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No tooth paste kills germs the way Listerine Antiseptic does . . . on contact, by millions, on every mouth and throat surface. That's why . . . Listerine stops "bad breath 4 times "better than tooth paste ! YOU KILL GERMS ON 4 TIMES AS MUCH ORAL SURFACE THE LISTERINE WAY* OIL! T::th paste reaches The Listerine way kills germs on teeth, tongue. throat, palate, everywhe NOW- TOTAL RELIEF FROM PERIODIC DISTRESS FEMICIN TABLETS Hospital-tested, prescription-type formula provides total treatment in a single tablet I Worked even when others failed! Now, through a revolutionary discovery of medical science, a new, prescription-type tab- let provides total relief from periodic com- plaints. When cramps and pains strike, FEMICIN'S exclusive ingredients act in- stantly to end your suffering and give you back a sense of well-being. If taken before pain starts-at those first signs of heaviness and distress — further discomforts may never develop. No simple aspirin compound can give you this complete relief. Get FEMICIN at your drugstore today! It must give you greater relief than you have ever experienced or your purchase price will be refunded. For samples and informative booklet, "What You Should Know About Yourself As a Woman!", send 1W for postage and handling. Box 225, Dpt. Di3,ChurchSt.Sta.,N.Y.8,N.Y. modern JANUARY. 1960 AMERICA'S GREATEST MOVIE MAGAZINE STORIES Mario Lanza 20 An Ave Maria for Mario by Ed DeBlasio Errol Flynn 22 "Errol Flynn Died In My Arms" by George Carpozi. Jr. EXCLUSIVE photos by BILL C RE SPIN EL from COMBINE Debbie Reynolds 24 Cool It, Debbie! Annette Funicello ' , Pool Anko 26 The Thrill Of First Love by Steve Kahn Troy Donohoe 28 Troy by Deborah Marshall Jimmie Rodger* 30 "We Were Afraid We Couldn't Have A Baby" by Colleen Rodgers as told to Helen Weller Elizobeth Toylor , „ _ Eddie Fisher 32 Eddie's Love Cured Me! by Doug Brewer Betle Davis Gary Merrill 34 Home For Christmas by Hugh Burrell Kingston Trio 51 Introducing The Kingston Trio Sextette by Kirtley Baskette A SPECIAL 16-PAGE REPORT 35 The Fabulous Fifties FEATURETTE Grela Chi 55 Meet Greta Chi Louello Parsons DEPARTMENTS 9 Eight-Page Gossip Extra 4 The Inside Story 4 January Birthdays 6 New Movies 53 Disk Jockeys' Quiz 73 $150 For You Cover Photograph from Wide World Other Photographers' Credits on Page 72 by Florence Epstein by Lyle Kenyon Engel DAVID MYERS, editor SAM BLUM, managing editor TERRY DAVIDSON, story editor LINDA OLSHEIM, production editor ED DeBLASIO, special correspondent BEVERLY tINET, contributing editor ERNESTINE R. COOKE, ed. assistant GENE HOYT, research director MICHAEL LEFCOURT, art editor HELEN WELLER, west coast editor DOLORES M. SHAW, asst. art editor MARIO GUILIAN0, photo research LUPITA RODRIGUEZ, photo research SHELDON BUCHANSKY, reader service EUGENE WITAL, photographic art AUGUSTINE PENNETTO, cover FERNANDO TEXIDOR. art director POSTMASTER: Please send notice^orf For 3579 to 321 West New York 36, New York MODERN SCREEN, Vol. 54, No. 1. January. Harold CUrk. Vioe-rro,.!ent-;\.ivf rt,<„i>: Direct.^ roM.shed . simultaneously - - ■ ' :ured under the prov^ifns e-t Hie revised for the pro- When that lady walks in. all restraint flies out! Enjoy love among the adults as it's never been loved before ... with even the FBI unable to find a law to stop it! COLUMBIA PICTURES presents TONY CURTIS • DEAN MARTIN • JANET LEIGH Wivr mi -tkaZ^i/? Co-starr;ng JAMES WHITMORE - JOHN MclNTIRE • BARBARA NICHOLS Written ond Produced b, NORMAN KRASNA • t^^^^^^a^^l^l%^y0i^^ by GEORGE SIDNEY AN ANSARK-GEORGE SIDNEY PRODUCTION JANUARY BIRTHDAYS If your birthday falls in January, your birthstone is the garnet and your flower is the carnation. And here are some of the stars who share it with you: January l — Dana Andrews Charles Bickford January 3 — Ray Mi I land January 4 — Barbara Rush Jane Wyman January 5 — Jean-Pierre Aumont January 6— Loretta Young January 7 — Terry Moore January 8 — Jose Ferrer Elvis Presley January 9 — Fernando Lamas January 10— Judy Garland Paul Henreid Sal Mineo January 1 3— Judy Busch Jeff Morrow Robert Stack January 14— William Bendix January 15— Margaret O'Brien January 16— Ethel Merman January 17— Sheree North January 18— Cary Grant Danny Kaye January if— Guy Madison January 20— Patricia Neal Alex Nicol January 21— John Agar J. Carrol Naish January 22— Ann Sothern January 23— Dan Duryea January 24— Ernest Borgnine January 25— Dean Jones January 26— Mary Murphy Paul Newman January 27— Katy Jurado Donna Reed January 29— John Forsythe Victor Mature January 30 — Dorothy Malone Dolores Michaels John Ireland Hugh Marlowe January 31— Jean Simmons David Way 4 January 30 Joanne Dru January 31 Want the real truth? Write to IIVSIDE STORY, Modern Screen. Box 515, Times Square P.O., N.Y. 36, N.Y. The most interesting letters will appear in this column. Sorry, no personal replies. For vital statistics and biographical information about the stars get Modern Screen's SUPER STAR CHART. Coupon, page 57. Q. What made Jennifer Jones consider studying with Lee Strasberg when she's been in pictures over fifteen years and already has an Oscar? — R.H., Hewlett, L.I. A. The reviews of her last movie. Q. Is it true that John Wayne has gone on the wagon because his doctor warned him his health would be seriously im- paired if he continued drinking? — P.W., Pittsburgh, Pa. A. Wayne was advised to cat down — not out. He has a martini before dinner now, a couple of drinks afterwards. Q. I have heard our darling Elvis will give up rock 'n' roll singing when he re- turns to his career and concentrate only on straight ballads. What about this? — T.W., Butte, Mont. A. Elvis won't give up rock 'n' roll as his bread V butter. He'll try out a few extra ballads however to insure his fu- ture when the fad fizzles. 9- Now that Eva Gobor has married for the '"Xth" time, exactly how many husbands have the Gabor gals chalked up amongst themselves? — C.H., Orlando, Fla. A. Including mama — thirteen. Q. Whatever happened to the recon- ciliation so dramatically staged between Corn Williams and John Barrymore Jr. for the sake of their son? — P. A., Litchfield, Conn. A. John went off to France. Cara went off to the out-of-town tryout of her new play, the reconciliation went out the window. Q. Although Leo Durocher and Laraine Day have denied that there is trouble in their marriage, in vour opinion is there a rift? — WT.R., Washington, D.C. A. Where there's smoke there's fire and we think this marriage has burned itself out. 9- Now that Binq Crosby has recon- ciled with his sons, and all is well be- tween him and Gary again, do you think this will change Gary's less-than-friendly attitude toward his step-mother Kathy? — L.D., Portland, Ore. A. No. 9. What happened to cause the John Bromfield's (of TV's U.S. Marshal) split? — F.D., Trenton, N.J. A. The marriage allegedly struck out when John suspected foul play between his wife and a famed baseball figure. Their friends, however, feel that Larri (his wife) made an error by leaving home base. . I read conflicting reports about Ice Palace newcomer Diane McBain's big heart-interest. One paper says Richard Burton, the other Troy Donahue. Which fellow is it? — R.Y., Madison, Wis. A. Since Burton is married, it is ob- viously Troy. Q. I saw the Jeff Chandlers together at a sports event here in Los Angeles. Does this mean a possibility of a recon- ciliation ? — S.F., Los Angeles, Calif. A. No — merely the fact that Jeff had an extra ticket and his ex-wife wanted to see the game 9- Exactly what were Liz Taylor's de- mands for appearing in Butterfield 8 — and why, after al) the hassles, did MGM finally agree to them ? — R.D., Staten Island, N.Y. A. Clean up the plot, re-write the script, shoot in New York. The grosses of Cat On A Hot Tin Roof caused the studio to give Liz what she wanted. She's a big draw, and MGM knows it. 9. How much money is Bobby Darin getting for his first movie? How much did Fabian get? How does Ricky Nel- son rate? — Q.W., Dallas. Texas A. Bobbv's getti.ig $45,000, Fabian got $35,000. Ricky wants $100,000. 9- Is it true that Dick Clark is annoyed at his teen-age following after the riot that was caused when he made a per- sonal appearance in Kansas City re- cently, and that he secretly referred to the rioters as a bunch of juvenile de- linquents? — K.C.. Reno. Nev. A. Dick referred to the rioters as "adult delinquents." Most o1 them were over tort v vears old GARY GRANT * TONY CURTIS submerged with 5 Girls. ..no wonder the S.S. SEA tiger was called co.starring JOAN O'BRIEN-DINA MERRILL -GENE EVANS., DICK SARGENT ARTHUR OCONNELL BLfiKE EDWARDS • Screenplay by STANLEY SHAPIRO and MAURICE RiCHLIN Produced by ROBERT ARTHUR • A GRANART PRODUCTION • A UNIVERSAL INTERNATIONAL RELEASE new 1 1 U lorence epstein M none of the pretty u'.'rls at the Fabian Pub- lishing Company want to live up to. What do these pretty girls do? One of them (Diane Baker) dreams of playboy Robert Evans as the father of her child. But that's no minister he's driving her to (in his foreign sportscar) : that's an abortionist. Suzy Parker throws her- self at theatrical director Louis Jourdan; he ducks — and she goes out the window. Martha Hyer has nervous hysterics over art editor Donald Harron (he won't divorce his wife). Hope Lange loses her fiance to an oil-well heiress — so she starts wearing hats to the office, and gets a promotion. The hats dis- courage editor Brian Aherne from pinching her fanny, but they worry editor Stephen Boyd. Boyd's afraid that if the wind stops blowing through Hope's hair she"ll turn cold like Crawford. Tired but true, Stephen is available for love. If these girls get the worst of everything it's no wonder. Considering their emotional capacities the wonder is they :an hold on to a job. — Cinemascope, 20th- Fox. - 30 - life in the city room Jack Webb William Conrad David Nelson Whitney Blake Louise Larimer THE BEST OF EVERYTHING Hope Lange Stephen Boyd career qirls versus love Suz2 Pa*he5 Joan Crawford Martha Hyer ■ If anything good ever happens to a career girl in New York, it's sheer accident. If a career girl should ever meet a man in New York who is not amoral, immoral, married or drunk, it's an absolute miracle. No working woman in New York believes in her work; she only turns to it in despair. That, at least, is the forlorn message of this movie. Go ahead, take editor Joan Crawford — no man ever did (for a wife, that is). She's too clever, too cold, too efficient; she's the example that ■ You may think that things are happening outside — that is, out in the world where people are. Well, that may be where some things happen, but the most important things hap- pen inside. Inside a newspaper office where Jack Webb is. Where he is the editor. Tell you what happens there. Nothing. Never have so many reporters and copyboys and city editors and lady editors done so much talking about so little. (Mention the weather in there and you'll get a discourse on the nature of realitv — with a two column head.) I'll tell Jpss by kiss the time ran out FRANK SINATRA He was one of the forgotten few, fighting a forgotten war in CinemaScope and METR0C0L0R i63mVk Co-starring * - nnr you some of the things that are happening outside, which this newspaper notes in pass- ing: a three-year-old girl wanders into a sewer without her glasses; an ace pilot (rela- tive of a lady editor) makes a test flight: it's raining. But inside I Inside. Jack Webb strolls from desk to desk, curbing his mounting tur- moil. He has mounting turmoil because his wife (Whitney Blake) wants to adopt a child — and he doesn't want to. Inside, city editor William Conrad drinks forty cups of coffee, writhes in agony at the sight of David Xelson (he's a copyboy). reels off witticisms as though he were auditioning for the part of a city editor and Elia Kazan were hiding under his desk. Inside, heiress Nancy Valen- tine indulges in nasalized tirades trying to prove she can so be a girl reporter even though she went to Smith (the college, not the cough-drop company). Inside, all is drama of the sort that never gets into a news- paper— and never should. — Warxers. BELOVED INFIDEL a novelist and a lady Deborah Kerr Gregory Peck Eddie Albert Karin Booth John Sutton ■ Last year. Hollywood columnist Sheilah Graham wrote a book about her life. In it was the story of her romance with F. Scott Fitzgerald, one of the outstanding novelists of our time. The book was a natural tor a movie — and here it is. With Deborah Kerr as Sheilah and Gregory Peck as F. Scott Fitz- gerald. It opens on an ocean liner with Deb- orah sailing for Xew York from London, her home. Lord John Sutton doesn't want her to go. He wants her to stay and marry him — even if his mother cuts him off without a cent. Deborah's too practical, too ambitious to ac- cept this sort of proposal. Shortly after her arrival in the States she becomes a reporter, is sent to Hollywood where she attracts at- tention by sniping at movie stars, notably at the glamour girl of the hour — Karin Booth. Eddie Albert (as the late Robert Benchley) befriends Deborah and, at one of his parties, she meets Gregory Peck. Peck's once-beloved wife has been in a sanitarium for years, his reputation as a novelist is at a low ebb, he drinks too much. He and Deborah fall in love. Their romance is gay. tender, touching. Dur- ing this period he begins, but never finishes, what critics later consider his most mature novel. But for him happiness comes too late to save him; for Deborah it comes in time to make a real woman of her. — 20th-Fox. LI'L ABNER Dogpatch. U.S-A. Peter Palmer Leslie Parrish Stubby Kaye Howard St. John Julie Newmar ■ Just imagine all those beautiful girls from Dogpatch in Technicolor. Imagine Sadie Haw- kins" day when the girls chase the fellows and Appassionata (Stella Stevens) puts the 'whammy' on Li-1 Abner (Peter Palmer) thus clearing the field of Daisy Mae (Leslie Par- rish). Daisy is loved by Earthquake McGoon (Bern Hoffman) — the world's 'champeen dirty wrassler' who is dirty enough to want to steal her away from Abner. But the folks have even bigger problems brought on by the government's decision to use Dogpatch as an atomic testing ground. Dogpatch, according to the government, is the '"most useless town in America." Useless ! When it can produce a tonic that turns apes into matinee idols? When, under the statue of Jubilation T. Corn- pone, is found a tablet signed Abraham Lin- coln ? Abner takes the town's fight to Wash- ington and before he's through, Dogpatch be- comes a national shrine. Lots of songs and lively dancing. — Vistayjsion. Paramount. THE WRECK OF THE MARY DEARE Gary Cooper Charlton Heston adventure at sea Michael Redgrave Emlyn Williams Virginia McKenna ■ There's a gale blowing in the English Chan- nel when two ships don't pass each other in the night: they collide. Aboard the Sea Witch, a salvage boat, are Charlton Heston and Ben Wright. Aboard the Mary Deare is no one — or so it seems when Heston boards her. Only one lifeboat is left, a fire is raging and the ship is heading toward a rocky grave- yard. Suddenly Heston is seized from behind by Gary Cooper, the captain himself, a man who looks and acts as if he's been having violent nightmares. The question is: how did the Mary Deare deteriorate into practically a ghost ship? The answer is: sabotage, mutiny — even murder. Cooper begins the story which ends in a London Court of Inquiry where he must defend himself against wild accusations. It's an adventure story in the salty old sense — full of blood, thunder and a heavy air of my sterv . — M GM . THE WONDERFUL COUNTRY Robert Mitchum Julie London north of the Rio Grande Gary Merrill Pedro Armendariz Albert Dekker ■ Robert Mitchum fled to Mexico as a boy — after killing a man who murdered his father. In Mexico he works for Pedro Armendariz who, with his brother, is rich and ambitious for power. This makes Mitchum a hired killer (Continued on page . and never so few were the moments left for love! The Opposite Sex and Ybur Perspiration Q. Do you know there are two kinds of perspiration? A. It's true! One is "physical." caused by work or exertion; the other is "nervous," stimulated by emotional excitement. It's the kind that comes in tender mo- ments with the "opposite sex." Q. How can you overcome this "emotional" perspiration? A. Science says a deodorant needs a special ingredient specifically formulated to overcome this emotional perspiration without irritation. And now it's here . . . exclusive Perstop*. So effective, yet so gentle. Q. Which perspiration is the worst offender? A. The "emotional" kind. Doc- tors say it's the big offender in underarm stains and odor. This perspiration comes from bigger, more powerful glands — and it causes the most offensive odor. Q. Why is arrid cream America's most effective deodorant? A. Because of Perstop*. the most remarkable anti-perspirant ever developed, ARRID CREAM Deo- dorant safely stops perspiration stains and odor without irrita- tion to normal skin. Saves your pretty dresses from "Dress Rot." "Why be only Half Safe ? use Arrid to be sure .' It's more effective than any cream, twice as effective as any roil-on or spray tested! Used daily, new antiseptic arrid with Perstop* actually stops underarm dress stains, stops "Dress Rot" stops perspiration odor completely for 24 hours. Get ARRID CREAM Deodorant today. •Carter Frcducts Tr.->d« iv.,, k 'or >- o. ii * «? i.y. ■>-. . .. .icn -urfaetants 43« new movies (Continued jrom page 7) — unloved in any country. One day he crosses the Rio Grande with an oxcart full of smug- gled pesos. Pedro sent him to buy guns. Unfortunately. Mitchum breaks his leg when his horse falls. There he lies, north of the border, wanted for an old murder. Albert Dekker, Captain of the Texas Rangers, is willing to forget Mitchum's past if he joins the Rangers. Julie London thinks only of their future. The present is what's bothering her: she's married to dedicated Army Major Gary Merrill. Because of Julie, Mitchum has to shoot a man. Back to Mexico he runs. Un- fortunately, Pedro never got the guns be sent pesos for and he blames Mitchum (actu- ally, the Apaches stole them). Pedro's willing to forget the guns if Mitchum agrees to assassinate his — Pedro's — brother. Nothing do- ing, says Mitchum. Back to the Rio Grande he gallops, trailed by a would-be executioner. En route Mitchum comes upon a patrol led by a dying Merrill and his chief officer LeRoy "Satchel'' Paige; they're fighting Apaches. There is no end to the action around Mitch- um who, underneath everything, is looking for a little peace of mind. — Technicolor, United Artists. RECOMMENDED MOVIES: A SUMMER PLACE (Warners): This is the place where old passions are rekindled, and new ones burst into flames. Among those with old memories are Richard Egan and Dorothy McGuire, who knew each other long ago on this summer island: he now has a frigid wife (Constance Ford) and she, a drunken husband (Arthur Kennedy). The victims of all these triangles, who build a new life and love together, are Troy Donahue and Sandra Dee. Sandra's egnant state brings ummer place." unfortunate and unmarried troubles crashing down on "thi THE LAST ANGRY MAN Dr. Pa David ' Betsv 1 who aimer and presently stumped over an idea ew show. Muni s nephew Joby Baker has an account of Uncle's treatment of a badly irl, left at his door by hoods. The way the ilds into an inspiring TV show and the way rhanged by Muni's noble character make a CAREER I Pi acknowledged struggle. It al company (on Dean Martin, like Robert 1 Blackman (it friends as a Anthony Franc .1,11c doesn't last). Then Ma big-shot in Hollywood and Fi marries Middleton s daughter Shirley MacL lush in love with Martin). Carolyn Jones, Fra agent, is the last member of this complicate It s good therapy for would-be actors. lass orgets ON THE BEACH (Unit, world is near after an & Anthony Perkins and Fr crew of an American At 1 Ai The end of the Gregory Peck, aire are part of the ubmarine headed for War Australia, the only safe place left. Perkins' wife. Donna Anderson, is pregnant: Ava Gardner is in love with Peck (who remembers only his dead wife and child); Astaire finds nothing left to him but suicide auto-racing. The banner in Melbourne's square savs "There's still time, brother." Find out how THE MOUSE THAT ROARED (Columbia): The Grand Duchy of Fenwick is full of people who look like Peter Sellers (he plays the roles of Duchess. Prime Minister and Field Marshal). When a Cali- fornia firm comes out with a cheap wine that imitates the product that keeps Fenwick going, the Duchy declares war on the U. S.. and wins! Sellers takes Professor David Kossoff (inventor of the terrible Q-Bomb), his daughter, Jean Seberg, and four po- licemen as prisoners of war. A funny clever satire. MODERN SCREEN'S 8 PAGE GOSSIP EXTRA by HOLLYWOOD'S GREATEST COLUMNIST Bob Neal was Debbie's escort for the lavish Thalian benefit. $55,000 teas raised that night for the Thalian children's clinic. The Thalian Wingding This is an annual wingding, with Debbie Reynolds, and the others active in this charity for the mentally retarded children's clinic, always working very hard to think of original skits and to put it over with a flourish. This year the theme for the show was those lost twenty minutes out of the Academy Award Show. As emcee Dick Powell stated, "This show is being presented without the cooperation of the Motion Picture Acad- emy of Arts and Sciences" (which took an awful drubbing about being twenty minutes short on the last televised awards program). Jimmy McHugh and I sat at the table with Dick Powell and June Allyson. Dinah Shore, and George Montgomery, Frances and Edgar Bergen and Kitty and Mervyn Le Roy. Dinah is certainly be- coming one of the world's best dressed women — her new gown was of rose silk — and really fabulous. The party was held in the ballroom of the Beverly Hilton Hotel and immediately follow- ing dinner the show went on. Believe me, the 'awards' were plenty crazy — here are some of them: June Allyson and Rory Calhoun pre- senting the award to "The Outstanding New Personality of the Year" in Hollywood. The winnah — The Fly'. Debbie Reynolds and Hugh O'Brtan made the award to "The Outstanding Con- tribution by an Outside Industry" (the nominees were Abbey Rents, Home Savings and Loan, and Instant Sweat — Sweat win- ning). Groucho Marx awarded the "Best Prop" to the bed in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof. This was followed by a skit based on Cat with Shirley MacLaine Ernie Ko- vacs and Louis Nye playing the parts created by Liz Taylor, Paul Newman and Burl Ives. (A bit risgue if you ask me.) But everyone seemed to have a good time and applauded long and loud when Debbie announced 355,000 had been raised. Eddie Cantor has Liz backstage at Everything's Going for Eddie Elizabeth Taylor, looking slim and her glamorous self again after losing all that un- becoming weight, sat with us during Eddie Fisher's show at the Desert Inn. As usual, when Eddie is performing, Liz didn't take her eyes off him. And, he still directs all his love songs straight to "Mrs. Fisher," as Eddie al- ways introduces her. Liz was wearing a black lace cocktail gown and even after the lights were lowered for Eddie's act, a lot of people kept watching Elizabeth — particularly the women. It was the first time I had spent an evening with Elizabeth since the start of all the Liz- Eddie-Debbie fuss. It's typical of Liz that she made no reference to this interim. Poised and sure of herself as always, she sort of 'picked up,' as it were, where we left off. At this time, she was terribly upset that MGM was going to suspend her for refusing to do Butterheld 8 which would kill her chances of doing Cleopatra and picking up a cool million dollars offered her by 20th. (Later, Elizabeth won every point she had demanded in this battle. The script of Butter- held 8 was rewritten to suit her. with much of the salaciousness taken out. And she was given permission to do Cleopatra as well! If you think Elizabeth Taylor isn't a plenty smart business woman you've under-estimated this belle.) But at this time, she didn't know she was going to get her way. "If I can only accept Cleopatra I'll take the money I receive and establish a trust fund for my children which will insure their security for life," she told me. "I suppose MGM thought if I got the mil- lion for Cleopatra I would retire without do- ing the movie I owe them on my old con- tract," she went on. "I offered to put up the million as collateral to prove my good faith and that I would keep my word to MGM. I never go back on my word," she said firmly. After Eddie's show, we went with Liz to his dressing room where we had champagne and toasted old times — and new. Eddie was in a wonderful humor and I meant it when I told him he was singing better than I had ever heard him. I've always liked him, and we were so close he used to call me "Mom." "I'm singing better because I am so happy," he said, putting his arm around "Mrs. Fisher." He drew Liz close and kissed her on the cheek, "I've got everything going for me. Mom," he whispered. I nominate for STARDOM Diane Baker: I don't know when I've been more im- pressed with a newcomer than I am with Diane in The Best of Everything. What a socko performance she gives as the pretty little secretary whose love is betrayed by a rich young cad. With her heart-shaped face, •wide hazel eyes, a completely natural beauty, she is unlike any other star personality. At first meeting, she strikes you as a de- mure, rather strait-laced little person with a formal manner. One of the 20th press agents :old me he was in daily contact with Diane dor eight weeks making Best and it wasn't until the last day of the picture that she called him by his first name! Also, she stated quite firmly in her polite way that she didn't think she would like to pose for cheesecake art. Nor would she attend movie premieres or parties with young actors she didn't know, just to be seen at the right places. A native of Los Angeles, her parents live here, but Diane doesn't live with them. She has a small apartment at the Chateau Mar- mont where she lives alone — and likes it. "I'm so single-minded about my career and I study drama so many long hours a day, it's best that I have my own place so I don't upset the routine of my family," she says. Diane was born in Hollywood Presbyterian Hospital during a terrific flood. Her mother is Dorothy Harrington Baker who used to play in Marx Brothers movies; her father is Clyde Baker, former USC star athlete. Diane attended local grade schools until her family moved to Laguna and it was in the little beach resort town that she became interested in school plays. Later, at Van Nuys High school, Diane was the star of the drama class. The rest of her way to a studio contract is almost routine — modeling, beauty contests, TV commercials in New York and then thp proverbial talent cout for 20th. 11 GJ^^»J continued Frankie, Bing, and Dean arrived late because they'd been taping a TV shoiv. PARTYo/ the month I always get a kick out of the way movie stars lionize sports figures when they meet them in person — the stars are really the big- gest fans in the world. At the party Kitty Le Roy gave honoring Mervyn's birthday, at the beautiful home of the Le Roys in Bel Air. Walter O'Malley, president of the World Champion Dodgers, was there as was his charming wife. And Mr. O'Malley had more movie stars hanging avidly on every word he uttered than the original Pied Piper had children on his trail. The biggest Dodger fan, of course, is Mervyn, and he was as delighted as a kid when the O'Malleys gifted him with a regu- lation Dodger baseball suit with his lucky number, sixty-two, written on it. Frank Sinatra, Bing Crosby and Dean Martin arrived late, after dinner, as they had been taping Frank's TV show on which Bing and Dean made guest appear- ances. But like all the rest of us they headed straight for Mr, O'Malley to get the 'inside' on how the Cinderella team of all time won the World Series. I overheard Mrs. Kirk Douglas telling Mrs. O'Malley that she is such a Dodger fan she is going to become an American citizen! Next to baseball, the Stork was the im- portant topic and a pretty group of mothers- to-be compared nursery notes. Among them was Dana Wynter (Mrs. Greg Bautzer) who looked so beautiful in a maternity gown; also Mrs. Dick Shawn (her husband has a top role in Mervyn's new movie Wake Me When It's Over) who is expectinc, their sec- ond, even though their first child is not yet a year old. and Los Angeles' Councilwoman Rosalind Wyman. Gloria and Jimmy Stewart sat at our table and Gloria and I told Mary (Mrs. Jack) Benny we'd like to take that beau- tiful dress of hers right off her back. It was a flowered satin with two shades of red roses — a knockout. George's Royal Rolls A handsome young man who asked me to go riding offered and produced a conveyance much to my taste. George Hamilton, the new white hope at MGM, invited me to dine with him and called for me in a Rolls-Royce. Such style! When I asked George, who has made only one or two films, how he came by such a swanky car he said: "The Rolls originally belonged to King George VI and Queen Elizabeth," this tall, dark and handsome twenty-six-year-old charmer said. (He hails from a wealthy and social family of Florida and had money be- fore he entered pictures.) He continued, "The Royal family couldn't use the car during the war so it was shipped to America. It's the first car I've bought for myself — and I love it." Unlike many of the new young bachelors on their way up the movie ladder, George didn't mind discussing his dates. When he was in Mississippi on location making Home From The Hill he had met Lynda Lee Meade. He escorted her to a couple of parties. "When she later won the 'Miss America' contest. I called her to congratulate her," George told me. "She's really a very nice girl and I hope to meet her again when I go East again — or South." He doesn't know ex- actly when that will be as he is soon starting Cimarron and it has a long shooting sched- ule. But George likes Lynda Lee and doesn't mind admitting it. George Hamilton, MGM's new white hope, drives a swanky 1938 Rolls-Royce that used to belong to England's King George VI and Queen Elizabeth. 12 Debbie on the Paar Show: Debbie Reynolds telephoned tc ask me and Jimmy McHugh to be her guests at the Thalian party and while I had her ear I asked, "What got into you to go on such a rampage on Jack Paar's TV show — tear- ing off his shirt and all that nonsense?" Debbie's antics had stirred up a lot of rcmment, not all of it complimentary. She said, "Jack told me not to be serious — tc live it up and act like I was having fun." Debbie sounded really chastened as she added, "I'm sorry if some people got the wrong impression." Chcnging the subject, I Said, "At least six people have called me this morning saying that Harry Karl has just paid S400,000 for an estate next to Dinah Shore's and that he bought the house for a honeymoon home for you. True or false?" This time, Debbie really laughed. "You know it isn't true. I like Hcrry. He's a nice man and a thoughtful one. But there's abso- lutely no thought of marriage between us and never has been." "How are those wonderful babies?" I asked, meaning adorable little Carrie Frances and Todd. "I sent them up to be with Eddie in Las Vegas over the week end," Debbie said, "and I never knew how much I could miss them! But it is only right that Eddie should have some time with Carrie Frances and Todd. Be- lieve me, though, I was the happiest mother in town when they got home this evening." France Nuyen hasn't apologized for her inexcusable behavior when photographers tried to snap her and Marlon Brando. names, even to changing initials on their luggage — but where in the world did they think they could go, except on a rocket to the moon, and not be recognized? One of the prices of rather unorthodox be- havior is some completely orthodox publicity. You can't have your fame — and be nobodies too. As France intends to resume her film career (she debuted in South Pacific} at 20th Cen- tury-Fox after the run of her play, it might behoove her to improve her relations with the press. Her boyfriend is a big star — but she isn't, yet. I'm on my SOAP BOX . . tc say I think the conduct of France Nuy- en (who may be the next Mrs. Marlon Brando} at the Miami airport when she and Marlon flew back from a little vacation in Haiti, was inexcusable. Miss Nuyen saw fit to strike out at reporters and photographers who report her conversation equally torrid. Surprisingly, Marlon stood by mere or less calmly — maybe he was so taken with the be- havior of his companion he decided to let her handle affairs for the two of them. France kept yelling something about her privacy — which is a laugh. When a young lady who is the star of a hit New York show, The World of Suzie Wcng, decides to take a trip with a young man who is probably one of the most famous actors in the world, she may expect many things — but privacy isn't one of them! True, Marlon and France assumed Icke 13 continued The Funeral The at E great crowd of three hundred fans ivho tvaited outside the chapel rrol Flynn's funeral behaved with decorum and respectful tribute. Wiser men than 1 have puzzled over the workings of the mass mind. In other words, who knows what the public is going to do? When six hundred people showed up for the funeral of Errol Flynn — only three hundred of them friends (inside the Chapel at Forest Lawn) and the others, fans and curious mourners — they behaved with such decorum and respectful tribute to the late great swash- buckling star, I couldn't help but recall an- other recent funeral. At the funeral of Tyrone Power, who lived, breathed and died like a gentleman — a boisterous crowd behaved like hoodlums. They screamed and yelled, and tore flowers off the WTeaths to stick in their hair and brought box lunches to munch beside his grave. Hysteria marked the whole shocking proceedings. Yet, the general deportment at the last rites for Errol — that gay scalawag — was as dignified as though a statesman was being laid to rest. I'm not going into all the angles of Errol's death. The less said about the Aadland girl, the better. I prefer to remember Errol as the gay charming, devilishly handsome man he was at the height of his stardom. He was a de- lightful friend, witty, well read, a fine con- versationalist. He was also his own worst enemy. The last time he came to town, he called me, as he always did. and we talked over the telephone. The papers were full of his arrival here with his "protege." I remember I said to him, "Errol. I don't approve of you. But I like you — and I always will." And I always will. The Crosby Rift Is Healed Had quite a nice talk with Bing Crosby who. the very next night, patched up his long standing feud with son Gary by drop- ping by the Moulin Rouge to catch the act of the Crosby Boys. I'm so glad this rift has been healed. It was so distressing and disillusioning to all the Crosby fans and friends. Bing was happy, too, about his first little daughter, Mary Frances. He was every inch the proud father, bustin' his buttons with pride, when he told me, "She's the daintiest little doll you ever saw — such a little beauty and with the loveliest hands." I have a feeling that not only will her famous dad spoil Missy Crosby, but so will those big brothers of hers. Lindsay, the youngest, stood up as godiather when Mary Frances was baptized and he presented her with a tiny cross of diamonds. Bing thought his sons the Moulin Rovgi right are Philip, Lindsay, Gary (with his arm around his dad) , Bing and Dennis. 14 Predictions for 1960 II you'll go along with me I think I'll have a little fun at this season of the year and look into my private crystcl ball to predict what I thin > is coming up in Hollywood news during 1960. I think — Kim Novak will become the bride of director Richard Quine. . . . Marlon Brando will marry France Nuyen (see SOAPBOX) Hope Lange will be the bright new star of 20th pictures. In The Best of Everything Hope gives premise of beina a new Grace Kelly'... The David Nivens' reconciliation will stick Elvis Presley will return to his career- and even greater popularity than he enjoyed before serving his stint in the Army in Ger many (and believe me that's plenty popular) Producers are already battling to get first call on Elvis after his Hcl Wallis movie, par tially completed Shirley MacLaine will get quite tern peramental until she comes to her senses, and the level-headed girl she really is, and realizes being "a ferninine Frank Sinatra doesn't pay. G.I. Eli the St Louella predicts that the recent reconciliation of handsome David Niven and his lovely ivife Hjordis is going, to stick. No Motor Scooter for Louella This has been my month for invitations from good-looking young men to go riding with them in an assortment of vehicles. Edd "Kookie" Byrnes and I hit it off great when we met at Dino's at dinner one night. A few afternoons later he came a'cclling at my home and didn't once comb his hair! "Kookie," who has sent the teenagers into their loudest squeals since the advent of Elvis Presley, flattered me by saying he hed been dying to meet me. Now girls, don't get too jealous but he invited me to take a ride on his motor scooter. "You must be kidding," I gasped. "Oh. no — it's safe," he laughed. "It has a side car which is very comfortable. The studio (Warners) won't let me drive it except around the lot — so there's no danger." I told "Kookie" I would take this into con- sideration, but you can bet your last dollar I'm taking no rides in that contraption — • Kcckie" or no "Kookie." A fan predicts Audrey Hepburn will Kay Kendall has left a ivonder- The Tuesday Weld controversy get an Oscar for "The Nun's Story." ful legacy-magnificent courage. rages; some like her ortgnwhty. LETTER BOX The Tuesday Weld controversy rages and rages! Enid DeVore, Atlanta, represents one school: Hurrah for Tuesday who dares to be herself in convention-ridden Hollywood! She has courage and guts to defy those who would mold every young girl on the screen into another Sandra Dee. So Tuesday goes barefoot? So her hair looks like a mop? So she sounds like a beatnik? She's different — she's original, she's herself! Now comes Mrs. Bob Beers, Los Angeles: Never have I seen anything on TV as dis- gusting as Tuesday Weld on Paul Coates TV show. Looking like nothing ever seen be- fore (wasn't she wearing a nightgown?), her answers to intelligent questions were as fuzzy as her eyes. Can't someone stop this What's- Her-Name before other silly young girls start acting like her? Blinky Champagne, Covington, La., (is that a real name, Blinky?). writes: Shame on you, Louella. You have let Tab Hunter down as much as his fickle fans. Two or three years ago your Modern Screen news was filled with Tab and his doings. Now — Silence where he is concerned. Isn't he as talented as ever? Yes. although Tab's TV ap- pearances have been better than his recent movies. Tab was lost in That Kind of Wom- an. Hollywood need look no more for next year's Oscar winner among the women stars, opines Clarissa Burnside, East Detroit. Mich. Audrey Hepburn will get it hands down for her superb performance in The Nun s Story. Audrey thanks you, I'm sure, Clarissa. Kay Elizabeth Dietz, Mt. Prospect. III.. writes a beautiful letter about Kay Kendall. How terrible the loss of her gaiety, her beauty and her talent. But what a wonderful legacy she left us with — her magnificent courage. Hans J. Ring, New Haven. Conn., writes a most intelligent letter in excellent English. / have been in this country for only two months, having come over from Germany to make my permanent home here. My first im- pression on movies and movie magazines is there is too much emphasis on teenagers and their preferences. Write please about June Ally son (where is she hiding?}. Jessie Roy ce Landis and Thelma Ritter. June has her own TV show. Hans. Jessie Royce Landis is very good in North By Northwest and Thelma is all over the screen and TV. Will Peasl Johnston, Arlee. Montana, who wrote the lovely poem in memory of Ritchie Valens (I piinted a part of it in this department) please send copies of the entire poem to Mary Anne Manff, 3807 Ver- mont Rd., Atlanta 19, Ga.. (she is presi- dent of the Ritchie Valens Memorial Club and also to Lois Teller. 630 Pasadena Ave.. St. Petersburg, Fla.? Did William Holden leave this country to live in Switzerland fo deliberately avoid paying income taxes in the U.S.A.? indig- nantly inquires Lillian V. McMasters. New York. N.Y. He says not, Mrs. McV.— Bill says he can keep his eye on his business interests ( Japan and Africa) better if he locates in Europe. At least, that's what the man says. Maureen Cassiday, Ft. Worth, Texas. says she is just sixteen years old, but pretty smart, in her own words: J can tell producers they won't start making big money again until they again start making love stories like Love Is A Many Splendored Thing or The Best of Everything which 1 have just seen. Men's stories. Westerns, war yarns, etc., do not draw in the women. Hurray for The Best of Everything and wonderfu Diane Baker and Hope Lange. That's all for now. See you next month. ■ Is it true . . blondes have more fun? t 41 Just for the fun of it, be a blonde and see ... a Lady Clairol blonde with shining, silken hair ! You'll love the life in it ! The soft touch and tone of it ! The lovely ladylike way it lights up your looks. With amazingly gentle new Instant Whip Lady Clairol. it's so easy ! Why, it takes only minutes ! And New Lady Clairol feels deliciously cool going on, leaves hair in wonderful condition— lovelier, livelier than ever. So if your hair is dull blonde or mousey brown, why hesitate? Hair responds to Lady Clairol like a man responds to blondes — and darling, that's a beautiful advantage! Try it and see! Your hairdresser will tell you a blonde's best friend s NEW INSTANT WHIP* Lady Clairof Creme Hair Lightener )1959 Clairol Incorporated, Stamford, Conn. Available ; GIFTS, $1 TO $25 this season we celeBRate the BiRth of our Lor6. we celeBRate the BiRth of a new yeaR, a new oecade. and we celeBRate all this in ]oy an6 hope. But this season, we'Re also fORced to mouRn. two men have died who meant much to us. one man could sing like an angel, the otheR...well, he was sometimes thought of as a 6evil... except By his fRiends. much of hollywood's glORy an6 excitement died with MAEIO AND mama mamo v PHILADELPHIA— 1921: The midwife wrapped the baby in a soft white blanket and placed it in its weary mother's arms. Then she turned to the dark, good-looking man who sat in the wheelchair alongside the bed — the new baby's father, wounded badly, perma- nently, in the Great War that had ended only a couple of years be- fore— and she asked, "Now it is the time for the three of you to be alone — you and your wife and your new one, eh?" The man nodded. . "And for me," the midwife continued, "it is time to go and make myself a nice big cup of coffee." She left the bedroom of the apartment and went to the kitchen. It wasn't long after, as she sat at the table, sipping from her cup, that she heard a knock on the door. "Yes?" she called out. A neighbor woman poked her head in. "I heard the screaming, from upstairs ... Is it born yet?" she asked, excitedly. "Yes," the midwife said, "it is born." "A boy. like they wanted?" (Continued on page 70) BY GEORGE CARPOZI, JR. ■ Enrol Flynn died the way he lived, surrounded by the things he liked best — good liquor and a beautiful young girl. He died in the arms of that girl, a shapely, sexy blonde who professed her love openly and unabashedly, more so than any other woman who shared the moments and years with the erratic playboy-aetor during his stormy life. Moments before death took Errol Flynn at the age of fifty in Van- couver, B. C, last October 15, he looked up into the eyes of his seventeen-year-old sweetheart, Beverly Aadland. He saw tears streak- ing down her cheeks. A wan smile broke on his lips as he studied the anxiety and grief on her face. Errol's lips trembled. He seemed to be trying to speak. He looked as if he wanted to reassure Beverly — "I have no complaints about my life. I"Ve enjoyed every minute of it." But Beverly, her hair wildly tangled and with {Continued on page 58) COOL DEBBIE! ■ DEAR DEBBIE: We watched you on the Jack Paar Show. We stayed up past midnight just to see you. There is a running gag on the show about what Jack Pam is really like. And we felt the candidness of this late-hour program would give us an idea of ivhat Debbie Reynolds is really like these days. You see, Debbie, reports have been coming into our office about the way you have changed. Reports on (Continued on page 66 ) 25 ■ Running across the meadow hand in hand with Paul Anka, Annette Funicello is living one of the most delicious moments of her romance with Paul. But anguish as well as beauty has marked their tender affair. And when night falls, Annette's mind will be clouded with those "special doubts and torments known to every girl who has fallen in love for the first tune. And then, in the midst of her doubting, s1& will remember, poignan'tjj, jhat « day shfe first knewj,he sweetness of love. KkSESK?" < Continued on par.? 7 -7 1 ■ On a day when he was fourteen, he put his child- hood behind him. He walked out of the bare, white-tiled hospital that smelled of carbolic acid and fear into a fall afternoon, grey sky, and a brightness in the leaves, and children screaming on roller skates, but the life of the street washed around him blurrily. The only reality he knew was back in that high white bed where his father lay. He's going to die, the boy thought, he's going to die, and he pressed a round gold watch to his cheek in a queer, half -hunching gesture. He had been eleven years old, when the sickness hit his father. Eleven years old, and a junior high school kid. He and the other guys were crazy about sports, they hung around the drugstore drinking cokes and teasing girls, and they dreamed of racing hot rods, diving for treasure in the south seas, playing big-league baseball, flying jet planes. Merle Johnson, Jr., had one other dream, though. The big one. To be an actor. At home on Long Island he was exposed to plenty of theater. His mother, Edith Johnson, had been an actress; ^Mw. ansl tjft&b. ^im/mie 0bwkjpwt6, We were afraid we couldn't have a baby. We had been hoping for a little son or daughter of our own to bless our home ever since we were married in January of 1957. But as the (Continued on page 56) ■ To those of us who know Liz Tay- lor— who've seen her recently, been with her these past few weeks — one fact is extraordinary : Never in her life has she been hap- pier, healthier, more content, more calm, than since her marriage to Ed- die Fisher. This includes the short, suppos- edly-fabulous period of time she was married to Mike Todd. Certainly this includes the years she spent as the wife of Michael Wilding. And Nicky Hilton. The years of her childhood, when she was the most beautiful and the most spoiled young girl in all of Hollywood. . . . Most of you have been reading about Liz for years. You've read about some of the downs in her life. But mostly you've read about the ups, the good times, the gay times, the marvelous times that have been bestowed on this loveliest of all movie princesses. Let us say, right here and now, that those accounts of the good, gay, marvelous times were very much exaggerated. For here is a girl who, until now, has not been very happy. Who has, indeed, suffered. Who has suffered physical pain. Heartbreak. And an emotional instability so terrible that, more than once, she has been on the verge of a serious nervous breakdown. . . . Those of us who know Liz Taylor see the bright look in her eyes today, and we remember the times when those eyes were filled with tears. The tears, for instance, brought on by the awful pain her back con- dition would cause her. "An imagined condition, purely psychosomatic , ' ' some people have shrugged. "A very real condition," others have said, "a slipped disc that has required operation after operation." Real or (Continued on page 69) Bette Davis's little girl lives very far away . . . in a world no normal person has ever entered. She comes home only once a year . . . ■ The beautiful blue-eyed girl, nine years old, will sit at the table in the big Hollywood house this Christmas afternoon to come. She will talk a little, as well as she can talk. She will eat a little. But she will, mostly, just sit there at her place at the large table, looking at the others. And the others will smile at her. And they will say nice things to her. And they will pretend that nothing is wrong, that she does not have to leave them, soon, that the place from which she came — to which she must return — is far away. They will pretend for the few hours they are together. These short and very precious hours. These blessed hours of Christmas Day. . . • It all began