  my  dance  studio. 
Next  day  Rita  took  the  one  from  her  own 
house — which  she  couldn't  replace — and 
sent  it  down.  I  had  a  two  weeks'  vaca- 
tion last  Christmas.  When  I  let  that  slip 
to  Rita,  she  sent  me  tickets  to  Mexico  City, 
which  is  my  favorite  place  to  visit. 

Right  after  Rita's  own  baby  daughter, 
Rebecca,  was  born,  my  wife  took  seriously 
ill.  Rita  left  her  own  hospital  bed  and 
insisted  on  taking  over  the  care  of  her 
mother,  with  the  finest  doctors  obtain- 
able and  every  medical  attention.  And 
when  Mrs.  Cansino  passed  on  at  last, 
Rita,  realizing  the  depth  of  all  our  grief, 
courageously  took  over  to  comfort  us  all. 

Some  things  are  different,  of  course. 
Rita's  career,  for  one  thing,  has  grown 
far  beyond  any  need  for  my  guidance  and 
advice.  Rita  Hayworth  has  managers, 
secretaries,  and  studio  advisers  enough. 
But  I'm  still  the  first  one  she  tells  her 
picture  plans  to,  the  first  to  visit  her  new 
sets  and  the  one  whose  opinion  she  wants 
first  after  the  picture  is  previewed. 

old  home  week  .  .  . 

The  making  of  Rita's  latest  film,  The 
Loves  of  Carmen,  has  been  like  old  home 
week  for  us  Cansinos — Rita's  Uncle  Jose 
dances  in  one  gypsy  number;  her  brother 
Vernon  takes  the  part  of  a  Spanish  dra- 
goon, and  I  have  been  choreographer  and 
technical  adviser  on  the  Flamenco  dances. 

Having  Rita  play  Carmen  is  one  of  the 
greatest  thrills  of  my  life.  It's  a  part  I 
feel  she  was  destined  to  play.  My  mother, 
you  know,  was  named  Carmen — and  in 
fact,  like  the  fictional  character,  she 
worked  in  her  youth  in  a  cigarette  fac- 
tory in  Seville.  So  it's  a  part  very  close 
to  the  Cansino  heritage.  I  deeply  hope 
that  my  83-year-old  father,  Antonio — the 
head  of  our  family — who  went  back  to 
Spain  this  year  to  die  in  the  land  of  his 
birth,  will  live  to  see  his  granddaughter 
bring  Carmen  to  life. 

One  Sunday  not  long  ago,  little  Re- 
becca came  out  of  her  nursery,  toddling 
into  the  front  room.  She  pattered  across 
to  my  father,  who  had  not  yet  left  us. 

"Aaah,  so!"  my  father  beamed  happily. 
"She  walks  well.  Now  she  must  dance. 
It  is  time  to  start  her  lessons."  Rita,  her 
brothers  and  myself  all  protested,  "She's 
too  young!"  But  my  father  snorted  an- 
grily, "A  Cansino  is  never  too  young  to 
learn!" — and  believe  me,  he  meant  it! 

Well,  Rebecca's  name  is  not  really  Can- 
sino— her  name  is  Welles — but  the  dancing 
blood  is  there,  because  she  is  Margarita's 
daughter.  I  know  my  father  saw  her  that 
day — even  in  her  baby  dress — as  Rita  her- 
self must  see  her  at  times.  Just  as  I  see 
Rita  Hayworth  often  when  I  close  my 
eyes — a  graceful  girl  with  sparkling  eyes 
and  a  flashing  smile — a  Cansino  girl, 
dancing  with  a  rose  in  her  hair. 


Soaping  dulls  hair. 
Halo  glorifies  it ! 


/ 


Not  a  soap, 
not  a  cream — 
cannot  leave 
dulling  film! 

)/  Quickly, 
effectively  removes 
dandruff  from  both 
hair  and  scalp! 

y/  Gives  fragrant, 
soft-water  lather 
even  in  hardest 
water! 

9  Leaves  hair 
lustrously  soft,  easy 
to  manage — with 
colorful  natural 
highlights! 


Yes,  "soaping"  your  hair 
with  even  finest  liquid  or  cream 
shampoos  hides  its  natural 
lustre  with  dulling  soap  film 

V  Halo  — not  a  soap,  not  a  cream 
—  contains  no  sticky  oils,  nothing  to  hide 
your  hair's  natural  lustre  with  dulling 
film.  Made  with  a  new  patented 
ingredient,  Halo  brings  out  glossy, 
shimmering  highlights  the  very  first 
time  you  use  it!  Its  dehghtfully  fragrant 
lather  rinses  away  quickly,  completely 
in  any  kind  of  water — needs  no  lemon  or 
vinegar  rinse.  For  hair  that's  naturally 
colorful,  lustrously  soft,  easy  to 
manage — use  Halo  Shampoo! 
At  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


Halo  reveals  the  hidden  beauty  of  your  hair! 


103 


Have  the  Dazzling  Golden 
Hair  Men  Admire! 

Don't  let  dull,  time-darkened  hair  cheat  you  out  of 
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Smart  girls — whether  they  are  blondes,  bru- 
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The  new,  improved 
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Perfected  by  experts 
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not  a  dye,  not  an  expen- 
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LET'S  HAVE  A  HAYRIDE! 

(Continued  from  page  37) 


headed  us  all  straight  back  for  the  stables, 
without  another  word. 

Once  on  terra  firma,  we  piled  into  our 
cars  and  headed  for  the  Redwood  Village, 
which  was  the  perfect  spot  for  our  back- 
to-the-farm  get-together.  It's  a  quaint 
place,  skirting  the  main  highway  and  over- 
flowing with  rustic  atmosphere.  There's 
a  funny  little  brook  where  you  can  leave  a 
penny  and  make  a  wish.  There's  also  a 
flagstone  patio  that  boasts  a  flower-filled 
fountain  and  an  outdoor  fireplace.  Host 
Frank  Tomlinson's  cheery  greeting  is  best 
of  all.  He  has  an  uncanny  way  of  knowing 
just  what  hungry  hayriders  want. 

We  remember  Douglas  Dick  happily 
wading  into  his  spare -rib  dinner  in  the 
best  Henry  VIII  tradition.  He  would  take 
a  few  bites  of  the  meat  and  then  pretend 
to  toss  the  bone  over  his  shoulder.  This  he 
did  until  he  got  a  king-size  rib. 

"Ah,  me  proud  beauty,"  he  cried,  leering 
at  Martha  Hyer,  and  waving  the  bone  in 
the  air,  "this  brings  out  the  cave  man  in 
me." 

Striking  his  best  hero  pose,  Dick  Moore 
protested,  "Unhand  that  woman.  And  pass 
the  olives." 

After  dinner,  we  strolled  out  into  the 
patio,  left  our  pennies  at  the  brook,  and 
made  our  wishes.  Then  we  were  off  to 
the  Hollywood  Playground  and  the  dance. 

The  playground,  when  we  arrived,  was 
crackling  with  country  atmosphere.  A 
split-rail  fence  criss-crossed  one  corner. 
It  was  laden  with  weather-beaten  saddles, 
bridles  and  lariats.  A  cow's  skull,  in  not- 
too-healthy  condition,  sagged  against  the 
fence.  Bales  of  hay  dotted  the  dance  floor. 
In  the  background  was  a  shiny  red  sur- 
rey. The  kind  that  was  made  for  courting. 

Lon  and  Colleen  made  it  to  the  play- 
ground before  the  rest  of  us;  Terry  Moore 
and  Jerome  Courtland  came  in  much 
later. 

"They  don't  call  you  'Cautious  Court- 
land'  for  nothing,"  we  could  hear  Terry 
saying.   "Honestly,   you   drive   like  mo- 


lasses." 

Mona  Freeman,  listening  to  the  music, 
was  one  of  the  first  to  take  the  floor. 
"Come  on,  Pops,"  she  said  to  Pat.  "Let's 
dance." 

"Humm,"  grunted  Pat,  "thought  you 
said  you  were  beat  after  dancing  all  day 
in  The  Heiress^' 

Frankly,  most  of  the  guests  were  like 
ourselves,  loaded  with  enthusiasm,  but 
lacking  in  the  swing-your-partner  tech- 
nique. Only  Jerry  Courtland  ("I'm  from 
Tennessee,  ma'am")  and  Terry  Moore 
were  accomplished  square  dancers.  Or 
at  least  they  didn't  have  two  left  feet. 

They,  coupled  with  the  playground's 
directors,  David  Gray  and  Virginia  Pinta- 
rell,  soon  had  all  fourteen  of  us  sashayin' 
smartly  to  the  music. 

The  caller  would  sing  out,  "Swing  your 
partners."  The  fellas  would  tighten  their 
hold  on  the  girls'  waists  and  start  twirling 
madly. 

You  could  hear  the  clicking  of  high 
heels,  and  the  girls'  hair  would  trail  be- 
hind and  their  skirts  spin  full.  It  was  as 
colorful  as  a  rainbow. 

Everyone  looked  so  competent  and  con- 
tent— until  the  caller  changed  tunes. 

How  confused  can  16  people  get? 

"Allemande  left  with  your  left  hand," 
came  the  order. 

The  music  and  the  caller  continued  on, 
but  not  the  gang.  Johnny  Sands  was  al- 
ways searching  for  the  little  hand  that 
wasn't  there.  He  constantly  seemed  to  miss 
Mary  Hatcher  and  wind  up  with  Dickie 
Moore.  "And  he  isn't  my  type,"  moaned 
Sands. 

Richard  Long  followed  Farley  Granger's 
lead  and  improvised  a  few  jitterbug  steps 
into  a  number.  The  three-point  landing 
he  glided  to  was  not  the  finale  he'd 
planned. 

But  for  the  rest  of  us,  the  dance  was 
a  wonderful  ending  to  a  wonderful  eve- 
ning. 

Let's  have  another  hayride! 


IT'S  NOT  A  DREAM,  DARLING 

(Continued  from  page  57) 


together,  at  least  we'll  both  be  working." 

She  couldn't  have  been  wronger.  They 
kept  her  under  contract  for  fifteen  months 
without  handing  her  a  lick  of  work  to  do 
— except  for  tests  that  were  called  terrific 
and  led  to  nothing.  It  happens  often.  In 
Pat's  case  it  was  aggravated  by  the  fact 
that  she  was  Mrs.  Cornel  Wilde — a  fact 
that  seemed  to  loom  larger  at  the  studio 
than  her  acting  qualifications.  Not  that 
it  helped  her  to  so  much  as  a  walk-on. 
Nor  that  she  wanted  it  to.  On  the  contrary. 
She's  a  proud  girl — too  self-respecting  an 
actress  to  climb  on  any  but  her  own  com- 
petent feet. 

Yet  whatever  involved  Cornel  somehow 
reached  out  to  involve  Pat  as  well,  nulli- 
fying the  hard-and-fast  line  she  insisted 
on  drawing  between  Cornel's  wife  and  Pat 
Knight,  professional.  Sure,  they  were  dy- 
ing to  work  together,  but  even  that  receded 
into  the  background  beside  Pat's  fierce  de- 
termination to  prove  herself.  This  she  was 
given  no  chance  to  do.  Twice  she  asked 
for  her  release  from  Fox,  and  finally  got 
it.  Went  out  and  found  herself  a  new 
agent.  Made  a  picture  for  Sol  Wurtzel  and 
another  at  Republic.  Tossed  her  blonde 
head  and  figured  that,  horse  operas  or  no, 
at  least  she  was  working  and  on  her  own. 


As  for  Cornel,  whatever  hurt  Pat  tore 
at  his  nerves,  already  frayed  by  overwork; 
Their  brief  separation  was  no  separation 
in  the  ordinary  sense,  though  Hollywood 
tried  to  make  it  sound  like  one.  Cornel 
went  away  and  got  a  perspective  on  him- 
self. Pat  stayed  home  and  did  the  same. 
In  love  for  ten  years,  four  weeks  were  all 
they  could  stand  apart.  .  .  . 

Last  winter  they  went  to  New  York  to 
look  for  a  play,  but  couldn't  find  the  right 
one.  So  Cornel  had  his  leave  of  absence 
postponed  till  fall — by  which  time  they 
hope  the  right  one  may  turn  up — and  re- 
ported back  to  TC-Fox  for  Roadhouse. 

Meanwhile  it  looked  as  if  something 
were  breaking  for  Pat.  The  first  hint  came 
from  Milton  Pickman,  executive  assistant 
to  Harry  Cohn  at  Columbia  till  he  left  to 
go  into  independent  production.  Pickman 
was  a  good  friend  of  the  Wildes.  In  New 
York  he  stopped  at  the  same  hotel. 

"I've  got  ideas  about  you,"  he  told  Pat 
one  day.  "I  caught  a  test  you  made — that 
scene  from  Golden  Boy.  Got  me  all 
steamed  up,  and  I  don't  steam  easy.  I 
may  work  something  out.  . 

"What  is  it?"  Pat  implored. 

"Take  it  easy,  honey — it  hasn't  jelled 
yet." 


Back  in  California,  Pickman  phoned  one 
morning  just  as  Pat  and  Cornel  were  about 
to  take  off  for  a  week  end  at  the  Racquet 
Club.  "Hold  everything.  I'm  coming  over 
with  a  script/' 

All  the  way  to  Palm  Springs,  Pat  held 
the  precious  thing  in  her  lap — a  screenplay 
by  Sam  Fuller  called  The  Lovers.  Sat  down 
to  read  it  the  second  they  arrived.  Turned 
the  last  page  and  handed  it  to  Cornel. 

"Like  it,  baby?" 

"You  read  it,  then  I'll  tell  you." 

He  looked  up  into  the  shining  green 
eyes.  "You've  told  me  already.  .  .  ." 

It  was  an  unusual  story,  built  around  the 
characterization  of  an  unusual  girl.  The 
girl's  part  was  a  standout.  When  Cornel 
finished  reading,  his  eyes  were  as  bright 
as  Pat's.  "This  is  it." 

"Look,  do  me  a  favor — don't  let's  talk 
about  it  any  more  now." 

He  kissed  her  hair,  knowing  exactly 
how  she  felt.  Who  should  know  better? 
He'd  been  through  it  all  himself.  You  can 
take  just  so  many  disappointments.  After 
that,  hope's  afraid  to  lift  its  head. 

A  few  days  later,  Milton  was  giving  them 
the  deal.  He'd  taken  an  option  on  The 
Lovers.  He'd  persuaded  Helen  Deutsch, 
top  writer  of  such  hits  as  National  Velvet 
and  Loves  of  Carmen,  to  read  the  screen- 
play and  see  Pat's  Golden  Boy  test.  As  a 
rule,  Helen  would  have  no  part  of  re- 
writes. But  such  was  her  enthusiasm  over 
Pat  and  Pat's  Tightness  for  the  part,  that 
she'd  agreed  to  make  an  exception  here. 
Milton  planned  to  produce  the  picture  in- 
dependently. All  he  needed  now  was 
financial  backing.  With  the  Deutsch  re- 
write and  the  Golden  Boy  footage,  he  an- 
ticipated no  problems. 

At  this  point,  Cornel  was  merely  a  by- 
stander— an  ardent  bystander  on  Pat's  ac- 
count, but  definitely  offstage.  His  contracts 
with  TC-Fox  and  Columbia  ruled  him  out 
of  any  independent  production.  In  fact, 
he  was  beginning  to  paw  the  ground  about 
his  next  and  final  commitment  at  Colum- 
bia. The  deadline  was  July  12th,  and  they 
had  no  picture  ready. 

And  then  Mr.  Pickman  clapped  hand  to 
brow.  "What  am  I  doing?!  This  thing  is 
called  The  Lovers!" 

He  phoned  Pat.  "Honey,  I've  got  an  idea 
for  the  leading  man.  It's  up  to  you  to 
okay  him." 

"Who?" 

"He's  no  Gable,  y'understand." 
"Never    mind    the    build-down.  Who 
is  it?" 


that's 


Yvonne  De  Carlo  tells  about  the  star- 
let who  met  another  starlet  and  said, 
"Darling,  you  look  wonderful.  What 
happened?"  .  .  .  Description  of  a 
producer's  wife,  "She's  so  fat  she  out- 
numbers herself  two  to  one."  .  .  . 
Speaking  about  a  pet  hate,  Ella  Raines 
hissed,  "If  they'd  cast  her  as  Lady 
Godiva,  the  horse  would  steal  the 
scene !"  .  .  .  "I  guess  it's  true  that  men 
find  beauty  in  a  girl's  mind,  but  it 
isn't  where  they  start  looking,"  re- 
marks Judy  Canova  .  .  .  "She  looked 
good  enough  to  eat,"  says  Irving  Hoff- 
man. "And  boy,  did  she  !" 
from  "Hollywood  Merry-Go-Round" 
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"Some  character  name  of  Cornel  Wilde." 

Dead  silence.  Then:  "You  haven't  been 
out  in  the  sun  or  something?" 

"Could  be.  Could  be  the  whole  thing's 
a  pipedream.  .  .  .  Are  you  in  this  evening? 
.  .  .  Okay,  lay  a  plate  for  Uncle  Milton." 

Pat  and  Cornel  listened  to  the  pipe- 
dream  unfold.  Columbia  had  Cornel,  but 
no  story.  Milton  had  a  story,  but  no  mas- 
culine lead.  Dovetail  the  two,  and  what 
do  you  get?  Knight  and  Wilde  in  a  Co- 
lumbia story  called  The  Lovers.  True, 
Pickman's  plan  had  been  to  produce  inde- 
pendently. But  this  he  could  be  talked  out 
of  by  the  right  kind  of  deal  from  Columbia. 

"Guarantees,"  said  Milton,  "I  can't  give 
you,  but  here's  what  I'll  do.  Harry  Conn's 
at  the  Arizona  Biltmore  with  Sylvan  Si- 
mon. I'll  take  the  script  and  Pat's  Golden 
Boy  test  and  fly  there  tonight.  If  it's  no  go, 
I'll  be  back  tomorrow  evening.  If  it  looks 
like  they're  buying,  I'll  phone  you  before 
twelve." 

Came  the  next  evening.  No  Pickman. 
Came  ten  and  eleven  and  twelve.  No  call. 
Pat  lay  awake,  too  tense  for  sleep.  Cornel 
lay  awake  to  see  if  Pat  were  sleeping.  In 
the  morning  he  produced  one  dozen  ex- 
cellent reasons  why  the  call  hadn't  come 
through,  none  of  which  sounded  terribly 
convincing  to  Pat.  Then  inspiration  hit 
him.  "Maybe  the  plane  crashed!" 

"False,"  said  Milton,  entering  on  cue. 

They  leaped  at  him.  "Why  didn't  you 
phone?" 

"Took  till  1:30  to  iron  the  wrinkles 
out.  Well,  kids — we  got  a  deal!" 

Then  with  Pat's  lipstick  all  over  his  face 
and  his  shoulder  sore  from  Cornel's 
thumping,  he  gave  them  the  details  over 
bacon  and  eggs. 

silence  is  golden  .  .  . 

"We  sat  round  the  pool  while  Harry  and 
Sylvan  read  the  script.  Then  I  showed 
them  Pat's  test  and  kept  my  mouth  shut. 
The  story,  the  test,  the  re-write  had  to 
speak  for  themselves.  I  could  have  talked 
my  throat  raw  without  adding  a  thing. 
Well,  the  boys  went  into  a  huddle  and 
came  out  with  a  wire  to  New  York:  WHAT 
DO  YOU  THINK  OF  PAT  KNIGHT  AND 
CORNEL  WILDE  IN  PICTURE  CALLED 
THE  LOVERS?  I  sweated  it  out  till  the 
answer  came  back:  RE  KNIGHT-WILDE 
LOVERS  GUARANTEE  NET  OF  HALF 
A  MILLION." 

An  irrepressible  squeal  broke  from  Pat: 
"Then  it's  set?" 

"All  but  a  few  details  that  you  don't 
have  to  bother  your  pretty  head  over." 

"Let's  celebrate!"  said  Cornel. 

Pat  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "Not  yet.  Not 
till  I  see  it  in  black  and  white." 

"But,  honey,  these  contracts  take  days 
and  weeks  to  draw  up!" 

"Even  so,  let's  wait." 

That's  how  it  was  with  Pat  through  all 
the  preliminaries.  Jubilant  one  minute, 
scared  silly  the  next.  Helen  Deutsch  was 
re-writing  the  script  till  the  last  minute. 
She'd  known  Cornel  at  Columbia,  she'd 
never  met  his  wife.  In  order  to  study  Pat 
for  her  characterization,  she'd  come  up 
to  dinner. 

"Tell  us  one  scene,"  they'd  beg.  "Just  one 
little  scene." 

She'd  describe  some  bit  of  action,  and 
they'd  be  all  over  the  living  room  playing 
it,  to  the  delight  of  their  huge  poodles 
who  were  firmly  convinced  that  the  whole 
thing  was  being  staged  for  their  benefit 
and  knocked  themselves  out  trying  to  get 
into  the  act. 

"You  know  you're  crazy,  don't  you?" 
Helen  would  inquire.  "That's  the  scene 
they'll  probably  toss  out  tomorrow." 

Not  till  the  contracts  were  signed,  sealed 
and  delivered,  did  the  celebration  take 
place.  "What'll  we  have?" 

"Champagne,  of  course." 


"And  caviar?"  Pat  wagged  her  head  "yes." 

"And  Milton-Pickman-on-toast!" 

In  a  way  they  did  have  Milton  Pickman 
on  toast.  He  raised  his  glass,  and  offered 
the  first  one.  "To  the  lovers,"  he  said, 
courtly  as  any  cape-slinger.  "And  to  The 
Lovers." 

*       *  * 

"You  said  when  you  saw  it  in  black  and 
white,  you'd  believe  it!" 

"But  there  must  be  something  wrong. 
No  director,  no  supporting  cast,  no  an- 
nouncements .  .  ." 

"These  things  take  time.  Relax,  honey. 
Kick  up  your  heels  and  enjoy  yourself. 
Nothing  can  spoil  it  now.  We're  in!" 

Variations  of  this  dialogue  went  on  for 
the  next  several  weeks.  Pat  couldn't  help 
herself.  The  way  had  been  so  tough,  the 
goal  so  long  in  coming.  The  dream  about  to 
be  realized  was  so  dazzling  she  could 
hardly  look  it  in  the  face.  "I  won't  get  the 
jitters,"  said  Pat,  getting  the  jitters.  Cornel 
appointed  himself  comforter-in-chief.  Gay 
and  tender  by  turns,  he  knew  when  she 
needed  his  arms  around  her,  when  she 
needed  to  laugh.  He'd  take  her  to  dinner 
and  the  movies,  bring  home  flowers  and 
perfume  and  silly  little  gifts  to  distract  her. 

One  by  one,  the  pre-production  prob- 
lems were  solved.  They'd  been  trying  to 
get  Douglas  Sirk  to  direct.  Sirk  had  pre- 
vious commitments,  but  The  Lovers  got 
under  his  skin,  too,  and  he  managed  at 
last  to  re-juggle  his  schedule.  Columbia 
decided  to  test  John  Baragrey,  the  bull- 
fighter in  Loves  of  Carmen,  for  the  other 
man. 

Pat  was  to  work  with  Baragrey  in  the 
tests.  She  was  ill  with  nervousness  the 
night  before. 

"Maybe  they  won't  like  me.  Maybe  I'll 
be  horrible.  Maybe  they'll  fire  me." 

That  was  another  white  night  for  the 
Wildes.  Next  morning  Cornel  kissed  her, 
whispered  "Good  luck!"  and  sent  her  off 
alone.  Sirk  met  her  on  the  test  stage, 
noted  that  her  lips  were  dry  and  her  hand 
cold  as  he  shook  it.  If  Pat  could  have 
read  his  thoughts,  she'd  have  set  them  to 
music.  It  pleased  him  that  her  hands  were 
cold  and  her  lips  dry.  An  actress  should  be 
like  a  race-horse,  all  tension  before  the 
starting  signal.  A  cart-horse  Mr.  Sirk 
would  have  had  no  use  for. 

After  a  couple  of  rehearsals  she  calmed 
down.  Now  the  feel  of  her  personality 
began  to  come  through,  vibrant,  compel- 
ling. Her  terrors  vanished.  She  felt  easy 

MODERN  SCREEN 


"Wasn't  it  terrible?   I  could  hardly  sit  through 
it  the  second  time." 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

F~    [^m^^.  Last  summer  my 

B»  family  and  I  were 

vacationing  in 
California,  and  we 
were  in  Los  An- 
geles seeing  the 
movie  High  Bar- 
baree.  Behind  us 
there  was  a  girl 
who  kept  saying 
impolite  things 
about  the  girl  star 
of  the  show.  Things  like,  "I  know  I 
can  do  better,"  or  "What  a  drip." 
Finally,  I  became  so  irritated  1 
couldn't  resist  turning  around  and 
saying,  "Well,  then,  why  did  you 
come  in  the  first  place?"  You  can 
imagine  my  surprise  and  embarrass- 
ment when  I  discovered  that  she  was 
no  other  than  June  Allyson,  the  star 
of  the  show. 

Celia  Wright 

Des  Moines,  Iowa 


at  home,  right — like  any  workman  doing 
the  job  he  was  meant  to  do. 

The  following  day  Cornel  went  in  with 
her  for  wardrobe  and  makeup  tests.  They 
were  supposed  to  see  the  rushes  with 
Sirk  and  Sylvan  Simon,  but  the  fittings 
took  longer  than  planned,  and  they  came 
out  just  in  time  to  run  into  the  whole  tribe 
emerging  from  the  projection  room  across 
the  way  and  just  about  popping  with 
pleasure. 

Simon  threw  his  arms  around  Pat.  "You 
were  great!  Cornel,  better  make  up  your 
mind  that  you're  just  going  to  support 
her  in  this  one." 

Of  course  the  guy  could  have  lain  awake 
all  night  without  fetching  up  a  line  more 
warming  to  the  cockles  of  Cornel's  heart. 

For  an  extra  fillip,  and  in  case  there 
hadn't  been  commotion  enough,  Cornel 
sprained  his  ankle  the  day  before  shoot- 
ing started! 

It  turned  out  all  right.  A  few  shots  were 
re-arranged,  and  Cornel  was  seated 
through  most  of  the  early  shooting.  Ex- 
cept for  the  first  scene.  In  the  first  scene 
he  turned  from  the  files,  and  there  was  the 
girl  paroled  in  his  custody,  and  he  was 
supposed  to  say  something  sensible.  Only 
he  couldn't.  The  impact  of  Pat  sitting 
there  hit  him  head  on.  This  was  the 
hour,  the  moment  they'd  waited  for.  His 
eyes  melted.  "Why,  it's  you,  darling,"  he 
said.  .  .  . 

Now  they've  been  working  together, 
lunching  together,  spending  all  their  time 
together  as  in  the  early  years  of  their  mar- 
riage. 

Watching  them,  you  couldn't  help  being 
caught  up  in  the  glow  of  their  happiness, 
and  your  mind  raced  back  through  time 
to  a  couple  of  kids  with  stars  in  their 
eyes.  .  .  . 

"D'you  think  it'll  ever  happen?" 

"We'll  make  it  happen!" 

And  so  they  did.  Not  right  away.  And 
not  all  by  themselves.  Circumstances 
helped.  At  first  the  breaks  were  all  against 
them.  Then  suddenly  everything  fell  into 
place.  Pickman's  purchase  of  the  story,  his 
interest  in  Pat,  Cornel's  being  free,  the  fact 
that  Columbia  had  nothing  else  ready  for 
him.  It  was  a  matter  of  timing,  so  essen- 
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was  the  faith  and  the  will  and  the  love 
of  these  two.  .  .  . 

And  the  names  of  two  lovers — PATRI- 
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BLOOPFACE  AND  THE  BABE 

(Continued  from  page  32) 


started,  she  wasn't  quite  so  chipper.  Judy 
has  no  vanity,  and  to  her  Astaire  was  some- 
thing fabulous.  She'd  dreamed  about  a  pic- 
ture with  him,  but  never  really  believed  it. 
Of  course  Gene  Kelly  has  no  flies  on  him 
either,  but  Judy  was  used  to  him,  Gene  was 
like  family.  Astaire  was  like  someone  you 
read  about  in  a  book.  Besides,  she'd  heard 
all  these  stories  about  Astaire — what  a 
perfectionist  he  was.  Not  that  Judy's  ever 
been  afraid  of  hard  work.  But  it  was  pretty 
scary  for  a  girl  whose  specialty  is  singing 
rather  than  dancing. 

"I'm  conserving  my  strength,"  she  told 
me  one  day.  "They  say  with  Astaire  you 
rehearse  eight  hours  a  day.  If  you  sit 
down,  he  hates  you.  If  you  collapse,  he 
yanks  you  up  by  the  hair,  drapes  you  over 
his  arm,  and  waltzes  you  around  again 
willie,  dead  or  alive.  Oh,  Jimmie,  I'm 
petrified!" 

Well,  of  course  what  it  all  added  up  to 
was  that  no  one  could  have  been  more 
considerate  than  Fred,  and  the  sweeter  he 
was,  the  more  Judy  knocked  herself  out. 
He'd  keep  urging  her  to  rest,  she'd  keep 
saying  she  wasn't  tired,  till  it  got  to  be  a 
regular  Alphonse  and  Gaston  act.  One  day 
she  came  out  with  it.  "Where's  this  whip 
you're  supposed  to  crack?"  * 

He  grinned  that  cute  grin  of  his.  "Honest, 
Judy,  I  never  cracked  it  over  anyone  but 
myself." 

Man,  woman  or  child,  I  don't  know  any- 
one more  stimulating  than  Judy.  Never 
will  I  forget  our  eight  days  in  New  York 
when  nobody  knew  we  were  there  but  the 
family,  and  they  weren't  telling.  At  4 
o'clock  we  had  no  idea  of  going,  at  6  we 
were  on  our  way.  That's  how  my  sister 
operates  when  the  mood  takes  her. 

the  lady  is  bored  .  .  . 

She  called  me  that  afternoon.  "What  are 
you  doing?" 
"Nothing." 

"Well,  come  on  over,  I've  got  things  to 
say."  / 

I  found  her  in  shorts  and  bandanna. 
"What's  on  your  mind?" 

"I'm  bored.  Vincente's  cutting  his  pic- 
ture, and  mine  doesn't  start  for  two  weeks. 
What  can  we  do?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  Let's  run  down  to 
Laguna  for  a  couple  of  days." 

On  that  Vincente  walks  in.  We  tell  him 
our  problems.  He  solves  them.  "Why  don't 
you  go  to  New  York  and  see  the  shows?" 

Judy  sits  up  like  she's  shot.  "Why  don't 
we?  The  Chief  leaves  at  6.  We  can  get 
the  reservations  in  Jimmie's  name.  Vin- 
cente, you've  got  to  promise  not  to  tell  a 
soul.  For  once  I'm  going  to  New  York 
without  publicity." 

I  said:  "You're  crazy,  we'll  never  make 
it." 

"Don't  be  silly,  of  course  we'll  make  it. 
Pack  up  your  oldest  duds,  we'll  come  by 
for  you  at  5." 

Mother  helped  me  throw  a  bunch  of 
junk  into  grips.  The  train  was  moving 
when  Vincente  boosted  us  on  and  heaved 
the  suitcases  after  us.  We  had  eight  glor- 
ious days  in  New  York  and  saw  ten  shows, 
including  two  matinees.  Never  once  did 
Judy  dress  up,  never  curled  her  hair,  never 
used  a  speck  of  makeup,  including  lipstick. 
From  the  taxi  into  the  theater  she'd  wear 
my  horn-rimmed  reading  glasses,  which 
made  her  practically  blind,  so  I  had  to  lead 
her.  Every  so  often  people  would  turn  and 
stare,  and  we'd  hold  our  breath,  trying  to 
look  extra  dumb.  Mostly  they'd  give  us  that 
oh-it-can't-be  expression  and  fade.  But  the 
last  night  one  woman  came  up.  "Aren't 


you  Judy  Garland?"  she  said,  suspiciously. 

"Who,  me?"  The  girl  was  my  sister,  but 
the  voice  was  the  voice  of  Miss  Duffy. 
"Gee,  that's  certanny  a  thrill,  my  boy 
friend's  a'ways  tellin'  me  I  oughta  be  in 
pitchas,  oney  he  thinks  I'm  more  the  Jane 
Russell  type." 

That's  the  nearest  we  ever  came  to  being 
caught.  Next  ■  day  we  were  on  the  train. 
Judy  fixed  her  hair,  made  up  her  face,  and 
bought  us  each  a  new  outfit  in  Chicago. 
The  hats  looked  fine,  but  the  suits  needed 
altering.  We  arrived  in  Hollywood,  looking 
real  glamorous  with  our  skirts  tucked  up 
and  our  coatsleeves  flapping. 

Judy's  always  buying  and  doing  things 
for  the  family;  she  stays  close.  When  we 
were  kids,  playing  the  Orpheum  together, 
she  had  a  funny  way  of  talking  about  the 
three  of  us  as  if  we  were  one.  "Hi,  Daddy, 
bring  us  some  pineapple  juice,  our  throat 
is  thick."  In  many  ways  it's  not  so  differ- 
ent now.  We  always  know  when  Judy's 
been  shopping  for  herself,  because  stuff 
starts  coming  for  Susie  or  me  or  Mom  or 
Judaline,  my  ten-year-old.  Only  the  other 
day  Judaline  nearly  went  out  of  her  mind 
over  a  little  sealskin  hat  and  muff  that  Judy 
sent  from  Don  Loper's. 

My  youngster  thinks  her  aunt's  some- 
thing pretty  special  which,  believe  me,  has 
nothing  to  do  with  pictures.  In  Judaline's 
heaven  there's  only  room  for  two  stars, 
Roy  Rogers  and  Trigger,  and  the  greatest 
of  these  is  Trigger.  This  tickles  Judy.  Not 
long  ago  she  had  Judaline  out  to  lunch  at 
the  studio,  and  introduced  her  to  Arthur 
Freed. 

"Like  to  be  in  your  Aunt  Judy's  picture?" 
Mr.  Freed  asked. 
"Any  horses?" 
"No  horses." 

"Well,  thanks  just  the  same,  I  wouldn't 
care  for  it  then." 

I  think  that's  one  bond  between  Judy 
and  Judaline.  They  don't  impress  easy, 
they're  both  direct  and  honest.  Judy  can 
smell  a  ham  a  mile  away,  and  calls  'em  as 
she  smells  'em.  There's  her  portrait,  for  in- 
stance, never  mind  who  did  it,  but  comes 
the  grand  unveiling,  followed  by  a  loud 
silence.  Till  Judy's  voice,  slow  and  dreamy, 
breaks  it:  "Who  killed  Cock  Robin?" 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

In  a  recent  golf 
match  between 
Crosby  and  Hope, 
Bing  was  giving 
Bob  a  run  for  his 
money.  In  this 
match  all  the  luck 
was  with  Bing. 
Every  shot  he'd 
make  would  slice 
or  hook  into  the 
rough,  hit  a  rock 
or  a  tree  and  come  bounding  back 
again  into  the  fairway.  Hope  stood 
this  for  quite  a  while  but  it  finally  got 
the  best  of  him.  Teeing  off  on  the 
tenth  hole,  Bing  sliced  one  far  out 
into  the  rough.  It  looked  like  a  lost 
ball.  Suddenly,  a  big  pine  tree  loomed 
up  and  sent  the  ball  at  a  40  degree 
angle  right  back  into  the  middle  of 
the  fairway  again.  That  was  the  one 
that  got  Bob.  He  turned  to  Bing  and 
said  loudly  enough  for  the  spectators 
to  hear,  "Man,  you  must  have  a  rela- 
tive in  every  tree." 

Keith  C.  Stacy 
Spokane,  Washington 


Since  then,  for  reasons  that  have  nothing 
to  do  with  art,  we've  grown  quite  attached 
to  the  picture.  Judy  refused  to  have  it 
around,  so  Mother  took  it.  "After  all,  it  is 
an  oil  painting." 

"If  it's  oil  you  crave,  Mother,  I'll  go  out 
and  buy  you  a  bucket." 

"And  the  frame's  so  gorgeous,  you  can't 
just  throw  it  away." 

First  we  hung  it  over  the  mantel.  Then 
the  rains  came  and  made  a  crack  in  the 
entry  wall.  Mother  wouldn't  have  it  fixed 
till  the  rains  were  over,  so  first  thing  you 
saw  when  you  opened  the  door  was  this 
crack. 

"Judy's  picture  would  just  about  cover 
it,"  said  Susie. 

Next  time  Judy  opened  the  door,  there 
was  the  picture.  "Personally,"  she  said,  "I 
prefer  the  crack." 

In  the  course  of  time  two  things  happen. 
The  wall  gets  fixed.  Susie  and  her  GI  hus- 
band, who've  been  living  with  us,  move  into 
their  own  GI  home.  Susie  asks  for  the 
picture.  "It  goes  with  the  colors  of  my 
room." 

Now  Judy  tells  everyone  it's  a  portrait  of 
Susie.  Calls  their  attention  to  the  likeness. 
The  expression  of  the  eyes.  "Wouldn't  you 
know  them  out  of  a  million  for  Susie's?" 
Kids  the  shirt  off  this  picture — an  attitude 
I  find  very  refreshing.  So  would  you,  if 
you'd  seen  as  many  Portraits  as  I  have  with 
a  capital  P,  and  how  you're  supposed  to 
approach  them  on  bended  knee  and  knock 
the  ground  with  your  forehead. 

she'll  take  chocolate  .  .  . 

When  Judy's  not  working,  she  brings 
Liza  down  every  Wednesday  right  after  her 
nap.  Otherwise  the  nurse  brings  her.  Liza's 
a  very  dainty  little  girl,  with  her  daddy's 
huge  dark  eyes  and  Judy's  mouth,  and  his 
lovely  high  Italian  forehead.  Looks  like  a 
dream  and  plays  like  a  roughneck  with 
Judaline.  Cutest  thing  is  to  watch  her  pick 
up  her  skirts  and  dance  when  you  start 
singing  Liza.  'She's  got  Judy's  rhythm. 
Also  Judy's  passion  for  chocolate.  Candy, 
ice  cream  or  cake,  Liza'll  take  chocolate  or 
know  the  reason  why. 

Judaline 's  always  called  my  mother 
Nonna.  You'd  expect  the  little  one  to  pick 
up  the  name  from  her,  but  no,  Liza's  an 
individualist.  "Want  to  go  see  Nonna?" 
Judy  asked  her  one  day. 

"Yes,  I  want  a  banana." 

"Here's  a  banana,  now  shall  we  go  see 
Nonna?" 

"Go  see  Grandma,"  said  Liza  firmly,  and 
that  was  that. 

Judy's  awfully  good  with  the  baby.  Gives 
her  plenty  of  rope  without  letting  her  get 
out  of  hand.  One  evening  Liza  was  at  the 
dinner  table  with  the  rest  of  us.  Started 
kicking  the  underside  of  the  table,  which 
made  her  highchair  rock  back.  Quite  a 
thing,  she  decided.  Judy  thinks  it's  fine  for 
kids  to  learn  their  way  round  in  the  world, 
but  not  at  the  risk  of  breaking  their  necks. 

"Liza,  stop." 

Liza  gives  her  the  who'd-you-think- 
you're-kidding  routine,  and  kicks  some 
more.  Judy  picks  her  up,  whacks  her  once 
on  the  bottom,  and  sticks  her  into  Juda- 
line's  old  crib.  A  few  minutes  later  the 
door  opens,  and  there  she  stands  with  the 
halo  round  her  head.  "Yiza  good.  Yiza 
no  bop  table."  Then  she  turns  on  the 
charm-tap,  melting  brown  eyes  and  all. 
"Mommy  good.  Mommy  no  bop  Yiza."  A 
very  logical  child. 

I've  been  to  lots  of  parties  at  Judy's 
house.  I've  had  lots  of  fun.  But  I  never 
have  more  fun  than  when  Judy  and  Vin- 
cente  pop  in  unexpectedly.  Mother  fixes 
a  snack  and  we  sit  round  the  fire  gab- 
bing. .  .  . 

Like  one  night  they'd  been  to  a  show 
and  came  in  around  11.  Judy  wanted  pan- 


Love-quiz 


. . .  For  Married  Folks  Only 


WHY  DOES  HER  HUSBAND  PREFER  TO  STAY  OUT 
NIGHT  AFTER  NIGHT? 


A.  Because  this  wife  has  not  bothered  about  their  intimate 
marital  happiness. 

Q.    How  has  she  failed  ? 

A.  By  not  practicing  sound  feminine  hygiene  with  a  scientifically 
correct  preparation  for  vaginal  douching  .  .  ."Lysol"  in 
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germs  on  contact. 

Q.    Do  doctors  recommend  "Lysol"  for  vaginal  douching? 

A.  Yes,  indeed!  Many  leading  doctors  advise  their  patients  to 
douche  regularly  with  "Lysol"  brand  disinfectant  just  to 
insure  daintiness  alone.  Safe  to  use  as  often  as  you  want. 
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STREET- 


CITY. 


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cakes.  "Will  you  make  some,  Mother?" 

"Sure,"  said  Mom,  then  remembered 
there  wasn't  an  egg  in  the  house  and  the 
stores  were  closed.  So  we  all  pile  into 
the  car  and  drive  to  Restaurant  Row,  as 
they  call  La  Cienega.  Mother  and  I  slink 
round  to  the  back  door  of  one  place,  and 
go  into  a  spiel  about  this  sick  uncle  and 
you  can't  let  a  man  die  for  want  of  an  egg. 

The  guy  didn't  say  yes  and  he  didn't  say 
no.  He  said:  "Boiled  or  fried?" 

"Pickled,"  I  hear  this  voice  behind  me 
mutter.  It  was  Judy. 

"Just  eggs,"  said  Mother,  very  loud  and 
clear.  "The  way  they  come  from  the  hen." 

We  got  'em.  Half  an  hour  later  we  were 
eating  pancakes  on  a  cardtable  by  the  fire. 
What  always  happens  at  these  sessions,  we 
get  started  on  the  old  days,  which  fasci- 
nate Vincente.  In  fact,  he's  the  one  who 
eggs  us  on  (pardon  the  expression) ,  though 
it  doesn't  take  much.  I  remember  one  night 
Judy  absently  called  me  H.B. 

"Meaning  what?"  asks  Vincente,  and 
we're  off.  .  .  . 

It  was  on  that  long  trip  to  Chicago,  which 
finally  landed  us  at  the  Oriental  and 
changed  us  from  the  Gumms  to  the  Gar- 
lands. Mother  did  most  of  the  driving,  and 
we  kids  whiled  away  the  time  playing 
silly  games. 

"I'm  S.  N.,"  said  Susie,  bowing  her  head 
and  folding  her  hands  together. 

"What  do  you  do?" 

"Get  sung." 

That  wasn't  so  tough.  We  figured  her  out 
pretty  quickly  as  Silent  Night.  I  was  H.B. 
and  I  whistled  at  girls.  It  took  them  about 
eight  miles  to  get  Hiya,  Babe. 

"My  initials,"  said  Judy,  "are  E.B.B." 

"What  do  you  do?" 

"Nothing." 

"Then  how  can  we  guess  who  you  are?" 
"I'm  very  famous." 

We  tried  everything  from  Elizabeth  Bar- 
rett Browning  up  and  down,  while  our  dear 
little  sister  kept  looking  smug  and  smug- 
ger. After  forty  miles,  we  got  desperate. 
"Oh  all  right,  who  are  you?" 

"Eric  Budge  Bullick." 

"Who  in  the  name  of  common  sense  is 


Eric  Budge  Bullick,  if  we  may  ask?" 

"I  made  him  up." 

"You  said  he  was  famous." 

"He  is.   I  made  him  up  famous." 

Those  names  stuck  for  years.  We  still 
have  pictures  inscribed  by  the  Duncan  Sis- 
ters to  Silent  Night,  Hiya  Babe  and  Eric 
Budge  Bullick. 

"They  should've  brained  you,"  says  Vin- 
cente. 

"They  did  worse  than  that.  Stuffed 
themselves  full  of  cotton  candy  right  under 
my  nose  and  wouldn't  give  me  a  shred." 

We  adored  that  junk.  Gorged  ourselves 
every  chance  we  got,  till  Mother'd  call 
a  halt.  We  never  seemed  to  get  enough. 

Which  reminds  me  of  Liza's  last  birth- 
day party.  Liza  was  bouncing  back  and 
forth  like  a  hostess,  informing  the  world 
it  was  "Yiza's  party."  She  took  Judaline 
under  her  wing,  and  Judy  steered  me  past 
the  big  table  with  balloons  tied  to  each 
chair,  and  round  a  bend.  There  stood  a 
cotton-candy  machine,  and  a  man  to  work 
it. 

"So  the  kids  can  have  all  they  want,"  said 
Judy. 

"What  kids?" 

She  grinned.  "You  and  S.N.  and  Mr. 
Budge  Bullick." 

To  anyone  else  it  would  have  been 
double-talk.  To  us  it  was  a  window  that 
opened  on  memories  we  shared  and  the 
childhood  that  glows  with  magic  from  a 
distance.  We  looked  through  the  window 
together  for  a  minute,  then  linked  arms 
and  went  back  to  the  party  without  saying 
a  word.  There  wasn't  any  need  for  words. 
Maybe  that's  what  I  like  best  of  all  about 
my  sister.   Just  that  she's  my  sister. 


Editor's  Note:  Judy  Garland  was  all  set  to 
begin  work  a  few  weeks  ago  on  another  co- 
starrer  with  Fred  Astaire — M-G-M's  The 
Barkleys  of  Broadway.  However,  Judy's 
doctor  decided  she'd  better  have  a  three- 
months'  rest  before  starting  Annie  Get 
Your  Gun  early  in  the  fall.  Her  role  in 
The  Barkleys  was  then  taken  over  by 
Ginger  Rogers. 


FIGHTING  LADY 

(Continued  from,  page  60) 


a  quip,  to  say:  "If  my  'ex'  ever  sent  me 
flowers  and  a  good-luck  note,  I'd  doubt- 
less be  billed  for  it  at  the  end  of  the 
month." 

Everyone  laughed.  Tension,  it  ap- 
peared, had  eased  off.  At  the  end  of  the 
day,  Charley  Martin  grinned  happily.  He 
was  already  two  days  ahead  of  schedule, 
having  accomplished  three  days'  shooting 
in  one  day — truly  a  feat. 

The  next  few  days,  everything  was 
peaceful.  But  the  false  honeymoon  was 
short-lived.  Harmony  suddenly  changed 
to  raucous  discord. 

It  happened  just  before;  lunch  on  the 
fifth  day  of  shooting.  Up  in  Producer 
Popkin's  office,  Laraine's  agent,  Marty 
Martin — who  also  serves  as  her  business 
adviser  and  personal  representative — re- 
quested that  Miss  Day  receive  two  port- 
able typewriters  for  posing  in  publicity 
stills  with  the  machines.  This  was 
granted.  Then  Martin  discovered  that  the 
typewriters  used  in  the  stills  were  new 
electric  models — and  insisted  that  Miss 
Day  receive  two  electrics  instead.  As  it 
happened,  the  electrics  were  not  yet  in 
production;  one  was  used  in  My  Dear 
Secretary,  but  it  was  a  heavily-guarded 
pilot  model  and  very  top-secret. 

Popkin  was  in  no  position  to  accede  to 
that  request.  He  pointed  out  that  Miss 
Day's  contract  required  her  to  make  pub- 


licity stills  with  the  typewriters  that  were 
available. 

Martin  insisted.  Thereupon  Popkin  or- 
dered the  agent  off  the  set. 

Martin  stomped  out  of  the  office,  walked 
onto  the  sound  stage  and  whispered  some- 
thing to  Laraine,  who  was  just  about  to 
begin  a  scene.  Without  a  word,  she 
walked  abruptly  out  of  the  scene,  went 
to  her  dressing  room,  put  on  her  hat  and 
coat,  and  strode  off  the  lot  with  Martin. 

Cast,  crew  and  director  were  bewil- 
dered. They  chased  Laraine.  "You  can't 
do  this!"  they  yelled.  "You  can't  leave 
without  an  explanation!" 

Laraine  paused  a  moment.  "Mr.  Pop- 
kin ordered  my  agent  off  the  lot,"  she  said 
icily.  "I'm  going  with  him."  Then,  as 
she  strode  through  the  studio  gates,  she 
called  over  her  shoulder:  "And  further- 
more, I'm  taking  the  first  plane  I  can  get 
to  New  York!" 

You  can  imagine  the  excitement  that 
caused. 

But  reason  prevailed.  In  a  few  hours, 
Laraine's  attorney  and  the  Screen  Actors 
Guild  convinced  her  she'd  better  return. 
So,  along  with  Agent  Martin,  return  she 
did— but  madder  than  a  wet  hen. 

The  following  day,  newspaper  headlines 
screamed  versions  of  the  story  from  coast 
to  coast. 

During  the  next  few  days,  conflicting 


statements   were   issued   by   both  sides. 

Rumors  flew.  One  had  it  that  Laraine 
had  walked  out  with  the  avowed  intention 
I  of  flying  East  to  comfort  her  beleaguered 
husband,  whose  team  was  wallowing  in 
the  National  League  cellar.  Another  re- 
port had  it  that  Laraine  had  been  prom- 
ised three  days  off  the  picture  for  a  brief 
trip  to  New  York  and  that  when  she 
hadn't  got  them,  she'd  walked. 

In  the  weeks  that  followed  it  was  small 
wonder  that  Laraine  wasn't  talking  for 
either  the  studio  publicity  department  or 
the  press.  Laraine  was  unhappy.  She 
saw  herself  as  the  center  of  what  she  re- 
garded as  a  merciless  plot  to  blast  her 
out  of  pictures. 

Well,  Laraine  herself  was  largely  re- 
sponsible for  what  happened  to  her  after 
the  walkout.  She  heatedly  told  news 
photographer  Ray  Scott,  who  visited  the 
set  one  day,  "I  think  all  newspapermen 
should  be  shot."  Naturally,  that  sort  of 
talk  can  lead  only  to  trouble.  And  that's 
exactly  where  it  did  lead — to  plenty  of 
trouble  with  the  press. 

Suddenly,  as  if  a  magnet  were  attract- 
ing them,  reporters  were  swarming  over 
the  set.  Few  were  permitted  to  talk  to 
Laraine  personally;  she  had  strategically 
withdrawn  into  her  shell.  But  they  were 
busily  digging  up  stories  about  her.  And 
the  temperamental  star  was  giving  them 
plenty  of  material. 

Laraine  has  been  quoted  as  saying  that 
she  was  so  cooperative  that  she  worked 
until  eight  and  eight-thirty  p.m.  on  many 
occasions,  in  order  to  help  Producer  Pop- 
kin  and  Director  Martin.  This,  she  has 
said,  resulted  in  the  picture's  being  com- 
pleted three  days  ahead  of  schedule. 

Let's  look  at  the  record,  the  actual  pro- 
duction reports — certified  copies  of  which 
are  in  the  files  of  the  Screen  Actors  Guild. 
The  truth  is,  Miss  Day  put  in  exactly  30 
working  days.  Only  once  did  she  work 
as  late  as  seven  o'clock. 

Of  these  30  working  days,  Laraine 
worked  fewer  than  eight  hours  on  14 
days  .  .  .  some  days  as  little  as  one  or 
two  hours,  after  which  she  was  through 
for  the  day.  For  those  30  days,  she  re- 
ceived $100,000.    Not  bad. 

Producer  Popkin  acceded  to  a  very 
out-of-the-ordinary  request  by  placing  a 
Cadillac  and  chauffeur  at  Laraine's  dis- 
posal. The  car  called  for  her  each 
morning  and  brought  her  home  each  night. 
But  one  day,  when  her  scenes  were  fin- 
ished quickly  and  she  was  through  for  the 
day  at  two-thirty,  her  car  was  missing. 
The  star  stalked  up  to  Production  Man- 


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ager  Joseph  Nadel  and  demanded  to  know 
why  her  chauffeur  and  car  were  not 
standing  by. 

"We  didn't  know  your  scenes  would  be 
finished  so  early,"  Nadel  told  her.  "We 
sent  your  car  over  to  the  doctor's  office 
to  pick  up  Mr.  Popkin's  mother." 

That  was  the  signal  for  Laraine  to  de- 
mand that  the  chauffeur  be  fired — in- 
stantly— for  leaving  the  lot  without  her 
permission. 

On  another  occasion,  Laraine's  scenes 
were  concluded  at  eleven-thirty  one 
morning — half  an  hour  before  the  usual 
break  for  lunch.  She  called  her  stand-in 
to  come  along  to  lunch  with  her,  but  the 
assistant  director  in  charge  of  set  produc- 
tion had  other  ideas. 

"The  crew  of  the  picture,"  he  told  her 
politely,  "has  not  yet  been  dismissed." 

"But  that  does  not  apply  to  my  stand- 
in,"  Laraine  replied  acidly. 

"Oh,  yes,  your  stand-in,  too,"  she  was 
told  plainly.  "We  need  her  to  light  your 
next  shots,  which  take  place  directly  after 
lunch." 

"When  I  go  to  lunch  my  stand-in  goes 
with  me,  and  she'll  come  back  when  I 
return,"  Laraine  snapped.  And  she  pro- 
ceeded to  take  the  girl  with  her.  Result: 
the  crew  was  told  to  lunch  until  Miss  Day 
decided  to  return.  That  incident  cost  the 
company  $3,000  in  overtime. 

But  that's  not  all.  From  that  moment 
on,  the  assistant  director  assumed  the 
shape  of  an  ogre  in  Laraine's  eyes.  Next 
day  she  demanded  he  be  fired.  Popkin 
laughed.  And  every  day  for  the  next  ten 
days  she  refused  to  cooperate  with  him, 
and  each  day  repeated  her  demand  that 
he  be  replaced.  Finally,  Laraine  flatly 
refused  to  do  a  scene  if  said  assistant 
were  at  any  time  in  her  line  of  vision. 
(As  this  is  written  he  is  preparing  to  file 
a  suit  charging  Laraine  with  defamation 
of  character,  personal  threats,  etc.) 

diamonds  in  the  kitchen  .  .  . 

One  day,  as  Laraine  was  about  to  do  a 
scene  with  Keenan  Wynn  calling  for  their 
"cutting  up"  in  the  kitchen,  she  spotted 
a  jewelry  salesman  on  the  set  displaying 
a  very  large  pair  of  ornate  earrings.  She 
called  the  studio  wardrobe  woman  over 
and  told  her  she  wanted  to  wear  the  ear- 
rings in  the  scene.  The  woman  protested 
that  they  would  look  ridiculous  with  the 
outfit  Laraine  was  wearing. 

Laraine  walked  off  the  set  and  up  to 
Producer  Popkin's  office.  A  few  minutes 
later  she  had  the  earrings  and  was  per- 
mitted to  wear  them  in  the  scene — in  spite 
of  an  expert's  better  judgment. 

At  still  another  time  Director  Martin 
had  a  particularly  difficult  scene  to  shoot 
with  Laraine  and  Rudy  Vallee.  It  was 
a  long  scene — involving  three  pages  of 
dialogue.  Martin  put  it  through  rehearsal 
after  rehearsal.  After  shooting  it  once  or 
twice,  he  still  was  not  satisfied  and  called 
for  further  rehearsal.  Finally,  after  two 
and  a  half  hours  of  careful  direction,  he 
decided  that  the  scene  was  ready  for  the 
camera.  But  by  now  five-fifty-five  p.m. 
had  rolled  around,  and  Laraine's  quitting 
time  was  six  o'clock.  She  looked  at  her 
watch  and  walked  off  the  set  leaving 
Rudy,  the  director  and  the  crew  looking 
after  her  in  amazement.  Next  day,  the 
entire  morning  was  required  to  shoot  the 
scene — which  could  have  been  done,  in 
all  probability,  in  a  single  take  the  evening 
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motion  the  visitors  off  and  have  the  set 
cleared  before  she  would  work.  Yet,  she 
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Once  Director  Martin  was  heard  to  say: 
"I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  her — I 
can't  argue  with  her  because  I  have  to 
work  with  her.  Somebody  will  have  to 
talk  turkey  to  her."  This  resulted  from 
frequent  arguments  about  how  certain 
scenes  should  be  played — and  also  caused 
much  rewriting  on  the  set.  The  studio 
felt  that  since  Laraine  had  approved  the 
script  in  the  beginning,  she  should  have 
stuck  by  it,  rather  than  demand  the  many 
changes  after  shooting  was  well  under 
way. 

Yet,  despite  all  this  temperament,  a  few 
days  after  the  picture  was  completed 
Director  Martin  thought  it  politic  to  buy 
a  full -page  ad  in  the  Hollywood  trade 
papers  thanking  Laraine  Day  for  her 
"wonderful  cooperation"  during  the  pro- 
duction of  the  picture. 

Producer  Popkin  sums  up  the  warfare 
by  saying:  "I  don't  think  Laraine  was  at 
fault  as  much  as  the  people  who  advised 
her."  And  the  producer  blamed  a  lot  of 
the  trouble  on  the  failing  Brooklyn 
Dodgers — who,  of  course,  -were  being  man- 
aged at  that  time  by  Laraine's  hubby, 
Leo  Durocher,  and  were,  to  loyal  La- 
raine's dismay,  floundering  at  the  bottom 
of  the  league. 

for  better,  for  worse  .  .  . 

The  complications  that  beset  Miss  Day 
and  agent  Marty  Martin  were  largely 
avoidable.  Her  mistake  was  in  signing 
for  a  picture  under  conditions  that  were 
not  wholly  to  her  satisfaction.  Once  she 
was  in  for  it,  she  should  have  made  the 
best  of  it. 

In  any  event,  the  picture  was  completed 
— and  three  days  ahead  of  schedule.  But 
as  I  write  this,  another  explosion  has  just 
reverberated:  Director  Martin  is  suing 
Producer  Popkin  for  $7,500.  Martin  claims 
that  Popkin  failed  to  pay  him  a  promised 
$2,500  for  each  of  those  three  days  that 
were  saved. 

Right  or  wrong,  or  in  the  middle,  Pro- 
ducer Popkin  now  finds  himself  owner  of 
one  of  the  greatest  comedy  pictures  ever 
turned  out.  This  is  not  hearsay;  I've  seen 
My  Dear  Secretary,  and  I  know  what  I'm 
talking — and  still  laughing — about. 

And  Laraine  Day?  In  my  opinion  she 
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above — have  sometimes  been  distorted 
into  lurid  sensations,  he  yearns  for  pub- 
licity about  his  private  life  the  way  he 
yearns  for  measles.  He  has  consistently 
refused  to  open  his  home  life  to  the 
public. 

Yet,  around  the  studio,  the  appearance 
of  members  of  his  family,  unannounced, 
is  a  familiar  thing.  Recently,  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  afternoon,  Nora  rushed  onto 
the  set  where  Flynn  was  working.  She 
was  wearing  a  stunning  evening  gown. 

"Good  heavens!"  said  Flynn.  "Is  it  din- 
nertime already?  Where  has  the  day 
gone?" 

"Of  course  it  isn't  dinnertime,  darling!" 
said  Nora.  "My  new  gown  was  just  de- 
livered— and  I  couldn't  wait  to  model  it 
for  you." 

Sometimes,  incidentally,  members  of  the 
family  can  be  disturbing  to  an  actor's 
equilibrium.  Consider  the  visit  of  three- 
year-old  Dierdre  Flynn  to  one  of  the 
Silver  River  sets.  Flynn,  for  once,  was  at- 
tired in  modern  clothes.  And  right  elegant 
ones,  too:  dove-gray  suit,  flowing  cravat, 
gray  hat.  Daughter  Dierdre,  who  seldom 
has  seen  him  in  anything  but  a  tattered 
sweater  and  blue  jeans,  couldn't  contain 
herself.  "Look!"  she  shouted.  "Isn't  Daddy 
pretty!" 

But  Flynn  was  scarcely  in  modern 
clothes  when  I  stood  behind  the  Techni- 
color camera  crane  not  long  ago  and 
watched  them  shoot  a  scene  of  Don  Juan. 
Flynn,  who  was  Don  Juan,  was  seated  in 
a  large  chair  in  a  baronial  hall,  looking 
grim  but  relaxed. 

A  rapier  blade  swung  through  the  air, 
and — varrup! — there  was  a  neat  gash  in 
Flynn's  costume,  just  below  the  neckline. 

"Next  time,"  snarled  a  nasty  voice*  whose 
owner  was  just  out  of  my  eye-range,  "I 
may  cut  deeper." 

Flynn  lifted  himself  from  the  chair 
slowly,  his   calm   expression  unchanged. 

"Next  time,"  he  said  to  the  off-picture 
threat,  "I'll  wear  more  clothes." 

Quite  a  scene,  that.  It  will  be  a  gaspy 
moment  when  it  reaches  the  screen.  I 
hung  around  and  watched  it  being  done 
over  and  over  again  as  Flynn  exposed  his 
jugular  vein  and  the  expert  on  the  other 
end  of  the  rapier  lashed  out  until  the 
sound  had  just  the  right  vicious  quality. 

skin  they'd  love  to  touch  .  .  . 

Afterwards,  in  his  dressing  room,  as  the 
actor  quizzically  examined  his  slashed  cos- 
tume in  the  mirror,  I  said,  "That  was  a 
nice  bit  of  acting."  I  referred  to  the  casual 
manner  in  which  he  had  delivered  his 
lines  while  the  rapier  whistled  by  his 
Adam's  apple. 

"I've  been  conditioned,"  said  Flynn  with 
a  thin  smile.  "Lots  of  people  have  taken 
swipes  at  my  throat  in  my  time — and  they 
weren't  just  trying  to  come  close." 

Yes,  there  are  a  number  of  self- 
appointed  authorities  around  who  have 
peddled  some  remarkable  fantasy  about 
the  actor.  For  instance,  I  was  told  con- 
fidentially awhile  back  that  Flynn  was 
"out"  at  Warner  Brothers  and  that  the 
news  would  soon  be  released.  While  this 
fascinating  fiction  was  circulating,  Errol 
was  in  the  midst  of  negotiations  for  a  new 
contract  for  fifteen  years  straight! 

("Think  of  it,"  he  told  a  friend,  "fifteen 
years!  Why,  I've  been  around  here  almost 
thirteen  already.  If  I  finish  out  my  new 
deal,  they'll  be  wheeling  me  on  and  off 
the  set  in  a  chair!") 

Flynn  has  learned  to  his  sorrow  that 
insatiable  Hollywood  gossip  can  make  a 
man  exquisitely  uncomfortable.    A  few 


months  ago  at  a  party,  some  hostess  with  a 
violent  sense  of  humor  seated  Flynn  be- 
tween his  fiery  former  wife,  Lili  Damita, 
and  Nora.  If  the  purveyors  of  Hollywood 
gossip  had  got  hold  of  that  item,  they'd 
have  had  a  field  day  with  it. 

Despite  any  printed  reports  to  the  con- 
trary, Errol  has  never  been  suspended  by 
his  studio,  which  is  something  rare  among 
top-flight  aciors.  That  is  not  to  say  that 
he  hasn't  had  some  bang-up  arguments, 
but  these  have  always  been  with  the 
bosses — whereas  the  practice  of  some 
prominent  figures  is  to  stage  quarrels 
with  minor  studio  employees  to  establish 
their  importance,  while  at  the  .same  time 
they're  practically  shining  the  shoes  of  the 
men  in  the  front  office. 

An  example  of  Flynn's  attitude  is  seen 
in  an  incident  which  occurred  some  time 
ago  and  involved  a  director  who  believed 
that  the  only  way  to  get  a  performance 
is  to  dish  out  abuse  to  actors — with  spe- 
cial emphasis  on  the  extras  who  can't 
answer  back. 

flynn  to  the  rescue  .  .  . 

Quietly,  Flynn  had  gone  to  the  great 
man  on  several  occasions,  and  told  him 
to  lay  off.  The  director  managed  to  curb 
his  temper  for  a  brief  period  and  then 
began  to  get  rough  again. 

One  day,  without  warning,  Flynn  stopped 
in  the  middle  of  a  rehearsal,  declaring, 
"I'm  walking  off  this  set  and  I'm  not  com- 
ing back." 

A  short  time  later  the  director,  con- 
siderably subdued,  sought  him  out  and 
told  him,  "I'm  cured.  No  more  outbursts. 
It  will  never,  believe  me,  happen  again." 

"I  believe  you,"  Flynn  said.  The  two 
shook  hands.  The  director  has  never 
broken  his  word,  even  when  Flynn  was 
not  in  his  pictures. 

And  some  years  back,  there  was  a  nice 
little  guy  who  worked  on  a  number  of 
Flynn  pictures.  But  the  little  guy  had  a 
problem.  He  couldn't  leave  the  bottle 
alone. 

It  happened  one  day  that  he  was  to 
appear  in  an  important  scene  right  after 
lunch.  The  time  arrived — but  not  the 
little  guy.  After  waiting  a  few  minutes, 
the  director  sent  out  an  alarm. 