at another Christmastime, a night in December of 1951, as Bette Davis opened the door of her daughter Barbara's bedroom, to see if the child was still asleep. She wasn't, and Bette turned on a lamp and smiled. "Beedee," she said, "your daddy and I have a surprise for you." The five-year-old sat up in bed. "Is Santa Claus here already?" she asked, rubbing her eyes. (Continued on page 67) Christinas 1951. Bette and Gary did not realize baby Margot (right) was ill. In the fabulous fifties we learned that fairy tales could come true April 19, 1956, Grace Kelly and her parents kneel beside Prince Rainier at royal wedding. T _M_his afternoon, while our two small children were napping, my wife and I went down to the basement to see if we could ferret out the three (or was it four?) boxes of Christmas tree ornaments we had stored away last January. If your basement is anything like ours, then you can probably imag- ine what happened to us — at least the beginning of it. We hadn't been there five minutes when the only light in the place blew its brains out, plunging us into total darkness. While I fumbled about in vain for a flashlight, my wife (the practical member of our family) made her way cautiously towards the steps, intent on getting a new bulb upstairs. Fate, however, had a detour planned, and instead of guiding her foot onto the first step, it guided it onto a collapsed old baby-stroller. From where I stood at the far end of the cellar all I heard was a dull thump and then a long relentless moaning. Somehow, despite the pitch blackness, I was suddenly able to make things out quite clearly. Maybe my eyes had adjusted to the dark, or maybe there is, after all, some extra candle-power within us which, in times of extreme necessity, casts its own ray of light. Whatever the explanation, I reached my wife in a flash to find her lying motionless, flat on her face. I bent down. "Can you get up?" I whispered. "Of course I can!" she said, leaping to her feet and dusting herself off. "You mean you aren't hurt? From the way you were moaning I thought — " "I wasn't moaning," she said, looking at me sheepishly. "I was cursing. You know I never curse out loud. Now let's get a light down here so we can see what we're doing. If it hadn't been for that pile of old magazines I might really have conked myself." That pile of old magazines that had broken her fall against the hard con- crete floor, those wonderful soft old paper magazines (which I had been too lazy to burn) were, we discovered when we came back with a light bulb five minutes later, movie magazines — a bunch of old Hollywood Yearbooks, Hol- lywood Romances, Screen Albums, and a complete collection of Modern Screens going back to 1950. All of which proves what I've been saying ever since I became an editor: If you want to stay healthy, happy and safe in this dark cruel world buy lots and lots of Modern Screens1. They saved my wife, and they might save you. But seriously, when we'd pulled ourselves together, Astrid insisted we put the baby-stroller in a safe place (the garbage), and straighten out the maga- zines, which were scattered around like cards in a game of 52-Pick-Up. I got a cardboard carton and we started piling them in when suddenly she turned to me out of the blue and said, "Guess when Eddie walked out on Debbie?" "In the morning?" I said. "C'mon, really, when?" she insisted. i It was an age when teenagers with guitars could become kings. . . Let me explain at this point that my wife, who is otherwise normal, does have one special form of madness — a tendency at certain times to believe she's a quizmaster and I'm a contestant. After years of marriage I've found that if I play along seriously for five or ten minutes the madness passes and she resumes her role as a housewife again. So, I furrowed my brow, wiped some imaginary sweat off it with a handkerchief, and tried to come up with the answer. This quiz was definitely not fixed and I was in deep trouble. I tried to visualize the hundreds of photos I'd seen of Liz and Eddie in New- York when they spent their first notorious week end at Grossingers. Was it last vear, or the year before? Were they wearing overcoats? Was it March or September? Lives and loves change so quickly in Hollywood it's almost impossible to keep track, and yesterday usually seems like a million years ago. For the life of me I couldn't remember. "Your time is up," she said, handing me a dusty copy of Modern Screen which had a picture of Debbie and Eddie on the cover and, in large black type, the historic words WHY EDDIE WALKED OUT ON DEBBIE. The date on the magazine was July, 1955. "Seems like walking out on Debbie wTas an old established custom with Mr. Fisher." said my wife. "Even before thev wTere married. Look." She opened to the article and there it was — all the postponed wedding plans, the hassles with business managers, the problems, the uncountable problems that Debbie and Eddie, not yet married, were already facing — or perhaps I should say running awTay from. "The seeds of future tragedy," I intoned in my most philosophical voice, "were planted from the very beginning." "Well, I don't know about seeds," said Astrid, "but I do know1 we've got to find those Christmas decorations. Now hurry up and start looking. I hear the kids." And off she ran to the children's room, leaving me sitting there alone marveling at the supernatural ability mothers have to hear the cries of their children no matter how far away they are or how many doors and walls are shut between them. The ability to listen with their hearts. I found myself wondering whether trained baby nurses (w?e'd never had one) could also listen with their hearts, and I decided that probably they couldn't, and then I found myself thinking of all those mothers in Hollywood who, like Debbie, had to hire nurses to bring up their children, competent efficient nurses who could do everything for the children except, perhaps, listen with their hearts. Suddenly the top of my head began to itch. Now when the top of my head begins to itch, it always means (except in mosquito season) that I've got what the Italians call "a bad thought." I tried to figure it out. I'd been thinking about Debbie, or, more specifically, about her children Carrie Frances and Todd Emanuel. I had probably been feeling a little sorry for them, feeling that my own kids, David and Erika, who are just about the same age as Debbie's, were more fortunate because at that moment they were being diapered and dressed by their own mom. I guess, to be perfectly honest, I was congratulating myself that, though Debbie was rich and famous and talented, somehow our house was better than their house. And the more I kept thinking of this the harder my head kept itching away, obviously trying to tell me something. "Okay, Head," I said finally, "what's bothering you — I mean me?" To which my Head calmly replied, "That thought we just had about being better off than someone else is just what causes so much tragedy for so many people in Hollywood. If I may quote from the Bible, Pride goeth before a fall. Whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased. Now you see those old magazines, well, they're not exactly Bibles but they make the same point. They're filled with pictures of the most beautiful, rich, exalted, proud people in the world, and what happens to these people? Pull over an orange-crate, make yourself comfortable, and take a look. . . ." For more than an hour I sat there in the chilly cellar turning through hun- dreds of dusty pages of Life in Hollywood in the decade that is almost over now — the decade of the Fifties. I heard again Ingrid Bergman's anguished cry, "I'm not a saint, I'm human!" as she carried the baby of Roberto Ros- sellini safe in her womb against the outrage of a shocked world. I looked again at the joyous faces of "perfect couples" like Liz Taylor and Nicky Hilton uniting in "ideal marriages" doomed to wither and die overnight. I read again all the sad sordid details in the lives of Rita, Lana, and Ava, the triple goddesses of the post-war years, the most envied women in the world, setting their feet on paths leading to heartbreak, murder, and lonely exile. I shuddered again as Judy Garland in her twenty-seventh year, the girl I had fallen in love with when she was Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz, put a knife to her throat and slashed herself in an agony of unknown despair. And again and again I paused at pictures of a girl who really had every- thing, not only fame, fortune, beauty and a distinguished husband but the rarer advantage of having been born into a home of taste, culture and refinement, a girl named Gene Tierney who in 1950 was acknowledged by Modern Screen as the best-dressed star in Hollywood and who this past October was discovered (at the age of 37) working as a sales clerk in a clothing shop in Topeka, Kansas. I looked and nodded, beginning to under- stand, when suddenly my head began to itch again. "Here we go, with that same old bad thought," said my Head, "congratu- lating ourselves that, though we've had our little problems, we've never In 1955, Hollywood worried about Susan Hayward's sleeping-pill suicide try. But it was an age when our luckiest and most glamorous people got into the worst troubles. In 1958, the world worried about a murder by Lana Turner's daughter Cheryl. really hit bottom. It's almost Christmas and we're forgetting one of the profund truths He left us — that suffering is ennobling, that He who would save his life must first lose it. Do you see that picture of Frank Sinatra on page 45?" I turned to page 45. The year was 1951. The picture was a pitiful one, of a shell of a man walking along a desolate beach in autumn, his trousers rolled up, his head hanging down wearily as a flower at the end of autumn hangs its head on a thin dry stem. "How does he look?" asked my Head. "Awful," I had to admit. "Weight: 112. Identifying marks: razor scars on wrist. Marital status: lousy. Mental attitude: extremely lousy. Career: a total washout. Future?" "Absolutely, positively brilliant," I answered. "But if you're trying to tell me that Frank Sinatra suddenly became a great actor and a great singer because he had fallen so low, well. . . ." "What's the matter with you?" said a strangely familiar, high-pitched voice, and I looked up to see my wife standing on the cellar stairs, staring at me incredulously and scratching her head. "Do you know why your head itches?" I said. "Now I know you're crazy. Do you realize I've been standing here for ten minutes and all you've been doing is mumbling to yourself? As a matter of fact, what have you been doing?" "It so happens," I smiled, "that I've been making a study of life in Hollywood in the 1950's, so that the next time you start in with one of your ridiculous quizzes you won't be dealing with any lunkhead — at least in that category. Go on," I said, "ask me a question. Anything." I knew I had her then. Her frown disappeared, that well-known mad- ness lit up her eyes gaily, she came down the steps and, using an old broom for a microphone, said, "Your first question is state the important events in Hollywood by years, beginning with the year 1950. You have exactly six minutes." Well, with an unorganized bean like mine that couldn't even remember when Debbie married Eddie, I knew she'd stumped me again. Then sud- denly I realized that in the inside pocket of my jacket was a carbon copy of an excellent, informed article Louella Parsons had just written for Modern Screens Hollywood Yearbook, in which Louella had, among the many interesting things she had to say, listed the important events of the Fifties year by year. A wild thought came upon me. "It just so happens," I lied, that I knew you were going to ask that question and so, for the sake of time, I've written down my answers." At which point I took out the article, moved back aways so she could not see that it was a typed carbon, and coolly began to shoot the answers to her. We were constantly being shocked, constantly being asked to forgive, and constantly forgiving. 1950. The world ostracized Ingrid Bergman when she fell in love with Roberto Rossellini. But when she came to claim her Oscar in 1956, a forgiving public welcomed her back. CLAIM BAG GAG I if'XSt itescnYOU 1950: The Ingrid Bergman- Roberto Rossellini love story set the world on fire — particularly after the birth of their love child, Robertino. No. 2 Passion was Ava Gardner and Frank Sinatra, so explosive in their romance that Nancy Sinatra was forced to file for divorce. Whispers were strong that Rita Hayworth and Aly Khan were tired of marriage and — each other. Shirley Temple admits she is in love with San Francisco business man Charles Black and will marry him following her disillusioning divorce from John Agar. Elizabeth Taylor says "I Do" to hotel scion, Nicky Hilton Jr., in what the newspapers hail as. "a story book" wedding in Beverly Hills. Clark Gable elopes with Lady Sylvia Ashley. Cary Grant and Betsy Drake marry. The Oscars were won by Judy Holliday in Born Yesterday and Jose Ferrer for Cyrano de Bergerac. 1951: Dawns sadly with the death of Dixie Lee Crosby from lingering malignancy. Elizabeth Taylor and Nicky Hilton end five months of marriage. Lana Turner and Bob Topping divorce. Frank Sinatra marries Ava Gardner. Carlton Carpenter is the "teenagers' delight." Anne Baxter and John Hodiak welcome daughter, Katrina. Errol Flynn marries Patrice Wymore. Marlon Brando, little known actor from Broadway, arrives to start his film career. Oscars are won by Vivien Leigh in Streetcar Named Desire and by Hum- phrey Bogart in African Queejn. 1952: Pia Lindstrom breaks heart of mother Ingrid Bergman with headline statement: "I do not want to go to my mother. I do not love her. I love my father." Battles between Ava Gardner and Frank Sinatra hit all gossip columns. Shirley Temple nearly dies in birth of son at Bethesda Naval Hospital. Maryland, where Lt. Charles Black is stationed. Asphalt Jungle in general release has made a new star of a blonde, pouty girl who plays just a bit — Marilyn Monroe. Olivia de Havilland and Joan Fontaine continue un-sisterly feud. Oscars are won by Shirley Booth in Come Back, Little Sheba and by Gaiy Cooper in High Noon. 1955. The teenagers may have laughed, but Liberace was dear to the hearts of a million middle-aged ladies. Fortunately, every year brought a new fad... a new character. . . a new laugh. 1955's hottest fad, Davy Crockett. mam Some snickered, but Jayne Mansfield and her muscle- man, Mickey Hargitay, were made for each other. 1953: Rita Hayworth marries Dick Haymes in Las Vegas. Says, "This marriage will stick." Rumors out of Africa are that Clark Gable (divorced from Lady Ashley) and pretty newcomer Grace Kelly are "in love" on location on Mogambo. Olivia de Havilland marries Paris magazine journalist Pierre Galante. Beautiful Suzan Ball saddens hearts of fans by having a leg amputated because of cancer. Elizabeth Taylor and new husband Michael Wilding on Stork's list. The Gregory Pecks end their marriage. Rumors that Greg will marry Veronique Passani. Bing Crosby's dates with Mona Freeman stir up much talk. But everyone convinced Bing will never marry again. Big news of the Oscars this year is that "best support" is won by Frank Sinatra, launching him on brilliant acting career. 1954: Debbie Reynolds gives up dating Robert Wagner and starts dating Eddie Fisher. (Heaven help us all!) Marilyn Monroe and Joe di Maggio in bombshell divorce after short marriage. Marilyn starts kicking up heels on contracts. Pier Angeli and Vic Damone marry despite belief that Pier was very much in love with new rage, James Dean, of East of Eden fame. Beloved Lionel Barrymore passes. Robert Taylor marries Ursula Theiss after a divorce and 13 years of marriage to Barbara Stanwyck. Peter Lawford, new "teenagers' delight," marries Patricia Kennedy, daughter of former Ambassador to England, Joseph Kennedy, and sister of Senator John Kennedy. John Wayne and Pilar Pallette wed in Honolulu. Tyrone Power and Linda Christian divorce. Ditto Susan Hayward and Jess Barker, both couples with much bitterness. Grace Kelly soars to stardom in The Country Girl for which she wins an Oscar. Marlon Brando wins for the males in On the Waterfront. Hottest box office attractions in Hollywood: Marlon Brando, Grace Kelly, and James Dean. 1955: Liberace, the rage of the TV screen, makes his screen debut in the financially disastrous Sincerely Yours, proving that the public won't pay to see what it can get free on TV. Mario Lanza starts a series of explosive headlines having nervous- breakdown tantrums at the New Frontier Hotel in Las Vegas. His entire career is imperiled. 1952: Brando is first beat. 1955: Jimmy Dean, the loneliest beat, dies in a race car crash. 1959: Sixteen-year-old Tuesday's Queen of beats. No one seemed to know whether to take the beat generation seriously or not. In time everyone did. Joan Crawford elopes with soft drink tycoon Al Steele to Las Vegas. Clark Gable marries Kay Williams Spreckles. John Hodiak dies suddenly of heart attack in home. His divorced wife Anne Baxter and their child, griefstricken. Warner Bros, and Columbia Studios start own TV productions. Warners producing such top Westerns as Maverick with sensationally popular James Garner and Columbia sets up successful Screen Gems productions. Rock Hudson marries Phyllis Gates in Santa Barbara. Mike Todd, brash young producer, signs up such top stars as Ronald Colman, Marlene Dietrich for his Around The World In 80 Days which he's filming in his new Todd-AO process. James Dean tragically killed in race-car accident setting off a mass hysteria of juvenile mourning. And the influence of this moody, introspec- tive young idol is to live on after him. He was perhaps the first of 'the angry young men' and the 'beatnik' type. Oscars won by Ernest Borgnine in Marty and Anna Magnani in Rose Tattoo. 1956: The year Elvis Presley arrives in Hollywood to make his first picture Love Me Tender for 20th Century-Fox. Business world startled when major companies begin to sell backlogs of old films to arch rival TV. Most spectacular deal — Warner Bros, sale of 750 motion pictures to TV for $21,000,000. Later, Paramount and MGM follow this lead — which I feel was one of the big mistakes of film history. Old movies on TV became the greatest rival of new movies in theaters! Biggest romantic news of years: Grace Kelly announces engagement to Prince Rainier of Monaco. Pregnant Debbie Reynolds (now Mrs. Eddie Fisher) sings Tammy and sets off the biggest record sale in years. Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis explode as a comedy team and part in bitterness. Marilyn Monroe marries Arthur Miller in White Plains, New York. Debbie and Eddie welcome a daughter, Carrie Frances. Elizabeth Taylor tells world she's passionately in love with Mike Todd and will marry him when free of Mike Wilding! But the biggest story of the fifties was the eternal triangle to beat all eternal triangles. THE FABULOUS FIFTIES Continued. 1957: Howard Hughes, all-time bachelor prize, marries Jean Peters so secretly (I have the world scoop on this) that no one yet has been able to find out where or when it even occurred. Humphrey Bogart dies early in year — and his likes won't be seen again soon. A Princess born to former Grace Kelly and Prince Rainier. Tne arrival of Princess Caroline the most publicized birth of any baby next to Prince Charles, son of Queen Elizabeth. Liz Taylor and Mike Todd marry in Acapulco, Mexico, with Eddie Fisher serving as best man and "Liz's best friend, Debbie Reynolds," also present. Lana Turner and Lex Barker divorce. Frank Sinatra and Lauren Bacall rumored "engaged." Roberto Rossellini, Ingrid Bergman's husband, in scandal with East Indian charmer, Sonali das Gupta. Marlon Brando marries Anna Kashfi. The Gene Kellys part after 17 years of marriage. Marie MacDonald kidnapped! (?) Surprise of Surprises: Bing Crosby marries Kathy Grant in Las Vegas! Film tycoon L. B. Mayer dies. 1958: Knife stabbing of underworld figure Johnny Stompanato by Lana Turner's 14-year-old daughter, Cheryl, shocks world. Mike Todd's plane crashes in fiery blaze over New Mexico widowing Elizabeth Taylor. Son born to Kathy Grant and Bing Crosby. Also to Marlon Brando and Anna Kashfi. Joanne Woodward and Paul Newman wed in Las Vegas. Rita Haywortn marries Jim Hill in Las Vegas. French Brigitte Bardot's films rock American box offices. Debbie and Eddie welcome a son. Tycoon (Columbia) Harry Cohn dies. Rock Hudson and Phyllis Gates separate. Tyrone Power marries Debbie Minardos, dies 6 months later in Spain. Marlon Brando-Anna Kashfi separate. Deborah Kerr and Tony Bartley end marriage of many years sensationally with Bartley charging his wife's affections "pirated" by scripter Peter Viertel. Ingrid Bergman scorns Rossellini — tells world she will marry Lars Schmidt. (Continued on page 72 ) BY KIRTLEY BASKETTE INTRODUCING THE KINGSTON TRIO SEXTETTE Dave Guard Gretchen Guard Bob Shane Louise Shane Nick Reynolds Joan Reynolds Friday, the thirteenth of last March, tailed off with a storm over the town of Goshen, Indi- ana. Late season blasts from Lake Michigan whipped a murky sky and batted a chartered Beech- craft plane around like a bad- minton bird. Inside, while the pilot fought the controls, three fairly beat rah-rah types, named Dave Guard, Nick Reynolds and Bob Shane, rattled around, among a jumble of guitars, ban- jos and bongo drums like beans in an over-sized maraca. The Kingston Trio was fresh from a swing-ding at Notre Dame University, headed for their next one-nighter, and the situation was normal— which is to say— desperate. In this clutch, two of the striped-shirted troubadours re- laxed : Stubby, needle-nosed Nick ("the Runt of the Litter") closed his baby-blue eyes, curled up and snored peacefully. Brain- busy, stringbean Dave ("Our Acknowledged Leader") fended off flying missiles with one hand and thoughtfully polished a new routine with the other. Only the usually jolly boy, curly mopped Bob ("Our Sex-Symbol") sweat- ed it out. Every minute or so he leaned over the pilot, breathing hard down his neck. "How we doin'?'" "In this weather?" Bob got a glance almost as dirty as the clouds. "Just great— gas low, gen- erator out, visibility zero— and South Bend says we can't come back in !" "I got to get down," said Bob. "Doesn't everyone? You took the words right out of my mouth !" They got down— blind. They ticked power lines, skimmed roofs and clipped trees, finally skidded to a stop in a farmer's pasture, scattering a flock of frozen {Continued on page 52) turkeys like ten-pins. "Now, Buster," sighed the flyboy, "Tell me — what's your big sweat?" Bobby Shane grinned. "Well, tomor- row"— he glanced at his watch — "yeah, tomorrow, I'm getting married in Washing- ton, D.C." The pilot grunted congratula- tions, the fact that Washington was almost a thousand miles away and he sincerely hoped Bob made it. If he'd known the hi-balling Kingston Trio better that skeptical crack was hardly worth the breath it took to utter. Bobby Shane made it to the altar on time, of course, and with him Dave Guard and Nick Reynolds, who wouldn't have missed the fun for anything. To get there from the turkey patch they hiked to town, com- mandeered a car, drove all day, played their date that night, then hopped for the Capital, arriving at 3:00 a.m. That after- noon all were sharp for the joyous rites. But next morning — the groom was rousted out of his nuptial bed at six to take off once more. And his pretty Dixie bride didn't lay eyes on him for a full month! For the Kingston Trio, such risks and rigors of big time barnstorming, mixed with richer rewards, have been par for the course — ever since Tom Dooley sent them winging a little over a year ago. Going for broke with a dream In that time they've hustled over 150,000 miles to meet the demand for their clean cut folk-and-rhythm harmonies, witty cut-ups and quips. They've played over a hundred college campuses, almost as many clubs, fairs and theaters, and missed only one date. To make it, they've scrambled by train, plane, boat, bus, truck, hack, and — as Dave Guard puts it — "If they'll bring over some coolies we'll go by rick- shaw." Along the way, they've sweltered and frozen, slept standing up and gulped vitamins like jelly beans to keep going. Often they've worked eighteen hours out of twenty-four and started all over again after a couple for shut-eye. But they've also had packed houses wait three hours to hear them sing, after some- thing broke down, as happened last year in Lawrence, Kansas. At Indiana U., just the other day, tickets vanished one hour after they went on sale for a date two months ahead. Right now they're booked ahead solid until next May. What with albums, gold records, TV, clubs and one nighters, Nick, Bob and Dave will rack up a cool million this year for their pipes and patter and they'll top that in '60. Yet, their really important payoff — which Dave Guard, Nick Reynolds and Bob Shane gratefully recognize — is some- thing you can't measure in tax brackets or fickle fame. A good sample is just what happened that March 15th in Washington when Bob made beautiful Louise Brandon his bride, with his pals standing by. That day playboy Bob, last bachelor of the bunch, snugged down meaning, at last, for his young life — and the Kingston Trio became the Kingston Sextette. Today, three wives named Gretchen Guard, Joan Reynolds and Louise Shane are helping build three purposeful lives with three once aimless, knockaround guys. But that wouldn't have happened if the boys hadn't teamed up first and gone for broke with a dream. And that's not all — "There's no doubt about it," states Bob Shane flatly. "We've all been good for each other. By getting together this Trio has solved the emotional problems of three fairly mixed-up guys." "Face it," confirms Dave Guard. "We were a bunch of wild hairs pointing in all directions until we tied into this chal- lenge." "Yes, sir," argues Nick Reynolds. "How many fellows really know what they want 52 to do when they get out of school? None of us did. Mostly, you want to make a living doing what you like, and the big dream is to do it with your pals. Man, we got that dream! Whatever happens later on, these two years have filled a gap with something we'll always prize, when we might have just goofed off, fumbling around alone." All these reflections, of course, refer to the days — only a brief spell ago — when Dave, Nick and Bob were fresh out of Stanford University and Menlo College, respectively, wondering what next. At that point, about all they owned in com- mon was an education, good looks, plenty of pizazz and obvious talents for making music. Now and then they did, and as long as people cheered and gave them plenty of beer to drink they were happy — or so they pretended. But underneath each nursed a private puzzler that you'd never suspect. And all were putting off the an- swers. Take big Dave Guard: Then, as now, dapper Dave seemed to have the world right by the tail. Six-foot-three, hand- some and smart as a whip, Dave trailed nothing but honors, accomplishments and popularity in his wake. Talents? You name them; Dave had them. Athlete, judo expert, honor student, campus activity leader, money maker, top musician and dynamite with the girls, you'd say gradu- ate student Dave was Stanford's man most likely to smell sweet success. "Of course, I'm prejudiced," sighs his pretty blonde wife, Gretchen, today, "but I think Dave's close to being a genius." She isn't the first to figure that way. Says Bobby Shane, who grew up with Dave in Hawaii and went to the same school, Punahou, "Dave was always two jumps ahead of everyone in everything. He was a natural brain. His grades were always terrific and so was everything else about him." Dave had a degree in Business Admin- istration. "But what business? I didn't tM ! I I I I I ! ! ! I ! I I 1 I I I I I M I I I t ; Steve McQueen: I don't talk - ■numbly. People listen mumbly. Sidney Skolsky - in the New York Post ~ n 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 1 know," he admits. "Business is such a nebulous word. I wanted to make the right move because, you see, I've always wanted security." That's not too original an urge these days, but in Dave Guard's case it traces way back. When he was only seven, Dave's world literally went up in smoke. That was Sunday, December 7. 1941. Red-balled Jap planes buzzed down to the rooftops of a new housing tract at Hickam Field and, as he watched in terror, sprayed bullets all around him and set the place on fire. Dave, an only child, lived there because his dad was a reserve colonel who worked, and still does, for the Army Engineers. After the Pearl Harbor debacle they evacuated Dave and his mom to the States. That gave a jolt to his security, for sure, but even after he came back, "wearing shoes," young Donald David Guard rattled around Honolulu pretty much on his own without a normal home life. His mother, Marjorie, was secretary to the Commander of Military Air Transport and away all day. Dave was placed in private school and "my parents gave me carte blanche long ago." He used his independence pok- ing into everything and every place, often with his classmate, Bob Shane. One favorite spot was Waikiki Beach, where every Island kid bangs a ukelele between rides on the rollers. "You get an awful good crack at musical styles Hawaii," says Dave today. "South Japanese, Chinese and good old Amer jazz — the whole melting pot." With ] he was sopping it all up and sendin out, kid style, summers and after set which to Dave soon became somewha a bore. At Punahou High he ran the 880 and hurdles, played end on the f ball team, starred in a variety show banged out his island folk songs. "I liked all that," he remembers. "It a bid for popularity." But classwork brilliant Dave Guard was too easy to 1 his interest. "I figured nothing was I penins," he says. "I wanted to get aw; specifically back to the States. Honolv fine but it's only eighty miles around Island. I still get nervous when I sta; one place more than three weeks," g Dave. "That's why this life I've got ] is my dish. Travel's exciting to me." Dave's deal with the folks In his junior year at Punahou, E made a deal with his folks to earn ! his expenses if they sent him State to Menlo Park prep. He piled up his — $1000 — greaseballing in a service sta and diving for coral. But at Menlo, pi ping for Stanford, it was the same story. Bored with work that came easy, Dave started messing around i six months before graduation, got boun out of school for "an incident involvin bottle of vodka." But he stuck aroi Menlo Park with another service stai job and they let them come back for finals. He graduated in a breeze walked right into Stanford. Now, Stanford University is no joyi for anyone, not even a brain like D Guard. But to show you what a real ( head can do: Dave fell out of a sea story window of his frat house the i confused week end and broke his b on the pavement below. They shipped 1 to Honolulu and he lost his whole f year. Even with that setback, he gra< ated in three years, taking sometimes units and hitting A's and B's. He worl all his way through— hashing at gi dorms, gardening, janitoring in the brary, moving furniture and pumping j But he still had time to staff on the hur magazine, Chapparal. write songs for Stanford Gaieties, win the Sigma Award for "greatest contribution to house" and pin a collection of cam] queens! It's no wonder Dave Guard took on graduate School of Business with greatest confidence although he had o $3 to start. By that time, he had anoti more interesting racket to earn his cal With Bobby Shane, only a mile away Menlo Business College, he harmoni for $15 a night at parties and Stanf< off-campus hangouts like Rossotti's i The Cracked Pot. But Dave still packed one big nagging question mark: Where I really headed? "I had no real idea," says. "I figured I'd just try to play i cards right and something would take c; of me. How vague could you be?" Bob's a real Kamaaina By then Bob Shane had an equa opaque view of his future but for differ* reasons. Bobby knew what he wanted do and had for a long time. But it did figure out with him — or his family. "S( sort of rebelled," he says, "and I got mixed-up, acted pretty bad for a whi too." Like Dave, Bobby's Hawaiian born a bred — only more so. His great-grandfath came over as a missionary back in Ki Kamehameha's day, so Bob's a fourt generation Islander or, as they say ov there, a real Kamaaina. The Shanes are) Irish; they're German and it started o hoen, which means beautiful — "and it's just why we changed it," chuckles bby. Anyway, the Shanes prospered d when Bobby came along twenty-five ars ago, just like Dave — Art Shane, his I, ran the flourishing family firm. Ath- ic Supply of Hawaii. Curiously, that •ned out to be Bob's trouble — or one of ;m at least. He was expected to carry in the business, but he just didn't fit : pattern. vlaybe he'd eaten too much poi as a kid jut somehow easy going Bob liked the ■laka idea of letting life ripple through a pleasantly, and no sweat. At Punahou was good in track, basketball, the glee b and school operettas, but his sad re- •t card usually kicked up a rumble at ne. In preference to books, Bobby liked : sun and surf at Waikiki, the native .us, plunking a guitar and singing. And, en grown up a bit, he too frequently ed a cool can of beer. Long before Dave Nick turned pro Bobby Shane was play- 5 singles around Honolulu night spots, 6 having himself a ball. Jot a while his folks didn't get too nerv- s. thinking he'd settle down, like his er brother. And that was another thing: b's brother liked business, worked hard i finally built up a booming electronics n of his own. The contrast hatched a emotional bug: Bobby sensed his par- s' disappointment in him and tension unted. But it didn't blow off until later ?oth Bobby Shane's parents had gone Stanford and his brother to Menlo. ey hoped Bob would follow in their tsteps and shipped him off to Menlo -k prep, after Punahou. But it was tty obvious that Bobby's marks would •er rate Stanford. Each time he flew ne for Christmas or summers, the out- k seemed grimmer and sometimes there re scenes. It let his folks down some- at when he enrolled in Menlo College :t, but at least he took on Business Ad- listration. A dim hope flickered that d wind up running the Athletic Supply >.r all. ■ut even studying business was a drag Bob. "I was a pretty bad boy all DUgh that school," he confesses. "Had ot of eight o'clock classes, but some- 9 I couldn't get up in time to make m. The most important thing that hap- ed to me there was getting together singing with Dave and Nick," obby missed graduating by a few iits, kicked around San Francisco a le trying to latch on as a single in one the clubs with no luck and finally — ted — took out for home, Dad and the jpe — a prodigal's return. But," sighs Bob. "I lasted at the Ath- : Supply just one week. It just wasn't me. I couldn't take it." That's when and Shane, Sr. had some stormy argu- tts and Bob blasted off. But he hugged uilt complex that lasted, underneath ly, until the Kingston Trio's success . ed him right. laughs from himself :>r a while, Bobby Shane sharpened style around Honolulu's night clubs, Pearl City Tavern, The Clouds and Yee Chai's, with a song and comedy ersonation act taking off on Belafonte, s Presley and the other greats. He e good money and he got laughs from -yone, but not really from himself. letimes, when people asked Bob how tabbed his own singing voice, he'd hk cynically, 'A whisky baritone"— that wasn't far from the truth. "I \ drinking too much, gambling and ing around," Bobby admits. "Clear :he track." hat switched him back on was a nag- nostalgia for the swinging camaraderie he used to enjoy with Dave Guard back around Palo Alto. With a clever guy like Dave, you could really work up a team and go places, or maybe expand to a trio. Automatically, Bob Shane's thoughts flashed Stateside to this great little guy named Nick Reynolds he'd palled and played with at Menlo. Nick could do anything — harmony, guitar, bongos and congas. Only trouble was — Nick probably wouldn't buy. He had things too easy. He was in a rut. Back on Coronado Island, California, Nicholas Reynolds was in a rut, but no- body had called it to his attention. Al- though he'd been carted all over the world as a kid with his Navy captain dad, Coronado was always home port and it never occurred to Nick that his future lay anywhere else. Coronado's a cozy, sleepy resort, a ferry jump from San Diego's fleet base. Retired sea-dogs, like Nick's dad, crowd the place. The life's routine: sports, home life, cocktails when the sun dips under the yardarm. The best business is hotels. After snagging his Business Administration B.S. at Menlo, Nick had returned like a homing pigeon. He found a job in a hotel and took up where he'd left off after leaving Coronado High. Nick liked it there — why not? He knew everybody. He was close to his parents. His married sisters, Barbara and Jane, had homes next door to each other in Coronado and everybody in the family got along great. As for sports — he could beat all of the ones he loved right at home. Nick Reynolds was a whiz at most every sport. Small but mighty, he'd won tennis tournaments and skeet champion- ships at Coronado, and the U. of Arizona, too. Later, while at San Diego State, he'd road raced his Crosley Fiat Special, until a pal got killed on the Torrey Pines run. To top all this, worries about future secu- rity never wrinkled Nick's brow. A great uncle had willed him a fortune, which he'd come into (and still will) by his thirties! But deep inside, Nick Reynolds still felt restless and unfulfilled. Was he just set to go down the drain in his cozy corner of the nation? What troubled Nick was an unexpressed talent. He was musical by nature. His mother and his sisters all sang. His Aunt Ruth had been with the Metropolitan Opera. Even Captain Steward Reynolds, USN, off duty, thrummed "a real swingin' guitar." Ferment of discontent Nick had the hotel business in mind when he tailed off his training at Menlo Business College. But, like Bob, his rosiest campus memories were those free riding harmonies at Stanford parties and spots with Dave and Bob. Something made him keep in touch with Dave, up North, and Bobby in the Islands. When he ran on to a good tune, he'd write them about it, and hear what they were working up. "I loved nothing better than the life I was leading," Nick sums it up today. "But I couldn't forget what Dave, Bob and I might be doing together." When he learned that Bobby Shane had suddenly flown back from Hawaii to join Dave, the sun didn't seem quite so bright over Coronado. That was the ferment of discontent that brewed the fabulous Kingston Trio. In- gredients: three variously gifted, attrac- tive, high-type guys. But — for one reason or another — fizzing off flat on their own. They needed a swizzler to mix them up — and luckily one came along. His name was Frank Werber. Frank's the Trio's manager today. To the boys he's 'Black Bart' or 'The Whip.' "I run interference," grins smart, beatnik, bearded Frank. Actually, he runs the whole Kingston show and nursemaids the Kingstons wherever they go. It was Frank BY" LYLE ICE^Y'ON EXCEL The Nation's Top Disc Jockeys pose a series of questions to see if you know your record stars. 1. You certainly couldn't call this maestro' s music Rock Roll. Hoivever, his music is in- toxicating and very square. He had a gal singing for him by the name of Alice Lou. 2m She's small, intense and sings a beautiful ballad. Her spon- sor for a long time zcas Chevro- let. Capitol Records just signed Ibum her, and her fi on this label is called , Yes Indeed. 3. The Steve Allen Show gave this little lady her big break by ducing her singing to mi lions of viewers. She m Steve Lawrence on th tro- Dearborn, Mich. shoie and soon thev were 5RPerk,J?; „. • j CJ,„ „■ , Station WTRL. married. 6he now records Bradenton, Fla. for ABC-Paramount. Her latest album is On Stage. 4. His name lias something to do with the beach. He made his name through Rock V Roll type recordings but has just announced that he has given up this style of singing. Only beautiful songs will he sing . from nozo on. M 5. His latest album is Heav- iin Seymour. enly on the Columbia label. Station WKMH, He is one of the finest new singers to come along during the past few years. One of his first great hits was Chances Are. $. His hobby is the drum. He is acknowledged as one of f the best popular dancers ever seen. He makes his first nan- jfr, dancing dramatic movie role *^ in the screen version of On The Beach. 7. He's a top singer with a warm- appealing voice. His hobby is songwriting. One of his compositions is That Chick's Too 7 Fry. His latest albumwas just New York City, released by Lion Records. New York and it features his name and photo on the cover. Bill Wright, Station WIBG. Philadelphia. Pa. spun*; \\uiuo_l who pulled the Trio together, whipped them into shape and shoe-horned their first breaks. Only, when Werber first spotted them they weren't a Trio, but a quartet — and their tag was "Dave Guard's Calypsonians." Dave and Bob had started that combo with a bass fiddler and a girl singer, while Nick was still dragging his feet in Coro- nado. They played the party circuit again, still around Stanford, with a steady home at The Cracked Pot. Off nights they audi- tioned San Francisco at famous clubs like the Hungry i and the Purple Onion. "Okay lor college — but too unprofessional" was the verdict they usually got. But during one tryout at the Purple Onion, a waiter hustled upstairs to the two-by-four office where Frank Werber squeezed out a living as a night-club press agent. "Catch these kids down- stairs," he advised. "They ain't bad." Frank caught one song — but at first he didn't get the message at all. Used to pro- fessionals, he thought the "Calypsonians" were strictly for amateur night. Then, on a hunch, he gambled the gas to Palo Alto to hear them in their natural rah-rah set- ting. At the Cracked Pot, with the Stan- ford kids whooping he thought he saw something. "But the fiddler and the girl are drags," he told Dave. "Know anyone one who might work into a trio?" Did they! That night Nick Reynolds got a wire: GREAT THINGS ARE COOKING. GET UP HERE FAST. DAVE AND BOB. Wake up and live, man Nick got there fast enough, but the great things, he learned even faster, were mostly a lot of wild hopes jazz. As he wobbled indecisively, Dave unleashed the hard sell. "Wake up and live, Nick," he plugged. "You want to shrivel up and go to seed in that sunny rat race down there? Come on, Man, let's get some beer and talk." That night they tried to drink all the brew in San Francisco and wound up climbing statues in Golden Gate Park. But by dawn Nick was persuaded. They rented a one-room San Francisco apart- ment, all slept in the one bed and re- hearsed night and day until the landlord threatened to call the cops. A week later they walked into Frank's attic office and said they were ready. Frank wedged them in downstairs for one week's tryout. They stayed seven months. Of course, Dave Guard, Bob Shane and Nick Reynolds didn't Cinderella into the slick Kingston Trio via one easy stanza. It took work, seasoning and discipline to turn that trick. Says Frank Werber, "What the boys had was natural talent, enthusi- asm, sharp humor and a fresh, intelligent slant on songs. But to them it was still mostly a ball and they were plenty rough around the edges." For one thing, all three were singing themselves hoarse each night. Frank routed them to Judy Davis, a professional voice coach, who taught them how to relax and spread it out. For another, the boys were tossing their rapid fire wit around ad libitum and forgetting the good ones. Frank camped each night with a notebook jotting the best down, then turned Dave Guard loose to write a crisp patter rou- tine. He made them rehearse six days a week before the show and then a couple of hours afterwards, polishing this and that. Most important, "I made them take the pledge," chuckles 'Black Bart.' "They signed on the line not to take a drink for six months — and I guess that really hurt. If they backslid or acted up — no paycheck. I figured that could hurt even more." After seven months at the Purple Onion the Kingstons had got to believing they owned the joint. Frank took them down several pegs by booking them into Holiday 54 Hotel, a gambling lounge in Reno. Up there, if you started drawing attention from the gambling play the dealers hol- lered, "Shut up!" and the normal clatter was awful anyway. By the time they left Reno, Bob, Nick and Dave knew a few more hard facts and tricks about show business. All this polished a raw college combo into a smooth team of pros. They went to Hollywood next, to make their first album, The Kingston Trio, for Capitol. In it was a haunting la- ment they'd always scored big with at the Purple Onion, Tom Dooley. They didn't dream how big that would score. In fact, for the next few months, in Chicago and MHHVHMWMUHMHMVUMWMW j! Erin O'Brien figures a sensible j! J[ girl's one who has sense enough J[ «' not to look sensible. ii, the New York Post <> ^wwvwvvwwwwwwwwwwwvw^ next in New York, at the Blue Angel and Village Vanguard each one was still living on $60 a week, and Frank Werber was chronically floating loans to keep them going. They flopped in crummy hotels, ate in one-arm joints. The money looked good — but a trio's expenses swallowed it up. Whenever Bob, Nick or Dave would ask Frank, "How's the album doing?" the an- swer was, "It ain't." Appropriately the Trio came back to San Francisco playing the Hungry i. That was the summer of '58. A disk jockey in Salt Lake City flashed the good news first. He called Frank at the Hungry i. "All they want to hear up here is Tom Dooley from that Kingston album," he complained. "Can you bring those guys to town?" Seattle d.j.'s called next — same thing. Frank buzzed Capitol Records in Hollywood. They shot out a single of Tom Dooley and put the promo- tion works behind it. When the Trio rolled into Seattle a few weeks later it was be- hind a police motorcade. They cleaned up $3000 in two nights. Since then, the Kingston Trio has rolled in triumph almost any place you can name — except Kingston, Jamaica. This winter they fly to Australia, next spring to Europe. They've turned down four movies, but the right one comes soon. Three hot selling albums, their own pub- lishing firm and TV make the Kingston Trio, Inc., big business. Off hand, you wouldn't say the boys had a problem in the world. But they have one. Home life. Dave, Nick and Bob all owe their happy marriages to the Trio. Gretchen Ballard, for instance, first laid eyes on Dave Guard when he sang at a Stanford football rally. A tall, tailored type, Gretchen was a mere freshie there at Stanford and, although she rated Dave "dreamy" right off, her prospects seemed slim. Dave dated her big sis, Sarah, and after that pinned her best friend, Cordie Creveling. When he finally got around to Gretchen, Dave was heating up The Cracked Pot, so that's where he took her on their first date. From then on all Dave's songs were beamed at Gretchen. "The child bride," as Nick and Bob call her, was the first female to crack the Kingston club. That happened in September of '57 dur- ing their first paid engagement at the Purple Onion when the whole crew and half of Stanford University traveled to San Marino, California for a full dress wedding, with Nick best man and Bob head usher. Gretchen's dad hired cham- pagne-stocked busses to haul the wedding party away and pour them on trains and planes. Life afterwards wasn't so plush. "We spent our honeymoon in Dave's bachelor apartment — a slum, believe me," sighs Gretchen. "He went to work the next night and I stayed awake until 3:00 a.m., scared half to death." Mrs. Guc got used to it though and until she vi pregnant, scooted around wherever 1 boys went. But Dave bit his nails ale in New York waiting to hear he was father. Their daughter, Cappy, is n< eighteen months old and they're expect; again in May. "Cappy's wild about Dav smiles Gretch. "I tell him it's because ? likes strangers." Nick Reynolds tumbled next for cu bouncy Joan Harriss, who's almost double for Shirley MacLaine. In ii. Joan, a San Francisco girl, was a corner enne, too, "set to be the biggest thi ever to hit night clubs, sex and all tha she admits, "when I got hooked on tl Reynolds man." That happened at t Purple Onion, too. Joan was just arou the corner at Ann's 440, where she v giving out songs and satirical sketches. "Nick started it all by dropping ir Ann's after his show for a beer and pee ing at me," relates Joan. "Now, I spe half my life waiting for a peek at hir The romantic switch took a little lonj to come about than Gretchen and Dave although from point of contact, Joan 1 been in on the Kingston act as long. A she's the only wife who's been on t payroll. When Frank Werber first to the boys away, he hired Joan (who's typist, too) to run his publicity offi Then she took off for New York, hopi to crash Broadway, but ended up a hosti in Verney's restaurant down in the V lage. Guess who was at the Village Va guard, nearby — and who picked her every night after work? That's right. Nil "It just kind of gradually, inevital happened," says Joan. "When the T: went back to the Coast, I said 'Nuts to career' and went, too. When they | booked in Hawaii next — well, that seem awfully far away from Nick." Half way through the Trio's last ni| at the Hungry i, Nick whispered sorr thing to Bobby Shane right before intt mission and the pair ducked out. Wh they came back, late for their show, Jo was with them, her face as pink as r nuptial dress. The orchestra struck the Wedding March, best man Bob hopped up on the stand to announce ii and the place went wild drinking chai pagne on the house and smashing t glasses. Joan flew with the Trio to Hawj as Mrs. Nicholas Reynolds. That's where 1 last Kingston hold-out began to weak Bobby Shane didn't know it, but a dar eyed Atlanta belle was already talki about him aboard a boat steaming i Diamond Head. Louise Brandon certainly would ne\ have met Bob if she hadn't heard Tt Dooley. Not that Louise was a cool < particularly. On the contrary, soft spok< queenly Louise was educated in sel< seminaries as befits a gentle young Sout ern lady and had made her debut. B grandfather was on the Board of Gene] Motors, her dad a successful Atlar lawyer. Louise had been to Hawaii a f< weeks before and liked it so much tr she was going back to stay with a frie for a year. Her cabin mate was a deligr ful, sixtyish lady named Miss Evel; Shane. "Those Kingston brothers" They discovered a love for classic music in common (Louise plays the pian< "But when I left Atlanta," she remark* "all you heard around there was a so called Tom Dooley by those Kingst Brothers." Miss Evelyn nodded unde standingly. She'd heard it plenty herse she allowed. Her nephew Bob was one the Trio — only they weren't brothers all. Bob's dad, Art, met his sister at i boat. So Bobby Shane had two fami members telling him about the beautif girl who'd just arrived. Next morning 'ouise found a note at her hotel, "Please rail Bobby Shane." She didn't; she's not hat bold." But Bobby called back, invit- ng her to a party his dad was throwing lext night at the Royal Hawaiian when he Trio opened there. Shane, Sr., playing :upid, picked Louise up. "There were three other single girls at he table," says Louise. "Bob spent the ■veriing trying to figure out which girl le'd talked to on the phone." "I knew it was the prettiest one," says Bob. gallantly. "He doesn't see very well without his jlasses," explains Louise. Anyway, they didn't miss an evening ogether the rest of that month. And when he Kingstons hopped back to San Fran- cisco, Bob called the minute he landed ^egging Louise to come back, too. When he Leilani sailed next day Louise was m it. She traveled down to Hollywood vith Bob, Nick and Joan for a TV date, net Dave and Gretchen there and it eemed like they'd always been together. 3ack in Atlanta the Brandons got the vord: "We're having a visitor for Christ- nas." Bob met the folks and slipped on ^ouise's engagement ring Christmas Eve. "hey were married after that wild plane ide in Indiana last March. Washington ;ot the nod because it's Louise's second iome. Her grandfather owns a hotel there. Vlso, it was closer for the Trio. When hey left at dawn, Joan Reynolds helped fry Louise's tears and took her out to ?an Francisco for the next lonely month, just like a sister." Actually, that's about how the Kingston vives think of each other by now. Nor vas Louise too wild when she called Bob, sick and Dave "the Kingston Brothers." "It's amazing," ponders Gretchen Guard, peaking for the girls. "We're all from lifferent backgrounds, we live differently Jid in different places. We never knew ach other before. But we've never had ven an argument." "There's never been a reason," explains oan Reynolds. "We're all in the same >oat. Same crazy time demands, same Toblems, same waiting at the garden ate. . . ." ". . . And the same wonderful thrill >hen they all come in!" adds Louise inane. That same one-for-all — all-for-one spirit lues Nick, Dave and Bob together. "We're olid," says Shane. "Why not? We aren't ivals. We all make the same money, .ork the same hours, have about the same ilent and stand or fall together. Besides, .e're all pals from away back." "Things wig us now and then — sure," dmits Dave. "Sometimes, the way we . ork, we could wind up a bunch of neu- otics yelling at each other. But we don't. Ye play it silly. And a hassle turns into ] laugh. We know each other so well hat nobody has to pretend. On one-night- ; rs sometimes we don't speak to each other ;nce we're off. Just hit for the sack. All p all we keep the whole thing a gas." he only time they missed That one time the Trio missed a play- ate found them in Minneapolis boarding plane for the Universit y of Montana at lissoula. But a blizzard swooshed down nd they spent three hours right there on ie ground. Things were getting gloomy hen Bob Shane had an idea. "This is champagne flight, isn't it?" he asked ne stewardess. "Well — ?" So they talked her into unlocking the ar. As the snow howled outside they had bash, finally unlimbering the guitars nd bongos. "This is for you, Missoula, /herever you may be!" cried Dave — and ney warmed it up all by themselves with Greta Chi is a beautiful young girl who lived, not long ago, in Switzerland, very near to Aud- rey Hepburn and Mel Ferrer. She had a wonderfully exotic face. Her father was Chinese (he was China's ambassador to Switzerland) and her mother German. When she was little she studied ballet and by the time she was nineteen, she had ap- peared in many operas, French and German plays. When Audrey and Mel saw Greta, they suggested that she go to Holly- wood. Greta decided their sugges- tion was an excellent one and came to the United States and enrolled in La Jolla Playhouse. She appeared in Skin of Our Teeth and she was very good— so good in fact that sev- eral studios were ready to give her her start in the movies right then and there. But her agent wanted her start to be the best possible beginning and he advised her to hold off, keep studying and wait for the right role, the role that would launch her ca- reer successfully. Greta did just that— but nothing- happened. All those offers just seemed to disappear. Greta's work visa would expire on June 18, and that day was get- ting terribly close— with no work in sight. Sadly, she began to pack to go home. There was nothing else to do. On the morning of June 18, Greta was ready. Not ready in her heart, but ready with her luggage and her passport. She was making a few last good-bye phone calls, when her phone rang. It was her agent, not saying good-bye, but with the incredible news that 20th Century-Fox wanted her for a leading role in Five Gates to Hell. What timing! There was not a moment to lose. Negotiations had to be made quick- ly because if that contract weren't signed within the very next few hours, her work visa would still ex- pire and she'd have to go back to Switzerland without even taking the job! But the contract was signed in time, and the film was made. And the outcome? Greta proved to be a girl of un- usual talent as well as beauty, and you can see for yourself soon in 20th's absorbing new drama, Five Gates to Hell. the stewardess joining in. "Luckily," says Nick, "we didn't get there that night at all. Luckily, that is, for the customers." Half the year — when the boys make those frantic one-nighter dashes — Gretch, Jo and Lou are widows. If the gang lights anywhere near for as long as a week they're all on hand, fussing around the motel rooms to make them seem like home. But when the heat's off, even briefly, the Reynolds, Guards, and Shanes scatter to separate set-ups and stay there. "On the road we all practice togetherness until it's frightening," laughs Gretchen Guard. "But at home — it's three wives, three lives." Their homes are all around San Fran- cisco, but not one's alike. Nor, for that matter, are the three designs for living. Conservative Nick Reynolds, for in- stance, is now the bohemian of the bunch. For a while Nick and Joan lived on a houseboat anchored off the picturesque art colony of Sausalito, where about any- thing goes and nobody cares. "When the house got dusty you just opened the win- dows and the breeze blew it out," says Joan. "You dumped the garbage out the door and the tide took it away." With a baby due in April, Joan and Nick have given that up for an old artist's studio, with a skylight in the kitchen, perched on a hill with a view of all San Francisco, over the Golden Gate Bridge. Nick and Joan love Sausalito, never plan to leave. Their dreams rest right there. "Someday," says Nick, "maybe we'll have our own bar and night club here. We'd like that." On the other hand, once skittery Dave Guard is now as solid a citizen as you'd care to know. Dave and Gretchen rent a place in Palo Alto, drive a '53 Ford wagon with a dent in the door, play tennis and go to movies just like any exurbanite pair. With one child and another due, maybe Dave's more of a worry wart than the rest. He and Gretchen don't stop a minute building for a solid future: "You see," says Dave, "I've still got problems of security that Bob and Nick don't have. My goal's $400,000, and I'm getting on the way there. We're buying good Danish fur- niture a piece at a time, so it will last the race. One of these days I'll get a Rolls- Royce and drive it the rest of my life." Moreover, Dave has leveled down on what he really wants to do if or wher the Kingston bonanza plays out. "I knov. now I want to write," he says. "Somedaj we'll move to Big Sur (a remote beaut} spot on the Pacific shore) and dig in." Bob and Louise Shane are already du| in at a new modern-Oriental pad acros: the bay in Tiburon with their toy poodle Trinket. No stork signs have shown ye' but they're hoping. Just the same, free- wheeling Bob has settled down to a con- tented domestic pattern with Louise. H< sends money to Honolulu where he ha; set up an investment company with hi; dad. There's always a light in the win- dow, too, at the Athletic Supply. But right now, all things considered, jus' what the Kingston Trio's doing suits Dav« Guard, Bob Shane, Nick Reynolds anc their wives right down to a living "T." "The truth is," agrees Dave, "we're al having even more fun than we did ir school — and we're getting paid for it!" But Nick Reynolds hits nearest to th< heart of the matter: "We've been loadec with luck. But so what if we'd flopped: We'd have kicked ourselves all our live: if we hadn't given it a try." EN I We Were Afraid We Couldn't Have a Baby (Continued jrom page 30) months went by and there was no sign of the child we longed for, I began to be a little concerned. Jimmie would comfort me and say, "But honey, lots of couples don't have a family right away; don't worry about it," and he'd suggest going to a doc- tor to reassure me that there was nothing wrong. But I did worry about it, and finally Jimmie was beginning to wonder too. At last I went to a gynecologist "for reassurance." I was crushed when he said there was a great possibility that I'd not be able to have a child of my own, but Jimmie kept up my courage by insisting that this was just one doctor's opinion, and besides, he didn't actually say there never could be a baby, just maybe not. Thus began a series of visits to doctors, each one more discouraging than the last. I didn't want to go to another, didn't want to hear those words condemning us to an empty existence. I felt that I had let my beloved Jimmie down. It was because of an injury to me, the doctors — all of them — had told me, that we couldn't have a baby. Then one day we heard of a very fine gynecologist and obstetrician, a leading specialist in his field. There was still room for hope. With a prayer in our hearts, we went to this doctor, expecting a mir- acle. . . . We entered his office, smiling but nerv- ous, to get the result of my examination, hoping. . . . And then: "You may never have a baby of your own. . . ." We had dreamed and hoped — and lost again. That night, Jimmie tried to comfort me. "Darling, we can adopt a baby, you know," he began. "Plenty of couples do." Plenty of people had adopted babies and had been very happy. But it was a little different with me. Jimmie had given me so much. I wanted to give him some- thing, too. I wanted to give him a baby that was his. The effect of the terrible accident I felt that it was my fault that I couldn't give him his baby. It all went back to that accident in 1956, before I married Jimmy. The car I was riding in that night had 56 rammed head-on into another, and I was taken, more dead than alive, to the hos- pital. The accident left me with internal injuries that were later to stand in my way when I wanted to have a baby. Most couples want a baby. But I think that Jimmie and I wanted one more than most. Jimmie is the kind of man who was made for roots. Although he didn't have a dime when we got married, shortly aft- erwards Jimmie got his big break with Honeycomb and we knew we could afford that home and family we both wanted so much. Once our hearts and minds were made up, we naively assumed that we'd have our baby, so we weren't prepared for the enormous difficulties that lay ahead. Five months, six months, seven months had gone by — and no sign of a baby. I was impatient to get started on our family, so when we were in New York on a personal appearance tour of Jimmie's, I looked up an obstetrician and asked him why I hadn't become pregnant yet. I wasn't prepared for the answer he gave me after he examined me. As the doctor talked to me. his words struck like a blow. "Mrs. Rodgers, you should know that due to your accident, you are not strong enough internally to conceive," he said. "Even if you were to conceive, I don't believe you would be able to carry a baby through to a complete term. Your back was so badly twisted in the accident it's too weak to stand up under pregnancy." When Jimmie came home he found me shaking. "Don't carry on like that, darling," he said. "There are other doctors. Remember there were some doctors who said you'd never walk again after your accident, and look at you now. New York is full of specialists. We'll find one who can help us." But we didn't. I went to one doctor after another and finally Jimmie and I had to face it. My chances of giving birth were very dim. Although Jimmie's heart, like mine, was broken, his first thought was to comfort me. "If we can't have one of our own, darling, we'll adopt one. The good Lord put many children on earth, and not all of them have parents and homes. There'; a baby in this world waiting just for us.' I was willing to accept this as the an- swer. We made inquiries about adopting < baby but soon found we couldn't ever file yet. I believed Jimmie and I woulc make the best possible parents. What mon could anyone give a baby than bountifu love and care? Even adoption was out But after checking, I discovered then would be plenty of objections: Our cai was mortgaged; Jimmie was a singer anc had no steady income; we didn't own « home; we were constantly on the road we were too young. In our minds all thi; was rubbish compared to the real thing! we could give a baby. "Suppose our car is mortgaged," I re- member pleading. "Lots of babies ridt in mortgaged cars. So we haven't a hom< of our own yet. We will. And we'rt young, but we are responsible. Anc Jimmie's a singer, but there isn't a mar alive who would make a more devotee father." We were more determined than ever t< have a baby of our own. I traveled witl Jimmie on his hectic one-night stands, anc visited the outstanding gynecologists in al- most every big city we hit. In Miami, asked the doctor there to give me the tes; to determine if I was pregnant. He lookec at me kindly and said, "Mrs. Rogers, \ won't even bother with the test. I'm goinf to tell you right now you aren't pregnant These signs that you think indicate preg- nancy are merely signs that you're over- tired. You must rest." All our thoughts were centered on try- ing to have a baby. One night I felt ter- rible pains and Jimmie called the doctor It was a recurrence of my accident in- juries, and the doctor wanted to operate immediately. I remember seeing Jimmie's face, drained white, and hearing him tell the doctor: "Take good care of her, doc- tor. Do what you think you have to do but take good care of Colleen." I was frightened for another reason. 1 was afraid this operation might cut off for- ever my chances of ever becoming a mother. So while Jimmie pleaded with the doctor to save me, I pleaded with the doctor to save my chances of motherhood When I learned that the surgeon was planning to remove a vital organ necessary for pregnancy, I became hysterical and begged him not to. I wouldn't even sign le release permitting the doctor to per- irm the surgery. Although the doctor saved my chances of ;coming a mother, as the months went i there still was no sign that a baby as on the way. We moved into a big, ;autiful modern style home on top of a 11 in a California suburb called Granada ills, but it didn't bring me the happi- ;ss I expected. I found myself going om room to room and crying. The love- garden, the open feeling of the house, ie den with the practical cork floors and special yellow room with built-in shelves 1 cried out for the presence of a child. Jirnmie had even consented to taking sts himself, but the results proved that e reason lay with me, not him. I felt that I was a failure as a woman, became self-reproachful and sad. I felt iat I had failed Jimmie. What good was as his wife if I couldn't give him a child? t the agency Jirnmie was wonderful. He would take e in his arms and tell me he loved me. e'd maintain that somehow, some day, e would have a baby. And one night ; suggested that we go down to the doption Institute of Los Angeles and 5 ply again. Jimmie was like a little boy the morning e were to go to the adoption offices and eet the investigators. He went through s closet a dozen times to try to decide i just the right thing to wear to impress em. "If I wear this sport jacket I might ok too young," he said. "And if I wear is dark suit I might look too dressed up. ou know, honey, I don't think I ever snt to an audition as flustered as I am )W." We walked into a great, big room that as filled with other couples, like our- Ives, who wanted babies. Jimmie looked rious in a grey suit and navy tie, and e cowlick that he'd tried to slick down that he would look dignified was mis- •having and had sprung up, giving him at boyish look he wanted to avoid. We filled out reams of papers and then e went home to wait. Every day we dted for the phone to ring telling us we Duld have our baby. We were approved our lovely home, our paid-up cars, the Dney in the bank and Jimmie's career lich was now on a stable level — made e picture completely different than it had en a year ago. It was only a matter of 'ne. With some justification, I began to get at nursery ready. And then another dw fell. Jimmie's TV show was being msf erred to New York and we had to ck up and leave. This meant that the option proceedings had to be canceled. 'Jirnmie was as disappointed as I was, it he was still a pillar of strength. "Who 'e we to question what the good Lord s in store for us?" he said. "Maybe this part of His plan, that we wait a while "iger." "Jimmie has always been a religious per- n, and so have I. It was our faith that "rried us through the latest setback in r attempt to have a baby. i unfruitful stay r.We took a six-month lease on an apart- snt in New York, which represented the I igest we'd ever stayed in one place. Then f rimie and I sat down and talked and [ cided that since we were going to be rtled for a while in one place I should get iether with a specialist and go through ! the tests to try to get at the root of ." trouble. ! The doctor was a kindly man who un- r stood our frantic desire for a baby. I v/ent to him regularly and took every id of test that might help me. When I underwent the Rubin test, which is a rather painful test to blow out the tubes in case there is any obstruction that would prevent pregnancy, I was elated when it was discovered that one of the tubes was closed. I felt that now that something tangible was discovered, and could be corrected, maybe I would become pregnant. The desire to have a baby had almost become a fetish. I was becoming tense and nervous. I took hormone pills regu- larly. I followed a temperature chart beside our bed. After several months of this, Jimmie came home and announced that we would be taking off for a tour in Australia as soon as his television show was finished for the season. I was so disappointed that our stay in New York had come to an unfruitful end that I blew my top. I tore up the chart, threw the thermometer against the wall and tossed the pills in a basket. "Nothing has helped me," I wailed. Jimmie laughed. "The heck with all this, honey. If the pills don't give us a baby, the good Lord will." Thoroughly discouraged by this time, I decided to forget about having a baby for the time being. I would go to Aus- tralia with Jimmie, have fun and when we returned we would re-open our adoption proceedings. For the first time in a long time I felt relaxed and let go of my feel- Learn Some Answers About Your Favorite Stars * Which star was radio's Sam Spade? Which girl star's real name is like that of a famous philosopher ? What actress eats raw pota- toes for breakfast? * Find the answer to these and other interesting questions in MODERN SCREEN'S SUPER STAR CHART Learn 4810 facts about the stars! Just mail 25 cents in coin with the coupon below. Box 515 Super Star Information Chart Times Square P. O. New York 36. N. Y. Enclosed please find 25 cents in coin. Please rush my copy of MODERN SCREEN'S SUPER STAR INFORMATION CHART Name Address City Zone .... State .... ings of inadequacy and anxiety. The typhoid and smallpox shots that I had to take before going overseas made me very sick. I could hai-dly get up for breakfast and I was drained of all energy. When I complained to my doctor that the overseas shots were not agreeing with me, he gave me a blood test. A little rabbit I had just returned home when my phone rang. "Guess what?" the doctor said cheer- fully. "I can't guess," I replied miserably. "You can't go to Australia with Jimmie." "Oh no," I said, slumping into a chair. You mean those overseas shots made me too ill?" "No," said the doctor firmly. "I mean a little rabbit just told me you can't go traipsing around the world. Not in your condition." "In my condition?" It took a minute. "Oh, you mean in my condition?" "Exactly," said the doctor. I was reeling. "Can I tell Jimmie?" "Well," replied the doctor, "it's custom- ary for the wife to break the news." Jimmie was rehearsing his TV show at the theater on Broadway. I wanted him to savor the full joy of the news. I called Western Union and blurted: "Send this wire to Jimmie Rodgers: YOU ARE GO- ING TO BE A FATHER. HOW ABOUT THAT? I LOVE YOU. COLLEEN. And please send it as quickly as possible." "Ma'am," said the Western Union operator, "if I could leave my desk I would take it to him myself." I found Jimmie, an hour later, stretched out on his dressing room couch, a cup of hot bouillon in one hand, the wire in the other. He was staring up at the ceiling. I'd never seen such a look of bliss on his face. The director tore in. "Your husband is in a daze. We haven't been able to get him to do a thing for the past hour. What's in that blamed telegram anyway?" It hasn't been clear sailing. Many times since then Jimmie and I have had to turn to God to save our baby. Only a short while ago, after we were settled back in our home in Granada Hills, I awoke in the middle of the night with sharp abdominal pains. Jimmie's hand shook as he dialed for the doctor. As we waited for the doc- tor to arrive, we both prayed. We became even more frightened when Dr. Kaplan ordered me into the hos- pital for immediate surgery. Again it was a throwback to my accident. A tumor had formed and was pressing against the uterus. All I could think of was the baby. "Dr. Kaplan, whatever you do, please don't touch the baby." As I was about to be wheeled down the corridor into surgery, Jimmie leaned over to kiss me. He pressed something into my hand. It was our little St. Genesis medal. Guide Our Destinies is inscribed on it. In the past, any time anything very big has faced us, we have kissed the medal. And then we would be relieved, knowing that we were in God's hands, our destinies guided by a Divine Force. Jimmie held the medal to my lips. I kissed it. He took the medal and held it up to his lips. He had been on the verge of tears, but now his face looked serene. "God will watch over our baby," said Jimmie slowly. I was operated on that night and I was told I was in surgery three hours. When I opened my eyes I saw Jimmie's face in a foggy world. "Is the baby all right?" I asked. "Our baby is all right," said Jimmie. "Our baby is all right." END 57 "Errol Flynn Died in My Arms" (Continued from page 22) no make-up on, could only sob as death stepped in and took away "the only man I really loved" from her embrace. As the final curtain rang down on one of the last of the gallant screen greats, the dreams of the future that Errol and Bev- erly had shared for themselves suddenly went into oblivion, too. "We were going to be married and live in Jamaica as soon as Errol got his di- vorce," Beverly sobbed after she recovered from the initial shock of Flynn's sudden death from a heart attack. "We were going to live in a house we designed together. It was to have been the most beautiful house in all the British West Indies. But now ... all those plans are gone forever. "I still can't accept Errol's death. I don't know if 1 ever will. I had promised him if anything happened I would go ahead and face up to life in the Flynn tradition — live for today and have a wonderful time doing it. He always said: 'No tears, break open a bottle, and toast me in pink cham- pagne.' "I can't do that. I never will. He told me also: 'If anybody comes to my funeral I'll cut them out of my will.' But I can't help the way I feel about him. I can't ever for- get the two years we spent together — the happy times we had. "Errol was more to me than a sweet- heart and the man I was to marry. He was my everything — my father, my mother, my lover, my companion, my advisor, my idol." Fifteen and forty-eight When Beverly met Errol, she was just a wide-eyed girl of fifteen. He was forty- eight. His greatness for the most part was in his past. He was no longer Hollywood's top lover — at least not on screen. In the past few years, freewheeling Errol had led a nomadic life, wandering from Europe to Jamaica, to Cuba, to New York, and back to Hollywood, picking up work wherever be could find it. For twenty-five years he had been the epitome of the suave, love-'em-and-leave- Vm Lothario who built his reputation on h heap of broken hearts. He had made women forget Douglas Fairbanks and Ru- dolph Valentino. Flynn was built for the part. He had the vigor, good looks, charm, and animal magnetism that drew women like moths to the flame. And they all got burned. Now, that flame — still flickering even though not as bright — had attracted Bev- erly Aadland. "You might ask what I saw in a man thirty-three years older than I," Beverly said. "I will tell you that I saw everything in Errol — everything in the world for me. "I always had been starved for love. I always wanted to be hugged and loved. Even as a little girl, I wanted my father to hug and love me. But he never gave me the attention and devotion I wanted from him. "Perhaps that is why I started dating when I was twelve. By the time I was fifteen — when I finally met Errol — I had been engaged four times! "But most of the boys I had known were shallow. They were after one thing — and one thing only." Fate destined Beverly to meet Errol on the Warner Brothers lot in Hollywood in October, 1957. Beverly had a dancing part in Marjorie Morningstar. Errol was work- ing in Too Much, Too Soon. "I noticed someone staring at me," Bev- erly related. "I didn't know who it was. 58 I had read about Errol Flynn in some magazines and had seen his pictures. But I didn't recognize him. Not at first. Finally, though, I realized who it was. "I was instantly afraid of him because of the things I had read about him — about that rape trial and things like that." Beverly was referring to the sordid case in 1943 that had threatened to wreck Errol's movie career. Two young girls, Betty Hansen, seventeen, and Peggy Sat- terlee, sixteen, charged Flynn with rape. It was Flynn who was seduced, his lawyer Gerry Geisler shouted at the trial. Peggy, a chorus girl, said Flynn lured her below decks in his yacht "to show me the moon through a porthole." Betty, a star-struck waitress, claimed Errol served her a "greenish" drink at a Hollywood party, then took her to a bedroom when she became ill, and seduced her. A jury of nine women and three men acquitted him. Two of the men had held out for conviction. It was a close call. The case which shocked Hollywood had come the year of his divorce from actress Lili Damita, the fiery French delight whom Errol had married in 1935. Lili told the court Errol wanted to be free — didn't want a wife and child. They had one son, Sean, who was a year-old at the time. And at that time, 1943, Beverly was only two years old! The intense magnetism Yet when Errol gazed over at Beverly on the Warner lot that October day in 1957, the shapely, blonde starlet couldn't help but feel the intense magnetism that lured women to him. "When he looked at me I felt some- thing," Beverly said. "I know it always was like that — whenever Errol looked at a girl she felt it! "For four days there on the Warner lot it went like that — Errol watching me. "Then Errol sent someone over — it was Orry Kelly, the big dress designer — to tell me: 'Mr. Errol Flynn would like to meet you.' "My heart started to pound when I heard that. A warmth glowed inside me. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach." There was no hesitation on Beverly's part. "Take me to him," she told Kelly impa- tiently. Kelly escorted Beverly to Errol's dress- ing room. "I was shaking when we were intro- duced," Beverly said. " But Errol was so nice that I began to feel at ease somewhat. Still and all I couldn't help being flustered inside." Errol started by saying, "I noticed you, my dear. I think you have possibilities of becoming a great actress." At first Beverly thought Errol was "just being kind." "We talked a while and he asked me a lot of questions about myself. Then came the zinger. " 'I'd like you to come to my house,' Errol told me. " 'Wow!' I told myself. 'This guy really has earned his reputation. He certainly is a fast worker.' " Errol could see the apprehension in Beverly's face. "I want you to read a part of Jane Eyre for me," Errol said. "I'm very tired now and I don't want to do any more work here at the studio. Will you come up?" "I couldn't figure out if it was the old line, 'Come up and see my etchings,' " Beverly said. She couldn't tell if Errol really was sincere. "Errol could see me hesitate and he quickly assured me that we wouldn't be alone. He said his secretary would be at the house, too. He asked me to dinner first, and told me his lawyer would accom- pany us to the restaurant. "I couldn't resist the invitation any longer. There was something about the way Errol talked — he had a flair, a man- ner, a style that completely disarmed you." Beverly was voicing the sentiments that were expressed many times before — by the women whom Errol had wooed and won, then impulsively dropped like hot potatoes. Halfway round the world warning signals rose from the wreckages of Errol's past romances to tell Beverly of the danger that could lie ahead. But Beverly was blind to these signals. She accepted Errol's invitation. "After I finished work," she related. "I rushed home to dress for my date." Beverly lived with her mother and father in Ingle wood, just outside Holly- wood. "I didn't let on to them that night that I had a date with Errol Flynn. And as things turned out, I'm glad I didn't." Beverly hurried out and met Errol and his lawyer in a restaurant. After dinner. Errol took Beverly to his house "up on a hill." Beverly was overcome "I was awed by the sight, its magnifi- cence and splendor," Beverly said. "I was overcome by the beautiful surroundings, the landscaping, the house itself, and by the breathtaking furnishings. It was so exquisitely decorated. "But most of all I was overwhelmed by Errol himself — by his charm and glam- our." As Errol had promised, his secretary was there. Errol took Beverly into the living room and began to talk about his in- terest in her as an actress. "He told me again he thought I had great possibilities. He wanted to make Jane Eyre, he said, and was thinking of me for the lead role. I was thrilled at the idea of playing the part Joan Fontaine had in the earlier version of that film. I could hardly believe my ears." As Errol talked on, Beverly suddenly became conscious of a small development. The secretary was not in the room any longer. Beverly and Errol were alone. "Errol moved closer to me and said, 'Let's sit on the rug.' "It was a white bearskin rug. I con- sented and we threw ourselves on it in front of the fireplace. We talked some more and smoked. We used the bear's mouth as an ashtray. "As Errol talked, I forgot all about Jane Eyre. I began to think about other things — like love. I could tell the way Errol began to look at me now that he loved me. And I knew about myself — I loved him. "There were things about him that I never found in any other man. "He was the first person who ever really listened to what I said. I could think about all the unhappiness at home and about my social and love life of the past, and of the bores I used to date. This was so different. "My dates had been so dull and simple. I would go to drive-in movies with them. About the most exciting thing they could do was sneak a bottle of liquor into the car. It was disgusting. "As these things ran through my mind, Errol took my hands and pulled me close. " 'I don't usually kiss girls,' Errol told me. 'I have a reputation, you know. I'm a very dangerous man. But with you, my dear Beverly, I have a sudden great desire to kiss you.' "He put his arms around me and drew e in close embrace. Then he kissed e. It was spine-tingling. "I had been kissed before by other men. tit it was nothing like this. The others ere so empty, so meaningless, so cold. "My heart began to race a mile a min- :e. I felt all choked up. Everything all once became so unclear, so misty — so eamy. "In the next instant. Errol swept me up ' his arms. I didn't care what happened •.ymore. I was in love and I knew he ved me. I felt since we both shared this eling for each other it didn't really mat- r what happened. Anything that did .ppen would be worth it. "I had an hour of sheer heaven with m. The best way I can describe it is to y that Errol made mad love to me — love ; you ne\er have seen him make in any ovie role. And I made mad love back.'" er parents would worry When it got late. Beverly told Errol she id to go home because her mother and -her would be worried about her. "Errol didn't want me to go, but I told m it had to be that way — at least for e present. He understood." Errol called his chauffeur and told him take Beverly home. "As I got in the car, the chauffeur looked nd of funny at me. I guess he was inking that" Errol had made another ■nquest. But I didn't care. I knew he ould find out soon enough that I was it just another girl in Errol's life — that was something special. Then I began to think as the car drove E. Suddenly I began to cry. I cried be- ase I didn't know whether I had done e right thing. I cried because I didn't low for certain if I would ever see Errol ain. Even though I believed he was in s e with me, he never did come out and y "I love you.' Perhaps I was just an- ker date, after all. " But most of all I cried because it had en such a spinning evening. The emo- >nal impact was terrific on me. I cried the way home." Beverly went to bed that night without eing her mother or father. The next Dining when her mother came into the om to awaken her at six so she could t to work at the studio. Mrs. Aadland ticed a strange expression on Beverly's :e. Tve never seen you look quite like .5 before." Beverly's mother told her. ."ho are you in love with?" she asked. Errol Flynn." Beverly replied. -Mrs. Aadland laughed. She thought : verly was still dreaming. - Wake up!" she told her daughter. "Come :-.vn to earth." 3everly didn't try to explain that she .3 telling the truth. She knew it would hard to explain everything. She went the studio and worked all day. But 2 didn't see Errol. Ihat night Beverly had a date with a y named Jim. Beverly wanted to cancel r date but there was no way she could : in touch with Jim. So she kept her pointment. When Jim took me out I had lost all ;ire for his company. When I compared n with Errol Flynn — why there was just thing at all to Jim. And I realized, too, mt I could never have fallen in love :h him. 'He took me to a drive-in and tried to i :k with me. I had no feeling for Jim y more and I pushed him away. Jim :ldn't understand me because we'd been r ng steady for some time and I'd never : ed like this before. But I just couldn't any other man touch me now that I =w what it was to be loved by Errol '. nan." m took Beverly home early that night. take a qreat writer... Guy Endore distinguished author of the best-selling KING OF PARIS and an all-time favorite story... Ben-Hur a tale of the Christ by Lew Wallace put them together... BEN-HUR became a popular classic almost overnight when it was originally published 80 years ago. It was an exciting story . . . written in the ornate, slow-moving, elaborate style popular in the 1880's. Xow BEN-HUR is back on every tongue because M-G-M has turned it into one of the colossal movies of all time. To tie in with the film, Guy Endore has modernized this 19th-century classic. He has taken the same dramatic mate- rial— the barbaric splendor of Ancient Rome and the heroic beginnings of Christianity* — and completely re-written it. Picked it up. Paced it fast. Translated it into the quick, color- ful language of today. READ THE DELL EDITION BEFORE YOU SEETHE MAGNIFICENT M-G-M MOVIE When she came in, her mother told Bev- erly she had a phone call earlier in the evening. "It was Errol Flynn," Mrs. Aadland told her daughter. "I guess you weren't kid- ding this morning, were you?" Beverly dashed for the phone with her heart skipping beats to call Errol. He told her he wanted to see her the next night. No one-night thing "That was what I had been dying to hear. Now I knew for certain it wasn't just a one-night thing between Errol and me. I knew now that we'd be together forever." And it began to look like Beverly was right. From then on Errol and Beverly seemed to go everywhere and do every- thing together. "That was our story — togetherness," Beverly said. "Errol and I went every- place— to all the big cities in America, Europe, and to Africa and Cuba." The gossip columnists had a field day. "Another young girl in Errol Flynn's clutches," they wrote. "How long will she last with him until she's burned?" they asked. But Beverly didn't seem to care. "I knew what they could not know — of the real and vibrant love that Errol and I shared. "The words 'I love you' were difficult for Errol to express. He had used them first when he met his first love, Lili Da- mita, whom he married twenty-five years ago. And he never spoke them again in real life — until he whispered them to me." That happened in Paris while Errol was making Roots of Heaven for Darryl Zan- uck. "I was the happiest woman in the world that day." After that. Errol and Beverly were seen more and more together. "People who knew Errol would stop and ask him, 'Isn't Beverly too young for you?' "But Errol had a ready answer for all of them. His eyes would twinkle and he would reply in that clipped way of his, 'I may be too old for her, but she is not too young for me.' "In truth, he was not too old for me. Believe it or not, I felt like a mother to him. "He needed watching over. And that was my job. That was the way I acted toward him — as a sort of guardian. "There was a very young quality about Errol even if he was forty-eight years old and I only fifteen. He was in many ways a child — a daredevil and a pixie. "I felt I was his stabilizer. Physically and emotionally I felt ten years older than Errol. Yet, I was never too aware of his age. He was the kind of man who im- pressed me as being ageless. "He needed a young girl like me. An older woman could never have under- stood Errol." As Beverly got to know Errol better, she began to know more about his ways and his interests. She saw the real Flynn. "He was not just a zany, happy-go-lucky individual as most people knew him. There were many sides to Errol Flynn." People generally saw the three sides of Flynn — the lover, the drinker, and the adventurer. "It's true that Errol loved those three things the most — wine, women, and ad- venture," Beverly explained. "But he also was a man of great polish and brilliance. There were many other sides to his nature. There was not only Errol the lover, but there was Errol the man who loved life. And there was Errol the man who loved culture, and Errol the teacher." Beverly also found out that Errol was a sincere and loyal person with a strong 60 distaste for hypocrisy. "He never gave a hang for the critics. He knew he was being ridiculed and criti- cized for being seen with me. But he would say to me, 'Don't let that talk get you down. I want to do exactly as I please — and being with you is what I want most in the world.' " Errol 's attachment and fondness for Beverly was reflected in the nickname he gave her — 'Woodsie' for 'Woodnymph.' "He told me I was like a woodnymph. Errol was like that. He could never see people as people. His imagination soared too high for that. To him people were symbols — or delightful animals, or coarse, crass objects. But never people." Errol also devised another nickname. "He'd call me his 'S.C This meant 'small companion.' But most of the time I was his 'Woodsie.' " When Beverly came into Errol's life, his hell -raising days were for the most part behind him. But that only was by contrast to the Flynn of old. To Beverly, it wasn't exactly so. "There was still a lot of hell in Errol even as I knew him," she said. Errol and Beverly often talked about those days of yesteryear, of the early '30's when Flynn shot up like a meteor on the Hollywood scene. There were some bitter, some scandalous episodes. ■M ! ! ! ! ! ! I ! I ! I I I ! I ! I I ! I ! I ! ! ! * ~ Tennessee Ernie Ford: Life doesn't Z - begin ot 40 for those who went - - like 60 when they were 20. Sidnc\ Skolskv - in the New York Post ~ Ti i i i n i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i i " "Errol never did mind talking about the past. He had no bitter feelings about it. But our talks of the old days never lasted long. We lived in the present." Beverly recalled the happy days she spent in New York with Errol. "We had such wonderful communication between us. We would sit for hours by the window and look out at the sky- scrapers and the great melting pot of humanity below, the city with its endless traffic jams and grinding noises. "We could sit together like that in any situation or place and share the most trivial experience together, as we shared the biggest moments. " 'We're like ham and eggs.' Errol would say. 'I'm the ham — we go together.' " Beverly can never forget one winter morning in New York. "Errol got me up at four o'clock in the morning and said. 'Let's get out and com- mune with nature.' I didn't think the idea was wild at all. I simply got dressed and went out with him. "We went walking through Central Park in the snow. It was so peaceful and so beautiful. You can't imagine what it was like unless you've done the same thing . . . and you've done it with Errol Flynn. "We even sat on the hotel room floor and watched a fly crawl. "And if that sounds crazy, it isn't at all. That was part of our togetherness." Then Errol took Beverly to Europe. "It was there Errol had his first chance to show me his great depth. He took me to the museums in London and Paris; then I learned the side of Errol that was the teacher, the man who loved culture. "He also took me to the English country- side and showed me the castles. He spun tales of English lore that fascinated me. "In Paris, I learned more about Errol the fun-lover. I remember we sat in the hotel balcony overlooking the street. We had green almonds and started to spit them down on the gendarmes below. "We'd made 1,000 franc bets on who would hit the gendarmes first. After a few tries. I made a direct hit on a gen darme's face. It really stung him. H< came charging up the stairs and storme< into the room. "We threw the almonds under the sof; and sat on the balcony pretending we wen gazing out at the view. We laughed lik< the devil after the gendarme left our suit* disgusted because he couldn't prove any- thing." Errol also took Beverly to many bril- liant parties in Paris. It was there she go to know still another side of Errol — th< bon vivant. "Women practically fell at his feet. The} simply adored him. They were awed bj his charm and personality." Then there was the trip to Africa. Erro had to go on location in French Equatoria Africa for the shooting of Roots of Heaven Beverly could not make the entire trip t< the Dark Continent with him, but wai able to spend a few days together then with Errol. And now Beverly had a chanc< to see Errol's adventurous side. "We went on small game hunts and w< did things together like we'd never don« before, like swimming with hardly : stitch on. . . ." Beverly then came back to New Yori alone. And here she learned of still an- other Flynn — the Pygmalion — a man driver by some compulsion to remold his younf sweetheart. From the fetid, forsaken regioi of the Equatorial jungles Errol penned i series of letters to Beverly, spouting ar array of poetry, passion, concern for hii young beloved, and a desire to make some- thing of her. Presumably. Errol wrote to Beverly in one letter, you have never delved intc anything more profound in the literary sense than reading the funnies on Sunday morning. Why don't you try reading a book. . . . He suggested that Beverly read George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion, the classical myth of a king and sculptor of Cyprus who carved an ivory statue of a maiden who suddenly came to life. Shaw adapted this ancient tale to forge his own modern allegory of a wealthy scholar who changes a poor, ragged girl into an electrifying articulate society woman. It's the story now celebrated in song in My Fair Lady. And to Flynn, Beverly was his own Fair Lady. This passage from another letter clearly showed Errol's concern about Bev- erly"s dress: I just bought you some lovely African Moorish embroidered cloth so we can design something quite different for dresses for you and have it made up. Yet even when Errol was being serious still another of his many sides seemed to pop up — this one the pixie. In that very same letter that talked of Beverly's attire he wrote her: Following are the matters on the agenda I will now take up with ■ I you . . . note: (1) Your extreme precocity (your adolescence is no excuse) is funny. (2) Your almost hedonistic de- light in any pretense to the rudi- ments of culture or acquisition of the basic ladylike behaviorism (I think we shall avoid this subject; if I ever find you being ladylike I'll clip you over the side of the ear) is deplorable. In this next letter to Beverly. Flynn shattered the traditional conception of him as the insouciant lover — the man who took romance on the wing. In my throat there is a sort of lump— nothing physical — just pure emotion. I guess, when I think of you. . . . And there was more of Flynn's emo mal outpouring in this letter of March th. 1958: Woo^sie — what a funny adorable little idiot you are, do you really think I can iust pick up a 'phone here and call you? I can't even scream or yell for the boy to bring me orange juice in the morning. I loved your two letters. They reached me here together — one dated Feb. 23. the other March 3rd. It's now the 18th. I feel like telling you so many human things but I can't read by this lamp what I'm saying. But I do know one sure thing — that my heart, my real heart, goes out to you as I write this. . . . Woodsie — you're hooked. I just got back from the hunt. Didn't shoot a living thing, thank God. Every time we sneaked up on the 'game' I'd fire a big fat bullet and make sure I would miss — so that the animal escaped unharmed, and I cursed loudly and called my- self a lousy shot and everyone agreed and I was secretly so happy not to have killed some poor thing — in Africa you must kill. Lousy! You should join me here ... or Paris, won't you love that? I will. I have much to tell you — so much — but this lamp is fouling up my prose. ( The lamp Errol is referring to is a rricane lamp, used in the primitive untry where the film was being made.) Dear, very dear little girl. I think of you constantly. When I say that there is one constant image in my mind and heart it seems strange. Strange indeed. Both your letters gave me the very strange, very strong, vibrant, vital feeling that you really care for me and I can hardly credit this, but hope and long with this tor- mented, empty, calloused heart that it is true. Is it? True, I mean, that what you write, you mean? That you really love me? It seems incredible. I don't think I'm by any means gullible to the degree that one is overwhelmed by a mere ex- pression of something deep be- tween two people — one so much older than the other and a h of a lot of other things. . . . Oh, well, go to sleep, little one. Remember that this heart has for you a strong fierce beat which you can easily wreck if you treat it lightly. — Errol. 