In  a  little  while,  the  offending  actor 
showed  up — arm  in  arm  with  Flynn.  He 
appeared  to  be  steadying  Flynn,  who 
reeked  of  Old  Mountain  Dew. 

So  Flynn  got  blamed  by  the  director 
and  crew  for  going  on  a  lunchtime  spree, 
and  the  little  guy  emerged  from  the  in- 
cident with  a  saver-of -souls  reputation. 

What  actually  happened  was  this:  Flynn 
had  spotted  the  inebriated  character  in  an 
off-the-lot  restaurant.  He'd  sobered  him 
up — and  then  had  gargled  a  straight  slug, 
spilled  some  liquor  on  his  own  clothes 
and  made  himself  appear  the  culprit! 

Later,  he  took  his  young  friend  aside 
and  said:  "My  lad,  I  hope  you  observed 
that  a  so-called  big-shot  star  can  get 
away  with  something  foolish  once  in  a 
while.  But  let  me  assure  you  that  if  I 
have  to  do  anything  like  this  again,  you 
shall  suffer  a  terrible  and  unspeakable 
doom." 

The  lad  has  been  a  teetotaler  ever 
since. 

Flynn  is  always  on  the  side  of  the 
underdog.  He  has  consistently  fought  the 
forces  of  oppression,  wherever  they  occur. 
A  sentence  in  a  letter  he  wrote  not  long 
ago,  in  answer  to  a  critical  story  about 
him  in  a  foreign  newspaper,  sums  up  well 
his  political  philosophy:  "You  can  keep 
a  man  hungry,"  Flynn  wrote,  "you  can 


work  him  like  the  devil — you  can  even 
push  him  around,  but  you  cannot  keep 
him  without  some  hope  of  the  future." 

Flynn's  a  curious  mixture  of  earnest- 
ness and  high  playfulness.  To  illustrate, 
there's  a  hitherto-unpublished  story  of  his 
clash  with  Bette  Davis  several  years  ago. 
If  the  matter  had  gotten  out  at  the  time, 
it's  a  cinch  the  story-factories  would  soon 
have  built  it  up  into  a  full-scale  saga. 
Here's  what  really  happened: 

Miss  Davis  did  not  care  much  for  Mr. 
Flynn,  because  he  never  seemed  to  look 
her  in  the  eyes  during  close-ups,  and  she 
is  the  type  who  notices  that  people  are 
either  direct  or  not  direct. 

What  she  didn't  know  was  that  Flynn, 
being  so  much  taller  than  she,  had  to  look 
down  at  her — and  when  he  did,  his  eye- 
lids lowered  so  that  if  he  looked  her 
squarely  in  the  peepers  the  camera  re- 
corded him  with  his  eyes  shut.  Accord- 
ingly, the  cameraman  had  instructed  him 
to  avoid  this  doped  effect  by  gazing  no 
lower  than  Bette's  hairline. 

Try  having  someone  around  who  just 
looks  at  your  hairline.  Drives  you  a  little 
nutty.  It  did  Bette. 

As  a  result,  Errol  got  his,  but  good, 
during  a  big  scene  for  Elizabeth  and  Essex. 

Flynn  marched  across  a  long  hall.  He 
stopped  before  Bette.  "And  where,"  said 
she,  "have  you  been,  My  Lord  Essex?" 

"I  have  been  in  Ireland,  Your  Majesty," 
Flynn  replied. 

Whereupon  Bette  lifted  one  delicate 
hand,  on  which  there  was  a  ring  as  big  as 
a  roll  of  wrapped  pennies,  and  smacked 
Flynn  on  the  jaw — an  unpulled  punch. 

Flynn,  completely  unprepared,  saw  sev- 
eral minor  constellations.  "I  excused  my- 
self and  went  to  the  dressing  room,"  he 
told  me.  "I  looked  at  my  two  heads  in 
the  mirror.  Something,  I  said  to  myself, 
had  to  be  done.  Perhaps  I  should  com- 
plain to  the  director.  I  discarded  that — 
not  manly.  I  pulled  myself  together,  went 
over  and  knocked  on  the  dressing-room 
door  marked  miss  davis. 

living  the  part  .  .  . 

"A  voice  called,  'Come  in!'  I  entered  and 
found  myself  looking  at  Bette  in  the 
mirror.  She  said,  'I  know  what  you're 
going  to  say,  and  I'm  sorry,  but  I  simply 
cannot  do  the  scene  unless  I  do  it  as  it 
should  be  done,  even  in  rehearsal.' 

"My  mouth  opened  and  I  heard  myself 
say,  'I  see.'  I  left  her  dressing-room" 

Later,  when  the  cameras  rolled,  Flynn 
marched  across  the  long  hall  and  stopped 
before  the  Queen  again.  She  said,  "And 
where  have  you  been,  My  Lord  Essex?" 

There  was  a  long  wait,  "I  don't  re- 
member," Flynn  finally  said. 

"Cut!" 

Flynn  went  back  to  try  it  over.  He  was 
seething.  It  didn't  matter  that  Miss  Davis 
was  the  queen  of  the  lot — when  she 
cracked  his  jaw  with  that  ring,  he  was 
going  to  let  her  have  it. 

He  made  the  long  march  again. 

"And  where  have  you  been,  My  Lord 
Essex?" 

His  eyes  blazed.  "I  have  been  in  Ire- 
land, Your  Majesty!" 

He  doubled  his  fist  as  Bette  swung. 
Then  it  came — her  blow  grazed  his  chin 
like  a  feather  duster. 

"Great,  wonderful!"  beamed  the  director. 

He  didn't  know  how  great  or  wonderful 
it  might  have  been  to  have  had  the  lot's 
top  feminine  star  in  the  hospital. 

But  Miss  Davis  knew  how  close  it  had 
been.  She  and  Mr.  Flynn  understood  each 
other.  And  Bette,  who  is  not  unreasonable, 
also  appreciated  the  humor  of  the  thing. 

To  appreciate  the  complicated  Mr.  Flynn 
one  should,  obviously,  approach  the  sub- 
ject with  a  bit  of  understanding — and 
with  a  good  supply  of  salt  to  take  along 
with  the  highly-colored  tattle  about  him. 


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Raised  in  seclusion  by  a 
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Candidate  for  Love 


by  Maysie  Greig 


No.  239 


No.  234 


THE  UPSTART  —  by  Edison  Marshall 

A  superb  drama  of  love  and  daring,  set  in  gay 
18th  century  England — the  story  of  Dick  Fin- 
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tional drama  of  love  and  hate,  strength  and 
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Sorry,  Wrong  Number:  Terrified  Barbara  Stanwyck  cuts  in  on  call  plotting  her  murder. 


(Continued  from  page  24) 
she   begins   making  frenzied   calls — to  her 
father  in  Chicago,  to  her  husband's  secretary, 
at  length  to  a  hospital  where  she  begs  in  vain 
for  a  nurse  to  come  and  stay  with  her. 

Relieving  the  terrific  excitement  of  the  phone 
call  seguences  are  flashbacks  explaining 
Leona's  past  as  the  pampered,  neurotic 
daughter  of  a  drug  tycoon,  her  strange,  un- 
happy marriage  to  Henry  Stevenson  (Burt 
Lancaster)  and  the  innumerable  complica- 
tions which  lead  to  this  fateful  night. 

This  is  high-pitched  drama,  with  Barbara 
Stanwyck  doing  some  of  the  finest  acting  of 
her  life.  Burt  Lancaster  isn't  in  top  form  in 
the  husband  role.  However,  he  is  a  dream 
to  look  at.  Ann  Richards  is  splendid  as  Sally 
Hunt.  And  Harold  Vermilyea  is  outstanding 
as  the  little  old  chemist  who  very  nearly 
breaks  your  heart. 

For  a  suspenseful  and  memorable  evening, 
don't  miss  Sony,  Wrong  Number. — Para. 

THE  WALLS  OF  JERICHO 

Based  on  Paul  Wellman's  well-known  novel, 
this  is  the  engrossing  story  of  life  in  Jericho, 
Kansas,  in  the  year  1908. 

Dave  Connors  (Cornel  Wilde)  is  an  upstand- 
ing young  county  attorney  married  to  Belle, 
a  sharp-tongued  alcoholic  (Ann  Dvorak).  His 
best  friend  is  Tucker  Wedge  (Kirk  Douglas), 
publisher  of  the  Jericho  newspaper.  The  Clar- 
ion, and  recently  married  to  Algeria  (Linda 
Darnell),  a  beautiful  and  extremely  ambitious 
gal.  When  Algeria  learns  that  Dave — who  is 
slated  for  the  political  big-time — is  unhappily 
married,  she  makes  several  unsubtle  passes 
at  him,  but  is  consistently  rebuffed. 

Furious,  she  makes  up  her  mind  to  get  her 
own  husband  into  politics,  induces  Tucker  to 
malign  Dave  in  his  newspaper.  When  The 
Clarion  eventually  headlines  that  local  boy 
makes  good,  Tucker  Wedge  is  that  boy,  not 


Dave.  Dave's  home-life  becomes  more  and 
more  unbearable,  and  when  he  falls  in  love 
with  a  pretty  lady  lawyer  named  Julia  Norman 
(Ann  Baxter),  no  one  could  possibly  blame 
him.  No  one,  that  is,  but  Algeria  who  turns 
their  wholly  respectable  relationship  into  a 
statewide  scandal.  There  is  plenty  of  drama 
both  in  and  out  of  the  courtroom  before  the 
picture  arrives  at  its  happy  ending. 

Here  is  really  top-flight  acting.  Cornel  Wilde 
is  at  his  best.  Linda  Darnell  is  outstanding  as 
the  gorgeous  shrew.  Ann  Baxter  plays  her  part ' 
with  her  special  brand  of  humor  and  gentle- 
ness, and  Ann  Dvorak  is  superbly  slatternly. 
The  picture's  big  fault  is  its  talkiness.  All  too 
often  one  grows  impatient  with  the  incessant 
palaver,  one  wants  to  get  on  with  it.  Granted 
that  Ann  Baxter's  excellent  seven-minute  court- 
room speech  is  a  remarkable  feat  of  memory, 
it  is  nonetheless  just  too  darned  long. 

Despite  its  chattiness,  this  is  a  better-than- 
average  love  story  and  some  fine  acting  more 
than  compensates  for  its  weaknesses.  Go  see. 
— 20th-Fox. 

JOHNNY  BELINDA 

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a  great  personal  triumph  for  Jane  Wyman. 
Cast  as  a  deaf-mute,  she  is  superb  in  the  most 
demanding  of  roles.  Lew  Ayres  is  fine  as  the 
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head) and  his  deaf  and  dumb  daughter  Be- 
linda (Jane  Wyman).  Belinda,  whose  mother 


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Johnny  Belinda:  Doctor  Lev 
teaches    Jane    Wyman  the 


Ayres  doggedly 
sign  language. 


died  in  childbirth,  is  known  as  The  Dummy 
and  is  an  object  of  ridicule  in  the  little  Nova 
Scotia  community  where  she  lives — until  Dr. 
Robert  Richardson  (Lew  Ayres)  comes  to  town. 
He  doggedly  teaches  her  the  sign  language, 
ignoring  the  scornful  looks  of  his  flirtatious 
housekeeper,  Stella  (Jan  Sterling),  bucking 
constant  discouragement  from  Belinda's  father. 

Dr.  Richardson,  realizing  his  own  limitations, 
persuades  Black  to  let  him  take  Belinda  to 
Magill  University  where  specialists  study  her 
case.  After  days  of  examinations,  the  young 
Doctor  learns  that  Belinda  will  never  be  able 
to  hear  or  speak.  He  learns  too  that  she  is  going 
to  have  a  baby,  the  father  of  which  is  unknown 
to  anyone  but  Belinda.  All  the  scandalized 
townspeople  erroneously  assume  that  the  doc- 
tor is  the  baby's  father  and  his  slim  practice 
disappears  entirely. 

Stella,  still  half  in  love  with  Dr.  Richardson, 
marries  Locky  McCormick  (Stephen  McNally) 
not  knowing  that  he  is  the  father  of  the  child, 
and  when  she  discovers  it — well,  that  day  is 
a  momentous  one  for  all  concerned. 

Cheers  for  Jane  Wyman's  sensitive  portrait 
of  Belinda  and  for  a  picture  that  packs  a  hard 
right  to  the  heart. — Warners. 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

My  mother,  sister 
and  I  were  on 
vacation  in  Lake 
Arrowhead.  Moth- 
er thought  she'd 
give  us  a  treat  and 
take  us  on  a  tour- 
ing boat  around 
the  lake.  I  was 
enjoying  myself 
immensely,  but 
my  sister  was 
bored  stiff.  All  of  a  sudden  my  sister 
jumped  up  and  let  go  with  such  a  yell 
that  I  thought  she'd  fallen  out  of  the 
boat.  I  turned  around  to  see  what  she 
was  so  excited  about.  Then  I  knew. 
Van  Johnson  was  racing  through  the 
water  on  skis  and  waving  gaily  to  us 
as  he  passed! 

Agnes  L.  Golden 
San  Diego,  Calif. 


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also  showing... 


A  DATE  WITH  JUDY  (M-G-M) — Very  pleasant 
comedy  about  attractive  young  people  and 
their  problem  parents.  Elizabeth  Taylor, 
Jane  Powell,  Robert  Stack,  Carmen  Miranda, 
Selena  Royle,-  Wallace  Beery  and  Xavier 
Cugat  and  band  are  all  vastly  helpful. 
BEYOND  GLORY  J  Para.)—  West  Pointer  Alan 
Ladd  is  accused  of  having  caused  Tom  Neal's 
death  in  the  war,  before  he  became  a  cadet. 
(This  thing  is  told  mostly  in  flashbacks.) 
Alan  loves  Neal's  widow,  Donna  Reed. 
Things  look  bad — and  so  does  the  picture, 
which  is  sternly  silly. 

DEEP  WATERS  (20th-Fox)  —Jean  Peters,  who 
hates  the  sea,  loves  Dana  Andrews,  a  Maine 
fisherman.  Complications!  But  they  solve 
'em.  While  not  too  believable,  this  still  man- 
ages to  be  fresh  and  entertaining.  With  Dean 
Stockwell,  Anne  Revere,  Cesar  Romero. 
DREAM  GIRL  (Para.)' — A  one-woman  show 
with  Betty  Hutton  as  the  girl  who  takes 
refuge  from  a  hum-drum  existence  in  a  lurid 
dream  world.  Macdonald  Carey  is  the  lit- 
erary critic  who  turns  out  to  be  better  for 
what  ails  Betty  than  a  corps  of  psychiatrists. 
It's  lots  of  fun. 

EASTER  PARADE  ( M-G-M  1—  Fred  Astaire,  Judy 
Garland,  Peter  Lawford,  Ann  Miller,  Irving 
Berlin's  tunes,  lovely  girls  and  witty  lines 
make  this  a  practically  perfect  musical.  The 
story's  amusing,  too,  the  dancing  superb  and 
Charles  Walters'  direction  is  bright.  Dorothy 
Kilgallen  chose  this  as  her  Selection  of  the 
Month  for  August. 

ESCAPE  (20th-Fox) — Based  on  John  Galswor- 
thy's play.  Rex  Harrison  is  unjustly  im- 
prisoned for  the  accidental  death  of  a 
plainclothesman.  In  jail,  his  resentment 
mounts  and  forces  him  to  escape.  He's  aided 
along  the  way  by  Peggy  Cummins.  The  cli- 
max is  tragic,  but,  dramatically  satisfying. 
GIVE  MY  REGARDS  TO  BROADWAY  (20th-Fox) 
- — A  folksy  little  tale  that  will  tug  at  the 
heart-strings  of  old-timers  and  delight  the 
bobby-sox  admirers  of  Dan  Dailey,  as  well. 
Barbara  Lawrence,  Nancy  Guild,  Charles 
Winninger,  Fay  Bainter  and  a  host  .of  old 
son  es  keep  you  smiling  through  your  tears. 
HATTER'S  CASTLE  (Para.)—  Very  sordid  and 
depressing  drama  of  one  man's  (Robert 
Newton's)  ruthless  ambition  to  be  a  Some- 
body in  his  town.  The  entire  family  is 
sacrificed  to  his  insane  drive.  Deborah  Kerr 
is  the  daughter  driven  to  ruin  because  of 


118  Beery,  Powell,  Selena  Royle,  A  Date  With  Judy. 


Lauren  Bacall,  Edward  G.  Robinson,  Key  Largo. 


fear  and  James  Mason  is  the  sensible  doctor 
who  loves  her. 

HOMECOMING  ( M-G-M )  — Clark  Gable  is  rough 
and  tender  in  this  story  of  war-interrupted 
marriage.  Lana  Turner,  as  a  nurse,  is  a 
bigger  interruption  than  the  war.  Anne  Bax- 
ter is  Gable's  wife  and  John  Hodiak,  his  old 
school  chum.  It's  an  old  story,  but  you'll 
shed  tears  just  the  same. 

KEY  LARGO  (Warners)— Humphrey  Bogart  and 
Edward  G.  Robinson  act  out  a  war  of  nerves 
and  gun-play  in  this  old-fashioned  gangster 
thriller  brought  up-to-date  with  modern 
social  overtones.  Plenty  of  excitement  and 
good  performances  by  Lauren  Bacall,  Lionel 
Barrymore  and  Claire  Trevor. 
LULU  BELLE  (Col.) — Dorothy  Lamour  is  a  se- 
ductive songbird  of  the  gaslight  era.  Crazed 
with  desire,  George  Montgomery,  Greg  Mc- 
Clure,  Albert  Dekker  and  Otto  Kruger  get 
in  a  peck  of  trouble  over  her.  Gad,  what 
drama.  Stay  home. 

MELODY  TIME  IRKO)— Seven  fine  Disney  shorts 
put  together  like  a  vaudeville  show.  Swell 
music  supplied  off-screen  by  Dennis  Day, 
Frances  Langford,  Freddie  Martin,  Ethel 
Smith,  and  the  Andrews  Sisters.  Roy  Rogers' 
voice  is  also  present.  A  delight  for  everybody. 
MICKEY  (Eagle-Lion) — A  warm,  homespun  tale 
of  a  pretty  little  tomboy  who  grows  up 
despite  herself.  Debuting  in  the  title  role, 
16-year-old  Lois  Butler  is  generally  enchant- 
ing— and  sings  well.  With  John  Sutton,  Bill 
Goodwin,  Irene  Hervey,  Skippy  Homeier, 
and  Leon  Taylor.  Good  fun. 
ROPE  (Warners) — A  Hitchcock  masterpiece  of 
horror,  in  Technicolor.  Two  rich  young 
psychopaths  coldly  commit  murder  to  prove 
superiority.  James  Stewart  is  professor  who 
suspects  then  solves  the  crime.  Terrific 
suspense,  new  technique,  superb  acting.  Not 
for  the  kiddies. 

SO  EVIL  MY  LOVE  (Para.)—  The  moral  disin- 
tegration of  a  beautiful  and  highly-respected 
woman  who  falls  under  the  spell  of  an  almost 
wholly  evil  man.  Ann  Todd's  deft  acting 
makes  the  corruption  of  the  woman  (from 
blackmail  to  murder!)  a  hideous  thing  to 
watch  and  Ray  Milland  is  fiendishly  attrac- 
tive. 

SO  THIS  IS  NEW  YORK  (U.  A.)  —Henry  Mor- 
gan makes  his  film  debut  in  a  hilarious  movie 
about  an  unromantic  husband  who  takes  his 
wife  (Virginia  Grey)  and  her  sister  (Donna 
Drake)  to  New  York  for  one  big  splash. 
The  girls  have  inherited  $30,000  and  it's 


Henry's  job  to  see  they  save  a  little  of  it  to 
take  them  back  home  to  South  Bend,  Ind. 
Hugh  Herbert,  Rudy  Vallee  and  Bill  Good- 
win make  his  task  a  tough  one. 
STATE  OF  THE  UNION  (M-G-M) — Spencer  Tracy 
and  Katharine  Hepburn  enjoy  themselves  in 
a  merry  satire  on  the  Ship  of  State  that  takes 
a  few  telling  swipes  at  politics  and  politi-  f 
cians.  Van  Johnson's  giving  the  performance  J 
of  his  career  as  Tracy's  leg-man  and  Angela 
Lansbury  is  a  powerful  newspaper  syndicate 
boss  who'd  like  to  manage  Tracy's  presi- 
dential campaign — and  Tracy,  as  well. 
TAP  ROOTS  (Univ. -Int.) — Despite  some  excit-  \ 
ing  hand-to-hand  fights  and  lovely  Techni-  f 
color  landscapes,  this  story  of  Mississippi  at 
the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War  misses  fire. 
In  there  pitching  but  miscast  are  Susan  Hay- 
ward,  Van  Heflin  and  Boris  Karloff.  (The 
latter,  with  his  heavy  English  accent,  plays 
a  pesky  redskin!) 

THE  DUDE  GOES  WEST  (Monogram)—  An  ane- 
mic Western,  strictly  for  the  less  discrimi-  . 
nating  of  horse-opera  fiends.    Gale  Storm, 
Eddie  Albert,  Jimmy  Gleason,  Binnie  Barnes, 
and  Gilbert  Roland  are  mixed  up  in  this. 
They  should  shoot  their  agents. 
THE   STREET   WITH    NO    NAME    (20th-Fox)  —  A 
cops-and-robbers  thriller,  documentary-style, 
taken  from  those  fascinating  FBI  files.  Rich- 
ard Widmark  scores  as  a  murderous  gang- 
leader  as  do  Mark  Stevens  and  Lloyd  Nolan  ' 
as  G-Men.  First-rate  of  its  type. 
THE  TIME  OF  YOUR  LIFE  (U.  A.)— A  brilliantly- 
acted  version  of  William  Saroyan's  fascinat- 
ing play.  It  all  takes  place  in  William  Ben- 
dix'  San  Francisco   waterfront  saloon  and 
among  the  intriguing  characters  who  wander 
in  and  out  are  James  Cagney,  Jeanne  Cagney,  \ 
Jimmy   Lydon,    Wayne    Morris    and  Paul 
Draper. 

THE  VELVET  TOUCH  (RKO)  — Rosalind  Russell 
plays  a  hot-headed  actress  in  this  murder 
movie.  She's  the  killer.  (This  isn't  a  mys- 
tery.) Claire  Trevor,  Sydney  Greenstreet,  ' 
Leon  Ames  and  Leo  Genn  are  concerned. 
Excellent  acting,  needless  to  say,  and  a  slick 
production.  A  bit  talky,  but  swift  and  enter- 
taining. 

TWO  GUYS  FROM  TEXAS  (Warners)— ,4  very 
lightweight  comedy  which  brightly  recounts 
the  breezy  adventures  of  a  pair  of  hungry 
night  club  entertainers,  expertly  played  by 
Dennis  Morgan  and  Jack  Carson.  Newcomer 
Dorothy  Malone  proves  she's  here  to  stay  \ 
and  there  are  some  good  songs.  Relax  and 
enjoy  it. 


Widmark  and  Stevens  in  Street  With  No  Name. 


Mine  is  the  one  and 

j 


My  new  nail  polish  has  so  much  beauty  to  offer 
so  many  women.    You'll  be  amazed  to  see  how 
a  polish  selling  for  100  makes  fingertips  so 

lovely.    Plasteen,  my  exclusive  ingredient,  makes 
polish  flow  on  easier  and  dry  with  a  new  jewel-like 
brilliance.    No  "bubbles"!    You'll  be  amazed. 

\ly  polish  has  these  ^  advantages: 


2  No  "bubbles" 


Plasteen  to  help 
irevent  chipping 


3  New,  jewel-like 
brilliance 


HELEN  NEUSHAEFER  .  .  .  making  her  shade  selections  for  Fall  and 
Winter  ...  in  harmony  with  the  season's  smart  costume  colors. 


4  Last  word  in 
"high-style"  shades 


5  Finer,  more  ■pliable 
brush  gives 
neater  outlines 


NEWEST  OF  LIPSTICKS... 

Ym'll  like  the  smooth-creamy 
feel,  the  true-to-tont  colors, 
the  way  this  new  lipstick 
of  mine  stays  on  and  on!  J ^  £ 


NAIL  POLISH 

Neti  Rose  ...  a  featured  Fall  shade 
. . .  See  all  1 2  new  fashion  tones  of  rose  and 
red — all  with  Plasteen  —  at  most  5  and 
io's  and  drug  stores. 

IOt 

A.  Sartorius  &  Co.,  Inc.  -  College  Point,  N.  Y. 


J 


A  Lovelier  Skin  is  yours  with 

your  First  Cake  of  Camay! 


You're  as  lovely  as  your  complexion! 
And  your  skin  can  grow  in  loveliness  with 
your  first  cake  of  Camay.  Do  this! 
Give  up  careless  cleansing— go  on  the 
Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet.  Doctors  tested  Camay 
care  on  scores  of  women— found  most 
complexions  grew  softer  and  smoother  with 
just  one  cake  of  Camay!  Follow  the  directions  | 
on  the  wrapper  for  a  really  lovelier  skin! 


MEET  MR.  AND  MRS.  GAVERT! 

Paul  proposed  in  a  tiny  New  York  restau- 
rant. No  wonder!  Christine's  lovely  com- 
plexion calls  for  love!  "My  very  first  cake 
of  Camay  led  to  a  lovelier  skin,"  says  she. 


The  Gaverts  have  lots  of  mutual  interests  be- 
sides music.  And  Paul  takes  a  special  in- 
terest in  Christine's  complexion.  She'll 
stay  on  the  Camay  Mild-Soap  Diet! 


THE  SOAP  OF  BEAUTIFUL  WOMEN 


MRS.  PAUL  A.  GAVERT 
the  former  Chriitine  Lindseth  of  Grand  Rapids 
bridal  portrait  painted  I 


^'Qsntists  sag  ifie  IfftNA  m  wot^  f 


Junior  Model  Bobs  March  shows  how  it  can  work  for  you,  too 


Just  17  and  stepping  out  to  success,  cover  girl  Babs 
March  of  Roselle,  N.  J.  has  a  smile  that  gets  her  modelling 
dates  —  and  dance  dates! 

"I  follow  the  Ipana  way  to  healthier  gums  and  brighter 
teeth,"  explains  Babs,  "because  dentists  say  it  works!"  Her 
professionally  approved  Ipana  dental  care  can  work  for  you, 
too  — like  this  . .  . 


Here's  the  Ipana  way  that  dentists  say  works!  "And  it's 
a  pleasure!"  adds  Babs.  Easy  as  1,  2: 

1 .  Between  regular  visits  to  your  dentist,  brush  all  teeth  sur- 
faces with  Ipana  at  least  twice  a  day. 

2.  Then  massage  gums  gently  as  your  dentist  advises  — to 
stimulate  gum  circulation.  (Ipana's  unique  formula  helps 
stimulate  your  gums— you  can  feel  the  tingle ! ) 

Just  do  this  regularly  for  healthier  gums,  brighter  teeth  — 
an  Ipana  smile.  Ipana's  extra-refreshing  flavor  leaves  your 
mouth  fresher,  your  breath  cleaner,  too.  Ask  your  dentist 
about  Ipana  and  massage.  See  what  it  can  do  for  you! 


YES,  8  OUT  OF  10  DENTISTS*  SAY... 


Product  of  Bristol-Myers 


Ibgna  dental  care  fromot&s 

MMi&r  <ju  ms,  brighter  teetfi 


Latest  national  poll 


P.S.  For  correct  brushing,  use  the  DOUBLE  DUTY  Tooth  Brush  with  the  twist  in  the  handle.  1000  dentists  helped  design  it! 


1 


You  can 

say  "yes" 

to  Romance 


Veto  says  "n©" 
to  Offending! 

Veto  says  "no"—  to  perspiration 
worry  and  odor!  Soft  as  a  caress  .  .  . 
exciting,  new,  Veto  is  Colgate's  wonderful 
cosmetic  deodorant.  Always  creamy  and 
smooth,  Veto  is  lovely  to  use,  keeps  you 
lovely  all  day!  Veto  stops  underarm  odor 
instantly,  checks  perspiration  effectively. 

Veto  says  "no" —  to  harming  skin 
and  clothes!  So  effective  ...  yet  so 
gentle — Colgate's  Veto  is  harmless  to  nor- 
mal skin.  Harmless,  too,  even  to  filmy, 
most  fragile  fabrics.  For  Veto  alone  con- 
tains Duratex,  Colgate's  exclusive  ingredi- 
ent to  make  Veto  safer.  No  other  deodorant 


2 


NOVEMBER,  1948 

modern  screen 


stories 

DOUBLE  OR  NOTHING  (Shirley  Temple-John  Agar)  by  Robert  Peer  28 

SHE  DIDN'T  HAVE  A  CHANCE  (Lana  Turner)  by  Jimmy  Cross  30 

LIFE  CAN  BE  BEAUTIFUL  (Joan  Crawford)  by  "Prince"  Michael  Romanoff  32 

THE  PASSING  LOVES  OF  PETER  LAWFORD  by  Winston  Stallings  36 

TO  MARY  WITH  LOVE  (Dana  Andrews)  by  Carl  Schroeder  38 

CONFESSIONS  OF  AN  EX-PLAYGIRL  by  Ava  Gardner  40 

THE  FEAR  I'VE  HIDDEN  by  Alan  Ladd  42 

SHE  FOOLED  US  ALL  (Jeanne  Crain)  by  Rita  Crain  44 

MY  LOVE  AFFAIR  WITH  ANN  SHERIDAN  by  Leo  McCarey  46 

BY  INVITATION  ONLY  (Roy  Rogers.  Dale  Evans,  Diana  Lynn,  etc.)   48 

NOTORIOUS  GENTLEMAN  (Rex  Harrison)  by  Florabel  Muir  52 

WHY  STARS  FIGHT  THEIR  BOSSES  by  Hedda  Hopper  54 

RETURN  ENGAGEMENT  (Tom  Drake)  by  Jack  Wade  58 

STILL  IN  THERE  CRYING  by  Bette  Davis  60 

ROSALIND,  I  LOVE  YOU  (Rosalind  Russell)  by  Freddie  Brisson  62 

features 

TO  OUR  READERS  .  >   4 

LOUELLA  PARSONS'  GOOD  NEWS   6 

DOROTHY  KILGALLEN  SELECTS:  "A  Song  Is  Born"   24 

EDITORIAL:  "They  Can't  Smear  You  This  Time"   27 

departments 

MOVIE  REVIEWS  by  Jean  Kinkead  and  Christopher  Kane  14 

FASHION  by  Connie  Bartel  65 

MUSIC:  "Sweet  and  Hot"  by  Leonard  Feather  76 

THE  FANS  by  Shirley  Frohlich  78 

NEW  FACES   79 

YOUR    LETTERS   99 

ALSO  SHOWING   116 


ON  THE  COVER:  Lana  Turner  Color  Portrait  by  Nikolas  Muray 
(Cupid  Etching  Courtesy  Mademoiselle  Magazine) 


WADE  H.  NICHOLS,  editor 
WILLIAM  HARTLEY,  managing  editor 
WILLIAM  IEFFERS,  story  editor 
SHIRLEY  FROHLICH,  associate  editor 
FLORENCE  EPSTEIN,  assistant  editor 
FERNANDO  TEXIDOR.  art  director 
BILL  WEINBERGER,  art  editor 
CONSTANCE  BARTEL,  fashion  editor 
MAXINE  FIRESTONE,  assistant  fashion  editor 


TOM  CARLILE.  western  manager 

ROMA  BURTON,  western  editor 

BOB  BEERMAN,  staff  photographer 

BERT  PARRY,  staff  photographer 

JEAN  KINKEAD  I 

CHRISTOPHER  KANE  1  movle  reviewers 

GLORIA  LAMPERT,  associate  fan  club  director 

IRENE  TURNER,  research  editor 


POSTMASTER:  Please  send  notice  on  Form  3578  and  copies  returned  under 
Label  Form  3579  to  2a1  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16.  New  York 

Vol.  37,  No.  6,  November,  1948.  Copyright,  1948,  the  Dell  Publishing  Co.,  Inc.,  261  Fifth  Ave..  New  York. 
Published  monthly.  Printed  in  U.  S.  A.  Published  simultaneously  in  the  Dominion  of  Canada.  International 
copyright  secured  under  the  provisions  of  the  Revised  Convention  for  the  Protection  of  Literary  and  Artistic 
Works.  Office  of  publication  at  Washington  and  South  Aves.,  Dunellen,  N.  J.  Chicago  Advertising  office, 
360  N.  Michigan  Ave..  Chicago  1.  Illinois.  George  T.  Delacorte,  Jr.,  President;  Helen  Meyer,  Vice-President) 
Albert  P.  Delacorte,  Vice-President.  Single  copy  price,  15c  in  U  S.  and  Canada.  Subscriptions  in  U.  S.  A. 
and  Canada  $1.80  a  year,  elsewhere  $2.80  a  year.  Entered  as  second  class  matter  Sept.  18,  1930,  at  the 
post  office  Dunellen.  N.  J.,  under  Act  df  March  3.  1879.  The  publishers  accept  no  responsibility  for  the 
return  of  unsolicitea  material.  Names  of  characters  used  in  semi-fictional  matter  are  fictitious.  If  the  name 
->l  any  living  person  is  used  it  is  purely  a  coincidence.  Trademark  No  *301778 


LEO/ The  MGM  LION 

w/rites  a  poem 
about  his  new  hif  / 


PRESENT 


ENTERPRISE  STUDIOS 

DANA  ANDREWS- LILLl  PALMER 


Best  role  of  his  life ! 


and 


The  "Body  And  Soul"  girl 


LOUIS  JOURDAN 

Screen's  newest  big  star! 


DISTRIBUTED  BY 

METRO 

GOLDWYN 
MAYER 


JANE  WYATTand  NORMAN  LLOYD  •  Screenplay  by  ARNOLD  MANOFF  Ifc 

PRODUCED  AND  DIRECTED  BY  LEWIS  MILESTONE 


Advertisement 
*         ★         ★         ★  ★ 

Don't  be 
Half-safe! 

by 

VALDA  SHERMAN 

At  the  first  blush  of  womanhood  many  mys- 
terious changes  take  place  in  your  body.  For 
instance,  the  apocrine  glands  under  your 
arms  begin  to  secrete  daily  a  type  of  perspi- 
ration you  have  never  known  before.  This  is 
closely  related  to  physical  development  and 
causes  an  unpleasant  odor  on  both  your  per- 
son and  your  clothes. 

There  is  nothing  "wrong"  with  you.  It's  just 
another  sign  you  are  now  a  woman,  not  a 
girl  ...  so  now  you  must  keep  yourself  safe 
with  a  truly  effective  underarm  deodorant. 

Two  dangers— Underarm  odor  is  a  real  handi- 
cap at  this  romantic  age,  and  the  new  cream 
deodorant  Arrid  is  made  especially  to  over- 
come this  very  -difficulty.  It  kills  this  odor 
on  contact  in  2  seconds,  then  by  antiseptic 
action  prevents  the  formation  of  all  odor  for 
48  hours  and  keeps  you  shower-bath  fresh. 
It  also  stops  perspiration  and  so  protects 
against  a  second  danger— perspiration  stains. 
Since  physical  exertion,  embarrassment  and 
emotion  can  now  cause  your  apocrine  glands 
to  fairly  gush  perspiration,  a  dance,  a  date, 
an  embarrassing  remark  may  easily  make 
you  perspire  and  offend,  or  ruin  a  dress. 

All  deodorants  are  not  alike  — so  remember 
—  no  other  deodorant  tested  stops  perspira- 
tion and  odor  so  completely  yet  so  safely  as 
new  Arrid.  Its  safety  has  been  proved  by 
doctors.  That's  why  girls  your  age  buy  more 
Arrid  than  any  other  age  group.  In  fact,  more 
men  and  women  everywhere  use  Arrid  than 
any  other  deodorant.  It's  antiseptic,  used  by 
117,000  nurses. 

Intimate  protection  is  needed  —  so  protect 
yourself  with  this  snowy,  stainless  cream  that 
smooths  on  and  disappears.  This  new  Arrid, 
with  the  amazing  new  ingredient  Creamogen, 
will  not  crystallize  or  dry  out  in  the  jar.  The 
American  Laundering  Institute  has  awarded 
Arrid  its  Approval  Seal— harmless  to  fabrics. 
Arrid  is  safe  for  the  skin— non-irritating— can 
be  used  right  after  shaving. 

Don't  be  half-safe.  During  this  "age  of  ro- 
mance" don't  let  perspiration  problems  spoil 
your  fun.  Don't  be  half-safe  — be  Arrid-safe! 
Use  Arrid  to  be  sure.  Get  Arrid  now  at  your 
favorite  drug  counter  —  only  39^  plus  tax. 


THE  WAY  Ava  Gardner  used  to  scoot  around  to  night  clubs  you'd  have  thought 
she  owned  half  of  them  and  was  protecting  her  investments.  Pretty  hectic, 
that  life — and  if  Ava  couldn't  crawl  out  of  bed  in  the  morning  it  was  because 
she  didn't  try.  Fun — that's  what  she  liked — men,  music.  And  no  work.  All  the 
secrets  of  Ava's  past  are  on  page  40.  But  if  you're  considering  blackmail,  stop 
now — the  lady  wrote  the  story  herself  .  .  . 

PETER  LAWFORD'S  a  better  prospect.  Lately,  Pete's  been  gazing  into  more 
feminine  eyes  than  any  optometrist.  And  the  eyes  always  peer  right  back. 
Even  babies  love  Peter.  Beautiful  babies.  We  have  the  names  of  a  few  on 
page  36  .  .  . 

THE  GREEKS  never  had  a  word  for  H.  D.  Hover's  parties,  so  how  can  we? 
It  takes  nineteen  days  just  to  carve  the  turkey,  and  with  all  his  gorgeous  guests 
around,  who  wants  to  eat?  H.  D.  (Herman  to  his  friends)  keeps  a  little  list 
in  the  backroom  of  Ciro's.  After  dark,  he  unrolls  it  (the  list).  If  you  can 
rhumba  like  Carmen  Miranda,  or  look  like  Diana  Lynn,  or  attract  like  Rory 
Calhoun — you're  in.  Otherwise,  you  might  as  well  trot  down  to  the  corner 
drug  store,  because  as  you  will  learn  on  page  48,  the  people  adrift  in  Herman 
Hover's  pool  are  there  "By  Invitation  Only"  .  .  . 

GIVE  US  A  MINUTE  and  we'll  usually  talk  about  ourselves.  We  have  a 
fascinating  staff  we'd  like  you  to  meet  one  by  one.  This  month  it's  an 
expectant  father  (for  the  third  time) — our  photographer  Bob  Beerman.  (Bert 
Parry  is  our  photographer,  too — but  more  about  him  later.)  Bob's  a 
happy  sort  of  guy,  maybe  because  he's  been  with  us  for  eight  years  (minus  three 
in  the  9th  Air  Force).  Needless  to  say,  he's  an  excellent  cameraman.  Once,  a 
while  back,  he  went  out  to  Vera-Ellen's  house  to  shoot  her  new  wardrobe. 
Vera  was  detained  so  Bob  sauntered  over  to  his  car  to  check  the  equipment. 
When  he  opened  the  trunk  he  discovered  that  his  equipment  was  in  the  garage 
at  home.  But  that  was  a  while  ago.  In  this  issue  there  are  some  terrific  pictures 
of  Joan  Crawford's  luxurious  home.  Bob  did  them.  They're  on  pages  32-35  .  .  . 


Judy  (at  Mocambo's  with  Vince  Minnelli)  has  had  to  stop  work  temporarily. 


■   What  is  really  the  matter  with  Judy  Garland?     That  is  the  question 
hurled  at  me  everywhere  I  go. 
All  right — let's  get  at  it. 

Judy  is  a  nervous  and  frail  little  girl  who  suffers  from  a  sensitiveness 
almost  bordering  on  neurosis.  It  is  her  particular  temperament  to  be 
either  walking  on  the  clouds  with  excitement  or  way  down  in  the  dumps 
with  worry.    The  least  thing  to  go  wrong  leaves  her  sleepless  and  shattered. 

She  has  never  learned  the  philosophy  of  "taking  it  easy."  Last  year, 
when  she  was  on  the  verge  of  a  nervous  breakdown,  she  got  in  the  habit 
of  taking  sleeping  pills — too  many  of  them — to  get  the  rest  she  had  to  have. 

I'm  not  revealing  any  secrets  in  telling  you  that.  It  was  printed  at  the 
time.  But  for  a  highly  emotional  and  highly  strung  girl  to  completely 
abandon  sedatives,  as  Judy  attempted  to  do  when  she  realized  she  was 
taking  too  many,  puts  a  terrific  strain  on  the  nervous  system. 

The  trouble  is,  Judy  does  not  take  enough  time  to  rest.  The  minute  she 
starts  feeling  better  she  wants  to  get  back  to  work.  She  cried  like  a  baby 
when  she  learned  she  was  not  strong  enough  to  make  The  Barkleys  of 
Broadway  with  Fred  Astaire  so  soon  following  The  Pirate  and  Easter 
Parade. 

"I'm  missing  the  greatest  role  of  my  career,"  she  sobbed.  With  Judy — 
each  role  is  always  the  greatest. 

Sometimes  I  believe  Judy's  frail  little  form  is  packed  with  too  much 
talent  for  her  own  good.  She  is  an  artist,  and  I  mean  ARTIST,  at  too 
many  things. 

She  sings  wonderfully  and  dances  almost  as  well.  And  as  for  her 
acting — well,  listen  to  what  Joseph  Schenck,  one  of  the  really  big  men  of 
our  industry  and  head  of  20th  Century-Fox  (not  Judy's  studio)  has  to  say. 

I  sat  next  to  Joe  the  night  we  saw  Easter  Parade.  He  told  me,  "Judy 
Garland  is  one  of  the  great  artists  of  the  screen.  She  can  do  anything. 
I  consider  her  as  fine  an  actress  as  she  is  a  musical  comedy  star.  There 
is  no  drama  I  wouldn't  trust  her  with.  She  could  play  such  drama  as 
Seventh  Heaven  as  sensitively  as  a  Janet  Gaynor  or  a  Helen  Mencken." 
And  I  agree  with  every  word  Joe  said. 

I  am  happy  to  tell  you  as  I  report  the  Hollywood  news  this  month  that 
Judy  is  coming  along  wonderfully,  resting  and  getting  back  the  bloom 
of  health. 

Soon  we  will  have  her  back  on  the  screen — her  long  battle  with  old 
Devil  Nerves  behind  her  and  forgotten. 


■  The  Robert  Walker-Barbara  Ford  marriage 
was  short  and  sad. 

They  were  married  in  a  whirl  of  excite- 
ment, as  reported  last  month  in  Modern 
Screen,  and  then  exactly  six  weeks  later 
Barbara  packed  up  and  went  home  to  her 
parents,  director  John  Ford  and  his  lovely 
wife,  Mary. 

The  marriage  seemed  ill-fated  from  the 
start.  John  Ford  is  a  devoutly  religious  man 
and  he  was  none  too  happy,  despite  earlier 
reports  to  the  contrary,  at  having  his  adored 
only  daughter  marrying  a  boy  who  had  been 
divorced.  But  he  was  far  from  being  the 
irate  father.  He  advised  Barbara  wisely; 
beyond  that  he  could  not  go. 

When  Barbara  and  Bob  were  married  it 
was  a  sad  note  that  her  mother  and  father 
were  not  present.  The  marriage  took  place 
in  helter-skelter  fashion  in  a  Beverly  Hills 
Club  with  Bob  arrayed  in  a  lumberman's 
shirt  and  the  bride  in  a  sports  dress. 

It  all  happened  so  quickly — the  wedding 


On  Aug.  5th,  Ida  Lupino  married  film  executive 
Collier  Young  at  a  La  Jolla  church.  They  left 
afterward  for  honeymoon  on  Catalina  Island. 


LOUELLA  PARSONS 

Old 


cake  wasn't  ready  in  time  to  be  cut  by  the 
"happy"  couple. 

There  was  no  time  for  a  honeymoon  be- 
cause Walker  was  working  on  One  Touch 
of  Venus. 

Bob's  two  boys  by  his  marriage  to  Jen- 
nifer Jones  were  visiting  their  father  at  the 
time, 

There  were  rumors  of  trouble  before  the 
end  of  the  first  week. 

Let's  face  it — Walker  is  a  moody,  temper- 
amental fellow  who  seems  to  make  a  point 
of  being  "difficult."  He  is  completely  un- 
predictable. He  believes  that  the  press  has 
no  right  to  comment  on  his  personal  life — 
yet  he  is  continually  doing  outlandish  things 
(marrying  in  a  lumberman's  shirt,  for  in- 
stance) that  call  for  comment. 

Ever  since  his  divorce  from  Jennifer  Jones 
he  has  been  "mixed  up."  But,  good  heavens, 
he  isn't  the  only  person  in  the  world  to  be 
faced  with  heartaches.  It  is  the  test  of  ma- 
turity and  growth  to  overcome  unhappiness, 


not    to    wallow    in    it,    or    brood  forever. 

Barbara  Ford  is  a  young  girl,  a  non-pro- 
fessional, who  has  never  been  married  be- 
fore. She  fell  madly  in  love  with  Bob.  But 
she  had  neither  the  experience  nor  the  years 
to  cope  with  Walker's  moodiness. 

When  she  called  to  tell  me  their  marriage 
was  over  she  said,  "I  took  all  I  could." 

There  is  the  same  old  moral  back  of  this 
break-up.  But  how  can  parents  make  young- 
sters realize  that  congenial  temperaments, 
understanding,  and  sympathy  of  interests  are 
far  more  important  in  making  a  marriage 

work  than  moonlight-and-roses  infatuation? 
*         *  * 

Marriages  may  be  made  in  heaven — but 
romances  most  certainly  can  be  plotted  over 
a  dinner  table. 

When  I  was  in  Europe,  my  friend  Elsa 
Maxwell  told  me  she  was  arranging  a  party 
for  the  express  purpose  of  bringing  together 
Rita  Hay  worth  and  37-year-old  Ali  Khan,  son 
of  Aga  Khan,  one  of  the  world's  richest  men. 


Elsa  said,  "Rita  is  just  his  type  and  I 
know  he  will  fall  in  love  with  her."  The 
point  was,  had  Rita  sufficiently  forgotten 
awesome  Orson  Welles  to  fall  in  love  with 
anyone  else? 

Apparently  she  has.  At  least,  news  from 
abroad  that  Rita  was  in  Madrid,  Spain,  with 
Ali  made  an  exclusive  newspaper  scoop 
for  me. 

These  splashy  romances  between  beauti- 
ful movie  stars  and  international  millionaires 
with  chests  full  of  diamonds,  rubies  and  stuff 
always  make  interesting  reading. 

But  I'm  betting  a  cookie  that  this  isn't  the 
real  thing  with  Rita.  When  she  returns  to 
Hollywood,   Ali — with   all   his   wealth — will 

probably  be  just  a  flattering  memory. 
*  *  * 
Many,  many  pretty  little  girls  in  Holly- 
wood nursed  a  bruised  heart  when  Rory 
Calhoun  and  Isabelita  (who  recently  changed 
her  name  to  Lita  Baron)  were  married 
the    other    day    (^Continued    on    page  8) 


f 


Ty  Power  and  Linda  Christian  posed  for  a  street  photographer  in  Rome 
— and  the  photographer  posed  for  us!  Ty's  in  Italy  to  make  a  movie 
about  the  Borgia  family.    He  was  noncommital  about  wedding  plans. 


After  two  separations  and  two  reconciliations  Gloria  De  Haven  and 
John  Payne  (here  at  Ciro's)  are  calling  it  quits.  John  will  be  charged 
with  mental  cruelty — Gloria  wants  the  screen  career  he  always  opposed.  7 


now 

a  new 

quick  way 
to 

lovelier-looking 
eyes! 


Vaseline 


TRADE  MARK  ® 

Eyebrow- Eyelash 
Cream 


GOOD  NEWS 


Wonderful  new  'Vaseline' 
Eyebrow-Eyelash  Cream  brushes 
your  lashes  with  a  silken  gloss — 
makes  them  look  lavishly  lovely. 

This  fragrant  new  cream  is  non- 
coloring — helps  you  shape  your 
brows  to  a  prettier,  cleaner,  trimmer 
line  without  an  artificial  look. 

-to  Sjtob  dbl 

A  touch  of  'Vaseline'  Eyebrow- 
Eyelash  Cream  on  your  eyelids 
adds  a  subtle,  satiny  touch  .  .  . 
makes  eyes  look  romantically 

deep  and  dreamy. 


Premiere  of  Julia  Misbehaves  at  Grauman's  Egyptian  brought  out  two  members  of  the  cast  who 
were  main  attractions:  Sandi,  the  trained  seal,  and  Elizabeth  Taylor.  Liz's  new  beauty  has 
Hollywood — and  Marsh  Thompson — astir.    On  her  right  is  theater  manager  L.   R.  Whittemore. 


(Continued  from  page  7) 

That  boy  makes  hearts  thump  on  and  off 
the  screen. 

And  don't  believe  for  a  minute  that  David 
Selznick,  who  holds  Rory's  contract,  tried  to 
break  up  this  romance  because  it  might  hurt 
Calhoun  with  the  debutante  fans. 

David  said,  "Why  should  I  try  to  play 
Jupiter  in  the  affairs  of  those  kids?" 

Good  luck,  kids. 

*        *  * 

Parties  in  Hollywood  these  days  always 
have  some  surprises,  but  I  think  the  Danny 
Kayes'  party  in  honor  of  the  William  Goetzes 
topped  them  all  with  the  old-fashioned  square 
dance.  If  you  think  Ginger  Rogers,  Claudette 
Colbert,  Irene  Dunne  and  other  glamor 
belles  didn't  get  into  the  spirit  of  the  thing — 
you  don't  know  the  irrepressible  host. 

At  the  end  of  the  square  dance,  Danny 
went  into  the  same  routine  of  songs  and  pat- 
ter that  made  him  the  idol  of  London. 

The  party  went  on  until  4  a.m. — but  not 
for  this  gal.  I  had  to  come  home  and  get 
ready  for  a  radio  show.  But  I  did  stay  long 
enough  to  meet  Miss  Kaye,  the  debutante  of 
the  house. 

Her  mother  brought  the  two-year-old  down 
about  one  a.m.  and  she  looks  so  like  Danny 
with  her  mop  of  red  hair  and  the  way  she 
uses  her  hands,  it  was  really  funny.  I've  never 
seen  such  a  happy  baby.  No  tears  for  her, 
even  though  you  will  admit  the  hour  was 
late  for  a  young  lady  of  two  to  be  receiving 
guests. 


I  am  very  happy  that  Sylvia  and  Danny 
have  ironed  out  their  troubles.  Once  a  mar- 
riage has  broken  up,  as  theirs  did,  it  is  sel- 
dom possible  to  take  up  the  threads  again. 
But  I  believe  both  Sylvia  and  Danny  have 
learned  a  valuable  lesson. 

Danny  is  high-strung.  He  is  very  nervous 
when  he  works  because  he  drives  himself 
so  hard.  Sylvia  is  also  under  nervous  pres- 
sure because  she  writes  his  material.  Per- 
haps they  worked  too  closely — but  whatever 
the  cause  of  the  rift  last  year,  they  couldn't 
seem  happier  than  they  are  now. 

*        *  * 

June  Allyson  and  Dick  Powell  adopted  a 
baby  girl  right  in  the  teeth  of  the  rumors 
that  all  was  not  well  between  them.  The 
"trouble"  talk  started  when  the  Powells 
announced  they  were  putting  up  their  new 
home  for  sale  and  that  Dick  was  going  on 
a  cruise  for  six  months  and  Junie  was  stay- 
ing behind. 

But  Dick  did  not  sound  like  they  were  at 
the  breaking  point  when  he  telephoned  me 
about  the  new  "arrival,"  almost  too  excited 
to  talk. 

"She's  two  months  old,  we  are  naming  her 
Leslie  Allyson  and  she's  a  dream  boat,"  the 
new  pappy  told  me.  "I  can't  tell  you  how 
happy  we  are,  Louella." 

I  said,  "How  come  you  and  Junie  decided 
to  sell  your  brand-new  home  just  after  you 
completed  decorating  it?" 

"We  never  really  liked  the  place,"  Dick 
explained.  "It  was  an  emergency  buy  caused 


totm 


Wherever  motion  pictures  are  shown  "Johnny  Belinda" 
will  be  the  most  discussed  drama  this  year  . . . 

Never  has  the  screen  been  more  fearlessly  outspoken.  Rarely,  if 
ever,  has  there  been  a  story  of  a  young  girl's  betrayal  to  touch  you 
as  will  this  one.  You  certainly  will  want  to  see  it  —  we  urge  you  to 
watch  for  the  opening  date. 


WARNER  BROS. 

present  a  daring  and  courageous  neiu  dramatic  achievement 

JANE  WYMAN  •  TEW  AYRES 

With  this:  nprfnrmanfp  .Tnnp  Wvmfln  ■"■^  TVio  Anfi-nv  fl*>c>t        finH  o™>.^4- 


With  this  performance  Jane  Wyman 
unquestionably  establishes  her  talent  as  among 
the  very  foremost  on  the  screen. 


The  doctor  first  to  find  her  secret, 
first  to  share  her  shame. 


Johnny  Belinda" 


CHARLES  BICKFORD 


DIRECTED  BY  PRODUCED  BY 

AGNES  MOOREHEAD*  STEPHEN  McNALLY  •  JEAN  NEGULESCO  •  JERRY  WALD 

ScrMn  Pity  by  IRMGARO  VON  CUBE  end  ALLEN  VINCENT  '  From  the  Slue  PH»  by  Elmer  Hurls  •  Produced  by  H.rry  Waaslift  Crlatl.  ■  Music  by  MAX  STEINEK 


GOOD 
NEWS 


Joe  E.  Brown  was  M.C.,  Bob  Hope  was  captain  of  the  Comics 
team,  and  Lorna  Elliott  "bat  boy"  at  Sawtelle's  Soldiers'  Home 
charity  ball-game.  Bob's  boys  beat  the  screen  writers'  team. 


Peter  Lawford  and  two  of  his  current  dates,  Gloria  McLean  and  Jane  Wyman,  at  Slapsie 
Maxie's  Jerry  Lewis-Dean  Martin  opening.  Gossips  insist  that  Jane's  really  interested  in  Lew 
Ayres,  while  Liz  Taylor's  peeved  with   Pete  for  bringing  another  girl   to  her  birthday  party. 


sure  trip— what's  your 
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by  the  housing  shortage.  Now  we've  bought 
a  new  lot  and  will  build  just  the  place 
we  really  want — complete  with  nursery." 

I  can't  quite  believe  that  the  Powells  didn't 
have  their  marital  difficulties  for  a  moment 
or  two.    Still,  don't  all  married  couples? 

But  I  am  happy  to  get  it  straight  from  him 
that  they  are  not  divorcing  and  that  they  are 
happy  now.  I  know  Dick  is  a  good  father 
because  he  has  two  children  by  his  former 
marriage  to  Joan  Blondell,  and  they  love  their 
father  very  much. 

*         *  * 

Personal  Opinions:  I  like  Peter  Lawford, 
but  I  wish  he  would  sit  up  and  not  lounge 
on  the  end  of  his  spine  at  cafe  tables  and 
cocktail  parties.  .  .  .  Shirley  Temple  has  cut 
her  hair  very  short  and  it  is  cute.  But  I  bet 
she  lets  it  grow  back  to  shoulder  length  be- 
cause John  Agar  likes  it  better  that  way, 
and  so  do  I.  .  .  .  Rita  Hayworth  should  stay 
a  redhead.  She  is  so  gorgeous  in  Loves  of 
Carmen,  she  takes  your  breath  away.  When 
I  saw  her  with  her  brown  hair  in  Europe, 
she  was  not  nearly  so  glamorous.  .  .  .  Cor- 
nel Wilde  is  irritating  his  studio  co-workers 
again.  He  always  becomes  a  little  "diffi- 
cult" when  he  begins  to  feel  sorry  for  himself 


because  he's  working  too  hard.  .  .  .  Scandal 
publications  printing  horrible  stories  about 
Hollywood  should  be  run  out  of  business. 
Don't  believe  any  stories  you  read  referring 
to  stars  only  by  initials  or  innuendo.  If  a 
story  won't  hold  up  to  using  the  real  names 
of  the  people — believe  me,  the  editors  are 
very  unsure  of  their  facts!  .  .  .  The  best- 
dressed  "expectant  mother"  I  have  ever  seen 
is  Joan  Fontaine.  Her  maternity  clothes  are 
chic  plus  concealing — which,  you  must  admit, 
takes  a  bit  of  doing.  I  saw  her  at  a  dinner 
party  in  a  champagne  satin  gown  with  a 
matching  coat  embroidered  with  small  sun- 
flowers in  topaz  stones  on  the  lapels  and 
pockets.  I've  never  understood  why  many 
women  feel  they  should  dress  drably  during 
one  of  the  happiest  times  of  their  lives. 
*         *  * 

The  tearin',  ravin'  beauty  of  Hollywood 
these  days  is  Elizabeth  Taylor.  No  juvenile 
actress  ever  bridged  the  span  between  child- 
hood and  exciting,  full-blown  glamor  as 
easily  as  she.  In  her  case,  there  just  wasn't 
an  awkward  age — and  I  wondered  why? 

Elizabeth  was  becomingly  modest  when  I 
called  her  a  "beauty"  right  to  her  face  but 
she  did  not  simper  as  many  'teen-agers  might 


.  to  A°a 

MO**** 


DICK  POWELL 
JANE  GREER 

in 

Station  West 


with 


AGNES  MOOREHEAD  •  BURL  IVES 

TOM  POWERS  GORDON  OLIVER  STEVE  BRODIE 

DORE  SCHARY  in  Charge  of  Production 
Produced  by  ROBERT  SPARKS  Directed  by  SIDNEY  LANFIELO 


"Colgate  Dental  Cream's  active  penetrating 
foam  gets  into  hidden  crevices  between  teeth 
— helps  clean  out  decaying  food  particles- 
stop  stagnant  saliva  odors — remove  the  cause 
of  much  bad  breath.  And  Colgate's  soft  pol- 
ishing agent  cleans  enamel  thoroughly, 
gentlv  and  safely!" 


GOOD 
NEWS 


Audrey  Totter  and  producer  Arthur  Freed  welcome  Perry  Como  to 
the  M-G-M  lot  at  a  party  in  his  honor.  Perry's  working  for  Leo  in 
Words  and  Music,  movie  based  on  career  of  Rodgers  and  Hart. 


Before  her  concert  in  Hollywood  Bowl,  Jeanette  MacDonald-  was 
given  a  good-luck  send-off  by  Robert  Stack  in  his  home.  ( L.  to  r.) 
Bob,   Jeanette,   Wyn    Roccamora,    Pat   Morrison,   Gene  Raymond. 


Always  use  COLGATE  DENTAL  CREAM 

after  you  eaf  and  before  every  date 


have  done.  If  you  are  looking  for  tips — 
poise  is  a  great  part  of  her  charm. 

I  asked  her  for  her  advice  to  girls  who 
might  not  be  as  fortunate  as  she  and  who 
suffer  agonies  of  self-consciousness  in  the 
transition  from  childhood  to  young  woman- 
hood. 

"I  believe  the  greatest  way  to  avoid  self- 
consciousness,"  she  told  me  in  her  beautifully- 
modulated  voice,  "is  not  to  think  about  your- 
self or  fuss  with  your  appearance.  Once 
you  have  groomed  yourself  as  well  as  pos- 
sible for  a  social  engagement — forget  your- 
self. Leave  your  compact  and  lipstick  in 
your  bag.  If  an  unexpected  breeze  ruffles 
your  hair — leave  it  alone.  Don't  dive  for  a 
comb. 

"Think  about  other  people  in  the  room — 
boys  and  girls  who  may  feel  as  timid  as 
you  do — inside.  It  helps  any  girl  to  be  the 
first  to  speak  and  try  to  put  others  at  ease. 
Don't  worry  about  what  you  should  be 
saying.  Listen  to  what  others  have  to  talk 
about." 

Her  beautiful  violet-colored  eyes,  deeply 
fringed  with  naturally  long  black  lashes, 
were  serious  when  she  added,  "Just  simple 
.kindness  is  the  most  charming  quality  a  girl 
can  develop." 

This  girl,  I  can  tell  you,  is  as  wise  as 
she  is  lovely. 

#        *  * 
Last    Minute    Flashes:    John    Payne  and 


Gloria  De  Haven  have  called  it  off  for  the 
third  and  final  time.  Gloria  admits  it's 
"career  trouble" — she  just  can't  be  happy 
staying  home  and  being  Mrs.  Payne,  which 
is  what  Johnny  wanted.  Too  bad — with  their 
two  lovely  children  the  victims  of  the  divorce. 
.  .  .  Keep  your  eye  on  the  Greer  Garson- 
millionaire  Buddy  Fogelson  romance.  That's 
really  serious.  .  .  .  The  Bob  Mitchums  just 
can't  make  up  their  minds  whether  to  try 
marriage  again  or  call  it  off.  I  can't  forget 
what  Bob  told  me  when  I  interviewed  him 
several  months  ago.  He  said,  "All  the  time 
I  was  broke  and  struggling,  Dorothy  was 
wonderful  and  stood  by  me.  I  couldn't  have 
made  the  grade  without  her."  Why  don't 
they  both  remember  those  days  now?  How 
bitter  it  is  that  ofttimes  when  success  comes 
in  the  window — understanding  flies  out. 

That's  all  this  month — but  I  want  to  say 
again  that  I  want  you  readers  to  keep  writ- 
ing me.  When  I  was  traveling  in  Europe 
I  was  very  impressed  with  the  popularity  of 
Modern  Screen  in  many  foreign  countries. 
Everywhere  I  went,  it  seems,  people  told  me 
they  read  my  monthly  column  in  this  maga- 
zine and  enjoyed  it. 

Tips  on  whom  you  like  to  hear  about  help 
me  keep  the  interest  going,  I  hope — and  I 
sincerely  appreciate  your  letters.  Keep  send- 
ing them. 

The  End 


COLUMBIA  PICTURES  presents 


^HAYWORTH  ^WFORD 


Yes 


^4 


with  RON  RANDELL  •  VICTOR  JORY  •  LUTHER  ADLER 
Arnold  Moss  •  Joseph  Buloff  •  Margaret  Wycherly 
Screenplay  by  Helen  Deutsch  •  Based  upon  the  story  "Carmen"  by  Prosper  Merimee 

Directed  and  Produced  by  CHARLES  VIDOR 


S  'HIE  OPERA 

1       but  o  dramatic  *ers,on 
-  of  the  story  of  Carmen 


13 


Carmen  (Rita  Hayworth),  a  gypsy  girl,  captivates  dozens  of  men,  includ-  Don  Jose  soon  learns  that  the  willful  and  impetuous  Carmen  has  little 
ing  Don  Jose  (Glenn  Ford),  an  aristocratic  Spanish  soldier,  who  marries  morality  and  less  fidelity.  He  loses  her  to  another  man  and,  wild  with 
her  despite  his  better  judgment.  Because  of  Carmen,  he  is  an  outlaw.      jealousy,  finds  revenge  in  what  turns  out  to  be  a  tragic  but  fitting  end. 

MOVIE 
REVIEWS 

by  jean  kinkead 
and  Christopher  kane 


THE  LOVES  OF  CARMEN 

The  story  of  the  movie  Carmen  has  been 
taken  from  the  novel,  not  the  opera,  and 
comes  to  the  screen  minus  a  single  line  of 
Bizet's  famous  music.  But  the  portrait  of  its  hot- 
blooded  lawless  gypsy  heroine  remains  in- 
tact. Rita  Hayworth  succeeds  such  torrid 
dishes  as  Theda  Bara  and  Dolores  Del  Rio 
as  a  film  Carmen  and  according  to  some 
of  the  experts  she's  the  best  yet.  To  our 
way  of  thinking  she  is  flawless.  Beautiful 
and  uninhibited,  she  plays  her  part  with  a 
joyous  abandon  all  too  seldom  on  the 
screen. 

This  is  the  story  of  an  ill-starred  love. 
Carmen,  a  luscious  gypsy  girl  with  a  way 


with  a  castanet  but  no  social  status  at  all, 
meets  and  captivates  Don  Jose  (Glenn  Ford), 
an  aristocratic  young  Spanish  soldier.  From 
the  onset  he  knows  she's  not  for  him,  this 
vixen  with  uncivilized  ways,  but  he  can't 
stay  away.  That  she  already  has  a  husband 
languishing  in  prison  doesn't  stop  Carmen 
from  making  eyes  at  poor  Don  Jose. 