3everly read these passages and there re tears in her eyes. 'Now do you see what there was be- een Errol and me? Now do you see : deep and devoted love we shared? rs was a love that would have lasted i lasted . . ." There were many other letters — letters which Errol poured out his love for verly in beautiful prose, like this pas- Words, mere words cannot con- I vey what I feel for you in this crusty heart of mine. . . . But time heals all wounds and the tem- -ary hurts of Errol's and Beverly's arts by the separation of distance was n to end, and they'd be together again. We met again in Paris," said Beverly, lose moments of seeing Errol again fer his long absence I shall cherish for- "\here in Paris, Errol decided that Bev- v would make a picture with him. And *as to be another overseas venture — to ba. And what a time to be there — when country was being swept by revolu- Ln! The picture was Cuban Rebel Girls. "We'd hardly been in Havana a day wb and = a- a j. Don't be roor life. Be a Hisn S<.-hno! graduate. Start you: American School. Dept.H 1 1 4, Drexel at 58th, Chicago 37 HOW TO PUBLISH YOUR BOOK Join our successful authors in a complete publishing program: pub- licity, advertising, handsome books. Send for FREE manuscript report and copy of How To Publish Your Book. COMET PRESS BOOKS Write Dept. DM1 200 Varick Street. New York 14 SHORTHAND Famous SPEEDWRITDsG shorthand. 1? words per minim. No symbols, no it Ch ine-- Use- ABl - l.Piirn "i..w'es"'en m P IN SS W. 42 POEMS WANTED For musical setting . . . send Poems today. Any subject. 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Aside from the alligators, Errol bought me a rabbit called 'McTavish,' a spider monkey named 'Agnes Gootch,' after the secretary in Auntie Mame, and a mynah bird and a cat which we called 'Dagmar.' " Errol and Beverly finally ended up in Hollywood late last Summer. When Beverly got home to Inglewood, she was shocked to find her parents had been separated. Her father had left home. "My father had not liked my association with Errol and he blamed my mother for not stopping it. My father is a very hard- headed man. He is a German-Norwegian and, although he never showed his feel- ings for me, I'm sure he loved me. And that is why he took it out on my mother. He had to blame someone, I guess. "Mama tried to talk me out of marrying Errol. But she saw I was determined. She knew that I was very much in love with Errol and she wanted me to be happy. She could see that I was happier than I'd ever been in my life." While in Hollywood, Errol decided to throw a party for Beverly. That was last September 16 when Beverly turned seven- teen. The party was in Francati's. Errol invited a lot of people, including his sec- ond wife, Nora Eddington Haymes, who was escorted to the party by songwriter Dok Stanford. After the party was over, Beverly wished she'd never come. "A lot of unpleasantness broke out. Nora accused me of making remarks about Er- rol being elderly. She said to me, 'You are very lucky to have a man like Errol interested in you.' "I told her I never spoke of Errol's age or ever said anything against him. I don't remember my language, but it was pretty strong, and it shut her up." Later, Dok hit a man named Otto on the jaw because he was lavishing too much attention on Nora. In what was considered a remarkable feat, Errol — although the center of the controversy — managed to stay out of the rhubarb without throwing a punch. His invitation to Nora to attend a party for his new sweetheart was part of the unpredictable nature that was Errol's. Nora was a young girl when she fell in love with Errol. She had read about him and his trouble in 1943 and came to Los Angeles and got a job at a cigarette stand in the courthouse where Errol was on trial just to be near him. Errol spotted her and they fell in love. That same year, as soon as his divorce from Lili Damita was finalized, Errol mar- ried Nora Eddington in Mexico. The mar- riage ended in 1949. Nora complained that she and Errol hardly were ever together. Errol was always off making pictures or sailing the seas. Their two daughters, Deirdre and Rory, went to live with Nora. And ten days after the divorce, she married singer Dick Haymes. Incidentally, Beverly resembles Errol's daughter, Rory, who is now fourteen years old! The day after the birthday party, Errol had a look of solemnity. Beverly wanted to know what was wrong. "Are you angry with me?" she asked. "No, darling," he replied. "It's just that I've come back from the doctor and found out that I've got to slow down a bit." Errol told Beverly the doctor had given him an electro-cardiogram and it showed his heart wasn't in the best of shape. "But Errol didn't tell me that he had suffered two earlier heart attacks — before we had met. "I was very worried and I pleaded with him to take it easy. I begged him to stop drinking, too. He told me he would." The next day Errol was in excellent 62 spirits again. He took Beverly swimming at a Beverly Hills hotel pool. While they were sitting poolside a reporter came over for an interview with Errol. Errol lit a cigarette and sipped a drink. He stroked Beverly's blond tresses as he started to tell the reporter about himself. It seemed then Errol might have suspected he didn't have long to live. He spoke of his life in the past tense. But he was cheery about it. He admitted he'd been a scalawag, but said he'd never change a thing if he had his life to live over again. "I have no complaints," Errol said. "I've enjoyed every minute of my life. "I have a great talent for spending. I've squandered more than $7,000,000 during my career. The public expects me to be a playboy, and I don't want to let people down. When I was broke I didn't let it worry me. And until now I have managed to hang onto my yacht Zaca no matter how badly things went. "But I guess I need the money now, old bean. That is why I'm going up to Van- couver to see if I can sell her. She's a $100,000 baby, and someone up there wants to buy her. "I guess I'll be criticized for a long time for carrying on with Beverly. But it's a question of living the life you see fit to live. I've been careless of other people's K Mamie Van Doren: I wear extreme V. # low-cut dresses because they help f 4) my posture. In those dresses, one A m slouch would be fatal. A U Sidnev Skolskv K W. in the New York Post # opinions. I never thought the public would be interested in my so-called antics. "Years ago it was a matter of choosing which road to travel. After all, there is only one road to hell, and there aren't any signposts along the way. "I've taken the human disasters in the same stride as the good times," Errol said, referring to the many highpoints he hit in life and the numerous plunges to the depths which invariably followed. "I hope I managed to face it all with a brave front. You shouldn't distress your friends or have them feeling sorry. The worse the disaster, the braver the front. "I've lived hard, spent hard, and be- haved as I damned well chose. You'd think I'd be ready for the wheelchair after the last twenty years of hell-raising. But I never felt better. "I like to travel, and that's what I'm going to keep doing. I have no intention of slowing down . . ." Beverly said she believed everything Errol had said except that last part — about slowing down. "If he were being honest with me when he promised to slow down for his health's sake, I know he was just putting on a front for the reporter. "Errol didn't want his millions of fans finding out he was a sick man." Beverly said she was beside herself trying to figure it all out. Errol had spoken of his life in the past tense. At the moment, Beverly thought it was very significant. "I thought perhaps the doctor might have told him his heart condition was more serious than Errol was letting on. But I really never got to know." Whatever Beverly's concern for Errol, he quickly made her forget it. "We're going to Vancouver," he an- nounced unexpectedly. "Up to George Caldough's place. He's interested in buy- ing the yacht." Beverly and Errol flew to Vancouver. It was their first trip to Canada — but just another country on their rapidly-building- up itinerary of world travel. "Our visit in Vancouver was wonder ful," Beverly said. "The Caldoughs mad. delightful hosts. I had a thoroughly en joyable time, and so did Errol. I wa sorry when our visit came to the end oi its sixth day. "We started for the airport to fly bacl to Hollywood. We were being taken then by George and his wife in their car whei Errol complained of pains in his back. "He mentioned then for the first tim< to George that he had suffered two hear attacks in the past, and thought perhap this might be another. That was the firs I knew of the other attacks. "George said he thought Errol shoulc see a doctor and he drove the car to Di Grant A. Gould's apartment in Vancouver. As Dr. Gould began examining Erro there was no immediate diagnosis of aj emergency condition. Errol told the docto: he had suffered recurring attacks of ma- laria while in Vancouver. Then Errol drifted into how he con- tracted malaria in the South Seas. Tha started him talking, and he rambled abou his experiences in Hollywood. As Errol spoke, music and voices fron an apartment next door could be hear< in the doctor's office. It was a cocktai party. Somehow, word got there tha Errol Flynn was visiting Dr. Gould. One by one the guests began to floa into the physician's office uninvited t< listen to Errol in fascination as he spui his stories of the golden days. He proppec himself against the door and spoke end- lessly— for a solid two hours! "He talked about W. C. Fields, the artis John Dexter, John Barrymore ... all th< greats," Beverly recalled. "His eyes lit up as he stood there waving his arms in magnificent gestures, imitatinj these movie greats. It was a beautiful per- formance. His stories were thrilling — h< was a wonderful story teller." Suddenly, Errol seemed to tire. H( bowed gracefully and said: "I think I might lie down." Then he walked steadily to a bedroorr in the doctor's apartment. As he reachec the door, he turned in a gesture of moci heroics and declared grandly: "But I shall return. . . ." Errol went into the bedroom and laj on the bed. Dr. Gould followed him ii and examined Errol there. A momeni later the doctor came running out of tht room. "Concern was plainly written on th« doctor's face," Beverly said. "I knew Errol was seriously ill. "I went into the bedroom and saw Erm gasping for breath. I sat on the bed anc put my arms around him. A few seconds later I noticed he was barely breathing "But I saw a smile on Errol's lips, which were trembling. He was trying to say something — perhaps that he loved me. FB never know. He never did speak. "I had a feeling this was the end. I had a feeling that Errol Flynn, the man ] loved so very much, had died in my arms. . . ." The door opened suddenly and Dr Gould came into the room. Beverly got up and went to the door to be out ol the way. Dr. Gould and George took Errol from the bed and placed him on the carpet. Errol wasn't breathing anymore. Dr Gould took a hypodermic of adrenalin and plunged it directly into Errol's heart, try- ing to shock it into action. Then the doctor stepped back. He said he hoped the Fire Department inhalator squad would get there in time He had phoned them when he had gone out of the bedroom the last time. In desperation, Caldough asked Dr Gould if nothing couldn't be done to save I irol. "Mouth-to-mouth breathing might elp." Dr. Gould said. Caldough dropped to his knees and be- an to breath into Errol's mouth. "He must have kept it up for ^some- ting like twenty or thirty minutes." Bev- :ly said. "All I know is it seemed like a eternity until the inhalator squad got lere." The squad then took over. The mask as put over Errol's face. In a few minutes, the ambulance arrived. stretcher was brought into the room id Errol was lifted gently on to it. Then 5 was carried downstairs into the ambu- :ice. T was desperate," Beverly said. "I ished downstairs. I tried to get into the ack of the ambulance with Errol. But ley wouldn't let me. The>- told me I juld ride up front in the cab with the river. T watched as they put Errol into the nbulance. The inhalator crew got in ith him. still administering oxygen to rrol." As the doors were closed. Beverly ran o front and got in beside ambulance iver Al Gowan. Dr. Gould followed be- nd in Caldough's car as the ambulance axted up for its seventy-mile-an-hour ^■ee-mile dash to Vancouver Hospital. Beverly was weeping hysterically now. Gowan tried to comfort Beverly. Please don't worry," he told her. "They iow what they're doing. Everything will ; all right." As the ambulance pulled up at the hos- tal. Beverly leaped out and ran over watch intently as the attendants hoisted e stretcher out and carried Errol into e emergency room. Beverly then started to pace the long rridor outside the emergency room. Dr. Gould and the other doctors on the •spital staff took over again in the efforts revive Errol. "I died a thousand deaths waiting," sverly related. As she paced up and down the long 11. the clock on the wall ticked off the mutes . . . five . . . ten . . . It was 8:30 p.m. when the door of the -.ergency room opened slowly. Dr. Gould, Diting distraught, walked out. Beverly as at the far end of the corridor and she rinted the full length to him. How is he. Doctor?" she asked plead- gly. hoping to hear Errol would be all •ht. He is dead," Dr. Gould told Beverly -ectly. simply. -he words hit Beverly like a ton of ieks. She let out a soft anguished sigh, an collapsed on the floor in a dead faint. ;:he was picked up and carried into the largency room, in a section apart from lere Flynn's body lay. She was given sedative. When I came to they drove me to the ■orge Caldoughs' place. I was in deep ack. I wouldn't believe Errol was dead, kept crying. "There's nothing wrong th Errol. He's just sick. He's got to y in the hospital. He'll be all right in : ew days, and he'll be back in my arms jain.' "I couldn't believe Errol had died — in arms. y the Caldough home Beverly was put bed. They kept me under sedatives for near- rwenty-four hours because of the way ook Errol's death. The only person I 2r really loved — the man I was to iry — was dead. It was an incredible »ck." \fter Beverly regained her composure i her full senses, she began to plan ol's funeral. He always said he wanted to be buried his plantation in Jamaica. I had prom- tender, exciting love stories now available in paperback - The Heart Remembers v/; . bv Faith B > low i Ten 5'ears ago they had loved, quarreled, and parted. Now, sud- denly, they were face to face. Only Akiko by Duncan Thorp He was a tough sergeant on the make . . . She was available . . . The last thing they expected was love. Kind Are Her Answers by Mary Renault What happens when a married man falls in love ? 35 C each DELL Noiv available ivherever paperback books are sold THE BEST IN PAPERBACKS ised him that if anything happened to him, I would see to it that his wish was fulfilled." But that was not to be. Patrice Wymore, Errol's third wife and now estranged from him, stepped into the picture. Patrice, who had married Errol in Monte Carlo in 1950, was in Washington, D. C, appearing in a nightclub act. She flew West immediately to make her own funeral plans for a Holly- wood burial. Even though Errol was planning to di- vorce Patrice to marry Beverly, Patrice was still Flynn's legal wife. And through all of Errol's romantic run- about with Beverly, Patrice somehow still seemed to kindle the flame of love in her heart for Errol. Just before Errol's death, Patrice had said: "I wish I could hate him but I can't." Which proved again the old saying — all the world loves a lover. Beverly took the defeat philosophically. 'All that really matters to me now is that I've lost Errol. I have lost the mai I loved with all my heart. It will take | long time for the wound to heal. "But I must accept his death. And must live by my promise to Errol — tha if anything happened to him I would gi ahead in the Flynn tradition, living fo today and having a wonderful time do ing it. "That is what I must do. . . ." EN Errol and Beverly star in Cuban Rebe Girls, Exploit Films. Troy (Continued from page 28) older person. He carried the burden of his father's death, but he had to make sure it never showed in his eyes. Merle Johnson, Senior, failed slowly. Eventually he was bed-ridden, later, hos- pitalized. During the final months of his illness, he was almost entirely paralyzed. Merle Junior was fourteen, then, and he went to the hospital every day to visit. Toward the end, Mr. Johnson, by now pitifully weak, contracted pneumonia. The last time his son saw him, Mr. Johnson in- dicated the gold watch on the table beside his bed. The watch was his favorite pos- session, and he had kept it always near him. "Take it home," he said now. The boy tried to speak, but no words would come. He shook his head, finally got his voice. "You'll need it — " "No," his father said, keeping the tone light. "There's no sense having it around; please take it when you go." He knows, the boy thought, startled, and a wave of love and pity flooded through him, and his throat ached with feelings he didn't understand. He walked down the street clutching the gold watch which had ticked away the minutes of his father's life, and he turned into a luncheonette where a bunch of kids he knew could generally be found driving the waitress crazy. They were all there, and over the jukebox Louis Armstrong was growling A Kiss To Build A Dream On. The gang talked about the football schedule, and whether you could ever get any homework done in study period, and who was taking whom to the Bayport High School sophomore dance, and at one point Merle Junior looked up and his family's maid was standing in the doorway. "Go home right away," she said. "Your father's passed on — " The day Troy became a man He didn't cry. It was as though he'd been expecting it, but his fingers closed around the gold watch in his pocket, and all the way to his house he caressed that cool, smooth surface. He was saying good- bye to his father, he was saying good-bye to his childhood; something had broken in him, he would never be the same any more. If his father had lived, young Merle Johnson might have had the courage to fight for his idea of becoming an actor. As it was, he felt an obligation to try to make his mother happy, since he was all she had. After two years at Bayport High he transferred to the New York Military Academy at Cornwall-on-the-Hudson, with his future one huge question mark. He'd agreed to turn his back on theater, but theater and sports were all that in- terested him. Scholastically, he was close to awful; he never enjoyed studying, but what he did enjoy was writing plays, di- recting them, playing parts in them. He was a demon athlete, too, winning letters for football, basketball and track. He and his mother finally agreed that he should try out for West Point. He passed his first test, then fell and broke his knee in a track meet. The injury automatically disqualified him for acceptance at the Point, and he found himself breathing a sigh of relief. "It's fate," he believed. "Now may- be I can do what I want to do — " Tired of living a life somebody else had figured out for him, he went to his mother one last time. "I want to be an ac- tor. You still don't approve?" "That's right," she said. "I don't.'' "Okay," he said. "I don't want to hurt you, but I can't lie any more. I'm going to the city and try my luck. I won't ask you for help — " She watched him up the stairs, she heard the thump of the suitcase being lugged down out of the closet, perhaps she even remembered her own youth, and that no one could have stopped her, or told her. "You've got to fail on your own terms," she said to the empty room, permitting her son, at last, his freedom. In New York City, Merle Johnson. Junior, was a busy boy. He took journ- alism classes at Columbia University, he studied acting with Ezra Stone, and he worked, worked, worked. He was a mes- senger with a commercial film company — you picked up the can of film from one place and delivered it to another, and it didn't do much for your voice and speech, but it taught you how to tell uptown from downtown, and which subways got you where. He took a job as a laborer on a road construction project in Jersey, and he waited on table in Sayville, Long Island (the first was good for his muscles, the second taught him to be comfortable in those stiff shirt fronts), and he sang with a dance band, and did a little summer stock, and he never went near his mother. Not that he didn't phone, just that he knew if he visited, she'd press money on him, and he was determined not to be sup- ported by her. He'd call her up. "Mom?" She'd try not to sound anxious. "How are you, darling?" "Fine, fine," he'd say, hearty tone belying the fact that the landlord was pounding on the door. Dodging eviction He lived in eight different rooms in New York, and was evicted from two of them. The process was very simple. The land- lord would appear and demand the rent. Merle would look innocent. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, I just don't have it." Sometimes it worked, twice it didn't. Twice they gave him back the same in- nocent stare he'd turned on them, and said politely, "Get out." Between jobs, starvation is the main problem of actors, and Merle's solution for this was original. He'd get up at seven or eight o'clock in the morning, go to a one- arm joint and eat a hot dog. This would make him queasy enough so he didn't want to face nourishment again till night. Lots of days there were parties where people served food; occasionally somebod; got married, or had a graduation, and th spreads would be sumptuous; even whei you didn't know the principals involvei too well, you could always squeeze by th door-keeper if your shirt was clean, an< you had a good crease in your trousers. He fell in love for the first time whei his fortunes were at their lowest ebb. He'i gone to a cocktail party thrown by som in-the-chips pals, and he'd no sooner set tied himself in a chair, than the most beau tiful girl in the world walked into th room. She was almost buried in a mini coat, which she removed as she crossei the floor toward him. She dropped th coat in his lap. "Watch it for me. wi] you?" she said. He couldn't believe it had happened Out of all the people there, she'd decidei to honor him with the custody of he wrap. Watch it for me, watch it for m( It was like a song. Someone to watch i for me. He sat there, hand protectively stretchei across the silky, precious fur, and the part; built up around him. He never moved, h didn't even go over to where the food wa: though he'd been famished before. Half an hour later, the girl came bad laughing. "You really are watching ii aren't you?" "Hmm." he said. He remembers it wa something brilliant like that. "Look," she said. "Why don't you tak me to dinner? This bash isn't much fun. He began to stammer. Somebody stud a pink paper hat on the girl's head, an she brushed it off with a look of irritatior "Well?" "I can't," he said. "I have no dough." Her smile was dazzling; her voice ha< been written by Mozart. "I'll take you, she said, offering her back, so that h could slip the mink onto her shoulders. Troy and the model For three months, he couldn't think c anything but the girl. First thing in th morning, last thing at night. She was model, and she was coining money. Hi career couldn't have been said to faltei since it had never really got going in th first place, but it sure looked dead. Probably the girl was fond of him, bu she was ambitious, and a lot of guys wit! heavy wallets and custom-made suits wer ringing her bell, and she started being bus> He got the "Troy, honey, I just have t break our date" once too often, and wen marching over to her place with fire in hi eyes, and of course her headache turne out to be tall, dark and diamond-studdec and Merle was turned away from th premises a much sadder boy. It was his first broken heart, and h didn't know how to handle it, so he did i all wrong. There'd be phone calls. He'i yell, "I'm never going to see you again, and her silvery laughter would float acros the wire, and she'd say, "All right, honey, and he'd be suddenly frightened. For three months he hung around, re duced to taking any crumb of time tha she would spare him. Finally he wen away to play in stock. At summer's em he came home again, the wound healed. That fall, he took a good, long look at himself. Swell, you want to act. he mut- tered into his mirror. But right now the only thing that's getting any action is your feet. You're just another pavement- pounding idiot, in a city full of so many pavement-pounding nuts that some joker left a fund to Actors' Equity for the sole purpose of providing said nuts with new shoes. Merle didn't want new shoes; he didn't want any kind of handout. He wanted work. A man who'd been a friend of his father's, a fellow named Darryl Brady, suggested that Merle come to Hollywood. He had a job for him — not acting, but he wasn't acting in New York either. Holl}rwood. That's where they picked up shipping clerks and truck drivers and co- eds and turned 'em into stars, wasn't it? He could be a shipping clerk as good as anybody, so maybe stardom was a mere 3.000 miles away. Several months later, he hadn't become a star, but he was working steadily for Mr. Brady, and he'd put all his money into a second-hand MG, and a little shack at the beach, and he was reasonably happy. One night he was eating at a place called The Green Pheasant in Malibu, and all of a sudden, the whole scene turned into something out of a Lana Turner movie. Two men came up and introduced them- selves. One was a producer named William Archer, the other was a director named James Sheldon, and they didn't waste words. "We'd like to give you a screen test at Columbia," they said. Figuring it was a gag a buddy had set up, he grinned at them wisely. "Sure you would. And I'll bet you want me to play the King of Rumania." The offer turned out to be a real one, a fact of which he was ultimately con- vinced, and then began several weeks of cramming so he'd be good enough. Just when life looked good . . . The day before his test was scheduled, he rehearsed and rehearsed on the scene he'd been given. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion, then took a breather, went to visit some friends in town. By the time he started back to his Malibu shack, he was bone-tired. It was very late, and he fought against an overpowering sleepiness. It went through his mind to pull the car off the road and take a nap. No, he told himself. You'll never wake up in time, and then you'll be in rotten shape tomorrow. He drove on, fell asleep at the wheel, the :ar hurdled an embankment. He doesn't remember how he got out ji the wreckage, he doesn't remember crawling up the road, but somehow he Tiade it, and a terrified motorist, appalled at the sight of a bloody, weaving giant, .oicked him up and took him to the nearest nospital. Lucky to be alive, he didn't complain ;about his fractured skull, his bruised spinal column. The thing that bothered 11m was that they'd shaved his head, and -"taturally nobody was going to screen test !;ome bald boy. He lay on his back for vhat seemed like years, pondering the odd jvays of destiny, and one day while he .".-as pondering, he had a visitor. An ictress friend named Fran Bennett dropped By, and she brought with her an agent lamed Henry Willson. Merle knew Will- on's name. He'd created Tab Hunter out •f Arthur Gelien, and turned Roy Fitz- ;erald into Rock Hudson. Now he was ooking contemplatively at Merle. When Merle Johnson, Junior, finally got ip out of bed, he'd been re-christened >oy Donahue, and he was on his way. Willson got him a contract at Universal- International. He was 6' 3" tall, blond and blue-eyed, as handsome as anything they'd seen around there in a long time, and they put him into seventeen movies in two years, though no one seems to recall any of them with excitement. While he was at Universal -International, he met Judi Meredith, who was also un- der contract. In fact, they'd tested to- gether. Judi was the first girl since the lady in mink who'd really knocked Merle — or Troy, as we'll call him — out. "'I flipped," he says, still not pretending to be cool about the whole thing. He was scared, of course. He was a burnt child, and it had been his experience that if you liked a girl too much you left your- self open to being kicked in the teeth, but Judi tore him up. There was nothing he could do about it. Another romance Actually, the romance wasn't a sweet, boy-girl kind of affair. There was too much Hollywood in it. Premiers, date layouts, and always the photographers saying. "Kiss her again, Troy," and her career booming but not his. Then she fell in love with Wendell Niles. Jr. Wendell was a friend of Troy's, and neither he nor Judi wanted to hurt Troy, so they lied. There was the night Judi told Troy she had to go to the Ice-Capades alone. Troy phoned Wendell. "How about us having a guy evening? Let's wander around some place — " Wendell hedged. "I don't know. I'll call you later — " After dinner, Troy, still restless, rang Wendell back. "He's in the shower." said Wendell's mother. "But Judi's here. Do you want to talk to her?" He felt as though he'd been punched in the stomach. "No thanks," he said, and hung up the phone. He turned off the lights in his room, and walked over to the window. The ocean had a lonely look to it, with that strange phosphores- cence etching the waves, and the moon half gone. It doesn't seem to matter, he said to himself. New York or Hollywood. My girls just don't ever belong to me. Next day, he faced Judi. "Why, why, why. why? Why didn't you tell me?" She was embarrassed, sorry, but unable to give him any satisfactory answer. "We've had it," she said, and that was that. . . . About a year ago, while he was making Imitation of Life, Troy met another girl. This time, she wasn't an actress. He liked her a lot, but he'd learned caution. When he felt she was beginning to care too much, he told her the truth. They were sitting in a diner, garish lights, and tired faces all around them, and he thought later, what funny places you play out the most important moments of your life. "I don't feel I'm really ready for mar- riage." he said, and her face crumpled, and smoothed out again all in the space of an instant, and he was stricken. "I don't want to hurt you, baby," he said. "I'm not hurt," she said, in a funny, low voice, and she stood up abruptly. "I want to go home. Let's get out of here — " Now that relationship is finished, and Troy concentrates on his career. Warner Brothers, impressed by Imitation of Life, cast him in A Summer Place (he co-stars with Sandra Dee), and he'd no sooner fin- ished that than he went into The Crowded Sky. Warners is absolutely sold on him — "he's got nowhere to go but up" — and he's determined to be a big star. Fourteenr-year-old Troy is a man now, finding what he's always wanted, after all. ... END Troy's in A Summer Place, and The Crowded Sky. both Warner Bros. Shrinks Hemorrhoids New Way Without Surgery Stops Itch -Relieves Pain For the first time science has found a new healing' substance with the astonishing ability to shrink hemorrhoids and to relieve pain — without surgery. In case after case, while gently relieving pain, actual reduction (shrinkage) took place. Most amazing of all — results were so thorough that sufferers made astonishing statements like "Piles have ceased to be a problem! " The secret is a new healing substance (Bio-Dyne* ) — discovery of a world-famous research institute. 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We felt if this was true we would spot it in a minute through the penetrating eye of the TV close-up. But we didn't expect to spot that. I guess what we expected to see was a mature and bright young woman handle herself with taste, decorum and intelli- gence. But we were wrong. You came on like gangbusters, a three alarm fire and the blare of 76 trombones — all off-key. Before you even sat down, your stum- bling and jumping around caused a few raised eyebrows. You made anything but a dignified entrance. You looked lovely, all right. Your hair- do was perfect. Your flower-printed dress was one of the most charming we've ever seen you wear. Your make-up was just right. You were quite a contrast from the girl in pig-tails and blue jeans every- one recalls. Yet the loveliness and subtlety of your appearance was destroyed by your actions. You didn't give the world a chance to know Debbie. You came on. And you were phony. And we and everyone else who loves you were upset. Fantastic performance Oh, we thought your imitation of your close friend Eva Gabor was brilliant and your Genevieve showed remarkable per- ception and certainly the fact that you made an effort to entertain was not to be censured. But we were embarrassed when you tried to force Jack, against his will, to dance with you, and we were embar- rassed by the way you made fun of some of his clothes. And it was obvious that he was embarrassed too. Halfway through the program you got serious. You began to talk of Khrushchev and world problems — and you made sense — good sense. The phoniness was gone. You spoke like a mature young woman. A woman of twenty-seven who is genu- inely concerned about what is going on in the world — because current events seri- ously affect the lives of her children. The audience was interested in what you had (o say, too. Then you were interrupted by a com- mercial and by the time the announcer finished extolling the virtues of the latest deodorant or headache remedy your mood had changed again. You were back on the bandwagon as explosive and as volatile as ever. Maybe Jack was annoyed that you were running away with the show. Maybe his nerves had had just too much. Or maybe he just didn't think about what he was saying. But he came out with a remark that stunned us. "Is this what Eddie had to go through?" he asked. We went through the floor with embar- rassment for you. We wondered how you would handle it. Well, you went to the floor — not through it. And as the two of you remained under the desk — out of sight of the viewing audience, strange things began to come into sight: Jack's tie and coat and shoes and handkerchief — and your shoes. It was funny all right. The audience roared. In the same way people roar when they see someone slip on a banana peel. 66 It seemed like an eternity before you finally came up for air with a somewhat undressed and disheveled Paar. He was obviously unhappy. But you still wouldn't stop. You threw his tie around his neck, began to tuck his shirt back into his pants — and while all this was going on Paar continued to needle you. "Eddie must have felt he was married to an Olympics champion," he commented. But you still wouldn't stop. And when Paar not-too- gently tried to get you off the show by stating that "we are running a half hour late and I'm sure you are in a hurry to get someplace," you ignored the hint and said "I haven't anyplace to go." Prize-fighters who go down for the count are often saved by the bell. You, Debbie, were saved by another commer- cial. By the time it was over you got the message. You said good night, but you didn't exit gracefully. One of your shoes had gotten misplaced in that 'strip-tease' act and you had to hobble off the stage. The studio audience obviously loved your act. We didn't! Maybe that's because we care about you too much. We felt Paar, intentionally or unintentionally, had humiliated you. We know that every TV network has offered sums ranging up to a quarter of a million dollars to appear in an hour spectacular. Paar got you for his usual minimum of $320. You were willing to stay on 'forever.' Yet he brushed you off in a manner which would have been humiliating to even a publicity-mad starlet. He said the "show was running late." We stayed with it to see what was so important to make you so 'expendable.' Scheduled after you was an old Benchley short subject, filmed maybe twenty years ago that could have been run anytime. And to add insult to injury, Paar ended his show with the words: "Goodnight, Debbie Reynolds, whatever you are!" J.M J ! I I ! ! I I I I ! I ! I ! I ! I I ! ! ! I II - John Drew Borrymore: I love this - ~ business, but it breeds ulcers and ~ Z gray hair. _ Sidne\ Skolsky ~ in the New York Post ~ : I 1 I 1 1 I 1 I I 1 1 1 I 1 1 1 I 1 I 1 1 1 I 1 1 1 r We pondered that statement well into the early hours of the morning. Whatever you are. What are you Debbie? Are you really the over-active exhibi- tionist we saw on the Paar show? The personality whose actions were more grammar-school-girlish than feminine and professional? That girl's actions are belied by her words: "I don't think I'm mature yet. That takes many more years of living than I have had. But I know more about life than I have before. And I've had many more experiences — some good, some bad. However I don't worry much because I know that any minute some one could push a button that may end the whole world. When I get unhappy about some- thing, I just picture that button and a bomb coming down on us and I don't fret anymore. It's good just to be alive." It is good to be alive. But you've got to slow down to appreciate the joys of living. The Debbie we all know told a reporter a couple of months ago: "As a bachelor mother I'm very happy. When I come home at night I really come to a home and not an empty house. The fact is I don't have much time to date. I get home around 6:30. I play with the children until they go to bed. On week ends I don't have the desire to go places. My first obligation is still to my children. Then comes my own life, my career, my charities. I'm planning my life ahead now. I have to be sure I'm able to be at home with my family. "But as a bachelor girl I'm very un- happy. Going out with someone once o twice means involvements here in Holly wood and I don't want to be involved. Als I made a habit of not dating estrange husbands. It's all too complex. I'd rathe go to the movies alone." That's what you said, Debbie. You sai< it late last fall. But your actions — befor and after that remark seemed to negat the words. The new Debbie Instead of giving in to yourself am what you really needed, you took lesson in how to be a "gay divorcee" — the phras you beg reporters not to call you — fror Eva Gabor. Eva's personal philosophy wa exactly opposite to what yours had beer "Marriage is not for me," she has toll Louella Parsons. "I have found out tha careers and marriage don't mix. I wan to be free to travel to any part of th world when a motion picture assignmen takes me there, and a husband certainl; interferes. I have been married oftei enough to know." The job she did to transform your warn beauty into a sizzling come-on was no half so charming as the news items tha drifted back to us. Items like: Aceordini to folks present on the screen set — woe bi the man who wound up with both Debbh R. and Eva Gabor on a date. The tvM beauties did nothing but concentrate oi making life miserable for the poor guy They made him jump through hoop throughout the evening. If he balked, the] gathered up their things and walked out But. Debbie, even Eva doesn't follow he: own advice: got herself married again. In any case, allowing for gross exaggera- tion, even for outright lies, it had to be ; new kind of Debbie that inspired a re- porter even to think such thoughts. You wouldn't give the real Debbie < chance. Not even when you fainted dea( away in a hotel room after you'd knockec yourself out at a party. For months you picked up speed by dat- ing the two most ineligible bachelor: available — Bob Neal and Harry Karl. Fron Neal you collected two gifts of diamond in two weeks and some unsavory publicity that made you mad. But it wasn't lon| ago that you yourself would have disap- proved of a girl's accepting diamonds front "just a friend," and you wouldn't hav« indulged with Neal in what the news- papers called "a necking session ringside at Ciro's." Not unless you were engaged But why get engaged to Neal wher Harry Karl was waiting to invite you your mother, your children and a nurst to a friend's house in Honolulu. We know that you, not Karl, paid the rent and thai if there'd been any more chaperones there wouldn't have been room to sit down But what kind of game were you playing Debbie? Especially when Bob Neal showec up and, according to the Mirror's Let Mortimer, you slept most of the day and spent most of every night at Don the Beachcomber's holding hands with either Harry or Bob. When Karl upped and married Joan Cohn (for all of 25 days as it turned out), you merely shrugged your shoulders and went out and found yourself a new mil- lionaire: Walter Troutman — who gave you the champagne and El Morocco treatment. No one took the Troutman 'romance' seri- ously. The New York cafe-society set knew Walter very well. After your sec- ond date a columnist wrote: Debbie Reyn- olds who has been taking too many vita- mins lately and man-about-New York Walter Troutman are a little premature in the dating department, despite the billing and cooing, to be called a romantic item yet. . . . Walter is a professional bachelor and movie stars are old hat to him. Still you seemed to glow in the El Mor- •co treatment and even when you lost diamond brooch there that Bob Neal i given you a couple of months before, a couldn't have been less concerned. heart too hurt to feel Behavior like this confuses us and the sole who love you as much as your .avior on the Paar show. 77 e know you are a devoted mother, t in one breath you say you value your Zdren more than any career and in the it you add, "But I'm so busy with my eer I won't be able to be with them as ch as I like." Ve know you are a devoted actress, hough you worked all day long on ex- ior shooting for The Rat Race, you spent ir evenings at the Majestic Dance Hall, iking incognito as a dime-a-dance girl, you would be able to understand the i whom you are playing. Yet during t same week you allowed your acting get out of hand on the Paar show. You are aware of the rumors linking your name romantically with Glenn Ford; both you and Glenn have denied therri — but still they have continued. We can't look into your heart and find an answer. But we wonder if it isn't possible for you to have fallen in love with Glenn. We won- der if perhaps you aren't trying to hide or deny that love through your actions. And if you are — unless in some way you have been hurt again — why? We're not trying to preach to you, Deb- bie. Or to criticize you or knock you. But we are knocking the new kick you're on. The hard work and harder play kick that leaves no time for real living or loving. Come off it, Debbie. Cool down. How can you 7tot want love. And how can you imagine that being true to yourself will stop you from getting it? end Debbie's latest films are The Gazebo, MGM. and The Rat Race. Paramount. ome for Christmas zntinued from page 34) In a way," said Bette, "even though he s a few days early with this particular •sent." .he turned towards the door. Gary," she said, " — all right." iarbara's eyes widened as she saw ry Merrill, her stepfather, walk into the m. Daddy," Barbara shouted, gleefully, en she saw what he was cradling in his is, "you've brought me a baby!" A little girl," said Gary. He approached bed. "And just for you." Oh Daddy — oh Mommy," Barbara cried she looked down at the wide-eyed in- t. "Oh she's so beautiful . . . and pink . and wonderful!" She looked up again. dw old is she?" she asked, excitedly. Exactly a year," said Gary. And what's her name?" Margot." And can I hold her, please, please?" -bara asked. ler mother took the baby from Gary's is and placed her in Barbara's. Careful now, she's so tiny," Bette said. I know," said Barbara. She made a ny little-girl's face. The baby gurgled. ie likes me," Barbara squealed. "She r.vs me already, and she likes me . . . Daddy. Mommy. Can she stay with us long, forever?" pf course she can," Bette said, nodding sitting down alongside Barbara, irgot's your new sister, sweetheart, sir daddy and I just got her from an hanage, a place where little babies hout any parents have to live until pie come along and take them home h them, as we have done, tonight." ■^nd she will stay?" Barbara asked. She'll stay," Bette went on, "as long you remember you must always love and help take care of her and protect and do all those things good big sisters for their little sisters — as long as you '.ember that she is one of us, from this nent on, one of our very own family." She's my sister," Barbara said, em- tically. Yes" said Bette. And I do love her," said Barbara. 3ood." And" — the girl giggled — "can she sleep nere, in this room with me?" -ater on," Bette said, "when she's jr. But for now" — she picked up the y — "Margot sleeps in your old nursery, . our crib, which is where she's going it now. to sleep . . . And that is some- thing you're due for, young lady, and right now, too." "Okay," Barbara said, " — excepting for one thing. I've got to say my prayers all over again now. Because I left out one thing before. All right?" Without waiting for an answer, she jumped out of the bed, kneeled, closed her eyes, and said, quickly: Thank You for the world so sweet. Thank You for the food we eat. Thank You for the birds that sing. Thank You, God, for everything — especially for my new little sister. She paused. Then: Oh yes — And I'd like You to know, just to show You how glad I am, that when Christmas comes I'm going to give her all my presents. Thank You, God. Amen. . . . The terrible things about Margot Barbara was crying this day two years later, as she stood outside the neighbor's house. She couldn't wait for her mother's car to come and pick her up. And when it did come, and she had climbed inside, she cried even more. "What's the matter — is this the way birthday parties affect you all of a sud- den?" Bette asked, puzzled, trying lamely to make a joke. Barbara shook her head. "I want to go home," she sobbed. "What happened?" Bette asked, taking her daughter's hand. For a moment, Barbara was silent. And then, looking down, she said, "It was ter- rible, Mommy, the things some of those girls were saying . . . about Margot." Bette took a deep breath. "And what did they say, Beedee?" she asked. "That Margot's sick," Barbara said. She looked back up at Bette. "I was standing there and two of them came over to me and one of them said, 'How's your adopted brother and sister — the boy your parents just adopted and the girl they adopted that time? And I said, "Their names are Woody and Margot and we don't call them "adopted" like that in our house.' And the girl said, 'Don't get so smart, Barbara; it just so happens they are adopted.' And then she said, 'Anyway, I just wanted to find out if your sister is still sick.' I said that Margot was never sick. And they laughed. They said they'd heard their own mothers say that she is, that Margot walks funny, always falling and walking into things, that she doesn't talk right yet like she should — that she's sick. And one of the girls said her mother was to our house once and that she saw Margot sitting on the floor for an hour, holding her teddy bear, not doing anything but just holding BIG NEWS! Grace Metalious' sensational new novel RETURN TO PEYTON PLACE Coming January 5th from Dell Books Only 50C Complete and Unabridged i RETURN i T04, PEYTON PLACE WATCH FOR IT! wherever pocketsize books are sold it and looking at it. And when this girl told me this, she and the other one began to laugh. And I got mad and I said, 'My sister loves her teddy bear, that's why she was holding it so long. It's a very special teddy bear which J used to have and which J gave her.' I said, 'Besides, besides, she doesn't walk funny really, and she does talk a little. You see, if it's any of your business,' I said, 'she happens to be still only a baby. Three years old, that's only a baby still,' I said . . . And it is. Mommy, isn't it? Isn't it?" "Of course it is," Bette said. She opened her purse and reached for a handkerchief and wiped some of the tears from her daughter's eyes. "Some children develop more slowly than others," she said. "Some children — " She stopped. "Barbara," she said, after a moment, "I want you to promise me one thing. I want you to be a big girl and strong and listen to what I have to say. To promise me this — that if we ever do find out that some- thing is wrong with Margot . . . that you won't love your sister any less than you do now. That you'll love her even more, if that's possible. And that you won't cry, the way you're crying now . . . And that you'll understand." The girl looked at her mother now, try- ing to understand what she was saying. And then, as if she did — even a little — she said, softly: "All right, Mommy . . . all right. . . ." The awful diagnosis The doctor examined the child, thor- oughly, carefully. When he was finished, he called in a nurse. "Stay with her outside," he said, "and send in Mrs. Merrill." Bette sat, a few minutes later, across from him. "Is it bad?" she asked. The doctor nodded. "Margot is retarded," he said. Bette clutched her hands together. "Re- tarded," she said, slowly, after him. He had examined the child — four and a half years old now — this past hour, the doctor went on, and during the examina- tion he had even called the orphanage from which she'd come. The people at the orphanage had checked the little girl's records. There had been no mention of anything unusual regarding her medical history for the first year of her life. How- ever, there was a notation in her records stating that, at birth, delivery had been difficult and that there had been a "minor injury." Obviously, the doctor told Bette now, it had been more than a minor injury, a concussion perhaps. "What will happen?" Bette asked. "I think," said the doctor, "that it would be best for you to send her away ... to a home. She is a very sad little girl, a lost little girl. They can help her there, at a home." Bette pursed her lips. "And then?" she asked. "There is always hope," the doctor said. "But for now it's clear that only one-half of her brain is functioning and . . . It's best, Bette, for the child, for everybody, if you send her away." "I don't want to," Bette said. "I can't . . . Can't we get a nurse and keep hei- st our home, with the other children, where she belongs? Certainly we could afford that, and would want to do that. Certainly — " "I'm afraid it's more serious than that," said the doctor. Then, again: "It's best this way, Bette." He lit a cigarette and handed it to her. She took a quick puff. "Would she be able to come home week "No," the doctor said. "We find it's best, at the begiiming, at least, to keep the children in the home, away from what they've known. Holidays, maybe — after a while. But not weekends . . . It's just bet- ter all around that way." Bette looked over at the doctor. She wanted to talk to him more, as if by talk- ing things might become suddenly, mirac- ulously, solved. But she knew that that would not be so. And so, putting out her cigarette, she asked, "When does she have to go?" "As soon as possible," said the doctor. "Yes," Bette said rising, and turning, and walking out of the office. In the anteroom she saw little Margot, sitting on a long wood bench. She walked up to the child. She took her hand. ' Come on, darling," she said, "we've got to go home now." The girl looked up at her. Then she lowered her eyes. And then, slowly, she slipped off the bench as Bette held to her hand, tightly.... Home for Christmas It was Christmas morning, 1955. Margot had been away for two months. Bette and Gary and Barbara got into the car, to visit her, this first time these past two months, and to pick her up and take her back home with them for Christmas dinner. The institution, they saw when they got there, was gaily-decorated, with a big tree near the door, big wreaths on the windows, a giant papier-mache Santa Claus in the garden, with sled and reindeer, all cir- cled by a fort of fake snow in which giant, live poinsettias grew. It would have been a fine place for children to play, they all thought — in their separate ways, except that there were no children around. A nurse, a tall woman, met them at the door, and began to write out their pass. "The children are all in the assembly room, opening their presents," she said. "You'll have to wait just a few minutes . . . Now, the name of the child you've come to fetch?" "Margot Merrill," said Bette. The nurse finished writing out the pass. And then she said, "Would you like to see Margot's room, meanwhile?" They followed the nurse as she led them to the room, and opened the door. It was a small room, they saw. with a little bed, a bureau, a tiny blue rocking chair — nothing more. It struck them all — Bette and Gary and Barbara — as the saddest, loneliest little room they had ever seen. And they were glad, very glad, that in a few minutes they would be able to take Margot away from it, this room, this place, and bring her back home for a few hours at least. "Now," the nurse said, looking efficiently- down at her watch, " — the assembly room's back this way. Why don't we go there and wait in the rear. . . ." They stood there, a few minutes later, trying to single Margot out from the dozens of children who sat in a large circle in the middle of the room. "There she is," Barbara said, softly, ex- citedly, pointing. "Look." They all looked now and they saw her. Margot . . . She sat, like the others, lean- ing forward a little in her chair, holding a small toy in one hand, a big candy stick in the other, listening wide-eyed to the man in the center of the circle who was dressed as Santa Claus and who was in the midst of a rousing refrain of Jingle Bells. They continued watching her — as, like the other children, she listened, joined in on the final chorus, clapped and then rose to leave. "Margot," Barbara called out. jus over to her now, past some of the o children, grabbing her, hugging her. "'. are you? . . . How are you?" "I fine," Margot said, " — Barbara." She smiled a big smile suddenly. As smiled, too, when Bette and Gary c over and bent and kissed her. Then, after a few moments, the n stepped forward and said, "All right, S got, you've got to get ready to go now, The little girl looked at her. The s began to leave her face. "Go?" she as She looked at them all. "Go?" she asked, again. The other nodded. "Don't — don't you want to come h with us?" Barbara asked, confused. The little girl didn't answer. But stead she turned and looked around big room, at some of the other chil< still there, some of them playing with t new toys, some of them sucking t candy sticks, some of them just stani there, looking back at her. "What's wrong. Margot?" Barbara as approaching her. Margot's gift The girl didn't move, nor look at Barbara looked up at her mot "What's wrong?" she asked. "Wrong?" said the nurse, standing ] to them. She shook her head. "Five even four weeks ago," she said, "sometl was wrong. Margot was as unhappy 1 as the day she arrived. She missed all, so much. She cried lots, she woul eat more than a few mouthfuls of food, she sat alone in her room mos the time, on that rocking chair you there, just rocking away, and staring, rc ing and staring all the time . . . And tl as it happens with most of the chile here, something changed suddenly. Ma made a friend. Don't ask me exactly ] it happened, I don't know. But she m one friend, then another, then anot And suddenly she was happy here . . . she missed you all still. She always a I'm sure . . . But this has become her i home. These children have become new family. And. strange as it may se you must explain to her now that si be coming back here." The others looked at the nurse. And then they turned again to Mar The little girl had her back to tl still; she had not moved and she was : watching the other children in the ro Bette stooped, after a moment, gently, she picked the girl up in her ar She began to talk to her, slowly, softl explaining to her about how they wanted to take her with them now, dinner, for just a little while; how, a dinner, they would all get back into car and come back . . . "here," she s: "right back here." She looked into the little girl's eyes. "All right, Margot?" she asked. The little girl smiled again, as she ) before, and she nodded. "All right." said. "Good," said Bette. "Good." And then, still carrying Margot. Be took her daughter Barbara's hand. "You see, Beedee," she asked, "h things work out in strange and beaut ways sometimes? We came, thinking gift to Margot would be to take her he for a few hours. We didn't think Mar would have any gift for us, did we? 1 she has. The most wonderful gift any ol will ever receive . . . She is happy, final They brought Margot home that day As they will this Christmas to come for a few short and very precious hoi Bette appears in John Paul Jo: Warner Bros., and The Scapegoat. MCI Eddie's Love Cured Me! Continued from page 33) nagined. whatever the condition actually as. Liz suffered. This we know. For we have seen the tears of a woman r.mistakably in pain. We saw them in her . es that night, four or five years ago. at a irty in Beverly Hills when suddenly, jiile dancing. Liz stopped and turned pale "_d reached for her back with her right ;nd and then, helplessly, fell weeping to ie floor. We saw them the day. in 1957. in exico. when she married Mike Todd, hen towards the end of the reception . . . ~er the champagne and the wedding cake ere finished, after most of the guests and \ the photographers had left . . . Liz rned to Mike and mumbled something id threw herself in his arms and then :ed out. helplessly. "It hum. it hurts, oh od. it hurts so much.'"' We saw them in it eyes a little over a year ago when we sited her in the hospital, following an .-eration on her spine, when we walked to that S40-a-day room filled with flow- s and sunlight and saw her lying rigidly 1 her stomach, her back covered with ndage and tape, looking over at us. try- g to smile and tell us that she felt fine id that everything was all right, but with =rs in her eyes, nonetheless, tears she did •t even have the strength to wipe away. Yes. we have seen the tears of her pain. And we tell you now. happily, that those irs are gone — now that Liz Taylor is Mrs. idie Fisher — gone for good. Since Eddie s come into her life, there has never en a recurrence of her back trouble. Just as that look of agonized confusion. inner torment, that would come across r face much too often, is gone now too. She is emotionally unstable, we re- member someone writing back in 1952. And why shouldn't she be? At eight vears, an actress. At fourteen, a star. A *;eird home life — with an aggressive ■iama taking over the reins of her t.oung daughter's upbringing and areer, a quiet and ignored papa sit- ting in the background, watching, wondering, not daring to say anything. 4r fifteen, the perplexed cry: 'I have he body of a woman and the emo- ■ ons of a child.' At seventeen, a long id desperate run from home — mar- ■ age to Nicky Hilton, young and eckless playboy — and disaster, culmi- nating in divorce. More running then, < ild and free, from man to man, party o party, thrill to thrill, sensation to ensation. Till now, barely in her wenties, the news that she is in Eng- and, her outrageous flirtation with orty- year -old Michael Wilding having y.cceeded. that they will probably be narried by the time you read this. 'motionally unstable, the writer had d. ind much as we hated to agree — we had ' ust as we had to shake our heads, as the :t few years passed, over her marriage Wilding, neither of them doing the other eh good, and admit that her emotional oility was going from bad to serious to ive. Jh, there were the fine bright moments . Liz, all right. "hat January morning when little :nael Jr. was born, hat February afternoon when little istopher was born. laybe some other moments; good. pure, utiful moments. ut. mostly, there were Ions, seeminslv- endless moments of discontent for Liz. So that her face — when she was away from the camera, or the public's glare — often became a study in distress, a cause of increasing worry to all of us who knew her. Who can forget the look on her face that day on the set of Giant, when word came that James Dean had just been killed — the stunned look, followed by the hysterical weeping, the shouted cries of disbelief, the stumbling walk from the sound-stage, the collapse in the dressing room? Who can forget the look on her face the night, minutes after he'd left a party at her hilltop home. Montgomery Clift smashed his car into a tree — the look of fright in her eyes as she rushed down the road to the car. the look of terror as she knelt alongside Monty and lifted his bleeding head into her lap, as she began to sway her own head back and forth and moan and chant and cry, louder and louder and louder, until she was in a state of near- shock? People who knew Liz vaguely wondered, both these times, why the act? What Liz could not control It was no secret around Hollywood that James Dean and Liz hadn't gotten along well all during the making of Giant. That Dean had once told a reporter, "If you don't think this gal is much on-screen, you should get to know her off." That they had fought on more than one occasion. That they had made it a point to avoid each other as much as possible. About the Monty Clift incident, it should have been obvious to Liz — certain people said on hearing what had happened — that although her dear friend had been injured, he was in no great danger. That her "raving' at the scene of the crash made it seem that somebody had just been killed. That Monty was "—after all. still very much alive." So spoke the cynics. But those of us who knew Liz. knew her well, understood that these were not "acts.*' That these were inevitable outlets of ex- pression for a tortured girl who seemed al- most to wait for tragedy so that she could free herself — even for a short while — of her own burden of recurring pain, of growing discontent. There are no outbursts now. Today, we see Liz miraculously changed — happy, healthy, content, calm, at peace with her- self, with life. In short, cured. . . . Liz was cured by Eddie Fisher. For well over a year now. millions of people all over the world have scorned these two. You yourself have heard the cracks, maybe even made some of them. "Liz Taylor? What's she got to offer him except a lot of trouble . . . Home- wrecker . . Husband-snatcher . . . Miss Big Movie-Star . . . Money spender . . . j How long is she going to last with him? "Eddie Fisher? What's he got to offer her except his old records . . . Has-been . . . Mike Todd's best friend, ha ha . . . Sucker . . . Weakling . . . Deserter . . . How long is he going to last with her?" ^ Some people, even less impressed with EMie than with Liz, went on to wonder: "What does she want with such an ordi- nary guy, anyway? Nicky Hilton — at least I he had looks and money. Michael Wilding I —at least he had class. Mike Todd — he had everything to give her; glamour, wealth. ; P/ay Right Away! ANY INSTRUMENT iw it's EASY to leant ANY INSTRUMENT— don't know a single note now. No boring e plav delightful pieces RIGHT AWAY — from i n! Properly — by note. Simple as._A-B-£.-ll/ ing progress — at home, in spare_t' STVDENTS . FREE BOOK upon vou.0u!ESt.1°ScJio 161. Port Washingto SONG POEMS WANTED our poems today for PHOTO 1 ; in. size on dou- eight, silk t paper . . for exchangi: is, enclosing in letters or greet- g cards or job applications. Orig- il returned. Order in units of 25 pose). Enclose payment (SI. 25) id we prepay or SEND NO MONEY. (Sent c.o.d. if vou 4 day service. Satisfaction guaranteed. Send photo or snapshot today. DEAN STUDIOS Dept. 336, 211 W. 7th St., Des Moines 2, Iowa. with a happy ending david grubic is three months old. This is the first time his mother has held him. She went to the hospital with TB six months before he was born, and has just returned home. Her tuberculosis story ended happily. Your Christmas Seal contribu- tion can help write happy end- ings for 60,000 other families struck by TB each year. Please send a check today. Fight 3 TB with ! Christmas Seals &m~*<~*^ excitement, the biggest of the big time." "Well, they deserve each other," prac- tically everybody sneered, the day last May when Eddie and Liz were married. Everybody except those very few people who realized the truth. And who said, "They need each other, desperately, don't they?" For these are the people who saw behind the titillating newspaper headlines, who sensed the real truth of this couple. What Eddie had to offer "We got to know each other," Liz has said, in private, to friends, "soon after Mike died. We had seen each other for years, Eddie and I. We had been in the same room a thousand times. He had been best man when I married Mike. But it wasn't till the night, not long after the funeral, when Eddie called me that we actually got to know one another. "Lots of writers — newspapers and maga- zine people — have written about this call. They say it came at four o'clock in the morning. They indicate that Eddie and I talked about Mike for a while and that then Eddie asked me what I was doing the next night. They wrote what lots of their readers wanted to read — about these two bad people plotting their future, evilly, clandestinely, while the rest of the world was fast asleep. "Actually, Eddie's call came shortly be- fore midnight that night. I remember this because I was just about to go to bed when the phone rang. "Yes, we talked about Mike, of course. Mike was all we talked about, in fact. For ten minutes, fifteen, twenty — I don't re- member exactly. "Except that I do remember, just before we hung up, Eddie saying something to me that I will never forget: " 'Liz,' he said, 'I've botched my life up with all kinds of problems, so I guess I'm not really the guy who should go around offering help — but if you ever need anything, want to talk over anything, if . . . going through what you're going through now . . . you find yourself faced with problems you can't solve yourself, alone, please — please, Liz, get in touch with me. For what little help I might be . . . .' "I loved Eddie for that. Hundreds of people had gotten in touch with me those past few days, offering me help, con- solation, solace. I knew they would take me to dinner, if I liked. I knew they would take the children for a drive, out of the house for a while, for some fresh air, if I wanted that. Invite us all out somewhere for a week end. I knew they meant well, that their offers were genuine. "But something about Eddie — about what he had just said, the way he'd said it, the lost, sad feeling and sound of his voice — made me feel that here was the only per- son alive I would really want to call on if the days ahead became any blacker than they already were. " 'Thank you, Eddie,' I said. 'I may just do that — give you a ring some day.' "And then I hung up. "And it was the next day, as the lonely hours grew darker, that I found myself thinking about him, what I'd said . . . as I found myself staring at the phone, wanting to talk to him again, wanting so much to talk to him again." Liz did phone Eddie — a few days later. "There were moments during that call," Liz recalls, "when there were long silences between the two of us — when neither Eddie nor I said anything . . . Other people might have cleared their throats during those pauses and made one excuse or an other and finally said 'Well . . . good-by for now,' and hung up. "But, for us, even in those pauses ther was warmth, a wonderful warmth, th beginnings of our love. "I began to realize — during that tall and the meetings that inevitably followe — that I was with a human being I coul understand, who could understand me. "What was it about Eddie, exactly, tha made me feel this way? "Well, let's put it this way, simply: "I learned to share life with Eddie, learned — me, someone who had been wa; up on a special pedestal all her life, wh had been on the receiving end of life a] these years — that there was soraeont somewhere, with whom I could exist on ai equal level, someone I could give to whil I received. "I had never given before. I don' know that I had ever thought about givinf It had been comfortable, convenient, to b clothed in a warm blanket of security, sur rounded by people who wanted to d things for me, and only for me. "But now I realized that what I hai thought to be comfort . . . convenience . . was not that at all. "That all my life I had really wanted person I could comfort, who needed m; giving as much as I needed his. "This has been the special beauty of ou love, mine and and Eddie's. "I needed him. He needed me. "Together, we have shared life. . . . "I have learned to give. And for this, ti God, to my husband, I will always b grateful. . . ." EN Liz stars in Suddenly Last Summer. Co lumbia. Butterfield 8, MGM. and Cleo patra. 20th-Fox. An Ave Maria for Mario (Continued from page 21) "A boy." "And what are they naming it, do you know?" "Mario, after the mother, Maria," said the midwife. "Mario Lanza Cocozza." The neighbor woman listened as the baby, in the next room, began to cry sud- denly. "Listen to that noise," she said, "You sure, with a big voice like that, he was only just born?" The midwife smiled. "I told the father," she said, "as soon as I heard that loud voice, that first moment — I said, 'If any- thing, you should name this little one Enrico, in honor of Caruso.' " "Ah," the neighbor woman said, shaking her head, "it's a sin, isn't it, what hap- pened to Caruso?" "What happened?" the midwife asked. "He died," the other woman said. "Last night. In Italy. I just heard it on the radio . . . He was singing. His throat be- gan to bleed. And he went, just like that. You didn't know?" "No," the midwife said, her smile dis- appearing, saddened by the knowledge that the greatest tenor voice of all time had been silenced, and feeling foolish inside herself that — even in jest — she had com- pared a tiny newborn baby's crying with his voice. . . . HOLLYWOOD— THE WINTER OF 1949: "I know, I know," the agent, a smaii and enthusiastic man, agreed with the MGM producer, a big man, a bored man, "they say it about any guy who can open his trap and reach a high C — 'He sounds just like Caruso!' . . . But, believe me, this guy I've got waiting outside does." "Does what?" the producer asked, yawn- ing. "Sings," the agent said, for the tenth time those past five minutes. "Like Caruso, he sings. Like an angel. Like nobody you've ever heard before." "Same guy I saw you walking with be- fore, near the commissary?" the producer asked. "Yes," the agent said. "He's too fat for pictures, you should know that," the producer said. "He must weigh 300 pounds." The agent shook his head. "He weighs 240 right now. But he can cut off fifty of 'em easy. He's a nervous type. He needs a job now. When he's nervous he eats — poor as he is, he eats and eats and gets fat. Sign him up, relax him and you'll see how fast he loses." The producer shrugged. "Look," he said, "this fellow of yours, he's got some test recordings he's made, hasn't he?" "S"re," the agent said. "Well, mail me a few of them and I'll listen when I have some time . . . I'm busy right now." He yawned again, and started to turn away. "Nossir," the agent said, "it's now or never. You hear him today, live, or you don't hear him at all. Not at this studio." The big producer turned back to look at the little agent again. Little agents, he knew, didn't talk this way to big pro- ducers unless they were pretty damn sure of themselves. "In exactly forty-five minutes," the agen went on, "I have an interview with m; boy over at U-I. This afternoon we go tx Warner's. I brought him here first be cause I think you people can put him b best use. But if you don't even want b hear him — " "All right," the producer said, bringinj up his hand, "wait a minute." He picked up his phone and dialed ai inter-office number. "Joe?" he asked, talking now to Josepl Pasternak, another Metro producer, th< most music-minded of all the Hollywooc brain-trust, "got a kid here, young tenoi from Philly. He's supposed to be good Want to hear him with me? . . . Okay, se< you on Stage 12 in ten minutes." He hung up and rose. "Come on," he said then, to the agent "let's pick up this marvel of yours anc get this thing over with!" .... "It was the most unbelievable moment oi my life," Joe Pasternak has since said. 11 got to the soundstage a little late. He had already begun to sing. I recognized th« song as the tenor aria from The Girl c\ the Golden West, by Puccini. I stood there] at the door, listening for a few moments, If he had stopped right then and there, I'd have known that this was the mosl beautiful male voice I had ever been privileged to hear. But he did not stop He sang on and on, other Puccini arias Verdi arias, popular tunes, Neapolitan street songs and sea chanties his parents had taught him. The voice grew more and more beautiful as he sang. I was awe-struck. I even wept a little. I have since wept over him — over what eventu ally happened to him as the next year passed. But at that moment, that firs moment, standing there at that door, m tears were only for his voice, strong, an< pure, and beautiful, that voice that h iself was to describe as 'a gift given ne by God so that its sound and feeling ht be passed on to others. . . ."' ,'ithin that next hour, Mario Lanza ozza (soon to drop his last name) was his way. [idway during the audition. Pasternak the other producer had summoned e Scharv. then talent and production d of MGM. to Stage 12 to hear the jig man sing. chary came, listened, and then asked io to come to his office for a talk, "hen the talk was over. Mario rushed n Schary's office — past Schary. Paster- . the other producer, his agent — to a sing lot just outside the studio, where wife of four years, Elizabeth Hicks. lovely dark-eyed girl he'd married 945. when he was in the Army, sat in mall rented Chevy- waiting for him. 3etty," he called, as he apnroached her, nade it. . . . Fm in. ... It happened." he girl in the car smiled nervously, excited to say anything. '. sang for them." Mario said, opening door and getting in alongside her. "I % — and they took me to their offices they said. 'Man. we want you for ores, lots of pictures.* And to show they meant it, they gave me this." e reached into his pocket and pulled a check. [Ten thousand dollars," he said. "You it? . . . Just to sign with them, and 1 nobody else." e handed his wife the cheek. jo ahead," he said. "Take it in vom- ers. Feel it. It's real. It's good. Betty, i; as good as the bad we've known has n bad. . . . It's a house. Betty. The n-payment, anyway. . . . And it's food >f out-of-cans food anymore, but good I. call-the-butcher- and -ask -for -steak i of food. . . . And it's a family for us, :y; kids, like we've always wanted. I a career. And a whole new life!" e took a handkerchief from his pocket, dere," he said, laughing through his tears, " — don't cry. . . . This is the nning of everything we've wanted, ring for. 3on't cry, Betty," he said, putting his around her. "You'll get tears on the :k, and itH blur." £ laughed some more. it she did not. Don't cry, come on," he said. "People supposed to cry at the end of some- g. And this is the beginning, "he beginning. . . ." , VENING IN 1954: It s all over," he said, lg back, despondently. » looked around the room. The room. room, was only one-twentieth of the pe — the biggest, the most lavishly dec- =d and furnished house in Bel- Air; castle," the rest of Hollywood called ■ looked around the room, empty now, !pt for himself and his Betty, had been crowded, just a little while er. with reporters, with a butler serv- champagne and Scotch, with three is passing 'round the heaps of hors nvres. with Mario standing near the 3. smiling away as if he didn't have a y in the world, making fight of what ■ened that day. 3 Metro fired me this afternoon," his ! had boomed, " — so what? So they me lax. imtrustworthy. because I cost money holding up their Student ?e while I tried to lose some weight, they wanted, insisted on. and while I to get some other affairs in order. ' forget at Metro the money I made hem these past five years? They for- t-iat The Great Caruso alone made een-million dollars in its first -ear. for them? Look at all I've done for them! "Yes." he'd nodded, "they forget. But so what? They have fired me and Fm free now, free to make the kind of pictures I want to make. For other studios. They all want me — Paramount. Warners. Univer- sal. They all want me!" He'd gone on. his voice lowering a little. "Most of you people here know me pretty well, right?" he'd asked. "For five years now you'd been writing about me in your newspapers and your magazines. You've written about the good things that have happened to me — my success, my popular- ity, my wonderful life with my wife and children. You've written, too. about the not-so-good things — the trouble I've had with my studio and some of the stars out here, the trouble I've had with my weight, the trouble with false friends who've mis- led me and who've squandered most of the money I've earned. "WelL now I want you to write this in your newspapers and magazines, word for word: "The rumors that Mario Lanza is through are false. "The rumors that he has pushed his voice too far. and that it is going, are false. ■"The rumors that he is a troublesome no-good who enjoys making life hard for anybody he works with are false." He'd raised a glass he was holding. "To the future." he'd said. " — right here in Hollywood." "To the future — in Hollywood." the re- porters who'd been listening said back. NEXT MONTH: Watch for LOUELLA'S big story on DEBBIE! And they had all drunk. And laughed. And slapped his back, wishing him luck. And then, after a while, they had gone "It's all over." Mario said now. the big smile no longer on his lips, the room quiet, empty. "I'm finished here. Betty." "Why do you say that?" his wife asked, shaking her head. "Who am I kidding?" Mario said. "I try to talk it into myself. I try to convince others. "Everybody wants me.' I brag — " "Your fans want you," his wife said, "the people want you." "But not the studios," Mario said. "They're wan- of me. All of them. They're afraid to take a chance with me. I'm a tiger to them, untamed and dangerous. They're afraid of me . . . They're business- men, with their problems. I'm an artist, with mine. How can we ever understand one another?" His wife said nothing for a while. Then, softly, she asked, "What do you want to do, Mario?" "Buy a ranch," he said, quickly, nod- ding, "a beautiful and lonely ranch, far away, in Montana maybe, or in Arizona. And work hard all day. out in the open, for you and for our children. And then at night, when the sun goes down, come back to the house for a big supper, with no wor- ries about my weight — just eating and get- ting as heavy as God intended me to get. with no worries about the cameras, the producers, the directors, the wardrobe men with their tape measures around my waist . . . And then, after supper. I would sing. In the living room, you at the piano. me standing there behind you. the children sitting around listening if they want — and me, I would sing, just singing for the love of it. for — " He stopped. "Someday maybe." he said, "when we have some money again, when Fve paid these debts I owe. we can do that. hah. Betty?" "And for now?" his wife asked. "For now well go to Europe." Mario sal-*. "They want me for some pictures in Italy. There they still do want me. . . . We can five in Rome. . . . All right?" Betty nodded — this woman about whom it has been said: "She understood and appreciated Mario as no one else in the world ever could. Through good times and bad. she rode right along with him. this wife, sweetheart, manager and mother to a big lost boy." "All right?" Mario asked again. And Betty nodded again. "Of course," she said, "if vou think it's best." Mario sighed. "Who knows what's best anymore?" he said. ROME — 1958 — FROM AN INTERVIEW WITH MARIO: "Everything is fine. I am riding high again. Hollywood counted me out. I took the long count — three-and-a-half- years, no work. I cried on the ropes. But I got up and started belting out songs and pictures again, and I am going back to the top of the heap. Man. I'm living. And I want to go on forever. On. On. On. Go. Go. Go. Don't ask me why. but I would like to live forever. . . . Maybe because I and my wife and my family have never been so happy!" ROME— THE CLINIC OF SANTA GIULIA— OC- TOBER 7, 1S59: He had lied to Betty, that day a little over a week earlier. He'd told her that the dieting he'd been undergoing these past couple of months had weakened him. that he was coming down with a bad cold, that the doctor had suggested a rest in the hospital. He'd said nothing of the truth to her — that the dieting had weak- ened him to the point where he was feeling pains around his heart, that the doctor had examined his heart and suggested a long period of tests and observation. He had lied so well that Betty hadn't been the least bit concerned about him these past days, other than that he was away in the hospital, and that she and the children missed him. He had lied so well that even now, this Wednesday morning, as she sat there alongside his bed. holding his hand, as she listened to him speak the strange and mel- ancholy words, she found herself smiling. "You won't like what I'm going to talk about now. Betty-," Mario said. "I know that. But I must. . . . When I die, my Betty— " "Yes, forty years from now." Betty said, "fifty years, when you die — " "Whenever I die." Mario said, "I want — I want you to do certain things for me." 'And that is?" Betty asked. "First of all," Mario said. "I want you to be very brave, to promise me that you won't cry too much." "I'll probably be too old to raise a tear by that time." Betty said. "That you will take care of the children, continue to take care of them, with as much love and care as you always have." Mario went on. "They'll all be married." Betty said, "and have children enough of their own to take care of." "And." Mario said. "I want — " "Mario, that's enough." Betty said, squeezing his hand, her smile tentative now. nearly gone. "That at my funeral." he said, "you will ask the priest if he'll give permission to have one of my records played in the church, during the Mass." He closed his eyes. Betty said nothing. "The Ave Maria" Mario said. "My voice, I 'want it to ring through the church as I lie there. I want it for you and the children — so you will know that a part of me, at least, is still alive, and with you." His eyes opened. "Will you do that for me?" he asked. "Yes," Betty said, suddenly afraid. FOUR DAYS LATER: "I am sorry, Signora," the priest said, at the Lanza villa, that morning. "I have spoken to the Bishop. The idea of the recording, though it was your husband's last wish, must be vetoed. Schubert, the composer, was not a Catho- lic. It is a matter of ecclesiastics . . . We know how you grieve right now. Anything else in our power, within sanction, we will do . . . But this we cannot. . . ." Three thousand Romans stood in the square outside The Church of the Sacra Cuore della Madonna later this sun-filled morning, watching, silently, as the coffin was lifted from the black-draped hearse, and carried inside — followed by the stunned widow and her four small chil- dren, and by the others who had arri with them. The people outside waited, still sili throughout the Mass. Till, towards the € the bells of the church began to toll i till someone, an old woman, weeping, gan to pray aloud for the repose of soul of Mario Lanza. Ave Maria, she prayed, chanting, si ing, almost, Ave. Ave, Dominus, Dominus tecum Benedicta te in mulieribus Et benedictus fructus ventris. Mario's last film is For The First Ti MGM. The Fabulous Fifties (Continued from page 50) And, toward the end of the year, in late September — that seemingly never-to-end story starts, which began with the head- line: ELIZABETH TAYLOR DATES HUSBAND OF "BEST FRIEND" DEBBIE REYNOLDS IN NEW YORK. EDDIE FISHER CONFIRMS HE WILL ASK DEBBIE FOR A DIVORCE. 1959: Ingrid Bergman, that most con- troversial lady, was invited to return for her first visit in years as a special guest of the Academy. Accompanied by her bridegroom, Lars Schmidt and daughter Pia, Ingrid accepted — leading to many de- bates pro and con as to whether she should ever have been invited. The coveted Oscars of '59 were won by Susan Hayward for / Want To Live and by David Niven in Separate Tables. MOVIE MARRIAGE OF THE YEAR— naturally was that of Elizabeth Taylor and Eddie Fisher in a Jewish ceremony in Las Vegas on May 8th. MOVIE DIVORCE OF THE YEAR— just as obviously Debbie Reynolds' freeing the way for the marriage above — and thank heavens, at last, we began to hope we could take a breather from this triangle! Next to Debbie's divorce the most star- tling suit was Eleanor Powell's against Glenn Ford after 16 years of marriage. "I've had it!" Eleanor told the Judge on May 2nd — incidentally Glenn's birthday. Less startling partings were: Anita Ek- berg's from Tony Steele on April 28th: the not surprising action filed by Mrs. Peter Viertel paving the way for her writer hus- band to marry Deborah Kerr when she is free — and May Britt and her youthful Stanford student socialite bridegroom of a year, Ed Gregson. BABY NEWS: The birth of a DAUGH- TER—at last— to Bing Crosby and his actress wife Kathy Grant, their second child, after five sons for Bing! An earlier birth to make news was the arrival of a much desired son to the late Tyrone Power and his widow, Debbie Min- ardos, on January 22nd. DEATHS of 1959 were numerous and shocking starting with the loss of that master showman, Cecil Blount De Mille. great creator of screen spectacles, on Jan- uary 21st. A severe loss to Hollywood. Joan Crawford's husband, Al Steele, high-salaried head of a soft drink company died in their New York apartment in April. Another top directorial name, Charles Vidor, was lost to us while directing Magic Flame (the Franz Liszt story) in Vienna. Then early September brought those three tragic deaths of superstitious belief — beautiful, gay Kay Kendall who cap- tured all our hearts in Les Girls and who had so much to live for — died at the age of 32, of leukemia, in the arms of her grieving husband Rex Harrison. A few days later, in almost the same manner, in the arms of his wife, Jan Sterling, Paul Douglas suffered a fatal heart seizure; lovable little Edmund Gwenn, that fine actor and comedian who had been tops with American audiences since his touching and prize-winning per- formance in Miracle On 34th Street, also passed away. 1959 brought an end to the short violent life of Mario Lanza. And to the rich, full and daring life of swashbuckling Errol Flynn, whose death seemed to epitomize the end of the gay romantic era in Holly- wood's history. 1959 saw film personalities having their usual share of accidents and illnesses, the most serious being Bob Hope's eye trouble (he has now permanently lost partial sight in his left eye). And Audrey Hepburn's bad fall from a horse while shooting a scene for The Unforgiven in Durango, Mexico. Also, Hollywood was electrified by two widely divergent developments during '59. Fast rising young actress Diane Varsi. a smash in her first big role in Peyton Place — walked out flat on her career to enroll as a college student in Bennington College in far off Vermont. Diane's parting shot was "I'm through with Hollywood and its false face." Want to bet? Another "private life" shocker was the family feud which broke out between Bing Crosby and his four grown sons after Bing was quoted as saying "I'm a bad father." Unfortunately, Gary agreed with him — all this to the tune of some pretty disillu- sioning and unhappy headlines. Let's hope 1960 will find this family clan devoted and united again. The outstanding MOVIE GIRL OF THE YEAR was that redheaded pixie Shirley MacLaine — with blonde Lee Remick of Anatomy of a Murder fame not very far behind. And if you think I am going to close this fascinating chapter on the fascinating year of 1959 without mention of that great day in my own life, June 7th, when I was presented with an honorary Doctor of Letters Degree at Quincy College, Quiney, 111. — you just don't know your girl re- porter. . . . PHOTOGRAPHERS' CREDITS The photographs appearing in this issue are credited below page by page: 9 — Nat Dallinger from Gilloon; 10 — Globe; 11 — UPI; 12 — UPI; 13 — Wide World; 14 — Wide World. UPI; 15 — UPI; 16 — Galaxy. Nat Dal- linger of Gilloon: 22. 23 — AP Wirephoto; 24 Jack Albin of Burchman; 26. 27 — Peter Oliver of Topix; 31— Topix; 32 — Wide World: 34 — Burchman: 35-50 — INP, UP. European, Mag- num Photos, Jacques Lowe, Wide World, Hans Knopf of Pix, Topix. Del Hayden of Topix. Bob Beerman, Jack Albin of Burchman, Globe; 51 — Larry Barbier of Globe; 55 — Sam Wu of Galaxy. "Your what?" Astrid almost screamet me. "Here, let me see what you're read anyway." Stealthily, like a cornered rat, I bad away. But, quick as a cat, she leaped, : snatched the article. She flipped to the front page wh Louella had typed her name, cast a I cold eye at me and said. "So! Two seco ago I thought I'd married a genius, am turns out he's nothing but a crook!" Redemption I hung my head in shame. I had nothing to say. "Nothing but a crook," she repeated. "The crooked shall be made straight replied weakly. "It says so in the Bi I'll redeem myself. I'll wash the dis tonight." "It's bad enough that you've lied i broken my faith in you," she said, gu ing down a giggle; "don't come i my kitchen and break all the disl too." "I'll tell you what I will do then." I a "I'll answer your impossible questi "Not in six minutes, but tonight. 1 very night I promise I'll write it all do' all by myself, all about the Fifties, a wh long article that I might even print Modern Screen, and I won't steal a wc not a single word, from anybody, not e^ Louella. "And you know what it'll be about? "The really wonderful thing that h; pened in the entertainment world the Nineteen Fifties — Youth. Vitar Y-O-U-T-H. "A great big shot in the arm of Elvis c Frankie and Tommy and Connie and Ric and Fabian, all turning loose on the w; weary old world of the Fifties a wh circus wagon full of old-time joyful sing and dancing. "And it'll be about the moody, qu ones too, the strange ones — all the k from Jimmy Dean to Tuesday Weld M said to the tired old world of the Fift "Listen, World, we may not be the v you think kids should be. in fact you n think we're kookie as Kookie, but in < own way we're serious, World, and you got to dig us sooner or later. . . ." "Sooner or later," Astrid cut in, appreciate it if you'd listen to me. too. one second. Now before you get can away (and I do mean by the man in white coat) will you please find th Christmas decorations?" Stick around Well, to make a long story just a t bit longer, I still haven't located the th (or was it four?) boxes of last ye colored lights and tinsel, and I still hav written that article for Modern Scr about Hollywood in the Fabulous Fifi but I would at least like to say to al you Merry Christmas. Happy New Y and stick around for the Sensatk Sixties. first Love 'ontinued from page 27) That day began with a song, a sad song, mette was staying in bed late that morn- f, listening to her record player spinning olaintive tune of loneliness and dream- f about the date she would have with ul Anka that evening. She had often nired his singing, often thought about n, always wanted to meet him. Then t-xpectedly. Irv Feld, Paul's manager. : to thinking that these two kids would it off beautifully, and he arranged a iner date for them. Tonight was the ;ht. ohe lay in bed, listening to Paul's voice, ;amily imagining what their date would like, what Paul would be like. That would come of their meeting? mid they meet, be stiffly cordial and n never see each other again? Or would •re be a spark and would the lights go in their eyes and would they want to each other again and again and again? innette, one of the more fickle young ies in this world, had gone out with and ■n attracted 10 many boys. But though was sixteen and had often been kissed, le of her romances had been lasting. Tie one serious crush she'd had was an 'older man' of twenty -six, a camera - n named Jack who worked for her dio, who had promised to wait for her. nette was fifteen then. But this dream 5 shattered when he upped and married ly this year . . . leaving Annette broken j-ted. he had never fallen into the tender p of love with a boy her own age, but he bait were attractive she was willing h, so willing — to be captured. Perhaps tonight would be the night An- nette was going to surrender her heart. . . . I'm just a lonely boy . . . Lonely and blue. . . . Paul's song interrupted her reverie and Annette smiled to herself and promised herself that Paul Anka would not be lonely tonight . . . ! That first date But this promise wasn't easy to keep. At first, they were both lonely . . . and shy. Whenever their eyes met, Paul and Ann- ette would smile softly at each other and then quickly shift their attention to the tablecloth. Both nervously fingered the silverware and both were looking around the room for familiar faces they never found. "Isn't Dick Clark great?" asked Paul, in a desperate attempt to get a conversation going. "I'm in love with Dick," answered Annette, in a rush of relief at having any- thing to talk about. "He's wonderful and I'll never be able to thank him for every- thing he's done for me. I can't wait until he gets out here this summer to make his film. You know, Paul, my secret ambition is to be in that picture." "I'll be here then, too," Paul said en- thusiastically, "to make my first film. I wonder what it will be like?" It may have been a slow beginning, but they soon found they had a lot to discuss with each other — the movies, the record industry, Irv Feld, the weather, Fabian, food, the new house Annette was about to move into, rock 'n' roll, and the Los Angeles Dodgers. They stopped looking for other faces and began to concentrate on one another's. If I get my way, dreamed Annette in the semi-darkness of the restaurant, this lone- ly boy is never going to be lonely again. Too bad I've got to leave town so soon. Paul wistfully thought. This girl is too good to leave behind. . . . And all too soon Paul led Annette up the short walk to her front door. The evening drew to a close. Without saying a word, they both knew instinctively that they would be seeing a lot more of each other. Paul didn't want to end their rela- tionship with just one dinner engagement and Annette was anxious to see Paul under more informal circumstances. Annette leaned expectantly against the door. Paul edged closer and murmured, "Thanks for a wonderful evening. I'll call you as soon as I can." Then he silently turned away, headed back to his car, and drove off, remember- ing the sweetness of Annette's shining smile. . . . Up in her room, Annette tossed about in her bed, wondering about the last few moments of her date with Paul. She was certain he had been about to kiss her, but had hesitated at the last moment. She wondered why. She was perfectly willing to kiss a boy on a first date, if the boy meant something to her. And though she hardly knew Paul, she was certain that he was going to mean a great deal to her. She really suspected that he liked her too . . . maybe he didn't want her to think he was too fast, she decided . . . But she wished he had kissed her. . . . Perhaps her guess was wrong and Paul's sweet good-bye had just been the cue for a hasty exit? Perhaps she was drawing too many conclusions from just one brief en- counter? Perhaps she ought to turn over, she told herself, shove her head under the pillow and forget she ever met Paul. . . But those doubts need not have worried her. For Paul had been completely cap- tivated by Annette; he found her so nat- s150 FOR YOU! in the form below (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) as soon as you've read all the stories in this issue. Then mail it to us right away, 'romptness counts. Three $10 winners will be chosen from each of the following areas — on a basis of the date and time on your postmark: :astern states; Southern states; Midwestern states; Rocky Mountain and Pacific states; Canada. And even if you don't earn $10, you'll >e glad you sent this ballot in— because you're helping us pick the stories you'll really love. MAIL TO: MODERN SCREEN POLL, BOX 2291, s rand central station, n. y. 17, n. y. Please circle the box to the left of the one I. I LIKED MARIO LANZA: JJ more than almost any star [JJ a lot T fairly well [JJ very little [JJ not at all TJ am not very familiar with him I READ: JJ all of his story J] part J] none T HELD MY INTEREST: [TJ super-completely Tj completely J] fairly well [TJ very little TJ not at all l I LIKED ERROL FLYNN: TJ more than almost any star [JJ a lot Tj fairly well [JJ very little TJ not at all TJ am not very familiar with him READ: [TJ all of his story [TJ part [JJ none T_ HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely U completely JJ fairly well [JJ very little TJ not at all i. I LIKE DEBBIE REYNOLDS: JJ more than almost any star (JJ a lot JJ fairly well [JJ very little JJ not at all U am not very familiar with her phrase which best answers each question: I READ: JJ all of her story [JJ part JJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely UJ completely JJ fairly well JJ vary little JJ not at all 4. I LIKE ANNETTE FUNICELLO: JJ more than almost any star JJ a lot JJ fairly well JJ very little JJ not at all JJ am not very familiar with her I LIKE PAUL ANKA: JJ more than almost any star JJ a lot UJ fairly well JJ very little JJ not at all JJ am not very familiar with him I READ: JJ all of their story JJ part JJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completeiy J] completely JJ fairly well [JJ very little J] not at all 5. I LIKE TROY DONAHUE: JJ more than almost any star [JJ a lot UJ fairly well JJ very little JJ not at all J] am not very familiar with him I READ: JJ all of his story JJ part JJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely UJ completely J] fairly well JJ very little JJ not at all 6. I LIKE JIMMIE RODGERS: JJ more than almost any star JJ a lot J] fairly well JJ very little JJ not at all JJ am not very familiar with him I READ: JJ all of his story [JJ part JJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely J] completely JJ fairly well JJ very little JJ not at all (see other side) ural and unpretentious, yet so grown up. Courting time From then on, whenever Paul flew into Hollywood, he would rush down the air- line ramp and dash into the nearest phone booth to buzz Annette and tell her that he was on his way over. Suddenly Ann- ette's time became Paul's time. She looked forward to Paul's infrequent visits, al- though there were moments when her happiness would evaporate with the sud- den realization that their romance was existing almost by remote control. The rare dates they managed to share were memorable, though. Like the night at the Palladium Ballroom. What made that occasion so special was that they were able to dance all night unrecognized in a crowd of over a thousand. If they were noticed, they just seemed like any other young couple in love. Then there was the exciting 'grand tour' evening Paul planned when he got back to Hollywood after a long absence. This night to remember began with a multi-course dinner at Paul's rented house. This time, in contrast to their first awk- ward meeting, neither Paul nor Annette was self-conscious. No spoons rattled and no knees shivered. They just basked in the enjoyment of being together again. After dinner, on an impulse, they changed into bathing suits. They splashed in Paul's swimming pool for an hour and came out gay and light-hearted. Then Paul whisked Annette to a local amusement park. Riding anything which moved, throwing at anything which stood still and laughing at anything at all, they emerged from the park at closing time happier than they had ever been together. The next morning Annette told a girl- friend, "What a fabulous personality Paul has. He sure can show a girl a good time . . . and can he kiss . . . !" Her friend was convinced that Annette was finally shedding her fickle nature. The romance begins to cool But even as Annette was bubbling over about what a marvelous time she'd had, she was already beginning to feel a slight change in her feelings about Paul. They certainly had fun times together, no one could deny that, but that magic something that had put stars in her eyes when they first met was beginning to dim a little each time they were together. She was beginning to see Paul with clearer eyes now and in a different image. 