Eventually,  Carmen  and  Don  Jose — who  by 
this  time  has  a  price  on  his  head  for  murder — 
are  married  and  the  harried  bridegroom  dis- 
covers that  life  with  Carmen  is  no  idyll. 
Impetuous  and  willful,  fidelity  just  isn't  part 
of  her  creed  and  if  Don  Jose  had  had  his 
wits  about  him  he'd  have  known  that  from 


the  start.  His  wife's  complete  lack  of  morality 
hits  him  suddenly  like  a  ton  of  bricks  and  he 
copes  with  it  the  only  way  he  knows  how. 

You  may  know  the  story  as  well  as  you 
know  the  back  of  your  own  hand,  but  until 
you've  seen  Hayworth  fighting,  loving,  danc- 
ing— well,  you've  never  seen  Carmen.  Glenn 
Ford  shows  surprising  fire  in  his  role  of  the 
hunted  murderer.  A  diffident  and  appealing 
lad  in  the  early  scenes,  he  makes  the  change 
of  personality  extremely  capably,  doesn't  ham 
up  one  or  two  quite  corny  scenes. 

This  is  a  well  acted,  well-directed  movie — 
more  than  usually  diverting.  People  will  talk 
about  it.    Go  see  what  they  mean. — Col. 


James  Nasser  Presents 

Fred  Madeleine 

MacMurray  •  Carroll 


with 


CHARLES  'BUDDY'  ROGERS  •  RITA  JOHNSON  •  LOUISE 

Directed  by  LLOYD  BACON  •  a  JAMES  NASSER  Production   •  Original  Screenplay  by  LOI 


ALAN  MOWBRAY 

and  JOSEPH  HOFFMAN  •  Released  thru  UNITED  ARTISTS 


15 


16 


BENEDICT  BOGEAUS  presen 


DOROTHY  LAMOUR 
GEORGE  MONTGOMERY 
CHARLES  LAUGHTON 

"  *  with 
ERNEST  TRUEX.  HUGH  HERBERT  •  WM,  FRAWLEY 
CONSTANCE  COLLIER  •  SARA  ALLGOOD 
DIRECTED  BY  ALFRED  E.  GREEN 
Original  Story  and  Screenplay  by  Howard  Estabrook 
PRODUCED  BY  BENEDICT  BOGEAUS 

Released  thru  United  Artists 


The  Saxon  Charm:  Theatrical  producer  Bob  Montgomery  influences  novelist 
John  Payne  and  his  wife  Susan  Hayward.  Audrey  Totter  warns  of  his  evil  charm. 


THE  SAXON  CHARM 

Novelist  Frederic  Wakeman  scored  a  re- 
sounding hit  with  his  crude  but  hard-hitting 
satire,  "The  Hucksters."  He  followed  this  with 
"The  Saxon  Charm,"  a  dud. 

Now  turned  into  a  fast-paced  movie,  The 
Saxon  Charm  is  still  a  dud.  It  deals  un- 
convincingly  with  that  stock  figure,  an  ego- 
maniac theatrical  producer.  Here  he's  Matt 
Saxon  (Robert  Montgomery)  whose  brilliant 
professional  successes  and  hypnotic  personal 
charm — when  he  wants  to  turn  it  on — have 
taken  him  to  the  top  despite  wild  excesses  of 
self-centered  behavior. 

A  young  novelist,  Eric  Busch  (John  Payne), 
brings  Saxon  his  first  play.  Saxon  overjoys 
him  by  agreeing  to  produce  it  if  extensively 
rewritten  according  to  the  producer's  ideas. 
Eventually,  however,  Busch  sees  the  truth  in 
an-  early  warning  given  by  Saxon's  girl 
(Audrey  Totter) — that  the  Saxon  charm,  an 
evilly  potent  influence,  will  do  him  much 
harm.  But  long  before  Busch  breaks  with 
him,  Saxon  has  given  enough  spectacular 
evidence  of  being  a  bad  thing  to  have  lost 
the  allegiance  of  anybody  but  a  fascinated 
halfwit. 

The  Saxon  Charm  holds  your  interest — but 
never  really  rewards  it.  It  starts  out  with 
great  promise  of  being  a  searching  study  of 
a  curious  personality.  There's  a  scene  at  the 
beginning  in  which  Saxon  gives  Busch  hints 
of  his  early  life  to  illuminate  what  he  has 
become,  and  a  superficial  analysis  of  his 
overwhelming  urge  to  dominate  others  is 
batted  back  and  forth  for  a  few  lines.  There 
the  explanation  stops.  You're  told  how  hyp- 
notic Saxon  is.  The  charm  is  never  believably 
shown  in  action.  You're  told  of  his  great 
theatrical  talent.  All  that's  demonstrated  is  his 
knowledge  of  a  few  text-book  cliches.  (At 
one  point  he  teaches  his  girl  how  to  drama- 
tize the  delivery  of  a  song  in  a  night  club, 
and  what  a  corny  routine  that  is!)  And  no 
real  person  could  get  away  with  the  dis- 


honesty, boorish  bad  manners  and  painfully 
grandiose  gestures  his  presumed  charm  and 
talent  are  supposed  to  make  people  tolerate. 

Robert  Montgomery  works  intelligently  at 
the  incredible  major  role,  using  a  mad  gleam 
left  over  from  his  performance  years  ago  as 
the  daft  killer  in  Wight  Must  Fall.  Susan  Hay- 
ward  is  adequate  as  the  novelist's  wife — 
whom  Saxon  tries  to  separate  from  her  hus- 
band. Audrey  Totter  is  smooth  enough  as 
Saxon's  girl — whose  career  he  tries  to  wreck. 
An  outstanding  performance  is  given  by  that 
under-rated  actor,  John  Payne — as  usual,  he 
delivers  his  lines  with  rare  naturalness. — 
Univ.-Int. 

AN  INNOCENT  AFFAIR 

If  you'll  just  relax  your  standards  of  log- 
ical human  behavior,  you'll  find  An  Innocent 
Affair  a  wonderful  comedy  of  its  type.  It's 
one  of  those  puffball  farces  in  which  the 
complications  could  be  whiffed  away  by  a 
moment's  sensible  explanation  by  any  of  the 
characters  involved.  But  the  element  of  com- 
mon sense  is  happily  kept  out  of  the  frantic 
doings  until  we've  had  a  large  and  useful 
assortment  of  solid  laughs. 

Fred  MacMurray  is  a  New  York  adver- 
tising executive  who  has  been  wining  and 
dining  a  cosmetic  manufacturer  (Louise  Al- 
britton)  till  all  hours  in  an  effort  to  win  her 
advertising  account  for  his  firm.  However, 
fearing  that  his  wife  (Madeleine  Carroll) 
will  misunderstand  this  strictly-business  op- 
eration, he  has  kept  from  her  the  fact  that 
his  prospect  is  a  female  and,  what's  more, 
an  old  flame  of  his.  Madeleine  nonetheless 
suspects  his  hours  away  from  her  are  being 
spent  in  lurid  dalliance.  So  through  an  agent 
she  hires  an  actor,  sight  unseen,  to  make 
advances  to  her  when  Fred  takes  her  to  a 
night  club.  This,  she  figures,  will  arouse 
Fred's  jealousy  and  rekindle  his  supposedly 
dimming  ardor. 

Well,  Fred  learns  of  this  and  decides  to 


says  AVA  GARDNER: 

Mew  Woodbury  Powder  wins  with  me —  . 
+he  smoothest;  satiny  finish  my  skin  has  ever  known/ 


AVA  GARDNER,  co-starred  in 
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's  "The  Bribe", 

is  one  of  the  many  Hollywood  beauties 
who  chose  New  Woodbury  Powder. 

Today— 

see  the  Pramatic  'PifPerence  on  your  skin! 

See  for  yourself  that  New  Woodbury  Powder 
gives  a  smooth-as-satin  finish  to  skin  ( a  finish 
never  possible  with  powder  alone  before! ) . . . 
see  that  Woodbury  covers  tiny  blemishes 
amazingly ...  yet  gives  the  natural  'un- 
powdery'  look  that  you  and  Hollywood  adore! 

See  that  the  colors  are  warmer,  lovelier, 
livelier!  Truly,  New  Woodbury  is  the  world's 
finest  face  powder! 


In  dramatic 
Nation -Wide  Test 

WOODBURY 
WINS  4  T0 1 

over  all  leading 
brands  of  powder 


In  the  most  extraordinary  beauty  test 
ever  made,  women  from  Coast 
to  Coast  voted  their  overwhelming 
preference  for  New  Woodbury 
Powder.  They  chose  Woodbunj  over 
their  own  favorite  brands  of 
powder!  Actually,  Woodbury  won 
on  an  average  of  4  to  1  over  all 
other  leading  brands.  And  women 
said  Woodbury  was  better  for 
every  beauty  quality! 


^'  .  Re"© 


6  exciting  Shades!    Get  New 

Woodbury  Powder— in  the  new  "Venus" 
box— at  any  cosmetic  counter.  Large 
size  $1.00.  Medium  and  "Purse"  sizes 
30^  and  154.  (Prices  plus  tax) 


BEIEHE     CURTIS     INDUSTRIES.    |Jk  J 


amuse  himself  by  secretly  going  along  with 
the  scheme — but  not  in  the  way  Madeleine 
expects.  When  he  and  Madeleine  mistake 
for  the  actor  a  visiting  Southern  cigarette 
tycoon  (Buddy  Rogers)  and  bring  him  into 
the  middle  of  the  muddle,  things  really  be- 
gin to  scintillate.  .  .  .  From  here  on  in,  the 
neat  twists  and  complexities  of  An  Innocent 
Atiair  are  too  elaborate  to  describe,  even  if 
we  wanted  to  spoil  your  fun  by  so  doing. 

Scenarists  Lou  Breslow  and  Joseph  Hoff- 
man have  written  with  a  festive  ingenuity 
that,  most  of  the  time,  keeps  the  basic  ab- 
surdity and  age  of  the  material  well  con- 
cealed under  sparkling  embroidery.  And 
Lloyd  Bacon  has  directed  with  a  sure  and 
resourceful  hand,  aided  vastly  by  the  pleas- 
ant if  impossible  elegance  of  the  sets  and 
by  a  brightly  accomplished  cast.  Fred  Mac- 
Murray,  desperately  cocking  that  eyebrow, 
talking  fast,  and  tripping  over  luggage,  is 
expert  as  usual.  Madeleine  Carroll,  we  were 
happy  to  note,  has  retained  both  beauty  and 
skill  in  her  long  absence  from  the  screen. 
Buddy  Rogers  is  exactly  right  as  the  gallant 
Southerner  and  Louise  Allbritton  and  Rita 
Johnson  contribute  deftly. 


An  Jnnocenf  Affair  contains  no  more  nour- 
ishment than  a  glass  of  champagne.  But  if 
you're  looking  for  bubbly  entertainment,  this 
is  for  you. — 17.  A. 

JULIA  MISBEHAVES 

To  those  of  us  who  still  think  of  Greer 
Garson  as  Mrs.  Miniver,  /ufia  Misbehaves 
will  come  as  a  surprise.  The  studio  has 
gone  all  out  to  show  that  Greer  can  get  right 
in  there  with  Marlene  Dietrich  il  she  wants 
to.  In  this  hilarious  movie  they  have  cast 
her  as  a  not-too-successful  English  music  hall 
singer  who,  in  the  course  of  numerous  events, 
appears  with  a  tumbling  act,  picks  up  an  el- 
derly gent  in  a  bar,  gets  herself  covered  with 
mud,  etc.  Greer,  running  the  gamut  of 
comedy,  is  a  howl. 

Aside  from  these  noteworthy  things,  the 
film  concerns  itself  with  Julia  Packett  (that's 
Greer)  who  is  going  to  her  estranged  hus- 
band's family  home  in  France  for  her  daugh- 
ter's wedding.  On  the  channel  boat  Julia 
meets  a  troupe  of  tumblers,  one  of  whom, 
Alfredo  (Cesar  Romero),  asks  her  to  marry 
him  and  join  the  act.  She  does  join  the  act 
temporarily — which  makes  an  excruciatingly 


FREE  SUBSCRIPTIONS! 

Maybe  you  can't  write  for  MODERN  SCREEN,  but  you  can  certainly  let  us  know 
whom  you'd  like  to  read  about!  That's  what  this  questionnaire's  for!  Tell  us  your 
favorite  stars;  we'll  tell  you  the  rest.  The  first  500  of  you  who  mail  in  the  ques- 
tionnaire below  will  get  the  December,  January  and  February  issues  of  MODERN 
SCREEN  for  free.    So  hurry!  . 

QUESTIONNAIRE 

What  stories  and  features  did  you  enjoy  most  in  our  November  issue?  WRITE 
THE  NUMBERS  I,  2,  and  3  AT  THE  RIGHT  OF  YOUR  1st,  2nd  and  3rd  CHOICES. 


Double  or  Nothing  (Shirley 

Temple)   □ 

She  Didn't  Have  A  Chance  (Lana 
Turner)   D 

Lite  Can  Be  Beautiful  (Joan 

Crawford)   □ 

The  Passing  Loves  Of  Peter 

Lawford   □ 

To  Mary  With  Love  (Dana 

Andrews)   d 

Confessions  Of  An  Ex-Playgirl  by 
Ava  Gardner   □ 

The  Fear  I've  Hidden  by  Alan 

Ladd   □ 


She  Fooled  Us  All  (Jeanne  Crain)  □ 
My  Love  Affair  With  Ann  Sheridan 

by  Leo  McCarey  □ 

By  Invitation  Only   O 

Notorious  Gentleman  (Rex 

Harrison)   □ 

Why  Stars  Fight  Their  Bosses  by 

Hedda  Hopper   D 

Return  Engagement  (Tom  Drake)  □ 
Still  In  There  Crying  (Bette 

Davis)   □ 

Rosalind,  I  Love  You  (Rosalind 

Russell)  by  Fred  Brisson  .  .  □ 
Louella  Parsons'  Good  News   □ 


Which  of  the  above  did  you  like  LEAST?  

What  3  MALE  stars  w.ould  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them, 
3,  in  order  of  preference.  .  .  ;  


What  3  FEMALE  stars  would  you  like  to  read  about  in  future  issues?  List  them,  I,  2, 
3,  in  order  of  preference.  '.  


What  MALE  star  do  you  like  least?   

What  FEMALE  stor  do  you  like  least?  

My  name  is    

My  address  is   

City   Zone  State  

ADDRESS  THIS  TO:  POLL  DEPT..  MODERN  SCREEN. 
BOX  125.  MURRAY  HILL  STATION.  NEW  YORK  16.  N.  Y. 


1  am    years  old 


7*fM  Hil  '* ' all 

BB  J  rM if  1 

when  you  join  the 
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You'll  Thrill  to  this 
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the  Wildcat  Beauty  He 
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love  in  the  pirate-infested,  gold-laden 
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looter  from  Cadiz  —  Gerardo,  the 
Golden  Hawk.  Men  shuddered  as 
they  spoke  of  him  in  whispers.  But 
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dream.  From  the  humblest  tavern 
wench  to  the  fairest  among  the  high- 
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the  sea-green  eyes  and  the  naming 


hair.  While  the  adventurers  of  France 
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The  author  of  The  Foxes  of  Har- 
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19 


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ern Union  by  number  and  ask 
for  Operator  25. 


Look  for  the  name  "Keepsake"  in  the  ring,  and  require 
the  Keepsake  Certificate  of  Guarantee  and  Registration. 


All  rings  illustrated  available  it 
Rings  enlarged  to  show  details. 


natural  gold. 
Federal  tax. 


Inc. 


KEEPSAKE  DIAMOND  RINGS,  A.  H.  Pond  Co, 
120  E.  Washington,  Syracuse  2,  New  York 

Please  send  the  useful  20-page  book,  "The  Etiquette  of  the  Engagement 
and  Wedding"  ...  a  complete  guide  to  social  correctness  in  planning 
the  betrothal  and  wedding  events  .  .  .  with  illustrations  and  prices  of 
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10c  to  cover  mailing. 


City  MSC  11-48 


Julia  Misbehaves:  Gaiety  with  Greer  Garson, 
Walter  Pidgeon,  Liz  Taylor  and  Peter  Lawford. 

funny  scene.  When  she  finally  gets  to  the 
Packetts'  home  Bill  Packett,  her  husband 
(Walter  Pidgeon)  is  properly  cool  and  old 
Mrs.  Packett  (Lucille  Watson)  is  downright 
cold.  Only  daughter  Susan  (Elizabeth  Tay- 
lor) seems  glad  to  see  Julia.  Julia  doesn't 
know  that  Susan  sent  the  wedding  invitation 
secretly — she  wanted  to  see  her  mother  whom 
she'd  missed  all  these  umpteen  years. 

From  there  we  take  off  to  some  wonderful 
scenes  at  the  wedding  rehearsal  and  at  the 
Packetts'  country  place  where  Julia  and  Bill 
honeymooned.  Julia  tries  to  make  a  match 
between  Susan  and  Ritchie  (Peter  Lawford) — 
not  the  intended  bridegroom,  as  feverishly 
as  Susan  tries  to  bring  Bill  and  Julia  together 
again.  Needless  to  say,  both  succeed — and 
succeed,  too,  in  making  this  an  uproarious 
comedy. — M-G-M 

RACHEL  AND  THE  STRANGER 

In  the  good  old  days  when  the  West  was 
young,  and  men  were  men,  women  weren't 
so  fortunate.  Take  the  case  of  Loretta  Young, 
whose  pappy,  a  pleasant,  respectable,  music- 
lovin'  old  pardner,  died  in  debt.  Due  to  this 
sad  state  of  affairs,  Loretta  was  forced  into 
bondage.  Being  a  "bond-woman"  back  then 
meant  literally  being  a  slave.  Loretta  could 
be  bought  and  sold  like  a  used  car,  and  it 
wasn't  a  state  of  affairs  to  induce  any  feel- 
ing of  security  in  a  girl.  She — her  name  in 
this  picture  is  Rachel — is  a  pretty  miserable 
kid,  until  Bill  Holden  comes  along.  Bill 
Holden's  cleared  himself  a  patch  of  land  in 
the  wilderness,  he's  built  himself  a  cabin, 
he's  sown  a  crop.  (He  also  has  a  mean 
little  son  named  Davey,  and  he  himself  is 
still  in  love  with  his  dead  wife.)  He  buys 
— and  marries — Rachel,  takes  her  home  to 
live  with  him.  Too  late,  she  discovers  she 
was  simply  boughten  to  give  Davey  a  fittin' 
home  and  proper  schoolin'.  Not  only  that, 
but  the  little  weasel  keeps  talking  about  how 
good  his  mother  was  at  various  things,  and 
how  inferior  bond-women  are  as  a  breed, 
anyhow.  Rachel's  life  is  a  cold  one  until 
Bob  Mitchum  shows  up.  Mitchum's  been  a 
friend  of  Holden's,  but  he  has  the  perception 
to  fall  in  love  with  Rachel,  and  treat  her  like 


Rachel  And  The  Stranger:  Bill  Holden  weds 
Loretta  Young,  but  Robert  Mitchum  loves  her. 

a  human  being,  which  has  a  remarkable 
effect  on  everyone.  Just  when  you  wonder 
where  it's  all  going  to  end,  the  Shawnee  In- 
dians decide  to  set  fire  to  all  our  friends, 
and  they  carry  on  for  a  long  time  something 
terrible.  If  Holden  hadn't  built  a  real  base- 
ment in  his  cabin — a  regular  foundation,  you 
understand — goodness  only  knows  what  ter- 
rible fate  might  have  struck.  Mitchum  is 
amazingly  like  Bing  Crosby,  believe  it  or 
not — he  has  that  same  effortless  grace,  that 
same  almost  carefully  casual  delivery.  Hold- 
en's  attractive,  so's  Loretta,  and  somebody 
should  have  taken  a  hairbrush  to  that  wicked 
child  star. — RKO 

ONE  TOUCH  OF  VENUS 

Well,  first  of  all  there's  this  man  named 
Savory  (Tom  Conway)  and  his  reputation 
is  anything  but.  He  owns  a  big  department 
store,  and  he  collects  objets  d'art  and  women. 
He  gives  some  of  one  to  some  of  the  other. 
One  day  he  buys  a  rare  old  statue  of  Venus 
for  $200,000,  and  plans  a  grand  unveiling. 
Before  he  ever  gets  a  chance  to  carry  out 
the  plan,  Venus  disappears.  What  really 
happens  is  that  Robert  Walker,  a  clerk  in 
Mr.  Savory's  store,  kisses  the  marble  statue, 
and  she  comes  to  life.  But  try  telling  the 
cops  a  story  like  that!  All  they  know  is  that 
a  valuable  property  has  been  spirited  away, 
and  marble  statues  don't  walk.  Oh,  yes,  they 
do.  Walker  cries.  They  walk,  they  talk,  they 
take  bubble  baths  in  your  room,  and  get 
you  in  dutch  with  your  landlady,  they  act 
like  lunatics,  and  you  have  to  control  them 
or  they  turn  passers-by  into  owls.  By  this 
time.  Eve  Arden,  Mr.  Savory's  secretary,  is 
feeling  some  sympathy  for  Walker.  Torturing 
that  poor  fool  isn't  going  to  get  the  police 
anywhere,  as  far  as  she  can  see.  "Why 
don't  you  go  pull  the  wings  off  some  flies?" 
she  says  nastily.  Which  still  leaves  every- 
body up  in  the  air.  Then  the  once-statue,  now- 
girl,  Ava  Gardner,  complicates  everything 
still  further  by  causing  Mr.  Savory  to  fall  in 
love  with  her.  He  doesn't  know  she's  really 
the  goddess,  Venus,  and  he  offers  her  the 
world  with  all  its  goods.  She  says  she  loves 


For  the  skn  that 
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A  sheerer  powder  base — more  natural! 
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Make-up  looks  more  natural,  lasts  hours  longer  with  this 
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every  complexion.  Can't  streak  or  discolor.  Leaves 
no  oily  shine,  no  "stifled"  feeling.  Pond's  Vanishing 
Cream  gives  a  smooth  finish  that  holds  make-up. 


Before  make-up"  facial  — 

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Whenever  it's  important  to  look  especially  attractive — 
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. .  ."I  like  my  make-up  to 
look  very  soft... very  casual... but  perfect,"  says  charming  Mrs.  Roosevelt. 
"After  a  Pond's  1-Minute  Mask  I  can  count  on  make-up  going  on  perfectly.'''' 


Lots  of  our  customers  are  converts 


In  recent  months  many  young  house- 
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Nearly  every  day  this  very  practical 
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It  doesn't  take  long  to  see  why 
Fels-Naptha  is  the  real  'bargain'  in 
laundry  soap.  Fels-Naptha  combines 
two  great  cleaners — mild,  golden  soap 
and  active  naptha.  It  gets  out  the  grime 
most  soaps  can't  budge.  It  is  quick  and 
ever  so  gentle  with  delicate  fabrics — 
especially  baby  things.  It's  a  positive  time 
and  labor  saver  for  "The  Lady  of  The  House 


These  are  the  "specials"  and  "extras"  you  always  get 
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BANISHES  "TATTLE-TALE  GRAY" 


22 


One  Touch  Of  Venus:  Bob  Walker  kisses  a  statue 
and  it  comes  to  life  in  the  form  of  Ava  Gardner! 

Robert  Walker.  He  has  Robert  Walker  put  in 
jail.  After  all  the  statue  still  hasn't  been 
returned,  and  that  dope  must  know  more  than 
he's  saying.  It  works  out  in  the  end.  Venus 
breaks  the  news  to  Savory  that  he 
really  loves  Eve  Arden,  his  faithful  old 
hoss  of  a  co-worker;  and  Venus  also  man- 
ages it  so  that  when  Jupiter  turns  her  back 
into  a  statue  (she  was  only  granted  mor- 
tality for  a  while)  a  girl  who  looks  just  like 
her  comes  to  work  in  Savory's  Department 
store,  and  gladdens  Robert  Walker. 

Dick  Haymes  has  a  small  part  as  Walker's 
buddy,  and  Olga  San  Juan  plays  Walker's 
girl  before  Venus.  Fortunately,  Dick  and 
Olga  decide  they  love  each  other,  so  no- 
body's left  out  in  the  cold.  Haymes  gets  less 
stylized  and  more  charming  all  the  time, 
Walker  makes  a  pleasant  village  idiot,  and 
Ava  Gardner  is  a  strange  mixture  of  kitten- 
ishness  and  really  extravagant  beauty. 
"Speak  Low"  is  still  one  of  the  loveliest  songs 
you'll  ever  hear. — Univ.-Int. 

GOOD  SAM 

Good  Sam,  though  hours  long  (I'm  told 
it  used  to  be  years  long,  but  they  cut  it) 
nevertheless  manages  to  please.  There'll  be 
scenes  you  could  do  without;  there'll  be 
scenes  that'll  give  you  hysterics.  The  chief 
character  is  a  man  named  Sam  Clayton 
(Gary  Cooper)  who's  so  good  that  with  him, 
it's  a  positive  vice.  He'd  not  only  give  his 
shirt  to  any  shiftless  bum — he'd  put  his  wife, 
Lu  (Ann  Sheridan)  out  of  her  bed  to  give 
that  bum  a  place  to  sleep.  This  sort  of 
thing  lands  him  in  all  kinds  of  hot  water. 

The  most  awful  catastrophe  of  all,  though, 
occurs  after  Sam's  collected  all  the  money 
for  an  annual  benefit  fund  for  the  needy. 
He's  on  his  way  home  with  five  thousand 
dollars,  when  some  lady  who's  noticed  his 
wad  (that  was  no  lady)  pulls  a  faint.  Sam, 
always  gallant,  takes  her  home.  When  he 
wakes  up,  he  has  a  lump  on  his  head,  and 
that's  all  he  has.  He's  pretty  desperate,  as 
you  can  imagine.  He  rushes  to  the  bank  to 
see  if  he  can  get  a  loan,  to  replace  the 
money.  The  banker  says  no.  You  get  the 
idea  he  knows  a  ninny  like  Sam  can't  be 
trusted  with  money.  But  this  is  the  movies, 
folks.    Soon  the  young  gas-station  folks  come 


rushing  over  to  repay  (with  interest)  the 
money  Sam's  let  'em  have,  and  there's  Lu's 
new  house  taken  care  of.  Then  the  banker 
comes  over  to  make  Sam  the  loan  he'd  asked 
for,  after  all,  and  there's  the  needy 's  benefit 
fund.  Says  the  banker,  in  effect,  "He's  got 
such  a  good  heart."  So  the  Claytons  come 
through,  and  for  the  next  ten  years,  if  you've 
got  the  energy,  you  can  picture  good  Sam 
paying  off  his  debt  with  a  smile  on  his  lips 
and  a  song  in  his  heart.  There's  a  scene 
with  the  Salvation  Army  that's  the  funniest 
thing  in  years,  Clinton  Sundberg  as  a  garage 
man  named  Nelson  is  the  next  funniest  thing 
in  years  (he  imitates  his  wife's  asthma)  and 
Ann  Sheridan  has  a  really  delicious  laugh. 
— EKO. 

THE  NIGHT  HAS  A  THOUSAND 
EYES 

Here  (based  on  a  story  by  Cornel  Wool- 
rich)  is  a  poignant  movie  about  a  man  who 
had  the  strange  and  terrible  gift  of  foresight, 
or  clairvoyance.  If  you  can  accept  on  faith 
the  idea  that  some  people  are  permitted  to 
see  into  the  future,  you  will  be  disturbed  and 
touched  by  The  Night  Has  a  Thousand  Eyes. 
But  even  if  you're  skeptical  as  a  man  from 
Missouri,  you'll  still  admit  it's  an  extra-good 
show.  To  start  with,  there's  a  man  named 
Triton  (Edward  G.  Robinson)  who  has  a 
little  magic  act,  with  which  he  tours  the 
country.  His  two  aides  are  the  girl  he  loves, 
Jenny  (Virginia  Bruce),  and  a  pianist,  Court- 


Good  Sam:  The  man  who'd  give  the  shirt  off  his 
back,  Gary  Cooper,  and  his  wife,  Ann  Sheridan. 


land  (Jerome  Cowan).  The  trio  is  hoping 
to  hit  the  big  time;  they've  been  living  hand- 
to-mouth  for  a  long  while,  and  Triton  and 
Jenny  are  tired  of  postponing  their  marriage. 
Then  the  strangeness  begins.  In  the  middle 
of  a  show  one  night,  Triton  stops  short,  tells 
a  woman  her  little  boy  is  in  trouble.  The 
woman  goes  home,  comes  back  later  to  thank 
Triton.  Her  little  boy  had  got  hold  of  gome 
matches;  she'd  just  got  to  him  in  time.  Triton 
laughs  the  whole  thing  off  as  a  fluke,  but 
his  visions  become  more  freguent.  Courtland 
starts  to  use  him  as  a  sort  of  ouija  board, 


asks  him  about  horse  race  results,  bets  the 
horses  Triton  chooses.  The  money  begins  to 
roll  in.  By  now,  Triton's  scared.  He's  afraid 
it's  some  sort  of  hypnotism  he's  exercising. 
Maybe  if  he  doesn't  give  voice  to  any  of  his 
visions,  the  whole  nightmare  structure  will 
crumble.  With  this  in  mind,  he  stops  him- 
self from  warning  a  little  newsboy  not  to 
cross  a  certain  street,  one  day.  The  news- 
boy is  killed.  The  nightmare  grows,  until 
the  day  Triton  has  a  vision  of  Jenny  dying 
in  childbirth.  He  says  nothing  to  Jenny  or 
Courtland,  but  packs  his  things,  and  disap- 
pears. How  the  picture  resolves  itself,  it 
wouldn't  be  fair  to  say.  The  suspense  is 
enormous,  and  the  performances  are  mostly 
adeguate  (including  that  of  John  Lund,  as 
Jeanne's  fiance)  but  the  picture  is  Robinson's 
from  beginning  to  end.  There  are  moments 
when  his  ugly  face  seems  positively  beau- 
tiful; there  are  moments  when  he  breaks 
your  heart  in  half. — Paia. 

ISN'T  IT  ROMANTIC? 

This  whole  business  may  have  started  with 
Meef  Me  in  St.  Louis;  at  any  rate,  here's 
another  period  piece.  Instead  of  Judy  Gar- 
land, Lucille  Bremer  and  Margaret  O'Brien, 
we  have  Veronica  Lake,  Mary  Hatcher  and 
Mona  Freeman,  but  give  or  take  a  sister, 
the  action  still  stops  every  time  there's  a 
good  spot  for  a  song  and  dance.  Not  that 
you'll  miss  the  action;  it's  too  silly.  The  idea 
(Conrinued  on  page  1 15) 


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dorothy 
kilgallen 


■  Samuel  Goldwyn  is  a  Hollywood  pro- 
ducer whose  prodigality  with  a  dollar  is 
legendary  and  whose  good  taste  has  been 
unquestioned  for  as  far  back  as  most  film- 
goers  can  remember.  But  in  a  season  when 
the  noisiest  critics  bj  the  cinema  form  are 
shrieking  that  the  trouble  with  the  movies 
is  their  everlasting  fidelity  to  formula,  Mr. 
Goldwyn's  daring  in  concocting  A  Song  Is 
Born  belongs  in  the  remarkable  class. 

A  So?ig  Is  Born  is  a  Goldwyn  musical 
with  music  but  without  Goldwynisms.  For 
instance,  there  are  no  Goldwyn  Girls,  al- 
though these  are  a  group  of  luscious  lassies 
widely  admired  and  generally  regarded  in 
the  trade  as  box-office  insurance.  Regard- 
less of  their  market  value,  the  girls  have 
been  ruthlessly  eliminated,  and  the  whole 
picture  contains  not  one  extraneous  knee, 
not  a  single  superfluous  calf.  No  chorus 
lines,  no  dances,  no  pailletted  production 
numbers. 

It  is,  furthermore,  a  Danny  Kaye  musical 
without  Danny  Kaye  specialties.  Absent 
are    the  reet-deet-daddya-skit-skat-skeet 


selects  "a  song  is  born 


// 


songs.  And  the  standard  Kaye  mannerisms 
are  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

Beyond  these  surprising  departures  from 
the  accepted  money-making  musical  picture 
recipe,  it  dares  to  assemble  the  greatest 
collection  of  jazz  musicians  ever  tied  to- 
gether in  one  entertainment  package  and 
let  them  play  the  way  they  might  con- 
ceivably decide  to  play  if  left  to  their  own 
devices  in  a  room  without  benefit  (or 
handicap)  of  camera — at  four  in  the  morn- 
ing. 

The  result  is  unquestionably  the  finest 
and  most  authentic  jazz  music  ever  trans- 
lated into  the  incongruous  medium  of  a 
million-dollar  Technicolor  picture,  with 
Benny  Goodman,  Lionel  Hampton,  Louis 
Armstrong,  Charlie  Barnet,  Tommy  Dorsey 
and  a  revered  handful  of  others  ad  libbing 
for  a  series  of  jam  sessions  as  exciting  to 
the  aficionado  as  a  Garbo-Gilbert  love 
scene  to  the  silent  celluloid  fan. 

If  the  public  is  looking  for  something 
different,  this  is  it.  Mr.  Goldwyn  has  not 
shrunk  from  making  Virgina  Mayo,  his 


monument  to  peaches  and  cream,  more  than 
slightly  unsympathetic,  although  the  boy- 
meets-girl  department  of  his  studio  must 
have  frowned  darkly  on  it;  and  he  has 
allowed  Danny  Kaye,  hitherto  celebrated 
for  a  strictly  night  club  technique,  to  play 
the  gentle,  wistful,  yearning  Professor  Ho- 
bart  Frisbee,  to  whom  a  beautiful  woman 
is  as  mysterious  as  be-bop. 

The  experiment  is,  in  this  observer's 
opinion,  an  admirable  success.  Danny  Kaye 
is  perfectly  capable  of  playing  someone 
other  than  Danny  Kaye,  Virginia  Mayo  is 
completely  convincing  as  a  girl  no  better 
than  she  should  be,  and  Benny  Goodman 
emerges  as  a  diffident  but  enchanting  thes- 
pian  with  a  rather  noticeable  talent  for  the 
clarinet. 

More  power  to  Mr.  Goldwyn.  The  hep- 
cats  will  burn  incense  to  him  for  this  one, 
and  the  average  ticket-buyer — judging  from 
the  group  of  delighted  customers  that  sur- 
rounded me  at  one  sneak  preview — is  going 
to  embrace  it  with,  if  not  as  much  rever- 
ence, at  least  a  comparable  enthusiasm. 


m 


l/ITA 
:LUff 


tdc/ueveme/it 


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•   Because  this  epoch-making  cream  is  so  completely 
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causes  "crepy"  throat  lines  and  tiny  wrinkles.  It  is  so  readily  and 
completely  absorbed  by  the  hair  that  its  rebeautifying  action  is  amazing. 
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YOUR  BEAUTY  SALON 


an  open 
letter  to 
frank  Sinatra 


they 

can't  smear  you  this  time 


Dear  Frank  Sinatra: 

Not  long  ago  a  campaign  to  smear  you  was  in  full  cry.  It  was  being 
shouted  that  you  were  the  admiring  associate  of  mobsters,  that  your 
activities  in  behalf  of  youth  were  insincere  grandstand  plays  for  publicity, 
that  you  were  knowingly  involved  with  a  number  of  so-called  subversive 
organizations. 

The  facts,  of  course,  showed  how  preposterous  were  those  vague  and 
slimy  charges.  Yet  the  facts  also  showed  that,  in  some  cases,  dishonest 
but  convincing  persons  had  taken  advantage  of  the  well-known  warmth 
of  the  Sinatra  heart. 

You've  always  believed — and  our  hat  is  off  to  you  for  this — that  if 
ideals  are  worth  having,  they're  worth  fighting  for.  Yet  sometimes,  to 
your  sorrow  and  ours,  you  didn't  stop  to  investigate  when  someone  invited 
you  to  pitch  in  to  help  what  seemed  to  be  a  good  cause.  And  that  im- 
pulsiveness gave  excellent  ammunition  to  the  smear-Sinatra  crowd. 

But  recently  something  happened  to  prove  you're  being  careful  now- 
adays. A  pair  of  smooth  promoters  persuaded  about  70  entertainment- 
world  headliners  to  fly  to  Honolulu  to  perform  at  a  huge  benefit  show  to 
raise  funds  for  the  hungry  people  of  China.  Among  the  well-intentioned 
folk  who  fell  for  the  plausible  scheme  were  Robert  Alda,  John  Carroll, 
Jerry  Lester,  Jackie  Coogan,  Evelyn  Knight,  Andy  Russell,  The  Pied 
Pipers,  and  Jack  Smith.  You  were  asked  to  join  in.  Instead  of  jumping 
at  the  chance  to  do  a  "good  turn"  as  once  you  might  have,  you  referred 
the  promoters  to  your  radio  sponsors.  The  sponsors  looked  into  the 
matter — and  detected  something  fishy.    So  you  refused. 

Thus  you  saved  yourself  from  becoming  part  of  a  very  dim  operation. 
For  the  promoters  had  arranged  things  so  tha^  they  were  to  keep  70 
percent  of  the  money  raised ! 

Many  stars  don't  seem  to  realize  the  enormous  influence  their  behavior 
can  have  on  the  public.  They  can  be  a  powerful  force  for  good — as  you 
have  been  in  fighting  intolerance  and  juvenile  delinquency.  Or  they  can 
do  great  harm  by  carelessly  misleading  the  public  into  supporting  doubtful 
undertakings. 

It's  the  responsibility  of  Hollywood  idols  to  look  before  they  leap.  You're 
setting  them  a  darned  good  example,  Frank  Sinatra. 

And — incidentally — you're  making  the  anti-Sinatra  people  downright 
unhappy.   They  can't  smear  you  this  time! 


EDITOR. 


27 


For  every 
young  bride,  for 
every  girl  who  hopes  to 
be  one  ...  in  this 
picture  of  the  Agars' 
marriage,  there's  a 
magic  rule  for  happiness. 

BY  ROBERT  PEER 


double 


Shirley  Temple  Agar  got  the  "new»  look''  haircut  after  she 
finished  Baltimore  Escapade.  Husband  Jack  co-starred. 
(Below)    He   trims    hedge    around    their    swimming  pool. 


or 


nothing 


■  The  moonlit  air  was  clear  and  soft  and 

the  sea  glittering  and  the  surf  blue  and  white  as  it 

came  to  kneel  on  the  Santa  Monica  beach. 

Jack  stopped  the  car  and  turned  to  Shirley.    "This  is 

the  place,  darling,"  he  murmured.    A  little 

breeze  touched  her  hair.  "Yes,  Jack,"  she  whispered. 

"This  is  the  place.  ..." 

His  hand  stole  over  hers.  "Darling,"  he 
said,  "did  you  pack  the  mustard?" 

"And  the  pickles,"  said  she,  "and  the 
marshmallows.   I  did." 

"Splendid  wife,"  said  Jack.   "Let's  go!" 

Yes,  this  was  the  place,  the  ideal  place,  for  a 
weenie  roast.    After  only  three  false  starts, 
Jack  had  a  fire  crackling.   Shirley  spread  the  blankets, 
cut  the  rolls,  and  lined  up  all  the  other  necessities 
in  a  row.  Jack  speared  two  weenies  on  the  long  fork 
and  thrust  them  over  the  flames.  "Ready  in  two 
minutes,  Red,"  he  announced. 

"Fine,  fine,"  said  Shirley,  who  really  has  no  over- 
powering yen  for  weenies  but  likes  to  keep  her  old 
man  happy.  She  popped  an  unroasted  marshmallow 
into  her  mouth  and  leaned  back  dreamily.  "What 
an  elegant  life.  What  a — " 

"What  the  blazes  are  ya  doin'  down  there?"  a 
voice  roared  from  the  highway  above.  "Don't  ya 

KNOW  FIRES  ARE  PROHIBITED  ON  THIS  BEACH?  PUT 
IT  OUT  AND  GET  MOVIN'!" 

They  got  movin'.   They  drove  two  miles  up  the  coast. 

The  moonlit  air  was  clear  and  soft  and  the  sea 
glittering,  etc.  A  dozen  scattered  fires  were  flaming 
briskly  on  the  beach  below.  Picnicking  here  was 
obviously  the  height  of  legality.  The  Agars  descended. 

"As  I  was  saying  when  so  thoroughly  inter- 
rupted," said  Shirley,  leaning  back  on  her  elbows  on  the 
blanket,  "what — "     (Continued  on  page  87) 


she  didn't  have 


Ever  since  her  marriage  to  Bob  Topping, 
Lana  Turner  has  been  bitterly  criticized  in  the 
world's  press.  It  has  been  said  that  she  ac- 
cepted bad  advice  regarding  her  wedding  plans, 
that  she  snubbed  newspaper  reporters  in  Eng- 
land. In  two  earlier  stories  Modern  Screen 
has  reported  this  phase  of  Lana's  recent  ex- 
periences. 

Now,  in  the  words  of  a  man  currently  close 
to  Lana,  Modern  Screen  presents  Lana's  side 
of  the  story.  Jimmy  Cross,  a  young  Holly- 
wood actor,  was  with  Lana  and  Bob  in  London, 
and  accompanied  Ihem  on  their  visit  to  Army 
camps  in  Germany.  His  story  is  the  first  com- 
plete eye-witness  account  of  what  happened 
during  the  controversial  honeymoon  tour. — 
The  Editors. 

■  What  Lana  Turner  got  from  the  press  on 
her  overseas"  trip  was  the  back  of  its  hand  and 
none  of  its  heart. 

I  know  because  I  was  with  her  from  London 
to  American-Occupied  Germany  where  we  both 
made  appearances  before  GI  audiences  at  our 
Army  posts  and  camps  there.  And  now  that 
I'm  back  in  the  States  I'm  still  burned  up 
about  the  snide  criticisms  of  her  that  filled  the 
papers. 

How  is  it  that  none  of  the  nice  things  I  re- 
member about  Lana  and  her  trip  were  men- 
tioned in  the  dispatches? 

What  things,  you  ask? 

Listen : 

Lana  freezing  at  Heidelberg — her  skin,  at 
close  range,  resembling  blue  marble.  She  is 
standing  on  a  temporary  parade  grounds  plat- 
form before  hundreds  of  American  soldiers. 
She  is  wearing  a  thin  linen  dress,  with  sleeves 
cut  so  short  as  to  stick  out  only  a  few  inches 
past  the  shoulder-line.  The  officers  with  her 
are  warmly  clad.  So  is  her  husband,  Bob-Top- 
ping. So  am  I.  Yet  even  so,  we  are  cold.  But 
Lana  .  .  . 

Bob  begs  her  either  to  throw  on  a  wrap  or 
come  off  the  platform  (Continued  on  page  80) 


by 

jimmy 
cross 

The  press  was  against 
her  from  the  start — which 

is  why  no  one  heard  the  whole 
story — the  inside  story  of 
Lana  in  Europe  .  .  . 


Sgt.  Dominic  Ziro  greets  Lana  and  Jimmy  Cross  at  the 
Stardust  Club  in  Heidelberg  where  they  entertained 
G.l.'s    (Opp.  pg.)    Lana   in   The   Three  Musketeers. 


30 


You  can't  tell  a 
book  by  its  cover,  but 
you  can  tell  a  woman 
by  her  home.  This  place 
is  vivid  and  elegant — 
it  belongs  to  Joan  .  .  . 


■  I  am  a  modest  man  by  nature,  but  truth 
compels  me  to  tell  you  that  there  is  some- 
thing irresistible  about  Romanoff  which  at- 
tracts women,  particularly  beautiful  women. 

For  example,  a  few  days  ago,  Joan  Craw- 
ford, that  beautiful  stalk  of  loveliness, 
walked  into  my  magnificently  operated  res- 
taurant. She  took  a  front  booth,  and  I,  as 
is  my  wont,  sat  down  beside  her. 

Excitement  was  dancing  in  her  eyes,  and 
a  smile  was  waltzing  on  her  lips.  "Happy 
today?"  I  inquired  with  quiet  charm. 

Joan  clasped  her  hands.  "Mike,"  she  said, 
"you  know  I  recently  adopted  two  more  chil- 
dren and  my  house  was  a  shambles  for  a 
while  but  I've  finally  got  it  fixed  and  you 
simply  must  come  out  and  see  it!" 

I  listened  carefully  as  Joan  Crawford  de- 
scribed what  she'd  done  to  this  wing  and  that 
room,  and  as  she  spoke,  my  mind  pictured 
her  home,  and  I  resolved  to  visit  it  the  very 
next  afternoon. 

I  am  glad  to  report  to  you  that  Joan 
Crawford's  home  is  built  in  the  grand  or 
Romanoff  manner.  It  has  stature,  elegance, 
size. 

It's  the  kind  of  home  you  imagine  a  movie 
star  should  live  in.  It  has  tradition,  memo- 
ries; it  reflects  years  of  loving  care,  thought- 
ful collecting,  and  pleasurable  living.  It  re- 
flects Joan  Crawford,  an  actress  who  has 
grown  with  her  fame,  who  has  developed  a 
taste  and  refinement  for  cultural  beauty  and 
the  verities  of  life. 

This  Crawford  life  is  lived  in  part  in  a 
white  English  Regency — an  early  19th  Cen- 
tury style — house  which  is  built  in  the  shape 
of  an  H.  The  front  of  the  H  forms  a  court- 
yard into  which  guests  like  Romanoff,  Gable, 
Tracy  and  other  great  actors  may  drive  their 
cars.  It's  a  tree-shaded  court  from  where 
you  call  out,  "Joan,  Joan!"  and  determine 
whether  the  beauty  is  working  in  the  kitchen 
to  the  left,  resting  (Continued  on  page  35) 


■photos  by  bob  beerma 


In  her  private,  usually  flower-filled  sitting  room  on  the  second  floor, 
Joan  answers  her  personal  mail,  keeps  her  favorite  books  and  photo- 
graphs. The  Queen  Anne  desk  contains  a  collection  of  Chinese  porcelain. 


Most  of  Joan's  entertaining  is  done  in  this  playroom.  The  wall  covering 
is  leather,  the  built-in  couches  are  sturdy,  the  lamps  out  of  elbow 
reach.  Joan's  gold  Oscar  and  Jean  Negulesco's  sketch  of  her  are  here 


by 

prince 
michael 
omanoff 


life  can  be 


eautiful 


Joan  Crawford's  private  theater  is  in  a  small  building  alongside  the  pool.  It's  as  well-equipped  as  any  full-sized 
theater,  and  movies  are  shown  here  almost  every  night.  The  stage  is  at  the  far  end  of  the  beautifully-furnished  room. 


The  pool  i-s  lined  with  blue  tile,  and  the  fence  around  it 
keeps  the  children  out.  Building  on  the  left  has  a  shower 
and   dressing   rooms  that  can   serve  as  guest  quarters. 


China  figurines  line  this  pine-panelled  hall  which  leads  to 
the  dining  room.  -A  series  of  Chinese  murals  in  the  dining 
room   beyond   are  so  delicate  they're   kept  under  glass. 


(Continued  from  page  33)  in  the  bedroom  upstairs,  or 
playing  with  the  babies  in  the  children's  wing  to  the  right. 

The  house  is  large,  of  course,  but  being  planned 
around  two  courtyards  makes  it  seem  compact. 

If  Joan  is  giving  a  party  or  expecting  friends  to  drop 
by,  she  usually  answers  the  front  door  bell  herself. 
Otherwise,  her  butler  lets  you  in  to  the  mauve  and  white 
entrance  hall. 

Joan  knows  that  Romanoff  is  a  stickler  for  formality; 
and  that  is  why  on  the  afternoon  I  visited,  the  butler 
did  his  duty.  I  stepped  into  the  entrance  and  immedi- 
ately was  impressed  by  the  subtle  colors  and  the  ex- 
quisite accessories  which  greeted  my  royal  eyes.  That 
Crawford  girl  has  a  great  feeling  for  color;  she  knows 
how  well  it  may  create  mood  and  drama.  The  entrance 
hall  is  in  grey  with  a  wine-colored  carpet,  and  the  draw- 
ing room  is  painted  in  a  faint  mauve.  The  furniture  is 
upholstered  in  purple,  green,  and  white  hand-painted 
chintz,  and  the  carpeting  is  white. 

To  step  into  Joan's  drawing  room  from  the  bright 
California  sun  is  like  walking  into  a  cool,  shaded  wood. 
At  night  the  purple  tones  seem  to  change  and  dance 
with  the  firelight.  And  Romanoff  gives  you  his  solemn 
word,  as  a  dramatic  setting  for  an  actress,  that  drawing 
room  cannot  be  beat.  It  shows  Crawford  at  her  best, 
and  Joan  at  her  best,  as  any  man  can  tell  you,  is  un- 
beatable. 

All  her  rooms  are  furnished  with  richly  quilted  chairs, 
leather-covered  coffee  tables,  out-sized  hassocks,  and 
numerous  indoor  plants.    But  the  finest  decorative 


beauty  in  the  house  lies  in  its  paintings,  the  odd  bits  of 
china,  the  unforgettable  lamps. 

These  are  the  accessories  which  speak  eloquently  of 
the  owner;  these  are  the  possessions  which  she  chose  her- 
self; these  are  the  signs  of  her  soul. 

In  the  front  hall  and  drawing  room,  for  example,  Joan 
has  a  series  of  paintings  by  the  French  artist,  Gagni.  The 
oils  are  Parisian  scenes — the  Paris  I  love  so  well — the 
flower  stalls,  the  Left  Bank,  La  Place  d'  Opera. 

Two  built-in  niches  in  the  drawing  room  display  her 
collection  of  miniature  furniture,  Dresden  figurines  and 
ivory  chessmen.  An  upright  harpsichord  in  the  hall  is 
one  of  the  rarest  and  oldest  musical  pieces  in  existence 
anywhere. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Crawford  drawing  room  is  filled 
with  so  many  valuable  and  delicate  objets  d'art  that  Joan 
has  almost  decided  that  it's  too  delicate,  too  beautiful, 
too  fragile  a  room  in  which  her  guests  can  have  a  good 
time.  "I'm  thinking,"  she  told  me,  "of  changing  the  color 
scheme,  of  making  it  green  and  white  with  dashes  of  red." 
In  the  meanwhile,  she  loves  the  room,  loves  to  relax  in  it, 
loves  to  close  the  white-panelled  doors  and  read  and  knit 
by  the  hour. 

Romanoff,  however,  prefers  the  playroom,  for  this  is 
the  comfortable  little  spot  which  contains  the  bar;  and 
it's  also  the  room  in  which  Joan  entertains  intimate  par- 
ties of  four  and  six.  The  place  is  vitalized  by  a  lot  of 
daily  traffic,  a  great  deal  of  it  supplied  by  Joan's  adopted 
youngsters — Christina  practices  her  piano  lessons  here. 
Christopher  pores  through  his  (Continued  on  page  64) 


Joan's,  dressing  room  is  a  perfect  setting  for  a  star.  It 
has  an  all-over  carpet  of  thick  white  wool;  quilted  chintz 
covers  the  walls,  and  the  closets  are  as  big  as  rooms. 


Separated  from  the  rest  of  the  bedroom  suite  is  Joan's 
sleeping  porch.  The  Dorothy  Liebes  draperies,  heavily  lined 
with  black,  conceal  a  wall  entirely  composed  of  windows. 


He  dates,  but  he 

doesn't  dote;  he  wows,  but  he 

doesn't  woo.  What  does  a 

girl  have  to  have  to  capture  Pete? 

By  WINSTON  STALLINGS 


peter  lawford 


36 


Although  Peter  described  Lana  Turner 
(now  Mrs.  Bob  Topping)  as  a  "mag- 
netic force,"  he  remained  immovable. 


He  discovered  Gardner  long  before  the  general  public 
did;  snapped  endless  candids  of  Ava — then  left  her 
with  perfect  camera  record  of  their  short-lived  romance. 


A  date  with  Lawford  puts  a  star- 
let in  the  spotlight.  She's  Su- 
san Perry,  formerly  Candy  Toxin. 


■  Peter  Lawford  put  his  arms  around  Elizabeth  Taylor 
and  drew  her  to  him.    He  kissed  her.    And  then — 

And  then  he  blew  his  lines. 

They  tried  again.    He  kissed  her. 

And  then  he  blew  his  lines. 

They  tried  again.    This  time — yep,  he  blew  his  lines. 

Finally,  on  the  twelfth  attempt,  the  scene  was  shot. 
As  they  left  the  set  of  Julia  Misbehaves,  Director  Jack 
Conway  gently  asked  the  flustered  Peter,  who  usually 
is  sharp  on  his  script  work,  what  the  trouble  had  been. 

"I — I  just  couldn't  concentrate,"  Peter  blurted. 
"Elizabeth's  so  beautiful — I  forgot  everything  else!" 

"This  is  not  like  you,  Peter,"  said  Conway. 

Peter  admitted  it.  He  had  to.  In  his  five  years  or  so 
around  Hollywood,  he  has  won  for  himself  the  title  of 
Public  Escort  Number  1  because  no  girl  has  ever  been 
able  to  make  him  forget  one  thing — that  there  are  al- 
ways other  girls. 

Elizabeth  Taylor  is  not  Peter's  latest  romance — not 
yet,  anyway.  But  there  are  any  number  of  girls  who  at 
one  time  or  another  have  been  able  to  claim  that  dis- 
tinction. Among,  them  are  some  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  on  earth.  When  the  average  man  considers  the 
allure  of  some  of  those  from  whom  Peter  has  gone  on, 
he  has  to  ask,  "How  can  he  do  it?"  Well,  Peter  seems 
not  only  able  to  do  it,  he  does  it  blithely  and  apparently 
completely  without  pain. 

Just  to  pick  one  at  random,  take  Ava  Gardner.  Long 


before  the  public  felt  the  true  impact  of  her  beauty  in 
The  Hucksters,  Peter  had  exposed  himself  to  it  at 
parties  and  in  many  an  evening  around  the  night  spots. 

For  weeks  they  were  an  intimate  little  twosome, 
branching  off  by  themselves  at  gatherings  to  indulge  in 
long,  murmuring  tete-a-tetes .  Peter  would  take  her  to 
the  beach,  where  he  delighted  in  snapping  her  picture 
with  his  imported  camera.  As  a  result  of  this,  Ava  has 
one  thing  few  of  Peter's  other  brief  romantic  attach- 
ments can  boast  about — a  photographic  record  of  their 
romance. 

A  number  of  snapshots  show  her  surrounded  by  such 
odd  companions  as  zebras  and  parakeets.  It  seems 
that  under  the  distraction  of  Ava's  bewitching  presence, 
Peter  had  loaded  the  camera  with  some  film  his  father, 
Sir  Sidney  Lawford,  had  previously  exposed  at  the  San 
Francisco  Zoo ! 

Well,  Peter  went  on  from  Ava,  as  he  has  gone  on  from 
so  many  .  .  .  even  from  Lana  Turner.  On  Lana's 
schedule,  Peter  fitted  in  somewhere  between  her  divorce 
from  Steve  Crane  and  her  near-betrothal  to  Ty  Power. 

Lana  and  Peter  were  a  bright  pair.  Lana  is  said  never 
to  have  looked  more  beautiful  than  in  the  days  when 
she  was  turning  up  regularly  at  Ciro's  or  the  Mocambo 
with  Peter.  People  said  that  this  time  Peter  was  really 
getting  serious. 

There  was  an  evening  when  he  and  Lana  danced 
together  for  something  like     {Continued  on  page  89) 


■  The  blonde  girl  named  Mary  executed  a 
perfect  swan-dive.    She  took  off  from  the 
bedroom  door,  sailed  gracefully  across  the  room 
and  landed  on  the  dilapidated  studio  couch. 

"Love,"  she  sighed,  aiming  her  remark 
breathlessly  at  the  ceiling,  "is  a  wonderful  thing!" 

Thereupon,  the  studio  couch  collapsed. 
The  legs  folded  inward,  the  mattress  upward, 
trapping  its  occupant. 

"Huh,"  the  roommate  exclaimed.  "Love 
is  like  second-hand  furniture — you  never 
can  tell  how  it's  going  to  hold  up." 

The  blonde  girl  named  Mary  relaxed 
serenely  in  the  ruins  of  her  bed. 

"Dorothy,"  she  retorted,  "you  are  nothing  but 
a  bitter  old  crone  of  19  summers.    Here  I 
lie  trapped,  with  an  inner  spring  jabbing  at  my 
ribs  and  an  arrow  through  my  heart.  Do  you 
give  me  any  sympathy?    Any  understanding?  No. 
You  don't  even  ask  me  who  the  man  is." 

Dorothy's  withering  look  could  have  crippled 
the  cockroach  scurrying  across  the  floor.  "The 
man!    The  man!     Okay,  Mary  tell  me — 
who  is  the  man?    No,  don't!    Let  me  guess.  I 
don't  suppose  it  could  be  the  fellow  whose 
reflection  has  been  in  your  eyes  for  the  last 
two  months.    The  same  handsome  rascal 
who's  been  making  love  to  you  on  stage,  off 
stage,  up  and  down  El  Molino  Street  on  the 
way  to  the  Playhouse  and  from  the  Playhouse — 
not  to  speak  of  the  front  porch?" 

Mary  raised  herself  painfully  on  one  elbow.  She 
viewed  her  roommate  with  vast  astonishment. 

"Gosh,"  she  exclaimed,  "don't  tell 
me  it's  been  that  obvious!" 

"Obvious?   Why,  honey,  even  a  girl  with  my 
withered  I.Q.  can  tell  in  an  instant  that  you're 
in  love  with  either  Clark  Gable  or  Dana 
Andrews — and  you  don't  know  Gable." 

"Even  if  I  did,  I'd  prefer  Andrews." 

"Has  Dana  proposed?"    (Continued  on  page  92) 


It  started  nine 

years,  four  contracts 

and  three  kids 

ago  ...  a  guy  with 

a  dream  and  a 

girl  named  Mary,  who- 

with  a  loving  heart 

— shared  that  dream  .  . 

BY  CARL  SCHROEDER 


39 


■  • 


Fun  came  first,  and 

if  work  didn't  follow— that 

was  good.  I  was  the 

laziest  starlet  on  the  lot — the  good-time 
kid,  the  night  club  trotter  .  .  . 


Confe 


ssions 


of  an 

ex-playgirl 


bv  Ava  Gardner 


■  I  wondered  why  Clark  Gable  kept  staring  at  me,  why  every  scene  we 
played  was  wrong.  It  was  our  first  day  on  The  Hucksters  and  with  every 
take  it  was,  "Cut — let's  try  it  again."   We  were  re-shooting  them  all. 

For  once,  I  had  started  a  picture  eager  and  anxious  about  the  part.  For 
once,  I  was  dying  to  make  good.  "Something  must  be  awfully  wrong  with 
me,"  I  thought  dismally.  When  we  broke  at  noon,  Clark  strolled  inside 
my  dressing  room  and  cleared  that  up, 

"I'm  sorry  I  loused  up  the  morning,"  he  said.  "I  wasn't  paying  attention 
to  my  lines.  Too  busy  watching  you." 

If  my  heart  jumped  at  that,  his  next  words  dropped  it  right  back 
again.  "Frankly,  Ava,"  said  Clark,  "I've  been  worrying  about  you 
in  this  part.  I  didn't  think  you  had  the  ability  to  handle  it." 

I  blinked. 

Then  he  stuck  out  his  hand  and  grinned.  "But  kid,"  he  said,  "you're 
okay!" 

I  have  a  record  at  home — a  transcription  of  some  things  Clark  Gable 
said  on  a  broadcast  after  The  Hucksters  was  done.  He  paid  me  some  very 
flossy  compliments — "a  coming  new  star  ...  an  actress  with  a  great 
future"  .  .  .  and  such.  Whenever  I  get  just  a  shade  blue,  I  twirl  that 
platter  and  heave  a  grateful  sigh  of  relief — and  remember  how  Gable's 
first  expression  of  doubt  about  me  rocked  me  {Continued  on  page  96) 


I  had  to  do  some  cramming 

for  Venus,  because  I'd  been  too 

lazy  to  learn  before. 


41 


Just  a  kid  raised 

around  Hollywood  I  was, 

always  busy,  always 

broke.  And  then 

the  lightning  struck  and 

I  was  famous — 

and  suddenly  afraid.  .  .  . 


FEAR 


by  Alan  Ladd 


-  One  day  six  years  ago  in  Manhattan, 
I  stood  on  Times  Square  and  gawked  like  a  coun- 
try boy  at  a  sight  I'd  never  really  thought 
I'd  see.  On  the  Paramount  Theater  above  me 
towered  lighted  letters — taller  than  I  was,  it 
seemed — reading,  "This  Gun  For  Hire,  With 
Alan  Ladd." 

I  squeezed  my  wife's  hand  excitedly  and 
pointed  up.  "Look,  Sue!"T  said.  "Look  at  that!" 

I'd  barely  got  those  awed  words  out  of  my 
mouth  when  someone  yelled,  "There  he  is!"  and 
a  crowd  rolled  up  around  us,  quick  and 
threatening  as  a  summer  thundercloud. 

I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  Nothing  like 
that  had  ever  happened  to  me.    I  was  terrified. 
Then  I  ran  through  the  only  door  I  could  see 
— right  into  the  theater  where  my  first  big  picture 
was  playing.  I  chased  through  the  lobby — 
the  crowd,  I  imagined,  right  after  me — out  a 
side  door  and  back  onto  the  sidewalk. 

There,  thank  goodness,  was  Sue  with  a 
cab  waiting.  We  dove  inside.   The  driver 
crawled  off  at  five  miles  an  hour.   On  all  sides 
people  were  yelling  my  name  and  hammering 
at  the  windows.    I  said,  "Faster,  can't  you?" 
and  he  said,  "Okay,  it's  faster,"  and  stepped 
on  it.    Then,  "You're  Alan  Ladd,  ain't  you?" 
I  mumbled,  "Yeah." 

After  a  moment,  he  said,  "I  liked  the  way 
you  plugged  them  two  guys.  You're 
plenty  handy  with  a  rod.   And  brother!"  he 
went  on,  snaking  through  Times  Square 
traffic,    "You  sure  did  slap  that  dame  in  the 
puss  like  you  meant  it!    That's  what  / 
liked."   He  grinned  admiringly  over  his 
shoulder,  just  nicking  a  news  truck. 
"Yep,   you're   all   right,  mister." 

That  was  when  I  first  realized  (1)  that  I 
wasn't  just  myself,  but  a  public  personality,  and 
(2)  that  what  I  did  on  the  screen  people  believed. 

I  can't  tell  you  which  seems  the  most 
fantastic  to  me  still.    But  taking  that  last  one 
first:  never  in  my  wildest  dreams  would  I 
ever  have  guessed  that  I'd  be  typed  as  a  tough 
guy.  And  what  do  I  do  but  wind  up  a 
killer!  Even  in  This  Gun  For  Hire,  I  never 
figured  the  character  I  played  to  be  a 
simple  vicious  criminal.   I  thought  of  Phil  Raven 
as  the  kind  of  guy  I'd  often  been  in  my  life: 
pretty  mixed  up,  an  introvert — outside  look- 
ing cool  as  a  cucumber,  inside  churning  like  a 
cement  mixer.    That's  the  way  I  played 
Phil    Raven  —  and    he    made    me    a  star. 

A  star  .  .  .  I've  never  quite  believed 
that  either — even  after  those  six  long  years 
and  with  15  pictures  under  my  belt.  I'm 
still  waiting  to  hit  the  floor — boom !— and  wake 
up.  Believe  me,  no  one  understands 
less  than  A.  Ladd  why  it  happened  to  him. 

It's  easy  to  understand  how  it  happened 
to  Bing  Crosby,  with  his  nonpareil  pipes;  or 
to  Gable,  with  all  {Continued  on  page  82) 


43 


/  was  the  tomboy, 

and  she  the  bookworm — 

my  sister  Jeanne, 

a  little  girl  reading  in 

the  corner — princess,  gypsy, 

beautiful  dreamer  .  .  . 


she  fooled  us  all 


In  rila  era  in 


A  year  and  a  half  yotinger 
than  her  sister  Jeanne, 
Rita  has  just  been 
graduated  from  UCLA. 
She  majored  in 
psychology  and  has  no 
movie  ambitions. 


Jeanne  and  Paul  Brinkman  at  home.  Finished  with  Apart- 
ment For  Peggy,  Jeanne's  been  traveling  around  Conn, 
and  N.  Y.  doing  scenes  for  Letter  To  Three  Wives. 


■  On  her  tenth  birthday  my  sister  Jeanne  blew  out 
the  candles  on  her  cake  with  a  mighty  gust.  Then 
she  sighed  deeply  and  made  a  speech. 

"This  occasion  marks  the  end  of  the  first  decade 
of  my  life,"  she  said,  using  her  best  library  English. 
"It's  taken  so  long.  I  wonder  what  the  next  ten 
years  will  bring.  .  .  ." 