'Perhaps," a doubtful Annette began to realize, "Paul is destined to become a platonic friend. Somehow I can picture him more as my brother than my boy- friend. . . ." It was a painful realization and it took courage for Annette to admit it but the pain now would be nothing compared to a later heartbreak. And Annette did not want to hurt Paul. She was determined to make the change subtly. For a while nothing seemed to be any different than before. Then, without warning, they had an argument, the same silly sort of problem that so often manages to push a wedge into a teenage romance. The argument took place not in Cali- fornia but in New York. Paul was open- ing in a Syracuse nightclub the same week that Annette was appearing in a rock 'n' roll revue in nearby Albany. Annette had promised to commute to the club to catch Paul's act and he was anxiously anticipat- ing her visit. But Annette never arrived. Her show, which co-starred Frankie Avalon, had run an hour overtime in response to an en- thusiastic crowd and Annette had decided that it wouldn't be fair to arrive only time to catch a small portion of Paul's a But she was tired from the grueling p« formance and put off calling Paul ur the morning. When she finally did, Pi was angry but willing to accept her e planation. She repeated her promise show up that night. But fate and another enthusiastic a dience combined to prevent her from gi ting to Syracuse. Paul was upset about i incident and for a couple of weeks, tr, kept out of each other's way. Finally they mutually apologized a picked up their friendship as if it nei had been interrupted. But as far as Anne was concerned, that's just what it w; friendship. Those weeks of being aw from Paul only reinforced her feeling tl for her, the romance was dead. She lit Paul very much, yes, but definitely a: friend; she could never think of him a: sweetheart again. But before she had found the right n ment to break the news to Paul, fate tervened again. Both were signed for D Clark's national musical road show- seven-week cross-country caravan wh thrust them together in daily contact. Reports from the just-concluded t< indicated that the embers are still smo dering and that Paul is trying to far spark where a flame once blazed. Tl are spending their off-hours together, av from the watchful eyes of potential crit If they should beat the odds and man; to rekindle the glory of their first love mantle of doubt will nevertheless have shroud their romance; a carbon copy ne is as genuine as the original. I Annette's in Walt Disnev's Shaggy E Paul's in Girl's Town, MGM, The P vate Lives of Adam and Eve, Warner Bi Permission to quote Paul Anka's s< Lonely Boy given by Spanka Music Cc 7. i LIKE ELIZABETH TAYLOR: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with her ] LIKE EDDIE FISHER: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at al! GO am not very familiar with him 3 READ: CO all of their story 00 part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely GO completely GO fairly well Gil very little G[] not at all 8. i LIKE BETTE OAVIS CO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with her I LIKE GARY MERRILL: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him 1 READ: GO all of their story GO part GO none 3T HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely GO completely GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all 9. I LIKE THE KINGSTON TRIO: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with them I READ: GO all of their story GO part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely Q0 completely 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all 10. I READ: HO all of the FABULOUS FIFTIES GO part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 00 completely GO fair- ly well GO very little GO not at all 11. I READ: GO all of LOUELLA PARSONS GO part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO completely 00 fair- ly well 00 very little GO not at all .2. The stars I most want to read about are: ( 3 5 U). (2) . (3) . AGE ...... NAME . ADDRESS CITY 74 PAUL ANKA Co-Star of "GIRLS' TOWN," an MGM release "You can always tell a Halo girl. . .you can tell by the shine of her hair1 Revive the satiny sparkle of your hair with today's liquid gold Halo So rich even layers of dulling hair spray disappear With the first SUdsing ! You'll find today's Halo instantly bursts into lush, lively lather. Refreshes the beauty of your hair so completely, you'll never go back to heavy, slow-penetrating shampoos. Yet, rich as it is. liquid gold colored Halo rinses away quickly, thoroughly . . . revives the satiny sparkle of your hair and leaves it blissfully manageable. 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Made only by Tampax Incorporated, Invented by a doctor — 2 now used by millions of women modern FEBRUARY. 1960 AMERICA'S GREATEST MOVIE MAGAZINE STORIES Beverly Aadland Errol Flynn 20 At 17, My Life Is Over by Hugh Burr ell Tuesday Weld John Ireland 22 At 16, I Know I'll Never Have A Husband Or Children Debbie Reynolds 24 Me, My Kids And Glenn Ford by Louella Parsons Crash Craddock 26 Introducing Crash Craddock by Ed DeBlasio Cathy Crosby Bob Crosby 28 The House Of Terrified Women Evy Norlund Jimmy Darren 30 Intimate Thoughts Of A Bride-To-Be by Terry Davidson Gia Scala Don Burnett 34 Death Opened Our Hearts by Doug Brewer Jean Simmons Stewart Granger 36 A Visit With Jean Simmons And Stewart Granger Annette Funicello 38 I Believe I Heard The Voice Of Jesus by Annette Funicello as told to George Christy Sammy Davis, Jr 40 We Have A Right To Be Married James Amess 42 The Story Of A Hollywood Wife Dick Clark 44 Dick Clark, I Love You— No Matter What You've Done! by Myrna Horowitz as told to Ed DeBlasio Sandra Dee 46 Let Sandra Dee Be A Warning! by Louella Parsons Evelyn Rudie 48 Little Girl Lost by Helen Wetter Troy Donahue 50 The Two Faces Of Troy Donahue by Robert Peer FEATURETTES Jimmy Durante 52 "Forever ... A Nose" Bing Crosby 64 A Cool Cat And His Hot Money Hugh O'Brian James Garner 74 Maverick Rescues Wyatt Earp In The Shower Dinah Shore 77 The Day Dinah Was Almost Shot Paul Anka 80 Paul Anka's Tommy Gun DEPARTMENTS Louella Parsons 9 Eight-Page Gossip Extra 4 The Inside Story 6 New Movies 56 Disk Jockeys' Quiz 70 February Birthdays 83 $150 For You Cover Photograph from Topix Other Photographers' Credits on Page 80 DAVID MYERS, SAM BLUM, managing editor SHIRLEY LAIKEN, promotion director editor MICHAEL LEFCOURT, art editor HELEN WELLER, west coast editor TERRY DAVIDSON, story editor LINDA OLSHEIM, production editor ED DeBLASIO, special correspondent BEVERLY LINET, contributing editor ERNESTINE R. COOKE, ed. assistant GENE HOYT, research director DOLORES M. SHAW, asst. art editor MARIO GUILIAN0, photo research LUPITA RODRIGUEZ, photo research SHELDON BUCHANSKY, reader service EUGENE WITAL, photographic art AUGUSTINE PENNETT0, cover FERNANDO TEXID0R, art director POSTMASTER: Please send notice on Form 3579 to 321 West 44 Street, New York 36, New York MODERN SCREEN. Vol. 54, No. 2. February, 1960. Published Monthly by Dell Publishing Co.. Inc. ,,( ,,ulilu.iii,in : .ii Washington and South Aves.. Dunellen, N. J. Executive and editorial offices. 7?0 Avenue New York 17. N. Y. Dell Subscription Service: .U) W 4411, St.. New York 36, N. Y. Chicago adve office 221 No. LaSalle St.. Chicago. 111. Albert P. Delacorte. Publisher; Helen Meyer, President; Paul R. Fxe.utiw Vkc-VresiUfiit; William F. ( allahan. Jr.. Vice-President; Harold Clark. Vice-President-Advertisi rector Published -iinultaneou-.lv in the nonunion of Canada. International copyright secured under the provis the in immI Convention for the protection of Literary and Aiti-fu Work- All right* reserved under the Bueno Convention Single copv price 25c in C. S, A. and Possessions and Canada. Subscription in V. S. A. and Poss oal C ui ula 4 ' st) one vear. $4. Do two rears, $5.50 three years. Subscription for Pan American and foreign cot st =ti a rear Second class postage paid at Dunellen. New Jersey. Copyright 1 owl hy Dell Publishing Co.. Inc. in U S A. The Publishers assume no responsibility for the return of unsolicited material. Trademark No. Office Third .^•ek THEY'RE Having A Little trouble With her Gazebo* but doesn't n EVERYONE ( METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER i Presents j GLEnn / DEBBIE FORD REVnOLDS in AN AVON PRODUCTION THE gazebo THE HILARIOUS BROADWAY SMASH Hlf/ ' J */z"s a little house I w/YA a 6/p secret! 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For samples and informative booklet, "What You Should Know About Yourself As a Woman!", send 104 for postage and handling. Box 225, Dpt. D 1 ^Church St. Sta., N. Y.8,N.Y. T WHO VSR RESEARCH ' THAYER] ...a ©1959 SETTER PRODUCT Want the real truth? Write to INSIDE STORY, Modern Screen, Box 515, Times Square P.O., N.Y. 36, N.Y. The most interesting letters will appear in this column. Sorry, no personal replies. Q I've been reading a great deal about Cary Grant's date with young Las Vegas chorines, air-stewardesses, etc. Has Cary ever considered dating a woman of his own age? — J.W., Tallahassee, Fla. A Not for the past twenty years. 9 What's the scoop behind the report that Kirk Douglas threatened to walk out of the movie Strangers When We Meet because Kim Novak and director Richard Quine kept carrying their per- sonal problems onto the set? — J.L., Rocky Mount, N.C. A Kirk couldn't walk out of the picture because of contractual demands. He was upset at any delays which might have kept him working overtime since he had other projects demanding his attention. 9 Is it true that Lauren Bacall was finally able to get over her infatuation with Frank Sinatra by strictly adhering to the adage that time heals all wounds ? — S.M., Butte, Mont. A Her friends say Miss Bacall's philoso- phy was 'time wounds all heels.' 9 Is the Roger Moore marriage head- ing for stormy weather? — C.C., Newtown, Conn. A The rains came. But, the Moores are reconciled — for now. 9 There was a great to do in the papers about Happy Anniversary not being able to get a production code seal unless the words, "It was wrong. I shouldn't have taken Alice to that hotel room," were added to the finished print. I saw the picture — and somehow David Niven's voice sounded different when he said them. What caused this difference? — F.E., New York, N.Y. A "Niven's voice" sounded different be- cause Niven refused to do his own dub- bing on the principle that the addition of lines was juvenile and insulting to au- dience intelligence. 9 I read that Ray Anthony, Mamie Van Doren's "ex," is intent upon mak- ing Lana Turner his next bride. Any truth to this? — E.C., Richmond, Va. A Ray is intent, Lana both amused and uninterested in the whole idea. 9 I haven't read too much about Pat Boone lately. Is he still as hot with the fans as ever? Or is he fading out now that Fabian, Bobby Darin, etc., are leading the field? — S.F., Woodmere, L.I. A Pat's popularity is at a nice steady stage. It is the consensus of opinion in the music business that he's passed the teen-age idol stage, and will develop into a sure and steady Perry Como type. 9 I saw Gregory Peek in Beloved In- fidel. As Greg Peck, he was gorgeous; as F. Scott Fitzgerald, he was a bust. Since Peck always seems to fight for his rights with directors, why didn't he insist that Fitzgerald be played as the disintegrat- ing man he was in his later years? —S B., Cairo, III. A Greg did fight for his rights. His di- rector, who wanted a less strong and virile character, went down for the count. 9 Why has Alan Ladd put his foot down about his son David working in any more films? Is it because David was getting too much publicity? — C.S., Steubenvtlle, Ohio A No — not enough formal schooling. Alan will allow David to make films — but only during the summer months. 9 Did Liz Taylor use any of her per- sonal influence to get Eddie Fisher the role of her piano player in Butterfield 8 — or is this casting an added publicity gimmick for the picture? — A.M., Johnstown, Pa. A All her influence. 9 I read your story on Beverly Aad- land. What do those in the know in the movie industry feel will be her profes- sional future, after all the Errol Flynn publicity has been forgotten? — B.H., Pleasantvtlle, Mo. A Oblivion. 9 Why did Janet Leigh accept a tiny part in Psycho? What is the reason for her feud with Vera Miles, who is in the same picture? — G.L., Albuquerque, NJMex. A Although Janet gets killed off in the second reel, her role up until then is a meaty one. No feud, just some dissension as to who would get top billing — Janet, with the bigger name, Vera, with the big- ger part. James Garner Natalie Wooa Big Charm. . Big mii&ions.. THE GlSU NOT EVErt A UTTlE k.ss This fellow- he's a zillionaire... But this girl -she keeps giving him the air...! Why should it be? People, you gotta see ! It's the new year's big bright romantic delight! 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Eastco, Inc. .White Plains. N. Y. Expires 2/29/60. I I L* by florence epstein BEN HUR a tale of the Christ Charlton Hestort Stephen Boyd Haya Harareet Jack Hawkins Sam Jaffe ■ From the very first moment of Ben Hur the view is dazzling. Indeed, the prologue — scenes accompained by narration of the birth of Christ — is of breath-taking, overwhelminp beauty. Immediately after begins a story which, although it is nearly four hours long, rarely drags and never lets you down as far as emotional excitement, suspense or climax are concerned. Ben Hur (Charlton Heston), scion of a rich Jewish family of Judea, wel- comes the new Roman Tribune to his city. The Tribune, Messala (Stephen Boyd), is his boyhood friend and Heston hopes that the tyrannical hand of Rome will soften under his rule. But Boyd believes that Caesar is divine; Heston believes with the Jews that there is only one God. Conflict between these former friends is inevitable. Although this is the story of Heston's conversion to Christianity, it is, on the surface, an adventure story packed with action. Boyd, to teach other Jews submit, condemns Heston to a galley and throws his mother (Martha Scott) and sistei (Kathy O'Donnell) into a dungeon. Incredi- bly, it seems, Heston survives three years or the galley. Then during a sea battle he rescue Commander Jack Hawkins who takes him to Rome and a new life of splendor. Filled with hatred for Boyd and lust for revenge, Heston can't rest. Returning to Judea he meets his enemy in the arena where they both enteS the chariot race. It is a brutal, highly exciting event. Afterward Heston is still unsatisfied; he has yet to discover the whereabouts of hig mother and sister. An ex-slave, the girl he now loves (Haya Harareet), knows that they. are lepers living in a valley of Untouchables and she tries to spare him by saying they are; dead. On the same day that Christ is to ba crucified Heston leads them out of the valley] This movie cost a fortune to produce and ifj looks it. It is a magnificent spectacle. — MGMl (Continued on page 72n YOU ENTER FREE! No Statements SSL some of Europe's most famous capitals. You will be furnished ail the trappings of = — .... :r. aire's Safari, including your ;\vn personal White Hunter and a full staff of natives to care for your every need. Then after weeks of unbelievable adventure — seeing thousands of animals, native villages, tribal dances, mystic ML Kilimanjaro . . . you'll both fly home again with memories enough to last a lifetime! AN ADVENTURE FOR THE ENTIRE FAMILY Everyone ir. the family may enter — see the Rules. You'll have fun and adventure solving the puzzles together. The sample solution to the right shows you how to collect S3.250 worth of animals — quite a bag t see if you can do better! Read how to solve basic Official Puzzle = 1 below — work out your own solution — then use one of the Free Entry Coupons to mail in your solution. Have a friend or relative use the other coupon and you may win an extra S 1.000.00 Cash — see Bonus F':oe :: the " . • HOW TO SOLVE PUZZLE #1 .E.:=E : YOU MUST ENCLOSE » STiMPtD SfLf-AODIESSED The swinging purse . . . the swaying hips . . . the sensuous body against the lamp-post . . .then, the sudden glint of a knife ... a choked scream . . . fleeing footsteps and over and over he would repeat his brutal, compulsive act of killing! THE MOST DIABOLICAL MURDERER IN ALL THE ANNALS OF CRIME! HE BAFFLED THE GREAT SCOTLAND YARD, THE CELEBRATED ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE AND ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ...THE FILE ON JACK THE RIPPER HAS NEVER CLOSED. JOSEPH E. LEVINE JACK THE RIPPER JACK THE RIPPER JOSEPH E. LEVINE presents JPtVlt I Ilk Ft I ■ ■ k It starring LEE PATTERSON • EDDIE BYRNE • BETTY McDOWALL • EWEN SOLON Screenplay by JIMMY SANGSTER • From an original story by PETER HAMMOND and COLIN CRAIG • Produced, Directed and Photographed by ROBERT S. BAKER and MONTY BERMAN A Mid-Century Film Production • A PARAMOUNT PICTURES RELEASE jjjjfc SOON AT YOUR FAVORITE THEATRE MODERN SCREEN'S 8 PAGE GOSSIP EXTRA by HOLLYWOOD'S GREATEST COLUMNIST n this issue: 'arties, Parties, Parties i Talk With Lana Turner ookie's Bank Account David Janssen is so much fun at a party, and Louella diets he'll soon be as big in motion pictures as he is on continued Zsa Zsa Gabor's escort, Hal Hayes, was without a place card. Lovely Cyd Charisse and (right) Dano Wynter in fabulous maternity gown. Merle Oberon (holding son) and husband ( right) hosted the lavish party for the Henry Fords. Aly Kahn flew from New York especially for Merle's party. Poor Martha Hyer (here with Richard Burton) was robbed!'. PARTYo/ the month Merle Oberon s party, in her Bel Air home, honoring the Henry Fords was not only one oi the largest and most lavish of the season — it was packed with drama and ex- citement from start to finish. Unless you've been hibernating in a cave, you must have read the headline stories about how Zsa Zsa Gabor arrived with Hal Hayes (whom Merle had not invited) and for whom she had no place card. Nor did she write one. When Zsa Zsa and her escort later departed in a huff — it hit the headlines. But enough of this. It's been argued pro and con by ;he experts — and as a close friend of Merle's and a guest in her home I promised not to discuss it. But this was just one of several eventful happenings of this eventful evening. Aly Khan had flown out from New York with his current girl friend, Gwinella Riva (a Swedish beauty but she makes her home in Paris) especially for Merle's party. So when Aly's former wifa Rita Hayworth showed up, every eye was on this interesting "three- some." Strangely enough, the suspense did not last long. Aly and Rita chatted like old and good friends and when the dancing started after the formal sit-down dinner, Aly asked Rita to dance with him. Martha Hyer, beautifully gowned in a long picture-portrait black velvet dress, had a ball — until she returned home that night and found she had been robbed of $80,000 worth of priceless paintings, jewelry and furs! Poor Martha collapsed when she found out that among the looted treasures were her prize Renoirs and Utrillo oils. Meanwhile, back at the party (to para- phrase the TV westerns) there was never a dull moment even up to midnight when Senator John Kennedy arrived and immediately was the center of a circle of friends and relatives, including his sister Pat (Mrs. Peter Law- ford Pete, and Frank Sinatra. Aly Khan was also noted dancing with Kim Novak — which brought to mind that they had also been a spark in each other's lives at one time — last summer it was, when Kim was in Europe. But the flame seemed to be banked when Kim and Aly danced and chatted, and his girlfriend had nothing to be jealous of any more than when Aly danced with Rita. Almost all the women were arrayed in th« most fabulous gowns from such designers a: Sophie, Mainboc-her, Fontana, Dior and others So I was really amazed when one of the pret tiest women, wearing one of the lovelies gowns and coats, Mrs. David Janssen. told me she made every stitch of her ensemble! (Incidentally, everyone is crazy about th( Janssens and I admit I'm a fan of David' popular TV show Richard Diamond. Ellie anc David are so much fun and she gets a laugl when some friends call her "Sam," the sexi telephone gal on David's show. Mark words, David will soon be as big in motioi pictures as he is on TV. He's a young Clark Gable.) As usual — it's a habit with her — Cyd Charisse was one of the most beautiful women present and Tony Martin is always^ so proud of her. It was really a party of parties and the ' young Henry Fords, who had come to the j Coast to be the godparents of Merle and Bruno Pagliai's adorable little adopted son. certainly got an interesting close-up of Holly- wood before this evening was over. 'Just Good Friends" it Las Vegas Debbie Reynolds stuck to her code of never dating a married man until he is di- rrced" (as she told me in my interview with =r, which is on page 24 of this issue) before le appeared with millionaire Harry Karl as Br escort in Las Vegas. It was about a week :-.er Joan (the former Mrs. Harry) Cohn di- sced Karl that Debbie resumed the dates 19 was having with him before his surprising znd short) twenty -five day marriage to Mrs. chn. Debbie was in Las Vegas at the invitation Shirley MacLaine to take part in the g Operation Typhoon charity affair staged ,- Steve Parker and his Japanese Revue stars the New Frontier to aid Japanese sufferers the recent typhoon. With their usual gen- osity. many Hollywood stars including Bob ope. Donald O'Connor, Lucille Ball, sa Zsa Gabor and others, flew up to take jrt in the show and buy many of the fine izes auctioned off from the stage. Looking cute as a button arrayed in white ; and tails and top hat, Debbie did a dance rmber for which Mr. Karl applauded loudest all. Later, Harry bought a chinchilla coat hich was auctioned off for sweet charity, id presented it to Debbie! She keeps insisting me that she and Karl are "just good friends" id I think she means it. But I'm beginning believe it's deeper than that on his side .d if he can change her mind — he will. I thinlf a special bow goes to Lucille Ball letting back to the show for Operation Ty- loon) who almost stole the evening with her perb clowning. Lucille is not a happy girl =se days. There is trouble between her and si Arnaz, although both half-heartedly deny But she put her personal problems aside to me up to Vegas and help Shirley and Steve ise money for this worthy cause. She's a e girl, this "Lucy" — and here's hoping Desi iikes up before it's too late. Congratulations, Dorothy and. Jacques, i Dorothy is expecting the Stork.) "A Baby Is Coming" I kept saying that Dorothy Malone cer- tainly looked pregnant. And Dorothy kept denying that she and Jacques Bergerac are expecting a baby. We kept up this jolly little game for about two weeks. Then, one morning, to my desk came a beau- tiful large white orchid to which was attached a white satin streamer with ABC printed in gold letters — and a note reading: Dear Loueila: You are quite right, Jacques and I are happily expecting a baby in May- In case you are curious, the ABC printed on the streamer means. 'A baby is coming.' Congratulations, Dorothy and Jacques. And thank you for the charming way you verified my story that Dorothy is expecting the Stork. Kookie had. a funny a Kookie Can't Afford Two Combs 'cs a fine girl, this "Lucy," and e's hoping Desi wakes up to it. Never let it be said that Edd "Kookie" Byrnes hasn't kept his sense of humor through his suspension troubles at Warner Bros, (which I'm sure will be settled by the time you read this). When I asked "Kookie" if he planned to marry Asa Maynor any day now, he cracked: "The answer is — no. I can't afford two combs." Edd is very grateful to Warners, the studio that discovered him and gave him his big chance on 77 Sunset Strip. It's just that he can't questioned about mo/t riage and Asa Maynor. get along on his S284-per-week taice-home salary. That may seem like a good salary — and it is outside of the acting profession. But with all the expenses even a young actor is heir to, and the front he is expected to put up, it's small pickings. Edd has really been up against it financially speaking. For one item alone, his tuxedo, cost him S240, almost a week's salary. Jack Warner, a fair man, offered to up "Kookie" to S750 weekly which is okay with Edd and his agents. But "Kookie" is also hop- ing the studio permits him to keep 50 °o of what he is being offered for nightclub and per- sonal appearances. This, my friends, is as high as S10.000 weekly. Not bad for that cute "parking attendant" at 77 Sunset Strip! Kim was there with Dick Quine (right) and she made up with Kirk Douglas. Bob Stack and Rosemary Bowe sat with Louella. The Danny Thomases stop to chat with Louis Prima and Keely Smith. More Parties, Parties, Parties : I needed a scooter to get around to all the social events of the month. Come to think of it, maybe I should have taken up Edd "Kookie" Byrnes' offer to ride on his motor scooter (remember I told you about that last month) to cover all the ground. There were rhree big ones on the same night — and that takes a bit of doing even for me — but I made 'em! First doorbell we rang was at Anne and Kirk Douglas' big wingding at their home for Simone (Room at the Top) Signoret and Yves Montand, her husband, a fine French entertainer making his Hollywood debut at the Huntington Hartford Theater a few nights later. Everybody but everybody was there — but I'll admit I was surprised to see Kim Novak considering that she and Kirk had been re- ported feuding all during the making of Strang- ers When We Meet. Kim said, "Come with me, Louella" — and just to prove there were no bad feelings, she marched up to Kirk and gave him a big kiss! Mr. Douglas didn't mind in the least. Of course, Kim was with her 'heart' (also her director) Dick Quine. Anne Douglas had decorated her house in red, white and blue flowers in honor of her approaching American citizenship. This set Tony Curtis off to drumming Yankee Doodle on the toy drum of the Douglas' child, much to the amusement of Janet Leigh, who looked stunning in red chiffon. In the crowd I saw Steve Allen and Jayne Meadows, Judy Garland and Sid Luft, Dinah Shore and George Montgomery (Dinah in one of her long Paris gowns). Gene Kelly with Jeanie Coyne (methinks this is a new romance — leanie is his former dance assistant); the Gregory Pecks and Jean Simmons and Stewart Granger. I told you every- body was there. Hated to tear ourselves away from the Doug- lases, but on to the dinner Jack Warner gave for Vice President Richard Nixon and his so attractive wife Pat. The Nixons are always welcome visitors — if you can call them visitors. They hail from nearby Whither, California. I can tell you our Vice President has a very good and most flattering memory. He said to me, "The last time I saw you was in the ele- vator in the Waldorf Towers in New York. Do you remember?" I certainly remembered — but I hardly expected he would. But time was ticking on, as much as we would have liked to linger on at this interest- ing affair, we were due at the WAIF Imperial Ball, one of the big charity affairs of every season with proceeds going to the fund for orphaned children of Europe. Jane Russell is a guiding light. When we arrived at the ballroom of the Beverly Hilton, Edd "Kookie" Byrnes with his date, pretty Dorothy Johnson, the Bob Stacks, Donna Reed, Tony Owen and the Danny Thomases were al ready seated at our table. The guest of honor was her Imperial High- ness Princess Marie Cecilie of Prussia, a very pretty seventeen-year-old blonde whose par- I nominate for STARDOM ookie found the Princess charming. Charming date, too— Dorothy Johnson. nts accompanied her to Hollywood and per- litted her to make her bow to society at this /orthy occasion. I had made arrangements for "Kookie" to e one of the young men to dance with the rincess. He was a bit nervous about it — but erne, and they made such an attractive couple n the floor that the cameramen kept their cshbulbs popping all during the dance. When "Kookie" returned to the table he told ie the Princess was a charming and vivacious irl and a good dancer — and "What a hand- nake she has!" I knew what he meant a few moments later when I met her and she gave ly hand such a hearty grip it nearly took me ff my feet. I was also very much impressed with the rincess' mother. Grand Duchess Kira, who egged those of us who were presented to er to sit and talk with her a moment. I asked er if she and her family were movie fans. "We see few motion pictures," the Grand uchess replied tactfully, "but we like those Even his MGM bosses were impressed when, following the sneak preview of Home from the Hill (stars Bob Mitchum and Eleanor Parker) 221 preview cards out of the 300 distributed, read A new srar is born in George Peppaid — or words to that effect. The good-looking blonde graduate of Mar- lon Brando's alma mater, Lee Strasberg's Actors' Studio in New York, was waylaid by eager teenage fans who told him, "You are now a big movie star." "No," said the flabbergasted George, "I'm just an actor." I say some actor — to make such a splash in his first important screen role even if he has made his mark on Broadway in such hits as Girls of Summer, The Pleasure of His Company and on TV in Little Moon ot Alban, the Alfred Hitchcock shows and several U.S. Steel Hour presentations. A most amiable and easy-to-know young man, George gets hot under the collar about only one thing: the criticism leveled at young actors (particularly the 'method' group) for the way they dress in jeans, denims and sweat shirts. "I often wore jeans to interviews with pro- ducers for the good reason I couldn't aftoid to buy a good suit! And this is true of the ma- jority of young actors struggling for a break — including some girls like Diane Varsi. When we first start making money, we need it for our studies, not for flashy wardrobes." So there! George Peppard is his real name and he was born in Detroit, Michigan, the son of a (late) building contractor and Vernelle Pep- pard, a former opera singer and voice coach. After graduation from Dearborn High School, in his native city, and several years at Purdue University, George headed for New York and the Actors' Studio. Shelley Winters' play GirJs of Summer was his kick-off hit. Yes, girls, he is married. Helen Davies has been Mrs. P. since 1954. 13 continued Lana Turner likes Fred May (left) better than any other man she knows, but neither of them is thinking in terms of marriage— not right now, anyhow. A Talk With Lana— I asked Lana Turner just how serious she is about Fred May. the good looking and re- putedly wealthy businessman whom she is dating constantly. "I like Fred better than any man I know. But his divorce won't be final until February — and neither of us is thinking in terms of marriage," Lana told me. "He has two children — which means obli- gations— and so do I." I said. "You certainly have no financial worries with all those millions coming in from Imitation oi Life, Lana." She laughed, "So far I haven't seen any of those millions, but I'm told I'll get the money. When it comes it will be very wel- come." Marilyn's Husband and Marilyn's Script No matter how politely Gregory Peck worded his reasons to me for walking out of The Billionaire with Marilyn Monroe before the picture started at 20th, the truth is: He was burned up with the way Marilyn's playwright husband Arthur Miller was rewrit- ing the script, building up Marilyn's role with each click of his typewriter. But, behaving like a gentleman, Greg told me, "I read Norman Krasna's original story and that is what I signed to make. I have not seen the rewritten version. "What I object to is that the rewriting is holding up the starting date which was sup- posed to be November 1st. Three quarters of the month is gone and we still are not into production. I have signed a contract to star in The Guns oi Navarone in Greece late in December — and I can't wait any longer for The Billionaire." Spoken like a gentleman, Mr. P. — and very nice, except that I don't believe a word of it. Marilyn Monroe and Arthur way to Hollywood here— and to Miller those were on their script changes. 14 Childhood is for laughter, as one reader poignantly reminds us, but even Evelyn Rudie's mother and father admit that "Eloise" is not like other children. Interesting problem-the similarity of the names of Bobby Darin and Jimmy Darren. Do you get them mixed up? LETTER BOX What a heart-breaking thing that nine-year- old Evelyn Rudie should be so worried about her career that she landed in that silly publicity stunt and trip to Washington, writes Mrs. E. Dekringer, Tacoma. Childhood is tor laughter — not fears or tears. It's cured me of wanting to put my little girl in the movies or TV. Wise words, Mrs. D. . . . Cleo Van Zandt, Miami, has an idea: I'm crazy tor both Bobby Darin and Jimmy Darren. But the similarity ol their names, I think, is bad for both of their careers. Before they go on and become even more famous — why doesn't one change his name? Particularly as both are now actors in the movies, as well as singers. Does everyone get these boys as mixed up as Cleo thinks . . . ? I saw Pillow Talk with my sixteen-year- old boyfriend and it made both of us blush, postcards Evelyn Greer, Madison, Wis. Well, Evelyn, if this amusing comedy makes you blush — keep away from the French movies now on display. . . . Dee Dee, Atlantic City, asks: Do you feel as I do that May Britt is the next Greta GarJbo? No. . . . Personal to Ptjrveen, Karachi, Pakistan — Thank you for your kind words about this de- partment and about Modern Screen, written in excellent English for which I compliment you. I am sorry if you, such an ardent movie fan, are not receiving replies to your letters to Elizabeth Taylor, Pier Angeli, Hope Lange and Susan Hayward. Perhaps they will read of your disappointment here — and write to you, such an interesting fan from continued One fan thinks Rock is slated for marriage in 1960, Tony Randall is an actor who can be but it's doubtful— he was badly burned the first time. amusing and romantic at the same time. such a far away country. . . . Why do you of the press pick on Ava Gardner? snaps Bob Weill, Boston. If you ask me. Bob, — it's Ava picking on us of the press, particularly as she now has it in her contract that she can walk off her new movie set if any reporter shows up. I worked out Rock Hudson's future by numerology, pens Peggy Brown, Cleveland, and the numbers say he will be married again in 1960. Want to bet? Rock was badly burned in his first marriage. I doubt if he'll try ma- trimony again so soon. . . . Tony Randall is just wonderful! One ot the few actors who can be amus'ng and ro- mantic at the same time, enthuses Mrs. Vivyan Oldfield, Dallas. Why isn't he a star? The next time you look at the billing, Mrs. O., Tony may jolly well be a star. . . . Odessa McDaniels, Duluth, writes: I cried my eyes out when I read that Bob Hope is completely blind in one eye now and is losing the sight ot the other. Wait a minute — Bob himself says that report is greatly exaggerated. He has lost about 50 percent vision in one eye and the other has not been affected Sally Phillips, Homestead, Florida, begs the fans not to forget the great Mario Lanza. Though he did some things at the height ot his fame that seemed wrong, his was a great talent. I believe all admirers of Mario can best express their sympathy to his bereaved family by buying, and then buying more, of his wonderful records. That is a very fine idea, Sally. . . . Has somebody in authority clamped down on Tuesday Weld? postcards Jimmy Stei- ger, Brooklyn. Haven't read much nonsense about ihis wild kid this month. Maybe some latent good sense came to her rescue. But don't count on it. Where Tuesday is concerned, she can erupt again any minute. . . . That's all for now. See you next month. hard- V working \ hands BEFORE TPUSP October 26 195 heal twice as fast AFTER TRUSHAY — Same hands, skin unretouched, with October 30, 1959 1 1 - ': Mil!:--'- mi- new heavy- (lulv TRUSHAY with si I icones Kitchen tests prove it ...with women just like you! What happened to these hands can happen to Hard-working hands heal twice as fast with new you. And new Trushay protects your hands against heavy-duty Trushay with silicones. Try newTrushay. detergents and through every chore you do. TRUSHAY.. .the heavy-duty lotion for hard-working hands NEW LIQUID LUSTRE-CREME IS HERE! Now you can shampoo... Set with plain water...and have lively, natural looking curls! Vicl* liquid LOVELY JANE POWELL must keep lier hair looking soft and shining at all times for her many television appearances and screen roles. That's why she always asks her hairdresser for a Lustre -Creme shampoo because it leaves hair shinier, easier-to-manage in any hair style. Shouldn't you use it, too? FOR CURLS THAT COME EASY— HERE'S ALL YOU DO: Shampoo with new Liquid Lustre-Creme. Special cleansing action right in the rich, fast-rising lather gets hair clean as you've ever had it yet leaves it blissfully manage- able. Contains Lanolin, akin to the natural oils of the hair; keeps hair soft, easy to set without special rinses. Set— with Just plain water. An exclusive new formula — unlike any other shampoo — leaves hair so manageable any hair-style is easier to set with just plain water. Curls are left soft and silky — spring right back after combing. Waves behave, flick smoothly into place. noJtx dries — if beau-rifles — how in liquid., lofioK or cfeaivJ. 4 OUT OF 5 TOP MOVIE STARS USE LUSTRE-CREME SHAMPOO! On the next 4 pages Modern Screen brings you the real truth about two Hollywood teenagers— Beverly Aadland and Tuesday Weld — who learned about love from men three times their age— and lost... — CAN A TEENAGE GIRL LEARN TOO MUCH ABOUT LOVE TOO SOON? r I AT 17 MY LIFE IS OVER The girlfriend really wanted to say, "Look, Errol Flynn is dead. The funeral was two weeks ago. He's gone, Beverly. Sad, tragic, heartbreaking as it is, the man you loved and lived with for two years is gone. And it's time you realize that now, and try to pull yourself together." But aloud she said, instead, "You've barely touched your salad, honey. Here I take you to lunch at — ahem, excuse me for bragging — one of the most expensive restaurants in Hollywood. And what do you do? You sit and look at your food like it was a decoration, a display . . . Now come on. Perk up and eat a little. This isn't on any expense account, you know. This is on me, jm your old hard-working chum!" Seventeen-year-old Beverly Aadland looked up from her plate, ik* "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just not too hungry." 'Til make you pay for your share of this if you don't eat," her girlfriend said, laughing. -^X 'Til pay, if you want," Beverly said. She looked away. There were tears in her eyes. Her girlfriend stopped laughing and sighed and reached across the table for Beverly's hand. 'I was teasing you — " she started to say. "Hey, what's happened anyway to the gal who used to be able to take a joke and who could — " {Continued on page 79) Beverly Aadland thought she was AT 16 I KNOW I'LL EVER HAVE A HUSBAND OR CHILDREN ■ Actually, Tuesday and John met on the set of Spartacus at U-I Studios. Tuesday, wearing one of her famous beatnik outfits that day, levis, sweat shirt, sandals and mix-master wig, was visit- ing the set with a friend, Marsha. John, in the picture, was doing takes on a scene with Kirk Douglas and Laurence Olivier. The introduction was made between a pair of takes by Marsha, who had known John for several years. It was a very uneventful-seeming introduction, short and sweet. John said hello, Tuesday said hi, John turned to talk to Marsha for a few minutes, and then he went back to work. As he did, Tuesday sighed. "He's the (Continued on page 54) I Weld was shattered when John Ireland said good-bye... What is the truth about Debbie \ Now, in a personal heart- to- i friend Louella Parsons, Debbie \ Glenn Ford away from the sets t m This is a photo from It Started With a Kiss, the film that paired Debbie and Glenn 'and started all the rumors. Reynolds' private life today ? heart talk with her long-time confides all: "I have never seen of the three pictures we have (Continued on page 53) He was alone now. The people who'd been with him a few minutes earlier — the press agent, the man from the record company, the musician or two — had gone to their own rooms. What laugh- ter and talk and congrat- ulations there had been about the show he'd done that night were over. The hotel room was emp- ty. And he was lonely, so terribly lonely ... He was nineteen years old and far away from home and from the girl he loved and he wondered what he was doing here, anyway. In this strange room. In this strange city. This night. Far from Greensboro, North Carolina, and the life he knew. Far from the great, big, beautiful, glo- rious future everybody had been predicting for him. Smack in the middle of what, he wondered — of what? He walked over to the phone. He wanted to call May. He wanted to say, "Honey, this is Billy. I'm comin' home. I'm tired of being Crash Craddock. I want to be Billy again, your husband again. I miss you, honey, and I love you and I'm comin' home to you." But his hand left the receiver before he even picked it up. Without looking down at his watch, he knew that it was late — well aft- er midnight. That May, busy working all day at (Continued on page 63) Crosby 220 N# Layton Dr« THE HOUSE OF TERRIFIED WOMEN A few miles away • from the big house at 220 N. Layton Drive, Beverly Hills, the beau- tiful girl sat up in her bed. It was 10 :40 o'clock of this mild and lovely Saturday evening, No- vember 7th, 1959. The others, in the rooms flanking hers, in the stretch of rooms down the long and silent hall- way— they were fast asleep by now. But she was not. She was sit- ting up, and she was {Continued on page 70) Evy Norlnnd and Jimmy Dar ren A young engaged girl, her heart bursting with happiness, can have a strange problem. You see, Evy Norlund has no one near to share her joy; she has no one with whom to share the Evy's oirtfit Ballerina Bridal . . . a Maurer Original Mrs. Jimmy Darren, Mrs. Jimmy Darren. . . . These words, like an unforgettable melody, keep sing- ing in Evy Norlund's mind as she makes her plans for her coming marriage. All the while she is think- ing of important things, big things, like her trousseau ("So many lovely new clothes ... I want to look beautiful for him always. . . .") and furniture ("Our bedroom will be the sweetest, most romantic room in the whole world. . . .") and silver- ware ("We'll eat dinner by candle- light. . . .") and how she'll make Jimmy's favorite dishes ("I hope I can learn to cook the way his mother does. . . .") in a sparkling new kitchen — in the midst of all her planning, these precious words, Mrs. Jimmy Darren, keep coming back, and Evy hugs them close. Her heart is bursting to tell some- one how happy she is, how (continued on next page) wonderful he is, how much in love she is . . . and yet how apprehensive she sometimes is. . . . But these are intimate thoughts to share with a girlfriend, a best friend, and Evy's best friend is 6,000 miles away from Hollywood, back home in Den- mark. If Evy were home, she would be confiding now in Hanne Blarke, the girl she grew up with, the girl she promised would be her maid of honor someday. At home, getting married would mean walking down the aisle on her father's arm, in the dear old church where her childhood priest, Jack Stenberg, had confirmed her, and a lavish wedding reception at the smart Europa Hotel in Copenhagen with everybody there, all her family, her three sisters and her two brothers, her sixteen aunts and uncles, her thirty cousins, and the kids she'd gone to school with. Evy misses all this, not having her family and friends with her to (Continued on page 82) Evy's in The Flying Fontaines and Jimmy's in The Gene Krupa Story and Because They're Young- all from Columbia. 