I  always  remembered  that  speech.    Not  because 
I  knew  I  was  going  to  study  psychology  when  I 
got  older,  but  because  it  delayed  the  cutting  of  the 
cake  and  I  was  young  enough  at  the  time — a  year 
and  a  half  younger  than  Jeanne — to  have  a  healthy  sweet 
tooth. 

Just  the  same,  that  speech  should  be  a  great 
aid  to  me  in  analyzing  Jeanne's  character  and 
personality  now  that  I'm  finishing  four  years  of  college 
psychology. 

But  it  isn't. 

Of  any  other  girl  who  spoke  like  that,  a  psy- 
chologist might  say  that  she  was  the  practical  type 
who  knew  instinctively  that  childhood  is  only  the 
get-ready  period  of  life — a  girl  who  was  impatient  to 
get  into  the  real  business  of  adult  living.  But 
the  trouble  is  that  Jeanne  wasn't — and  isn't — the 
practical  kind. 

It's  true  that  she  wanted  to  grow  up  quickly. 
At  three  and  a  half,  she  started  to  read.   When  she 
was  five,  Mother  and  Father  gave  up  spelling  out 
what  they  didn't  want  her  to  understand.  She 
understood  every  word  and  repeated  to  me  by  code 
what  was  being  said.   At  six,  she  openly  declared  to 
her  parents  that  Santa  Claus  was  a  myth — but 
agreed  to  keep  her  discovery  from  me.   At  eight,  she 
tired  of  children's  books  and  got  permission  to  borrow 
from  the  adult  section  of  the  library,  starting  in  on 
a  volume  of  Greek  mythology. 

But  overshadowing  all  this  were  her  dreamer  ways. 
During  most  of  her  childhood  Jeanne  was  a  little 
girl  sitting  in  a  corner' lost       {Continued  on  page  85) 


44 


She's  gay  and  alive  and  full 

of  the  devil ;  she's  got  a  heart  you'd 
like  to  frame ;  she's  happy  Annie,  my  dream 
girl,  my  Texas  baby  .  .  . 


ANN  SHERIDAN 


■  My  love  affair  with  Ann  Sheridan 

was  inspired,  in  the  first  place,  by  a  horse.  I 

will  explain  that. 

Late  in  the  spring  of  1947  I  made  some  arrange- 
ments with  a  sportsman  named  Hal  Roach 
to  meet  him  in  New  York  and  go  from  there  to 
Kentucky  to  give  the  people  the  benefit 
of  our  skill  and  experience  in  improving  the  breed 
known  as  the  Thoroughbred  American  race 
horse.   It  was  our  intention  to  accomplish  this 
with  an  object  lesson.   We  would  lay  out  certain 
large  sums  of  cash  on  the  winner  of  the  Kentucky 
Derby,  collect  our  bets,  and  then  deliver  to 
our  friends,  to  the  sportswriters,  and  to  the 
world  at  large,  a  lecture  consisting  of 
the  following:  "Yah!    We  told  you  so!" 

Just  before  leaving  for  Louisville  we  were  at 
the  St.  Regis  Hotel,  and  there  we  fell  into 
conversation  with  Miss  Elizabeth  Arden  (the  lady  whose 
fortune  is  your  face)  and  became  her  messenger  boys. 

Miss  Arden  owned  a  horse  which  would  run 
in  the  Derby,  and  she  wished  her  jockey  to  ride 
it  under  new  colors.   She  had  the  silks 
with  her.  Would  we  be  kind  enough  to  deliver  them  to 
her  jpckey?   Two  experts  on  their  way 
to  fetch  enlightenment  at  Churchill  Downs 
would  like  nothing  better,  although 
we  assured  Miss  Arden  that  our  advanced 
researches  and  psychic  powers  indicated  clearly 
that  her  pony  was  running  out  of  his  class. 

At  Churchill  Downs,  in  spite  of  our  fame  as  horse 
experts,  we  had    (Continued  on  page  104) 


msmm 

Me,  McCarey,  with  Annie  after  we  made  Good  Sam. 


Off  \jJbkjb 


47 


INVITATION  ONLY 


■  Roy  Rogers  and  Dale  Evans  got  there 
early  that  Sunday  afternoon.  They'd  been  to 
three  parties  the  day  before — "But,"  said 
Dale,  "who'd  want  to  miss  a  Hover  party!" 

"That  pool  looks  mighty  fine,"  said  Roy,  look- 
ing at  one  of  the  largest  in  Beverly  Hills. 
"Sure  wish  we'd  brought  our  bathing  suits  . . ." 

"Totally  unnecessary,"  said  H.  D.  Hover. 

"Now  look,"  said  Dale.  "I'm  an  old- 
fashioned  girl." 

"I  am  horrified,  H.  D.,"  said  Roy. 

"You  are  leaping,"  said  H.  D.,  "to  conclusions. 
My  facilities  include  a  supply  of  bathing 
suits  for  just  such  unequipped  characters  as 
you." 

H.  D.  Hover's  famed  party  facilities  also 
include:  a  bachelor  home  ideally  arranged  for 
festive  gatherings,  with  the  cocktail  room, 
dining  room,  sun  room,  patio  and  rumpus 
room  all  flowing  into  one  another,  thus 
keeping  gatherings  from  breaking  up  into 
separate  groups;  marvelous  food,  drinks  and 
service  supplied  by  Ciro's,  which  he  happens  to 
own  and  operate;  one  of  the  most  extensive 
knowledges  extant  of  who's  who  in  Holly- 
wood; and  an  unrivalled  party-giving  know- 
how.    The  last,  of  course,  is  the  most  im- 
portant of  all. 

The  basic  ingredient  of  a  successful  party 
is,  obviously,  a  well-chosen  guest  list. 
H.  D.  Hover  keeps  a  card  index  of  the  names 
of  people  he  invites  to  his  affairs.  Several 
weeks  before  he  gives  a  party,  he  gets  out 
this  index  and  broods  over  it.  He  selects  the 
cards  of  those  he  thinks  most  suitable  for 
the  fete.    These  he  studies  thoughtfully.  If 
two  of  the  individuals  are  currently  at 
odds,  one  is  eliminated.  However,  he  has  oc- 
casionally invited  a  separated  husband  and 
wife.  For  instance,  Cornel  Wilde  and  Patricia 
Knight,  when  they  were  apart.  "They're 
both  my  friends  and  (Continued  on  page  SO) 


Everyone  is  welcome 
at  Ciro's,  H.  D.  Hover's 
glittering  night  club. 
But  to  attend  one  of  those 
celebrated  revels  at  his 
bachelor  home,  you've  got 
to  be  somebody  special! 


Even  in  the  pool  Roy  Rogers  held  on  to  his  cowboy  hat!  It's  at  Herman 
Hover's  recent  party  in  his  bachelor  home.  The  owner  of  Ciro's,  Hover  used 
it's  catering  service.  Champagne — or  millt,  if  you  preferred — flowed  freely. 


48 


Guests  were  invited  to  come  from  2  to  4.  First  ones  arrived  at  4,  others  came  all  evening.  Swimming  started  the  party. 
(Above)    Harry  Lewis  with  Mrs.  Alan  Curtis.  Johnny  Sands  and  Corinne  Calvet  in  raft.  Deanie  Best  on  board. 


Although  he  usually  doesn't  approve  of  games  at  parties — he  likes  the 
guests  themselves  to  be  amusing — Hover  tossed  quoits.  Deanie  Best  acted  as 
retriever  while  Ava  Gardner  and  Harry  Lewis  formed  the  cheering  section. 


There  were  about  a  dozen  waiters  at  this  party,  walking  around  with 
trays  of  hors  cToeuvres.  Here,  Johnny  Sands  helps  Audrey  Totter 
choose.    Ham,   turkey   and    roast   beef   were    served    buffet  style. 


49 


INVITATION  ONLY 


(Continued  from  page  48)  they're  both  sensible,"  he 
says.  "I  knew  they'd  have  the  good  taste  not  to  quarrel 
at  the  party.  Well,  delightfully  enough,  my  party  be- 
came, as  I  hoped,  the  scene,  of  their  reconciliation." 

He's  careful  not  to  ask  too  many  personalities  with 
life-of-the-party  tendencies.  A  few,  of  course,  are 
peachy.  But  get  a  superabundance  of  sparklers  try- 
ing to  out-sparkle  each  other,  and  the  party  is  liable 
to  get  somewhat  out  of  hand. 

After  a  number  of  unhappy  experiences,  Hover  has 
weeded  from  his  list  those  with  an  uncontrollable  urge 
to  toss  clothed  people  into  the  swimming  pool.  One 
time,  Peggy  Maley  became  the  moist  victim  of  such 
jocularity.  To  keep  afloat,  the  story  goes,  the  un- 
fortunate woman  was  forced  to  begin  abandoning  her 
jewels.  So  loaded  was  she  with  costly  baubles  that 
afterward  it  took  24  hours  to  fish  them  from  the 
bottom.  Another  time,  Xavier  Cugat  was  wittily 
pushed  in.  No  mention  is  made  of  his  throwing  off 
jewelry,  though  it's  said  his  cuff-links  that  day  were 
ponderous.   Evidently  a  strong  swimmer. 

As  a  precaution  against  his  current  guest-list  de- 
veloping sudden  dangerous  yens  (stripped  of  pool- 
pushers  though  it  be),  Hover  has  now  constructed  a 
low  but  restraining  fence  around  his  tank. 

Hover  thinks  it's  a  sound  idea  for  most  of  the  peo- 
ple present  to  know  each  other.  Makes  for  a  more 
relaxed  atmosphere.  But  naturally  it's  always  pleas- 
antly stimulating  to  have  a  few  "outsiders"  in  the 
group.  If  there's  a  visiting  celebrity  or  dignitary  in 
town,  Hover  will  try  to  get  him.  Among  the  digni- 
taries at  the  Sunday  party  pictured  on  these  pages 
were  Prince  Mohammed  Aly  Ibrahim  and  Princess 
Hanrade  Ibrahim  of  Egypt.  They  came  with  Yvonne 
de  Carlo. 

Among  the  other  movie  figures  there  were  Ava 
Gardner,  Ann  Miller,  Richard  Ney,  Bruce  Cabot, 
Bob  Hutton,  Cleatus  Caldwell,  Mary  Hatcher,  Arlene 
Dahl,  Coleen  Townsend — and  many  more. 

Hover  likes  to  blend  in  a  few  socialites.  "Most  of 
the  cafe  society  people  I  ask,"  he  says,  "are  hand- 
some, congenial,  often  have  incomes  on  a  par  with  the 
movie  star  incomes,  and  above  all  are  witty  and  good 
company."  Performing  their  lively  function  were  such 
illustrious  cafe  habitues  as  Johnny  Meyer,  equally  at 
home  in  salon  and  Congressional  committee-room; 
Harry  Jameson,  the  steel  magnate,  and  his  wife  Doro- 
thy, held  to  be  one  of  the  .ten  best-dressed  women  in 
America  (she  wore  a  black  chiffon  dress  over  a  taf- 
feta petticoat  and  carried  a  muff  of  pale  pink  rose- 
buds);  and  Stephen  Crane,  former  husband  of  Lana 
Turner. 

"It  is  the  mixture  of  movie  people  and  cafe  society 
that  makes  a  party  jump,"  says  Hover. 
This  one  jumped. 


Roy  and  Dale  wore  matching  grey  cord  outfits  trimmed  with  red,  then 
changed  into  borrowed  bathing  togs  and  joined  Deanie  Best.  Dale 
tried  out  the  raft,  but  Alan  Curtis  laughingly  tossed  her  overboard. 


In  the  swim — but  not  in  the  pool — were  Martha  Vickers,  her  husband 
A.  C.  Lyles  (back  to  camera)  and  Douglas  Dick.  Martha  set  a  style 
note  with  her  parasol  made  of  the  same  silk  material  a-s  tier  dress. 


SO 


photos  by  bob  bcerman 


Hover  chooses  his  guests  carefully.  He  likes  a  varied  but  congenial  crew.  The  inside  of  Hover's  house  was  open  to  those  who  tired  of  the  sun. 
One  of  his  favorite  people  is  Carmen  Miranda — she's  usually  the  life  of  the  Abe  Burroughs  (at  piano)  sang  some  of  his  clever  parodies  for  the 
party.  Genial  Host  Hover  greets  Carmen  and  her  husband,  David  Sebastian.      host's  date,  Lyn  Thomas  (left),  John  Payne,  Slo  De  Haven  and  Hover. 


Way  up  on  Hover's  preferred  list  is  Diana  Lynn.  A  new  hair-do  and  a  All  the  way  from  India  came  the  Kajah  Paul  Satypal.  (Above  with 
stunning,  creation  out  of  Vogue  is  one  of  her  party-going  rules.  Here,  Ann  Sterling.)  A  young  fellow  came  up  to  him  and  asked,  "Is  that 
she  chats  on  the   patio  with  Jack  Sasson  whom   she  dates  occasionally.       Ciro's  combat  uniform?"  "No,"  said  the  Rajah,  "it's  Mocambo's." 


51 


NOTORIOUS 
GENTLEMAN 


The  late  Carole  Landis.  Her  suicide  in 
July  involved  Rex  in  a  scandal  that 
would    have    wrecked    most  marriages. 


Rex  (of  Unfaithfully  Yours)  and  Lilli  at 
home.  This  fall  they'll  come  to  N.  Y. 
where  Rex  will  star  in  a  Broadway  play. 


■  The  first  time  I  saw  Rex  Harrison  on  the  screen  he 
was  playing  the  role  of  a  guy  who  couldn't  keep  his 
feet  on  the  straight  and  narrow  path  or  his  thoughts 
from  straying  off  to  greener  fields.  He  couldn't  stick 
to  his  domestic  knitting  and  devote  his  time  to  making 
his  little  wife  happy. 

The  picture  was  made  in  England  and  released 
there  under  the  title,  The  Rake's  Progress;  but  over 
here  they  called  it  The  Notorious  Gentleman.  The 
film's  notorious  fellow  was  Rex — and  oddly  enough, 
Lilli  Palmer,  who  is  now  Mrs.  Harrison,  portrayed  the 
neglected  wife.  Even  more  remarkably,  these  two 
have  now  been  cast  in  real-life  roles  which  people  see 
as  startling  parallels  to  those  early  screen  assignments. 

As  far  as  the  world  can  tell,  they've  ridden  out  the 
recent  storm  which  swirled  around  them  when  lovely 
Carole  Landis  killed  herself  in  a  fit  of  despondency 
because,  as  gossip  had  it,  Rex  wouldn't  desert  Lilli  so 
she  could  have  him. 

Why  does  the  story  end  this  way?  What  were  the 
motives,  the  needs,  the  hopes  of  the  three  people 
involved? 

These  are  the  facts,  as  I  have  learned  them. 

Lilli  Palmer  is  an  -amazing  girl,  a  lovely,  tawny- 
haired,  green-eyed  beauty  whose  screen  career  promises 
to  be  just  as  big  and  important  as  her  fabulous  hus- 
band's. Every  woman  must  be  ready  to  vote  her 
"the  most  understanding  wife  of  the  year."  No  doubt 
many  of  them  can't  comprehend  why  she  sticks;  why 
she  takes  it. 

On  the  other  hand,  ever  since  the  Carole  Landis 
story  broke,  I  have  been  flooded  with  letters  from 
women. of  all  ages  singing  the  praise  of  the  man  they 
now  call  "Sexy  Rexy."  These  women  are  ready  to 
forgive  him  anything.  He  has  that  sort  of  charm  for 
my  sex.  So  perhaps  it  isn't  so  hard  after  all  to  figure 
out  why  Lilli  wants  to  go  on  {Continued  on  page  106) 


52 


their  bosses 


■  "It  seems  that  you've  been  a  very  naughty 
girl,"  scolded  the  British  judge.    "Now  you'd  better 
go  home  and  get  back  to  work." 

One  day,  twelve  years  ago,  Bette  Davis  heard 
those  chastening  words  aimed  her  way  in  a 
London  courtroom,  right  after  losing  the  grimmest 
gamest  battle  any  star  ever  fought  with  a  Hollywood 
studio.    Bette  staked  everything  she  owned 
on  it — and  she  lost.   It  cost  her  every  penny  she  had 
in  the  world.   It  kept  her  off  the  screen  for  over 
a  year.    It  made  her  choke  down  humble  pie 
again  at  Warner  Brothers,  the  studio  she'd  sworn  to 
leave  forever.   She  came  home  to  Hollywood  from 
England,  where  the  battle  had  ended,  beaten 
and  broke.    She  had  to  start  her  career  all 
over  again — behind  a  mammoth  eight-ball. 

So  Bette  made  five  straight  hit  pictures,  including 
the  best  acting  job  she's  ever  done,  Jezebel.  She 
did  it  the  hard  way — against  odds.    From  her  set-back 
she  emerged  the  greatest  actress  on  the  American  screen. 

Did  that  experience  cure  Bette  Davis  of  being 
"naughty,"  make  her  a  "good  girl,"  make 
her  see  the  light — studio-wise?   Did  the  almost-fatal 
narrow  escape  which  Bette's  career  suffered  make  her 
swear,  "Never  again"?   It  did  not. 

Came  up  another  picture  two  years  later 
that  she  didn't  think  was  right  for  Bette  Davis — Comet 
Over  Broadway,  it  was  called — and  pronto  she 
said  "No."    Her  bosses  said  "Yes."    So  out  she 
walked,  on  suspension,  risking  it  all  over  again. 

Bette  Davis  had  plenty  of  company.    Every  star 
does  who  strikes,  walks  off  a  set,  rebels,  and 
finds  that  registered  special-delivery  message  delivered 
at  her  door:  "This  is  to  notify  you  that  as  of 
today  you  are  on  suspension  and  off-salary 
for  the  following  reasons  constituting  breach  of 
contract  .  .  ."  There'd  been  a  steady  stream  of 
those  unique  billets  doux  in  Hollywood  before  Bette's 
battle — and  there  has  ever  since.    I'm  afraid 
there  always  will  be. 

Right  now  you  can  use  all  your  fingers 
and  toes  counting  up  Hollywood  stars  a-feudin', 
a-fussin'  and  a-fightin'     (Continued  on  page  57) 


Are  stars  acting 

up — or  are  studio  bosses 

cracking  down? 

Hedda  sizes  up  the  sides  in 

Hollywood's  crazy  war 

of  nerves. 

byhedda  hopper 


Gene  Tierney  sat  for  eight  long  months  after  she  refused  roles  in  Olivia  De  Havilland  fought  for  a  principle — claimed  studio 
Chicken  Every  Sunday  and  The  Walls  of  Jericho.  Finally,  Gene  had  illegally  prolonged  her  contract.  Court  upheld  her.  Dur- 
asked  friends  to  intercede  with  Zanuck — and  then  took  a  smaller  pari.       ing  two-and-a-half-years  sit-down,  Liv  met  husband  (above). 


56 


Lauren  Bacall  has  a  good  adviser — husband  Bogart  is  a  wise  and 
seasoned  studio  diplomat.  Both  Lauren  and  Bogie  walked  out  rather 
than  do  Stallion  Road,  a  picture  they  thought  would  harm  them. 


Columbia  won  its  'battle  with  Larry  Parks — court  said  Larry'd  waited 
too  long  to  protest.  But  even  while  he  fought,  Parks  made  The  Gal- 
lant Blade.  Now  he'll  do  the  Jolson  Story  sequel  on  his  own  terms. 


whi|  stars  fight  their  bosses 


(Continued  from  page  55)  with  the  studios  who 
pay  them  fabulous  salary  checks  every  Saturday 
night.  As  I  write,  Lauren  Bacall  is  excommunicated 
at  Warners;  Betty  Hutton  has  been  making  sus- 
pension faces  at  Paramount,  and  Paramount's  been 
making  them  right  back;  Ray  Milland  has  just 
stomped  out  of  the  same  place,  on  strike;  Janet 
Blair  has  spent  her  last  contract  month  at  Columbia 
off  salary  and  on  her  mettle;  Cornel  Wilde  has  just 
escaped  suspension  by  a  whisker  by  insisting  on  a 
vacation  at  Columbia,  and  Eleanor  Parker's  com- 
plaining that  Into  The  Night  is  beneath  her  talents, 
so  Warners  are  lopping  her  off  the  payroll. 

The  list  is  too  long  to  scribble  here,  but  every 
day  you  can  look  in  any  direction  around  Movietown 
and  find  more  suspensions  than  hold  up  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge,  enough  strikes  and  walks  to  make  Bobby 
Feller  feel  right  at  home.  Everybody  seems  sore 
as  boiled  owls  at  everybody  else. 

How  come?  Is  World  War  III  starting  out  here 
in  Hollywood?  Are  the  stars  acting  up — or  are  the 
studios  cracking  down?  What  are  the  reasons  be- 
hind all  this  crazy  war  of  nerves  that's  snatched 
Hollywood  by  its  Max  Factor  wig? 

Well,  the  reasons  are  strictly  business  reasons. 
But  they  have  more  angles  to  them  than  a  Picasso 
painting,  believe  me.  The  trouble  usually  stems, 
though,  from  what  makes  a  horse  race — just  plain 
old  difference  of  opinion,  about  parts,  privileges, 
prerogatives  and — that's  right — pay  checks. 

I  talked  to  Betty  (Lauren)  Bacall  the  other  day — 
Mrs.  Humphrey  Bogart.  She  was  suspended  at  that 
point  because  she  didn't  like  the  script  of  Blowing 
Wild. 

"My  second  offense,  you  know,"  cracked  Lauren. 
"Next  time  it's  Alcatraz  for  me!" 

Both  Lauren  and  Bogie  walked  out  before,  rather 
than  do  Stallion  Road,  which  they  unanimously 
voted  bad  business  for  their  careers — but  this  time 
Lauren  is  going  it  alone.  Yet  perhaps  by  the  time 
you  read  this,  Lauren  will  be  making  the  very  pic- 
ture that  stopped  her  salary  check.  Oddly  enough, 
that's  exactly  what  she  wants  to  do — and  in  a 
hurry!  Does  that  make  sense?  No?  Well — here 
is  what  actually  happened,  in  Lauren's  own  words 
to  me: 

"I  read  the  script  of  Blowing  Wild  and  I  thought 
it  was  bad.  I  said  I  wouldn't  make  it  and  Mr. 
Warner  said  I  must.  Why?  'Because,'  he  told  me, 
'it's  a  great  story.'  I  shook  my  little  head  again 
and — ouch! — I'm  on  suspension. 

"Now,  after  I'm  off  the  team,  Mr.  Warner  reads 
the  script  himself.    He    (Continued  on  page  111) 


It  seems  they  laughed 

and  loved  like  this  before — 

years  ago.  And  what 

Tom  and  Glo  once  meant  to 

each  other,  they 

could  mean  again  .  .  . 

By  JACK  WADE 


eturn 

engagement 


After  Tom's  divorce  from  Chris  Dunne  in  1946,  he  and  Beverly  Tyler  dated  constantly — between  tiffs. 


Last  summer  Tom  (in  Command  Decision)  gave  Gloria  Haley  (Jack's  daughter)  the  ring.  They  may  be  wed  by  the  time  you  see  this. 


■  When  Tom  Drake  ran  into  Gloria  Haley  last  February 
he  could  have  asked,  "Say,  haven't  I  seen  you  before 
somewhere?" 

And  Gloria  might  have  answered,  "Yes,  we  were  en- 
gaged once.  Remember?"  And  she  could  have  added, 
"But  something  happened.  You  married  Christopher 
Dunne  and  I  married  Louis  Porchia." 

She  didn't  have  to  add,  as  they  stood  there  looking  at 
each  other,  "But  we're  both  divorced  now.  We're  both  free 
again  ..." 

Because  that's  the  story  of  these  two:  engaged,  after  a 
wonderful  romance  in  New  York,  where  they  first  met; 
parted,  after  Tom's  first  surge  of  success  in  Hollywood  was 
reported  to  have  done  things  to  his  sense  of  values  (as  it 
has  to  many  a  star  before  him) ;  married,  but  each  to 
another  in  what  have  been  called  unconscious  gestures  of 
defiance  spurred  by  the  heartbreak  of  their  split-up;  and 


then  divorces  for  both  of  them  when  those  marriages  failed 
to  take. 

That's  the  story,  stretching  over  nine  tumultuous  years; 
years  in  which  they  were  often  together — but  more  often 
apart. 

That's  the  story  .  .  .  except  for  the  new  ending.  As  they 
stood  there  after  they  met,  something  must  have  happened 
to  both  of  them  ...  a  re-awakening  ...  a  conviction  that 
what  they  had  once  meant  to  each  other  they  could  mean 
again  ... 

And  the  new  ending  .  .  . 

They  are  together  once  more.  Gloria  has  a  beautiful 
ruby  ring  (she  doesn't  call  it  an  engagement  ring,  but 
everyone  else  does).  Tom  is  saving  his  money.  Gloria  is 
embarked  on  her  new  career  as  a  journalist.  The  word  is 
out  that  they  are  going  to  be  married — may  be  married 
even  as  you  read  this.  They  have  (Continued  on  page  101) 


59 


still  in  there  crying 


Tragedies  aren't  the  only  films  in  Bette's 
life.  (Above)  A  still  from  her  newest  comedy, 
June  Bride,  co-starring   Robert  Montgomery. 


by 

bette 
davis 


In  1940,  Bette  made  All  This  And  Heaven 
Too.  She  was  governess  in  home  of  a  duchess. 
The  duke  (Boyer),  unhappily,  fell  in  love  with  her. 


■  I  have  an  advantage  over  a  lot  of  people. 
I  am  continually  being  given  the  oppor- 
tunity to  laugh  at  myself. 

I  turn  on  the  radio.  There's  Fred  Allen's 
Mrs.  Nussbaum  saying  she's  just  come 
from  the  movies.  She  tells  Fred  she's  seen 
one  of  my  pictures. 

"And  how  was  it?"  Fred  asks.  "Good?" 

"Wonderful,"  Mrs.  N.  sobs.  "I  cried  and 
cried.   It  was  a  four-handkerchief  picture." 

"Yep,"  Fred  says.  "That's  the  way  it  is. 
Laugh  and  the  world  laughs  with  you.  Cry 
and  it's  a  Bette  Davis  movie." 

I  don't  know  how  they  laughed  at  this 
in  other  homes,  but  I'm  sure  there  were  no 
louder  laughs  anywhere  than  in  mine. 

Or  the  time  Henry  Morgan  introduced  a 
crying  doll  on  his  program.  "Listen  to  it," 
Morgan  told  his  audience.  "Mama,"  it 
squeaked.  And  then  it  got  progressively 
louder.  "Mama!  Mama!  mama!  ma- 
ma!" 

"A  Bette  Davis  doll,"  Morgan  explained 
simply. 

About  once  a  month  I  will  find  myself 
sailing  right  back  at  me  in  the  hands  of 
some  expert  parodist.  I've  even  been  in 
the  animated  cartoons — now  that's  some- 
thing to  see  yourself  in,  believe  me. 

When  parodies  are  good,  I  don't  mind 
them  the  least  bit. 

First  of  all,  as  I  said,  they  give  me  a 
chance  to  laugh  at  myself.  And  that's  a 
healthy  thing.  The  psychiatrists  have  a 
long  and  involved  explanation  of  why  it's 
good  for  all  of  us  now  and  then  to  laugh 
at  ourselves.  Has  to  do  with  balance,  keep- 
ing our  sense  of  proportion,  they  say.  I 
confirm  them  here. 

I  don't  mind  being  spoofed.  The  fact  is, 
I'm  flattered. 

Think  of  all  the  actors  and  actresses 
who've  been  the  targets  of  mimics  and 


60 


Comedians  call 
her  cry-baby,  but 
Bette  doesn't 
mind.  She  loves  to 
get  up  on  the 
screen — and  have  a 
wail  of  a  time! 


parodists.  There  was  George  Arliss,  whose 
monocle  and  tight-lipped  smile  were  stand- 
ard equipment  for  every  imitator  act.  Re- 
move the  monocle,  push  forward  the  lower 
lip,  grin  and  presto,  Maurice  Chevalier. 
Muss  the  hair,  scowl  and  mumble:  Lionel 
Barrymore.  Raise  the  nose  and  say,  "Do 
you  rally?" — Katharine  Hepburn,  who 
hasn't  said,  "Do  you  rally?"  for  ages,  if  she 
ever  did  say  it.  And  there's  Greta  Garbo, 
who  was  supposed  to  vahnt  to  be  ahlone. 
And  Eddie  Robinson,  who's  been  playing 
kindly,  sweet  gentlemen  for  a  long  time, 
but  is  still  Little  Caesar  to  the  imitators. 
And  Charles  Boyer  ("of  kerse") — who,  in- 
cidentally, never  did  speak  that  famous 
line,  "Come  weeth  me  to  the  Casbah."  And 
John  Barrymore.  And  Bing  Crosby.  All 
of  them  performers  who've  made  a  clear- 
cut,  solid  impression.  Pretty  good  company 
to  be  in. 

Of  course,  it's  not  really  true  at  all  that  I 
don't  do  anything  but  "four-handkerchief" 
pictures.  Right  now  I'm  making  a  modern 
comedy  with  Robert  Montgomery  called 
June  Bride,  and  there  isn't  a  hankie  on  the 
whole  Warner  Brothers  lot. 

And  this  isn't  the  first  comedy  I've  made. 
I've  been  in  screwball  comedies  like  The 
Bride  Came  C.O.D.,  It's  Love  I'm  After, 
and  The  Man  Who  Came  to  Dinner.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  in  Cabin  in  the  Cotton, 
one  of  the  very  first  parts  I  had  in  pictures, 
I  played  not  an  ill-starred  heroine  doomed 
to  blindness,  death  or  despair,  but  a  very 
lively  and  amusing  girl. 

But  I'll  still  always  prefer  to  do  pictures 
about  real  women  who  love  and  are  hurt  and 
who  want  things  life  keeps  from  them,  and 
who  cry — a  little  more  convincingly,  I  hope, 
than  Henry  Morgan's  doll. 

I  have  a  feeling  for  that  kind  of  part. 
I  guess  that's  why  {Continued  on  page  100) 


7£acAes#/id  (ar  nation 


'?mM : "fed"  i  »  P-ches 
billows  of  whion^rl  lelvet-blend  both  with  fl„ff 

Keep  a  supolv  nf  r,  '  del|cious! 

^Proves  Z  L,jt°h£"Z  Z.y°f  *eJf.  It 

«  C"P  syrup  from  peaches  i  gelatln 

r  Coffee,  Too.  Coffee  V  r    nmold>  S^msh  " 

velvet  blend"  {or  c0ffee^rnmon  ™*™  a 
and  meJJow . . .  econonS!     J ' ' ' extra 
WRITE  for  the  be   °"°miCal  and  convenient! 

'"9  other  rn7lk  e"eh  °'  "Ve,Ve'  B'*nd  Book"  o" 
Carnation '  r)JI  recipes  usina  r-        9lv- ' 

V/Urr.L  ■     ComPany,    DeDt    Y  1 1    3,  Carnat  on 

ry  M°nday  evening. 


1 0 

i  '    ".  ■  -HI 


■  By  now  I  guess  everyone  knows  that  one 
of  the  by-products  of  producing  pictures  in  Hollywood 
is  shattered  health.  You  get  that  old  stand-by, 
ulcers,  and  that  affliction  known  as  the  hop,  skip 
and  head  twitch  (not  as  common  as  ulcers 
but  quite  spectacular  to  see)  and  a  few  other 
miseries  including  late  afternoon  palsy  and 
the  crying  fidgets. 

That  I  completed  the  shooting  of  The  Velvet  Touch 
without  acquiring  any  of  those  trade  maladies 
can  be  laid  only  to  my  star.    Probably,  this  has 
happened  before — a  producer  so  crazy  about  his  star 
that  he  wants  to  marry  her. 

That's  the  way  I  felt  about  Rosalind  Russell 
when  we  finished  our  picture.  Then, 
when  I  realized  that  I  was  married  to  her,  it  was 
almost  a  disappointment. 

There  is  only  one  thing  left  to  do — marry  her  again. 

But  in  case  she  doesn't  want  to  accept  me, 
I'm  pretty  sure  she  can  get  offers  from  others 
connected  with  the  picture — from  the  actors  and 
the  creative  personnel  and  the  technicians.    She  eased 
the  difficulties  of  all  of  us  and  was  loved  by 
all  of  us. 

Take  John  Gage,  who  directed  The  Velvet  Touch. 
It  was  his  first  picture;  formerly  he'd 
been  a  dialogue  director.    Rosalind  induced  me  to 
give  him  the  chance  and  I  agreed,  because 
The  Velvet  Touch  was  to  be  the  third  of  our 
independent  series  of  films.  But  suddenly  that  British 
tax  thing  hit  and  we  had  to  rule  out  the  first  two 
pictures.   Gage  himself  came  to  us  and  said 
he  would  easily  understand  our  reluctance  to  entrust 
our  first  production  to  a  green  director. 

"I  guess  I'll  just  have  to  wait  longer  for  my 
chance,"  he  said. 

"Why?"  asked  Ros.    "What  happened  in  England 
doesn't  make  you  any  the  less  competent.  Stuff 
and  stuff!    You  will  direct!" 

Gage  looked  at  me.  Personally  I  had  reservations. 
It  was  a  tough  picture  to  handle.   But  I  had 
had  evidence  before  (Continued  on  page  109) 


Ros  and  her  mother  on  The  Velvet  Touch 
set.  Opp.  page:  Fred  returns  from  Europe. 


Ah,  Russell!  he 
sighs.  She  may  surprise 
you,  but  she  never 
disappoints.  He'd  like 
to  marry  the  girl, 
but  he  can't — she  hap- 
pens to  be  his  wife! 


by 

freddie  brisson 


UlMTiwIWtlieH? 


One  Permanent  Cost  $15.. .the  TONI  only  $2 


Such  deep  luxurious  waves.  So  soft,  so  nat- 
ural-looking. You'll  say  your  Toni  Home 
Permanent  is  every  bit  as  lovely  as  an  ex- 
pensive salon  wave.  But  before  trying  Toni, 
you'll  want  the  answers  to  these  questions: 

Will  TONI  work  on  my  hair? 

Yes,  Toni  waves  any  kind  of  hair  that  will 
take  a  permanent,  including  gray,  dyed, 
bleached  or  baby-fine  hair. 

Can  I  do  it  myself? 

Sure.  Every  day  thousands  of  women  give 
themselves  Toni  Home  Permanents.  It's 
easy  as  rolling  your  hair  up  on  curlers. 

Will  TONI  save  me  time? 

Definitely.  The  Toni  wave  puts  a  half-day 
back  in  your  life.  You  don't  have  to  spend 
hours  away  from  home.  While  your  Toni 
wave  is  "taking"  you  can  go  about  vour 
housework  or  do  whatever  you  like. 

How  long  will  my  TONI  wave  last? 

Your  Toni  wave  is  guaranteed  to  last  just 
as  long  as  a  $15  beauty  shop  permanent  — 
or  your  money  back. 

Tune  in  "Give  and  Take"  2  p.  m., 
Eastern  Time,  Saturday,  CBS  Network 


How  much  will  I  save  with  TONI? 

The  Toni  Home  Permanent  Kit  with  re- 
usable plastic  curlers  costs  only  $2.  The 
Toni  Refill  Kit  complete  except  for  curlers 
is  just  $1  .  .  .  yet  there's  no  finer  wave  at 
any  price. 

Which  twin  has  the  TONI? 

Lovely  Jewel  Bubnick  of  Miami  Beach,  says, 
"My  sister,  Ann,  had  an  expensive  beauty 
shop  wave.  I  gave  myself  a  Toni  permanent 
—  at  home.  And  even  our  dates  couldn't  tell 
our  permanents  apart."  Jewel,  the  twin 
with  the  Toni,  is  on  the  left. 


LIFE  CAN  BE  BEAUTIFUL 

(Continued  from  page  35) 


comic  magazines,  and  even  the  two  babies, 
Cathy  and  Cynthia,  like  to  practice  walk- 
ing bare-footed  on  the  thick  green  carpet. 

Because  it  sees  so  much  use,  the  play- 
room was  decorated  to  stand  hard  wear. 
The  wall  covering  is  leathered  with  a  suede 
trim.  The  ash  trays  are  made  of  heavy 
brass.  (Romanoff  was  tempted  to  lift  a  few 
for  the  restaurant).  Two  built-in  couches 
are  comfortable  but  sturdy,  and  even  the 
plants  in  this  practical  room  are  of  a 
hardier  nature. 

Observant  devil  that  he  is,  Romanoff  was 
quick  to  recognize  the  Oscar  which  Joan 
had  won  in  1945  for  Mildred  Pierce.  It  was 
standing  on  the  bar.  Nearby  on  the  wall 
was  a  fine  pastel  drawing  of  Joan  by  the 
director  of  Humoresque — Jean  Negulesco. 
Jean  signed  the  picture  with  this  legend, 
"Avec  tant  d' admiration."  ("With  so  much 
adrniration.")  I  feel  the  same  way  about 
Joan. 

I  also  reserve  a  good  deal  of  Romanoff 
admiration  for  her  dining  room.  It's  a 
truly  magnificent  sight.  It's  large  and  well- 
furnished.  The  table  can  seat  twenty  guests 
easily.  There  was  a  time,  before  the  war, 
when  Joan  used  to  give  large  dinner  par- 
ties. Now,  she  gives  merely  one  a  year, 
but  when  she  does,  it's  incomparably  done, 
and  her  invitations  are  sought  after  by  the 
elite  in  Hollywood. 

The  dining  room  is  French  in  style,  the 
panelling  and  parquet  floors  being  repre- 
sentative of  the  Napoleonic  era.  On  either 
side  of  the  room,  however,  there  are  a 
series  of  Chinese  murals,  so  delicate  that 
they  must  be  covered  with  glass.  At  the 
far  end  of  the  room,  in  a  bay  window 
overlooking  the  swimming  pool  and  the 
lavish  beds  of  camellias,  is  a  small  round 
table  which  Joan  uses  more  frequently 
than  the  large  one. 

She  likes  to  arrange  flower  setups  for 
the  big  table,  however,  and  flanks  the  cen- 
ter spread  with  silver  candelabra  so  that 
(Continued  on  page  71) 


jo  an  ccmlfield 
dons  the 
leopard's  spots 

•  Joan  Caulfield,  currently  starring 
in  Universal's  Larceny,  proves  that 
for  sheer  showmanship,  the  leopard 
knows  what  he's  doing. 

The  coat  Joan  models  is  our 
choice  for  your  big  moments  this 
fall.  You  can  wear  it  dressed  up 
or  tailored — either  way  you're 
bound  to  make  an  impression. 

The  printed  fabric  has  a  deep 
soft  fur-like  pile — the  fake  fur  idea 
is  very  high  fashion  this  season. 
The  collar  is  flat  and  round,  >  the 
back  has  a  full  swing. 

It  comes  in  sizes  10-16,  and  jun- 
ior -9-15.  By  Judy  Nell.  About 
$24.95.  Saks-34th,  N.  Y.;  Crowley, 
Milner,  Detroit;  Lit  Brothers, 
Philadelphia;  Famous-Barr,  St. 
Louis.  Other  store  information 
page  77. 

Madcaps  hat.  Kislav  gloves.  Baar  & 
Beards  scarf. 


'I 


By  Connie  Bartel, 
Fashion  Editor 


HOOD  DROPS  TO  MAKE  GRACEFUL  COWL 


WITHOUT  HOOD,  YOKED  BACK  FULLNESS 


WITHOUT    HOOD — HANDSOME,  CASUAL 


Hood  With  flir  The  coat  that  can  look  any  way  you  want,  for 
any  occasion  you  choose.  It's  smooth  all-wool,  with  rich  soft 
velvety  real  mouton  fur  pockets  and  hood  lining.  The  hood 
frames  your  face  prettily  or  can  be  worn  as  a  cowl  in  back.  Hood 
is  detachable.  Grey,  green,  wine,  brown  or  black.  Sizes  10-18.  By 
Colleen  Coats.  $39.95.  At  Gimbels,  New  York  and  Philadelphia. 


66 


For  additional  store 
information  on  these 
Modern  Screen  fashions 
turn  to  page  77. 


with  plaid  Grey  flannel  and  bright  plaid — what  more 
could  a  teen-ager  ask?  100%  yarn-dyed  wool,  with  full  plaid 
lining,  detachable  hood.  Junior  sizes  7-15.  A  wonderful  buy  at 
the  price,  about  $29.98.  By  Kay  McDowell.  At  Franklin  Simon, 
New  York;  Lansburgh's,  Washington,  D.C.;  Famous-Barr, 
St.  Louis;  Lit  Brothers,  Philadelphia.    Other  stores,  page  77. 


modern  screen  fashions  go  on  television 


■  Opposite  and  above:  a  standout  for  tele- 
vision— snug  striped  jacket,  full  taffeta  skirt. 
The  jacket  buttons  with  jet  to  the  little 
collar,  has  saucy  bustle  in  back.  The  full 
skirt  has  graceful  new  "look  backward" 
interest.  Striped  taffeta  jacket  in  black,  red 
or  green  with  white,  $8.95.  Skirt  in  match- 
ing solids,  $7.95.  Jr.  sizes  9-15.  By  Juniorite. 

■  Right:  a  natural  for  the  camera — bold 
black  and  white  checked  blouse — slim  skirt 
with  flippant  apron  bustle.  The  taffeta 
blouse  has  a  flattering  ruffled  standup  clown 
collar  decked  with  a  black  ribbon;  ruffled 
cuffs.  Blouse  about  $5.95.  The  slim  faille 
skirt  comes  in  black,  brown,  green  or  grey, 
about  $5.95.    Teen  sizes  10-16.    By  Derby. 


■  Did  you  see  us  on  television?  Were 

we  proud  to  be  invited  to  bring  the  fashion  pages 

of  Modern  Screen  to  life  on  the  T.  V. 

screen!    The  station  was  New  York's  newest — 

WPIX.   The  program  was  the  teenager's  own 

favorite  weekly  at  7:05  p.m. — "Edgar's  School  of 

Charm."    Edgar  is  the  popular  beauty 

and  fashion  expert  who  knows  all  there  is  to 

know  about  what  makes  a  girl  smooth 

— makeup,   hairdo,   posture,   speech,  clothes! 

Teenagers  are  his  special  pets.    He  has  a 

special  understanding  of  teenagers'  pocketbooks,  too, 

that's  why  he  chose  Modern  Screen 

fashions — high  style,  low  price!    So  we  donned 

roughly  a  pound  of  dark  brown  television  makeup. 

dressed  Edgar's  teen  models  in  clothes 

straight  from  our  pages — and  faced  the  lights 

and  cameras.   Exciting!    Even  more  fun,  it  was 

completely  ad-lib,  everybody  chattering  gaily 

about  looks  and  clothes  and  stuff.  Hi-de-ho, 

video,  it's  wonderful!   And  everyone  loved  the  clothes! 


SATIN  CUPPED  GLOVES 

BY  ARIS,  $3.50. 

SATIN  BARREL  BAG 

BY  GARAY,  $5. 

CORO  PIN,  $2  PLUS  TAX 


lOOk  Backward/  angel  •  •  •  for  the  fashion  news  in  the  fall 
silhouette:  slim  as  a  shaft— with  a  sudden  sophisticated  jut  to  the  back. 
Other  excitement,  texture  contrast:  the  dress,  crepe— the  double  peplum, 
rayon  faille.  Dull  and  shiny  is  the  idea— here  picked  up  with  satin  cuffed 
gloves  and  little  satin  handbag.  Glamorous!  Dress  in  sizes  9-17.  By 
M.  Factor,  $14.95.  At  Saks-34th,  New  York;  Lit  Brothers,  Philadelphia; 
Jordan  Marsh,  Boston;  Kaufmann's,  Pittsburgh;  other  stores,  page  77. 


LIFE  CAN  BE  BEAUTIFUL 

(Continued  from  page  64) 


by  candlelight,  the  dining  room  becomes  a 
symphony  of  polished  wood,  gleaming  sil- 
ver, and  fresh  flowers. 

From  my  description  of  her  home  thus 
far,  what  sort  of  woman  would  you  say 
Joan  Crawford  was?  Frilly,  ornate,  flam- 
boyant, gracious,  modern,  sharp,  rough, 
delicate,  careless,  or  what? 

If  you  haven't  yet  made  up  your  mind, 
let  Romanoff  present  some  further  clues. 
Let  him  present  Crawford  in  her  kitchen. 
This  is  always  an  excellent  place  in  which 
a  woman  may  reveal  her  true  character. 

Joan  is  as  much  at  ease  in  the  kitchen 
as  she  is  on  the  screen.  An  early  riser,  she 
always  breakfasts  with  her  four  children. 
She  also  insists  upon  preparing  her  own 
eggs,  and  when  it  comes  to  cleaning  up, 
she  never  leaves  the  kitchen  anything  but 
spotless. 

She  likes  to  know  what's  going  on  in  the 
culinary  department  so  that  there's  a  glass 
door  in  her  dressing  room  which,  looks 
directly  down  into  the  kitchen.  The  chil- 
dren call  this  passageway,  "Alice  Through 
The  Looking  Glass." 

mama  romanoff  .  .  . 

Peek  in  on  the  nursery.  It's  to  the  left 
of  Joan's  bedroom,  upstairs.  Each  baby 
girl  has  her  own  crib,  her  own  chest  of 
drawers,  her  own  toy  boxes,  her  own 
wardrobe  closet.  Glance  into  the  closet, 
and  even  Romanoff  becomes  maternal.  The 
closets  are  filled  with  the  cutest  pinafores, 
bonnets,  sun  suits  and  dresses,  all  starched 
and  hung  like  peppermint  sticks  in  a  candy 
shop. 

Provide  your  children  with  the  best,  but 
don't  spoil  them.  That's  Joan's  motto.  And 
it's  worked  out  beautifully  with  Christina 
and  Christopher.  These  two  make  then- 
own  beds,  keep  their  wardrobes  neat  and 
orderly  and  take  some  responsibility  in 
caring  for  their  little  sisters. 

Joan  is  also  training  them  to  appreciate 
fine  art  and  to  be  at  ease  with  people  of 
every  sort.  She  says  that  she  herself  lacked 
both  these  qualities  when  she  first  came 
to  Hollywood  and  she's  determined  to  see 
that  the  children  do  not. 

To  this  end,  Joan  has  given  Christina  a 
beautiful  old  18th  Century  desk,  also  a 
collection  of  miniature  furniture  which  a 
movie  fan  sent  her.  Christina  is  justifiably 
proud  of  her  desk  and  she's  old  enough 
to  appreciate  the  fine  workmanship  which 
went  into  the  small  chairs  and  tables. 

It's  long  been  a  practice  with  Joan  to  let 
the  children  invite  a  guest  to  the  house 
each  Saturday  for  luncheon.  At  these 
weekly  parties  Christina  and  Christopher 
understand  that  they  must  act  as  hostess 
and  host  and  make  their  friends  feel  at 
home.  This  helps  the  children  develop 
poise  and  confidence  so  that  one  day  they 
will  be  able  to  entertain  at  Romanoff's. 
That  day  can't  come  soon  enough  for  me. 

Romanoff  likes  children  but  he  likes  their 
mothers  so  much  more;  so  let's  continue 
with  Joan.  Joan's  sleeping  quarters  might 
be  termed  a  suite.  Her  bed,  for  example, 
is  located  on  an  enclosed  sleeping  porch 
away  from  all  noise.  The  porch  can  be 
flooded  with  sunlight  because  it's  lined 
with  windows,  and  by  the  same  token,  it 
can  afford  total  darkness  because  these 
same  windows  are  covered  with  draperies, 
heavily  lined  with  black. 

The  sleeping  porch  is  simply  furnished. 
It  contains  a  three-quarters  sized  bed,  a 
night  table  loaded  with  books,  a  reading 
lamp,  and  a  chest.  It's  almost  ascetic  in 
its  simplicity. 

The  bedspread  and  draperies,  however, 


^y  Lace-Lovely 
Can-Can 


1PM 


At  fine  stores  everywhere, 
or  use  this  coupon. 


for  intimacy 
with  beauty' 


Tres  chi-chi  with 
saucy  flounces  of  exquisite  lace 
for  new  back  interest.  Cut  with 
Du  Benay's  exclusive  feature  .  .  . 
the  perfect-fitting  V -midriff.  In  finest 
Bur-Mil*  crepe-back  rayon  satin 
pink,  white  or  blue.  Sizes  32  to  UO  . . .  $6 

Other  styles  by  Du  Benay  also 
available  in  junior  sizes.  From  $U 


Du  BENAY  Undergarment,  Inc.,  102  Madison  Ave.,  New  York  16,  N.Y. 

Gentlemen:  Please  have  store  nearest  me  send  the  following  slip(s) 
by  Du  Benay  at  $6  each. 

Money  Order  □  Check  O 


Size 

Color 

2nd  Color  Choice 

Quantity 

Name  

Address. 
City  


_Zone_ 


-State- 


For  additional  store  information  on  this  Modern  Screen  fashion,  turn  to  page  77. 


in  sheer  black  and  gold  If  you  wear  half  sizes,  you  know  how  hard  it  is  to  find 
really  sophisticated  dress-up  fashions  that  fit.  So  here's  a  beauty  to  solve  your 
date  problem  for  fall  and  the  coming  holidays.  It's  sheer  crepe,  very  slimming.  The 
neckline  has  transparent  marquisette  and  twists  of  gold,  very  flattering  to  the  face. 
The  total  effect  is  pure  glamour,  proportioned  especially  for  you  in  sizes  to  22^2. 
Mallinson's  crepe,  in  black,  copper,  royal  blue,  wine,  green.  By  Mynette.  $14.95. 
At  Carson,  Pirie  Scott,  Chicago;  Wanamaker's,  Philadelphia.    Garay  satin  bag,  $5. 


(Continued  from  page  71) 
are  white  and  turquoise  and  shot  with 
silver.  They  were  woven  and  designed  by 
Dorothy  Liebes,  the  San  Francisco  artist, 
and  they're  really  good  enough  for  a 
Romanoff. 

So  too,  is  Joan's  sitting  room,  which 
boasts  all  the  individual  pieces  of  furniture 
she  personally  likes.  There's' her  18th  Cen- 
tury desk,  a  large  oval  Sheraton  coffee 
table,  and  a  French  Empire  couch.  The 
wallpaper  is  a  delicate  turquoise  with  large 
white,  hand-painted  chrysanthemums. 

Adjoining  the  sitting  room  and  almost  a 
part  of  it  because  the  same  heavy  white 
carpeting  covers  both  rooms,  is  the  dress- 
ing room  with  bath.  The  wall  covering 
here  is  a  yellow  glazed  chintz  with  sprigs 
of  flowers  as  a  pattern.  Even  the  doors  to 
the  wardrobe  closets  (which  are  the  size 
of  ordinary  rooms)  are  covered  with  the 
same  material,  and  the  effect  is  one  of 
lolling  in  a  sunny  garden. 

Joan's  dressing  table  is  mirrored  and  a 
masterpiece  of  organization.  She  can  sit 
in  front  of  her  makeup  mirror  and  reach 
her  jewelry,  stockings,  combs — in  fact, 
everything  but  her  dresses. 

During  the  time  she's  dressing  to  go  out 
in  the  evening,  the  two  babies,  Cathy  and 
Cynthia,  have  their  gayest  fun.  Joan  puts 
each  one  of  them  in  a  drawer  on  either 
side  of  her  dressing  table.  Then,  while 
she's  applying  her  lipstick  or  powdering 
her  nose,  the  two  bundles  of  mischief  have 
a  great  time  playing  with  her  jewelry, 
cosmetics,  and  so  forth. 

That  takes  care  of  Joan  Crawford  and 
her  indoor  life.  As  you  probably  know, 
however,  she's  long  been  famous  for  her 
beautifully  proportioned  figure.  She  main- 
tains her  curves  by  swimming,  riding,  and 
playing  tennis.  She  has  a  large  pool,  and 
on  either  side  of  the  pool,  a  small  building. 
One  of  these  is  a  dressing  room  for  the 
swimmers.  The  other  is  a  miniature  thea- 
ter in  which  she  shows  movies  two  or  three 
times  a  week. 

On  the  night  I  visited,  the  gracious 
beauty  was  kind  enough  to  show  Arch  of 
Triumph,  a  production  featuring  the  his- 
trionic talents  of  one  Michael  Romanoff. 
The  End 


MODERN  SCREEN 


"V  wonder  if  you'd  mind  removing  your  cap, 
sitting  down  in  your  seat,  not  cracking  those 
peanuts  and  rustling  that  paper  bag,  telling 
your  friend  to  stop  popping  that  bubble  gum 
and  bouncing  around  in  her  seat  from  side 
to  side,  then  stop  talking  to  her — so  I  can  get 
some  idea  what  this  movie  is  about." 


Name. 
Address. 
City. 

Check  □ 

Send  check  or  money  order  and  we  will  pay  j 
postage.  Customer  agrees  to  pay  postal  charges  j 
on  C.O.D's.  _   j 


Black,  Brown, 
Wine,  Pine  Green 
suede  finish.  Sizes  4 
to  9,  Mediums  only. 


of  Boston 


CINDY  CQU  BAVtS. 


The  slip  that  made  Stardust  famous  for  fit, 
quality  and  value  .  .  .  Life-Insured 
for  an  entire  year's  wear!  Beautifully 
tailored  of  rich  acetate  rayon  crepe, 
in  your  favorite  4  gore  bias  cut  that  bans 
sagging,  twisting  or  riding  up.  Double 
bra  top,  adjustable  straps  and 
sturdy  double-stitched  flat  seams; 
no  raw  edges.  $2.39 


WIN 

$5000.00 

in  Easy  Stardust  ^ 
Letrer  Contest 
closing  Nov.  I  5, 
I  948.  Write  for 
Contest  Rules  to 
P.  O.  Box  51, 
Murray  Hill 
Station,  N.  Y. 


ardust 

GUARANTEED 


LOOK  FOR  genuine  Stardust  SLIPS,  UNDIES, 
GIRDLES,  GARTER  BELTS,  BRAS  &  BLOUSES 

Stardust,  Inc.,  Empire  State  Bldg.,  N.  Y.  1 


Miracle  Dresses 
for  the  price 
of  ONE! 

FAVORITA 

STRIPE 

FAVORITA 

PLAID 

FOR 


i98 


g   with  the 

Hugga  Hugga 
waistline  that 
favors  your 
I  figure 


74 


3.98  ^yle-3  98  '°b-l 
rics-  3.98  vol«"  - 
Now  you  can  own  2 
of  these  miracle 
dresses  of  only  3.98 
FOR  BOTH. 

.,„    ■„    perfect  tor 

Br----- 

hable  cotton;  9U°'an' 

F0^s'  o^co-or;  o"V 
°.'  ^Many  colored  flora, 
siies.  t*onY  bUe, 

"fipet d.^ 

brown,  groy-  M»»V 
p.aids  teotunna  gr«Y,  > 

d^jorj^ 

SIZES 
9  to  15 
12  to  20 

Write  for  FREE  Style  Folder 


I       FLORIDA  FASHIONS,   SANFORD  534B  FLA. 

Please  send  .."Favoritai"  on  approval 

at  2  for  $3.98  plus  postage  and  C.O.D 
charges.  If  not  delighted,  I  may  return  pur- 

I chase  within  ten  days  for  refund.  (You  may 
enclose  purchase  price  plus  20c1  postage, 
saving  C.O.D,  fee.  Same  refund  privilege.) 

SIZE   i    COLOR    |    2nd  COLOR 

I  STRIPE  

|  PLAID  

I  Name       

I      Address    _    

City  &  State  

SEND  NO  MONEY— we  moil  immediately 
:  Full  Satisfaction  or  Money  Back  | 


glamour 
stuff 


pearl  four  leaf  clover  scatter 
pin,  with  gold  stem.  For  your 
scarf.  By  Coro.  $1  plus  tax,  at 
James  McCreery,  NY. 


Gleaming  metallic  brocade  pouch 
bag.  Black  or  white  with  silver 
or  gold,  colored  flowers.  By 
Garay.  $4.95;  Bloomingdale's,  NY. 


sentimental  touch  at  your  neck- 
line— pearl  heart -within -a -heart. 
By  Coro.  $1  plus  tax,  at  James 
McCreery,  NY. 


the  velvet  touch  — square 
black  velvet  bag,  red-lined,  gilt- 
clasped.  By  Garay.  $5,  at  James 
McCreery,  NY. 


jewel  of  a  good-luck  piece. 
Slender  gold  horseshoe  pin,  set 
with  five  tiny  pearls.  By  Coro.  $1 
plus  tax,  at  James  McCreery,  NY. 


The  inside  story  ...  on  perfect 
tummy  control.  Lower,  bias-cut 
panel  supports;  straight-cut 
panel  flattens! 


Can't  ride  up  .  .  .  Fortuna's 
contour-following  ''Fitted 
Crotch"  in  exclusive,  snug- 
fitting  Elast  A-Q  cloth! 


Look  how  light  .  .  .  how  soft 
and  supple!  You  would  hardly 
believe  Flatums  could  be  so 
control-some! 


The  all-elastic  girdle  with  the  secret  inside  panel  for  extra 
tummy  control.  We  call  it  Flatums*  .  .  .  and  it's  available 
in  roll-on  or  Talon  closed  girdles,  and  pantie  girdles 
with  Fortuna's  exclusive  Elast  A-Q  crotch. 
Sizes:  26,  28,  30.  Without  zipper,  $3.00. 
With  Talon  zipper  $5.  Extra  sizes  32-40,  with  Talon  zipper  $5.95. 

At  leading  stores  throughout  the  country. 

WOLFE  &  LANG,  INC.,  35  West  32nd  St.,  New  York  1 

Creators  of  Fortune    Girdles,  Pantie  Girdles,  Garter  Belts.  Bras. 


FLATUMS 

GIRDLES     PANTIE  GIRDLES 


*Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


WITH  Lf  NIT 


THEA 


again  demonstrates  her  matchless 
flair  for  intimate-fashion  design 
with  this  exquisite  hostess  robe  of 
flowered,  petal-fresh  organdy. 
Washable?  "Yes,  indeed,"  says 
Mme.  Tewi,  "provided  you 
starch  it  with  UNIT."  This  finest 
of  laundry  starches  restores 
original  finish  ...  helps  all  cottons 
stay  fresh  and  unrumpled  'tween 
launderiiigs. 


or  a  sturdier  fabric  such  as  a 
housedress,  man's  shirt,  sheet  or 
curtain — if  it's  cotton  it  needs 
starching  with  UNIT.*  Easy-to- 
follow  directions  for  using  this 
penetrating  starch  on  every 
package.  Ask  your  grocer  for 
UNIT. 


FOR  THE 


a  1 


Mirf 


*LINIT  is  a  registered"  trade-mark  of  Corn  Products  Refining  Co.,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


C.  P.  R.  Co.,  1948 


sweet 
and 


by  leonard  feather 


* 'Highly  Recommended 

'Recommended 

No  Stars:  Average 

FROM  THE  MOVIES 

BORDERTOWN  TRAILS  -It's  My  Lazy  Day:  Vaughn 
Monroe  (Victor). 

THE  NIGHT  HAS  A  THOUSAND  EYES— title  song: 
Buddy  Clark  (Columbia). 

PALEFACE  -Buttons  and  Bows:  *Dinah  Shore 
(Columbia);  Gene  Autry  (Columbia). 
Is  this  a  trend?  Last  month  Vaughn  Mon- 
roe teamed  with  the  Sons  of  the  Pioneers 
for  a  Western  musical  sandwich  called 
Cool  Water;  now  comes  Dinah  Shore 
with  her  Happy  Valley  Boys  for  a  sage1 
brush  serenade  accompanied  by  Sonny 
Burke  with  boots,  saddles  and  accordion. 
Bob  Hope  sings  this  one  in  the  picture, 
longing  for  the  good  old  East  "where 
the  cement  grows."  Maybe  the  Autry 
treatment  is  more  authentic,  but  for 
novelty  we'll  take  Dinah. 

ROMANCE  ON  THE  HIGH  SEAS  —It's  You  Or  No 
One:  *Doris  Day  (Columbia).  I'm  In 
Love:  Doris  Day  and  Buddy  Clark  (Co- 
lumbia ) . 

See  also  several  previous  listings  for  other 
songs.  I'm  In  Love  is  the  unhappiest 
"happy  song"  ever;  Doris  grapples  with 
it  adequately,  as  she  did  in  the  picture, 
with  the  aid  here  of  the  Bostonian. 
THAT  LADY  IN  ERMINE  — This  Is  the  Moment; 
*Tony  Martin  (Victor);  *Jo  Stafford 
(Capitol);  Dinah  Shore  (Columbia); 
Larry  Clinton  (Decca);  George  Paxton 
(M-G-M). 

This  Is  The  Moment  was  originally  the 
title  of  the  picture;  it's  still  the  name  of 
the  principal  song  involved.  There's 
another  very  pleasant  tune  supposedly 
from  the  same  film — There's  Something 
About  Midnight,  sung  by  Margaret 
Whiting  on  Capitol — but  I  suspect  it  can 
be  found  on  the  cutting  room  floor. 
TWO  GUYS  FROM  TEXAS  -Every  Day  I  Love  You 
and  There's  Music  In  The  Land:  Harry 
James  (Columbia) . (See  last  month's  list.) 

HOT  JAZZ 

COUNT  BASIE — Seventh  Avenue  Express  (Vic- 
tor). 

ARNETT  COBB— Cobb's  Boogie  (Apollo). 
DIZZY  GILLESPIE—*:       teca  (Victor). 

Bebop  with  a         an  beat — exciting. 
BENNY  GOODMAN  SL        —Cherokee  (Capitol) . 
SY  OLIVER  — *Scotty    \  G-M). 

An    unusual    instrumental — sounds   like  a 

mixture   of   Duke    Ellington    and  Tommy 

Dorsey. 

ALBUMS 

BENNY  GOODMAN-PEGGY  LEE — *Eight  tunes  (Co- 
lumbia) . 

Recorded  around  1941-2  when  Peggy  was 
Benny's  vocalist.  For  some  odd  reason 
most  of  Peggy's  best  vocals  from  that 
period  [How  Long  Has  This  Been  Go- 
ing On,  The  Lamp  of  Memory,  etc.) 
aren't  included.  It's  still  nicely  nostalgic. 

KING  COLE  FOR  KIDS — *Six  sides  (Capitol). 

The  most  delightful  children's  album  I've 
heard — a    perfect   gift   for   the  young. 

ROY  ROGERS —Souvenir  Album  (Victor). 

Title  songs  from  Don't  Fence  Me  In,  San 
Fernando  Valley,  A  Gay  Rancher o  and 
five  other  Republic  sagebrush  specials. 


WHERE  YOU  CAN  BUY 
MODERN  SCREEN  FASHIONS 

(Prices  on  merchandise  may  vary 
throughout  country) 

Leopard  cloth  coat  worn  by  Joan  Caulfield 
(page  65) 

Detroit,  Mich. — Crowley,  Milner  &  Co., 
Gratiot  Ave. 

New  York,  N.  Y  .—Saks-34th,  34th  St.  & 
Broadway,  Subway  Fashion  Floor 

Philadelphia,  Pa.— Lit  Bros.,  Market  &  8th 
Sts.,  Subway  Store 

St.  Louis,  Mo. — Famous-Barr  Co.,  Lo- 
cust, Olive  &  6th  Sts.,  Downstairs 

Hood  coat  with  fur  (page  66) 

New  York,  N.  Y.—Gimbels,  33rd  St.  & 
Ave.  of  the  Americas,  Downstairs 

Philadelphia,  Pa.— Gimbels,  Market  & 
9th  Sts.,  Subway  Store 

Hood  coat  with  plaid  (page  67) 

Boston,  Mass.— Gilchrist  Co.,  417  Wash- 
ington St.,  Teen  Dept.,  4th  Fl. 

Buffalo,  N.  Y. — Adam,  Meldrum  &  An- 
derson Co.,  398  Main  St.,  Hi-Teen 
Dept.,  2nd  Fl. 

New  York,  N.  Y. — Franklin  Simon,  5th 
Ave.,  Teen  Age  Dept.,  6th  Fl. 

Philadelphia,  Pa.— Lit  Bros.,  Market  & 
8th  Sts.,  Teen  Shop,  3rd  Fl. 

St.  Louis,  Mo. — Famous-Barr  Co.,  Lo- 
cust, Olive  &  6th  Sts.,  Downstairs 

Washington,  D.  C.—Lansburgh's,  420  NW 
7th  St..  Teen  Shop,  4th  Fl. 

Striped  jacket  with  back  interest  skirt 
(page  68  and  69) 

Detroit,  Mich. — Crowley,  Milner  &  Co., 
Gratiot  Ave.,  3rd  Fl.,  Main  Bldg. 

Milwaukee,  Wis. — Gimbels,  101  W.  Wis- 
consin Ave.,  2nd  Fl. 