3 pc. silk suit . . . Sacony Knitted Sheath . . . Sacony Handbags by Etra Jewelry by Cora Dress by Kay Windsor STORE LISTINGS & PRICES ON PAGE 82 33 ■ Don Burnett lay down the newspaper, this summer night a little over a year ago. And as he did his mother, setting the table in the dining room a few yards away, called out, "Almost ready for dinner?" Don shook his head. "I'm not hungry, Mom," he said. "Don't bother about me right now." His mother walked into the living room, confused. "Don," she said, smiling, "I've got the roast almost ready . . . You said you were famished when you called before. And I — " {Continued on page 66) DEATH OPENED OUR HEARTS The strange love story of Gia Scala and her husband Don Burnett . . A Modern Screen Photo Scoop! A VISIT WITH JEAN SIMMONS AND STEWART GRANGER Jean stars in Universale Spartacus and ivill soon appear hi United Artist's Elmer Gantry. (Opposite) Lined up on the horses from left to right: Lindsay. Stewart, Jean, and Jamie. (Above) Stew- art tries to keep the barbecue under control. (Above right) Tracy smiles good-night to her mommy. (Right) Stewart lends a hand to his pretty passenger. (Below) Stewart proud- ly shows off a prize Charolais bull calf. ■ Everyone in Hollywood has some method of getting away from it all. Some eat, some drink . . . but some just get up and go ! Take Stewart Granger and Jean Simmons. They head south to their own 10,000-acre ranch named Yerba Buena on the Mexican border. There with their three-year-old daughter Tracy and Stewart's thirteen-year-old daughter Lindsay and fifteen-year-old son Jamie, they ride herd, milk cows, try to forget about Hollywood — and guard their privacy. That last is the important matter. When they invited us out, we were very shy about asking, "May we bring a camera ? You know . . . our readers . . . your fans. . . ." Jean laughed and said, "Of course," and we were almost at a (rare for us) loss for words. We've wanted to bring you these pictures for so long, we take great pride in presenting the first picture story anywhere on the life of "The Granger Rangers." In my agony I kissed the Cross. I heard a Voice say, "I am with you." i Beueve IH671RD TH€ voice of jesus i told to George Christy Even the doctor didn't suspect. He told us everything was all right. It just turned out to be one of those nightmares you hear about and never think can happen to you. Nobody expected it. My brother, Joey, was six and I was nine when we had our tonsils removed in St. Joseph's Hospital in Burbank, California. It was during the Christmas holiday because my mom and dad didn't want us to miss any school. My tonsils had bothered me from the day we moved to California from Utica, New York, i^^f where' I was born. The doctor agreed it was a good idea to per- form a double operation. Joey and I could keep each other company in the hospital — and at home — while we got well. Two days after the operation we were released by Dr. King, the kind, soft- voiced surgeon who patted me on the arm and said, "Now, keep up the good spirits. You're going to be all right." Dr. King walked down the long hospital corridor with us to the front entrance. Both Joey and I carried our overnight plaid suitcases with our pajamas. At the door, Dr. King said, "Don't they look fine?" as he patted us on the back. My mom and dad smiled. Mom was pregnant with Mike then, and she was wearing maternity clothes. When we got home that December afternoon, we celebrated with vanilla ice cream and fresh orange juice, and I was allowed to play with my Christmas doll in bed until I fell asleep . . . Mom and Dad were having coffee in the kitchen when Mom decided to take a look into the bedroom to make sure I hadn't kicked off my blankets. After an operation like that, you fall into deep sleeps where you feel so warm you're uncomfortable. So you toss and turn and push the blankets away. All I can remember is my mother yelling and the hallway light shining into the bedroom. She was standing above me, and I heard her cry out, "Joe . . . Joe . . . Joe!" "What's the matter?" my father called back from the kitchen. "Joe," my mother sobbed, the shiver of distress in her voice. "It's Annette! She's bleeding!" My father rushed into the room. He snapped on the overhead light, I tried to speak. I wanted to sleep. Why were they bothering me? But I couldn't talk. My mouth tasted of blood. My pillow was moist and clammy. I looked at it in the light and I saw it was red, dark red, soaked with blood. I was hemorrhaging. "Oh, my baby." my mother cried as she took me in her {Continued on page 78) 3S ■ Sammy Davis Jr.'s heart wasn't in this cock- tail party. He was tired after the long trip from Hollywood to Montreal, tired just thinking about his opening tomorrow night at the Bel Vue Casino, here in the French-Canadian city. He shook hands with most of the hundred-or- so guests. He laughed at their jokes. Because it was expected of him, he told some jokes of his own. "I've got to get out of here and grab some shut- eye," he told one of his managers, "or I'm just gonna sit down in that chair over there and this town's gonna know me as Sleepin' Sam." "Sure, sure, Sammy," the manager said, laugh- ing and taking his arm and leading him through the crowd, to a corner way across the room. "But these kids, they're dying to say hello. Show kids, from some club down the street. And just a few minutes, just (Continued on page 60) ■ "I thought I would die when Jim told me he didn't ever want to come back to me. I wanted to die. I could no more live without him than I could live without my right leg. "I had gone on a trip around the world to forget him. But I couldn't. Wherever I went, I saw Jim's face before me. In Honolulu, on my way home, great, black waves of emptiness overwhelmed me. Years before, Jim and I had been in Honolulu together. I wanted nothing more in the world than to have Jim with me again. Frantic, I called him on the phone. 'Jim,' I said, 'I love you. I can't live without you. Please come back to me.' "There was a pause. It was agony waiting for him to reply. Finally it came. 'No,' he said, and his voice was like ice. 'No, Virginia, I can't. It's all over.' And he hung up. "I shivered. In my distraught state I thought, 'There is nothing to lire for any longer.' I was so tired. The Story of a Hollywood Wife "I went into the bathroom and took a razor. I lay down in the bathtub and ran the razor over one wrist. There was a terrible sting. Then, with my bloodied hand, I took the razor and slashed my other wrist. I began to black out. I closed my eyes and waited to die." This is what Jim Arness' wife, Virginia, said. The tragedy of Virginia Arness is the tragedy of a woman who loved her man too much. Divorce is an almost daily occurrence in Hollywood, with heartache its companion. But what would make a woman so despairing on knowing she had lost her husband that she would try to take her life, as Virginia Arness had tried to do? Here is Virginia's own story: "Jim and I were desperately poor when we got married ten years ago. But we were very much in love, and we were very happy. It was only after Jim had a taste of success as the star of TV's Gunsmoke that things began to go very wrong with our marriage. It was when that crazy thing called Hollywood (Continued on page 68) n As we go to press, Dick Clark appears to be on the brink of possible trouble. The newspapers are full of the word Payola (trade jargon for bribes). The intimation is that Dick and other deejays might have accepted money or gifts to plug certain records and singers. There are some people around who think Dick is guilty of this charge, and that he has betrayed the teenagers of America. We went to see one of these teenagers— Myrna Horowitz— whom you have undoubt- edly seen dancing on The American Bandstand. We wanted tc know how Myrna really felt about Dick since the headlines broke . . . Wo ■ Myrna is a Phila- delphia girl, seventeen years old. When she was six, she was struck ■ down by polio. It was a serious attack, the worst kind of polio. It left her with a perma- nent scar — an abnor- mally-thin left leg, still encased in a large steel brace. For years it left a scar on her heart, too; in her spirit. Myrna felt she was not like other girls. Other girls walked. She limped. Other girls ran. She limped. Other girls played. She limped. In Myrna's own words, "I lived in a kind of shell, I guess, a little lonely, afraid, ill at ease." And then, one day, she met Dick Clark. And things began to change for her. Myrna told us about these changes when we visited her recently in Philadelphia. It was night, a Friday, about 7:30 p.m. We sat on (Continued on page 82) AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE FROM LOUELLA PARSONS TO ALL DIETING TEENAGE GIRLS | ■ I want to say that if the shocking example of seventeen-year-old Sandra Dee's being rushed to the 1 hospital in an ambulance to have her stomach pumped from an overdose of Epsom Salts (to keep her weight I down) isn't a lesson to you girls who go in for 'crash diets' — then go ahead, ruin your health! 1 Frankly, I'm surprised at Sandra, whom I know and like very much. She's always seemed so level headed. 1 I was aghast when I learned that she had been rushed to the hospital as an emergency case suffering from || a dangerous attack of gastritis. I investigated and found out that Sandra had been taking Epsom Salts over a period of a long time to I keep her weight down. And after a particularly large dose brought on unbearable stomach pains, she became I frightened, particularly as she also suffers from a chronic inflamed appendix, a condition made dangerous j by potent laxative. How many times is it necessary to say to you dieting youngsters — and to Sandra — that these extremes are not necessary!???? Put yourself in the hands of a reputable doctor who will give you a sensible diet. Far too many of you read of where some glamour girl or social belle has lost 'pounds and pounds' on something silly like eating nothing but boiled chalk or — worse — going with no food at all. Then you go ill ahead and try to do the same thing. |; It's a crime against your good health — and I say stop it. Don't be little fools! Without good health— !' all the fame in the world is worth little. I think Sandra has learned her lesson the hard way. I hope you t will be as wise. END. Ill LET SANDRA DEE BE A WARNING! 46 LITTLE GIRL LOST At seven Evelyn Rudie played Eloise on television. It made her a star. But at nine Evelyn stamped her foot, said, "I'm a has-been and I won't stand for it," broke into her piggie bank and flew off to see Mamie Eisenhower. Cute? Not the story behind it ! We think it's tragic. ■ The most wonderful — and probably the most awful — thing that happened to a little girl with a pixie face, turned-up nose and agile mind was when she became the star of a big Playhouse 90 spectacular at the age of seven and was — briefly — an acclaimed child star. When Evelyn Rudie Bernauer — her name shortened to Evelyn Rudie — became Eloise, she and her parents thought she was going to be another Shirley Temple. Her whole world began to spin in high-ten- sioned glamour. She could never ever change into a little girl again. She could never ever be- come a child whose world revolved around Girl Scouts, dolls and simple birthday parties. She was, at the age of nine, to feel she was a has-been, bored with the ordinary things that give other youngsters a charge, unable to build slowly but (Continued on page 56) The two faces of TROY DONAHUE ■ "Troy Donahue/' said Sandra Dee's mother, "is one of the nicest, best behaved boys in Hollywood. I have complete trust in him. There are few boys I'd rather see take Sandra out than Troy." "Every time I hear what a nice guy Troy is supposed to be, it makes me burst out laughing," said a former girlfriend of his. "And it's not just because of what happened to me. Since we broke up, he's been going with Nan Morris for two years. (Continued on page 73) 50 Win a free New York fashion fling Nothing to buy, nothing to write! 15 GRAND PRIZES sl,500.00 WARDROBES each with a fabulous trip 1 to New York City for shopping 200 SECOND PRIZES 17 jewel, 14 carat white gold GRUEN WATCHES (worth $79.50) FREE from Kotex napkins RULES I. Nothing to buy, nothing to do but fill in entry blank below. 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Noreen of Denver, distributes Noreen Color Hair Rinse and new Liqui Color, the instant liquid color hair rinse. INSTANT COLOR HAIR RINSE The nation's foremost nose is go- ing to the nation's foremost mu- seum. What more fitting subject for a monument than Jimmy Durante's nose, and what more fitting place for such a monumental nose than the Smithsonian Institution? The make-up men at NBC took a mold of Jimmy's nose with a liquid rubber material. They then made a cast of synthetic stone, which later will be covered with bronze spray and when dry will be mounted on a bronze plaque. The stone nose, standing by it- self, looked about twice the size of the original. "Holy smoke!" exclaimed Du- rante, "is it really that big?" The old schnozzola, measured for the first time during the molding operation, is 77 millimeters, or a little more than three inches from the superior (topi to the inferior (bottom). It is nearly four inches from one nostril to the other, go- ing across the bridge. Although Durante had little to say during the whole operation, he is. nevertheless, very proud to think that his nose, of all the noses in the nation, will be sitting there among all those famous heads in the In- stitute. Said Durante: "It'll overshadow everything else in the joint." "FOREVER A NOSE" Debbie (Continued from page 25) made together." Debbie Reynolds told me, "and all this talk that I am in love with him — or he is in love with me — is just plain stupid. "I, better than anyone else, know what it means to have another woman break up a marriage. "Do you for one minute think that I would be secretly seeing Glenn while he is having trouble with Eleanor Powell? I know him very well professionally and I know her scarcely at all. But even though Glenn and I are friends, my only contact with him has been as co-star of the movies we were making. I like Glenn very much. He is very pleasant to work with and a very good actor. "But as for a hidden romance — well, that just isn't my code of behavior." Enough men around She went on. the words spilling out on top of each other in her indignation, "I won't even see Harry Karl until he is divorced, although I did see him before he married Joan Cohn. There are enough men around without dating some other woman's husband!" I hadn"t interrupted Debbie during this hurling down of the gauntlet because it would have taken a combination of an earthquake and a baby typhoon to inter- rupt Debbie at this moment. She was angry and she was disgusted. Debbie and I were lunching at Romanoff's this particular Saturday — Saturday being a 'day off for both of us. As usual these days. Debbie looked very chic in a bright blue suit she had bought in Spain, a tiny matching hat and veil, and shorty white gloves — the whole fashion bit! Believe me. this gal has come a long way from her pig- tails and blue-denim days. But the subject of clothes was not on her mind. Just that morning, before we met at noon, she had read a story in another fan magazine with the startling title. DEBBIE REYNOLDS WILL MARRY GLENN FORD. Wowie! Even before we ordered. Debbie was off and running. She said. "The person who wrote it must have been out of his mind. The whole thing is sheer insanity. How dare they print such complete falsehoods!" And then she went on to tell me heat- edly the comments which lead off this story. In fact, she was in such a huff and a puff both the waiter and I wondered when she would give her order. And as so ' much emotion is hardly conducive to di- gestion, I suggested we get on with our diet meal — and change the topic, at least temporarily. That wasn't hard to do because Debbie had just signed a contract for a million dollars for a series of TV spectaculars and I if it hadn't been for that distressing fan magazine story, she would have been jubilant. In fact, she it as jubilant. I couldn't help wondering if the fact that Elizabeth Taylor had just made public that she is to receive a million dollars I for making Cleopatra didn't add to Deb- bie's delight in grabbing off a million for herself? Isn't it the irony of fate that the two feminine angles of the most publicized Hollywood triangle in years are in line for a million dollars apiece — everybody but Eddie? Oh, well — he still has" time. He's never looked, or sung, better. Now that she was in a financial mood ; Debbie told me. "I get S300.0C0 and five | percent for each of my four TV shows. It's i the most money I've ever earned," she smiled happily. "It means so much security for Carrie Frances and Todd." she added. "I'm really a completely happy woman now." she said with sincerity. "I have my children, and my work, and my health and I manage to have a good time, too." I laughed. "That I'll not deny! How you've changed from that stay-at-home girl you used to be." Then she said something rather sur- prising. "Perhaps the change isn't as deep as you think — except outwardly." And I knew what she meant. I think in the beginning, after the first blow, when Eddie Fisher came out and said he did not love her. that he loved Elizabeth Taylor. Debbie went all out to prove she wasn't as badly hurt as all of us who love her knew her to be. Laughter a little too forced Perhaps, in her confusion and hurt. Debbie went overboard. One day when I went out to MGM to visit her on the set of It Started With A Kiss, I'll admit I was a bit surprised at the way Debbie was clowning around. Between rehearsals she was putting on the hat of director George Marshall and doing tap dance steps. She was kidding with everyone and cracking jokes. And her laughter seemed to be a little too loud and a little too forced. Nor did she seem to mind the splash of publicity she rated when, on a visit to New York. Bob Neal gifted her with a diamond pin. More recently she surprised her fans, in- cluding TV star Jack Paar and th's viewer, by pulling Jack's coat off. making him dance with her and generally staging some- thing of a roughhouse. When I spoke with her about this later Debbie was a bit sheepish. She said. "Oh. Jack told me not to be stuffy or straight- laced, to let myself go and clown it up a bit. I'm sorry if it was misunderstood." No one knows better than I that at heart Debbie is not an exhibitionist — it is not in her nature. Actually she is a shy and retiring girl except when before the camera — or per- haps putting on a show when the Thalians whoop it up for her favorite charity (mentally disturbed children and the new clinic being built for their treatment at Mt. Sinai Hospital). But when a girl is as bitterly hurt as Debbie was — it's easy to understand how she would not want the world to know how deep the wound went and to keep up a big front. Now that the big hurt is all gone — at least that is what the lady says. I doubt if we'll get much more of this play acting (for that's just what it is) from Debbie. The men in her life Getting back to the men in her life, I said, "Well, if Glenn isn't the one — and I believe you — who is?" Debbie sighed over her Sanka, then laughed. "We've been over this so often it's beginning to sound like a record. You know better than anyone the way I feel. I don't plan to marry anyone I know now. But I won't say I'll never marry. Being happy in marriage is the only completely happy life for a woman — and that goes for a movie star." I said. "I think Bob Neal, that rich young Texan, would marry you in a minute if you would say yes." I looked at that famed diamond pin of his glittering on her lapel. "He showers you with gifts and whenever his sister and her husband come to town — you are the only girl he invites out." Debbie nodded. "I've said so many times how much I appreciate Bob's friendship. He is one of the most thoughtful men I know. When I was in New York he went out of his way to get good tickets to shows I hadn't seen. And when he drove me to WAIST- IN Gentlv vet firmly will whittle your waist. Tuck in tummy too. White breathable feathernap — adjustable supporters. Sizes 22-36. S2.95. the airport, just before I got on the plane — he put a jewelry box in my hand. Told me not to open it until I got on the plane. It was this beautiful pin. What girl wouldn't be pleased with this kind of attention?" If you ask me, as much as she likes Bob — I don't think Debbie is one little bit in love with him. In Hollywood, it is never safe to venture a guess (look at all the 'smart' guys who would have bet their shirts that Bing Crosby and Kathy Grant would never marry) but I'm willing to bet my bankroll that Debbie and Bob will never marry. I'll make the same flat statement about wealthy Harry Karl, even if Debbie does start dating him again after he is divorced from Joan (Mrs. Harry) Cohn to whom he stayed married a brief twenty-five days! Both of these gentlemen, the younger Bob and the more mature Harry, come under the heading of playboys, whether they like the label or not. Another strike against them, they are not actually of Debbie's world — show business. It doesn't take an oracle to predict that with her career at its very height, where she can command and get $1,000,000 for her services, her work will become more and more important to Debbie. And show people talk a language of their own. When I had talked with her several months previous to our luncheon date Debbie had told me frankly, "Despite the way things turned out for us, Eddie and I shared years of real happiness and con- tentment. I was so proud of him when he began to soar to the top and was in such demand for TV and nightclubs." And, when and if, she marries again, my money says Debbie will be looking for ex- actly this kind of happiness. Someone of her own world, in her line of work, has the best chance of winning her hand. "When I think of marriage again — it will be different from the first time," she said seriously "Then there was just Eddie and me. Now there are my children. "Every man I am ever serious about again I shall judge by just one considera- tion: will he be patient and loving an i kind to my Carrie Frances— who is stil so little, just going on three, and to Todc who hasn't yet reached his second birth day." She laughed, "It's a case of — lov me, love my kids." I had just one more question to poi to Missy Reynolds before we called for th check for our luncheon. "Debbie," I asked, "when and afte: Glenn is divorced and he is a free man would you accept some dates with him? She gave me a sharp little sidelong glance. "That's not a fair question," she laughed. "He can't possibly be free for s year — California law, you know. Whc knows what a year will bring?" It will bring a lot of success and mone\ to Debbie Reynolds, that's for sure. Will it also bring a new love? Thafs the question en: Debbie stars in The Gazebo, MGM, and The Rat Race, Paramount. Glenn also stars in The Gazebo, and Cimarron, MGM. At 16 I Know I'll Never Have a Husband or Children (Continued from page 23) ultimate," she said, "the absolute ultimate." "Lots of women'll agree with you on that," said Marsha. "Who is he?" Tuesday asked. "I mean, he's got me all with a pepped-up heart and everything already." Marsha gave her a quick run-down on the tall, rugged-looking, strangely-attrac- tive actor. John Ireland, she said, had the reputation of being (one) a hyper- individualist and (two) a ladies' man. Regarding the former, Marsha said: "He's a free-thinking, free-talking guy, very salty, very sophisticated, very wild, who does exactly what he pleases, when he pleases." Regarding the ladies — "He's been married twice," Marsha said. "But there've been lots of other loves. Just last year it was Kim Novak. They were crazy about each other. But her studio didn't like it and one day— he was visiting her on the set, you see, and he'd been warned to keep away — and on this particular day two men actually picked him up from under the armpits and threw him out, right onto the sidewalk on Gower Street. John got up and said, 'No woman is worth this.' And that was the end of that love affair." Tuesday giggled. "He sounds wonderful," she said. Marsha nodded. "He is," she said. "Also —I forgot to tell you— he's forty-five years old." "Oh yes?" Tuesday said, looking away from her friend and back at the action on the set. . . . To the bitter end It was two hours later — about 7:00 p.m. — when he came walking over to where she was standing. "You still here?" John asked. "Yes," Tuesday said. "Marsha had an appointment and had to go. But I — I felt like staying, to the bitter end." "We're going to be shooting till mid- night," John said. "That's good," said Tuesday. "I mean, midnight would be the perfect time for us to meet — really meet — alone." "What?" John asked. "Would you come home with me after you're finished?" Tuesday asked. "I'd like to be with you. To talk to you . . . You see, you fascinate me. And I hear we're quite kindred in spirit — just like one an- other." 54 John cleared his throat. "How old are you, Tuesday?" he asked. "Fifteen," she said. " — Sixteen in Au- gust." "Do you know," John said, "that I have a son — let's see — six months older than you." "Well, how about that!" Tuesday said. Then: "Will you come?" John looked at her, incredulously, for a moment. The next moment, he was laughing. "You're quite a little character," he said. "I guess I am," Tuesday said, not laugh- ing. "But at least I'm an honest one." Then she asked again: "Will you come? I'd like you to come home with me, for just a little while, to- night." John found himself nodding. "Yes, I'll come," he said. . . . "My own place" "I can scream, play hi-fi as loud as I want, do anything. It's the first time I've had my own place," Tuesday said as she showed John around the new Holly- wood Hills apartment. "It's a divine feel- ing." "You live alone?" John asked. "Practically," Tuesday said. "That is, my mother has an apartment upstairs. But she lets this be my place. . . . And we get along better this way. We usually get along okay. But we fight sometimes about some of the boys I date, my smoking . . . things." She walked over to a small bar to pour John a drink. John, meanwhile, sat on a long couch and picked up a scrap-book from the cof- fee table in front of him. It was titled Me! and was crammed with newspaper and magazine articles on Tues- day, all written since her arrival in Holly- wood only a few months earlier. John was scanning the fourth or fifth article when Tuesday walked over to him, handed him his drink and sat alongside him. She looked down at the book and pointed to a line that read: Says director Rod Amateau — Tuesday Weld has been around for centuries. That's why she knows so much. She cut Samson's hair and kept running. She smiled. "That's cute," she said, "isn't it?" "Yeah, sure is," said John, taking a swallow from his drink. Tuesday reached over and took the book from him and turned the page. "I think this is cute, too," she said, point- ing to something else. She read aloud: " '1 know it looks like I bite my finger- nails,' says Tuesday Weld. 'But it's not true. Actually. I have someone come in and bite them for me.'" "Did you actually say that, all by your- self?" John asked. "Yes, I did," Tuesday said. John began to laugh. Tuesday looked at him, quizzically. "Are you teasing me?" she asked. "A little," said John. "Now let's get back to this publicity folder of yours. . . . What else do you think is cute?" "Well," said Tuesday, turning another page, "this, what Sheilah Graham wrote: Tuesday has a Saturday sophistication. I like that." She turned still another page. "But this." she said, "She's a combina- tion of Shirley Temple and Jezebel — I don't care much for that." She turned more pages, continuing to read aloud from here and there and smil- ing as she did: '"I hate clothes,' Tuesday Weld will tell you. 'I'd never wear underwear if I didn't have to — and sometimes I don't.' " 'I'm a kleptomaniac. I like to take things — not big things, little things.' "'I've been dating since I was twelve. Now that I'm fifteen, I guess I know a L lot more about men and boys than most '.. girls my age.' "Quoth the wild Miss Weid: 'I haven't read "Lolita" yet. But everyone keeps mentioning her to me.' " 'I'm part little girl — bigger part . woman.' '"Everybody's trying to make me digni- fied— and I'm rebelling. My motto is: Obey your impulses!' " A nice sip of scotch She looked up from the scrap-book and over at John. "My impulse right now," she said, "is 3; to have a nice sip of your Scotch." John shifted the glass he was holding into his other hand, away from her. "No, ma'am," he said. "Why not?" Tuesday asked. "Because you're a child." John said. "And children don't drink Scotch." "A child?" Tuesday asked, the smile at had been on her face disappearing. V child?" John nodded, and shrugged. Tuesday reached forward onto the table id lifted a cigarette from a box that sat ere. and lit it and took a long drag. "I am not a child. I am not normal, my e has not been like that of the average rl." she said then, her voice even, almost ird. "It so happens that I"ve known ma- re responsibilities since I was a child three, when I started modeling. . . . mat s ngnt. at three. She took another drag on the cigarette. Her face began to flush. "Whoa." John said. "Take it easy." "I began modeling at three." Tuesday said, "because we needed the money. Be- cause my father was dead and my mother had three children to bring up and be- cause we never knew from one month to another if we could even pay the rent on that stinking cold water flat we had to live in. So I was pretty and I went to work. At three. And that's the way it's been ever since. Working. Working. Get- ting up for assignments at seven, growing up at ten. eleven — " She stopped and shook her head. She looked as if she might begin to cry. suddenly. "My life has never been like the average girl's," she whispered. "And I am not a child." John sat for a moment, staring at her. He put his hand on her shoulder. And then he removed it and he put down his half-empty glass and he rose. "Fve got to go now. Tuesday,'" he said, gently. "It's getting late." "Yes. I guess it is." Tuesdav said, rising too. She tried to smile again. "I hope I haven "t ruined your evening." she said. "I get like this even.- once in a while. . . . I'm sorry." "You haven't ruined anything," said John. Tuesday walked him to the door. "Will I see you again. John?" she asked, as he was about to leave. "I don't think so,"' said John. "Whatever you say," Tuesday told him. . . . Some sort of spell "He phoned her two days later," says a friend of John's. "It was as if Tuesday had cast some sort of spell on him, and he hadn't been able to shake it. Anyway, he phoned and she invited him over to dinner — chili con carne and salad — and they spent the rest of the evening sitting out in the garden, talking. "The next day. John told me: It's un- believable. This girl is so sharp, so bril- liant. I think she's the most fascinating person in Hollywood today. She loves life, and she has the guts to be herself. She's lots brighter than lots of women I know two and three times her age." "It was obvious to anyone who ever saw them together that Tuesday was wild about John. I. for one. think that by the time summer came around (Tuesday was sixteen by now) . John was in love with her. too. "Their fling was a surprisingly secret thing for a while. Actually quiet might be a better word. Except for a few friends and the inevitable under-the-counter gos- sip set who find out all. there were rela- tively few people who knew w-hat was going on between Them. During this period. Tuesday and John were two su- premely happy people. "For Tuesday, the girl who had loved to brag about her early dating, her constant dating, this was the first real romance of her fife. She convinced herself that it vould be first, last and forever. She idol- LADIES — Last season more than 20,000 women accepted the opportunity offered in the advertisement below. We hope that you, too, will take advantage of it. Just fill out the convenient coupon, paste it on a postcard, and mail it today. Hurry! FEMALE HELP WANTE $23 WEEKLY for wearing lovely dresses supplied to you by us. Just show Fashion Frocks to friends in spare time. 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Station WQAM, 2. His second name is also the Miami, Fla- name of a car. He's 18, was born in Houston, Tex., has leading role In the film Take a Giant Step. One of his singles was But Not for Me. 3. He is the son of a Baptist Minister. There is royalty in his name. He has recorded for Capitol Records for 17 years, with hit rec- ords on every type song. His new record album is spirituals. 4. This trio is composed of 19-year-olds, boy-girl-boy. They met at a party, sang to- gether for the first time; then formed the trio. A hit single was Come Softly To Me. Their latest is Mr. Blue. 5. His home town is Phila- delphia. He started his ca- reer with Art Mooney as a vocalist and then became a winner on the Arthur Godfrey Show. His two big record hits were Here In My Heart and I Can't Get You' Out of My Heart. 6. He's a movie star. His real name is Arthur Gel- ien and his musical interest is Jazz. His first record re- lease became a million- record seller. The record was Young Love. 7. She collects stuffed ani- mals. Her career started as a child TV singer. Accor- dion and piano are her favor- ite instruments. She's also a songwriter and is one of our current top vocalists. One of her hits was Lipstick On Your Collar. Buddy Deane, Station WJZ-TV, Baltimore, Md. 3" Paul Brenner, Station WNTA, ) Newark, N. I. i3pmH qi>£ .g spoomtJJij 3ifx 3dVJ 11)0 j -J ized John — his looks, his brain, his spirit. My thought is that in John she had found not only the one man in the world with all the strong physical attractions and the powerful individual personality that she could so easily fall in love with — but that she had found, too, unconsciously, the father who had been taken from her as a child, whom she'd always been seeking. "As for John during this period, well, he was having fun again, for the first time in a long time Career-wise, finance-wise, things hadn't been going too well for him these past few years, and he'd been de- pressed. Now, in Tuesday, he'd found a girl who could stimulate him, cheer him up. She was, very often, full of mischief, full of kooky ideas — and John went along with them, happily. He learned how it felt to really laugh again. He began to get the same kick out of life that he'd thought had gone from it, for good. For this reason alone, an observer could see how he might easily have fallen in love with Tuesday. Interestingly, Tuesday's mother, Mrs. Aileen Weld, was fully aware of what was going on between her daughter and John, and she gave her unqualified approval. "John's very protective," she said. "He's the kind of a man a young girl like Tues- day can look up to. He's enough like her so that she can feel as though he's one of her own — yet he's old enough to know how to handle her." And so it went, all happy and well for all concerned, right through the spring and summer of last year. Swipes at Tuesday But then, in September, the whole thing was ended suddenly — by John. "He did it to protect Tuesday," says one friend. "You can't keep a relationship like theirs under wraps forever — and gradually word of them began to get into the papers. The writers all seemed to think that John's position was 'amusing,' but they all took swipes at Tuesday. (A typical bit of re- portage: Tuesday Weld is becoming a name in the American Cinema. She seems to have everything it takes to make it big on modern Hollywood standards — good drinker, lives it up and is only sixteen. Now if the kid can only get in a real good scandal, she'll be one of our great stars.) John didn't want to see her career wrecked. He knew how basically impor- tant it was to her, this girl who'd known little else but work since the time she was a baby. So he decided to get out of her life — pronto." "It dawned on John one day," says an- other friend, "that much as he loved Tues- day, the thirty-year difference in their ages was too great a difference. There was a time he'd talked of marrying the girl, the hell what anybody might say. "But now he realized that it probably wouldn't be that easy in the long run- for either of them." Some people insist that John didn't eve say good-bye to Tuesday. Others will tell you that he phone' started to tell her that he'd decided to g to Europe — immediately, and that he hur. up on her when she started to cry an plead with him to let her see him again. At any rate, he left. And everyone waited to see how Tues day would take the shock of his leaving. . . That television interview It was two nights later when, a fev minutes before program time, she showec up at the television studio. Paul Coates, the interviewer, looked a her once, and then again. The girl was barefoot, her hair was un- combed, she wore a low-cut dress tha has since been described as a "burlap nightie"; she appeared to be lost, as if ir a trance of some kind. "Miss Weld?" Coates asked. "Yes," said Tuesday. "Is this a joke?" asked Coates. "What do you mean?" Tuesday asked. "Do you always dress this way for TV appearances?" Tuesday shook her head, slowly. "No,'' she said. "I was home. It got late. This is what I was wearing. This is the way I decided to come . . . You look upset. You are. I hope it's not my fault. . . ." On the air, a little while later, Tuesday upset Coates even more. She stuck a piece of hard candy in her mouth as the program began, and she sucked on it throughout. She fiddled endlessly with the straps and hem of her dress. She spoke softly, mumbled her answers and, more than once she took up to a full minute to decide that "I really didn't un- derstand that question." At one point, when Tuesday did under- stand the question, the dialogue went like this: COATES— "Would you ever like to settle down and get married?" TUESDAY— "No." COATES— "Why not? Don't you want to have children someday?" TUESDAY— "Huh-uh. I don't want kids. I don't like them. Not me." And Tuesday began to smile strangely . . . for deep in her heart she knew she was telling the truth, that somewhere along the line something had happened to her that had destroyed the basic instinct of womanhood for a mate and children. She knew, in her heart, that whatever else — whatever kicks were in store for her — she would always remain unfulfilled. . . . END Tuesday's seen in Because They're Young, Columbia, and The Private Lives of Adam and Eve, U-I. Little Girl Lost (Continued from page 49) firmly to a secure, normal future like other children. Her parents believe that Evelyn may have been born with some magic about her. Her parents are Edith and Emery Bernauer, and Evelyn was born twenty- four years after they were married. At first it was probably a shock to the middle-aged couple to learn they were going to have their first baby. Then they remembered that very often 'change of life' babies are supposed to be set apart from other babies. These babies were often more beautiful, more brilliant (even with a touch of gen- ius) than other babies. Special, indeed. Their little baby arrived and she was everything they'd dreamed of. Evelyn was always very bright, very precocious. She did everything faster and better than other babies. She walked sooner, talked sooner, and raised in the completely adult world of two older and rather intellectual par- ents, she had a chance to develop this pre- cociousness. Also, she was thoroughly worshiped by her parents. Their lives now revolved around her. Emery Bernauer's father, Rudolf (from whom Evelyn got her name), was a big theater owner, had been a writer of stage hits, among them the librettos of The Chocolate Soldier and May Time. Emery Bernauer was a writer, producer and director of musical shows in Europe. An uncle of Evelvn's is Desmond Leslie, a British novelist. The woman who became Evelyn's godmother is Fay Wall, once a child actress herself, who had been a movie actress in Germany. In Hollywood, Emery Bernauer contin- ued to write, but had not been anywhere near the success he was in Germany. Evelyn's early years At a very early age. EveljTi was given dancing lessons, "dramatic lessons, singing lessons, attended Shakespeare classes (called the Strolling Players) and ice skat- ing lessons. She performed all the time — an elfin, graceful little child who loved to mimic and act. and whose every move was noticed and doted upon by her parents. Her parents enjoyed having Evelyn show off for everyone. ""She was always a ham," they recall lovingly. When she was four years old, her ice skating club was sup- posed to put on a show in Pershing Square, downtown Los Angeles, for a convention. When Evelyn showed up. with her parents, it was discovered that not one of the other kids in the club was there. Some had stage fright, some had runny noses, some were not allowed to perform by their parents. But Evelyn was all dressed up in a short, red velvet skirt, white angora sweater, looking like a doll. All the people were waiting for the ice show. This possibility ~Az'~~ have friglvrsr.er. any other :our- year-old. Not Evelyn. She got out on the ice as the solo performer and performed for one and one half hours. She spun and spiralled and threw kisses to the crowd. She'd come off the ice for a moment, tell her parents cagily. "That man over there is not laughing, Mommy. I'll make him laugh. I've got to get them all to watch me." And she went out again, blew kisses to the man. had him laughing and ap- plauding and she was happy. •""That showed me," says her father, "that she sure had that theatrical something. Shortly afterwards Emery Bernauer's brother-in-law. Desmond Leslie, came in from London. Little Evelyn showed off for him and he was entranced. Leslie was invited to the home of Henry Koster, a friend of his who is a big director here, and he asked the Bemauers if he could take Evelyn. They said yes. When Evelyn was at Koster's house, knowing he was a director, she put on a ind and Kos "More than Mi-. Koster. daddv." It ^ right with D Svelyn b Throus mis Kid nas to oe m ;ked Evelyn if she'd 5. and Evelyn replied, g else in the world, all right with my course, perfectly all id with Mommy, too. i with the thought of ires. cer. Evelyn got an audition at 20th Century-Fox, where they were looking for a child to play Leslie Caron as a child in the picture Daddy Long Legs. Her parents brought Evelyn, all dressed up. to Fox. Evelyn went into her per- formances. She also bears a remarkable resemblance to Leslie Caron. same tiny nose, same pouting lips, same petite figure. They signed Evelyn for the pan. then later changed the script so that there was no child in the picture. Evelyn was very put out at not doing the part, but the producer put Evelyn in the picture any- way, as one of the children in it. Evelyn sang a song with Leslie Caron and she floated for days. The movie bug This gave Evelyn the bug. The child was terribly movie-struck! Her parents were also movie-struck. They remember that neoDle on the set said of Evelyn. "She's a real trouper. The kid is talented; she's a mimic and a quick study." The Bernauers took Evelyn's acting job seriously. They saw that Evelyn was all wrapped up in acting, and they encour- aged her. The mother took Evelyn aside once and told her something like this: "You have talent and you can be in the wonderful world of the theater. Show business is a profession. If your talent is to act. you are blessed with a special magic. It is the greatest thing. Show business can be your life." Her mother began to take Evelyn around to the studios. The child had made a hit at 20th. she did show genuine ability as an actress, and she had a terrific love of acting. Never at any time did Evelyn go to a professional school — she always at- tended the Gardner Street School in Holly- wood, a public school: when she was work- ing she'd have a tutor on the set. Then she'd return to the school. The kids there have known she's an actress — later, when she became Eloise, she was known as Eloise. Some of the kids there, she said, were jealous of her. They didn't all like her. She never had a chance to join the Girl Scouts in school. She didn't join the usual class clubs, she was always too busy -with dancing, singing, dramatic lessons, and going to the studios. School work was easy for her. she got good marks, but her mind was always far away from the classrooms, always at the studios. Getting back to her career: her mother was always taking her around when she'd hear of a studio that wanted a child ac- tress. Fay Wall would coach Evelyn. Al- though she had some girlfriends in school, she felt most at home with her parents, with Fay Wall, with the adults she met at the studios. Once she invited fifty-five children to her house for her eighth birth- 4uo4i iiCtmdtt -luCauofit h/io&W- a « 1. Germicidal protection! Norform A highly perfected new formula release ingredients r:gki :-. ike :ag:'.nl tract. The body temperature, forming a powerful lone-lasting action. Will not harm deli 2. Deodorant protection! Norforn clinic and found to be more effective used. Norforms are deodorant — they e'; embarrassing odors, vet have no "medi :ptic and germicidal ve new base melts a: ive him that permits sues. tested in a hospital nvthins it had ever 3. Convenience! These small vaginal suppositories are so easy and convenient to use. Just insert — no apparatus, mixing or meas- uring. They're greaseless and they keep in any climate. Your drug- gist has them in boxes of 12 and 24. Also available in Canada. 