New  York,  N.  Y.— Stern's,  41  W.  42nd 
St.,  Junior  Shop,  3rd  Fl. 

Checked  blouse  with  apron  back  skirt 
(page  69) 

Boston,  Mass. — Filene's,  Washington  St., 
2nd  Fl. 

Cincinnati,  Ohio — The  John  Shillito  Co., 

7th  &  Race  Sts.,  4th  Fl. 
Columbus.  Ohio — F.  &  R.  Lazarus  &  Co., 

High  &  Town  Sts.,  2nd  Fl. 
New  York,  N.  Y. — Saks-34th,  34th  St.  & 

Broadway,  Debuteen  Shop,  2nd  Fl. 

"Look  Backward,  Angel"  dress  (page  70) 

Boston,  Mass. — Jordan  Marsh  Co.,  Wash- 
ington &  Avon  Sts.,  Junior  Bazaar 
Dept.,  3rd  Fl. 

Lynn,  Mass.— Winter's,  121  Market  St., 
Dress  Salon,  1st  Fl. 

Memphis,  Tenn.— B.  Lowenstein  Co., 
Main  &  Monroe  Sts.,  4th  Fl. 

New  York,  N.  Y.—Saks-34th,  34th  St.  & 
Broadway,  Younger  Set  Shop,  2nd  Fl. 

Philadelphia,  Pa.— Lit  Bros.,  Market 
&  8th  Sts.,  Junior  Miss  Shop,  3rd  Fl. 

Pittsburgh,  Pa. — Kaufmann's,  5th  Ave.  & 
Smithfield  St.,  Princess  Shop,  4th  Fl. 

St.  Louis,  Mo. — Famous-Barr  Co.,  Lo- 
cust, Olive  &  6th  Sts.,  Little  New 
Yorker  Shop,  4th  Fl. 

Half  size  dress-up  dress  (page  72) 

Chicago,  111. — Carson,  Pirie  Scott  &  Co., 
State,  Madison  &  Monroe  Sts.,  2nd  Fl. 

Philadelphia,  Pa. — Wanamaker's,  Market 
&  13th  Sts.,  3rd  Fl. 

Satin  bags  (pages  70  and  72) 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. — Abraham  &  Straus, 
420  Fulton  St.,  1st  Fl. 


HOW  TO  ORDER  MODERN  SCREEN 
FASHIONS 

1.  Buy  in  person  from  stores  listed. 

2.  Order  by  mail  from  stores  listed. 

3.  Write  Connie  Bartel,  Modern 
Screen,  Box  125,  Murray  Hill  Station, 
New  York  16,  N.  Y.,  for  store  in  your 
vicinity. 


L 


NO   BONES  ABOUT 
STAYS  UP  WITHOUT  STAYS 


n 


o  bodes  ABOUT  IT 

Stays  up  without  stays 


Here's  the  girdle  that  guarantees  you  that  smart  New  Look. 
Styled  of  lovely  lightweight  elastic  and  fabric,  your  miracle 
"Perma«lift"  girdle  is  made  entirely  without  bones,  yet  it 
won't  wrinkle,  won't  roll  over,  won't  bind  —  yes,  it  stays  up 
without  stays.  Preferred  by  smart  women  everywhere,  you 
too  can  instantly  feel  and  enjoy  the  undreamed  of  comfort 
not  found  in  ordinary  garments.  See  the  new  styles  at  your 
own  corsetiere.  Buy  a  "Perma«lift"  girdle  today — $5  to  12.50. 
Try  a  companion  "Perma»lift"  bra — America's  favorite  bra  with  "The 
Lift  that  never  let's  you  down". 

*  "Perma  ■  lift"  and  "Hickory"  are  trademarks  of  A.  Stein  &  Company  {Reg.  U.  S.Pat.  Off.) 


77 


TVuttdct,- 0oat 

SIZES     12    TO  46 


YOU  WONDER  AT  ITS  BEAUTY! 


See  its  sparkling  white  lace  trimmed 
cuffs  and  pockets.  It's  form  fitting 
and  flattering. 


YOU  WONDER  AT  ITS  FABRIC! 


Genuine  Wundatex,  the  wonderful 
looking  material  that  won't  shrink*, 
won't  fade,  and  launders  like  a 
handkerchief. 


YOU  WONT  [R  AT  ITS  PRICE! 


Any  Florida  Fashions  customer  will 
tell  you  why  —  doing  a  business  in 
millions  making  only  penny  profits 
—  is  wonderful  for  you  and  your 
pocketbook. 

As  flattering  to  size  46  as  it  is  to  size  12. 

•Preshrunk— shrinkage  less  than  3%. 
SEND  NO  MONEY  —  We  Mail  Immediately 
Full  Satisfaction  or  Money  Back 
Write  for  FREE  Style  Folder 


Florida  Fashions,  Sonford    983  Florida 

Please  send   _  "Wunda-Coots"  on  approval 

at  $2.98  each  (2  for  $5.85)  plus  postage  and 
CCD.  charges.  It  not  delighted,  I  may  return 
purchase  within  ten  days  for  refund.  {You  may 
enclose  purchase  price  plus  20c  postage,  saving 
C.O.D.  fee.  Same  refund  privilege.) 
Circle  Color:        Blue  Green  Groy 

Circle  Size:    12    14   16    18   20   40   42   44  46 


Name 


Address 


City  &  State 


78 


the  fans 

MODERN  SCREEN  FAN  CLUB  ASSOCIATION 


News:  Gene  Autry  Friendship  Club  cele- 
brates its  tenth  anniversary  with  a  national 
convention  in  New  York  City  October  8,  9 
and  10th.  .  .  Dick  Haymes  Club  revolutionizes 
fanclubdom  by  announcing  a  membership 
quota.  No  new  members  will  be  accepted 
after  the  current  membership  drive  closes 
...  Fans  of  radio  stars  Cathy  and  Elliot 
Lewis  might  be  interested  to  know  that 
they're  "active  honoraries"  in  Virginia  Hay- 
wood's Official  Radio  Stars  Club  .  .  .  the  first 
ten  fans  to  contact  Maryon  Jensen,  P.  O.  Box 
52,  Waukesha,  Wis.,  after  reading  this,  will 
receive  a  free  year's  membership  in  her 
Gloria  Jean  Club  .  .  .  Frankly  Impressed 
Club  (Sinatra;  Pacillio)  noted  its  third  an- 
niversary by  sending  three  CARE  packages 
to  Europe  .  .  .  Sinatra  clubs  of  New  York 
raised  $100  for  United  Nations  Appeal. 

To  boost  chapters  in  certain  localities,  Ron 
Randall  Club  (prexy,  Ron  DeArmond,  Box 
843,  Chilliwack,  B.  C.)  is  offering:  10  free 
memberships  to  first  10  applicants  from  Los 
Angeles  (or  vicinity)  and  5  half -priced  mem- 
berships to  first  five  in  each  of  the  following: 
Kansas  (near  Wichita),  British  Columbia 
(near  Vancouver)  .  .  .  Joan  Cavaretta  has 
taken  over  the  highly  successful  Mel  Torme 
Club.  Lee  Garber,  former  prexy,  remains 
as  journal  editor.  .  .  Martha  Vickers  Club 
wants  at  least  one  member  from  each  state 
and  is  offering  free  and  reduced-rate  mem- 
berships to  residents  of  many  states,  as 
well  as  free  memberships  outside  U.  S. 
Address:  Susan  Sturies,  prexy.  Spirit  Lake, 
Iowa.  .  .  Garry  Stevens  Club  has  an  un- 
usual charity:  the  Navajo  Relief  Fund.  The 
plight  of  the  American  Indian,  says  prexy 
Shirley  Warren,  is  often  neglected,  but  very 
urgent.  .  .  First  prize  in  the  Larry  Parks 
Club  membership  drive  is  an  autographed 
copy  of  Jolson  Stoiy  script.  Incidentally, 
new  prexy  is  Marlene  Martin,  177  Hagan 
Street,  Buffalo,  N.  Y. 

Trouble  Clinic:  Jerry  Kee,  Alan  Ladd  prexy, 
has  a  "beef"  about  phony  exchanges:  "What 
do  you  think  of  this  situation,  when  you've 
agreed  to  'exchange  memberships'  with  an- 
other club:  You've  sent  the  other  club  two, 
three,  and  even  four  journals,  and  you've 
received  none  in  return.  You've  agreed  to 
exchange  for  a  whole  year,  yet  do  you  think 
it's  fair  to  send  your  journals  and  not  re- 
ceive the  same  number  in  return?  Since  I 
like  to  join  a  lot  of  clubs,  I  usually  say 
okay  to  a  request  for  exchange.  There  are 
some  clubs  I  don't  want  to  join,  but  to  avoid 
appearing  prejudiced,  I  accept  them  all." 
Okay,  prexies,  we're  sure  many  of  you  have 
the  same  problem.  What  do  you  think  is 
the  proper  solution? 

As  of  this  date,  the  following  clubs  are 
no  longer  associated  with  the  MSFCA,  due 
to  failure  to  meet  with  the  rudimentary  stand- 
ards of  an  active  club:  Elizabeth  Taylor  C. 
(Barbara  McAvoy,  prexy).  Johnny  Coy  C. 
(Lanzillo;  disbanded).  Sam  Edwards  (Na- 
gai).  Glenn  Vernon  C.  (Komenda).  Danny 
Kaye  C.  (Lehman). 

8  SEMI-ANNUAL  TROPHY  CUP  CONTEST 
Prizes:   Remember.,  when  you  help  your  club  to 
a  batch  of  points  in  our  Trophy  Contest,  you  may 
also  capture  a  personal  prize  for  yourself.  F'rin- 
stance,  we've  gotten  nothing  but  rave  letters  from 


SHIRLEY  FROHLICH 

director 

GLORIA  LAMPERT 

associate; 


the  winners  of  our  wonderful  new  HELENA  RUBIN- 
STEIN FOURCAST  lipstick  sets— I  RUBINSTEIN 
shades,  individually  packaged,  to  suit  your  own 
particular  coloring!  Also,  TANGEE  TRIP  KITS  just 
jam-packed  with  powder-base,  astringent,  rouge, 
and  other  good  grooming  essentials,  all  neatlyl 
packaged  in  a  compact  traveling  kit.  For  you 
hard  working  editors,  we  have  EBERHARD  FABER 
HARMATONE  DE  LUXE  pen  and  pencil  sets  in  a 
variety  of  colors.  They  write  under  practically 
anything,  and  are  absolutely  guaranteed.  And,  of 
course,  subscriptions  to  MODERN  SCREEN,  SCREEN 
ALBUM,  and  SCREEN  STORIES  to  the  lucky  run- 
ners-up. 

"This  Is  My  Best"  Contest  Winners:  (100  points)- 
Louise  Neuman,  "Polyna  Stoska,"  Whittemoie  and, 
Lowe  journal.  Betty  Fitzgerald,  "Domestic  vs.f 
Foreign  Films,"  Charles  Korvin  journal.  Skippy 
Alverez,  Sinatra  and  Tolerance,"  Sinatra  (Notts) 
lournal.^  Ruby  Nemser,  "Why  I  Want  to  Become  a 
Doctor,  Jane  Wyman  journal.  Bonnie  Baker, 
South  of  the  Border,"  Gene  Autry  journal.  Jeanne 
Morgan,  Lets  Meet  Dave  Willock,"  Janis  Paige 
journal.  Best  Journals:  (500  points)  League  1. 
Janes  (Wyman)  Journal.  League  2.  Metro-Lark 
(Rise  Stevens).  League  3.  flon  Randall  journal 
(Anna  Hreha).  Best  Editing:  (250  points)  League 
1.  Dot  Crouse,  Gene  Autry  C.  Leag.  2.  Ruth  Ness, 
fling  Crosby  journai.  League  3,  Shirley  Notts, 
Franks  Fanfare.  Best  Covers:  (250  points)  none! 
qualified  in  Leagues  I  and  2.  League  3  (tied): 
Dave  Willock  journal,  Sinatra  (McMullen)  journal/ 
Jams  Paige  journal.  Best  Artist:  (150  points)  Vir- 
ginia Golz,  Philip  Reed  journal.  Membership  in- 
creases: (100  points)  League  1,  Bill  Boyd  Club., 
League  2,  Perry  Como  (Staley)  Club.  League  3,1 
Dick  Contino  (Rosenthal)  club.  Most  Worthwhile 
Activities:  (250  points)  League  1,  Gene  Autry  Club 
(sent  2  CARE  packages  to  needy  European  fam- 
ilies). League  2,  Alan  Ladd  (Pearl)  Club  (sent, 
many  friendship  boxes  to  school-age  Europeanr 
children).  League  3.  Ted  Steele  Club  (collected^ 
$15  for  Damon  Runyon  Cancer  Fund),  and  Harry- 
Babbitt  Club  (sent  a  CARE  package  to  a  needy " 
infant).  Best  Correspondents:  (50  points)  League 
1,  None  qualified.  League  2,  Peggy  Pearl,  Alan 
Ladd  Club.  League  3,  Helen  Parker,  Dan  Duryea 
(Grant)  Club.  Candid  Camera  Contest:  (100 
points  to  first  prize-winner,  50  points  to  others); 
Margie  Hummel,  Ginger  Rogers  Club.  Mary  Groo- 
tenboer,  Nina  Foch  Club.  Dorothea  Abramovich, 
Bingites.  Martha  Kay,  Shirley  Temple  Club.  June 
Bancroft,  Nelson  Eddy  Music  Club.  Beth  Wolf,  Risel 
Stevens  Club.  Leading  Clubs:  League  1,  Nelson 
Eddy  Music  Club,  950  points.  Gene  Autry,  850 
points.  Jane  Wyman,  700  points.  League  2,  Rise 
Stevens,  950  points,  Ronald  Reagan,  700  points,! 
Musical  Notes,  700  points.  League  3,  Dan  Duryea1 
(Grant)  750  points.    Joseph  Cotten,  700  points. 


Dan  Duryea  plays  a  summer's  day  host  to,-- 
Pat  Maben,   his  West  Coast  club  president. 


new 
faces 


RHONDA  FLEMING  made 
I  her  screen  debut  in 

Spellbound    as  the 

psychotic  patient  who 

threw  a  book  at  In- 

grid  Bergman.  Los 

Angeles  born,  on  Aug. 

10,  1923,  she  wanted 

to  be  an  actress  even 
as  a  child,  and  studied  ballet,  toe  and  tap 
dancing  and  anything  else  she  thought 
would  help.  Just  to  be  on  the  safe  side 
however,  Rhonda  took  a  few  courses  in 
business  administration.  She's  5'  8"  and 
lias  red  hair  and  green  eyes.  Likes  to  read 
and  listen  to  music  for  relaxation.  She's 
been  in  the  Spiral  Staircase  and  is  Bing 
Crosby's  leading  lady  in  A  Connecticut 
Yankee  in  King  Arthur's  Court. 

RICHARD  WEBB,  a  very 

honest   fellow,  once 

sold  a  quart  of  his 

blood  for  $70  to  pay 

off  some  debts.  After 

a  three-year  hitch  in 

the  army,  Dick  ar- 
rived in  Hollywood. 

He  enrolled  at  the 
Bliss  Hayden  dramatic  school  and  won  his 
first  role  in  I  Wanted  Wings.  Dick  was 
born  in  Bloomington,  Illinois,  September 
9,  1915,  weighs  180  lbs,  and  is  6'  2".  He's 
divorced  from  Betsy  Stearns  and  is  cur- 
rently being  seen  in  The  Big  Clock  and 
Isn't  It  Romantic? 

JOAN  CHANDLER,  now 

appearing  in  Rope, 
graduated  from  Ben- 
nington College  in 
1942  where  she  spe- 
cialized in  drama  and 
the  dance.  She  came 
to  New  York  at  the 
tender  age  of  17,  en- 
rolled at  the  Neighborhood  Playhouse  and 
did  various  small  parts  until  Warner 
Brothers  signed  her  for  Humoresque,  after 
seeing  her  in  the  stage  version  of  The  Late 
George  Apley.  Born  in  Butler,  Pa.,  on 
August  24,  1923,  Joan  has  brown  eyes  and 
brown  hair,  weighs  115  lbs,  and  is  mar- 
ried to  David  McKay  of  the  theater. 

DOUGLAS   DICK,  whom 

you  recall  as  the  Cap- 
tain in  Saigon,  did 
some  summer  stock 
shows  before  getting 
into  the  Army.  It 
wasn't  until  he  was 
out  of  uniform  and 
had  several  flops  be- 
hind him  that  Hal  Wallis  realized  Doug  was 
just  the  man  he  wanted  for  the  soldier-son 
role  in  The  Searching  Wind.  Doug  was 
j  born  in  West  Virginia  in  1920  and  after 
Saigon  he'll  be  seen  in  Rope  with  Farley 
Granger  and  Jimmy  Stewart  and  in  The 
Accused  with  Loretta  Young.  He's  under 
personal  contract  to  Hal  Wallis. 


Richard  Hudnut  Home  Permanent 


Take  Only  One*  Hour  Waving  Time  for  Your  Permanent 


If  you've  ever  put  your  hair  up  in 
curlers... it's  that  easy  to  give  your- 
self the  new,  improved  richard  hud- 
nut home  permanent.  This  salon- 
type  home  permanent  is  based  on 
the  same  type  of  preparations  used 
in  the  Richard  Hudnut  Fifth  Avenue 
Salon  for  luxurious,  softer,  lovelier 
waves.  With  it,  you  can  set  your  hair 
in  any  style... from  a  sleek  cap  to 
a  halo  of  ringlets.  Ask  to  see  the 

RICHARD  HUDNUT  HOME  PERMANENT 


at  your  favorite  cosmetic  counter- 
today!  Price  $2.75;  refill  without 
rods,  $1.50  (all  prices  plus  30tf  Fed- 
eral Tax). 

^depending  on  texture  and  condition  of 
hair— follow  instructions. 


Saves  up  to  one-half 
usual  waving  time. 

One-third  more  waving 
lotion ...  more  penetrating, 
but  gentle  on  hairl 

Longer,  stronger  end-papers 
make  hair  tips  easier  to  handle. 

Double-strength  neutralizer 
anchors  wave  faster,  makes 
curl  stronger  for  longer. 

Improved  technique  gives 
deep,  soft  crown  wave... 
non-frizzy  ends. 

Only  home  permanent  kit 
to  include  reconditioning 
creme  rinse. 


*•  &  Two  lengths  of  rods.  Standard 
r     size  for  ringlet  ends;  extra- 
long  for  deep  crown  waves. 


79 


4 


Clever  draping  makes  this  high  shade  lush  quality 
Rayon  Gabardine  a  stand-out.  It's  exquisitely  tailored 
and  fashioned  and  is  finely  saddle-stitched,  in  contrast- 
ing color,  to  give  it  that  made -to -order  look.  It  can't  be 
duplicated  anywhere  at  this  exceptionally  low  price 
and  you'll  be  amazed  at  how  expensive  it  really  looks. 
Colors:  Beige,  Aqua,  Winter  White.  Gray,  Black,  Kelly. 

sizes  $1S%98 

Ipnior  ..  .9-11-13-15-17  Hyp 
W eg.  .  10-12-14-16-18-20 
large  38-40-42-44-46-48 

 SEND  NO  MONEY  — SENT  ON  APPROVAL- - 

BONNIE  GAYE,  Inc.  Dept.  464 

207  S.  Garfield  Ave.,  Monterey  Park,  Calif. 

Please  send  me  The  New-Drape.  I'll  pay 
postman  $10.98  plus  C.O.D.  postage  with  the 
understanding  I  may  return  dress  in  10  days 
for  full  refund  if  not  satisfied. 


SIZE 

1ST  COLOR  CHOICE 

2ND  COLOR  CHOICE 

80  L. 


NAME  

ADDRESS- 
CITY  


_ZONI 


.STATE. 


SHE  DIDN'T  HAVE  A  CHANCE 

(Continued  from  page  30) 


but  she  refuses.  The  program  has  been 
arranged  as  part  of  the  graduation  exer- 
cises for  members  of  the  post's  bandsmen 
school  and  Lana  knows  she's  there  to  be 
a  decorative  part  of  it;  her  job  is  to  help 
make  a  pretty  picture.  Hiding  under  a 
wrap  or  throwing  an  Army  coat  over  her- 
self would  detract  from  that  picture  and 
the  ceremony. 

She  stays  on  that  platform  a  full  hour, 
until  the  last  graduate  has  received  his 
certificate  and  the  proceedings  have  been 
completed. 

...  Or  Lana,  soaked  to  the  skin,  cheer- 
fully performing  in  a  driving  rain  in  front 
of  another  audience. 

...  Or  Lana  dragging  herself  down  to 
the  lobby  of  an  old  German  inn  at  dawn, 
peaked  and  dead  tired  after  a  bout  with 
fever,  but  insisting  on  an  early  start  so 
we  won't  be  late  for  our  next  date. 

...  Or  Lana  in  the  lurching  car,  refusing 
to  call  off  a  wildly  bumpy  detour  jaunt 
deep  into  Bavaria,  despite  the  danger  that 
it  might  bring  on  again  the  pain  of  her 
recently  injured  back,  saying  with  a 
smile,  "A  million  other  Americans  made 
this  same  trip,  and  they  didn't  just  have 
the  bumps  to  contend  with." 

the  turner-topping  blitz  .  .  . 

Yes,  that  and  more  is  what  I  remember 
about  Lana  in  Germany.  And  about  Lana 
in  London  .  .  .  London,  where  the  jour- 
nalists of  Fleet  Street  figuratively  formed 
a  lane  and  made  her  run  through  it  as 
they  whacked  at  her  mercilessly. 

Writers  have  commented  that  she  was 
ill-advised  in  her  handling  of  the  press 
while  in  London.  Maybe  she  was.  But 
she  was  just  human.  How  would  any 
bride,  arriving  in  a  strange  country  for  a 
visit,  feel  about  a  press  that  is  calling  her 
husband  "an  invader"?  That's  how  Bob 
was  being  labeled  by  the  papers  because 
he  was  attempting  to  launch  his  midget 
auto  racing  venture  in  London.  They 
accused  him  of  trying  to  get  money  out 
of  the  country,  conveniently  forgetting  that 
he  would  have  to  turn  back  48  percent 
of  his  profits  (if  any)  in  taxes,  and  that 
expenses,  other  than  those  deductible, 
were  more  than  likely  to  eat  up  whatever 
else  was  left. 

This  is  the  situation  that  confronted 
Lana  on  the  day  she  landed  in  England 
and  before  anyone  had  interviewed  her. 
I  know.  I  was  there  to  greet  her.  I  saw 
her  reaction  when  she  got  to  London  and 
read  the  papers  as  she  was  being  driven 
to  the  Savoy  Hotel.  It  didn't  take  a  wise 
man  to  figure  what  was  going  on  in  her 
mind.  She  could  be  smart  and  think  of 
her  own  career.  She  could  say,  "Well, 
that's  Bob's  hard  luck,  getting  the  news- 
papers down  on  him.  I've  got  my  pro- 
fessional life  to  worry  about.  I'll  be  sweet 
to  the  press." 

Believe  me,  had  she  done  that,  there 
would  have  been  no  sarcastic  hooks  dug 
into  her  or  polite  newsprint  tittering  at 
her  oft-quoted  remark  that  she  loved  the 
English  countryside  because  the  grass  was 
so  green.  (They  seized  on  this  comment 
as  an  indication  of  shallowness.  But  it 
was  a  perfectly  natural  remark  to  toss 
off — especially  for  someone  coming  from 
Southern  California  where  the  landscape, 
except  where  artificially  watered  or  irri- 
gated, is  always  a  drab,  burned  brown  in 
color.  Every  Southern  Californian  arriv- 
ing in  a  lusher  clime  is  always  taken  by 
the  beautiful,  fresh  green  of  the  land  all 
around!) 

But  Lana  wasn't  smart.    She  was  dumb 


enough  (if  you  want  to  look  at  it  that 
way)  or  loyal  enough  (put  yourself  in  her 
position  and  take  your  choice)  not  to 
think  of  herself  or  her  own  career.  She 
thought  of  Bob.  Yes,  she  was  human 
enough  to  resent  the  unfair  things  being 
said  about  him.  She  didn't  just  resent  it; 
she  was  darn  sore  about  it!  That's  Lana. 
It  is  also  you,  or  me,  if  someone  close  to 
us  is  being  attacked  unfairly. 

The  English  newspapermen  complained 
that  they  had  to  wait  an  hour  to  inter- 
View  Lana.  They  should  know  that  hold- 
ing that  mass  meeting  was  not  her  idea. 
It  was  arranged  before  she  could  stop  it. 
She  was  a  girl  on  her  honeymoon  and  she 
didn't  feel  at  all  like  being  interviewed 
by  a  mob  of  reporters. 

But  the  truth  is,  of  course,  that  while 
Lana  had  the  Indian  sign  on  her  as  far 
as  the  papers  were  concerned,  and  had 
no  chance  with  them,  they  did  not  by  any 
means  reflect  the  sentiments  of  the  man 
in  the  street.  Wherever  Lana  went  in 
England,  large  and  friendly  crowds  were 
on  hand  to  greet  her  and  attest  to  her 
great  popularity  over  there. 

We  went  to  Paris  to  prepare  for  our 
GI  camp  tour — and  Paris  and  Lana  proved 
an  ideal  combination.  Bob,  too,  felt  at 
home  there.  And  when  Bob  wasn't  with 
Lana  he  was  either  at  the  florists  order- 
ing fresh  roses  for  her  or  at  Cartier's  se- 
lecting fresh  jewelry!  If  he  was  going  a 
little  overboard  it  was  easy  to  understand 
in  the  light  of  the  way  she  had  come 
through  for  him  in  London. 

But  it  wasn't  all  play  in  Paris.  Lana 
worked  hard  with  me  to  get  our  little  act 
smoothly  routined.  She  had  long  decided 
that  she  wanted  to  do  something  for  the 
boys,  not  just  be  looked  at.  Lana  was 
the  first  feminine  star  the  boys  in  Ger- 
many had  seen  for  a  year. 

rainy  season  .  .  . 

In  Germany  we  hit  rain;  not  one  or  two 
days  of  it,  or  three  or  four;  but  rain  every 
day.  Traveling  was  hectic  and  perform- 
ances difficult,  but  we  maintained  our 
schedule  steadily  except  where  the  un- 
foreseen intervened — as  it  did  in  the  case 
of  the  ball  game  at  Erding  that  we  never 
reached.  How  this  foul-up  was  reported 
back  home  is  one  thing;  what  actually 
happened  is  another. 

We  were  picked  up  at  Garmisch  for  the 
58-mile  trip  to  Erding  by  an  Army  cap- 
tain detailed  to  escort  our  party.  It  was 
raining.  We  started  off  anyway  but,  after 
a  while,  the  captain  announced  that  it  was 
foolish  to  go  on — the  game  would  un- 
doubtedly be  called  off.  Instead,  he  would 
take  us  to  visit  a  rest  camp  along  the  way 
known  as  the  Starnberg  Yacht  Club.  We 
could  talk  to  the  soldiers  there.  We  did. 
Then  the  captain  took  us  to  another  rest 
camp  situated  in  what  was  known  as  the 
oldest  house  in  Bavaria — just  before  you 
reach  Erding. 

Not  until  darkness  fell  did  we  get  to 
Erding.  And  not  until  after  the  captain 
had  taken  us  direct  to  our  quarters  did 
we  find  out  that  not  only  had  the  ball 
game  gone  on,  but  one  of  the  biggest 
audiences  ever  assembled — including  the 
colonel  in  charge  of  the  area — had  waited 
long  and  patiently  for  us!  It  was  the 
captain  who  found  out  about  all  this  and 
brought  the  news  sheepishly. 

"All  my  fault,  of  course,"  he  said.  "I 
should  have  known  that  rain  or  no  rain, 
they  wouldn't  have  called  off  the  ball 
game  when  Lana  Turner  was  due  to 
appear." 


I  I  know  the  soldiers  must  have  thought 
we  had  broken  the  date.  I  am  certain  the 
colonel  blamed  us,  because  throughout 
the  period  we  were  in  his  district  he 
never  once  showed  up  to  see  us.  Lana 
knew  what  was  happening  but  she  issued 
no  explanations — since  explanations  would 
doubtless  have  thrown  the  captain  into 
disfavor.  She  felt  he  meant  well  and  that 
was  good  enough  for  her.  So  Lana  took 
the  rap. 

Of  some  15  camps  we  were  slated  to 
i  visit  in  Germany  we  played  all  but  three 
— and  those  three,  at  the  end  of  our  sched- 
'ule,  we  missed  only  on  strict  orders  from 
jan  Army  doctor  that  Lana  must  not  go  on. 
This  happened  after  the  freezing  Heidel- 
berg date  which  resulted  in  Lana's  coming 
down  with  laryngitis.  She  should  have 
stayed  in  bed  that  night  but  insisted  on 
going  on.  We  started,  she  got  very  ill, 
and  we  had  to  come  back  to  the  inn.  The 
laryngitis  developed  into  a  week's  siege 
of  virus  influenza. 

•  An  Army  doctor  was  assigned  to  us 
immediately.  He  visited  Lana  daily,  giv- 
ing her  penicillin  shots.  Bob  refused  to 
put  on  a  nurse  and  took  the  job  himself, 
attending  Lana  night  and  day.  His  only 
relaxation  came  when  a  delegation  of 
GI's  arrived  at  the  inn  and,  instead  of 
asking  to  see  Lana,  called  for  him.  They 
had  a  spokesman  from  the  Bronx  and  he 
very  earnestly  asked  Bob  if  Bob  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  the  ownership  of  the 
New  York  Yankees. 

pinch-hitting  for  brother  dan  .  .  . 

Well,  Bob  admitted,  his  brother  Dan 
had  an  interest  in  the  team.  The  Bronxite 
promptly  demanded  to  know  why  certain 
changes  weren't  being  made  in  the  team's 
line-up.  Bob,  who  had  been  out  of  touch1 
with  the  Yankees  for  months,  confessed 
as  much,  and  asked  the  committee  what 
changes  they  thought  would  do  good.  For 
a  half  hour  they  went  into  the  matter, 
analyzing  every  player  on  the  team. 
When  it  was  over  Bob  frankly  declared 
he  had  learned  more  about  baseball  in 
that  half  hour  than  he'd  been  able  to  pick 
up  all  his  life  before. 

Lana  beat  her  sickness  but  was  so 
weakened  that  the  Army  doctor  refused 
to  sanction  a  continuation  of  the  trip. 
Army  schedule  or  not,  he  insisted,  Lana 
must  take  an  extended  rest  or  he  would 
refuse  to  accept  any  responsibility  for  the 
case.  Not  until  then  did  Bob  insist  that 
we  all  head  for  the  south  of  France  and 
a  change  from  the  cold  and  rain  that  had 
run  Lana  down. 

It  was  now  almost  six  weeks  since 
Lana  had  started  out  from  Hollywood  on 
her  "honeymoon."  During  that  time  she 
had  been  attacked  by  the  press  for  acting 
like  a  true  wife  and  partner  of  her  hus- 
band, had  spent  soggy  weeks  traveling 
from  one  camp  show  to  another,  and  had 
cheerfully  worked  herself  into  a  serious 
illness. 

How  did  she  feel  now  about  the  jaunt? 
When  I  went  to  tell  her  goodbye  (I  was 
returning  to  Hollywood — to  my  wife, 
Peggy  Ryan,  and  our  new  son)  I  said 
cautiously,  "It's  too  bad  the  trip  turned 
out  to  be  such  a  rugged  one." 

She  laughed.  "Why,  it  was  a  lovely 
trip,"  she  said.    "I  enjoyed  all  of  it." 

"But — but,  England  and  all  the  things 
that  happened  there?" 

"Oh,"  she  replied  with  a  wave  of  her 
hand,  "that  was  nothing.  Too  many  won- 
derful things  happened  in  England  to  let 
something  'like  that  make  any  difference. 
It's  a  great  country,  they're  swell  people, 
and  .  .  ." 

"And  what?"  I  prompted. 

She  laughed  again.  "And  they  have  the 
greenest  grass  in  the  world!"     The  End 


HOLD  HIS  EYES. ..WITH 


f  VI/    says,  "Try  Woodbury  DEEP-CLEANSE  Facials! 


featured  in  Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer's 
"A  SOUTHERN  YANKEE" 


Tempting!  Dobbin  eyes  the  apple  — our 
eyes  go  to  Arlene,  she's  so-o  radiant!  "For 
fresh  morning  glow,"  says  she,  "try  my 
Cold  Cream  —  deep-cleansing  Woodbury!" 


'For  skin  that's  beauty-clean," 
says  Arlene  Dahl,  "swirl  on  Woodbury 
Cold  Cream.  Its  rich  oils 
cleanse  deep . . .  cleanse  clean.  Tissue 
. . .  and  film  on  more  Woodbury 
to  smooth  your  skin.  Four  special 
softening  ingredients!  Now  tissue 
again  and  splash  with  cold  water. 
The  result?  —  Woodbury-wonderful! 
Skin's  clear-clean,  silky-soft." 


Ver-ree  tempting!  Sun  down,  moon  up, 
it's  time  for  glamour-glow!  "Easy,"  Arlene 
tells  you,  "rich  Woodbury  smooths  dryness 
. . .  brings  back  that  Always-Fresh  look." 


81 


i 


THE  FEAR  I'VE  HIDDEN 

(Continued  from  page  43) 


that  load  of  he-man  charm;  or  to  Gene 
Kelly,  who  can  make  music  with  his  feet; 
or  to  Humphrey  Bogart — speaking  of  movie 
toughies — who  had  years  on  the  stage  be- 
hind him  and  knew  what  he  was  doing 
every  second.  I  was  just  Alan  Ladd,  a  kid 
raised  around  Hollywood,  always  busy  and 
always  broke,  scrapping  and  struggling  for 
something  better,  but  not  prepared  for  a 
stiff  jolt  of  fortune  and  fame,  the  way  I 
swallowed  it,  without  a  chaser. 

What  am  I  doing  up  there? 

I've  just  finished  making  F.  Scott  Fitz- 
gerald's fine  novel,  The  Great  Gatsby,  at 
Paramount.  Am  I  happy  about  it?  No,  I'm 
miserable.  As  usual,  I'm  scared  stiff,  only 
this  time  a  little  more  so.  "Now  you've 
gone  and  done  it,  Ladd,"  I  keep  telling  my- 
self. "You've  stepped  out  over  your  depth. 
You're  trying  to  make  a  character  live  on 
celluloid  who's  more  complex  than  you 
ever  were." 

Checking  back  on  myself,  it's  been  that 
way  with  everything  I've  done. 

I  can  remember  to  this  day  the  agony  I 
went  through  fastening  onto  that  first  act- 
ing chance  I  had  in  This  Gun  For  Hire.  I 
thought  I  was  awful  all  the  way  through, 
thought  every  scene  I  played  was  wrong. 
The  first  rushes  I  saw  of  myself  made  me 
actively  sick.  I  lived  for  months  with  a 
nest  of  butterflies  in  my  belly.  I'd  sit  up 
half  the  night  in  the  kitchen  over  a  coffee 
pot  reading  my  next-day  lines  until  my 
eyes  went  polka-dot  on  me.  Sue  and  I 
were  married  half-way  through  that,  and 
she  must  have  thought  she'd  taken  on  a 
crazy  man.  She  worried  too — because  she 
couldn't  make  me  eat.  Finally,  I  stewed 
myself  into  a  swell  case  of  pneumonia.  I 
wound  up  a  nervous  wreck — and  abysmally 
certain  I'd  ruined  my  golden  opportunity. 

I  can't  remember  a  word  of  any  of  the 
good  reviews  the  papers  printed  about 
This  Gun  For  Hire — but  I  sure  remember 
the  bad  ones.  One  I  can  still  recite  by 
heart.  It  began,  "Alan  Ladd  should  go 
back  to  wherever  he  came  from  .  .  ." 

Where  I'd  come  from  was  the  other  side 
of  the  tracks  in  the  Hollywood  caste  sys- 


tem, and  I've  never  been  exactly  convinced 
that  I've  crossed  over.  I'd  been  around 
studios  almost  all  my  life,  climbing  their 
high  walls  for  the  fun  of  it  when  I  was  a 
kid  out  in  the  San  Fernando  Valley.  I'd 
been  an  acting  "cadet,"  a  bit  player — and  I 
do  mean  "bit" — a  roustabout,  a  carpenter, 
a  grip  on  a  camera  crew. 

Sometimes,  even  today,  I  forget  myself 
and  hustle  props  when  the  foreman  barks. 
The  other  day  on  Gatsby  he  yelled,  "Okay, 
you  guys,  let's  shift  this  table!"  Without 
thinking,  I  grabbed  one  end  and  heaved  it 
up.  A  friend  of  mine  in  the  crew  cracked, 
"Hey,  Ladd — where's  your  union  card?" 
I've  got  my  union  card  at  home,  all  right, 
but  maybe  it's  expired — although  the  sus- 
picion that  I  belong  back  with  the  work 
gang  certainly  hasn't. 

It  was  tough  for  me  to  get  adjusted  to  a 
star's  status.  A  basic  sense  of  fear — fear 
that  I  wasn't  acting  like  a  movie  star — led 
me  into  some  mighty  foolish  behavior. 

Such  as  buying  all  those  tailor-made 
suits  and  expensive  ties  I  felt  I  had  to  have 
along  with  my  first  few  movie  bucks  in 
the  bank.  I  thought  I  had  to  show  I  was 
really  in  the  chips  at  last.  So  I  had  far 
too  many  suits  made — and  today  they  just 
hang  in  my  closet  at  the  ranch,  never  see- 
ing daylight  unless  I  wear  them  in  a  pic- 
ture or  have  to  dress  up  to  go  into  town. 
I'm  in  shorts  or  Levis  the  rest  of  the  time. 

And  those  ties! 

I  had  a  well-heeled  acquaintance  who 
started  me  off  on  that  madness.  He  loved 
to  show  off  his  costly  cravats.  He'd  blos- 
som out  with  a  new  neckpiece  every  day, 
it  seemed.  "Look  at  this  material,  kid," 
he'd  say.  "Real  quality!  You  ought  to  get 
yourself  some  good  ties."  And  I'd  feel  I 
had  an  old  dishrag  around  my  neck. 

So  I  tumbled — and  the  way  I  began  buy- 
ing ten-dollar  ties  you'd  have  thought  I 
was  planning  to  upholster  a  sofa  with 
them.  Then  he  came  at  me  sporting  ones 
that  cost  $15.  Hand-painted  Sulkas  and 
things.  And  he  tried  to  make  me  feel  my 
own  ten-dollar  jobs  were  mere  ribbons  off 
a  Christmas  package. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


82 


"I  don't  care  hozv  they  did  it  in  the  movies.  Get  your  foot  off  my  back!' 


All  of  a  sudden  I  came  to — and  saw  how 
absurd  my  fancy-priced  tie  collection 
was! 

little  red  tie  .  .  . 

One  night  I  went  to  a  party  where  I 
knew  he'd  be.  I  wore  a  bright  red  tie.  I'd 
bought  it  for  one  buck.  But  this  guy 
couldn't  keep  his  eyes  off  it.  He  came 
over  to  me,  almost  drooling.  "Where  did 
you  get  that?"  he  asked  admiringly. 

"This?"  I  said.  "Oh,  I  picked  it  up  in 
New  York  last  time  I  was  there."  I  named 
a  super-swank  store  and  let  him  have  the 
kicker.  "Twenty  dollars."  I  pretended  to 
be  disgusted  with  myself.  "Can  you  see 
twenty  bucks  in  this  tie?" 

"I  sure  can!"  he  exclaimed,  fingering  the 
fabric.  "That's  real  quality!" 

I  gave  him  a  smile  I'm  sure  he  didn't 
understand  and  walked  away. 

And  I  very  nearly  made  a  fool  of  my- 
self by  returning  to  my  old  hometown 
haunts,  after  I'd  made  a  name  for  myself, 
to  strut  my  success  before  the  home  folks. 
I'd  had  a  fairly  rough  time  in  my  early 
years.  I  made  some  mistakes,  some  big 
ones,  and  in  certain  North  Hollywood 
quarters  it  had  been  freely  predicted,  I'm 
sure,  that  Alan  Ladd  would  come  to  no 
good  end. 

So  I  decided  to  show  'em.  I  put  on  one 
of  my  new  suits  and  custom  accessories 
and  drove  over  to  my  home  town's  main 
street.  I  planned  to  stroll  down  it  casually. 
I  knew  I'd  meet  plenty  of  people  I'd  gro 
up  with. 

It  seemed  like  a  wonderful  idea  for  the 
first  few  steps  down  the  sidewalk.  Then 
my  feet  faltered.  I  saw  a  fellow  I  knew — 
one  I'd  have  liked  to  have  impressed,  too — 
coming  my  way.  Suddenly  I  crossed  the 
street  and  ducked  inside  a  gas  station. 

That  was  the  end  of  my  private  Arch  of 
Triumph.  I  climbed  into  my  car  and  went 
back  home.  I  realized  how  silly  I'd  been 
in  looking  forward  to  a  kid  adventure 
that  was,  after  all,  designed  to  sooth  a 
feeling  of  inadequacy  I  should  have  out- 
grown. 

That  feeling  of  inadequacy  nursed  along 
a  yearning  for  revenge  on  a  certain  direc- 
tor that  lasted  until  the  opportunity  to  "get 
even"  finally  arrived.  Then,  thank  God,  I 
saw  what  the  score  was  before  I  made 
myself  ridiculous. 

During  my  struggling  early  days  in 
Hollywood,  this  director  seemed  to  go  out 
of  his  way  to  make  things  tough  for  me.  A 
casting  director  friend  of  mine  at  his  studio 
had  faith  in  me  but  time  and  again,  when 
my  friend  chose  me  for  a  part,  I'd  come 
up  against  my  enemy  and  get  tossed  out  on 
my  ear.  And  in  those  days,  this  was  a 
very  painful,  life-and-death  matter. 

One  time  when  I  was  sent  over  and  he 
said  "No!"  my  casting  pal  persuaded  him  to 
give  me  a  test  after  all.  "All  right,"  he 
grumbled,  "be  here  Monday."  But  my  step- 
father had  just  died.  This  was  Saturday 
and  the  funeral  was  Monday.  I  explained 
and  asked  if  the  test  couldn't  be  postponed 
until  Tuesday.  "I  said  Monday,"  he 
snapped.  That  kind  of  guy. 

I  was  there  Monday — at  7:30.  He  kept 
me  waiting  all  day.  At  last  he  got  around 
to  making  the  test.  And  when  he  did  he 
was  so  short-tempered  and  mean  about 
it  that,  busted  and  desperate  though  I  was, 
I  walked  out  on  it. 

And  he  used  to  tell  my  agent,  when  my 
agent  flipped  open  his  clients'  book  and 
my  picture  showed,  "I'd  advise  you  to  get 
rid  of  this  guy  Ladd.  He's  no  good." 

"If  I  ever  get  in  a  position  to  tell  that 
heel  off,"  I  swore  to  myself,  "it'll  be  the 


Wonder-working  lotion  brings 
new  beauty  to  your  WHOLE  HAND  1 


$  m  SMOOTHS 

■ KNUCKLES 
* 
g  Dry  knuckles  yield 

m  to  the  smoothing  action  of 

New  Hinds.  Effective  emollients 
"sink  in."  Hinds  dries  fast 
—  never  feels  sticky!  > 


SOFTENS 
CUTICLE 

Nails  look  neater  with 
New  Hinds  helping  to  keep 
cuticle  pliable.  No  ragged  edges  to 
"catch."  Your  manicures 
stay  lovely  longer! 


BEAUTIFIES 
f  SKIN 

New  Hinds  is  enriched 
with  lanolin  to  make  your 
hands  feel  softer  instantly— protect 
them  longer.  Works  wonders 
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greatest  day  of  my  life." 

Well,  the  great  day  came.  It  was  years 
later,  after  several  pictures  had  made  me 
well  known.  Sue  and  I  were  in  a  restaurant 
when  he  came  in  with  his  family.  When  I 
saw  him  I  almost  choked  with  anger. 

Then  he  was  walking  over  to  our  table, 
all  smiles.  "Al,"  he  said  with  great  cordi- 
ality, "it's  wonderful  to  see  you  again!" 

"Yeah?"  I  ground  out,  sounding  like  one 
of  my  picture  roles.  I  rose  with  my  fists 
doubled. 

But  he  was  saying,  "My  little  girl  thinks 
you're  terrific.  She's  dying  to  meet  you. 
May  I  bring  her  over?" 

Did  I  let  him  have  it?  I  did  not.  I  heard 
myself  saying,  "Of  course.  Bring  her  over." 
For  all  at  once  I'd  realized — though  I  didn't 
figure  this  out  clearly  until  later — that  my 
wanting  to  slug  him  was  not  really  because 
of  the  way  he'd  treated  me  in  the  old 
days.  It  was  really  because  of  my  early  in- 
feriority complex — I  simply  wanted  to 
assert  my  "superiority"  over  him  and  had 
been  about  to  do  so  in  the  most  childish 
way  possible. 

I  was  pretty  startled,  not  long  after  I 
made  the  grade,  to  have  another  director 
ask  me  seriously,  "Al,  why  do  you  pal 
around  with  the  production  crew  so  much? 
They  can't  do  anything  for  you." 

I  was  too  amazed  to  answer  back  for  a 
minute,  but  when  I  did  I  said  what  I 
thought.  "I  don't  want  them  to  do  any- 
thing for  me.  I  just  like  them."  I've  moved 
what  Heaven  and  earth  I  could  to  keep 
the  same  crew  on  my  pictures,  because 
they're  my  friends.  I've  had  the  same 
bunch  for  nine  straight.  I  don't  expect 
them  to  do  anything  for  me,  outside  of 
their  jobs. 

I've  found  that  all  the  frantic  bugaboos 
I'd  heard  and  believed  about  Hollywood 
are  just  that — bugaboos.  You  don't  have 
to  cultivate  the  "right"  people.  You  don't 
have  to  play  politics  and  shoot  angles.  You 
don't  have  to  live  high,  wide  and  hand- 
some. 

But  what  you  do  have  to  do  is  a  good 
and  honest  job. 

live  and  learn  .  .  . 

Of  course,  I've  learned  plenty  in  my  six 
years  about  the  job  I  do.  I've  learned  to 
loosen  up,  for  instance,  when  I  work — I'm 
no  longer  trying  to  spill  out  my  lines  as 
fast  as  a  machine  gun.  I'm  more  relaxed 
and  deliberate  in  my  movements  and  reac- 
tions. I've  learned  that  making  a  movie  is 
(if  I  may  be  so  corny)  a  team  job,  and  I'm 
just  something  like  a  halfback  on  the 
squad.  I've  learned  that  practically  any 
actor — meaning  me — is  the  world's  worst 
self-critic. 

I  know  by  now  the  public  is  always 
right,  too,  and  that  if  they  like  me  as  a 
toughie,  that's  for  me.  I  want  to  do  better 
things,  of  course,  but  I'm  not  fretting  to 
play  Hamlet.  I  know  that  fans  are  not  the 
howling  wolves  some  stars  paint  them, 
ready  to  rip  a  screen  personality  to  pieces 
— they're  friends,  usually  a  star's  sincerest 
admirers.  Among  the  warmest  thrills  Sue 
and  I  have  had  out  of  our  Hollywood  life 
are  the  contacts,  in  person  and  through  the 
mail,  with  people  who  follow  me  on  the 
screen.  There  hasn't  been  an  event  in  our 
lives — our  children,  our  new  home,  our 
special  sentimental  occasions — when  the 
heartening  response  of  those  world-wide 
friends  hasn't  touched  us  down  deep. 
We've  had  them  in  our  home  and  we've 
been  taken  under  their  wings  in  their 
home  towns. 

The  other  day  a  horn  honked  at  the 
gate  of  my  Hidden  Valley  ranch,  and  I 
moseyed  down  to  see  who  it  was.  A  grin- 
ning, sunburned  guy  leaned  on  the  wheel 
of  his  dusty  car,  his  wife  and  kids  peering 
out  behind  him.  He  was  a  tourist  and  his 
face  was  frank,  bold  and  good-humored. 
America  stuck  out  all  over  him.  I  didn't 


know  him  from  Adam  but  he  seemed  to 
know  me. 

"You're  Alan  Ladd,  aren't  you?" 

I  allowed  as  how  that  was  right. 

inspection  tour  .  .  . 

He  piled  out  of  the  car  along  with  the 
whole  family.  He  tipped  back  his  hat  and 
stuck  out  his  hand.  "Glad  to  meet  you!" 
he  said.  "We  thought  we'd  stop  and  see 
what  kind  of  a  place  you've  got  here. 
Hate  to  intrude  on  your  privacy,  but  we 
don't  figure  you  rate  much  privacy.  We 
pay  money  to  see  your  pictures,  and — 
well,  we'd  like  to  look  around." 

That's  the  frankest  I'd  ever  had  my  Hol- 
lywood status  put  to  me,  and  for  a  second 
my  jaw  dropped.  "Why — "  I  began.  Then 
I  stopped  short  and  a  grin  cracked  my 
face.  The  guy  had  a  point. 

So  I  said,  "I  think  maybe  you're  right. 
You  pay  the  way,  don't  you?  That's  why 
I've  got  this  place.  Come  on  in."  I  meant  it 
sincerely. 

I  didn't  know  for  a  long  time  how  nice 
most  everyone  is  ready  to  be  to  me.  I 
thought  I  was  on  the  defensive,  a  target, 
because  I'd  struck  it  in  Hollywood — and  I 
was  a  wise,  tough  guy  on  the  screen.  I  was 
sure,  for  instance,  that  when  I  entered  the 
service  the  GI's  would  be  just  waiting  to 
take  me  apart.  I  was  never  treated  more 
warmly  or  understandingly  in  my  life.  I 
was  accepted  as  just  a  Joe,  like  them.  I 
never  had  an  unpleasant  moment.  I  never 
met  a  friendlier  bunch  of  guys. 

In  fact,  it  was  those  GI's — ones  in  beds 
— who  cured  me  of  a  self-consciousness 
before  people  that  has  made  my  row 
plenty  easier  ever  since.  Sue  and  I  both 
wanted  to  do  whatever  we  could  to  enter- 
tain the  GI's  before  and  after  I  was  in 
uniform.  And  we  wanted  to  try  the 
toughest  circuit  of  all,  the  hospitals.  But  I 
faced  one  of  my  complexes.  I  said,  "I  can't 
sing,  I  can't  dance,  I  can't  tell  funny  stories. 
I'm  a  flop  as  an  entertainer.  They'll  be 
bored  and  I'll  die.  Look — if  I  can  just  sit 
down  by  every  bed  and  just  talk  with 
them — " 

"You're  crazy,"  scoffed  the  entertainment 
officer.  "Don't  you  know  how  many  sol- 
diers there  are  in  an  Army  hospital?" 

"I  don't  care  how  much  time  it  takes,"  I 
said.  "Let  me  try."  So  Sue  and  I  went  from 
bed  to  bed  and  we  never  missed  a  one, 
whether  the  place  had  200  or  2000  patients. 
I  was  nervous  and  embarrassed  to  death  at 
the  start,  but  they  were  all  so  nice  to  me 
that  before  my  tour  was  over  I  felt  per- 
fectly at  ease — and  those  boys  did  it. 
They  didn't  hand  me  the  movie-star  treat- 
ment; we  just  chewed  the  fat  like  the 
human  beings  we  were. 

One  of  the  greatest  thrills  I've  ever  had 
came  my  way  last  September  in  Madison 
Square  Garden,  where  I  was  invited  to 
line  up  with  a  flock  of  much  greater 
celebrities  than  myself  and  take  a  bow  at 
a  mammoth  gathering.  As  usual,  I  had  my 
moment  of  panic  about  what  to  do,  what  to 
say,  how  I'd  be  received.  (Guess  I'll  never 
be  completely  cured  of  that.)  It  was  my 
birthday,  September  3rd,  and  as  far  as  I  ' 
knew  I  was  the  only  one  there  who  knew 
it: 

When  I  stepped  forward  on  the  stand,  to 
my  surprise,  a  roar  smacked  my  blushing 
ears.  It  was  that  whole  crowd,  thousands, 
filling  the  Garden  to  the  rafters,  singing 
"Happy  Birthday"  to  me! 

Things  like  that  keep  a  guy — or  at  least 
this  guy — constantly  on  the  debtor's  end  to 
the  public  that  has  made  him. 

Maybe  that's  why  I've  packed  an  inferi-  ; 
ority  complex  ever  since  the  lightning 
struck  me.  Maybe  I  still  feel  a  little  guilty  : 
at  the  gifts  I've  received  by  the  grace  of  « 
the  movie-going  public. 

Maybe  trying  to  live  up  to  them  is  what's  ' 
made  me  the  greatest  worry-wart  since  '; 
Hamlet.  The  End 


SHE  FOOLED  IIS  ALL 

(Continued  from  page  44) 


over  a  book.  And  like  all  real  dreamers 
she  had  the  power  of  unusual  imagination 
— the  kind  that  can  step  in  and  replace 
actual  life.  Even  as  a  tot,  if  she  happened 
to  play  at  eating  just  before  supper,  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  take  a  bite  when  the 
actual  meal  was  served! 

"Whatever  is  the  matter  with  you, 
Jeanne?"  Mother  would  ask,  looking  at 
her  untouched  plate.  "Aren't  you  going 
to  eat  anything?" 

"I  have  eaten,"  Jeanne  would  reply 
grandly.  And  then  she  would  proceed  to 
recite  a  list  of  the  dishes  on  her  make- 
believe  dinner. 

Father  would  argue  with  her  as  persua- 
sively as  he  could.  He  would  point  out 
that  she  hadn't  really  eaten;  no  substances 
that  could  be  felt  or  weighed,  or  could  be 
bought  at  the  market,  had  passed  her  lips. 

"So,"  he  would  finish  triumphantly,  "how 
can  you  say  you  have  eaten?" 

Jeanne  would  look  straight  in  his  eyes. 
"If  you  think  a  thing  ...  it  is,"  she  would 
reply.  And  that  was  that. 

I  was  the  practical  one.  It  was  to  me, 
even  though  I  was  younger  than  Jeanne, 
that  Mother  gave  the  pennies  to  hold  when 
we  went  out  to  buy  candy  as  children.  It 
was  I  who  knew  my  way  around  the  house, 
domestically.  Jeanne  wasn't  interested. 

on  her  way  .  .  . 

But  Jeanne  was  on  her  way  somewhere. 
I  didn't  know  it,  but  I  got  hints  of  it  every 
now  and  then  in  our  life  together. 

We  took  up  music,  for  instance,  yet 
Jeanne  told  me  she  was  quite  sure  she 
wasn't  going  to  become  a  musician.  She 
took  up  drawing,  with  no  idea  of  being  an 
artist.  She  took  dancing  and  languages — 
French  and  Spanish — with  no  thought  of 
making  direct  use  of  them  in  her  life.  This 
was  certainly  a  most  hazy  program  for 
anyone.  I  used  to  question  her  about  it. 

"If  you  don't  know  what  you  are  going 
to  be,  isn't  all  this  stuff  a  waste?"  I  asked. 

"Heavens,  no!" 

"But  look!"  I  argued.  "What  could  you 
possibly  do  that  would  require  a  mixture 
of  music,  dancing,  drawing,  languages  and 
all  those  other  things  mixed  up  in  it?" 

She  wouldn't  know.  She  would  just  say 
she  felt  there  was  something.  And  I  would 
hoot  at  this  "something."  But  one  day  she 
had  an  answer.  I  asked  the  same  question 
and  she  came  back  with — "Acting!" 

I  knew  right  away  that  she  was  right. 
But  I  wasn't  going  to  surrender  so  quickly. 
So  I  inquired  loftily,  "Then  why  don't  you 
practice  acting  if  you  want  to  be  an  actress, 
rather  than  all  that  other  stuff?" 

"I  do,"  Jeanne  replied. 

"How?"  I  asked.  "If  you're  not  at  the 
piano,  or  dancing,  then  you're  reading." 

"That's  how,"  she  said.  "Reading." 

I  began  to  understand  her  meaning.  She 
was  living  the  story  and  acting  it  out  in  her 
mind — being  a  gypsy,  a  queen,  or  a  raga- 
muffin girl  meeting  a  prince.  And  I  can 
remember  feeling  a  great  wonder  at  all 
the  glorious  experiences  Jeanne  had  been 
having  in  those  books  when  I  had  wanted 
her  to  come  outdoors  for  a  trip  around  the 
block  with  our  dog,  Terry,  pulling  us,  or  to 
take  part  in  a  game  of  hide-and-seek  or 
cops-and-robbers  with  neighborhood  kids. 

So  there  you  have  one  contradiction  to 
Jeanne's  character — she's  the  practical  kind 
of  dreamer.  And  there  are  others.  Girls 
who  huddle  over  books  a  lot  are  some- 
times shy  and  retiring.  Well,  Jeanne  was 
shy — but  absolutely  in  her  own  unique 
way.  She  wasn't  so  shy,  for  instance,  that 
she  couldn't  overcome  her  timidity  long 
enough  to  be  elected  president  of  the 


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Name  

Address- 


Student  body  at  our  school,  St.  Mary's 
Academy.  Yet,  once  she  was  president,  the 
shyness  took  hold  again  and  she  found  it 
painfully  embarrassing  to  get  up  and  run 
meetings  and  make  talks. 

But  when  she  got  the  lead  in  the  school 
play,  all  shyness  dropped  from  her  at  once! 

Playing  another  character  was  different; 
it  was  like  imagining  yourself  the  heroine 
of  the  book  you  were  reading,  she  said, 
and  that  was  something  she  had  been  do- 
ing for  years — an  answer  that  may  make 
sense  to  you  and  you,  but  sends  me  thumb- 
ing through  my  psychology  books. 

Perhaps,  if  I  had  known  a  tiny  bit  of 
psychology  when  I  was  six,  I  might  have 
guessed  that  Jeanne  wanted  to  be  an  ac- 
tress even  before  she  was  aware  of  the 
desire  herself.  At  six  I  broke  both  my 
arms  after  a  fall  while  roller-skating. 
Naturally,  with  both  arms  in  casts,  I  was 
one  of  the  most  handicapped  little  girls 
in  the  world;  people  had  to  do  things  for 
me  constantly.  Once  in  a  while,  out  of 
sheer  boredom,  I  would  try  to  get  things 
for  myself,  picking  them  up  in  my  teeth, 
and  even  trying  to  use  my  toes  as  hands. 
Time  and  again  Jeanne  would  do  the  same. 
I  thought  she  was  just  mimicking  me  but 
she  explained,  "I  want  to  know  how  you 
feel  when  you  can't  use  your  hands."  She 
was  unconsciously  learning  to  "live  the 
part  you  play." 

curtains!  .  .  . 

Shortly  after  this  (after  my  bones  had 
knitted),  Jeanne  and  I  were  climbing  a 
fence  one  afternoon  when  the  whole  world 
started  to  go  to  pieces.  The  fence  started 
to  shake  in  the  strangest  way.  Mother 
called  us  in  and  right  after  that  the  whole 
family  ran  over  to  our  grandmother's  next 
door.  I  heard  everyone  talk  about  "the 
earthquake"  but  couldn't  understand  why 
we  all  had  to  go  to  grandmother's.  Jeanne 
told  me — feeling,  no  doubt,  that  it  was 
time  for  a  good  curtain  line.  She  whis- 
pered dramatically  into  my  ear,  "It's  so 
we  can  all  die  together!" 

But  we  lived;  we  lived  so  that  the  fol- 
lowing Easter  I  could  catch  scarlet  fever 
and  make  Jeanne  so  envious  of  my  spotted 
"makeup"  that  she  wasn't  satisfied  until 
she  caught  it  as  well.  Then  we  both  lay 
in  our  beds  waiting  for  the  Easter  Bunny 
to  show  up — so  we  could  give  it  to  him  too! 

One  of  the  periods  in  Jeanne's  life  that 
is  going  to  puzzle  me  when  I  really  get 
down  to  analyzing  her  (if  ever!)  concerns 
her  graduation  from  St.  Mary's.  Her  mark 
was  the  highest  in  the  history  of  the  school 
and  easily  won  her  a  scholarship  at  the 
high-school  division  of  the  Academy. 
Naturally  we  were  all  delighted,  but 
Jeanne  had  found  something  about  it  that 
she  didn't  like. 

She  thought  her  excellent  scholastic 
record  was  hurting  her  socially  with  the 
other  girls.  She  thought  they  were  looking 
on  her  as  a  kind  of  oddity.  But  she  wasn't 
sure. 

I  volunteered  to  find  out  and  I  cautiously 
quizzed  one  of  the  girls  in  Jeanne's  class — 
not  disclosing  that  Jeanne  wanted  to  know. 
The  girl  flared  up  immediately.  "Of  course 
not!"  she  said.  "That's  like  saying  we 
would  like  to  have  just  dopes  for  friends." 

But  Jeanne  was  still  doubtful  and  de- 
cided to  experiment.  She  deliberately  tried 
for  lower  grades.  However,  instead  of 
making  more  friends,  this  seemed  to  make 
the  ones  she  had  delight  in  kidding  her, 
telling  her  she  wasn't  as  smart  as  she 
thought  she  was.  Jeanne  quit  the  experi- 
ment, deciding  that  people  have  to  be  what 
they  are. 

What  I  didn't  understand — and  still  don't 
— is  why  she  went  to  this  trouble  at  all, 
since  she  never  seemed  to  care  about  being 
a  social  butterfly.  I  was  the  gay  one  when 
we  went  to  parties;  Jeanne  would  sit 
quietly  while  I  mingled  and  made  friends. 


I  worked  at  it;  she  didn't.  I  was  careful 
about  my  social  obligations.  Any  boy  who 
came  to  visit  me  at  our  home,  or  to  take 
me  out,  found  me  dressed  and  ready, 
bright  and  entertaining.  Any  boy  who 
called  on  Jeanne  found  .  .  .  me  again, 
again  striving  to  be  bright  and  entertain- 
ing, so  he  wouldn't  get  peeved  because 
Jeanne  was  not  ready  yet! 

Sometimes  it  seemed  to  me  the  boy  was 
getting  restless  and  I  would  run  back  to 
our  room  and  warn  Jeanne  about  her 
caller  becoming  annoyed  at  her  tardiness. 
"Oh,  he  won't  be  mad  at  me,"  she  would 
say.  "You'll  see." 

I  would  warn  her  that  she  was  wrong 
and  hurry  back  to  her  fuming  young  man, 
who  by  this  time  might  be  stalking  around 
the  living  room  irritably.  Then,  finally, 
Jeanne  would  enter.  I  would  look  at  the 
boy  nervously  and  then  at  Jeanne,  won- 
dering how  she  would  handle  the  situa- 
tion. It  was  simple.  She  just  walked  in, 
his  eyes  would  fall  on  her,  and  all  the 
grouchiness  would  disappear  to  be  re- 
placed by  one  of  those  big,  goofy  smiles 
.  .  .  something  like  the  kind  you  see  on 
the  face  of  Pluto,  the  Walt  Disney  dog, 
when  he  melts  into  bashfulness. 

Now,  incidents  like  this  should  help  me 
classify  Jeanne  as  far  as  her  romantic 
pattern  is  concerned.  But  no.  There  was 
that  time  when  she  saw  a  tall,  Gregory 
Peck  type  of  boy  seated  not  far  from 
her  at  a  football  game.  Gone  was  her 
reserve!  She  practically  smiled  him  out 
of  his  seat  and  into  the  one  next  to  her 
.  .  .  even  though  that  one  was  already 
occupied  and  it  took  a  near  fight  to  get 
the  fellow  in  it  to  move! 

It  should  be  clear  by  this  time  that  fitting 
Jeanne  into  a  personality  niche  is  no  easy 
task. 

The  other  day  when  I  was  visiting  Jeanne 
I  decided  that  analyzing  my  sister  was 
too  complicated — I  would  give  her  16- 
month-old  baby,  Paul  Brinkman,  Jr.,  an 
aptitude  test  instead.  I  had  brought  along 
some  Binet  test  blocks;  one  was  square, 
one  round  and  the  third  diamond-shaped. 
We  gave  Baby  Paul  the  round  one  and  on 
the  floor  in  front  of  him  we  placed  a 
board  containing  holes  cut  to  the  three 
shapes.  Then  we  gathered  around  to  see 
which  hole  he  would  put  the  round 
block  in. 

He  held  the  block  for  a  while  and 
seemed  to  be  concentrating  hard.  We  held 
our  breath  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  deep 
mental  processes  that  were  going  on  within 
him.  Then  he  made  a  move.  He  lifted  the 
block  and  put  it  into  his  mouth! 

Jeanne  looked  at  me  anxiously.  "What 
does  that  mean?"  she  asked. 

"Don't  know,  exactly,"  I  replied.  "It's 
hard  to  analyze — but  it's  absolutely 
normal." 

Which  also  sums  up  my  sister  Jeanne. 
The  End 


modern  screen 

brings  you 
Harry's  girl — 
betty  grable 
on  the  december 
caver,  on  sale 
november  9 


DOUBLE  OR  NOTHING 

(Continued  from  page  28) 


"What  the  blazes  are  all  you  people 
doin'  down  there?  Put  out  those  fires!" 

"Oh,  no!"  said  Shirley. 

"It's  persecution!"  said  Jack.  "How  can 
a  fire  hurt  anything  here?  Are  we  tax- 
payers or  aren't  we?  *  Are  we  going  to 
stand  for  this — this  persecution?  Are  we 
going—" 

"Yes,  darling,"  said  Shirley,  "we're 
1  going!" 

They   reached   Point   Zuma,    18  miles 
away.    This  was  it.    No  kidding,  this  was 
it.    No  restrictions,  no  cops,  no  inter- 
j  ruptions. 

"Incidentally,  Shirl,"  said  Jack  as  they 
were  driving  home,  "what  was  it  you  were 
trying  to  say  tonight  when  that  guardian 
of  the  law  kept  interrupting  you?" 

"Oh,"  said  Shirley,  "it  was  just  a  sim- 
ple little  observation.  I've  made  it  to  you 
a  few  times  before.  A  few  hundred  times." 

"What's  that?" 

"Well,  I  was  just  trying  to  say— 'What 
a  nice  husband  I  have  to  have  fun  with.' " 

"Come,  come!"  said  Jack.  "It's  the  other 
way  about." 

"You  mean  I  should  say,  'What  fun  I 
have  to  have  a  nice  husband  with'?" 

"You  know  very  well  what  I  mean, 
Mrs.  Agar." 

*       *  * 

With  the  Agars,  it's  double  or  nothing. 
Happy  marriage  is  happy  sharing — and 
Jack  and  Shirley  are  having  a  wonderful 
time  sharing,  in  equal  parts,  a  life  to- 
gether. Fun,  responsibilities,  the  problem 
of  making  little  adjustments — these  to  the 
Agars  are  very  much  double  undertakings. 

A  mutual  undertaking  in  the  fun  de- 
partment (besides  intimate  weenie  roasts) 
that  they  report  they're  looking  forward 
to,  is  traveling  abroad.  They're  just 
waiting  till  Linda  Susan  is  old  enough  to 
go  along  and  appreciate  it.  (She  already 
gurgles  happily  when  you  show  her  the 
colors  in  the  Atlas.) 

parlez-vous  fran$ais?  .  .  . 

As  a  long-range  preparation,  Jack  has 
been  brushing  up  on  his  Spanish  while 
Shirley  exercises  her  French.  One  use- 
ful way  she  exercised  it  for  a  while  was 
by  calling  Jack  names  in  French  when  a 
little  riled  at  him.  This  was  originally 
designed  to  allow  her  to  satisfy  her  feel- 
ings harmlessly — it  was  merely  sort  of 
talking  to  herself,  for  Jack's  knowledge 
of  the  Gallic  tongue  is  vague,  at  best. 
Then  he  began  reaching  for  the  French- 
English  dictionary  when  Shirley  would 
softly  refer  to  him  as  a  detraque  and 
things.  "So,  my  love!"  he'd  say,  after 
brisk  turning  of  the  pages.  "I'm  a  fiend 
and  an  assassin  and  a  clod,  am  I?  Well, 
you  know  what  you  are?  You're  a  .  .  ." 
And  he'd  mentally  run  over  a  few  choice 
j  Spanish  nouns.  "You're — you're  a  mal- 
\  hechores  and  an  idiota."  "Where's  that 
|  Spanish  dictionary,  kid?"  Shirley  would 
;  inquire.  (Shirley's  Spanish  is  on  a  par 
with  Jack's  French.)  There  was  a  time 
when  they'd  never  think  of  going  to  the 
dinner  table  unarmed  with  glossaries. 

All  in  fun,  naturally.  Just  the  light 
banterings  of  a  normal  young  couple.  But, 
like  everyone  else,  they  sometimes  have 
a  real  tiff.  And  in  the  fashion  of  many 
young  couples,  Shirley  wins  half  of  the 
arguments  while  John  wins  the  other  half. 
Their  techniques  of  protest  differ  but  the 
I  sum  result  is  the  same:  no  one  stays  mad. 

When  Shirley  gets  downright  peeved, 
jj  she  usually  doesn't  come  right  out  with 
I  it,  but  employs  two  simple  means  of  blow- 
ing off  steam:  slamming  doors  and  listen- 


254  and  104 


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87 


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hair  lovely,  smooth,  in  place. 
Hold-Bobs  slide  in  smoothly,  stay 
more  securely,  feel  better,  hold 
better.  They're  strong  yet  flexible. 
The  small  heads  are  "invisible." 
And  the  rounded-for-safety  ends 
won't  catch  hair.  Remember, 
only  Hold-Bobs  have  these 
exclusive  features. 


Gcitjttt 

HOLD-BOB 

BOBBY  PINS 

"Gayla"  means  the  best  in 
bobby  pins  •  hair  pins  •  curlers 

C1948,  GAYLORD  PRODUCTS,  INCORPORATED,  CHICAGO  16,  ILL. 
*T.  M.  REO.  U.  8.  PAT.  OFF. 


ing  to  classical  music.  "Going  home  to 
Mother"  is  out.  The  Temples  live  within 
a  hundred  yards  of  the  Agars.  As  Shirley 
points  out,  "the  short  distance  would 
kind  of  restrict  the  dramatic  effect  of  the 
gesture." 

When  Jack  gets  mad — and  this  happens 
infrequently,  since  he  holds  it  to  be  a 
waste  of  energy — he  says  he's  mad.  And 
he  lets  her  know  just  why.  Then  he 
forgets  it.  You  can  hardly  ever  win,  so 
hardly  ever  argue  with  a  woman,  is  his 
motto. 

One  thing  that  annoys  Shirley  about 
Jack  is  the  fact  that  when  he  reads  or 
listens  to  music  he's  completely  shut  off 
from  the  rest  of  the  world.  Including  his 
lovely  young  bride.  He  just  can't  help  it. 
"The  other  day,"  she  says,  "I  came  into 
the  living  room  and  found  him  reading 
'Of  Time  and  the  River,'  by  Thomas  Wolfe. 
All  wrapped  up  in  it.  I  sat  there  a  min- 
ute. He  didn't  give  a  flicker  of  a  sign  of 
knowing  I  was  there.  A  woman  doesn't 
like  to  be  left  out  in  the  cold,  even  for 
Thomas  Wolfe.  I  had  to  do  something. 
'Jack,'  I  said.  No  answer.  'How  about  a 
peppermint,  Jack?'  Nary  a  sound.  'An 
apple?'  Not  a  peep.  'Jack!'  I  shouted, 
and  threw  a  cushion  at  him. 

"This  brought  him  to  the  surface. 
'You're  behaving  childishly,  Red,'  he  said. 
That,  of  course,  is  about  the  worst  thing 
you  can  say  to  the  mother  of  a  six-month- 
old  baby.  I  assumed  an  elaborately  pained 
expression. 
.  "  'You're  still  being  childish,'  he  said. 

"Of  course  he  was  right.  I  stopped 
looking  pained.  In  fact,  I  had  to  laugh. 
Why  do  men  always  win?" 

Another  little  victory  for  Jack  was  in 
the  only  difference  of  opinion  they've  ever 
had  over  Linda  Susan.  When  she  was  five 
months  old,  Jack  stood  her  on  her  feet. 

"Don't  do  that!"  cried  Shirley,  rushing 
up. 

"Why  on  earth  not?    Susie  likes  it." 

"You  want  your  daughter  to  grow  up 
to  look  like  Gabby  Hayes?" 

"Is  doing  this  going  to  give  her  a  beard? 
A  crazed  notion.  What'll  you  be  telling 
me  next?" 

"No!    But  it'll  make  her  bow-legged!" 

"Of  course  it  won't." 

"I'm  the  mother.    I  should  know." 

Jack  was  unimpressed.  Shirley  called 
up  the  family  doctor.  "You'd  better  come 
right  over  and  tell  this  husband  of  mine 
to  stop  ruining  our  baby!  .  .  .  What's  he 
been  doing?  Why,  he  stood  her  up  on  her 
feet,  that's  what!  .  .  .  You — you  mean  it's 
good  for  her?   A  few  minutes  every  day?" 

Shirley  turned  red.  Jack  gave  Linda 
Susan  a  superior  smile.  She  gave  it  right 
back  to  her  daddy. 

how  to  be  a  lady  ... 

"Almost  always,  though,"  says  Shir- 
ley, "Jack  lets  me  handle  Linda  Susan 
my  way.  And  I'm  going  to  teach  her  to 
dance,  play  the  piano,  to  knit  and  sew— 
all  the  things  a  proper  young  lady  should 
know.  But  Jack  will  have  his  share  of 
parental  instructing.  When  we  have  a 
boy — and  I  hope  it  won't  be  long  before 
we  do — he'll  be  Jack's  responsibility. 
Jack  can  teach  him  football,  baseball, 
boxing,  and  stuff." 

Shirley  denies  that  she's  functioned  as 
a  teacher  in  another  direction — that  is,  in 
helping  Jack  in  his  acting  career.  "I  have 
made  some  technical  suggestions  from 
time  to  time,"  she  admits.  "Suggestions 
familiar  to  every  experienced  player  and 
so  important  to  a  newcomer.  But  aside 
from  that,  I  haven't  really  done  anything. 
Jack  has  great  talent  and  he's  coming 
along  fine.  He  doesn't  need  any  help 
from  me." 

When  they're  in  a  film  together,  they 
occasionally    rehearse    their  next-day's 


lines  before  going  to  sleep.  They  do  it 
casually,  for  Shirley  long  ago  learned  that 
you  get  best  results  before  the  camera 
when  relaxed,  and  beating  the  brains  out 
all  night  stewing  about  a  part  is  no  con- 
tribution toward  that. 

Sometimes  their  ideas  of  roles  differ 
from  the  director's.  As  in  Fort  Apache, 
Shirley  and  Jack  provide  the  love  inter- 
est in  Baltimore  Escapade.  But  this  time, 
it's  a  different  kind  of  love.  Purely  pla- 
tonic.    No  kisses.    No  caresses. 

"Ridiculous,"  said  Jack. 

"Disgusting,"  said  Shirley. 

"Let's  add  a  love  scene.  Even  though 
it's  only  one  big  bear-hug." 

"At  least  one  big  bear-hug." 

Sadly  enough,  Director  Richard  Wallace 
wouldn't  see  it  their  way.  The  beauti- 
ful scene  was  lost  to  Shirley,  Jack,  and 
posterity. 

gotta  get  up  .  .  . 

There's  one  scene  that  Jack  never  seems 
to  be  able  to  do  easily  no  matter  how  many 
times  he's  been  over  it  before — the  real- 
life  scene  of  getting  up  early  in  the  morn- 
ing. The  man  who  invented  the  alarm 
clock  was  wasting  his  time  as  far  as  Jack 
is  concerned. 

So  it's  up  to  Shirley — just  as  it  is  to 
millions  of  other  wives.  When  Jack's 
working,  even  though  Shirley  has  no 
scenes  that  morning,  she  has  to  rise  early 
in  order  to  rouse  her  unconscious  mate — 
generally  by  a  thorough  shaking. 

Not,  Shirley  will  tell  you,  that  Jack  likes 
to  sleep  late.  Matter  of  fact,  he  likes  to 
get  up  early.  But  not  too  early.  It's 
simply  that  it's  a  herculean  task  to  wake 
him  before  he  wakes  himself  through 
natural  processes.  Shirley,  on  the  other 
hand,  loves  to  stay  in  bed  till  noon  when 
she — and  Jack — aren't  working. 

On  such  days,  breakfast  for  Shirley  is 
a  glass  of  orange  juice  and  a  cup  of  coffee. 
Hours  before,  six-foot-three  Jack  will 
have  stowed  away  a  somewhat  less  deli- 
cate repast:  orange  juice,  cereal,  four 
fried  eggs,  bacon,  toast  and  coffee. 

When  they  were  first  married,  Shirley 
used  to  fix  all  the  meals  herself.  Jack 
made  it  a  joint  endeavor  by  doing  the 
dishes.  That  wasn't  so  good  when  they 
were  both  working — dinner  was  never 
ready  until  eight-thirty,  and  by  the  time 
the  dishes  were  put  away  and  the  sink 
scrubbed  and  the  kitchen  straightened, 
they'd  be  two  sleepy  people.  Nowadays 
there's  a  housekeeper  to  look  after  things. 
(And  there's  Mrs.  Halverson  to  help  look 
after  Linda  Susan.) 

Shirley  still  plans  the  menus  and  places 
the  orders  with  the  groceryman,  like  ev- 
ery other  housewife.  "Jack's  a  cinch  to 
satisfy,"  says  Shirley.  "He'd  be  perfectly 
happy  to  have  just  meat  and  potatoes 
seven  times  a  week.  But  I  like  to  be 
fancy  and  I  often  give  him  things  like 
crepes  Suzette,  or  shashlik,  or  caneton 
aux  peches — that's  duck  with  peaches,  to 
Jack.  If  I  were  to  ask  him  'first  before 
having  such  exotic  foods,  he'd  look  un- 
happy. So  I  don't  tell  him,  and  when  he 
gets  'em,  he  loves  'em." 

The  Agars'  social  life  is  relaxed,  simple 
and  shared.  Their  idea  of  a  good  time  is 
to  have  a  few  close  friends  in  for  a  dessert 
party  (coffee  and  pastries  only)  or  for 
bridge  or  a  game  of  badminton  or  a 
musicale  (phonograph) . 

But  the  last  musicale  discouraged  Shir- 
ley a  bit.  "Three  of  my  guests  fell  sound 
asleep!  Don't  know  if  it  was  the  hour, 
the  music,  or  the  hosts." 

It  couldn't  have  been  the  hosts.  They're 
as  attractive  a  couple  as  could  be  found. 

It's  nice  to  know  they  found  each  other. 
Before,  from  all  reports,  Shirley  and  Jack 
were  happy  individuals.  But  now — that 
goes  double.  The  End 


THE  PASSING  LOVES 
OF  PETER  LAWFORD 

(Continued  from  page  37) 


three  hours  straight — not,  we  must  hasten 
to  add,  counting  intermissions.  Then,  see- 
ing Peter  alone  for  a  moment,  a  columnist 
asked  him  if  it  were  true  that  he  and 
Lana  were  engaged. 

"Well,"  Peter  said,  "if  ever  there  was  a 
girl  I  .  .  ." 

"Yes?   Yes?"  said  the  columnist  eagerly. 

But  Peter  didn't  finish.  He  looked  as 
if  something  else  had  crossed  his  mind. 
The  next  evening  he  was  seen  out  with  a 
different  girl,  a  statuesque  blonde  from 
M-G-M — not  a  star,  just  one  of  the 
messenger  girls. 

Which  brings  to  mind  that,  while  Peter 
has  gone  out  with  the  Ava's  and  the 
Lana's,  with  Rita  Hayworth  and  "Slim" 
Hawks  and  Hedy  Lamarr,  he  has  also  gone 
out  with  many  girls  whose  names  are 
scarcely  by-words.  When  he  first  came  to 
Hollywood,  he  was  much  too  shy  to  ask 
a  star  out  for  an  evening. 

During  his  early  days  at  M-G-M,  it  was 
the  unanimous  opinion  of  the  messenger 
girls  at  the  studio  (there  were  38  of  the 
pretty  creatures  there  at  the  time)  that 
Peter  was  a  "quiet  and  refined  type."  But 
one  of  these  girls  changed  her  mind  some- 
what one  Christmas  Eve.  It  happened  that 
this  was  also  her  birthday.  In  the  midst 
of  an  informal  celebration  in  the  message 
room,  Peter  walked  in.  He  was  informed 
that  it  was  Doris'  birthday.  Whereupon 
he  walked  over  to  her,  put  a  quiet  right 
hand  behind  her  waist,  a  refined  left  hand 
behind  her  neck,  bent  her  down  adagio- 
style  and,  amid  happy  shrieks  from  her 
colleagues,  kissed  her  a  warm  and  linger- 
ing "Happy  Birthday." 

Since  then,  Doris  still  considers  him  re- 
fined— but  not,  perhaps,  quite  so  quiet. 

And  from  that  day  on  Peter  has  pro- 
gressed. It  seems  almost  as  if  he'd  said  to 
himself  in  that  pleasant  British  voice  of 
his,  "Look  here,  old  boy,  no  good  to  be  too 
reserved.  Shall  we  circulate?" 

After  that,  one  would  see  Peter  in  a 
huddled  conversation  with  Anita  Colby, 
or  attending  a  festive  event  with  Marilyn 
Maxwell,  or  smiling  intimately  with  Greer 
Garson,  or  squiring  Cyd  Charisse  or  Judy 
Clark.  There  was  Beverly  Tyler  (where 
was  Tom  Drake?)  whom  Peter  found 
chatty  but  a  little  hard  to  follow — as  he 
complained  to  friends  later.  So  Peter  fol- 
lowed others.  After  he  had  announced 
that  meeting  Rita  Hayworth  was  his  deep 
desire,  he  met  the  lady.  Having  achieved 
it,  he  was  grateful  to  Rita — but  soon  was 


B  Crooner  Jack  Lawrence  relates  the 
sad  story  of  a  child  in  Hollywood  who's 
very  poor:  Only  has  one  mother  and 
father  .  .  . 

■  Nancy  Donovan  says  that  times 
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again  on  his  merry  way  with  other  gals. 

It  was  along  about  this  time  that  Peter 
took  on  some  friendships  that  were  looked 
upon  dimly  by  his  studio.  The  feeling 
was  that  Peter  was  possibly  progressing 
a  bit  too  fast — since  some  of  the  new 
attachments  happened  to  be  wives  at  odds 
with  their  husbands  and  reported  consid- 
ering divorces.  Although  there  had  been 
no  complaints  from  the  husbands  con- 
cerned, one  of  the  studio  executives 
thought  it  high  time  that  the  ethics  in- 
volved be  explained  to  the  young  man. 

"The  bachelor  who  comes  between  a 
married  couple  is  always  looked  upon  as 
something  of  a  snake-in-the-grass,"  he 
advised  Peter.  "I'm  sure  you  don't  want  a 
reputation  like  that." 

Peter  was  bewildered.  One  of  his  out- 
standing characteristics  is  his  capacity  for 
sympathy.  He  has  one  of  the  most  cried-on 
shoulders  in  Hollywood.  His  instinct  to 
comfort  is  quick.  He  modestly  tried  to 
explain  this — but  had  to  admit  that  maybe 
the  outside  world  might  not  see  it  in  its 
proper  light. 

(Perhaps  he  had  this  in  mind  the  other 
night  at  the  Mocambo.  Peter  was  seen  in 
the  company  of  a  very  attractive  brunette 
whose  name  he  refused  to  divulge  on  the 
grounds  that  her  divorce  proceedings  were 
still  under  way. 

"But  can  we  have  her  picture?"  asked  a 
news  photographer,  getting  ready  to  take 
it  anyway. 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Peter,  and  promptly 
pulled  her  face  down  against  his  shoulder 
to  hide  it.) 

pete's  a  pal  .  .  . 

Yet  men — even  husbands — like  Peter. 
Ask  any  of  the  married  set.  The  men  like 
him  because  he  wears  well.  He's  a  good 
companion,  equally  adept  at  sports  or 
banter,  and  few  manifest  jealousy  of  him. 

One  male  star  declared,  "Peter  Lawford 
is  the  one  fellow  in  Hollywood  who  can 
throw  his  arms  around  your  wife  as  a 
greeting  without  your  minding  it  at  all, 
somehow.  He  makes  you  feel  he  just  has 
to  be  affectionate  with  his  friends,  men  or 
women.    You  can't  resent  him." 

"He's  just  a  big,  friendly  cub,"  said 
another. 

This  probably  accounts  for  the  fact  that 
Peter's  status  as  a  bachelor  in  Hollywood 
is  unique  in  more  ways  than  one.  For 
instance,  if  a  married  feminine  star  is 
seen  with  any  man  other  than  her  hus- 
band, it  is  sure  to  make  talk — unless  that 
man  happens  to  be  Peter  Lawford.  In 
that  case  there  is  just  good-natured  accep- 
tance, on  the  part  of  the  husband  as  well 
as  the  rest  of  the  movie  colony. 

In  other  words,  the  fact  that  Peter  is  a 
great  friend  of  Evie  Johnson,  Greer  Gar- 
son,  Nancy  Sinatra,  June  Ally  son,  June 
Home,  and  Jane  Wyman,  does  not  mean 
that  Messrs.  Johnson  (or  Wynn  before 
him),  Ney,  Sinatra,  Powell,  Cooper,  and 
Reagan,  the  husbands  (and  in  a  few  cases, 
ex-husbands)  of  these  ladies  are  not  great 
friends  of  Peter.  They  are.  At  least,  only 
one  of  these  gentlemen  has  ever  been 
reported  as  having  voiced  strong  objec- 
tions, and  later,  it  is  said,  his  friends 
succeeded  in  reasoning  with  him  and  con- 
vincing him  that  his  suspicions  were 
baseless. 

It  is  not  unusual  for  Peter  to  escort 
divorcees.  In  fact,  at  times  it  seems  to 
some  observers  that  he  is  making  a  spe- 
cialty of  them.  But  it  is  definitely  not  like 
him  to  come  between  any  couple.  Holly- 
wood is  satisfied  about  that. 

No,  the  girl  you  see  with  Peter  is  more 
than  likely  to  be  the  latest  "find.''  It  is 
a  sort  of  a  mark  of  acceptance  for  her, 
and,  once  obtained,  she  can  feel  free  to  go 
on  with  her  career  knowing  she  has  been 
officially  stamped  and  approved.  And  it 
is  typical  of  Peter's  nature  that  he  holds 


himself  available  for  this  duty  at  all  times. 
Studios  wishing  to  launch  a  new  girl  know 
they  can  rely  on  his  co-operation.  She 
will  be  wined,  dined  and  danced,  all  where 
the  public  will  hear  about  it  and  come  to 
know  about  her.  Currently,  Peter  is 
being  seen  with  Susan  Perry  (who  used 
to  be  called  Candy  Toxton)  and  Shirley 
Ballard.  The  latter,  one  of  the  Goldwyn 
counting  the  brunette  divorcee,  of  course). 
Girls,  is  the  newest  of  his  interests  (not 

There  have  been  so  many  girls  in  Peter's 
life  that  in  the  past  year  a  number  of  mag- 
azines have  come  to  regard  him  as  a  sort 
of  authority  on  girls  generally;  they  have 
had  him  write  articles  on  the  - subject. 

Thus  he  has  put  himself  on  record  as 
considering  Lana  Turner  gifted  with  a 
"magnetic  force,"  Anita  Colby  as  "beau- 
tiful and  brainy,"  Hedy  Lamarr  as  "spon- 
taneous .  .  .  unaffected  .  .  .  infectious," 
and  Gene  Tierney  as  "exquisite."  But  that 
isn't  all.  The  fact  that  he  was  never 
out  with  Joan  Caulfield  and  Katharine 
Hepburn  didn't  prevent  him  from  analyz- 
ing these  ladies  as  well!  He  loved  Joan,  he 
wrote,  because  she  was  "so  healthy  and 
fresh."  Katharine?  Well,  she  was  just 
"sensational,"  he  said. 

So,  like  Don  Juan,  Peter  dwells  a  great 
deal  over  the  various  points  of  beauty  he 
notes  in  the  girls  he  knows.  But,  unlike 
Don  Juan,  he  belies  the  strength  of  their 
charms  by  never  succumbing  himself.  Lana 
Turner's  "magnetic  force,"  for  instance. 
It  bounced  right  off  Peter,  as  did  Anita 
Colby's  "beauty  and  brains,"  Hedy  La- 
marr's  "spontaneity,"  and  so  on. 

What  does  a  girl  have  to  have  to  put  the 
full  "whammy"  on  this  boy?  It  is  pretty 
well  agreed  that  if  ever  a  girl  does  suc- 
ceed in  this  little  accomplishment,  her 
fame  and  fortune  is  assured  on  the 
strength  of  it.  She  will  not  only  be  Mrs. 
Peter  Lawford;  together  they  will  be  the 
greatest  romantic  box-office  team  in  the 
land.  And,  as  has  been  pointed  out  above, 
Peter  is  no  recluse.  He  is  available. 

the  answer  .  .  . 

If  you  talk  to  friends  of  Peter  they  will 
supply  you  with  a  good  theory  concerning 
his  dilettante  ways  with  girls.  They  say 
he  fell  into  them  when  he  arrived  in  Holly- 
wood and  his  future  was  uncertain.  Brit- 
ish-bred, educated  by  private  tutors,  twice 
around  the  world,  he  had  a  combination  of 
boyish  appeal  and  continental  manners 
that  could  go  far.  But  in  his  first  associa- 
tion at  M-G-M  he  wasn't  making  enough 
money  even  to  go  out  in  public.  Then  his 
studio  is  said  to  have  come  to  his  rescue. 
It  offered  to  foot  the  bills  so  that  he  could 
be  seen  in  the  right  places  by  the  news 
columnists  who,  as  everyone  knows,  al- 
ways go  to  the  right  places  to  cover 
whatever  wrong  things  they  happen  to  spy. 

"When  a  fellow  is  sponsored  by  his 
studio  like  that  he  has  to  circulate  to  give 
them  their  money's  worth,"  one  of  his  pals 
pointed  out.  "Not  only  from  spot  to  spot, 
but  from  girl  to  girl.  After  all,  the  studio 
is  paying  off  and  they  want  him  to  remain 
an  eligible — not  get  to  romancing  and  get 
married  off  on  their  time." 

Of  course  this  is  not  a  new  system  in 
Hollywood.  Any  number  of  youngsters, 
just  starting  in  movies,  make  it  a  policy  to 
pair  off  in  different  couples — boys  and 
girls — and  make  the  rounds.  The  idea  is 
to  buy  one  drink  at  The  Mocambo,  a  second 
at  the  Beverly  Hills  Tropics,  and  perhaps  a 
third  at  The  Beachcomber's,  rather  than 
stay  in  one  place.  It  sort  of  makes  the  pat- 
tern of  success  spiral-shaped;  you  keep 
going  around  and  around  in  order  to  go  up. 

A  few  years  ago  Peter,  himself,  was 
quoted  along  the  same  fines  as  his  friend's 
explanation.  He  is  reported  to  have  com- 
mented: "Why  don't  I  go  steady?  Look.  I 
refuse  to  take  up  a  girl's  time  if  I  can't  be 
serious  with  her.   Time  is  very  valuable 


to  her — and  to  me.  We've  got  to  use  it  to 
go  places,  and  I  don't  mean  just  places  .  .  . 
if  you  know  what  I  mean." 

All  this  makes  sense  with  those  close  to 
Peter's  career — including  the  money  angle, 
if  that  must  be  mentioned.  There  are  many 
who  remember  that  during  his  earlier 
days  Peter  used  to  have  to  stand  for  a  lot 
of  kidding  because,  look,  he  had  to  be 
very  careful  with  a  dollar. 

"Brother,  he  was  a  reluctant  payoff," 
sighed  one  of  his  friends. 

The  same  man  recalled,  in  connection 
with  this,  that  one  of  the  most  elaborately 
planned  gags  ever  played  on  a  screen  star 
was  staged  for  Peter's  benefit — if  not  dis- 
comfiture. It  happened  at  a  New  Year's 
Eve  party  at  Frank  Sinatra's  home.  When 
Peter  arrived  he  was  told  he  was  going  to 
take  part  in  a  sketch  to  be  presented  on  an 
improvised  stage  at  one  end  of  the  Sinatra 
living  room.  Two  of  the  other  players  were 
Sinatra  and  Phil  Silvers.  The  scene  was 
supposed  to  be  a  table  at  a  night  club 
and  they  all  had  lines  to  speak. 

The  thing  went  along  in  only  a  mildly 
amusing  manner  until,  at  a  certain  point, 
one  of  the  guests  playing  a  waiter's  part 
approached  with  the  check.  Peter,  follow- 
ing the  directions  of  the  script,  reached  for 
it  saying  loudly,  "Here!  I'll  take  the 
check!"  That  was  the  end  of  the  play. 
While  Peter  gawked  in  surprise,  actors  and 
audience  alike  fell  to  the  floor  rolling  in 
laughter  at  his  words — words,  they  all 
claimed,  they  had  never  heard  him  utter 
before  in  his  life! 

Nevertheless,  they  were  all  fond  of  him, 
they  understood  his  situation,  and  that  is 
all  over  today.  He  enjoys  a  different  status 
and  the  pinch  is  gone. 

In  his  position  today  Peter  can  hardly 
talk  about  "wasting  a  girl's  time."  When 
it  comes  to  security  he  can  buy  her  as  big 
a  home,  set  on  as  high  a  Hollywood  crag, 
and  amidst  as  many  artificially  planted 
palm  trees,  as  the  next  man.  He  may  have 
to  learn  what  a  girl  looks  like  by  fireside 
light  instead  of  night-club  neon — but  after 
that,  his  most  intimate  friends  are  con- 
vinced, he  will  like  the  change. 

More  than  that,  they  are  firm  in  the 
belief  that  when  he  does  marry  he  will 
make  a  wonderful  husband;  one  who  will 
keep  romance  alive.  Any  girl  seeking  such 
assurance  can  apply  to  Frank  Sinatra,  Phil 
Silvers  and  Jack  Cooper,  who  are  con- 
vinced of  it. 

When  he  does  take  the  fateful  step,  listen 
for  a  great,  collective  sigh  to  rise  from 
those  girls  who  have  been  his  passing  loves 
and  from  those  others  who  had  a  reason- 
able expectancy  to  become  such.  They  will 
all  miss  the  most  colorful  master  of  the 
romantic  runaround  since  .  .  .  well,  there 
never  has  been  anyone  just  like  Peter! 
The  End 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

At  a  golf  benefit 
for  the  late  Ben 
Coltrin  in  San 
Francisco,  Bing 
Crosby  was  play- 
ing in  a  foursome 
which  included 
the  14-year-old 
Marlene  Bauer. 
When  Miss  Bauer 
was  putting  at 
one  of  the  holes 
Bing  said,  "If  you  make  that  shot  I'll 
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putt  wasn't  good  so  Bing  gave  an  en- 
couraging smile  and  said,  "Well,  then, 
I'll  introduce  you  to  my  youngest 
son." 

June  Hilson 
San  Francisco,  Calif. 


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TO  MARY  WITH  LOVE 

{Continued  from  page  39) 


"No,  but  we're  getting  married  next 
November." 

"Does  he  know  it?" 

"Of  course!  It  was  his  idea." 

"And  you  know  what  you're  doing?" 

"Naturally." 

Dorothy  picked  up  a  brush  and  began 
working  on  her  abundant  red  hair,  covert- 
ly eyeing  Mary  in  the  mirror. 

"Nevertheless,"  she  said,  "I'm  sure  that 
if  you  are  as  smart  as  I  think  you  are, 
you'll  tell  Dana  tomorrow  that  you'd  like 
to  think  the  whole  thing  over  for  about 
five  years." 

"If  I  did  that,"  replied  Mary,  "I  should 
have  my  head  examined." 

Dorothy  snorted.  "I'll  do  that  for  noth- 
ing. I  don't  have  anything  against  Dana. 
They  don't  come  better  in  the  male  de- 
partment. But  look  what  you're  getting 
into.  Right  now  he  earns  $35  a  week — 
sometimes.  Some  day  he'll  be  a  profession- 
al actor.  Maybe  he'll  even  get  a  job  in  the 
movies.  So  what?  When  he  does  he'll  have 
to  pay  his  backers  35%  right  off  the  top  of 
his  salary." 

Mary  didn't  say  a  word. 

"I  know,  honey,  I'm  talking  like  your 
worst  enemy,"  Dorothy  went  on,  "but  let's 
be  frank.  How  is  Dana  doing?  The  woods 
are  full  of  handsome  guys  here  at  the 
Playhouse.  Who's  getting  the  best  leads? 
Not  Dana.  Take  his  friends — Bob  Preston, 
Hersh  Daugherty,  Vic  Mature,  Tommy 
Skinner — they're  going  somewhere.  But 
Dana?  Shucks,  it's  not  in  the  cards  for  a 
long  time.  Besides,  what  about  your  own 
career?  What  about  that  Warner  test?" 

Mary  lifted  herself  carefully  from  the 
wreckage  of  her  studio  couch.  "Here," 
she  said,  "give  me  that  brush — you're  not 
getting  it  combed  right  in  the  back." 

She  went  to  work  briskly.  Dorothy 
winced  as  the  brush  punctuated  Mary's 
rebuttal. 

"My  career?  Poof!  As  for  how  much 
money  Dana  earns,  who  cares?  Go  ahead, 
call  me  a  dreamer,  but  he's  going  places 
too,  that  boy — and  I'm  going  with  him." 

Mary  Andrews  can  remember  that  con- 
versation as  though  it  took  place  yester- 
day. Matter  of  fact,  it  happened  nine  years, 
four  contracts,  three  children,  a  mansion 
in  Toluca  Lake,  and  about  a  half-million 
dollars  ago.  That's  for  the  record. 

dark  horse  .  .  . 

Dorothy  had  to  admit  that  she  was 
spectacularly  wrong  about  Dana.  She  was 
accurate  about  the  future  of  Dana's  bud- 
dies at  the  Playhouse — Bob,  Hersh,  Vic 
and  Tommy.  In  one  way  or  another  they 
all  did  fine,  but  it  was  Dana  who  rushed 
from  behind  down  the  home  stretch,  the 
long-odds  dark  horse. 

Today  Dana  tops  all  Pasadena  graduates 
in  box-office  popularity  and  salary  earned 
— something  better  than  a  quarter  of  a  mil- 
lion gross  each  year.  No  Minor  Vices,  his 
gamble — and  a  successful  one — in  the  field 
of  comedy,  gives  him  as  part  producer  one- 
third  of  the  profits.  Now  he's  just  back 
from  England  after  completing  Britannia 
Mews,  and  is  knee-deep  in  scripts.  And 
heart-deep   in  a  happy  marriage. 

The  date  they  cemented  this  monument 
to  matrimony  was  November  17,  1939. 
There  weren't  any  cameramen  or  reporters 
around  when  the  ceremony  took  place  at 
the  home  of  Mary's  parents  in  Santa 
Monica,  even  though  Dana  was  already  a 
movie  actor. 

"I  had  finished  my  first  part,"  Dana 
remembers.  "One  line  in  a  Western  for 
Sam  Goldwyn.  I  can't  remember  it,  but  it 
must  have  been  something  like  'They  went 


thataway,  sheriff.'  But  I  was  big  stuff- 
under  contract  at  $150  a  week.  I  was  pay- 
ing off  the  fellows  who'd  backed  me  ever 
since  I  worked  in  a  gas  station  and  drove 
a  school  bus  out  in  Van  Nuys.  Back  then, 
I  was  studying  for  opera  at  $20  a  lesson. 
Now  I  was  a  movie  actor.  The  backers 
took  a  well-deserved  35%  to  get  back  their 
investment,  and  I  had  a  net  of  $97.50  a 
week. 

"No  question  about  it.  I  had  arrived, 
and  still  I  was  far  from  being  discovered. 
For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  asked  my- 
self, 'Am  I  going  to  make  a  go  of  this?' 
Then  I  remembered  Texas,  had  a  talk 
with  Mary,  and  knew  that  there  was  noth- 
ing in  the  future  to  be  afraid  of." 

What  Dana  remembered  about  Texas 
was  his  decision  to  quit  high  school  in 
his  Junior  year,  take  a  job  with  the  Gulf 
Oil  Company  and  spend  two  years  work- 
ing his  way  to  the  point  that  he  was  al- 
most a  certified  public  accountant  at  a 
neat  $200  a  month.  Then  one  day  he  re- 
turned to  his  desk  after  lunch,  looked  at 
the  miles  of  figures  and  said,  "This  I  don't 
like."  He  quit  his  job  that  day,  spent  all 
but  $16  on  a  rousing  farewell  party  and 
hitch-hiked  his  way  to  the  Coast. 

feller  needs  a  girl  .  .  . 

Now  he  was  miles  from  that  comfort- 
able job,  a  married  man  with  responsi- 
bilities. He  didn't  have  to  worry  too  much. 
Mary  took  over. 

"I  don't  care  how  much  we  have  to 
skimp,"  she  said.  "We're  going  to  build 
a  house  right  now.  There's  the  lot  the 
family  has  given  us  out  in  Sherman 
Woods.  Now  all  we  need  is  $2,000." 

Somehow,  after  first  option  time,  the 
money  was  there.  In  a  miraculously  short 
time,  so  was  the  house.  The  Andrews 
family  now  hit  a  vein  of  pure  luck.  When 
the  last  shrub  was  planted  to  landscape 
the  place,  their  home  was  worth  $19,000. 
Then,  just  before  costs  began  to  skyrocket, 
a  flush  buyer  just  had  to  take  it  off  their 
hands  for  $35,000. 

Together,  they  found  the  place  in  To- 
luca Lake — a  modified  English  mansion 
on  an  acre  and  a  half.  (Today  the  place 
is  worth  better  than  $100,000.) 

"Frankly,"  says  Dana,  "when  we  moved 
in  I  couldn't  believe  it — to  a  place  like 
this  from  a  rooming  house  in  Pasadena 
in  six  years.  Fantastic!" 

At  first,  Dana  wanted  to  take  out  the 
electric  gates  which  opened  out  of  the 
high  front  wall.  "Shucks,"  he  said,  "we're 
not  hiding  from  anyone." 

"Maybe  not,"  Mary  retorted,  "but  the 
electric  gate  ought  to  stay.  After  all, 
think  how  safe  the  dogs  are  going  to  be." 

And  David,  Dana's  14-year-old  son  by 
his  first  marriage,  spoke  up.  "Besides 
that,"  he  declared,  "I  can  be  the  keeper 
of  the  gate,  and  nobody  can  get  by  unless 
I  say  so." 

How  true  that  was,  Dana  found  out 
every  time  he  returned  from  the  studio. 
He'd  get  out  of  his  car,  press  the  button, 
and  hear  David  ask  fuzzily  over  the  loud- 
speaker system,  "Who  is  it,  please?" 

"It's  your  Dad!" 

"Who?" 

"Andrews — Mr.  Dana  Andrews." 

Then  he'd  hear  David  ask,  "Do  we  know 
a  Mr.  Andrews?" 

This  was  too  much.  "Open  up!"  Dana 
would  roar,  "or  I'll  smash  the  blasted 
thing  down!" 

Eventually,  they  worked  out  a  system. 
Every  time  Dana  gave  the  horn  two  longs 
and  a  short,  the  gates  swung  open.  The 
gates  are  still  there  and  operating,  and  it 


never  fails  that  whenever  they  swing 
open  for  no  particular  reason  the  happy 
visitor  always  is  a  persistent  salesman  or 
someone  Dana  would  rather  not  have 
drop  in. 

Those  gates,  however,  really  aren't  sym- 
bolic of  the  retiring  life  the  Andrews 
family  leads.  Mary  and  Dana  aren't  anti- 
social. It's  just  that  since  Dana  was  a 
boy,  living  back  in  Texas  with  brothers 
Wilton,  Harlan,  Charles,  Ralph,  David, 
Bill,  John  and  sister  Mary,  he's  never  had 
to  search  for  friends.  He  had  them  right 
in  his  own  family,  and  habit  clings. 

Too,  the  Andrews  tribe  began  to  mul- 
tiply. An  only  child,  Mary  wanted  lots 
of  family.  First  came  Kathy,  now  six, 
then  Stephen,  who  is  three  and  a  half, 
and  finally  the  toddler,  Michael,  now  10 
months. 

When  Dana  would  hit  home  at  night 
there'd  be  no  prying  him  loose.  Then  the 
thing  about  the  boats  happened.  One  day, 
while  Dana  was  loafing  around  between 
pictures,  his  stand-in  called  up  and  said, 
"I'm  going  down  to  the  harbor  for  a  little 
sailing.    Come  on  along." 

Dana  took  one  look  at  the  hundreds  of 
little  boats  scooting  around  the  harbor 
and  beyond  the  breakwater.  He  stepped 
aboard  the  stand-in's  little  20-footer,  dis- 
covered he  was  immune  to  sea  sickness, 
and  was  promptly  lost. 

all  aboard  .  .  . 

For  days,  he  haunted  the  docks  at 
Balboa  until  he  found  his  boat,  a  trim 
little  cutter,  the  Katherine.  "She's  a 
beauty,"  he  told  Mary  that  night.  "A 
little  over  50  feet.  We  can  spend  week- 
ends on  her — the  whole  family.  Charles 
and  Bill  can  be  part  of  the  crew,  and 
we'll  never  notice  the  cost." 

"Hmmm,"  Mary  murmured.  "How 
much?" 

"Well,  around  $25,000,  but  we  can  make 
a  deal." 

"I  have  a  hunch  you  will,"  Mary  re- 
plied, and  to  her  credit  let  it  be  said  that 
she  never  once  mentioned  a  mink  coat, 
a  new  car,  or  redecorating  the  house. 

An  independent  company  wanted  Dana 
to  do  a  picture. 

"It's  a  deal,"  he  said,  "except  that  I 
sure  need  a  boat."  And  there  was  his 
financing,  and  the  Katherine,  just  like 
that. 

Months  later,  Dana  spotted  another  boat, 
the  beautiful  Vileehigh.  It  was  just  at 
dusk  as  the  family  was  returning  from 
Catalina.  "Look  at  that,"  Dana  exclaimed 
to  Mary.  "Now,  that's  the  sort  of  boat 
we  should  really  have!" 

"Sure,"  Mary  agreed,  "and  maybe  in 
another  20  years  when  we're  millionaires, 
we'll  have  it." 

For  once,  she  underestimated  her  hus- 
band. 

It  seems  that  another  independent  com- 
pany wanted  Dana  to  do  a  picture. 
"Hmmm,"  Dana  said.  "I'd  sure  like  to. 
Thing  is,  I've  got  a  boat  on  my  hands. 
Can't  use  the  darn  thing.  Maybe  the 
studio  needs  a  good  boat — might  come  in 
handy  for  yachting  scenes." 

There  were  some  conferences.  The  stu- 
dio discovered  it  needed  a  boat — if  it 
wanted  Dana  for  the  picture.  The  Kath- 
erine changed  hands  at  a  nice  profit  and 
all  of  a  sudden  Dana  was  master  of  the 
80-foot  Vileehigh,  as  fine  a  ketch  as  has 
ever  sailed  the  Pacific. 

"Teakwood  deck,"  Dana  explains  as  he 
eases  her  out  toward  the  end  of  the 
breakwater  under  motor  power.  "You 
won't  find  that  on  any  other  boat  like  this 
on  the  Coast.  Man,  the  Vileehigh  has 
been  through  storms  in  the  Orient  that 
have  smashed  everything  else  in  sight. 
She's  indestructible." 

Out  beyond  the  breakwater  lighthouse 
the  water  becomes  choppy. 


Soaping  dulls  hair. 
Halo  glorifies  it ! 


Yes,  "soaping"  your  hair 
with  even  finest  liquid  or  cream 
shampoos  hides  its  natural 
lustre  with  dulling  soap  film 

V  Halo  — not  a  soap,  not  a  cream 
—  contains  no  sticky  oils,  nothing  to  hide 
your  hair's  natural  lustre  with  dulling 
film.  Made  with  a  new  patented 
ingredient,  Halo  brings  out  glossy, 
shimmering  highlights  the  very  first 
time  you  use  it!  Its  delightfully  fragrant 
lather  rinses  away  quickly,  completely 
in  any  kind  of  water — needs  no  lemon  or 
vinegar  rinse.  For  hair  that's  naturally 
colorful,  lustrously  soft,  easy  to 
manage— use  Halo  Shampoo! 
At  any  drug  or  cosmetic  counter. 


Not  a  soap, 
not  a  cream — 
cannot  leave 
dulling  film! 

V  Quickly, 
effectively  removes 
dandruff  from  both 
hair  and  scalp! 


Gives  fragrant, 
soft-water  lather 
even  in  hardest 
water! 

Leaves  hair 
lustrously  soft,  easy 
to  manage — with 
colorful  natural 
highlights! 


Halo  reveals  the  hidden  beauty  of  your  hair 


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Son  Stevie  walks  down  along  the  deck 
from  the  bow,  tiny  face  screwed  up  in 
deep  thought.  He  sticks  his  head  in  the 
wheel  house,  says  to  Dana,  "Good  wind. 
Gus  says  to  run  up  the  sail." 

"Okay,  matey,"  Dana  agrees. 

Stevie  goes  forward. 

"Lqok  at  that,"  Dana  enthuses.  "Noth- 
ing like  a  boat  for  a  kid!  And  the  first 
few  times  out  I  nearly  lost  my  mind  every 
time  I  couldn't  see  him  for  a  second  or 
two." 

Stevie  was  back. 

"Gus  is  going  to  put  out  the  fishing  lines." 
"Okay,  matey." 

Kathy  comes  in  with  a  plate  of  cookies. 
She  looks  at  Dana  with  lovelight  in  her 
eyes.  He  takes  a  cookie,  glances  up  and 
sees  an  ocean  liner  dead  ahead. 

"What  do  you  think,  Kathy?"  he  asks. 

Kathy  considers  the  distance,  peers  over 
the  side,  calculating  the  boat's  speed. 

"Better  wheel  over,  Daddy,"  she  says, 
"we're  on  a  collision  course!" 

"See  what  I  mean?"  he  asks.  "Some 
crew!" 

Kathy  interrupts.  "Daddy,  please  sing 
that  song." 

Dana  grins.  "Can't.  Got  to  pay  atten- 
tion to  the  wheel.    You  sing  it,  Kathy." 

Kathy  sings,  almost  carrying  a  tune. 
"Carry  me  back  to  Hohokus,  New  Jer- 
sey," she  warbles,  "because  that's  the  only 
way  you'll  get  me  there." 

She  is  interrupted. 

Stevie's  in  again,  his  face  lit  up  like  a 
beacon.    "Fish  ahoy!"  he  shouts. 

Now  everything  moves  like  clock-work. 
Brother  Charlie  takes  over  the  wheel. 
Dana  goes  on  deck,  hauls  in  the  line. 

Stevie  peers  down  into  the  churning 
water.  "Barracuda,"  he  exclaims.  "Big 
one!" 

"Swell — fish  for  dinner  tonight,  Steve," 
Dana  says,  working  the  struggling  'cuda 
in  closer.  "Go  on — tell  Mother — she's 
downstairs!" 

Stevie  glares  at  his  dad.  "Downstairs — 
huh,  you  mean  below!" 

And  having  established  again  his  nau- 
tical knowledge,  Stevie  scurries  off  with 
frying-pan  news  for  his  mom. 

The  run  from  San  Pedro  to  the  Isthmus 
at  Catalina  is  about  two  and  a  half  hours 
with  a  fair  wind.  By  the  time  Ray  and 
Gus  are  dropping  anchor  in  the  harbor, 


the  sun  is  down  and  lights  from  shore  are 
twinkling  in  the  deepening  dusk.  From 
the  galley  below  comes  the  teasing  aroma 
of  barracuda  turning  into  steaks.  Stevie 
and  Kathy  are  already  at  the  table,  satis- 
fying miniature  but  powerful  appetites 
and  chattering  away  with  Brother  Char- 
lie's offspring,  Dana  and  Jean.  Mary 
Andrews,  who  cooks  in  shifts  for  the  chil- 
dren and  adults,  comes  up  laughing. 

"Stevie,"  she  explains,  "wants  to  catch 
a  barracuda  to  put  in  his  Christmas  stock- 
ing. He's  got  it  figured  out  that  if  he 
gives  Santa  Claus  such  an  elegant  fish 
he'll  get  more  presents!" 

Later,  much  later,  when  the  dishes  are 
washed,  Dana  takes  off  for  the  Isthmus  in 
the  shore  boat,  just  to  prowl  around,  and 
maybe  drop  in  at  the  bar  for  a  Horse's 
Neck  (ginger  ale,  soda  and  lemon  peel). 

"I'm  not  worried  about  being  a  boat 
wife,"  Mary  declares  as  she  tunes  in  a 
symphony  over  the  ship's  radio.  "You 
know,  Dana  used  to  go  into  what  I  call 
a  'Dark  One'  now  and  then.  I  guess 
every  man  does,  and  a  woman  just  sort 
of  waits  it  out.  Dana  is  different,  though, 
in  one  way:  He  never  takes  it  out  on  his 
family. 

"I  think  that  what  gets  him  down  some- 
times is  trying  to  keep  an  impersonal 
attitude  about  everything.  Movie  stars 
are  made  out  to  be  such  important  peo- 
ple. You  can  almost  see  Dana,  like  a  lot 
of  others,  going  through  the  struggle  to 
remain  normal. 

"And  he  takes  his  work  very  seriously. 
For  instance,  not  long  ago,  he  had  quite 
an  argument  with  a  director  about  the 
way  to  play  a  scene.  Now,  I  think  he 
throws  his  weight  around  as  seldom  as 
any  man  in  pictures,  but  when  he's  sure 
he's  right,  he  won't  budge.  Anyway,  this 
director  insisted  that  they'd  only  have  one 
take  on  a  particular  scene  and  they'd  play 
it  his  way.  Dana  didn't  feel  the  mood 
that  was  being  called  for  and  politely  said 
so.  The  director  was  having  an  off  day 
and  hit  the  ceiling.  He  said  no  actor  was 
going  to  tell  him  how  to  run  the  picture — 
why,  he'd  just  sit  down  until  Dana  made 
up  his  mind  to  behave.  'Fine,'  said  Dana, 
and  set  his  jaw. 

"So  they  sat.  And  they  sat.  Finally 
Dana  said,  'Look — I  can  sit  just  as  long 
as  you  can.'    They  sat  for  a  while  longer. 


MODERN  SCREEN 


've  stopped  reading  books  altogether.  I  found  they  were  just  spoiling  the  movies  for  me." 


Are  you  in  the  know  ? 


When  a  gal's  not  "one  of  the  gang"— why? 

D  She's  shy        □  She's  a  glow  worm        □  She's  a  vacuum  cleaner 


Shyness  is  only  one  reason.  She  may  be  a 
glow  worm  (self-centered).  Or  a  vacuum 
cleaner  (picks  up  all  the  dirt).  Any  answer 
above  can  be  right.  The  cure  ?  Learn  to 
get  along  with  others.  Good  way's  to  join 
a  dramatic  club.  Be  a  good  trouper,  what- 


ever the  day  — for  Kotex  is  made  to  stay 
soft  while  you  wear  it.  Yes,  new  Kotex  has 
wonder-softness  that  holds  its  shape.  Add 
the  new  Kotex  Sanitary  Belt  that's  adjust- 
able, all-elastic  —  and,  come  hours  of  re- 
hearsals—you're doubly  comfortable! 


Then  Dana  suggested  that  if  they  sat  for 
the  rest  of  the  day  they'd  lose  the  studio 
about  $20,000,  but  it  would  only  cost  a 
few  hundred  to  do  the  scene  both  ways. 
The  director  gave  in.  Next  day,  after  the 
rushes,  he  came  around  to  Dana  and  ad- 
mitted that  an  actor  could  be  right.  Not 
that  Dana  considers  himself  anything  of 
a  genius,  but  he  studies  hard  what  he's 
doing  and  one  day  he'll  be  in  the  pro- 
ducing business  himself.  Even  so,  the 
argument  was  enough  to  send  him  into 
a  dark  mood  for  a  couple  of  days." 

Off  shore  came  the  putt-putt  of  an  out- 
board motor. 

"That's  Dana  coming  back,"  Mary  said. 
"It's  time  to  prepare  the  Love  Nest." 

She  disappeared  momentarily  to  return 
with  sheets,  pillows  and  blankets  and  take 
them  to  the  cupola  on  deck.  This  is  a 
wide,  hut-like  arrangement  about  three 
times  the  size  of  a  double  bed.  Here,  for- 
saking the  beautiful  master's  stateroom 
below,  the  Andrews'  like  to  sleep  on  star- 
lit nights. 

shore  party  .  .  . 

As  Gus  and  Ray  hauled  the  shore  boat 
to  its  stanchions,  Dana  came  up  over  the 
side. 

"Some  party  on  shore,"  he  said.  "Three 
couples  dancing  to  the  juke  box.  It's  just 
as  well  we  didn't  find  any  visitors  to  keep 
us  up  late,  because  we've  got  a  long  hike 
ahead  of  us  tomorrow." 

Some  hike! 

The  sun  beat  Steve  and  Kathy  getting 
up  by  a  split  second.  After  bacon  and 
eggs  everyone  went  ashore.  The  kids 
stayed  behind  to  frolic  on  the  beach  while 
the  senior  Andrews'  strode  out  ahead  of 
their  guests  and  up  over  the  mountain- 
side toward  Fourth  of  July  Bay. 

From  the  mountainside  they  could  look 
down  on  almost  a  hundred  boats  of  all 
sizes  and  descriptions,  from  home-built 
skiffs  to  $50,000  power  launches.  Music 
and  voices  drifted  upward. 

"Some  fun,"  Dana  said.  "And  if  I  hadn't 
gone  sailing  that  day  a  couple  of  years 
back  I  never  would  have  discovered  all 
this.  Look!"  He  gestured  toward  the 
mainland.  In  a  shimmering  path  of  sun- 
light as  far  as  could  be  seen  were  boats 
of  all  types.  "Here  they  come,"  Dana 
continued,  "the  gas-station  attendants,  so- 
ciety loafers  and  bank  presidents.  How's 
that  for  perspective?" 

It  was  pretty  good.  More  people  should 
see  it. 

When  the  aching  bones  reached  the 
beach  again,  Kathy  was  still  splashing  in 
the  water.  A  large-stomached,  cigar- 
smoking  tycoon  was  talking  to  Stevie. 

"Fine  boy!  Fine  boy!"  he  growled,  pat- 
ting the  youngest  Andrews  on  the  head. 

Stevie  turned,  saw  his  dad  and  came 
running  over.  His  tummy  pushed  out,  he 
patted  his  parent  condescendingly  on  the 
knee. 

"Fine  boy!"  he  said.    "Fine  boy!" 

Dana  scooped  his  son  up  in  his  arms. 
"Hah!"  he  chortled,  "I  never  know  wheth- 
er to  hug  you  or  wallop  you,  so  I'll  do 
both."    He  did. 

That's  life  as  it  is  lived  by  the  Merry 
Andrews'..  Perhaps  that's  not  hot-off-the- 
wire  news  for  gossip  commentators,  but 
it's  not  a  bad  bulletin  for  a  lot  of  young 
folk  who  are  wondering  how  a  marriage 
makes  out  that  starts  with  a  wealth  of 
loving  hope  and  a  dearth  of  dear  old  ready 
cash. 

Flash!  The  Dana  Andrews'  will  cele- 
brate their  ninth  wedding  anniversary  al- 
most any  time  now  .  .  .  Dana  is  giving 
Mary  a  diamond  bracelet  from  which  a 
little  gold  tag  hangs,  bearing  the  inscrip- 
tion, "To  Mary,  With  Love"  .  .  .  And  Mary 
is  giving  Dana  an  elegant  seaman's  watch, 
on  the  back  of  which  is  etched  one  word: 
DITTO!  The  End 


Do  you  open  bobby  pins 
with  — 

O  Your  fingernails 

□  Vour  front  reefh 

□  Your  left  thumb 

Why  fight  "bobbies"  tooth  and  nail?  Either 
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CONFESSIONS  OF  AN  EX-PLAYGIRL 

(Continued  from  page  41) 


back  on  my  heels  at  the  time — and  opened 
my  eyes. 

I  had  it  coming.  It  was  simply  a  case 
of  my  sins  catching  up  with  me  at  last. 
Sins  of  omission,  that  is. 

Looking  back,  I  can't  honestly  see  how 
Clark  Gable  or  anyone  around  M-G-M 
could  have  thought  anything  very  differ- 
ent about  the  acting  abilities  of  one  Ava 
Gardner,  perennially  "promising"  starlet. 

I'd  been  "promising"  somebody  for  six 
long  years — promising  just  whom  I  wasn't 
quite  sure — that  I'd  do  something  one  of 
these  days  about  being  an  actress.  I'd  had 
success  of  a  sort  off  the  lot  in  The  Killers 
but  that  wasn't  really  such  a  much  of  a 
Gardner  triumph  and  not  everyone  had 
seen  it,  including  Clark.  There  wasn't 
much  reason  for  anyone  to  think  otherwise 
than  he  did — that  I  was  the  laziest,  most 
disinterested,  most  lackadaisical  "starlet" 
who  ever  crossed  the  lot. 

Confidentially,  I  think  I  was,  too! 

"you  oughta  be  in  pictures  .  .  ." 

If  you're  looking  for  Object  Lesson  A 
to  hold  up  before  any  green  girl  whom 
people  keep  telling  she's  pretty  and  "ought 
to  be  in  the  movies,"  any  girl  who  finds 
herself  with  a  lucky  ticket  to  Hollywood, 
any  girl  who  thinks  a  studio  stock  con- 
tract is  a  sure  pass  to  good  times  and  a 
perpetual  paradise  of  doing  nothing  while 
waiting  for  fame  to  shower  golden  favors 
on  her  silly  head — that's  me!  Correction: 
That  was  me.  I'm  reformed — that  is,  I 
think  I  am. 

So  here  goes  a  confession:  I've  never 
been  half  as  interested  in  any  kind  of 
career  as  I  am  in  what  happens  to  my 
own  life,  to  me,  to  Ava  Gardner.  If  it's 
real  life  versus  reel  life,  the  real  life  wins, 
every  time.  Maybe  I'm  just  funny  that 
way.  Maybe  there've  been  some  changes 
made  lately,  though — maybe,  I  said.  I 
couldn't  say  for  sure. 

I  was  18  when  I  first  traveled  to  Holly- 
wood with  my  older  sister  to  chaperone 
me.  And  I  was  as  green  as  the  Pullman 
seat  I  sat  on — about  acting,  about  Holly- 
wood, about  most  everything  in  show 
business.  I  know  that  at  that  age  plenty 
of  ambitious  girls  are  well  along  the  road 
to  fame,  some  are  already  stars,  some  are 
straining  every  nerve  to  become  one. 
That's  where  I  was  different.  To  me  the 
whole  idea  was  a  nice  joy-ride,  an  in- 
triguing personal  experience,  an  excur- 
sion. I  had  no  more  real  acting  plans  or 
ambition  than  a  flea. 

Most  career  girls  I've  known  contract 
the  acting  bug  when  they're  in  their  teens. 
The  reasons:  They're  either  so  good- 
looking  that  everyone  around  them  keeps 
hammering,  "You  ought  to  be  in  pictures, 
you  ought  to  go  on  the  stage,"  or  they're 
just  natural  show-offs,  which  helps  a  lot 
if  you're  planning  an  acting  career,  be- 
lieve me.  Or,  again,  a  few  rare  ones  have 
a  genuine  feeling  for  drama,  a  real,  deep 
talent  that  has  to  be  expressed,  or  they'll 
bust. 

At  18,  all  I  had  was  the  face.  When  I 
dreamed,  it  was  of  bridal  veils  and  orange 
blossoms,  getting  married  and  having  my 
own  home  and  kids.  I  came  from  a  fam- 
ily of  seven  and  today,  when  I  count 
up  my  nieces  and  nephews,  I  run  out  of 
fingers.  I'm  old-fashioned.  My  idea  of 
heaven  is  settling  down  to  just  plain  fam- 
ily living.  It's  really  quite  a  joke  on  me 
that  I  finally  broke  out  of  that  "promising" 
never-never  land  as  a  sexy  siren.  But 
maybe  glamor  desires  had  been  sup- 
pressed in  me  all  along. 


If  so,  I  certainly  kept  them  well  con- 
cealed when  I  first  arrived  in  Hollywood. 
If  I  was  a  dark  horse,  I  was  well  under 
wraps.  But  honestly,  I  never  thought  of 
myself  in  any  race.  I  wasn't  in  training 
for  anything.  I  was  just  hanging  around, 
having  myself  a  nice  lazy  time.  How 
busy,  important  people  could  have  been 
so  persistently  interested  in  me  and  my 
career  future,  I  still  wonder.  I  didn't  re- 
pay their  interest  with  much  effort.  Yet 
I  had  the  gates  to  everything  most  girls 
yearn  for  in  Hollywood  wide  open  before 
my  innocent  eyes. 

I  had  the  highly-skilled  training  staff 
of  the  biggest  studio  in  Hollywood  at  my 
disposal.  I  had  a  potential  acting  edu- 
cation dropped  in  my  lap,  absolutely  free, 
that  would  cost  me  heaven  knows  how 
many  hundreds  a  week  anywhere  else. 
It  was  all  right  there  for  me. 

But  it  was  more  pleasant  just  to  draw 
my  check. 

Hollywood  is  perfect  fun  country  and 
I  liked  my  fun.  I  liked  people,  I  met 
plenty  right  away,  and  I  wanted  to  play. 
The  sunshine  was  wonderful,  the  beach 
enchanting.  My  mind  was  on  tennis  or 
swimming  or  buzzing  around  in  a  car  in 
the  daytime.  At  night  it  was  strictly  on 
dates,  dancing,  who  was  doing  what  and 
where  and  with  whom.  If  I  wasn't  at 
Ciro's,  Mocambo  or  somewhere,  I  was 
afraid  they  might  blow  away. 

Why  any  kind  soul  around  the  M-G-M 
lot  bothered  giving  me  fight  talks  about 
taking  advantage  of  my  opportunities  is 
impossible  to  figure  out.  Maybe  to  them 
I  was  an  irritating  spectacle,  sand  in  an 
oyster  that  could  come  up  a  pearl,  a  good 
girl  going  to  waste.  Maybe  they  just 
liked  my  home-town  friendliness.  But 
their  pep  talks  were  lost  on  my  silly  head. 
Fun  came  first. 

just  so  far  .  .  . 

People  who  see  something  in  you  will 
encourage  you  just  so  long.  Then  they 
stop.  They  know,  from  experience,  that 
it's  up  to  you.  Besides,  they  haven't  the 
time — even  if  they  haye  the  largeness  of 
heart — to  push  dead  weight  up  the  ladder. 
They're  too  busy  themselves.  I  never 
thought  of  that  then.  I  was  perfectly 
happy  being  Ava  Gardner,  a  person,  in- 
stead of  Ava  Gardner  up  in  lights. 

When  I  fell  in  love  I  got  married,  not 
giving  my  career  a  thought.  I  stopped 
even  the  little  bit  parts  for  a  year  while 
Mickey  Rooney  and  I  were  married. 
When  that  broke  up  I  came  back.  Soon 
I  fell  in  love  with  Artie  Shaw  and  again 
I  married,  again  I  didn't  consider  my 
"career." 

I  don't  regret  anything  that's  happened 
to  me  in  my  private  life.  I  never  do.  You 
live  and  learn  from  every  experience  and 
I  learned  from  both  marriages  much  that 
has  become  a  part  of  my  life — much 
home-keeping,  much  of  music,  books, 
business,  interests  of  many  kinds.  If  I 
fall  in  love  again  I'll  marry  again,  too, 
just  as  quickly,  just  as  hopefully. 

The  only  regrets  that  perch  like  black- 
birds on  my  shoulder  are  the  years  I 
wasted  being  content  to  be  atmosphere. 
I  only  feel  guilt  when  I  realize  it  was 
nothing  but  pure  luck  that  snapped  me 
out  of  it. 

You  make  your  own  chances.  Oddly 
enough,  that's  what  I  did,  absolutely  un- 
consiously  of  course,  even  against  my  will. 
The  things  that  bored  me  most,  the  things 
I  ducked  and  dodged — publicity  glamor 
stills — paved  the  way  for  something  that 


finally  woke  up  the  first  career  crocus  of 
spring,  the  first  faint  tingling  of  Ava's 
interest.  And  paved  the  way,  is  right. 
You  could  have  carpeted  Hollywood 
Boulevard  with  Ava  Gardner  from  curb 
to  curb. 

I  don't  remember  how  many  swim  suits 
I  wore  out — without  getting  near  the  wa- 
ter. I  shot  enough  sultry  looks  around 
the  M-G-M  photo  gallery  to  melt  the 
North  Pole. 

"Beauteous  Ava  Gardner,  promising 
M-G-M  starlet  .  .  ." 

Well,  a  reputation  can  get  around — even 
when  it's  dressed  in  a  bathing  suit.  An- 
other studio  was  hunting  an  inexpensive 
young  actress  to  play  a  small  town  bad 
girl  in  Whistlestop.  They  called  my  stu- 
dio and  asked  about  this  Ava  Gardner, 
she  looked  the  type— was  she  busy?  No. 
Her  price?  Nothing  to  break  the  bank  at 
Monte  Carlo.    I  was  loaned  out. 

My  performance  in  Whistlestop  wasn't 
exactly  nominated  for  an  Academy  Award 
but  for  the  first  time  I  had  a  few  lines 
and  I  was  supposed  to  do  something  other 
than  stand  around  and  provide  atmos- 
phere. I  can't  remember  vibrating  to  any 
artistic  challenge  or  anything  but  I  did 
try  seriously  to  look  and  talk  and  act  like 
the  tank-town  tootsie  I  was  supposed  to 
be.    And  that  was  progress. 

I  found  myself  anxious  about  what  I 
had  done  after  it  was  over.  I  sneaked 
inside  theaters  to  see  the  picture,  where 
I  hadn't  bothered  before.  A  minor  up- 
heaval was  stirring  inside  me.  Something 
new  had  been  added.  At  long  last — one 
touch  of  ambition. 

That  tiny  touch  was  promptly  nursed 
by  the  most  fantastic  good-luck  formula 
anybody  ever  had. 

guardian  angel  .  .  . 

Walter  Wanger,  a  producer  I  barely 
knew,  was  the  man  who  suggested  me 
for  The  Killers  to  another  great  movie 
maker,  the  late  Mark  Hellinger.  I  had 
never  met  him.  Yet  my  horseshoe  went 
rolling  merrily  along.  Mr.  Hellinger  lis- 
tened to  Mr.  Wanger,  saw  Whistlestop, 
asked  for  my  test  from  M-G-M — and  in 
no  time  at  all  I  was  on  one  of  the  most 
coveted  sets  in  Hollywood.  My  guardian 
angel  must  have  been  working  overtime. 

It  shouldn't  be  necessary  to  point  out 
what  it  meant  to  work  with  Mark  Hel- 
linger. Before  he  died  so  shockingly 
young,  just  when  he  was  setting  a  fast, 
new  pace  for  Hollywood,  everyone  who 
ever  knew  him  loved  him.  Before  I  had 
finished  The  Killers,  I  did  too.  In  this 
rather  dizzy  career  confession  of  mine  he 
holds  a  special  place.  It  was  under  his 
guidance  that  I  first  really  felt  the  thrill 
of  playing  a  movie  role.  And  it  was 
different  than  anything  I'd  ever  expe- 
rienced— from  many  angles.  For  one, 
Mark  Hellinger's  sets  were  electric  with 
enthusiasm  (I  could  use  some  of  that). 
They  were  hard-working,  fast-shooting, 
trigger-sharp. 

There  was  something  else — a  psycho- 
logical something  that  worked  strong 
medicine  with  me.  For  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  was  acting  on  a  par  with  every- 
one else.  All  the  actors  of  The  Killers 
were  unestablished  then.  Burt  Lancaster 
was  almost  as  obscure  as  I  was.  Me,  I'd 
always  lived  in  awe  of  the  great  stars  on 
my  home  lot — Katharine  Hepburn,  Lana 
Turner,  Clark  Gable,  Spencer  Tracy. 
There  might  have  been  just  a  touch  of 
that  "what's  the  use?"  about  me  when  I 
was  in  the  glittering  orbit  of  that  galaxy. 
I  could  never,  never  act  along  in  that 
league,  my  subconscious  assured  me.  On 
The  Killers  it  was  different.  Besides 
being  the  only  girl  in  the  cast  with  a  part 
of  consequence,  I  was  the  queen  bee. 

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NAME   | 

ADDRESS   I 

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Enclose  money— Harold's  will  pay  all  postage,  j 


— was  just  so-so.  But  in  my  book,  my 
part  in  The  Killers  was  a  very,  very  im- 
portant role.  It  gave  me  more  confidence 
than  I've  had  since  I  turned  down  the 
Smithfield  High  School  football  captain 
for  the  senior  prom!  When  I  tackled  The 
Hucksters  next,  I  had  something  more 
than  a  vague  notion  of  what  I  was  up  to. 
In  fact,  I  had  a  darned  good  idea. 

I  didn't  want  to  play  that  part  in  The 
Hucksters — and  do  you  know  why?  I 
thought  it  was  bad  for  me!  I  was  getting 
typed  as  a  siren.  Imagine  that  easy-going 
Gardner  girl  worrying  about  the  dangers 
and  pitfalls  of  type-casting!  I'd  never 
given  a  fig  before.  It  was  a  good  sign 
— that  worrying.  It  proved  even  to  me 
that  I  was — well,  growing  up,  profession- 
ally speaking. 

But  it  was  also  challenging.  I  was  to 
sing  at  the  piano,  a  solo  night  club  act, 
featured  with  that  merciless  camera  bear- 
ing down  on  me,  all  alone  by  the  micro- 
phone. The  challenge  got  me  extremely 
bothered.  Imagine  again!  My  general 
estimate  of  myself  (and  I  suppose  every- 
one else's  too)  was  that  I  was  too  lazy 
to  roll  out  of  bed!  I  suddenly  had  to 
prove  I  was  wrong. 

I  worked.  I  went  to  singing  coach  Har- 
riet Lee  and  said,  "Please,  Harriet,  will 
you  teach  me?  I  know  I'm  a  dope — I 
could  have  had  my  voice  trained  before, 
I  know.  Now  I  have  to,  and  fast.  Can 
you?" 

She  worked  days  and  into  the  night. 
So  did  I.    We  made  it. 

I  went  on  my  knees,  so  to  speak,  to 
dramatic  coach,  Lillian  Burns.  My  face 
flamed  at  the  memories  of  the  hundred 
times  she'd  wanted  me  to  work  and  I'd 
had  something  silly  that  seemed  more  im- 
portant. "Please,  Lillian,  will  you?"  She 
would.  We  made  it.  At  least,  enough  to 
convince  Clark  Gable. 

this  time  for  keeps  .  .  . 

Besides,  I  won  the  Look  Magazine 
award  as — that's  right — the  "most  prom- 
ising young  actress  of  1947."  Only  this 
time  maybe  they  weren't  kidding.  This 
time,  I  was  promising  a  character  named 
Ava  Gardner,  for  one. 

It's  a  funny  thing,  how  success  feeds  on 
success.  Pure,  unadulterated  good  luck 
set  a  firecracker  under  me.  But  once  I 
stirred  my  stumps,  a  certain  momentum 
developed.  And  when  it  came  to  One 
Touch  of  Venus,  I  actually  suffered  agonies. 
Because  it  looked  for  a  while  as  if  I 
couldn't  make  it.  Me — worrying  over  not 
making  a  picture!  You  can  see  how  the 
wheel  had  turned  full  circle. 

It  wasn't  all  because  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life  they  tagged  that  really  thrilling 
term  "star"  on  me.  It  wasn't  all  the  lure 
of  a  charming  script,  gay  music,  a  crack 
at  comedy — I'm  only  human,  and  female, 
I  never  said  I  was  immune  to  flattery, 
and  who  wouldn't  like  to  be  picked  to 
play  Venus? 

It  was  mainly  because  it  was  another 
challenge  to  make  good. 

So  when  they  asked,  I  didn't  say  maybe. 
I  yelled  "Yes!"  Then's  when  I  discovered 
the  agonies  of  suspense.  Up  came  a  sit- 
uation. It's  a  funny  world.  I  was  dying 
to  do  it.    And  my  studio  said  "No." 

One  Touch  was  planned  by  another  stu- 
dio— Universal.  M-G-M  had  offered  ev- 
ery possible  opportunity  to  me  for  years, 
risked  me  in  The  Hucksters.  Now  that  I 
was  reformed,  they  had  plans  themselves. 

"We  know  you  want  to  make  Venus 
and  it's  a  wonderful  idea,"  they  said. 
"But  after  all  you're  an  M-G-M  player 
and  charity  begins  at  home."  Or  words 
to  that  effect.  They  had  a  picture  set  to 
start  and  a  part  for  me. 

I  actually  wept.  My  disappointment 
was  that  keen.    Then  one  of  those  crazy 


Hollywood  things  happened.  The  M-G-M 
picture  was  put  off.  "You  can  do  Venus." 
But  there  was  a  deadline — I'd  have  only 
a  very  short  time  before  the  home  folks 
would  want  me  back.  And  I  had  a  mil- 
lion and  one  things  to  learn. 

Followed  the  most  exciting  days  of  my 
life — so  far,  that  is.  Billy  Daniel,  the 
dance  director,  had  scores  of  tricky  steps. 
(Why  hadn't  I  taken  dancing  when  I  had 
nothing  but  spare  hours?)  There  was 
voice  training  and  songs  to  learn.  (Oh, 
my  misspent  youth  again!)  Costumes, 
beautiful — but  oh,  how  awkward  I  was  at 
fittings!  (Why  the  heck  hadn't  I  spent 
more  time  getting  used  to  these  things, 
preparing  for  a  time  like  this?) 

I  posed  for  a  sculptor  two  hours  every 
day  while  he  chiseled  out  a  statue  of 
Venus.  As  I  posed  I  thought  of  a  thou- 
sand things  I  ought  to  be  doing,  watched 
the  clock  hands  race  around,  ticking  off 
precious  hours.    What  a  whirl! 

I  worked  like  a  dog  and  loved  it.  I 
was  certainly  one  changed  gal.  I  worked 
against  time — and  made  it.  One  Touch  of 
Venus  was  filmed  and  I  was  back  to 
M-G-M  in  time  and  life  was  wonderful. 

When  it  was  finally  over,  I  paced  around 
my  apartment  like  a  caged  cat.  I  was 
suddenly  bored  silly.  I  wasn't  working. 
It's  amazing  what  happens  when  you  once 
get  going.  I  hope  it  keeps  on  this  way 
with  me.  But  I  don't  know.  Being  a 
star  is  a  responsibility.  It  means  I  have 
to  go  forward  or  go  back;  I  can't  stand 
still.  Sometimes  I  shiver  and  shake  at 
the  idea.  Me,  who  never  had  a  nerve  in 
her  body! 

But  frankly,  I'm  not  so  worried  about 
my  abilities.  I've  just  finished  an  excit- 
ing starring  part  on  my  home  lot  with 
Robert  Taylor  (The  Bribe)  and  now  I'm 
doing  another  with  Gregory  Peck  ( Great 
Sinner).  I  know  now  I  can  do  whatever 
I  have  to — that  it's  not  only  possible,  but 
thrilling  fun! 

What  puckers  my  alabaster  brow  is 
whether  or  not  I'll  keep  up  full  steam 
ahead  or  revert  to  type.  Because,  as  I 
said,  I'm  an  old-fashioned  girl.  Hoot  all 
you  like,  but  what  I  really  want  is  a 
home  and  kids — just  as  I  keep  telling 
anyone  who  asks  me.  I'm  not  completely 
sure  yet  whether  I'm  going  to  be  Forever 
Ambitious  or  not. 

One  thing  is  a  cinch,  though.  I  won't 
be  Forever  Promising  anymore.    The  End 


that's  ho 


Dane  Clark:  "Immorality  in  Holly- 
wood is  just  a  lot  of  columnists'  talk. 
I  don't  say  that  people  here  wouldn't 
like  to  be  immoral,  but  they're  too 
tired."  .  .  .  Vincent  Price:  "The  trouble 
with  Hollywood  is  that  it  ain't  got 
culture."  .  .  .  Harry  Armstrong  (who 
wrote  "Sweet  Adeline"  in  1896,  com- 
menting on  a  report  that  it  is  losing 
favor  as  a  barroom  ballad) :  "It  don't 
bother  me.  I  don't  care  if  'Adeline' 
ain't  Number  1  on  the  drunks'  hit 
parade.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  I'm  kinda 
glad  the  old  girl  is  growing  up  to  be  a 
lady."  .  .  .  Joan  Crawford:  "I  will  play 
Wally  Beery's  grandmother,  if  it's  a 
good  acting  part." 

Irving  Hoffman  in 

The  Hollywood  Reporter 


Your 
letters... 

SENSE— OR  STENCH? 

Dear  Editor:  Your  editorial,  "Chal- 
lenge to  Hollywood,"  made  more 
sense  than  the  daily  papers.  At  a 
time  when  the  ordinary  citizen  is 
afraid  to  speak  his  mind,  those  in 
the  arts,  sciences  and  professions 
must  not  hide  behind  the  curtain  of 
fear.  After  all,  actors  are  also  citi- 
zens, and  as  such,  are  not  immune  to 
the  economic,  political  or  social 
trends  of  our  times.  As  the  editor 
of  a  local  professional  group,  I  have 
tried  to  put  the  same  idea,  embraced 
in  your  editorial,  before  my  col- 
leagues. Whether  one  supports 
Truman,  Dewey  or  Wallace — one 
must  fulfill  the  duties  of  citizenship 
if  our  democracy  is  to  grow. 

More  power  to  those  in  Holly- 
wood who  have  the  courage  to  speak 
up  for  the  things  they  believe.  And 
more  power  to  you,  for  challenging 
them  to  do  so  and  for  your  under- 
standing of  the  problem  in  times  that 
are  filled  with  hysteria  and  fear. 

Dr.  M.  Teitelbaum,  Newark,  N.  J. 

Dear  Editor:    1  think  your  editorial, 
"Challenge  to  Hollywood"  stinks.  If 
you   don't   like   this   country,  you 
know  where  you  can  go  back  to. 
Mrs.  R.  E.  Blackton,  Chicago,  III. 

GINGER-SNAPPING 

Dear  Editor:  With  reference  to 
your  criticism  of  Ginger  Rogers  in 
the  story,  "How  Long  Can  You  Stay 
Great?"  we  take  pleasure  in  telling 
you  that  you  are  incompetent 

We  have  admired  Ginger  since 
the  first  time  we  saw  her  in  a  pic- 
ture, about  twelve  years  ago,  and 
we  believe  that  she  is  what  she 
claims  to  be. 

Pierrette  Paquin,  Madeleine  Clou- 
tier,  Maurice  Belanger,  Ottawa,  Can. 

NONE  OF  OUR  BUSINESS? 

Dear  Editor:  In  your  September 
issue,  you  have  a  story  on  the  ro- 
mance of  Gail  Russell  and  Guy 
Madison.  I  think  the  article  is  ter- 
rible !  As  if  it  were  any  of  your 
business  whether  or  not  Gail  and 
Guy  are  married!  You  should  not 
be  allowed  to  use  such  flimsy  evi- 
dence as  "the  look  in  a  person's 
eyes."  I  should  think  you'd  take 
Guy's  word  for  it,  if  he  says  he  isn't 
married. 

Jessica  Murphy,  Beacon,  N.  Y. 
{We'd  be  very  happy  to  take  Guy's 
word — if  he'd  only  say  it. — Ed.) 


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STILL  IN  THERE  CRYING 

(Continued  from  page  61) 


people  tend  to  remember  me  in  them, 
despite  all  the  comedies  I've  done.  After 
all,  everybody  has  something  he  likes  to  do 
more  than  anything  else.  And  it's  generally 
what  he's  best  at.  I'm  sure,  for  example, 
Cary  Grant  enjoys  his  type  of  part  the 
way  I  enjoy  mine.  We  both  do  what  inter- 
ests us. 

Another  thing  of  great  interest  to  me  is 
taking  a  chance.  I'm  a  gambler  at  heart. 
The  new  thing,  the  unusual  idea,  the  role 
that's  never  been  done  before — it's  always 
out  there  as  a  kind  of  personal  challenge, 
directed  at  me,  just  me.  It's  like  what  the 
mountain-climber  said  of  Mt.  Everest.  He'd 
tried  twice  before  unsuccessfully  to  climb 
it.  Now  he  was  preparing  for  his  third,  and 
as  it  happened  fatal,  try.  Someone  came 
up  to  him,  pointed  at  the  vast,  dangerous 
mountain  and  asked,  "Why  do  it?  Why 
risk  your  life  to  climb  a  mountain?" 

The  answer  was  classic.  "Because  it's 
there,"  the  mountain-climber  said. 

That's  the  way  it's  been  with  me.  A  lot 
of  things  have  been  there. 

When  I  started  out  in  pictures  I  had  a 
theory  that  it  was  absurd  to  try  always  to 
appear  smooth  and  glamorous  on  the 
screen,  no  matter  what  the  character 
called  for.  If  a  scene  called  for  you  to  look 
tired  and  wrinkled,  why  not  look  tired  and 
wrinkled?  If  you  were  supposed  to  be 
waked  up  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  why 
on  earth  should  you  be  freshly  lipsticked 
and  have  perfectly  dressed  hair? 

davis  could  take  it  .  .  . 

I  remember  when  we  started  to  make 
Of  Human  Bondage,  Director  John  Crom- 
well and  I  discussed  Mildred,  my  big  role — 
what  made  her  tick  and  what  she  looked 
like.  She  was  evil  and  very  unattractive. 
John  said,  thinking  of  my  vanity,  "Maybe 
you'd  better  not  see  the  daily  rushes."  But 
I  did,  and  I  didn't  mind  a  bit. 

After  that,  I  was  able  to  take  all  sorts  of 
challenges.  What  it  amounted  to  is  that  I 
followed  my  own  tendency  and  fulfilled 
my  obligations  to  myself.  That's  just  a 
five-dollar  way  of  saying  that  I  began  doing 
what  I  really  liked  to  do.  And  in  the 
process  I  gave  the  mimics  and  gagsters 
and  comedians  and  cartoonists  a  very 
obvious  and,  I  might  say,  a  very  willing 
target. 

But  really,  all  the  parts  weren't  alike. 
They  didn't  all  go,  "Mama!  Mama!  mama! 
mama!!!"  Some  you  hated,  some  you  were 
sorry  for;  some  were  mean  and  some  were 
good. 

Every  so  often  a  friend  will  come  up 
to  me  and  say,  "Why  don't  you  do  some- 
thing different?" 

"Like  what?"  I  ask.  "Sing  or  dance?" 
(Incidentally,  I've  done  even  that.  In  the 
wartime  Thank  Your  Lucky  Stars,  I  sang 
"They're  Either  Too  Young  or  Too  Old" 
and  jitterbugged.  But  the  friend  never  re- 
members that.) 

Anyway,  what  I  tell  the  friend  goes 
something  like  this:  "You  don't  go  up  to 
Fred  Astaire  and  ask  him  to  do  something 
different,  like  not  dancing.  You  don't 
criticize  him  because  he  'only'  dances. 
Well  all  right,  he  dances.  Someone  else 
makes  them  laugh.  I  make  them  cry." 

Sometimes  the  question  is  asked  of  me: 
Do  you  really  like  making  them  cry?  Do 
you  really  enjoy  playing  such  parts?  Or 
do  they  leave  you  feeling  depressed  and 
sorry  for  yourself?  In  other  words, 
wouldn't  it  be  much  easier  for  you  to  play 
comedy? 

Before  I  tell  you  how  I  feel,  I  have  to 
begin  by  saying  that  the  dourest,  saddest 
people  I  know  are  the  professional  co- 


medians. They  are  always  chomping  their 
cigars  and  biting  their  fingernails  for 
worry  of  how  their  gags  will  go  over.  The 
professional  laugh-provoker  is  always  ner- 
vous about  himself.  Is  his  material  funny? 
Will  they  laugh? 

Think  how  much  better  off  I  am.  After 
I've  accepted  a  part,  studied  it,  under- 
stood it,  and  (I  hope)  worked  it  into  shape, 
I  just  go  ahead  and  do  it,  like  a  carpenter 
following  his  plans. 

That's  the  way  I  feel.  I  don't  go  in  for 
Stanislavski  breathing  exercises  before  I 
go  into  a  big  scene.  I  don't  stretch  out  on 
the  floor  and  pretend  I'm  a  tiny  lamb 
being  swooped  up  by  some  angry  eagle. 
Some  actors  do  this  kind  of  thing  to  "get 
ready."  Maybe  I'm  missing  something,  but 
I've  never  had  to. 

I  remember  once  I  played  one  of  those 
long  scenes  in  which  I  had  to  throw  myself 
at  someone's  feet.  The  camera  found  me 
sitting  on  a  chair,  sewing.  The  scene  began. 
I  rose.  We  talked.  I  threw  myself  at  his 
feet.  I  was  spurned.  I  pleaded.  I  was 
roughly  pushed  aside.  And  then  I  was 
alone,  weeping  bitterly.  (Ah,  there,  Mr. 
Allen.) 

Anyway,  an  interviewer  was  on  the  set. 
"Maybe  you  don't  feel  like  talking,"  she 
offered,  "after  a  session  like  that?" 

"Why  not?"  I  said.  "I'm  quite  all  right." 

"But  that  bitter,  tragic  scene.  What  were 
you  thinking  of  while  that  poor,  heart- 
broken girl  was  being  so  rudely  pushed 
aside?" 

I  couldn't  help  smiling.  "Well,  to  be 
perfectly  frank,  when  I  threw  myself  at 
his  feet,  I  was  hoping  my  wig  hadn't  slipped 
and  praying  it  wouldn't  fall  down  into  my 
eyes." 

I  must  confess  that  like  the  moviegoer 
who  had  such  a  wonderful  time  because 
she  cried  so  much,  I  always  manage  to 
have  a  good  time  when  the  part  calls  for 
tears. 

I've  always  enjoyed  playing  neurotics. 
At  the  moment,  though,  I  don't  think  I 
shall  be  playing  any  more  of  'em  soon. 
It's  gotten  so  that  just  about  every  other 
movie  is  a  "psychological"  drama.  I've  de- 
cided it's  time  to  get  away  from  the  works 
of  Freud  for  a  while. 

like  the  movies  .  .  . 

All  of  which  reminds  me  of  still  another 
Bette  Davis  gag.  This  time,  a  cartoon.  A 
lady  is  sitting  across  the  desk  from  a 
grave  and  bespectacled  psychoanalyst. 
"This  is  a  very  interesting  case,  Madame," 
the  doctor  is  saying.  "I  haven't  seen  one 
like  it  since  the  last  Bette  Davis  picture." 

Now,  don't  get  me  wrong.  I  don't  mean 
I'm  not  going  to  do  serious  things  any  more 
ever.  After  June  Bride  I'm  going  to  do 
Edith  Wharton's  Ethan  Frome,  a  long-time 
favorite  of  mine,  with  the  distinguished 
British  actor,  David  Farrar. 

To  wind  this  up,  let  me  point  out  that, 
obviously,  everybody  has  a  style.  It's  true 
of  painters  and  writers  as  well  as  actors. 
And  you  can't  change  your  style  success- 
fully any  more  than  you  can  change  your 
height.  I'd  rather  just  be  myself  and  take 
that  barrage  of  radio  gags. 

Like  the  one  I  heard  last  week.  A  little 
girl  was  bawling  and  bawling  and  nothing 
her  mother  could  say  stopped  the  girl's 
tears. 

"You'd  better  stop  crying,"  the  mother 
finally  said  with  great  irritation.  "Do  you 
want  to  grow  up  to  be  like  Bette  Davis?" 

It  sounds  like  a  dreadful  fate,  to  be  sure. 
But  underneath  her  tears,  she'd  be  having 
a  lot  of  fun.  I  can  assure  her  of  that.  And 
I  guess  I  ought  to  know.  The  End 


withdrawn  from  the  rest  of  the  town  and 
yet  are  the  happiest  pair  in  it. 

They  spent  February  and  March  getting 
to  know  each  other  as  they  knew  each 
other  before;  April  and  May  regaining  lost 
ground  and  discussing  plans;  June  quarrel- 
ing and  making  up  after  some  bad  mo- 
ments; July  and  August  in  necessary  prep- 
arations for  their  future.  And  this  time, 
though  it's  quite  a  trick  to  put  your  finger 
on  a  mercurial  couple  of  individuals  like 
Tom  and  Gloria,  everyone  is  sure  it  is 
going  to  take. 

It  was  Gloria's  father,  Jack  Haley,  who 
introduced  Gloria  to  Tom  Drake — almost 
nine  years  ago  when  Tom  was  getting 
started  in  his  Broadway  stage  career.  They 
took  to  each  other  with  a  breathless  zip. 
New  York  was  their  oyster  and  the  oyster 
was  full  of  pearls.  Somewhere,  the  story 
goes — perhaps  lurching  along  on  an  open- 
top  Fifth  Avenue  bus,  or  scrooched  to- 
gether at  a  small  table  in  a  jive -jumping, 
Greenwich  Village  night  spot — somewhere 
they  fell  in  love.  They  were  happy,  Tom 
looking  forward  to  a  long  stage  career  and 
Gloria — well,  Gloria  just  looking  forward 
to  Tom.  And  then  something  made  an 
entrance  into  their  lives  that  was  not  in 
the  script  at  all  as  they  had  planned  it. 
That  something  was  Hollywood. 

Hollywood,  and  a  string  of  successes 
like  Two  Girls  and  a  Sailor,  The  White 
Cliffs  of  Dover,  Meet  Me  in  St.  Louis  and 
Mrs.  Parkington,  made  a  change  in  Tom. 
And  the  change  in  Tom  made  a  change  in 
Gloria.  Tom's  marriage  to  Chris  Dunne  in 
Las  Vegas  followed  soon  after. 

c'esf  fa  guerre  .  .  . 

In  the  meanwhile,  Jack  Haley  introduced 
another  boy  to  his  daughter.  Louis  Porchia 
was  a  musician  of  promise  but  already  in 
the  armed  forces  when  he  met  Gloria.  They 
liked  each  other  but  Gloria's  friends  say 
that  their  marriage  might  never  have 
occurred  had  he  not  received  sudden 
overseas  orders.  They  were  wed  be- 
fore he  reported  back  to  his  port  of 
embarkation. 

Seven  months  after  his  marriage,  Tom 
separated  from  Chris.  A  reconciliation 
followed  but  again  they  parted,  and  a 
divorce  was  granted  in  April,  1946.  A  year 
ago,  the  news  broke  that  Gloria  and  her 
husband  were  ending  their  marriage. 

Through  all  this,  as  their  lives  were  being 
shifted  and  re-shifted  about,  Tom  and 
Gloria  had  remained  friendly.  And  it  was 
only  natural  that  with  Gloria's  divorce  the 
friendship  took  on  a  deeper,  easier  tone. 

But  there  was  one  question  that  Gloria 
had  for  Tom  when  they  got  together  again 
this  time.  It  concerned  in-laws — something 
that  Gloria  had  stumbled  up  against  in 
her  first  marriage. 

"buddy,"  she  said,  "you  know  my  rela- 
tives— my  mother  and  father.  But  I  don't 
know  a  thing  about  yours,  even  though  we 
used  to  be  engaged." 

It  wasn't  until  then  that  she  learned  that 
Tom  is  an  orphan,  with  only  a  sister  as  a 
close  relative.  And  almost  immediately 
they  had  a  visit  from  that  sister — Clair 
Kennedy,  one  of  the  best-known  designers 
of  women's  bags  in  the  country.  (Life 
Magazine  had  a  four -page  article  on  her 
designs  less  than  a  year  ago.) 

Of  course,  if  Tom  and  Gloria  are  not 
married,  or  on  the  point  of  getting  married, 
when  you  read  this,  it  won't  set  any  new 
record  for  uncertainties  (not  in  Hollywood, 
anyway) .  After  all,  as  his  best  friends  will 
tell  you,  Tom,  despite  his  quiet  grey  eyes 
and  generally  well-contained  demeanor,  is 
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There  is  always  a  great  deal  going  on  with- 
in him  that  can  always  burst  out  of  him, 
which  makes  for  elements  of  surprise  in 
his  life — and  the  life  of  anyone  associated 
with  him.  And  since  Gloria  has  always 
been  known  to  stand  up  staunchly  for  her 
rights — even  if,  by  so  standing,  her  blonde 
head  is  still  hardly  on  a  level  with  tall 
Tom's  chin! — there  is  no  loss  of  ginger 
when  their  personalities  come  within 
clashing  distance. 

Gloria  and  Tom  happen  to  know  this 
themselves.  They  both  were  given  some- 
thing to  think  about  by  a  good  illustration 
the  other  day  when,  with  everything  going 
smoothly,  they  were  listening  to  the  radio 
together.  Jimmie  Fidler  came  on  the  air 
and  reported  them  as  having  quarreled. 
They  chortled  derisively  at  the  report  and 
Gloria  cried  out  gleefully,  "Boy!  Is  he 
wrong!" 

Gloria  had  a  mind  to  phone  Jimmy  and 
correct  him.  But  she  hadn't  done  it  yet 
when,  an  hour  or  so  later,  they  happened 
to  hear  the  re-broadcast  of  the  very  same 
program.  This  time  when  Jimmy's  voice 
repeated  the  same  item,  Tom  and  Gloria 
didn't  laugh.  This  time  Jimmie  was  right. 
They  were  quarreling!  Jimmie  had  just 
been  a  little  early  with  the  news.  (Of 
course,  Jimmie  hadn't  been  peeking  into 
the  future.  He  had  been  talking  about  a 
previous  tiff  they  had  had,  but  both  Tom 
and  Gloria  had  long  forgotten  about  that 
one!) 

There  may  have  been  another  reason 
why  Gloria  didn't  phone  Jimmy  at  the 
time.  She  may  have  been  beginning  to 
acquire  a  reporter's  point  of  view.  Several 
months  ago  she  opened  discussions  with 
the  editors  of  the  Valley  Times,  the  top 
paper  in  the  San  Fernando  Valley  to 
become  a  columnist  for  them.  The  deal 
was  closed  later  and  by  now  Gloria's  stuff 
has  seen  print. 

With  her  marriage  to  Tom,  Gloria  will 
have  one  of  the  most  rounded  careers  of 
any  girl  in  Hollywood.  She  will  be  wife, 
business  woman  and  journalist.  Her  busi- 
ness, of  course,  is  her  beauty  shop  on  Wil- 
shire  Boulevard,  which  bears  her  mother's 
name — "Flo  Haley's" — but  which  belongs 
to  Gloria. 

eternal  triangle  .  .  . 

It  was  not  long  ago  that  there  was  a 
bit  of  "gossip"  that  had  the  revived  ro- 
mance on  the  skids  again.  Jimmie  Fidler 
reported  them  quarreling  because  Gloria 
had  gone  out  with  Mickey  Rooney  after 
Tom  had  introduced  her  to  him.  What  has 
never  been  told — in  its  proper  sequence 
and  relationship,  at  least — is  the  odd  series 
of  aftermaths  to  this  incident. 

In  the  first  place,  Tom  and  Gloria  made 
up  this  difference  quickly.  Then  they  flew 
to  New  York  and  told  her  father,  co- 
starring  on  Broadway  with  Beatrice  Lillie 
in  Inside  U.  S.  A.,  all  about  their  plans  for 
the  future.  They  got  Jack  Haley's  beam- 
ing blessing  and  returned  in  good  order 
to  Hollywood. 

All  this  time,  Gloria  had  been  living 
alone  in  the  big  Haley  home  in  Hollywood. 
Now,  on  his  first  vacation  from  his  show 
in  New  York,  Jack  followed  her  back  to 
the  film  capital  to  close  it  up  while  Gloria 
moved  into  an  apartment  not  far  from  her 
beauty  shop.  Tom  gave  up  his  expensive 
apartment  in  the  Sunset  Towers  and 
moved  to  another  one  which  was  nearer 
to  Gloria's. 

While  Tom  had  made  up  with  Gloria,  he 
hadn't  patched  up  things  with  Mickey 
Rooney.  It  remained  for  the  latter  to 
start  a  reconciliation  when  he  put  up  that 
now-famous  battle  to  have  Tom  given 
co-star  billing  with  him  in  Words  and 
Music,  the  M-G-M  musical  on  the  lives  of 
Rodgers  and  Hart,  instead  of  Judy  Gar- 
land, who  has  only  a  comparatively  short 
sequence  in  the  film. 


Tom  appreciated  this  deeply — and  he 
and  Mickey  were  soon  pals  again.  But  do 
you  think  that  Gloria,  or  any  other  girl, 
got  in  the  big  reconciliation  celebration 
held  by  the  two  old  friends?  No  sir!  Tom 
and  Mickey,  who  had  quarreled  over  a 
girl,  observed  the  end  of  their  feud  by 
stagging  it  to  one  of  the  late  Earl  Carroll's 
big  girlie  shows! 

There  hasn't  been  an  announcement  of 
the  marriage  because  Gloria's  divorce  was 
not  due  to  be  final  until  late  fall.  There 
could  just  be  a  sort  of  idea — and  the  ruby 
ring,  the  one,  of  course,  Gloria  says  is  not 
an  engagement  ring.  The  idea,  too,  was 
born  in  a  sort  of  secrecy.  It  happened  some 
time  after  St.  Valentine's  Day  last  Febru- 
ary because  it  has  been  established  that 
Tom  let  this  day  pass  without  any  word  or 
gift  from  him  to  her;  no  card,  no  phone  call 
no  heart-shaped  candy  box.  Yet,  only  a 
few  days  later,  they  were  seen  together 
and  the  word  about  them  got  around.  It 
wasn't  just  their  being  together,  it  was 
their  manner  toward  each  other.  There 
seemed  to  be  an  understanding  that  shone 
from  their  faces  and  was  revealed  in  their 
every  other  gesture.  And  there  was  even 
more  than  this. 

a  new  start  .  .  . 

They  stayed  away  from  the  prominent 
places  because,  as  Gloria  unwittingly  di- 
vulged, "We're  saving  our  money  for  a 
new  start.  Tom's  doing  swell  in  his  cam- 
paign to  clean  up  his  debts  so  our  mar- 
riage won't  start  off  under  any  financial 
handicap." 

A  few  weeks  ago,  Tom  left  for  Laguna 
Beach  where,  in  his  first  play  of  the 
company's  repertory,  he  co-starred  with 
Nancy  Coleman  in  The  Voice  of  the 
Turtle. 

That  was  on  the  stage.  In  real  life  he 
co-starred  with  Gloria  in  two  little  dramas 
— one  funny,  the  other  not  so  funny  (and 
as  much  modern  screen's  fault  as  any- 
one's!). 

At  Laguna,  Tom  shared  a  room  at  the 
hotel  with  Gerald  Mayer,  a  test  director  at 
M-G-M.  Gloria — who  came  down  for  a 
ten-day  vacation — lived  with  some  friends 
who  have  a  home  there.  A  few  days  after 
the  two  men  checked  into  the  hotel,  a 
mix-up  in  reservations  was  discovered 
which  resulted  in  Tom  being  moved  into 
a  single  room  and  Gerry  Mayer  being 
checked  out  of  the  hotel  altogether. 

But  Gerry  was  also  a  friend  of  the  people 
with  whom  Gloria  was  staying.  He  told 
them  of  his  unhappy  plight,  and  they  put 
him  up  at  once.  So  thereafter,  nightly,  he, 
Tom  and  Gloria  would  get  together  for  a 
snack  after  the  show.  Then  Tom  would 
kiss  Gloria  goodnight,  and  she'd  go  on 
home  with  Gerry! 

The  sad  incident  took  place  when 
Modern  Screen  came  down  to  take  its 
pictures  of  Tom  and  Gloria.  They  did  their 
best  to  cooperate  with  the  photographer. 
They  cooperated  so  well,  in  fact,  that  dur- 
ing the  course  of  some  beach  shots,  the 
tide  came  sneaking  in  and  washed  away 

(1)  a  brand-new  Dunhill  lighter  of  Tom's, 

(2)  Gloria's  new  beach  shoes  and  (3) 
various  other  items  of  Gloria's  summer 
wardrobe. 

And  after  all  this,  it  was  decided  that 
the  beach  photographs  hadn't  turned  out 
well  enough  to  use! 

But  none  of  this  got  Gloria  or  Tom 
down.  For  Gloria  it  was  to  be  her  last 
vacation  before  starting  to  work  on  the 
paper,  and  she  concentrated  on  making 
the  most  of  it. 

When  she  got  back  to  town,  she  went 
right  to  her  desk  and  pounded  out  her 
first  column.  What  she  wrote  was  not  the 
best  story  she  knows. 

The  best  story  is  one  she  is  living,  not 
writing — her  return  engagement  with  Tom 
in  Hollywood.  The  End 


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LOVE  AFFAIR  WITH  ANN  SHERIDAN 

(Continued  from  page  47) 


difficulty  getting  into  the  tack  room  to 
deliver  the  silks.  Nobody  seemed  to  know 
us.  But  we  got  in,  just  in  time,  and  hur- 
ried to  the  betting  windows  to  lay  down 
our  wagers  on  our  certain  winner,  On 
Trust,  the  California  horse. 

But  due  to  circumstances  beyond  the 
control  of  science  and  the  best  brains,  On 
Trust  did  not  win.  The  winner  was  Jet 
Pilot,  Miss  Elizabeth  Arden's  entry,  run- 
ning under  the  colors  we  had  fetched 
from  New  York.  It  seemed  to  Mr.  Roach 
and  myself  that  the  world  was  a  bleak  and 
gloomy  place,  that  the  gods  were  against 
us.  We  required  a  friend  on  whose  shoul- 
der we  could  bawl. 

At  this  moment  we  were  greeted  by  a 
cheerful:  "Hiya,  fellers!"  a  warm  smile, 
and  a  sight  for  sore  eyes.  This  was  Annie, 
accompanied  by  a  large,  vigorous  Irisher 
she  calls  "O'Toole."  His  real  name,  as  I 
suppose  everybody  knows,  is  Steve  Han- 
nagan. 

They  offered  their  shoulders  and  we 
wept  copiously  on  them.  And  I  was  struck 
for  the  nine-hundredth  time  with  what  a 
smick-smack,  forthright,  clear-eyed,  red- 
headed, realistic  gal  this  Annie  Sheridan 
is.  Annie  and  O'Toole  took  us  on  to  dinner, 
gave  us  fair  words,  good  sense,  and  a 
minimum  of  ribbing,  and  our  anguish 
began  to  abate.  It  is  impossible  to  be  sad 
very  long  in  the  presence  of  such  good 
humors  as  Miss  Sheridan  and  Mr.  O'Toole 
know  how  to  exert.  All  this  inspired  me 
to  do  a  little  thinking  about  motion  pic- 
tures, a  subject  which,  at  the  moment,  it 
appeared  I  knew  more  about  than  horse 
racing. 

"Make  a  picture  for  me,  Annie?"  I  said. 

"Sure,"  said  Annie. 

"When?" 

"Well,  as  you  well  know,  I  am  under 
contract  to  Warner  Brothers  up  until  the 
last  two  minutes  of  my  life.  But  pry  me 
loose,  and  I'll  work  for  you." 

And  that,  so  help  me,  is  precisely  how  I 
happened  to  get  Ann  Sheridan  for  Good 
Sam,  with  Gary  Cooper. 

fair  exchange  .  .  . 

When  she  read  the  script  she  offered  to 
work  for  nothing.  She  gave  Warner  Bros, 
an  extra  picture  in  return  for  a  release. 
And  she  turned  in  far  and  away  the  finest 
performance  of  her  life.  As  her  director,  it 
may  be  immodest  for  me  to  say  that,  but 
she  did  it,  as  you  shall  see.  And  we  had  an 
immense  amount  of  fun  getting  that  won- 
derful performance. 

But  I'll  confess  something,  seriously.  I 
was  bothered  about  Ann.  I  had  heard  she 
was  tough.  Hard  to  get  along  with.  Diffi- 
cult to  direct.  She  took  an  18-months  sus- 
pension at  Warners,  you  know,  when  they 
didn't  give  her  the  pictures  she  wanted. 
She's  a  big  star,  and  in  the  past  15  years 
she  has  made  39  pictures.  A  gal  who  knows 
her  way  around — from  Hollywood  to  New 
York,  from  Texas  to  Palm  Beach.  I  won- 
dered if  I  hadn't  let  myself  in  for  trouble 
in  setting  out  to  direct  this  temperamental 
actress  in  an  extremely  difficult  part. 

My  doubts  were  quickly  confirmed. 

Before  Annie  herself  appeared,  her  en- 
tourage arrived.  Now,  I  am  a  director  who 
is  accustomed  to  having  his  own  way.  The 
people  around  me  are  the  ones  I  like  to 
work  with.  But  ahead  of  Annie  came  a 
little  army  of  seven.  They  were  Jesse 
Hibbs,  her  assistant  director;  Martha  Gid- 
dings  Bunch,  her  close  friend,  who  also 
looks  after  her  wardrobe;  Edward  (Mecca) 
Graham,  another  assistant  director;  Myrl 
Sholz,  hairdresser;  Marveen  Tehner,  stand- 
in;   Eddie   Allen,   makeup,   and   a  very 


talented  fashion  designer  named  Travilla. 

This  got  my  Irish  up — and  I  am  Irish. 
I  said  to  myself,  "Hmmm,  who  does  she 
think  she  is?" 

But  every  last  one  of  those  people  found 
a  quiet  opportunity  to  come  up  and  say: 
"We  hope  we're  not  in  your  way.  Just  tell 
us  what  you  want  us  to  do." 

Within  half  a  day  they  were  part  of  the 
gang.  Or  I  was  part  of  theirs.  I'd  set  it 
down  as  a  characteristic  thing,  a  typical 
thing,  that  Annie  surrounds  herself  with 
good  Joes.  From  now  on,  I  know  that  if  a 
person  is  with  Sheridan,  that  person  is  all 
right — and  probably  full  of  fun.  It's  typical 
of  Annie  that  there  is  always  a  faithful 
gang  around  her.  It  grows  in  size  every 
day,  apparently.  Enlistments  are  volun- 
tary. 

annie  on  the  job  .  .  . 

Annie  finished  her  Warner  Bros,  picture 
one  night  and  reported  to  work  on  my  set 
the  next  morning,  ready  for  work. 

"Okay,"  she  said,  "tell  me  what  to  say." 

That's  all  there  is  to  it,  when  you're 
directing  Sheridan.  Tell  her  what  to  say. 

She  did  a  tremendous  job  of  work  for 
Good  Sam.  She  came  over  to  Pathe  at 
night  for  wardrobe  fittings  while  she  was 
still  making  a  Warner  Bros,  picture.  She 
toiled  60  days,  a  long  schedule  for  me, 
without  a  day  off.  I  believe  I  have  never 
known  a  gal  who  revelled  so  much  in  the 
luxury  of  sleep,  but  I  have  never  seen 
Annie  look  sleepy. 

There  were  days  when  we  seemed  to 
waste  a  certain  amount  of  time  during  the 
shooting  of  this  picture.  There  were  after- 
noons when  Coop  and  I  found  it  a  good 
deal  more  fun  to  talk  with  Annie  spinning 
yarns  than  to  work  with  the  camera.  Actu- 
ally, we  wasted  no  time.  After  a  session 
like  that,  we  invariably  knocked  off  more 
scenes  in  the  next  few  hours  than  we  could 
have  made  in  days  of  steady  work. 

There  was  the  afternoon  we  lost  be- 
cause of  my  birthday. 

When  I  came  on  the  set  after  lunch,  there 
was  the  hush  of  conspiracy  about  the  place. 
There  were  tables  set  up  and  somebody 
hurried  by  with  a  handful  of  candles. 

"We're  having  a  birthday  party  for  you," 
they  told  me. 

Now,  believe  me,  I  was  considerably 
touched.  My  birthday  adds  up  to  a  few 
more  than  I  wish  they  did,  and  have  never 
been  matters  of  general  celebration.  I  was 
led  over  to  the  table  with  the  enormous 
cake.  I  cleared  my  throat. 

"Fellers,"  I  said,  "I  am  deeply  touched. 
This  is  really  swell  of  you — " 

"Read  the  inscription!"  they  yelled. 

I  leaned  over  and  read  it.  This  is  what 
it  said: 

"Forty-seven  the  hell  you  say." 
That,   my   friends,   was   the  Sheridan 
touch. 

Let  me  tell  you  what  Annie  had  to  do  in 
Good  Sam. 

This  is  a  story  about  a  man  who  took 
being  good  seriously  and  literally.  For  my 
part,  you'll  understand,  I  have  been  on  the 
spot  ever  since  Going  My  Way  and  The 
Bells  of  St.  Mary's — two  priest  pictures. 
What  could  I  do  next? 

I'll  tell  you  how  I  tried  to  work  it  out. 
I  open  with  a  minister,  but  this  one  is  an 
Episcopalian.  The  "Good  Sam"  in  this 
Sam  Clayton,  a  department  store  manager, 
who  is  such  a  good  guy  that  he  will  give 
you  the  shirt  off  his  back.  In  the  picture 
he  does  just  that. 

Annie  is  his  wife.  A  most  unsympa- 
thetic role,  believe  me,  because  it  is  her 
task  to  point  out  from  time  to  time  that 


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charity  begins  at  home.  Cooper  is  literally 
practicing  the  precepts  of  Christianity — 
and  Annie  seems  to  be  holding  him  back. 

You  could  hate  a  woman  like  that.  But 
you  can't  hate  Annie.  She  is  the  catalyst, 
the  common  sense,  the  good-humored 
cynic  in  this  piece,  and  what  she  does  with 
this  part  is — did  I  mention  before  that  Miss 
Sheridan  is  one  wonderful  actress?  Have 
I  made  all  the  proper  gestures  about 
modesty  forbidding,  and  have  I  been  diffi- 
dent about  being  her  director?  I  hope  so. 
Because  I  think  that  our  Annie  has  come  a 
long,  long  way.  She  has  had  experience, 
trouble,  battles,  two  husbands  and  15  years 
of  training.  I  think  these  things  obviously 
have  helped  mature  her  skill.  You  would 
never  learn  it  from  Annie  herself.  She  is 
still  the  girl  from  Texas,  the  redhead,  who 
likes  space  and  parties  and  travel  and  fun. 
But  Sheridan  is  a  serious  actress  today.  I 
have  abundant  proof  of  that  on  thousands 
of  feet  of  film. 

Her  philosophy,  apparently,  is  derived 
from  Snow  White  and  the  Seven  Dwarfs. 
She  believes  in  "whistle  while  you  work." 
She  is  one  of  the  few  actresses  I  know  who 
can  summon  tears  for  a  sad  scene  at  will.  I 
complimented  her  about  this. 

"Nothing  to  it,"  she  scoffed.  "All  I  do  is 
think  about  how  bad  it  would  feel  to  have 
that  menthol  in  my  eyes.  Then  I  cry  tears." 

She  is  also  one  of  the  few  who  doesn't 
claim  to  be  able  to  sketch,  draw,  paint, 
write,  compose  music,  cook  a  seven-course 
dinner  and  milk  a  cow.  It  is  remarkable, 
isn't  it,  how  many  unusual  talents  most 
motion  picture  stars  seem  to  have — but 
never  exercise?  The  forthright  Miss  S 
hoots  at  these  things  and  tells  the  truth. 
She  can't  do  any  of  them. 

She  did  try  to  milk  a  cow.  She  has  one 
on  her  five-acre  ranch  in  Encino. 

"Didn't  work,"  she  reported.  "Spoiled 
my  red  fingernails,  spoiled  the  milk,  and 
doggone  near  spoiled  the  cow.  Never 
again." 

I  asked  her  one  day  how  old  she  was. 
Now,  I  knew  how  old  Annie  is.  I  asked 
her  merely  to  start  some  foolishness  on 
the  set. 

"Thirty-two,"  she  said  matter-of-factly. 

"You  tell  your  age,"  I  said,  surprised. 
"You're  a  remarkable  woman." 

"Why  not?"  she  said,  levelling  those  big 
eyes.  "Why  not?  Lying  about  your  age  is 
an  apology,  as  if  you'd  had  a  wasted  life. 
Me,  I  haven't  wasted  a  minute. 

"Take  the  great  ones,"  said  Annie.  "Take 
Ethel  Barrymore,  who  has  never  tried  to 


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fool  anybody  that  she  isn't  past  60.  She's 
never  been  called  old,  or,  Allah  forbid, 
thought  of  as  old. 

"People  catch  you  anyway.  You  know- 
how  old  I  am,  you  churl." 

As  the  ladies  will  recall,  Ann  has  twice 
been  named  among  the  ten  best-dressed 
women  in  America.  I  wouldn't  know 
about  these  fashion  items,  but  I'll  venture 
an  observation  which  may,  in  a  measure, 
explain  this  remarkable  girl's  impact:  she 
looks  like  the  kind  of  woman  for  whom 
luxury  was  invented.  Furs  were  made  for 
Annie.  So  was  jewelry.  She's  the  kind  of 
girl  any  man  in  his  right  mind,  with  good 
eyesight,  wants  to  take  to  the  football 
game,  to  the  Stork  Club,  to  Ciro's,  and 
home.  As  the  world  knows,  the  lucky  and 
aggressive  Mr.  Steve  (O'Toole)  Hannagan 
has  taken  those  chores  to  himself  recently 
and  from  all  accounts  seems  to  be  per- 
forming them  a  good  deal  more  than 
adequately. 

I  can't  answer  the  $64  question  there. 
Steve  visited  the  set  frequently  while  we 
were  working.  As  soon  as  the  picture  was 
completed,  Annie  hurried  to  New  York  to 
see  O'Toole.  I  don't  know  why  they  don't 
get  married.  I  can't  imagine  why  not. 
They're  a  grand  pair. 

We  finished  up  some  boogie-woogie  on 
the  set  one  morning  and  Annie  came  as 
near  to  stating  her  philosophy,  I  guess,  as 
she  ever  does.    She  told  me: 

"I  want  to  enjoy  what  I  do.  I  don't  care 
what  kind  of  parts  or  what  kind  of  picture 
I  make  but  I  do  want  good  stories.  Let's 
face  a  fact:  all  of  us  here  are  better  off 
than  most  people.  You  are.  I  am.  The 
carpenters  who  work  on  the  sets  are.  Well, 
as  for  me,  I've  learned  what  I  enjoy  and 
I've  learned  to  like  the  way  I  live.  That 
took  a  little  time,  of  course.  But  even 
when  I'm  working,  I'm  working  at  what  I 
want  to  do.  Sure,  feller,  I  like  having  a 
mink  coat,  and  I  like  being  able  to  afford 


to  travel,  and  I  like  the  other  luxuries  this 
kind  of  work  makes  possible,  but  I  like 
sitting  in  the  sun,  too.  And  that  doesn't 
cost  a  cent." 

She  didn't  have  a  mink  coat  of  her  own, 
though  you  saw  her  wear  many  of  them  in 
films  and  in  publicity  stills,  until  1941.  She 
drives  a  Cadillac,  same  date. 

Annie  drove  this  car  on  the  lot  one 
morning  and  parked  it  near  the  stage.  As 
I  leaned  on  the  door  to  talk  to  her  I  got  a 
large  smudge  of  dust  on  my  sleeves. 

"Don't  you  ever  wash  your  car?"  I  com- 
plained. 

"Nope,"  she  said.  "Hardly  ever.  Once  a 
year,  maybe." 
"Why  not?" 

"Simple.  When  I  drive  home  in  the  eve- 
ning the  sun  is  awful.  You  know,  right  in 
your  eyes.  If  the  car  is  shiny,  it  makes 
it  worse.  So  I  just  keep  a  coat  of  dust  on 
it.  Saves  paint." 

For  all  her  fun  and  foolishness  and  her 
train-hopping  between  New  York  and 
Hollywood,  I  guess  Annie  is  pretty  prac- 
tical. 

We  wound  up  the  picture  in  a  blaze  of, 
jewelry.  It  was  like  the  old  days.  Watches, 
bracelets,  clips  and  rings  adorned  every- 
body— presents  from  Miss  Sheridan.  She 
gave  me  a  beautiful  money-clip  designed 
in  the  shape  of  a  director's  chair.  I  ex- 
amined this  studiously.  It  did  not  explode 
and  it  had  no  insulting  message  inscribed 
on  it. 

Come  to  think  of  it,  after  Sheridan  pays 
the  bills  for  all  those  gifts  and  then  pays 
her  income  taxes,  I  don't  know  what  the 
poor  gal  is  going  to  have  left  to  eat  on. 

One  more  thing.  Annie  is  sincerely  happy 
to  be  rid  of  that  tag  which  labelled  her  for 
so  long.  "The  Oomph  Girl."  It  served  its 
purpose  but  it  always  embarrassed  Annie. 
She  has  deserved  a  better  title  for  many 
years — as  I  hope  you'll  agree  with  me  when 
you  see  Good  Sam.  The  End 


NOTORIOUS  GENTLEMAN 

(Continued  from  page  52) 


being  Mrs.  Rex  Harrison. 

From  what  she  tells  me,  she  has  her 
life  mapped  out  for  the  next  year  so  she 
and  Rex  will  be  constantly  together.  She's 
temporarily  shelving  her  screen  career  in 
Hollywood  so  that  this  plan  will  work. 

When  I  talked  with  her,  she  was  pack- 
ing for  a  three -week  trip  to  Paris,  where 
she  was  set  to  do  English  and  French  ver- 
sions of  a  picture  for  the  Safia  Film  Com- 
pany. Of  course  Rex  would  be  with  her. 
They  were  looking  forward  to  21  days 
and  nights  in  gay  Paree  and  she  was  so 
happy  about  it  all  I  didn't  have  the  heart 
to  ask  whether  she  was  keeping  her  fin- 
gers crossed. 

After  Paris  they  will  settle  down  in  New 
York,  where  Rex  will  star  in  Maxwell 
Anderson's  Anne  of  a  Thousand  Days,  on 
Broadway.  Just  to  keep  busy,  she  was 
planning  to  star  in  Herman  Mankiewicz' 
The  Man  With  a  Load  of  Mischief,  also 
opening  in  New  York  (and  there  are  those 
who  think  she'll  have  a  fine  understanding 
of  such  a  man  as  this  play  describes). 

If  Rex's  play  is  a  success,  they'll  stay 
in  New  York  for  at  least  six  months — and 
after  that  they'll  probably  go  to  England, 
where  they'll  both  be  busy  working  in 
Fox-British  films.  Rex  will  be  in  Inside 
Scotland  Yard,  a  documentary-type  film 
about  the  famous  British  crime-busters, 
to  be  produced  by  Sam  Engel  for  20th- 
Fox.  It  will  be  similar  in  treatment  to 
Street  With  No  Name,  which  was  an  FBI 
story  of  real  criminals  at  work.  Lilli 
doesn't  know  what  she'll  do,  but  what- 
ever it  is  she'll  be  home  every  night  to 


see  that  Rex  takes  his  vitamins  and  doesn't 
get  lonesome. 

She's  probably  thought  often  enough 
that  if  she  had  been  hanging  around  their 
Mandeville  Canyon  home  late  last  June, 
Rex  wouldn't  have  been  driving  over  to 
have  lunch  and  dinner  with  lovely  Miss 
Landis  and  thereby  getting  himself  in- 
volved in  a  sensational  front-page  story. 
It  all  happened  while  Lilli  took  a  short 
trip  to  visit  her  family  in  New  York  State. 
When  she  left,  Rex  was  slated  to  follow 
in  a  few  days  on  his  way  to  London, 
where  he  was  going  to  do  a  picture  for 
Alexander  Korda.  The  Korda  deal  fell 
through  because  of  some  mix-up  in  the 
tax  situation  between  England  and  Amer- 
ica and  the  handsome  British  actor  was 
left  with  nothing  to  do  but  get  lonesome 
and  go  wandering  around  for  two  weeks 
seeking  amusement.  And  where  could  he 
have  found  it  better  than  in  the  company 
of  the  vivacious  Landis  girl? 

Lilli  really  should  have  been  alerted  to 
this  danger,  because  while  she  and  Rex 
were  in  London  last  year  she  went  to 
Switzerland  and  left  her  ever-loving  mate 
at  loose  ends  in  the  big  city  and  living  in 
the  same  hotel  where  Carole  also  had 
lodging.  It  was  during  this  time  that 
word  filtered  back  to  Hollywood  that  Rex 
and  Carole  were  having  a  high  old  time 
and  that  Lilli  had  gone  off  to  Switzerland 
in  a  pique  because  her  Rex  was  letting 
his  eyes  rove. 

Back  in  Hollywood  last  spring,  Lilli 
pooh-poohed  that  rumor,  telling  me  she 
went  to  Switzerland  for  the  skiing  and 


that  Miss  Landis  was  a  close  friend  to 
them  both. 

"That  rumor  is  just  silly,"  she  said.  "My 
husband  loves  me  very  much.  See  these 
beautiful  roses  he  sent  me?  Does  that 
look  as  if  I  were  a  neglected  wife?" 

Her  dressing  room  at  the  Enterprise 
Studio  was  bedecked  with  big  bouquets 
of  red  roses  and  she  seemed  radiantly 
happy.  Rex,  working  at  20th-Fox  in  Un- 
faithfully Yours,  also  laughed  at  the  idea 
that  he  was  once  again  playing  the  role 
ot  ( Notorious  Gentleman. 

"Miss  Landis  is  a  very  charming  girl- 
but  believe  me,  I  am  a  happily  married 
man,    he  said  at  the  time. 

And  no  doubt  he  was  telling  the  truth 
as  he  saw  it.  But  Carole  didn't  seem  to 
think  so. 

When  she  suddenly  walked  out  on  a 
picture  she  was  supposed  to  make  in  Lon- 
don and  arrived  back  in  Hollywood  in 
the  early  spring,  she  announced  she  was 
going  to  ask  for  a  divorce  from  Horace 
Schmidlapp,  to  whom  she  had  been  mar- 
ried in  1946.  By  her  own  admission, 
Carole  was  on  a  never-ending  quest  for 
true  love.  So  perhaps  she  thought  her 
dreams  had  been  at  long  last  realized 
when  she  met  Rex. 

If  that  was  the  case,  Carole  was  reck- 
oning without  Lilli.  Perhaps  she  didn't 
know  that  the  second  Mrs:  Harrison  had 
weathered  an  ordeal  only  a  few  months 
betore  that  would  have  sent  many  wives 
flying  off  to  the  divorce  courts. 

That  exhibition  of  fortitude  was  shown 
when  the  first  Mrs.  Harrison  arrived  in 
Hollywood  for  a  visit.  She  was  accom- 
panied by  her  12-year-old  son,  Noel,  child 
of  her  marriage  to  Rex.  At  first  Mrs. 
Collette  Harrison  and  Noel  put  up  at  the 
Beverly  Hills  Hotel.  But  that  was  ex- 
pensive and  since  Rex  was  paying  the 
bills^  and  Collette  and  Noel  were  over  at 
Lilh's  and  Rex's  home  all  day  anyway— 
arriving  each  morning  in  bathing  suits 
—the  imperturbable  Rex  invited  them  to 
move  in.  They  did,  and  for  weeks  Lilli 
and  Rex  and  Collette  went  to  parties  to- 
gether—and there  was  plenty  of  feeling 
shown  when  Collette  wasn't  included  in 
the  invitations. 

blithe  spirits  .  .  . 

Tongues  wagged  incessantly  while  Lilli 
went  calmly  about  her  affairs,  rising  above 
the  tension  that  was  inevitable  under  the 
circumstances.  Both  women  answered 
when  anyone  spoke  to  "Mrs.  Harrison," 
and  Rex  appeared  uncomfortable  and 
ready  to  fly  off  the  handle  any  minute. 
This  unusual  design-for-living  gave  Holly- 
wood a  pretty  clear  idea  that  Lilli  was  a 
girl  who  knew  what  she  wanted  and  was 
going  to  keep  it  against  all  odds. 

This  was  the  kind  of  competition  Carole 
was  meeting.  If  she  ever  had  the  idea  she 
was  going  to  be  the  third  Mrs.  Harrison, 
someone  should  have  been  kind  enough 
to  give  her  a  quick  run-down  on  the 
character  of  the  girl  who  manages  the 
home  life  of  the  handsome  film  star. 

Rex  is  no  misunderstood  husband.  His 
little  wife  gives  every  indication  that  she 
knows  him  better  than  anyone  else  ever 
will.  She  undoubtedly  knows  that,  like 
many  actors,  he  is  apt  to  become  enam- 
ored with  a  role  he  has  played  and  that 
he  keeps  on  actually  living  that  role  from 
time  to  time  when  the  mood  overcomes 
him. 

Actors  are  highly  sensitive  people  and 
often  don't  themselves  know  when  the 
acting  ends  and  the  real  living  begins. 
This  strange  obsession  was  illustrated  in 
the  picture,  A  Double  Life,  wherein  the 
hero,  played  by  Ronald  Colman,  became 
so  affected  by  appearing  as  Othello  on 
the  stage  for  a  long  run  that  he  began  to 
live  the  role  and  wound  up  strangling  a 
pretty  waitress  he  met  in  a  cheap  cafe. 


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As  Othello,  he  had  strangled  his  wife  in 
a  jealous  rage  night  after  night. 

It  is  conceivable,  then,  that  Rex  might 
have  found  himself  occasionally  slipping 
back  into  the  role  of  a  cavalier  gent  who 
takes  love  lightly. 

Noel  Marjorie  Collette  Thomas,  daugh- 
ter of  a  retired  Army  officer  to  whom  the 
actor  was  wed  when  he  was  26,  didn't 
seem  to  have  as  much  understanding  of 
such  things  as  Lilli  has.  Collette  had  a 
decidedly  unpleasant  reaction  to  Rex's 
sudden  interest  in  the  vivacious  Miss 
Palmer,  whom  he  met  one  evening  while 
dining  opposite  her  in  a  cafe  in  Birming- 
ham, England,  where  they  were  both  ap- 
pearing in  different  stage  plays. 

Rex's  eyes  rested  long  and  intently  on 
Lilli,  the  lovely  Viennese -born  girl;  then 
they  both  smiled  and  bowed  and  ended 
by  finishing  their  dinner  together.  It  was 
during  the  war  and  all  of  time  seemed 
too  short  for  those  who  lived  where 
sudden  death  might  be  just  around  the 
corner.  Rex  was  very  conscious  of  the 
frenzied  world  around  him  because  he 
had  been  serving  as  an  intelligence  officer 
in  the  Royal  Air  Force.  Lilli  told  Rex 
she  was  planning  to  visit  the  zoo  the  next 
day  and  that  he  could  come  along  if  he 
"liked  snakes."  He  swore  he  liked  noth- 
ing better  and  off  they  went  for  a  few 
hours  of  make-believe. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  love  that 
has  held  them  together  ever  since.  Col- 
lette didn't  stand  patiently  by  waiting  for 
this  romance  to  cool  down.  In  July,  1942, 
she  sued  for  divorce,  naming  Lilli  co- 
respondent. 

Lilli  didn't  mind,  for  she  yearned  to 
marry  the  handsome  actor  who  had  cap- 
tivated her.  The  next  January  he  slipped 
a  wedding  ring  on  her  finger.  By  that 
time  he  had  given  up  acting  and  was  de- 
voting all  his  time  to  his  country  in  a 
radar  unit  that  guided  planes  to  the  Con- 
tinent and  back  home  again. 

a  little  boy  .  .  . 

I  think  that  Rex's  great  fascination  for 
women  lies  in  his  appealing  little -boy 
manner  of  doing  something  very  naughty 
and  then  being  very  sorry  for  it  all. 
They  idealize  him — and  want  to  mother 
him  at  the  same  time. 

He  is  irresponsible  about  material  things 
and  careless  to  a  maddening  degree  about 
money.  When  he  wants  something,  he 
doesn't  haggle  over  the  price — and  if  he 
has  to  pay  more  than  it's  worth  that's 
okay  just  as  long  as  he  gets  it.  For  in- 
stance, he  saw  the  home  in  which  he  and 
Lilli  are  now  living  in  the  very  swank 
section  close  to  exclusive  Bel  Air — and 
because  it  provided  him  with  what  he 
thought  would  be  the  surroundings  of  an 
English  country  gentleman,  he  bought  it 
without  a  question.  The  real-estate  dealer 
asked  $90,000  for  the  place.  He  well  knew 
that  was  more  than  it  was  worth,  and  ex- 
pected to  have  to  cut  the  price  quite  a 
little.  But  Rex  took  it  without  a  protest. 
Then  Lilli  stepped  in  and  saved  a  goodly 
sum  by  decorating  the  house  herself. 

Rex  carries  money  around  in  his  pocket 
wadded  up  like  a  spitball  and  he  never 
knows  whether  he  has  a  $5-  or  a  $50-bill. 
I've  seen  him  pull  out  the  bills  and  put 
them  on  the  table  in  a  cafe  and  Lilli 
straightens  them  out  and  counts  them  up. 
Quite  often  he  is  surprised  to  find  he  has 
so  much. 

In  1945,  Rex  and  Lilli  did  The  Noto- 
rious Gentleman  together  and  it  was  this 
picture  that  brought  them  both  to  the 
attention  of  talent  scouts  from  Hollywood. 
Rex  was  offered  the  starring  role  in  Anna 
and  the  King  of  Siam  by  20th-Fox.  Later, 
Lilli  was  signed  by  the  United  States  Pic- 
ture Corporation  but  she  insisted  on  a 
clause  in  her  contract  that  allowed  her 
to  go  wherever  her  husband  went  if  she 


THE  TIME  IS  NOW 

Time  to  get  yourself  a  woolen  muffler 
against  the  winter  winds.  Time  to  buy 
a  good  book  for  when  the  snow's  too 
deep  to  walk  through.  Time  to  write 
your  "I  Saw  It  Happen"  anecdote.  We're 
waiting;  we  have  the  blank  checks 
ready  for  your  names.  We  want  what 
we  always  did— short,  true,  amusing 
incidents  involving  you  and  a  movie 
star.  We'll  pay  $5  for  every  anecdote 
we  use.  So  dig  into  your  memory,  while 
we  dig  into  our  bank  account!  Send 
your  contributions  to  the  "I  Saw  It  Hap- 
pen" Editor^  MODERN  SCREEN,  261 
Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  16,  N.  Y. 


gave  her  studio  two  months'  notice.  She 
invoked  this  clause  in  August,  1947,  so 
she  could  accompany  Rex  to  England — 
and  it  was  on  this  trip  that  Carole  Landis 
came  importantly  into  their  lives. 

Lilli  announced  she  was  going  with  him 
to  Hollywood.  "Of  course  you  are,  dar- 
ling," he  told  her. 

To  friends  who  kidded  them  about  the 
shoals  their  marital  bark  might  hit  in 
glamorous  Hollywood,  they  both  laughed 
and  said  nothing  like  that  would  happen 
to  them — although  Lilli  did  say  she  quite 
understood  why  there  were  so  many  di- 
vorces in  the  fabulous  film  capital. 

"Hollywood  stars  are  in  contact  with  the 
most  attractive  people  in  the  world,"  she 
said,  shaking  her  pretty  little  head  wisely. 
"There's  obviously  much  more  temptation 
for  a  man  who  works  in  pictures  than  for 
one  who  works  in  an  office." 

Subsequent  events  proved  that  the  smart 
Mrs.  Harrison  was  so  right.  This  philos- 
ophy she  expounded  before  she  ever  came 
in  contact  with  those  "most  attractive 
people"  seems  to  be  the  clue  to  her  amaz- 
ing forbearance  when  Rex  got  himself 
involved  in  a  scandal  that  would  have 
wrecked  most  marriages.  I  do  not  know 
of  another  film  star — and  Lilli  is  a  star 
in  her  own  right,  we  must  never  forget— 
who  would  have  taken  it  on  the  chin  as 
this  cute  freckle-faced  girl  did  when  the 
father  of  her  little  boy  was  ineptly  try- 
ing to  explain  to  coldly  inquisitive  police 
officers  just  why  he  had  been  visiting  so 
often  at  Carole's  home,  how  he  had  hap- 
pened to  find  her  body  in  the  bathroom, 
what  had  happened  to  a  second  suicide 
note  that  was  supposed  to  have  existed 
and  then  mysteriously  disappeared.  (This, 
the  story  goes,  was  the  note  in  which 
Carole  gave  last  instructions  about  what 
she  wanted  done  for  the  injured  foot  of 
her  cat.) 

Lilli's  wifely  pride  was  surely  torn  to 
shreds  every  time  she  saw  the  screaming 
headlines,  but  she  stood  solidly  by  the 
side  of  her  man  when  he  ran  into  the 
barrage  from  reporters  and  photographers. 
She  must  have  been  pretty  bewildered  by 
it  all,  because  as  a  Britisher  she  had 
never  met  the  kind  of  press  people  found 
in  the  United  States.  The  newspaper 
guys  and  gals  she'd  known  "at  home"  are 
journalists;  they  question  their  "victims" 
in  a  very  dignified  manner.  In  Britain, 
reporters  don't  initiate  official  investiga- 
tions which  make  good  stories,  or  prompt 
police  officers  to  ask  the  sort  of  questions 
that  make  good  reading. 

I  watched  Lilli  walking  arm-in-arm 
with  Rex  into  the  chapel  at  Carole's  fu- 
neral. I  marveled  at  her  courage.  This 
was  the  kind  of  heroism  for  which  medals 
are  given. 

And  I  couldn't  help  hoping  for  her  sake 
that  Rex  will  forget  he  ever  played  The 
Notorious  Gentleman  role — and  will  go 
back  to  that  old  film  he  did  in  1937.  It  was 
called  School  For  Husbands.         The  End 


ROSALIND,  I  LOVE  YOO 

(Continued  from  page  63) 


of  the  effect  of  Rosalind's  enormous  faith 
in  people.  It  sets  them  up  with  a  conquer- 
ing spirit.  I  agreed.  It  was  one  of  the  best 
decisions  I  ever  made. 

Her  faith  in  people  isn't  a  blind  one,  it 
is  backed  up  by  a  recognition  of  talent 
when  she  sees  it  and  a  great  desire  to 
give  everyone  who  deserves  it  a  crack  at 
glory.  Which  puts  me  right  back  to  the 
night  of  the  Academy  Awards  last  spring 
when  Loretta  Young  won  after  the  press, 
polls,  straw  vote  and  everybody  predicted 
Rosalind  would  be  selected.  Yet  I  am  al- 
most grateful  that  Rosalind  lost — because 
of  what  it  taught  me  about  her. 

She  was  the  one  person  who  didn't  think 
she  was  going  to  win,  until  the  actual 
night  of  the  Awards.  Then,  because  the 
polls  had  placed  her  way  ahead  of  every- 
one else,  and  because  all  the  earlier 
Awards,  including  Ronald  Colman's,  had 
gone  exactly  the  way  the  polls  predicted, 
she  finally  admitted  that  maybe  she  was 
going  to  get  the  Oscar.  But  when  Fredric 
March  started  to  make  the  announcement, 
she  couldn't  help  crossing  her  "fingers  and 
then  stuffing  them  into  her  ears.  She  ac- 
tually didn't  hear  what  March  said,  and 
not  until  she  saw  Loretta  walking  toward 
the  stage  did  she  know  she  had  lost  again 
— for  the  third  time. 

She  sat  back  in  her  seat  without  a  word 
and  listened  to  the  presentation.  She  had 
on  a  beautiful  white  creation  that  had 
been  designed  for  her  by  Travis  Banton. 
She  fingered  it,  looked  at  me  and  shook 
her  head  in  regret.  I  leaned  toward  her. 

"Feel  bad?"  I  asked. 

"Yeah,  for  poor  Travis,"  she  said. 

"What?"  I  couldn't  help  ask,  dumbly. 

"Well,  you  know  how  hard  he  worked 
on  this  dress,"  she  said.  "And  now  he's  lost 
his  chance  to  show  it  off  here.  He  had  his 
heart  set  on  it." 

dudley,  she  loves  you  .  .  . 

Afterward,  when  we  were  seating  our- 
selves in  our  car  outside,  Rosalind  looked 
out  the  window  and  saw  Dudley  Nichols, 
the  man  who  made  Mourning  Becomes 
Electra,  on  which  she  had  won  her  Acad- 
emy Award  nomination.  He  was  trying 
to  make  his  way  through  the  crowd.  She 
called  to  him  and  he,  thinking  that  she 
wanted  to  give  him  a  lift,  waved  and 
yelled  back  that  he  had  his  own  car.  He 
was  right  and  wrong.  Rosalind  wanted  to 
give  him  a  lift  all  right,  but  not  in  the  car. 
She  wanted  to  tell  him  that  she  loved 
him  and  that  she  thought  he  was  the  best 
writer  and  producer  she  had  ever  known — 
no  matter  which  way  the  Awards  went. 

I  told  the  chauffeur  to  drive  straight  to 
the  Mocambo  where  Peter  N.  Rathvon, 
head  of  RKO,  was  giving  a  party  for  the 
winner — whom  he,  as  had  most  everyone 
else,  thought  would  be  Rosalind.  But  she 
asked  to  be  driven  home  instead. 

I  thought  she  couldn't  face  the  party 
now  and  she  guessed  what  was  in  my 
mind. 

"Don't  be  silly,"  she  said.  "We're  going 
home  and  we're  going  to  stay  there  an 
hour  before  we  go  to  the  Mocambo.  It's 
Loretta's  night  and  I  want  her  to  get  the 
most  out  of  it  when  she  makes  her  en- 
trance. It's  her  moment,  I  don't  want  to 
force  people  to  divide  their  attention  be- 
tween congratulations  for  her  and  sym- 
pathy for  me.  Besides,  we're  close  enough 
friends  so  that  she'd  feel  sorry  for  me,  and 
when  you  win  an  Oscar  I  think  you're 
entitled  to  a  full  round  of  joy  with  no 
regrets  for  anything." 

Whether  it's  Loretta  Young,  or  an  un- 
known writer  or  director,  if  anyone  rates 


Four  Fascinating  New 

DELL  ROMANCES! 

Wallflowers 

by  Temple  Bailey 


Here  is  Temple  Bailey  at  her  entertaining  best, 
with  a  delightful  novel  about  Sandra  and 
Theodora,  who  are  twins,  but  who  are  very 
much  unlike  each  other.  Sandra  is  the  roman- 
tic, the  dreamer,  and  jokes  about  being  a 
wallflower.  Theodora,  however,  is  practical  and 
ambitious,  and  bitterly  resents  being  in  the 
background.  Her  schemes  and  Sandra's  dreams 
were  bound  to  conflict.  How  both  girls  find 
happiness  makes  a  tender,  dramatic  romance 
that  builds  up  to  a  stirring  emotional  climax. 


No.  249 


STARS  STILL  SHINE 

by  Lida  Larrimore 

"College  boys  are  up  to  no  good,  dating  town  girls." 
But  even  with  this  warning  from  her  Irish  father,  pretty 
Kathleen  Miller  still  went  on  seeing  Don  Alexander. 
Don  was  far  above  her  ordinary  world,  and  she  was 
afraid  their  affair  would  end  in  confusion  and  heart- 
ache. Big  jolly  Joe,  from  her  own  background,  did  his 
best  to  help,  but  Kathy  had  to  work  it  out  for  herself. 
How  it  all  works  out  makes  a  tender  love  story  that  is 
both  heart-warming  and  exciting. 


No.  236 

SKYSCRAPER  by  Faith  Baldwin 

A  great  romantic  novel  of  youth  and  love  in  the  big  city 
— one  of  Faith  Baldwin's  most  heart-warming,  under- 
standing and  engaging  stories  of  two  young  people  in 
love  and  the  problems  they  face  in  this  modern  world. 


CANDIDATE  FOR  LOVE  by  Maysie  Greig 

Lovely  Clemintine,  who  yearns  for  adventure,  wealth, 
and  just  a  nice  dash  of  wickedness,  tries  to  mix  politics 
and  love  in  an  amusing  and  absorbing  romance  that  is 
packed  with  chuckles  and  thrills. 

No.  239 


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a  chance  for  glory  Rosalind  is  for  his  hav- 
ing it.  And  that's  why  I,  for  one  person, 
am  not  disappointed  because  Ros  didn't 
get  her  Award.  Anyone  with  her  outlook 
on  life,  her  courage  and  inherent  talent 
not  only  for  acting,  but  for  plain,  every- 
day living,  already  is  well  rewarded. 

I  got  a  sense  of  this  one  night  when  we 
saw  a  preview  of  The  Velvet  Touch  at  a 
downtown  Los  Angeles  theater.  A  middle- 
aged  woman  came  up  to  Rosalind  in  the 
lobby  and  said,  "Oh,  Miss  Russell,  I  must 
thank  you.  I  must  thank  you!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Rosalind.  "I'm  glad 
you  liked  the  picture." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  the  picture,"  replied  the 
woman.  "I  liked  the  picture.  But  I  want 
to  thank  you  just  for  being  honestly  you." 

I've  never  said  it  better  myself — and 
don't  think  I  haven't  tried! 

It's  pretty  much  a  fetish  with  Rosalind 
to  be  liked  for  herself.  Perhaps  you've 
heard  the  story  of  how  our  four-and-a- 
half-year-old  son,  Lance,  scared  her  one 
day  when  he  came  up  and  told  her  he 
knew  who  she  was.  It's  my  favorite  yarn. 

Rosalind  paled.  "What  do  you  mean, 
Lance?"  she  asked.  "Who  am  I?" 

"You're  a  movie  star,"  he  "replied. 

She  took  a  deep,  breath  and  asked,  "And 
what  is  a  movie  star,  Lance?" 

He  looked  at  her  dumbly.  "I  dunno," 
he  said.  She  was  so  overjoyed  she  had 
to  gather  him  into  her  arms  right  then 
and  there.  Of  course  you  know  why  she 
felt  anxious.  She  didn't  want  to  gain  one 
more  fan — and  lose  a  son! 

life  with  father  .  .  . 

Ros  learned  about  not  being  a  quitter 
from  her  father,  the  late  James  E.  Russell. 
He,  by  not  quitting,  went  from  semi-pro 
baseball  to  Yale  and  a  career  as  a  corpo- 
ration lawyer.  He  spoke  to  her  on  the 
subject  once  when  she  was  in  her  'teens 
and  had  failed  to  win  a  diving  contest  at  a 
summer  resort  on  Long  Island  Sound. 

She  had  worked  up  to  the  finals  and  was 
ahead  on  points  but  an  odd  factor  was 
starting  to  bother  her.  She  was  a  skinny 
kid;  she  had  the  most  boyish  figure  that 
ever  set  a  girl  to  biting  her  nails  in  secret 
worry.  By  contrast,  Ros's  rival  was  "all- 
girl."  Every  time  she  posed  up  there  on  the 
diving  board  she  was  a  most  appealing 
silhouette  and  an  appreciative  murmur 
would  go  through  the  audience.  Every  time 
Ros  stepped  up  there  she  felt  the  crowd 
was  just  waiting  for  her  to  get  off  so  the 
other  girl  could  get  back  on  again. 

She  was  just  preparing  to  make  her  last 
and  most  important  dive  when  one  of  the 
shoulder  buttons  holding  up  her  bathing 
suit  gave  away.  With  a  little  shriek  Roz 
grabbed  at  the  loose  strap  and  just  flopped 
into  the  water — making  no  attempt  to  dive. 
She  didn't  have  to  go  back  to  the  float  to 
know  that  the  other  girl  had  won.  She 
just  headed  ashore  for  the  clubhouse. 

But  her  father,  who  was  in  a  boat,  beat 
her  to  it  and  was  waiting  when  she  started 
to  climb  out  of  the  water.  She  began  to 
explain  but  he  shook  his  head. 

"You  were  ahead,"  he  pointed  out.  "Now 
remember  this,  Rosalind.  A  winner  never 
quits,  a  quitter  never  wins." 

Eugene  O'Neill,  who  wrote  Mourning 
Becomes  Electra,  thinks  everyone's  life  is 
controlled  by  little  accidents  of  fate.  So 
does  Rosalind.  Her  whole  career,  she  be- 
lieves, can  be  traced  back  to  when  she  was 
a  skinny  fifteen,  sitting  in  Marymount 
School  in  New  York,  trying  to  figure  how 
to  duck  math  class.  Rosalind  didn't  like 
math  because  she  was  never  able  to  pierce 
the  disguise  of  X.-  it  always  remained  the 
unknown  quantity  to  her. 

"What  to  do?"  she  was  moaning  to  her- 
self, when  the  voice  of  the  sister  in  charge 
came  to  her,  announcing  that  the  school 
was  planning  a  play  in  connection  with  an 
expected  visit  of  the  late  Cardinal  Hayes. 


On  impulse  Rosalind  put  up  her  hand  to 
volunteer  for  it,  thinking  to  herself  that 
a  play  meant  rehearsals  and,  who  knows, 
she  might  be  able  to  skip  the  dreaded  math 
that  way. 

She  was  accepted — later  given  the  lead 
part  in  the  play.  It  turned  out  to  be  a 
dramatization  of  the  life  of  St.  Francis 
of  Xavier.  Rosalind  played  St.  Francis 
with  beard  and  cassock.  And  she  was  not 
only  excused  from  a  number  of  math  ses- 
sions, but  from  other  irksome  classes  too. 

That  was  pretty  good.  From  then  on  she 
ran  around  volunteering  for  one  amateur 
play  after  another,  telling  herself  that  the 
business  of  being  a  professional  actress 
deserved  looking  into. 

I  guess  everyone  knows  that,  to  start 
with,  she  had  to  fight  her  family  to  go  on 
the  stage.  Her  mother  turned  down  the 
first  offer,  which  was  made  by  a  repre- 
sentative of  a  dance  troupe. 

"What!"  cried  Mrs.  Russell.  "My  daugh- 
ter in  the  theater?  Living  a  life  of  gas  jets, 
gin  bottles  and  swearing  women?  Never!" 

Incidentally,  Rosalind's  mother  was  wait- 
ing for  us  when  we  got  home  the  night  of 
the  Academy  Awards.  "I  guess  you  were 
right  all  the  time,  Mother,"  said  Rosalind. 
"I  lost.  And  now  you're  disappointed." 

Mrs.  Russell  snorted.  "I  have  yet  to  be 
disappointed*  in  you,  Rosalind,"  she  de- 
clared. "I  have  been  surprised  by  you 
many  times — but  disappointed?  Never!" 

No.  She  has  never  disappointed  anyone. 
When,  through  Cary  Grant,  I  first  met 
Rosalind — he  had  told  me  he  was  sure  that 
Rosalind  and  I  would  like  each  other — I 
wasn't  disappointed.  When  we  talked  about 
riding,  golfing  and  swimming  and  then 
went  riding,  golfing  and  swimming — I 
wasn't  disappointed.  She  was  my  equal  in 
all  three,  and  maybe  even  a  bit  better;  that 
is  still  to  be  settled. 

You  know,  when  I  was  a  boy  my  life 
happened  to  be  such  that  I  could  not  gain 
a  very  high  impression  of  women.  That 
was  because  my  father,  Carl  Brisson,  one 
of  Europe's  favorite  musical  comedy  stars, 
traveled  the  world  over  and  I  went  along 
with  him — seeing  women  only  when  they 
thronged  the  stations,  or  the  theater  en- 
trances when  he  arrived,  to  greet  and 
even  gush  over  him.  I  was  an  impression- 
able youth  and  thought  women  were  al- 
ways like  that.  I  didn't  realize  that  these 
same  women  had  another  side  of  their  life 
— that  they  were  homemakers  and  mothers 
and  teachers  of  their  children. 

the  big  wait  .  .  . 

That  may  be  why,  unlike  my  father,  who 
married  very  young,  I  waited.  And  a  very 
good  thing  it  was!  I  knew  it  had  been  the 
minute  I  saw  Rosalind. 

And  now  I  want  to  marry  her  all  over 
again.  I  will  give  you  one  more  reason. 

While  it  is  true  that  I  didn't  get  ulcers 
in  my  first  attempt  at  producing,  or  any  of 
the  trade  ailments  I  named,  I  did  pick 
up  a  siege  of  insomnia.  I  could  do  every- 
thing connected  with  sleeping;  yawn, 
droop,  close  my  eyes — but  I  couldn't  sleep. 
In  the  midst  of  all  this  I  had  to  leave  for 
New  York,  after  which  my  plans  called  for 
me  to  go  to  Europe,  with  Rosalind  follow- 
ing a  few  weeks  later. 

There  were  several  business  matters  in 
connection  with  The  Velvet  Touch  that 
were  hanging  fire  until  I  could  settle  them 
in  New  York.  The  minute  I  arrived  I  went 
into  a  series  of  meetings,  after  which  I 
sent  a  long  telegram  to  Rosalind  telling  her 
what  the  results  had  been.  I  waited  for  her 
answer,  wondering  what  comments  she 
would  make  about  the  decisions  that  were 
voted  at  the  meetings.  I  soon  found  out. 
Her  wire  came  the  next  morning  and 
didn't  contain  any  comments!  In  fact  it 
had  only  four  words — and  those  were,  "But 
did  you  sleep?" 

Rosalind,  I  love  you.  The  End 


WHY  STARS  FIGHT  THEIR  BOSSES 

(Continued  from  page  57) 


hadn't  had  time  to,  before.  After  a  quick 
look,  he  agrees  with  me.  I'm  right — it's 
not  a  great  story.  It'll  have  to  be  re- 
written. 

"If  the  re-write's  good,  I'll  do  it — I'll  be 
anxious  to  do  it.  I'm  going  to  have  a 
baby  and  if  I  can  finish  another  picture 
first,  I'll  be  the  luckiest  girl  in  the  world. 
But,"  she  grinned,  "even  if  I  am  right,  I'm 
not  necessarily  back  on  salary.  I'm  still 
on  suspension,  you  see,  until  it's  all  cleaned 
up." 

I'm  bringing  up  Betty  BacalPs  case  of 
suspensionitis  first,  because  it's  so  very 
typical  in  one  way,  so  unique  in  another. 
As  she  says,  Lauren's  lucky.  For  one 
thing,  because  nobody's  really  red-faced 
mad  about  anything — and  it  won't  last 
long.  For  another,  because  she's  married 
to  Humphrey  Bogart,  who's  a  wise  and 
seasoned  studio  diplomat. 

Bogie  got  his  biggest  break — and  he 
knows  it — from  the  walkout  of  another 
star,  Paul  Muni,  when  Paul  turned  down 
High  Sierra  and  opened  the  way  for 
Humphrey  to  get  the  part  which  set  his 
screen  course  straight  after  a  let-down. 
Yep,  Lauren  can  thank  her  lucky  stars 
she's  got  Bogie  to  guide  her. 

But  Betty  Bacall  Bogart  is  speaking  pur- 
est gospel  when  she  says  she'll  be  the 
luckiest  gal  in  the  world  to  make  Blowing 
Wild  before  Bogie,  Junior,  arrives.  Very 
few  "expecting"  stars  get  that  chance.  What 
brings  suspensions?  Well,  having  a  baby 
will  usually  work. 

Because  in  Hollywood,  if  you're  a  star, 
motherhood  adds  up  as  a  studio  sin.  Noth- 
ing can  slap  a  layoff  on  a  glamor  star 
quicker  than  the  tiniest  whispered  tidings 
of  a  blessed  event.  Babies  are  expensive 
in  Hollywood — expensive  to  stars.  Not 
studios — not  on  your  life. 

What  do  you  suppose  it  cost  Bette  Davis 
to  have  her  darling  little  daughter,  Bar- 
bara? Well,  Bette  was  off  the  screen  and 
off  salary  over  a  year,  and  counting  up  on 
my  fingers,  that  makes  around  $250,000  in 
mere  money. 

Because  the  price  comes  so  high,  not  all 
stars  take  time  off  deliberately  to  start  a 
family.  But  sometimes  they  do — and  fool 
their  bosses,  too. 

Joan  Fontaine  can  thank  Christian  Dior, 
the  "New  Look"  man,  for  the  price  of  an 
extra  Fontaine  picture  (not  under  $200,000, 
you  can  bet)  when  she  played  cover-up 
with  full  skirts  all  through  You've  Got  to 
Stay  Happy — acting,  incidentally,  a  young 
debutante  when  her  baby  was  only  four 
months  away. 

I  think  the  smartest  little  apple  at  that 
sort  of  disguise,  though,  is  Veronica  Lake, 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

A  fat  man  stood 
on  a  scale  in  front 
of  a  local  restaur- 
ant. He  said  to  his 
thin  pal,  "Gosh,  I 
can't  weigh  this 
much.  The  scale 
must  be  wrong." 
He  stepped  off,  re- 
moved his  coat, 
put  it  over  his  arm 
and  weighed  him- 
self again.  "I  told  you  this  scale  was 
wrong,  Abbott,  I  still  weigh  the  same," 
he  said.  The  fat  man  was,  of  course, 
Lou  Costello. 

Mrs.  E.  A.  Thrun 
La  Crosse,  Wisconsin 


a  tiny  lady  who,  almost  any  time  she  tries, 
can  have  a  family  without  the  cold  eye  of 
the  camera  giving  her  away. 

I  remember  that  when  Veronica  made 
Sullivan's  Travels,  I  asked  her  point-blank 
to  confirm  a  family  rumor  I'd  heard  and 
she  denied  it.  Three  weeks  later,  I  checked 
with  her  dress  designer  and  got  the  won- 
derful truth.  But  even  then  I  didn't  print 
it — and  I'm  glad  I  didn't.  It  might  have 
been  a  very  costly  item  for  Veronica.  As 
it  was,  she  coasted  through  the  picture  in 
good  time  and  saved  herself  a  stork  sus- 
pension. Then  darned  if  she  didn't  repeat 
the  deception,  not  once  but  twice — in  both 
The  Hour  Before  Dawn  and  Isn't  It  Ro- 
mantic? 

standard  time  .  .  . 

It  takes  nine  months  to  have  a  baby  (in 
Hollywood  as  well  as  anywhere  else).  But 
there  are  stars  who  have  stuck  out  their 
strikes  far  longer  than  that  and  for  far  less 
tender  reasons — although  it  has  cost  them 
plenty,  too.    Ann  Sheridan,  for  instance. 

Ann  has  been  out  more  than  she's  been 
in  at  Warners'  ever  since  she  turned  down 
Strawberry  Blonde  and  yelled,  "Unfair  to 
Oomph!"  letting  Rita  Hay  worth  play  the 
part  and  launch  her  big-time  career. 
Whether  Ann  was  right  or  wrong  didn't 
make  the  payoff  any  different.  She  started 
a  feud  and  put  a  crimp  in  her  own  career 
that's  never  quite  been  ironed  out.  I'm 
not  sure  she'd  ever  have  got  back  on  the 
screen,  in  fact,  if  she  hadn't  had  a  mighty 
influential  boy  friend,  ace  press-agent 
Steve  Hannagan. 

When  Steve  thought  Annie's  close-out 
had  lasted  long  enough,  he  brought  Thur- 
man  Arnold,  the  lawyer,  straight  from 
Washington  and  government  prestige  to 
scare  Ann's  bosses  into  reason.  Sheridan 
did  it  again,  though,  rather  than  make 
Serenade.  Since  Good  Sam  for  Leo  Mc- 
Carey,  she  hasn't  made  a  picture. 

Strikes  have  hurt  Ann  Sheridan — no 
doubt  about  it — but,  well,  she's  red- 
headed. Yet  a  star  you'd  never  suspect 
packed  any  fighting  moxie  voluntarily  ex- 
cluded herself  from  the  screen  for  over 
two  long  years,  scrapping  stubbornly  for — 
not  money,  a  baby,  or  even  a  good  script 
— but  for  a  principle. 

Who  in  the  world  would  ever  tag  doe- 
eyed,  demure  Olivia  DeHavilland  the 
heaviest  puncher  of  them  all  when  it  came 
to  standing  up  for  her  rights?  "Sweet" 
was  the  word  for  Olivia  for  years  and 
years  and  you'd  get  that  syrupy  description 
every  time  you  mentioned  her  pretty 
name. 

Well,  defenseless  DeHavilland  was  the 
gal  who  stuck  out  her  studio  walkout  for 
two-and-a-half  years — fought  through  the 
courts  and  won  not  only  her  own  freedom 
from  a  contract  she  thought  was  outworn, 
but  achieved  practically  a  Proclamation 
of  Emancipation  for  all  Hollywood  stars! 

Before  Livvy  buckled  on  her  armor, 
studios  had  been  tacking  time  spent  in 
layoffs,  suspensions  and  just  such  off- 
salary  penalty  periods  as  I'm  talking  about, 
onto  the  end  of  a  star's  contract  to  stretch 
out  the  period  of  servitude  (if  the  star 
was  still  box-office,  that  is).  But  Livvy 
claimed  her  seven-year  contract  at  War- 
ners was  void  because  on  the  calendar 
seven  years  had  rolled  by,  suspensions 
and  such  not  counting  a  whit.  She  claimed 
it  and  she  proved  it  for  the  first  time  in 
court. 

In  so  doing  she  set  not  only  herself  free 
but  a  double  dozen  other  stars  too,  prov- 
ing to  be  a  lady  Lincoln,  more  or  less.  But 
what  did  that  cost?     Olivia  can  collect 


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$200,000  every  time  she  makes  a  picture 
and  she  could  have  made  at  least  four  or 
five  in  that  two-year  period.  Livvy  came 
back  to  win  her  Academy  Oscar  with  a 
terrific  performance  in  To  Each  His  Own. 
What's  more,  while  she  was  swearing  off 
pictures,  she  met  the  man  she'd  been  wait- 
ing for,  Marcus  Goodrich — and  found  her- 
self that  long  overdue  husband! 

But  Olivia  DeHavilland's  self-imposed 
strike  was  a  Hollywood  exception — that's 
why  it's  a  classic.  Very  few  are  so  single- 
purposed  and  so  Simon  pure.  And  you 
can  count  on  your  fingers  the  times  stars 
have  won.  Usually,  they  take  it  where 
it  hurts — not.  only  in  the  courts,  but  in  the 
pocketbook  and  popularity. 

Joan  Leslie  has  dragged  her  contract 
complaints  through  three  courts — she's  in 
the  Supreme  one  now — and  she  hasn't 
been  on  her  studio's  lot  all  that  time. 
Mostly  because  she  trained  and  danced 
and  worked  to  play  Marilyn  Miller  in  Look 
For  the  Silver  Lining  and  then  June  Haver 
got  the  part.  She'd  be  better  off  to  have 
looked  for  the  silver  lining  herself. 

Look  at  Larry  Parks,  last  season's  Holly- 
wood wonder  boy:  Larry  spent  most  of 
his  time  and  money  since  he  zoomed  to 
greatness  in  The  Jolson  Story  fighting 
Columbia,  the  studio  that  made  that  pic- 
ture. And  by  feuding,  he  seriously  dimmed 
his  own  brilliant  shooting  star. 

two  for  one  .  .  . 

The  trouble  with  Larry  Parks  is  two 
contracts  at  one  studio — and  two  is  too 
many.  His  first  was  for  five  years,  and  it 
wasn't  such  a  much  of  a  ticket  when  it 
came  to  making  Larry  famous  or  rich. 
But  he  made  The  Jolson  Story  on  that 
one,  then  Columbia  ripped  it  up  and 
wrote  him  a  brand  new  deal,  with  more 
money,  star  billing  and  everything.  He 
made  Down  to  Earth  and  The  Swords- 
man on  that  one,  as  an  official  star.  Was 
he  happy?  Uh-uh,  he  was  not.  Larry 
longed  for  his  first  contract.  It  was 
shorter,  would  soon  run  out,  and  he  knew 
where  he  could  get  some  very  attractive 
other  ones  around  Hollywood  the  minute 
he  was  free.  So  he  saw  his  lawyer.  They 
both  told  their  sad  story  to  a  judge. 

It's  interesting,  that  story,  and  how  the 
judge  puzzled  it.  Columbia,  as  you  know, 
won — and  Larry  lost — and  to  show  you 
how  even  though  hot  words  fly  back  and 
forth,  the  boys  can  get  together  for  busi- 
ness reasons:  While  they  were  still  call- 
ing names  legally,  Larry  and  Harry  got 
together  to  make  The  Gallant  Blade.  Co- 
lumbia didn't  want  to  wreck  the  star 
property  it  had  in  Larry,  you  see.  Larry 
didn't  want  to  wither  off  the  screen  for- 
ever. But  Larry  refused  to  draw  money 
on  his  new  contract;  he  insisted  on  getting 
paid  off  via  the  old  and  cheaper  one! 

Now,  about  the  judge: 

Said  he,  somewhat  like  this,  busting 
Larry's  dream:  "Sure,  the  studio  obtained 
your  new  contract  under  duress.  They 
said  you'd  have  to  sign  it  or  you  wouldn't 
make  any  more  star  pictures.  But — you 
waited  too  long  to  complain.  You  bene- 
fitted, made  Down  to  Earth,  The  Swords- 
man and  Gallant  Blade,  and  cashed  in  on 
star  rating.  You're  no  dope,  but  an  in- 
telligent, well-educated  guy.  You  had 
access  to  good  legal  advice.  But  you 
waited  for  three  pictures  and  therefore 
forfeited  your  right  to  squawk!" 

Well,  I  won't  go  Gladstone  on  you.  I'm 
no  lawyer.  I'm  interested  in  what  Larry 
lost,  besides  his  case.  He  should  be  rue- 
ing  his  sueing  because  by  now  Parks 
could  have  had  possibly  the  couple  of 
hit  pictures  he  needs,  reams  of  publicity 
he's  lost,  less  of  the  bad  he's  got.  But  to 
show  you  again  how  in  Hollywood  the 
hottest  tempers  cool  when  money-making 
show  business  warms  up— here's  a  happy 
ending   to   the   cockeyed   court   case  of 


Larry  Parks   versus   Columbia  pictures. 

Nobody  but  Larry  can  play  Al  Jolson. 
A  second  Jolson  story  is  in  the  works.  So 
Larry  will  be  right  back  on  the  lot  this 
winter  mammy-mugging  in  the  Jolson 
Story  sequel — and  he'll  have  what  terms 
he  wants,  he'll  be  glad  to  get  back,  and  all 
this  fuss  and  feathers  and  furor  will  be 
forgotten  and  forgiven — because  it's  good, 
business. 

Yep,  it's  a  screwy-Looey  poker  game — 
these  star-studio  stand-offs — and  the 
studios  usually  hold  the  aces.  They've 
got  full-time  legal  staffs,  for  one  thing,  on 
the  alert  for  every  tiny  escape-hatch  a 
star  might  find  to  make  him  sassy.  They 
have  even  more  potent  trumps,  too.  A 
star  strikes — okay — not  only  no  publicity 
do  you  get,  bub,  but  sometimes  bad  pub- 
licity. It's  very  chastening.  You  read  the 
item  about  Lana  Turner's  "uncooperative 
star"  didoes  when  M-G-M  was  mad  at 
her?  The  troubles  of  Bob  Walker  that 
hit  the  pages  when  he  was  having  studio 
troubles,  too?  Studios  are  not  always 
above  punching  back  when  stars  knock 
chips  off  their  august  shoulders.  Maybe 
a  little  advice  of  mine  saved  Lana  from 
getting  fractured  for  keeps. 

Sitting  in  New  York  waiting  for  Ty 
Power  to  come  home  to  her,  Lana  re- 
fused to  play  Lady  De  Winter  in  M-G-M's 
The  Three  Musketeers.  Nobody,  least  of 
all  I,  blamed  her.  It  was  no  part  for  a 
star,  a  tame  gal's  side-dish  in  a  meaty 
male  epic.  Lana  knew  she'd  just  be  lend- 
ing her  box-office  draw  to  prop  up  Gene 
Kelly,  Van  Heflin  and  Keenan  Wynn. 
Besides,  Lana  desperately  deserved  a  va- 
cation; she'd  made  three  pictures  in  a 
row — Cass  Timberlane,  Green  Dolphin 
Street,  Homecoming— and  she'd  been 
promised  a  rest.  But  the  order  came 
through:  "Make  Musketeers — or  else." 

I  knew  Lana  was  in  a  bad  spot;  she  was 
smothered  with  unfavorable  personal  pub- 
licity then;  she'd  borrowed  money  from 
M-G-M  and  spent  it;  she  was  practically 
broke.  Hollywood  was  having  its  big 
slump  panic  and  if  she  stuck  and  struck — 
well,  Turner  was  wide  open  for  M-G-M 
to  make  an  example  of  her.  So  I  called 
her  and  gave  her  my  strongest  advice. 
"Swallow  your  pride  and  do  the  job.  It's 
your  only  out."    I'm  glad  she  did. 

Do  studios  retaliate  when  stars  tread 
their  toes?  Sure  they  do.  There's  a  fel- 
low in  this  town  coming  back  the  hard 
way  for  his  second  career,  and  this  time 
on  his  own.  He  was  going  great  guns 
once  before  as  a  contract  star — then  he 
was  dropped — and  virtually  blackballed. 
You  didn't  hear  of  him  for  quite  a  time. 
Eddie  Albert's  his  name. 


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only  thing  Ginger  wants  out  of  life  is 
what  every  girl  wants  if  she  is  thoroughly 
honest  with  herself — a  home  and  babies." 
— From  a  1938  issue  of  Modern  Screen 


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What  can  a  star  sling  from  his  or  her 
corner  when  the  suspension  gong  rings? 
If  she's  versatile  like  Betty  Hutton,  for 
instance,  she  could  go  right  on  making 
money  unless  her  studio  contract  has  her 
tied  up  too  tight.  Betty  had  her  baby 
after  Perils  of  Pauline  and  skipped  sus- 
pension then.  But  if  she  turns  down 
Ruggles  of  Red  Gap  as  she's  threatening 
to  do,  she'll  be  off  for  a  tour  of  personal 
appearances  in  England  that  will  earn 
her  every  bit  as  much — say  $5000  a  week — 
wherever  she  goes.  But  Betty  can  sing 
and  dance  and  slay  'em  with  comedy.  She 
doesn't  necessarily  need  Hollywood.  What 
else  can  Lana  Turner  do  or  Ann  Sheridan 
or  Gene  Tierney? 

Gene  turned  down  Walls  of  Jericho  after 
her  prestige  role  in  The  Razor's  Edge.  She 
turned  down  Chicken  Every  Sunday,  too. 
But  Darryl  Zanuck  held  the  winning  hand 
and  he  knew  it.  When  he  decided  to  let 
Gene  sit,  she  sat — for  eight  long  months. 
Jeanne  Crain  was  handy  to  step  into 
Chicken  Every  Sunday.  Anne  Baxter  was 
delighted  to  play  Walls  of  Jericho.  Finally 
Gene  had  to  ask  her  friends  to  intercede 
for  her  and  get  her  back  on  the  screen — 
and  she  was  happy  to  play  a  smaller  part 
than  either  of  those  to  do  it.  What  else 
could  she  do? 

Studios  can  always  find  more  "coopera- 
tive" actors  and  actresses.  _Or,  if  they've 
just  got  to  have  that  certain  striking  star, 
they  can  postpone  the  picture,  go  merrily 
on  to  making  something  else. 

Yep,  I  ask  again — what  else  can  they 
do?  They  can't  make  pictures  anywhere 
else — or  they  face  court  injunctions.  Be- 
sides, no  studio  will  hire  them  and  face 
a  lawsuit.  Usually,  they  can't  even  do  a 
stage  play  or  radio,  without  their  studio's 
okay — and,  believe  me,  those  contracts  are 
ironclad.  Some  indignant  stars  hire  press 
agents  to  ballyhoo  their  side  of  the  fuss, 
others  get  lawyers  to  worry  it  out  in  court. 
Most  just  sit  at  home  and  wait  for  the 
telephone  to  ring  or  lightning  to  strike. 
Most,  in  the  end,  give  up. 

always  two  sides  .  .  . 

I'm  not  saying  that's  right,  mind  you. 
There  are  always  two  sides  to  a  squabble. 
Stars  can  be  right — and  they  can  be  so 
wrong.  I  think  it  was  right — though 
costly — for  Ann  Sheridan  to  refuse  to  go 
back  playing  gun  molls  and  musical  girlie - 
girlies,  after  she'd  proved  herself  a  fine 
actress  in  King's  Row.  I  was  on  Cornel 
Wilde's  side  when  he  lost  his  paycheck  by 
turning  down  the  schoolteacher  part  in 
Margie — even  though  Margie  was  a  hit 
and  gave  the  guy  who  stepped  in,  ex- 
movie  usher  Glenn  Langan,  his  break. 
Cornel  was  not  the  schoolteacher  type 
and  the  proof  of  the  pudding  is  in  the 
eating.  In  spite  of  Cornel's  cagey  career 
balks  at  Twentieth  Century-Fox,  he's  the 
head  star  man  there  today;  he's  even 
passed  Ty  Power  in  popularity. 

On  the  other  hand — it's  hard  for  me  to 
squeeze  out  a  tear  for  Ray  Milland's  sus- 
pension sulks  at  Paramount.  Ray  turned 
down  A  Mask  For  Lucretia  with  Paulette 
Goddard,  a  big^expensive  production,  be- 
cause, I  suppose,  it  wasn't  another  The 
Lost  Weekend.  And  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  Clemence  Dane  wrote  a  wonderful 
script.  Ray  wouldn't  even  read  that,  just 
pouted  his  "No"  and  walked  out. 

I'm  afraid  that's  pure  Oscar-itis,  espe- 
cially ironic  when  the  studio  he's  snubbing 
shot  the  works  for  him  on  The  Lost  Week- 
end and  was  the  most  surprised  picture- 
company  in  the  world  when  it  turned  out 
to  be  a  box-office  success. 

I  think  it's  equally  as  silly  for  Joan 
Crawford  to  insist  on  making  Miss  O'Brien, 
the  schoolteacher  picture  she  wants  to 
play — even  to  the  point  of  buying  the 
story  herself  when  Warners  wouldn't  cast 
her  in  it.  Joan  Crawford  playing  a  school- 


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teacher?  But  I  know  that  gal  and  she'll 
probably  do  it. 

After  years  at  M-G-M,  Joan  started  her 
new  lease-on-life  ticket  at  Warners  by 
drawing  a  six  months'  suspension  for 
turning  down  an  Eddie  Goulding-directed 
picture — he's  tops  on  that  lot.  But  ^(who 
said  these  things  made  sense?)  she  came 
right  back  from  her  outcast  role  to  play 
Mildred  Pierce  and  that  first  Warner  pic- 
ture gave  her  the  dream  of  her  life,  an 
Academy  Award.  Recently,  she  took  an- 
other walk-out  by  turning  down  Flamingo 
Road.  Who  knows  who's  right  and  who 
isn't  in  the  never-ending  tug  of  war? 
Certainly  /  don't  and  don't  pretend  to. 
But  I  know  what  I  think  isn't  right. 

I  think  it's  unfair  when  it's  studio  policy 
to  be  trigger-happy  shooting  suspensions 
at  stars.  It  makes  Jack  Warner  mad  to 
hear  his  film  kingdom  called  "Suspension 
Manor"  and  it  can  rile  Harry  Cohn  at 
Columbia,  too,  every  time  his  regular  star 
squabbles  get  a  public  airing.  But  what 
right  has  any  studio  to  slam  a  star  off 
salary  the  minute  he  utters  a  peep  of  pro- 
test about  anything?  All  a  Hollywood 
star  has  is  his  professional  personality 
and  standing.  It's  bread-and-butter.  It's 
stock-in-trade,  life-and-death.  Think 
they're  not  going  to  try  and  protect  it? 
Think  they  don't  know  that  too  many  bad 
parts  are  a  one-way  ticket  back  to  the 
hometown  ribbon-counter?  You'd  be 
surprised,  too,  how  many,  with  all  the 
fancy  salaries  they've  been  earning  for 
years,  are  flat  busted,  even  in  debt,  with 
the  amazing  cost  of  carrying  a  Hollywood 
career. 

I,  for  one,  resent  suspensions  and  forced 
"strikes"  when  they're  used  as  weapons 
to_  murder  careers,  and  I  despise  them 
when  they're  penny-pinching  maneuvers 
to  save  a  star's  salary  for  a  few  days  just 
because  the  letter  of  the  contract  makes 
it  possible. 

studio  shenanigans  .  .  . 

I  know  where  it's  standard  practice  to 
hand  a  star  a  horrible  script  when  his 
salary  gets  too  high,  or  when  he  had  an 
idle  week  or  two,  knowing  he'll  have  to 
turn  it  down,  in  self  defense,  and  take 
suspension.  I  hate  to  see  a  studio  exploit 
a  star  who's  paying  their  dividends  for 
them  without  sharing  some  of  the  profits. 
I'm  thinking  of  Alan  Ladd,  who  was  mak- 
ing most  of  Paramount's  money  for  a 
time  after  his  terrific  hit,  This  Gun  For 
Hire.  - 

Alan  made  not  more  than  $1,500  a  week 
then  and  he  hit  for  a  raise  and  bonus.  The 
result  was  insignificant  and  he  pointed 
out  that  Stirling  Hayden  had  just  been 
handed  $25,000  in  bonus  checks  while 
he  wasn't  earning  the  studio  a  quarter  as 
much. 

"But,"  the  bosses  told  him,  "Stirling 
Hayden  doesn't  want  to  make  pictures — 
and  you  do!"  That  didn't  make  sense  to 
Laddie  so  out  he  walked  to  get  a  fair  share 
of  his  earnings. 

One  of  the  crudest  things  I  ever  heard 
was  a  producer's  remark  at  a  Hollywood 
dinner  when  a  rising  young,  star  stood  to 
take  a  bow.  "Isn't  she  wonderful?"  he 
beamed.  "Give  me  five  years  of  that  girl's 
life  and  anyone  can  have  the  rest  of  it." 
Yeah — but  who  wants  what's  left,  after 
that  kind  of  exploiting  gent  gets  through? 

Above  all,  my  blood  boils  when  I  see 
expectant  mothers  who  happen  to  be  stars 
penalized  by  suspensions  long  before  it's 
necessary  to  lay  them  off.  I'd  gladly  join 
a  picket  line  before  a  studio  packing  an 
"Unfair"  sign  for  that. 

On  the  stars'  side,  I'm  afraid  I've  just 
as  many  beefs  to  air,  when  they  play  up 
their  temperament  instead  of  talent.  I 
think  it's  absurd,  for  instance,  when  Janet 
Blair  sues  Columbia  for  $250,000 — as  she's 
doing  now — because  the  ads  of  The  Fuller 


Brush  Man  printed  Red  Skelton's  name  a 
little  bit  bigger  than  hers!  One  of  the 
funniest  suspension  stories  I  recall  is  when 
George  Raft  refused  to  play  in  The  Story 
of  Temple  Drake  because  it  was  "immoral." 
Did  he  think  his  gangster  and  law-flaunt- 
ing  guys   were   wearing   wings  before? 

But  where  there's  a  will  there's  a  way — 
and  although  I've  had  my  tussles  with 
Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer  and  David  O. 
Selznick,  too,  I  admire  them  for  their  re- 
lations with  their  stars.  You  don't  find 
many  strikes  or  suspensions  at  M-G-M 
unless  there's  a  case  of  last  resort.  And 
you  don't  see  any  of  Selznick's  stars  get- 
ting beaten  down  with  bad  stories.  On  the 
contrary.  They  get  top  parts — whether  he 
makes  the  pictures  or  loans  them  out.  Has 
Ingrid  Bergman  ever  had  a  bad  part,  a  bad 
picture?  I'll  say  she  hasn't  and  DOS  saw 
to  that.  His  protection  makes  her  jthe 
most  valuable  star,  money  and  art  com- 
bined, in  Hollywood.  Once  Bette  Davis 
had  a  value  like  that,  too. 

I'm  very  much  afraid  as  long  as  there's 
a  Hollywood  there'll  always  be  star  strikes 
and  studio  suspensions — that's  a  cinch.  But 
now  and  then  comes  a  rift  in  the  angry 
cloud,  a  sign  that  the  toughest  customers 
are  human  after  all. 

During  the  war,  Barbara  Stanwyck  had 
time  on  her  hands  following  Bob  Taylor 
around  to  army  camps.  In  Texas  she  read 
a  book  that  she  loved,  Ayn  Rand's  "The 
Fountainhead,"  sent  it  to  her  boss,  Jack 
Warner,  saying,  "Please,  please  buy  this 
for  me!"  Jack  did  and  promised  her  the 
job,  but  when  he  got  around  to  producing 
it  recently  he  put  Gary  Cooper  in  the 
picture — and  that,  he  reasoned,  made  it 
come  too  high  to  use  Barbara  Stanwyck 
also.  He  slipped  Pat  Neal  in  Stanwyck's 
desperately  desired  dream  part.  Pat's  a 
second-picture  youngster  who  gets  maybe 
$300  a  week. 

Barbara  is  Irish  and  that  broken  promise 
made  her  see  orange.  She  told  me,  "That 
does  it.  I'm  going  to  demand  my  release 
if  I  have  to  sue  in  every  state  in  the 
Union."  I  printed  that  in  my  column  and 
Jack  was  furious.  She  had  two  more 
pictures  to  make  for  him. 

A  few  days  later  she  met  Mr.  Warner 
face-to-face  and  told  him,  "I  think  that 
was  very  unfair  of  you.  And  so  I  think 
if  anybody  deserves  a  contract  release,  I 
do." 

"I  think,  Barbara,"  he  replied  honestly, 
"you're  exactly  right." 

Everyone  almost  dropped  dead — and 
Barbara  got  her  contract  release  without 
a  hitch  or  a  holler.  That  scrap  of  paper 
was  worth  plenty  of  money  to  Warner 
Brothers,  too. 

So  maybe  there's  hope  after  all  for 
Hollywood  peace  in  our  time.  When  the 
head  man  of  "Suspension  Manor"  weakens, 
.  believe  me,  things  are  looking  up  for  sweet 
tranquility — it  says  here!  The  End 


I  SAW  IT  HAPPEN 

My  friend  and  I 
were  walking 
down  Fifth  Ave- 
nue when  he  re- 
cognized tall,  good 
looking  Cornel 
Wilde  coming  in 
our  direction.  My 
friend  stopped  him 
politely  and  said 
as  he  handed  Cor- 
nel an  autograph 
book,  "Would  you  sign  To  Milton, 
please?"  Cornel  took  the  book  and 
wrote  just  that.  "Milton  Please,  Sin- 
cerely, Cornel  Wilde." 

.  Sylvia  Kantor 
Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


MOVIE  REVIEWS 

(Continued  horn  page  23) 


is  that  the  sisters'  father.  Major  Euclid  Cam- 
eron (Roland  Culver)  is  a  lovable  old  moron 
from  the  deep  South  who  never  got  over  the 
hideous  outcome  of  the  Civil  War.  For  the 
last  28  years,  he's  been  writing  a  book  about 
the  treachery  of  the  North,  and  for  as  long 
as  his  daughters  can  remember,  the  family 
has  been  living  in  genteel  poverty.  Because 
if  you're  from  the  deep  South,  according  to 
Paramount  Pictures,  it's  pretty  degrading  to 
get  yourself  a  job.  Now  the  Major's  daugh- 
ters have  problems.  Rose  (Mary  Hatcher) 
is  engaged  to  Benjamin  Logan  (Richard 
Webb)  but  his  pop  and  hers  don't  see  eye 
to  eye  (the  Civil  War  comes  between  them). 
Candy  (Veronica  Lake)  is  a  yearner  after 
big  cities,  and  sweet-talkin'  men;  she  says 
"mais  oui,"  and  wears  low-cut  dresses.  You 
can  understand  everybody's  trying  to  calm 
her  down,  until  you  see  Horace  (Billy  De 
Wolfe)  the  man  her  family's  chosen  for  her. 
Then  you  begin  to  ask  yourself,  how  bad 
could  a  traveling  salesman  he?  As  Candy 
says  wistfully,  "It's  nice  to  have  a  man  with 
a  central  nervous  system."  Susie  (Mona 
Freeman)  is  the  youngest  sister,  and  every- 
body calls  her  "Gangrene."  Well,  that's  the 
set-up  when  Patric  Knowles  comes  along. 
He's  a  devil.  He  steals  Candy's  heart,  and 
quite  incidentally,  $3,500  of  the  townspeople's 
money. 

But  soon  Candy's  seen  the  error  of  her 
ways,  and  she's  tricked  the  rotter  she  once 
cared  for,  and  she's  got  the  money  back. 
Everybody's  happy  except  her,  then.  She's 
stuck  with  Horace,  until  the  next  salesman 
hits  town.  Incidentally,  the  wonderful  Pearl 
Bailey  sings  her  way  through  the  part  of  a 
housemaid,  with  fingernails  an  inch  long, 
and  hair  as  carefully  coiffed  as  the  Duchess 
of  Windsor's.  But  that's  okay;  a  girl  like 
Pearl  shouldn't  be  playing  maids  anyway.— 
Para. 


that's  holt 


Butch  Jenkins'  mother  gave  him  a 
piece  of  rich  chocolate  cake.  "Oh  I 
just  love  this  chocolate  cake!"  Butch 
exclaimed.    "It's  awfully  nice." 

"Now  Butch,"  corrected  Mama  Doris 
Dudley,  "it's  wrong  to  say  you  'love' 
cake,  and  you  used  'just'  incorrectly 
in  that  sentence.  Besides  'awfully'  is 
wrong;  'very'  would  be  much  more 
correct.  Now  why  don't  you  repeat 
your  remark?" 

Butch  obediently  complied.  "I  like 
chocolate  cake.    It  is  very  good." 

"That's  much  better,  dear,"  said  his 
mother.  » 

"But,"  protested  Butch,  "it  sounds 
just  like  I  was  talking  about  bread." 

Irving  Hoffman  in 

The  Hollywood  Reporter 


REMINDER 

CCowfesy  Mothet>  A/afc/fie,") 


The  turn  of  summer  into  fall  is 
Nature's  most  poignant  reminder  of 
another  year  gone  by. 

It's  a  reminder  that  should  make  you 
think,  seriously,  that  you  yourself  are 
a  year  closer  to  the  autumn  of  your 
own  particular  life. 

What  steps  have  you  taken  . . .  what 
plan  do  you  have  ...  for  comfort  and 
security  in  those  later  years? 

You  can  have  a  very  definite  plan — 
one  that's  automatic  and  sure. 

If  you're  on  a  payroll,  sign  up  to  buy 


U.  S.  Savings  Bonds  on  the  Payroll 
Plan,  through  regular  deductions  from 
your  wages  or  salary. 

If  you're  not  on  a  payroll  but  have  a 
bank  account,  get  in  on  the  Bond-A- 
Month  Plan  for  buying  Bonds  through 
regular  charges  to  your  checking 
account. 

Do  this  .  .  .  stick  to  it  .  .  .  and  every 
fall  will  find  you  richer  by  even  more 
than  you've  set  aside.  For  your  safe, 
sure  investment  in  U.  S.  Savings  will 
pay  you  back — in  ten  years — 2100  for 
every  $75  you've  put  in. 


AUTOMATIC'  SAVING 
IS  SURE  SAVING- 
U.S.  SAVINGS  BONOS 

Contributed  by  this  magazine  in  cooperation  with  the  Magazine  ff\^~ 
Publishers  of  America  as  a  public  service. 


After  the  engagement 
these 


Two  blocks  of  ster- 
ling inlaid  at  back 
of  bowls  and  handles 
of  most  used  spoons 
and  forks  make  this 
silverplate  finer,  dif- 
ferent .  .  .  stay  love- 
lier longer.  Fifty-two 
piece  set  S68.50 
with  chest.  (No Fed- 
eral Tax.)  All  pat- 
terns made  in  the 
V.  S.  A. 


HOLMES  &  EDWARDS 

STERLING  INLAID' 
SILVERPLATE 


Copyright  1948  The  International  Silver  Co,,  Holmes  &  Edwards  Division, 
Meriden,  Conn.  Sold  in  Canada  by:  The  T.  Eaton  Co.,  ltd.  °Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Off. 


SHE  WEARS  A 


Bra  Style  No.  312 
About  $2.00 


BRA 


<jy> 


I?       FOR  THE  LINES  THAT  BRING 


At  Better  Stores  Everywhere. 
MISS  AMERICA  BRASSIERE  CO. 
Chicago  7,  Illinois 


also  showing ... 


A  DATE  WITH  JUDY  (M-G-M) —Another  com- 
edy about  teen-agers  and  those  intense  but 
innocent  problems.  Elizabeth  Taylor,  June 
Powell,  Robert  Stack,  Wallace  Beery,  Car- 
men Miranda,  and  Xavier  Cugat  and  his 
band  make  it  all  very  pleasant. 
A  FOREIGN  AFFAIR  (Para.)— Jean  Arthur  is 
wonderfully  funny  as  a  strong-minded  Con- 
gresswoman  who  goes  to  Germany  to  look 
into  moral  conditions  of  U.  S.  occupation 
troops.  John  Lund  and  Marlene  Dietrich 
also  turn  in  smash  performances.  A  bril- 
liant, outspoken  comedy  you  shouldn't  miss. 
BEYOND  GLORY  (Para.)— West  Pointer  Alan 
Ladd  is  charged  with  Tom  Neal's  wartime 
death  before  coming  to  the  Academy.  Alan 
is  in  love  with  Neal's  widow,  Donna  Reed. 
Told  mostly  in  flashbacks,  this  is  pretty 
foolish  stuff. 

DEEP  WATERS  (20th-Fox)  -Dana  Andrews,  a 
Maine  fisherman,  loves  Jean  Peters.  Trouble 
is,  she  hates  the  sea.  But  things  get  worked 
out.  Fairly  fresh  and  entertaining,  if  not 
too  believable.  With  Dean  Stockwell,  Anne 
Revere,  Cesar  Romero. 

EASTER  PARADE  (M-G-M)— Fred  Astaire,  Judy 
Garland,  Peter  Lawford,  Ann  Miller,  Irving 
Berlin's  tunes,  lovely  girls  and  witty  lines 
make  this  a  practically  perfect  musical.  The 
story's  amusing,  too,  the  dancing  superb  and 
Charles  Walters'  direction  is  bright. 
EMBRACEABLE  YOU  (Warners)— A  tear-jerker 
about  two  young  people,  Dane  Clark  and 
Geraldine  Brooks,  living  on  borrowed  time. 
At  times  it  gets  exciting,  but  mostly  it's  de- 
signed to  make  you  borrow  your  date's 
handkerchief. 

GIVE   MY  REGARDS  TO   BROADWAY  (20th-Fox) 

— A  nice  little  tale  to  please  old-timers  and 
bobby-sox  admirers  of  Dan  Dailey,  as  well. 
Barbara  Lawrence,  Nancy  Guild,  Charles 
Winninger,  Fay  Bainter  and  a  lot  of  old 
songs  keep  you  smiling  while  you  weep. 
HAMLET  ( Univ. -Int. )  — Laurence  Olivier  and 
some  other  talented  folk  have  turned  Shake- 
speare's masterpiece  into  a  magnificent  film, 
filled  with  excitement  and  thrillingly  beau- 
tiful. Easily  one  of  the  great  motion  pic- 
tures of  all  time. 

JOHNNY  BELINDA  (Warners)  —Gentle  country 
doctor  Lew  Ayres  takes  an  interest  in  deaf- 
mute  Jane  Wyman,  who  is  an  object  of  ridi- 
cule in  a  small  Nova  Scotia  town.  She  be- 
comes pregnant  and  the  scandalized  towns- 
people blame  Lew.  A  gripping  story,  su- 
perbly acted. 

LULU  BELLE  (Col.)— Dorothy  Lamour  is  a 
smouldering  siren  of  horse-and-buggy  days. 
She  makes  George  Montgomery,  Greg  Mc- 
Clure,  Albert  Dekker  and  Otto  Kruger  play- 
things of  passion.  Avoid  this. 
MELODY  TIME  (RKO)—  Seven  excellent  Disney 
shorts,  strung  together  like  a  variety  show. 
Dennis  Day,  Frances  Langford,  Freddie 
Martin,  Ethel  Smith  and  the  Andrews  Sisters 
take  care  of  some  fine  off-screen  music.  Roy 
Rogers  appears  briefly  and  narrates  a  se- 
quence. Delightful! 

MICKEY  (Eagle-Lion) — Lois  Butler,  an  en- 
chanting 16-year-old,  debuts  in  this  tale  of 
a  pretty  tomboy  who  grows  up  despite  her- 
self. With  John  Sutton,  Bill  Goodwin, 
Irene  Hervey,  Skip  Homeier,  Leon  Taylor. 
MOONRISE  (Rep.) — This  concerns  a  cowardly 
young  killer  toward  whom  we're  asked  to  be 
sympathetic.  Dane  Clark  does  none  too  well 
in  the  part  but  Gail  Russell  and  Ethel  Bar- 
rymore  bolster  things.    Cheaply  sensational. 

MR.   PEABODY  AND  THE  MERMAID  (Univ.-lnt.) 

— William  Powell,  a  proper  Bostonian, 
meets  a  mermaid  (Ann  Blyth).  A  promising 
comedy  situation — which,  unhappily,  quick- 


ly peters  out.  Before  it  does,  though,  there 
are  a  number  of  laughs.  And  it  is  unusual. 

PITFALL  (Regal-U.A.)— Dick  Powell,  tired  of 
his  routine  insurance  job,  longs  for  wild  ad- 
venture— and  gets  mixed  up  in  some  terri- 
fying underworld  goings-on.  A  tense,  so- 
phisticated job.  Powell,  Lizabeth  Scott,  and 
Jane  Wyatt  are  excellent  and  Raymond  Burr 
will  curdle  your  blood.    A  superior  exciter. 


ROPE  (Warners)  — Two  rich  young  psycho- 
paths deliberately  murder  to  prove  their 
superiority  in  this  Alfred  Hitchcock  Tech- 
nicolor chiller.  James  Stewart  is  a  profes- 
sor who  solves  the  crime.  New  techniques 
and  distinguished  acting  help  make  this  hor- 
ribly memorable. 

SORRY.  WRONG  NUMBER  (Para.)  —Bed-ridden 
Barbara  Stanwyck  accidently  overhears  a 
telephone  conversation  in  which  her  mur- 
der is  plotted.  Terrific  suspense  develops 
while  events  leading  up  to  the  situation  are 
told  in  flashbacks.  Burt  Lancaster  and  Ann 
Richards  are  featured.  Don't  miss  it. 
TAP  ROOTS  (Univ.-lnt.) —A  story  of  Missis- 
sippi in  post-Civil  War  days.  Some  stirring 
fights  and  pretty  Technicolor  vistas,  but  not 
a  lot  more.  Susan  Hayward,  Van  Heflin  and 
Boris  Karloff  work  hard  in  miscast  roles. 
THAT  LADY  IN  ERMINE  (20th-Fox>  —Directed 
by  the  late  Ernst  Lubitsch,  performed  by 
Betty  Grable,  Doug  Fairbanks,  Jr.  and  Cesar 
Romero,  lavishly  produced  in  Technicolor, 
this  is  a  disappointing  and  silly  comedy. 
Wotta  waste. 

THE  BABE  RUTH  STORY  (Mono.) —A  highly 
sentimentalized  biography  of  the  best  ball- 
player who  ever  lived.  Entertaining  enough, 
but  a  bit  more  realism  would  have  helped. 
William  Bendix  plays  the  legendary  Babe. 
THE  BLACK  ARROW  (Col.)— A  costume  adven- 
ture opus,  based  on  the  Robert  Louis  Stev- 
enson book.  Louis  Hayward  is  the  dashing 
hero,  Janet  Blair  the  sappy  heroine.  Fair. 
THE  DUDE  GOES  WEST  (Mono.)  — A  dismal 
Western.  Eddie  Albert,  Jimmy  Gleason, 
Binnie  Barnes,  Gale  Storm  and  Gilbert  Ro- 
land are  in  it.  They  must  hate  themselves. 
THE  EYES  OF  TEXAS  (Rep.)  —Roy  Rogers  and 
the  great  Trigger  once  again  pit  their  rugged 
virtues  against  the  forces  of  evil.  Filled 
with  satisfactory  violence,  it  won't  disap- 
point addicts  of  the  he-went-thataway  school. 
THE  ILLEGALS  (20th-Fox)  —A  dramatic  semi- 
documentary  film  about  displaced  Jews  on 
their  perilous  way  to  Palestine.  m  Performed 
entirely  by  non-professionals,  it  is  crude, 
frank,  and  heartbreaking.  Unforgettable. 
THE  STREET  WITH  NO  NAME  (20th-Fox) -A  docu- 
mentary-style cops-and-robbers  thriller 
taken  from  that  lurid  goldmine,  the  FBI 
files.  Richard  Widmark  scores  again  as  a 
gangster  and  Mark  Stevens  and  Lloyd  Nolan 
are  realistic  as  G-Men.  First-rate  of  its  type. 
THE  VELVET  TOUCH  (RKO) —Rosalind  Russell 
plays  a  hot-headed  actress  in  this  murder 
movie.  Claire  Trevor,  Sydney  Greenstreet, 
Leon  Ames  and  Leo  Genn  are  also  involved. 
Excellent  acting,  slick  entertainment. 
THE  WALLS  OF  JERICHO  (20th-Fox)  —  Scene: 
Jericho,  Kansas,  1908.  A  shrewish  alcoholic, 
Ann  Dvorak,  is  wed  to  Cornel  Wilde,  a 
bright  lawyer.  Linda  Darnell,  wife  of  his 
best  friend,  Kirk  Douglas,  makes  a  play  for 
Cornel.  Cornel  falls  for  a  lady  lawyer,  Anne 
Baxter.  Result:  solid  drama,  ace  acting. 
TWO  GUYS  FROM  TEXAS  (Warners) —Here  we  \ 
have  comedy  experts  Dennis  Morgan  and 
Jack  Carson  as  a  pair  of  down-at-heels  night- 
club performers.  Newcomer  Dorothy  Ma- 
lone  sparkles  and  there  are  some  good  songs. 
A  bright,  breezy,  lightweight  yarn. 


■  You  use  lipstick,  of  course — and  for  that  very  reason  your 
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I  With  a  few  simple  brush  strokes  of  Maybelline  Mascara, 

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And  to  keep  pace  with 
the  ever-increasing  demand 

Chesterfield  is  building  another  factory 

—  it's  large  — it's  modern  and  in  the  very  heart 
of  Tobaccoland  where  the  Chesterfield  Factory 

group  and  tobacco-ageing  warehouses 
are  already  "A  city  within  a  city' 


WmXto  they  Satisfy  Millions  SO  MILD  theyll  Satisfy  You 


Copyright  1918,  Liggett  &  Myf.rs  Tobacco  Co.