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A lot of kids — most mothers would have objected — but Mrs. Bernauer likes to give in to Evelyn on everything. When the kids were there, Evelyn assem- bled them all together and put on a show for them. They were her friends but they were her audience. That's the way she regarded most kids. Evelyn was asked to appear in Holly- wood parades with all their hoopla. More and more she craved the glamour and excitement of Hollywood; school work was simple and unexciting. Fame approached Then came her greatest opportunity. Kay Thompson's famous Eloise was going to go on Playhouse 90. This was two years ago and the biggest acting plum of all for a child. Eloise — the precocious, sophisti- cated youngster who lived in New York's elegant Plaza Hotel — had become a big hit in book form and in recordings. She was an unusual type of child; not a pretty Shirley Temple child but, well, Eloise. It was going on TV as a spectacular. A big cast lined up — Ethel Barrymore, Monte Wooley. The search went on for Eloise. Evelyn's parents submitted Evelyn's photo. The NBC studios and Kay Thompson audi- tioned two hundred kids. Evelyn's father told me, "Evelyn wanted the part very much. She's a real pro. It meant every- thing to her. When she's waiting for a role, she gets nervous. She starts combing her hair, getting jumpy. She has to be work- ing to be happy." Kay Thompson saw Evelyn's picture, said, "Well, this one looks like Eloise." Kay went to the Bernauers' home in Hollywood and met Evelyn. The parents played a recording of Evelyn's on tape for Kay to hear. It was a Shakespeare reading in Evelyn's childish voice, but it indicated talent. Kay was impressed. No- ticing how the parents hovered over the child, Kay wanted to be alone with Evelyn. She asked if she could take her for the day, to get acquainted with her. The Bernauers beamed. Kay and Evelyn went off. When Kay came back she said, "This is a delightful child. We had a wonderful time together." The Bernauers knew that Evelyn was going to be Eloise. They were right. Shortly afterwards, the studio called and told them that they wanted to sign Evelyn for the role. Evelyn was thrilled. She worked with a coach extensively. It was a difficult role for a child to do. Eloise was the whole show; she was in every minute of the story. It was live television — something that makes experienced actors crack. It was ninety minutes. And she was in big- time company — Barrymore, Wooley, etc. And Eloise, by this time, had become such a well-known figure to America, that the child who played her just had to be per- fect. Some forty million people let's have a cup of hot coffee for now, huh?" he asked. Joan followed him, but didn't answer this 61 time. She seemed, suddenly, to be thinking about something else. . . . "We have a right . . ." It was 6:00 p.m. the following day. Joan was in her room, alone. She sat staring at the telephone beside her. She'd been sit- ting this way for more than an hour now, staring at the phone, wanting to pick it up, not picking it up. Finally she brought her hand over to the receiver, and lifted it and dialed. She heard her mother's voice a few sec- onds later: "Joan, how are you, darling? It's been days since you've called. Is everything all right?" Joan said she was fine; that yes, every- thing was all right. For the next minute or so she asked about her father — how was he; had he got home from work yet? "Just now, he got in this second," her mother said. "Mother," Joan said, suddenly, urgently. "Yes?" her mother asked. "I'm getting married," Joan said. "You're — " Her mother stopped and be- gan to laugh. "Joan. How wonderful. What a wonderful surprise. When did all this happen? Who, who's the man?" "You met him once, mother, at CBC, a few months ago," Joan said. "The day you came to visit the studio." "That nice director?" her mother asked, " — The one from Winnipeg with the deep blue eyes? Him, Joan?" "No," Joan said. "His name is Sammy Davis. He's an entertainer. Sammy Davis, Jr." There was a long, a very long, pause. "Joan," her mother said, finally, a trem- or in her voice, "are you talking about the American — the colored singer?" "Yes," Joan said. "And you're what?" her mother asked. " — You're going to marry him?" "I love him, Mother," Joan said. "And yes, I'm going to marry him." "Is this a joke, Joan Stuart — is this your idea of something funny, calling me up and telling me something like this?" "Mother — " Joan started to say. "Is this something you're doing for pub- licity?" her mother shouted. "Did one of those agents get you into this, for publicity, for some disgusting publicity?" "Mother," Joan said, "I just want you to know, no matter what you feel right now, that I am deeply in love with this man and that I want to marry him. I'd like your approval, yours and Dad's. Your blessings. But—" Again her mother cut in. "Approval? Blessings?" she asked. Her voice rose. "Are you serious? Are you — " Joan heard her mother scream, suddenly, and call for her father. She heard her re- peat some of the facts she had just told her — "Sammy Davis," she heard her say, "Negro . . . our baby . . . marry . . . Negro . . . Negro . . . Negro!" Finally, she heard her dad's voice. "Joannie," she heard him say, "you're twenty-one now, on your own. You make your own decisions. But just let me tell you this: I've raised you, daughter, and I know you're a good girl. Just take your time. And don't do anything foolish." "Dad," Joan said, "I know exactly what I'm doing. Believe me. Please believe me . . . You're right, Dad. I am twenty-one. I am on my own now. I do have to make de- cisions for myself. And this is my decision. Sammy and I — we have a right to be mar- ried. We — " Now she began to cry. "Joan, Joanie," she heard her father's voice say She tried to answer, to talk. But she couldn't. Before she knew it, she had hung up. She rose from her chair, and walked across the room, to a window there. She looked down at the street below, at the stream of people walking by. "Please, please," she found herself sob- bing, "give us a chance. Won't you?" There was a knock on the door then. It opened, and Sammy walked in. He knew immediately what had hap- pened. "You called your folks?" he asked. "Yes," said Joan. "They don't want it, us, together, mar- ried?" Sammy asked. Joan shook her head. Sammy walked to a chair and sat. He looked at Joan, near the window, crying. "Joannie," he said, after a while, softly, "maybe this is for the best. Maybe it's good you learn now, from your own family, what part of your future would be like." He paused. Joan said nothing. "Maybe it's best you find out now, at the beginning," he went on then, " — in time for you to change your mind." "I can't say I won't mind, Joannie," he said, "but — " "Don't, Sammy, don't," Joan shouted, suddenly. "Don't talk like that . . . Don't you start talking like that now. Or else I'll die. Right here, on this spot, I'll wither up and die ... I love you, Sammy. I love you." "And you still want to marry me?" he asked. Joan ran from the window, and threw herself in his arms. This was her answer — her final, never- ending answer. end Sammy starred in Porgy and Bess, Co- lumbia, and will be seen in Oceans 11, Warner Bros. The Greatest Addition to Bath Time since Soap... DONALD DUCK SOAP BOAT one of the many new VaJaltDisneV SQUEEZE TOYS designed and distributed by DEIL ©WALT DISNEY LOOK FOR DELL TOYS IN YOUR LOCAL STORES RIGHT NOW! Introducing Crash Craddock page the Burlington Mills, tired after working and coming home from work and making supper and doing the dishes and some washing or sewing, was probably asleep now. He didn't want to wake her. Much as he needed her. now. to talk to. he would not wake her. "Tomorrow mornin". Til call first thing and tell her," he thought as he turned and walked over to the bed and flopped down on it. "That Fm comin' home. back, where I belong." He reached and turned off the lamp. But sleep would not come. "May." he whispered to the silent hotel room, the loneliness inside him growing by the moment. "Why'd I leave you in the first place . . . Why'd I even think I wanted to try for any kind of a success without you near me?" He remembered the night two weeks earlier when he'd told her that he was going away. "Columbia Records, honey." he'd said, happily, triumphantly. "One of the biggest outfits in the world. They've signed me up and now they want me to go out on tour. They want to build me into something big." He remembered the look on May's face as he explained what the word "tour meant, what it involved. "Boston. New York. New Haven. Detroit. Chicago and lots of other places,'' he'd said. "That's where they want me to go . . . to sing in cities like those. "Now." he'd gone on. "of course Til have to go alone May. I mean, tours like this cost them companies plenty of money and they sure can't pay for the two of us. "But even though we'll miss each other, just think, what this could mean. That maybe IH be on my way to makin' the big-time. That maybe fll start makin' some money, real money, for a change. That maybe in a couple of years, even less, we can buy ourselves a house instead of this tiny li'l apartment we live in and I can buy you all kinds of pretty clothes and we can even go on that honeymoon we always wanted." That dreams might come true He'd watched his wife as she'd tried to smile and as she d cried, both at the same time. "Well."' he'd said, "maybe now. this way. all those dreams of ours can come true." He'd continued watching her as the tears in her eyes seemed to become bigger. "Come on. May," he'd said, taking her in his arms and holding her close to him. "'You knoic that this is what Tve wanted all my life. Don't you know that. May? Don't you?" He'd felt her head against his chest nodding. He'd heard her say. "Yes. of course, darlin'. I know. It's wonderful. It's just that . . . after two years with you ... all the time ... m miss you. So much." And now. this night, he missed her. So much. After only a week. He turned and tossed in the bed. Again, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But still the sleep would not come. And then, opening his eyes again, he saw the outline of his guitar case, sitting on the big overstuffed chair in the far corner of the darkened room. And he thought of the dreams he used to have, as a boy — the dreams that had been so beautiful then and that he re- sented so much now. . . . And, in the dark, out of his loneliness and need for her, he began to speak to May of those dreams. . . . ''Other boys I knew back home, they had other ambitions.'' he whispered. "They were goin' to be cops and flyers and things like that. But me, ever since I can re- member. I was goin' to be a record star, playin' on my guitar and singin' and makin' records, just like Hank Williams and all my other favorites. "That guitar we had at home. It really belonged to brother Clarence. But I was the one who used to play it most of the time. I used to go out behind the barn with it, in the big tobacco field there, and give my •performances." I'd start by shout- ing: The famous Grand Ole Opry now pre-sents its most famous and most fa- vorite enter-tainer . . . Billy Craddock.' Then, liftin' my guitar. I'd strum out an introduction and I'd begin to sing. I'd sing all the songs I knew. And then when I was finished Fd bow and listen to the applause — which never got much louder than the tobacco leaves clappin' against each other if there happened to be a wind blowin', or maybe a couple of cows mooin' away if they still happened to be out to pasture. "But to me, this was all applause. And I'd bow. And while I'd be bowin' some- times I'd say a prayer and say: "When I'm big. please make it all come true . . . with real people listenin'. I mean." "There came a time. I don't mind tellin' you. when I thought this career of mine was goin' to be over before it even started. "That was the day — I was about twelve. I guess — when Clarence came over to me while I was settin' on the porch of our house, stxummin' away, and said he had to have his guitar back. I asked him why. He said 'cause he had to take it to a hock shop. I asked him why that. 'Cause he needed the money, he said: he had a big date this comin' Saturday night, he said, and he didn't have any funds with which to accomplish this date otherwise ... I played dumb. "Gee. Clarence." I said, "Why don't you ask Daddy or Ma for the money?" — Dretendin' to forget that our daddy and ma had ten children to raise and that they couldn't spare the money, good as they were, for anybody's dates. Clarence didn't even bother answerin' me on this one. Instead he just picked up the guitar from out my lap and high-tailed it for the hock shop. "I high-tailed it there the very next day. There was a real grouchy-lookin' man be- hind the counter. I pointed up to Clarence's guitar, settin' high up on a shelf now. and asked the man how much it would cost for me to get it back. Twenty bucks.' he said, and he turned away. "Well, four mouths later, almost to the day. I was back in that hock shop. I handed the man behind the counter a heavy bag I was carryin". There's twenty dollars in there, Mistuh.' I said. I pointed to the guitar. "Now can I have it. please?' "The man. grouchy-lookin' as ever, mumbled something, opened the bag and counted the money — nickels, dimes, quar- ters, a few dollar bills. " "How'd you get all this?' he asked me. after he was through countin'. " "Mowed lawns all summer, all over town.' I told him. 'And didn't go to a movie Saturdays, not a once. And I even worked at the A&P helpf-' Oliver for a couple of weeks . . . The — sman there told me I was the youngest employee in the history of the A&P. ever." I added, braggin'. UNDER -ALL Don't make a move without your "guardian angel"— the dress shield that keeps you confident in com- fort! Elasticized to stay put: S2.75. BING CROSBY and his A COOL CAT HOT MONEY Some folks think that Bing Crosby's casual air is just a pose. But those who really know him will tell you that nothing could be farther from the truth. There's the time Bing's twenty-room colonial house in North Holly- wood caught fire and burned to the ground. Bing got word of it from his friend and lyricist, Johnny Burke, who had been phoning all over town trying to locate him. Burke finally caught up with him at the Brown Derby where Bing was lunching after a round of golf. Breaking the news gently, Burke said: "Listen, Bing, before I say anything, I want you to know everyone's okay." Bing had shot a 74 that morning, and was in good humor. "Isn't that nice, Johnny," he said amiably. "And how's your family?" Burke tried again, and this time he made no effort to soften the blow. "Look, Bing, your house just burned down!" There was a moment's pause, then Bing drawled : "Huh, that old barn! Did they save anything?" Somewhat exasperated. Burke told him: "You'd better hurry out here right away and see for yourself!" "But I just ordered my lunch!" Bing pro- tested. And he wasn't kidding, either. Since the family was safe, he saw no reason to skip his lunch. After all, he'd had quite a workout on the golf course, and he was real hungry. When Bing finally did drive out to look at the pile of smoking embers, he started to poke around the ashes until he came upon one of his shoes. It was charred but still intact. Noncha- A lant as you please, Bing stuck in a hand and fished out what he was looking for— $1500 in bills. He*i placed it there to take to the race- track next day. As it turned out, this hot money was all that had been saved from the flames! " 'Did all that work just so's you could get back that battered ole guitar up there?' the man asked me. " 'Sure,' I said, ' — how else am I gonna practice to become a famous enter-tainer if I ain't got no guitar?' " 'Well,' the man said, 'well, son, you know, the price on this guitar is up to twenty-two dollars now.' " 'What?' I said. 'Why?' " 'Interest, son,' the man said. 'It's hard to explain; but it's a fact. A fifty-cent a month fact in this here business.' "I began to cry like a baby, I was so disappointed. " 'But,' the man behind the counter said, after listenin' to my cryin' and wailin' for a little while, 'I've always said that some- day I was gonna have to be sobbed into an exception in the matter of interest. And I guess today's that unlucky day for me, eh?' "With that, he climbed a ladder to the high shelf, took hold of the guitar, leaned over and handed it to me. " 'Now scat out of here,' he said, 'and make sure you practice hard on this danged thing. Or I'll haunt you from my very grave after I'm gone.' "I took the guitar and I touched the man's hand, just to show him how much I appreciated what he'd done. "'Scat!' he hollered again. "And I scatted, all right. "And I went back home and I began to play and practice and sing — till I was hoarse some nights from singin' so much, and till my fingers got red and raw and nearly bleedin' at the tips sometimes from pluckin' away so much at those strings. "But I didn't care. Didn't bother me how hoarse or bruised I got. "I had an ambition. "And I knew there was to be lots of hard work involved. . . . "I had lots of luck along the way, too. When I was about thirteen my brother Ronald and I formed a duo and entered a contest on a Greensboro TV station. We won, and stayed on that show for fifteen consecutive weeks. Then, in high school, I organized a quartet called The Rebels and we did lots of singin' together, all through those four years. Just singin', singin' singin' away. "Of course, my life wasn't oil music. I managed to study my schoolwork some. I played football — which is where I got my nickname, Crash. Because I could always use the extra money, I even got a part- time job with the Lorillard company in Greensboro, liftin' tobacco from the big boxes that came in from the fields and dumpin' this tobacco into the machines it was supposed to go in. "No, I didn't spend all my time with my music and with my thinkin' about the future I wanted to make for myself in it. "But I've got to tell you that I sure did manage to spend most of my time this way. "There was only one period, I remember, when I didn't care what happened about my music, or about anything, in fact. "That was the time, four years ago, when Ma died. "Not only was Ma a hard-workhv woman at home — what with ten children to raise and take care of — but she worked at the mill, too, the same mill where Daddy worked, till practically the end of her life, just to help out. She was such a wonderful woman. She'd give you her last dime — the very last dime she had. And she was a very religious woman. I went to church as a kid, but I guess you could never call me over-religious that way. Anyway, when Ma was sick I knew it would please her if I went and got bap- tized, something she had always wanted and that I had kept puttin' off. It pleased her, all right. "She died of cancer. You know how IF youre STOUT Free style book painful that is. Well, all the time she had it we never heard her holler once. We used to have to take her for treatments, and carry her from the house to the car. I used to help carry her. I used to see the expression of pain on her face. But never once did I ever hear her moan or say any- thing about her pain. "Anyway, after she died, I didn't care if I ever sang or played the guitar again. "But then, one day, I had a talk with a relative of ours, someone who saw what was goin' on with me. "And he said, 'No sense givin' up your music, Billy. First of all, you won't be cheatin' nobody but yourself. And second, your ma — if she was here to tell you — she'd tell you that she didn't like this nohow, you givin' up what's always been the most important thing to you.' "And so, after a while, I picked up my guitar again and I re-started my singin'. "And all the ambition for music that had been in me came back to me again. . . . "It was at about this time that I met you, May. "I was sixteen years old the first time I saw you, over at the recreation center in Greensboro, remember, May? I had just been in the pool for a swim and you were walkin' around near the pool, and let me tell you, you were the prettiest li'l girl I had ever, ever seen. "Now, I'd never been known to be a bold type when it came to girls. But when I saw you that first time, I just slid myself up out of that pool and I went up to you and introduced myself and asked you the first thing that came to my mind — if I could buy you a soda. "You were very shy then, as you still are today, and it took a lot of talkin' on my part to convince you that this was all on the up-and-up. "But I did it, someways. "And we had our soda. "And we started goin' out together. "And, after a while, we realized that we were in love, and so we decided to get married. "The date of our marriage was June 22, 1957. We were both seventeen years old. We eloped to South Carolina for the mar- riage— with our parents' consent, but with nobody else knowing about it — because there were too many people, we knew, who would have criticized us and told us we were too young, too immature. "But we didn't really care what any- body was sayin'. We just knew we loved each other. And we figured that, even if we were a little on the young side, it was a good thing for two people in love to grow up with each other. "From the day we were married, May, you stuck with me in my ambition to be- come a singer. "You never minded when I sat myself in a corner and practiced. When I came home late, way after suppertime, from an audi- tion someplace . . . You didn't even mind when I gave up my job at Lorillard so I could study and be able to audition even more. "And May, you know, the dreams started coming true last New Year's Eve, when I sang for the first time at Mr. Fred Koury's Plantation Club in Greensboro. "After that one show, Mr. Koury hired me and became my manager. "Through him, the big record people from New York City came down to hear me. And, finally, one day not too long ago the Columbia people signed me up to cut my first record — Don't Destroy Me — and to go on tour. "May, it was one of the happiest mo- ments of my whole life. . . ." Except, he thought as he lay here now, on the narrow bed in the darkened hotel room, this night, a week after the tour had begun — except that he was alone, and May SAVE MONEY on the latest style dresses, coats, Sizes 38 to 60, proportioned by experts to. fit your full figure gracefully. All at low prices. Mail coupon for Free 110-page Style Book. Uailt 'NDIANAPOUS 7, •J INDIANA LANE BRYANT, lirpartment 15 Indianapolis 7, Indiana Pleat-e rush VKKI-; style Book lor Stout Women. was not with him. Was it right . . . this way? Crash won- dered. Was it fair to the girl who loved him, and whom he loved — to make her wait behind while he went off and made his bid for success? Was it worth the maybe of that house they'd talked about, of that money in the bank, of that honeymoon they'd never had — if May, his wife, couldn't be with him, here, now, right now? "No," he thought aloud. "And tomorrow , first thing, I'm goin' to phone and say I'm comin' back . . . back home." The knock on the door awakened Crash. He got out of bed, groggily, and opened the door. "Good morning, Mr. Craddock," said a bellhop, standing there. "Letter for you." Crash could see immediately, from the handwriting on the envelope, that it was from May. . . . It was the first letter Crash had gotten from May since he'd left home the week before. And it was a long letter. She wrote how she had been visiting relatives most nights — both his and hers; and she told about which nephew and niece had just gotten over a cold, which ones were just getting one . . . who had said what, done what. And then, towards the end of the letter, she wrote this: I miss you. as you must know. And I am lonely for you. As I know you must be for me. But, as I have figured it since that night last week when you left, this being separated is a sacrifice we have both got to make in order that all the years we've got ahead of us can possibly be even happier than the two happy years we have had already. It is easier for me to make this sacrifice than it is for you. I am here, in our home, with all our memories around me, so close. You, on the other hand, are far away. It must be very difficult for you. There are times you must want to give it all up and come home, I know. But, darling, when those times come — just remember this: We miss each other, yes — but I know that it takes a lot of time and a lot of courage to try to get where you've always wanted to go. And the fact that you've always tried and that you're, trying so hard now, makes me the proudest wife in the whole world. . . ." Crash read this portion of May's letter, over and over again. Till the phone beside him rang, and he picked up the receiver. It was his press-agent, calling from a room down the hall. "Ready for some breakfast? . . . Gotta eat and then get ready to make that plane for Chicago ... Be ready soon?" Crash looked down at May's letter now. Then he smiled, and nodded. "I'll be with you in twenty minutes," he said. . . . end Gia Scala (Continued from page 35) "I'm not hungry, Mom," Don said, ab- ruptly, interi-upting her. "I'll help myself to something later." His mother's smile lessened. "What's wrong, son?" she asked. Don didn't answer. His mother looked down at the news- paper in his lap, at the big headline there: GIA SCALA GRABBED FROM BRIDGE WALL— LONDON CABBIE FOILS AC- TRESS' SUICIDE TRY. "Do you know her?" Mrs. Burnett asked. Don shrugged. "A little, I guess," he said. "We met a few times on the set, at Metro, when I was doing Don't Go Near The Water." "Of course," his mother said, "the Italian girl who played the native. So lovely she was, too. . . . Now why would a lovely girl like that ever want to go and do a thing like this, try to take her own life?" Again Don shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "The paper says something about her being depressed over her mother's death." "Tsk," said his mother. Then she sighed. "Well, at least the girl's all right now. The cabdriver grabbed her, it says, and she's obviously all right." "I hope she is," Don said. "I'm sure," said Mrs. Burnett. She smiled again. "And I do wish you'd come eat your dinner now." "I hope she is," Don repeated, not hear- ing his mother, but thinking about a girl far away, whom he barely knew but whom he remembered very well, a girl alone and in distress, a girl he wished very much he could be near right now. . . . Gia's return It was early November by the time Gia Scala returned to Hollywood from Europe. It was a day and a half after her return when Don phoned her. "Yes," she said, "yes, I remember you." He noticed that her voice was different than it had been those few other times they'd talked; tired-sounding instead of alive, very tired-sounding. He asked her if she would like to go out with him. "Yes," she said, without any enthusiasm, "that would be very nice." "I guess you're all booked up the rest of this week," Don said. There was a pause. Then Gia said, "No, I have nothing to do this week ... or next week. You tell me the evening — " "Well," Don said, "tomorrow night there's a dance, a charity ball for The Helpers, over at the Hilton. I bought two tickets. I didn't expect to use them. But if you'd like — " "That would be nice," Gia said. "I will see you tomorrow night then." And she hung up. . . . "I'll never in my life forget how beauti- ful she looked," Don recalls about that next night, their first few minutes together. "Gia wore a green gown, matching the green of her eyes. And a plain gold neck- lace with an italian cameo in the center. Her hair was combed back very simply. She was practically without make-up. She looked like a goddess, freshly-arrived on earth. She was the most beautiful-looking girl I had ever seen. And the saddest, too. . . ." The ball at the Hilton was a lovely affair. For the few hours they were there, Don and Gia sat at a table with some of Don's friends and their dates. Once in a while, they danced. Throughout it all, Gia was quiet, speak- 66 ing only when spoken to, smiling rarely, barely joining in on any of the fun-doings. "Why the far-away look?" Don asked her, softly, at one point. Gia's face reddened a little. "I don't know," she said. And that was all she said. After the dance, they went to the nearby Trader Vic for a bite to eat. "What'll you have?" Don asked. "Just coffee," Gia said. "Well," Don said, winking, "me, I'm a growing boy, and I'll have to have a little more than that." "Korean specialties," he said, reading the menu and trying hard not to make it look as if he were forcing any conversa- tion. "You ever been there — Korea?" "No," Gia said. "Then you've never had the pleasure of trying any of their specialties," Don said. Gia shook her head. Don began to tell her about something that had happened to him while he was there, with the Army. "I was riding around in this jeep one day," he said, "and I came across this old lady, walking up the road. She looked so tired that I stopped and asked if I could give her a lift. Oh no, she said, she'd come a long way but she still had an even longer way to go. 'How far?' I asked her. About forty miles,' she said. Well now, I sure wasn't going to have this little old ELINOR DONAHUE I've just read a terrific story in INGENUE Magazine called "Give a Weekend." Tells about teen-agers doing volunteer work in the Phila- delphia slums . . . not glossy charity- type work, but real 'get your hands dirty' helping. What a great job they do! lady walking down that road another couple of days, was I? So I said, 'Hop in, Grandma, I'll drive you and get you home chop chop!' " Gia began to smile a little. "So there we were, the two of us. riding away a little while later," Don went on, "when all of a sudden the woman reached into a bag she was carrying and said to me, 'Here, young soldier, eat.' I looked at what she was holding. It was a dried red pepper, this long and this red. 'Eat?' I asked, ' — that?' 'You honor me with your politeness,' the old lady said, 'now I must honor you with my hospitality.' "Well, let me tell you. Gia — " Don stopped and laughed, happy to see that she was really beginning to smile now. " — I took one bite of that hospitality of hers and — " "Gia!" a voice interrupted him, sud- denly. "Giiiiiia, darling!" They both turned to look. A girl — young, pretty, bleary-eyed — was approaching their table. "Gia, sweet-heart," she said, finally reaching the table, "I was sitting over there . . . and I turned around to look . . . and I saw you. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know you were back in town." "I am," Gia said. "And you look so terrif — " The girl brought her hand up to her mouth, to hide a hiccup. "Terrific!" "Thank you," said Gia. "I was worried," the girl said, her face turning suddenly somber. "Oh boy, I was worried, ever since I heard about it, you on that bridge — just thinking about you staring down into that awful, awful water and . . . Gia, I'm so glad you're all right. And here. Back with us." The girl turned to Don, for the first time. "Life, life, it's wonderful, isn't it?" she asked. Don didn't answer. Instead he looked back at Gia. He saw the tears as they began to come to her eyes. "I mean, where'd we be without life?" he heard the girl say and giggle. He reached across the table and touched Gia's hand. It was cold. "Come on." he said, rising from his chair, "let's get out of here." Gia rose, too. Don took her arm. and they began to walk away. "Well . . . pardon me for trying to be so concerned!" they heard the girl say as they left. . . . A little spunk They'd driven back in silence. And it was only when they got to the door of Gia's house that Don spoke and asked if he could come inside for a while. "Why," Gia asked, "haven't I made your evening unpleasant enough?" Don nodded. "Yep," he said, smiling, "you've been pretty bad. I mean, I've been out with friendlier girls in my time. Girls who talked to me, at least." "I'm sorry about that, about everything." "Too late." Don said, continuing his tease. "But there is one thing you can do for me." He brought his hands up to his stomach. "You can give me something to eat. Because I'm starving. And a guy's gotta eat sometime!" "Oh," Gia said, "yes . . . Won't you come in then?" Don followed her through the foyer and living room and into the kitchen. "You'll wait outside the kitchen, please," Gia said. "This is one room that is for the women and only the women." Don didn't move. "Now go ahead, vatene." Gia said. "Go back inside and make yourself a little drink if you'd like. I will have something ready for you in a little while." With that, she took Don's arm and turned him around. "Okay, okay." Don said, very reluctant- sounding, but glad deep-down that she was finally beginning to show a little spunk. . . . Don had put some records on the phono- graph and Sinatra was singing a moody ballad when Gia walked into the room. "Dance?" Don asked, walking over to her. Gia nodded. "If you'd like," she said. They began to move around the floor. "What's cooking?" Don asked, after a few moments. "Cosa?" Gia asked. "What?" "Smells like something good coming from the kitchen," Don said. "Oh, the calzone," Gia said. "Yes, I hope it is good." "Cal — who?" Don asked. "It's an Italian dish." Gia said. "I couldn't have guessed," said Don. "It's very good," Gia said. "You'll see. It's a dough crust and inside there is the two cheeses — the ricotta and the mozza- rella." "And?" Don asked. "And a little pepper and salt." Gia said. "And?" "And a glass of wine, if you'd like." "For a hungerin' man like me — a couple of slices of cheese and some dough?" Don asked, holding back his smile. "There is many a hungerin' Italian man." Gia said, "who has not been able to finish one calzone. I have made you three. Just wait. You will like it ... I do." "So what does that mean?" Don said. "I bet there are a lot of things that I like and you don't." "Maybe," Gia said. "For instance?-' They stopped dancing. "Well," Don said, thinking for a moment. " — do you like a foggy day at the beach, for instance?" "No," Gia said. "I like a sunny da}- at the beach. Much sun. Much." "Do you like your windows open way up. all the way. at night?" "No," Gia said, "I like them shut. I am afraid when they are open." "Mmmmm." Don said. "Do — do you like sports cars?" "I would prefer," said Gia, "if I could do all my traveling on a bicycle." "See?" Don said. "You don't like any- thing I like. But still you expect -me to go wild over your — " "Calzone." Gia said. "Yeah . . . cal-zo-ne," Don said, trying to imitate her deep accent. "Awful." Gia said. "Your pronunciation, it is so awful." And then, suddenly, she began to laugh — a happy, heart}-, open laugh. "I am sorry, Don," she said, after a few moments, "it is impolite, I think, for a girl to laugh so much and so loud. But it just struck me very funny — " she lowered her eyes, and paused " — and I have not laughed like this for a long time, for a very long time." Don took her chin in his hand and lifted her face to his. "Like the fly-boys used to say: Mission Accomplished," he said. ""What?" Gia asked. "It's good to see you laugh, Gia — that's what I said," Don whispered. "And you want to know something? . . . You look more beautiful than ever when you laugh." They looked at one another now. And then Don kissed her, lightly, on the forehead first, then on the lips. And they began to dance again. . . . The need to be needed Those next two months were the best either of them had ever known. When they weren't working — Gia on a picture, Don on some TV assignments— they were together, constantly. They'd drive to the beach, on foggy days and on days of much sun. They'd weekend with friends at Lake Arrowhead or up in Car- mel. They'd take long walks, out in the country sometimes, right through the streets of Hollywood other times, and they'd talk and laugh and hold hands, as they got to know one another. "I love you, Gia," Don said suddenly one afternoon in late December, as they were out walking. "I want to marry you." The smile that had been on Gia's lips began to fade. "Don't say that," she whispered, " — please." "Why not?" Don asked. "I love you," he said. 'T love you." "And I think I love you, too." Gia said. She nodded. "Yes, I think I do. . . . But to talk of marriage already — It is too soon, Don. We haven't known each other long enough, not really." She took a deep breath. "And," Gia said, "I must be sure, before I ever say yes to you, Don, I must be sure that you need me." "But I do need you," Don said. "That's why I'm asking you to marry me. That's the reason any guy asks a girl to marry him, isn't it?" Gia faced him again. "I mean need me," she said. "I mean need me. I mean the kind of need that is not satisfied in enjoy- ing my company, in kissing my lips, in talking or walking or being together with me like this. I mean the kind of need that is satisfied in knowing that I will be the most important part of your life, forever and ever. In knowing that I must be the person to share everything with you. to help you. to comfort you. to be with you — forever. ... A person very close to me once said. Don, that there is nothing more difficult in life than finding the person who truly needs you. I b eh eve this." "We'll give it time then, won't we?" Don said, taking hold of her hand again. "Yes," said Gia. "if you will be patient with me. For one way or another, some- day, I will know. . . ." Months passed during which Don and Gia grew closer and closer, and yet as though they mysteriously understood that the right time had not come for them, neither mentioned marriage again. Then one afternoon in March Mrs. Burnett phoned Gia at her studio and invited her to dinner that night. At 6:30. Gia pulled up to the house, reached for a little present for Don's mother and got out of the car. Don met her at the door of the house. He was very pale. His hand seemed to tremble when it took hold of Gia's. "What's the matter?" Gia asked. "It's Mom." Don said. "She was in the kitchen, just a little while ago, fixing dinner. Suddenly she had a heart attack. It was so quick. The doctor's with her." He led Gia into the living room, where Don's father was sitting. Gia walked over to Mr. Burnett, whispered something to him and then she sat beside him and across from Don. They sat. the three of them, in silence, those next fifteen minutes. Finally a door opened and the doctor appeared. "Mr. Burnett," he said, his voice grim, "Don—" The two men rose and followed him back out of the room. Gia sat alone now. She waited. And as she did. she closed her eyes and remembered the phone call from Mrs. Bur- nett just a few hours earlier. "I'm making lamb," the woman had said, "and potatoes nice and brown, just the way you and Don like 'em." Gia remembered how she'd said no at first, that she couldn't accept the invitation. "Twice last week, twice the week before. You're going to too much trouble, Mrs. Burnett." And how the woman had said, "Non- sense, Gia. Dad and I like you so much, and we like the fact that Don likes you — and we just wish we could see even more of you." "Lamb, you say?" Gia remembered ask- ing, and laughing. "And browned potatoes?" "Just the way you and Don like 'em," she remembered Mrs. Burnett saying. "Now be sure to tell those producers of yours that you have to be here early, 6:30 the latest, and — " Gia's eyes opened suddenly. Don had come back into the room. She could tell, immediately, from the look on his face, that his mother was dead. She watched him as he walked over to where she sat, as he sat alongside her. She watched his fists clench in his lap. "Gia," he said, staring at the floor, "Help me. I need you." Don and Gia were married in a quiet and beautiful ceremony in Los Angeles. California, on August 22. 1959. END Gia will be seen in Battle Of The Coral Sea, I Aim At The Stars, both Columbia. 67 ' Especially for &LOAIDES/ 5/,ampoo| Takes only a minute — washes hair shades lighter, gives it a wonderful shine! If your blonde hair is growing dark or faded, try new BLONDEX CREME SHAMPOO. Contains lanolin, to give a vital, lively lustre, new highlights and a shine like spun gold, prevent dryness or brittleness. BLONDEX removes the dull, dingy film that makes blonde hair dark and old-looking. Its "Miracle" ANDIUM brings back flattering, golden color — gives hair extra highlights and shine. 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Extra Cash Bonus to lOTc- SEND XO MONEY. Get 2 outstanding Assortments on approval and Exclusive Stationery Samples FREE. SI. 00 "Scare- crow" Set included with FREE Offer. Mail coupon! SEND FOR FREE GIFT OFFER & SAMPLES 14. Ohio Please send mor.ev-raaking kit of new Greeting Cards on ap- ! proval. Include S:.0v "Scarecrow" Gift Set with FREE Offer. I I NAME ADDRESS - CITY FEBRUARY BIRTHDAYS If your birthday falls in February, your birthstone is the amethyst and your flow- er is the violet or primrose. And here are some of the stars who share your birthday: February 1— February 4— February 5- February 6- February 8- February 9- February 10- February 11- February 12- February 13- February 15- February 16— February 18- February 19— February 20- February 21— February 22- February 23— February 24- - Clark Gable -Ida Lupino -Red Buttons -Mamie Van Dorei Zsa-Zsa Gabor John Lund Ronald Reagan -Lana Turner -Kathryn Grayson -Jimmy Durante Robert Keith Robert Wagner -Leslie Nielsen -Forrest Tucker -Kim Novak Lyle Bettger -Kevin McCarthy -Peggy King Vera-EIIen -Jack Palance -Lee Marvin -Norma Moore Patricia Smith Dane Clark Guy Mitchell -Robert Young -Race Gentry Barbara Lawrence Marjorie Main February 26 — Betty Hutton Peter Lorre Tony Randall February 27 — February 29 — Arthur Franz Joan Bennett Elizabeth Taylor Reginald Gardiner Sir Cedric Hardwicke Thelma Ritter February 9 February 14 The House of Terrified Women Adolphe Menjou 70 February 18 Ann Sheridan February 21 {Continued from page 28) dreaming, with her large blue eyes wide open, peering through the darkness, and beyond that darkness . . . dreaming back to an actual night in her life, nine years ago, when she was eleven. She remembered it so well, so vividly, her first night in show business. Her parents had driven her to the radio sta- tion. Her uncle, Bing, had taken her hand and led her into the studio and over to the microphone. "And now folks, I'd like to introduce," he had said, "a brand new singer, a sweet kid, my niece . . . Miss Cathy Crosby!" There had been ap- plause, she remembered. Then silence. And then she had begun to sing her song, Dear Hearts and Gentle People. Remembering, dreaming back, she be- gan to hum that same song now. She stopped suddenly when she heard the footsteps outside her door. She figured that it was probably a night nurse, making her rounds, listening at doorways to see if you were asleep. So she stopped her singing, and she waited, in the darkness, staring vacantly at a shadow on the wall ahead of her, until the footsteps — having stopped, too — moved on down the long and silent hall- way of this place, this hospital, this in- stitution, as some people called it. And then, once again, still sitting up in her bed, the beautiful girl with the large blue eyes continued with her song. . . . Preying on his mind It was a few minutes after 10:40 that night when Bob Crosby entered the big house at 220 N. Layton Drive. He parked the golf clubs he was carrying in a foyer closet (he'd been playing that afternoon with Vice President Richard Nixon and actors Robert Sterling and George Mur- phy) and he walked into the living room. His wife, June, was upstairs at the time, in her eight-year-old daughter Malia's bedroom. The little girl had been suffer- ing from a bad cold all that day, she had a slight fever now, she couldn't sleep, and June had been sitting with her this past hour or so reading to her. When June heard her husband enter, she lay down the book, got up from her chair and walked to the door. "Bob," she called, when she saw him. She waited for him to answer. Instead, she saw, he stood there mo- tionless, in the center of the living room for a moment, mumbling to himself; and then he began to walk towards the big mirrored cabinet at the far end of the room, the cabinet where the whisky was. June turned now, too, and walked back into Malia's room, leaving the door open behind her. "What's the matter?" the little girl asked, softly, from her bed, seeing the look of worry, and fear, in her mother's eyes. "Nothing," June whispered. "Is Daddy home?" June nodded. Then she walked over to the little girl's bed and took her hand in hers. It was preying on his mind, June knew — preying on his mind, terribly. She could tell by the way he had looked a moment before. She could tell by the way he had looked that morning, when they'd gone to have a talk with Cathy's doctor. "What do you mean a complete break- down?" he'd asked the doctor then. "I thought she only needed a week here. And now it's a month and she's still here. . . . What do you mean a complete break- down, a mental breakdown?" he'd asked the doctor. June's hand, still clutching Malia's, be- gan to tremble now. "Mommy," the little girl asked, "are you all right, Mommy?" "Yes," June said. "Yes. Shhhhh. Yes." She looked away from her daughter and towards the door again. She wished that her sons, Chris and Bobby and Steve, were back home from that party they'd gone to. She wished, with all her heart, that Cathy were home, too, instead of in that place. . . . Something is wrong Cathy got out of her bed and rushed to a chair near the window and sat. The feeling of faintness had overtaken her suddenly. She'd been singing one. moment, remembering the nice tune, the ' nice night. And then her head had begun to spin and the tightness had grabbed at her stomach and she'd felt sick. Something is wrong, she thought, sit- ting on the chair now, looking out the window, at the night. Somewhere, some- how, something is wrong. She closed her eyes, tight. She didn't want to think about trouble. The doctor had told her that she was here to rest, that she must rest as much as possible, and think pleasant thoughts, especially at night, at bedtime. She had tried, too. Tried very hard. Every night this past long month. But it was no use trying now. Because she knew, deep down inside herself, that there was trouble. And she thought of her father. She saw him very clearly, though her eyes were still closed. He was standing in front of her, looking at her. saying nothing. He stood there for what seemed to be a very long time. And then he stepped back, back away from her, back in time, and into the den of their house. He'd yelled at her mother that night. Cathy remembered. He'd yelled long and loud. He'd yelled so much that Cathy, nine years old then, listening from the staircase, had run over to him and begged him to stop. He'd ordered her up to her room instead. And she'd gone. And for hah an hour more, an hour more, she'd heard the yelling continue. Till finally it had ended and her mother had come to her room and they'd both sat and cried. "Does it mean . . . when Daddy fights with you . . . does it mean he doesn't love you any more?" Cathy had asked her mother that night. "Of course he loves me, baby," her mother had said, wiping away her tears.; and her daughter's. "This was just an- argument. He's nervous about his work. Something happened today and — " She'd paused. "Today he got a wire," she'd said then. "It was from this booking agent in Atlantic City. This man said he'd just heard that Daddy doesn't like any mention of his . brother in any advertising, for any show- he and the band are scheduled to do. And this man. he wired that either he be al- lowed to advertise daddy as 'Bing Crosby's brother,' or else not to bother to come. "And so Daddy was nervous tonight. And he had to pick on somebody. And he picked on me. "It's all happened before. It'll happen again ... I guess that's just the way it's got to be." "And the fights you have," Cathy had asked, when her mother was finished ex- plaining, "they don't mean that Daddy doesn't love you any more?" '"Of course not," June had said. "Because if he doesn't love you," Cathy had said, "how could he love me — or any- body ....?" "He loves us, you and me," her mother had said. "Very much. . . . Believe me." "I hope so, Mommy," Cathy had said. "I hope so. . . ." "I wish we were closer . . ." "Oh, I hoped so, so much," she said to herself now, sitting there in that hospital room, alone, remembering. And as she said that, she saw his face again, in front of her, pale and angry. This time he was yelling at her. "Who were you out with tonight?" he asked. "Dino," Cathy said. "I told you to stop seeing him," he said. "I love him, Daddy," Cathy said. "I don't care," he said. "He's too old for you, for just one thing." "Thirteen years difference isn't that much," Cathy said. "He's divorced," her father said. "Doesn't that mean anything to you as a Catholic?" "I love him," Cathy said. "That's all that means anything to me right now." Her father's voice became louder. "Have I denied you anything, before, ever, in your life?" he asked. ". . . How many other seventeen-year-old girls have gotten all the things I've given you?" "Not many," Cathy whispered, almost methodically, looking down. "You have a convertible, pink and black, just the way you like it?" "Yes." "You have pretty clothes? Closets of them?" "Yes." "Have you gotten everything from me you've ever wanted?" This time Cathy didn't answer. "Well?" he asked. Cathy looked up and stepped towards him and put her arms around him. "Some- times," she said, "sometimes, Daddy, I've wished we could have been closer to each other. Sometimes I've wished there could have been fewer fights between us. Like now, Daddy. I know you're thinking about me. Itfs for her own good — I know that's what you're saying to yourself through all this. Just like you said the other times, with any other boyfriends I ever had, when you told me to get rid of them. 'It's for her own good' you're telling yourself, and — " But her father didn't seem to be listen- ing to her. "I don't want you to see this Dino Cas- telli anymore," he said, interrupting. "I love him," Cathy said. "I don't want you to see him," he said, "and, for the time being, I don't want you getting interested in anyone . . . You're still just a baby, Cathy. Remember that. You don't know what you're doing. You're like most kids today. With crazy ideas about life, romance, everything. New- fangled ideas about morality. Bad ideas. You take the Ten Commandments, and if there's one of them you don't like — " He stopped, and he removed Cathy's hands from around his waist. "Now get to bed," he said. "Something I'm not guilty of . . ." Cathy didn't move. "Did you hear me? Get to bed," he said. 'And from this moment on I want you to start acting respectable." He shouted the word. "Respectable!" "I haven't done anything wrong," Cathy said, still not moving. "Oh Daddy, oh Daddy," Cathy said, fighting back the tears. "What do you want from me? What do you expect me to do? Do you want me to go upstairs and lock myself in my room and stay there the rest of my life? Do you want me to get on my knees and beg your forgiveness for something I'm not guilty of?" She gasped. "Or do you just want me to go away?" she asked, suddenly. He turned back to her. "Is that what you really want to do," he asked, "go away?" Cathy shook her head. "I don't know. ... I don't know what I want any more, Daddy," she said. "I'm so confused." "I've said what I have to say," he told her. "Now you do what you want." "Please, Daddy — " Cathy started to say. "And if you do go," he cut in, "be sure to leave your car keys. I'll call you a cab." And with that he left the room. . . . The memories of what had happened after that moment rushed through Cathy's mind now. The cab that came to pick her up the next day. The flight to that tiny apartment on Dohany Drive. The two years on her own, making ends meet with the money she got from a few scattered nightclub and TV appearances. The break- ing off with Dino in that time. The com- plete loneliness — broken only by occa- sional secret visits with her mother. The attempt at a reconciliation with her father last April, arranged and prayed for by her mother. The dinner at home again that night. The smiles from her dad. The hug- ging and the kissing and the tears of joy. And then — a few weeks later — the fights again, the bitter tears again, the bad words all over again, just like the old days. Until there was another flight, another apart- ment, another period of terrible loneliness and confusion. Until there came that night, last month, when she could cope with it no longer. And she collapsed. And she was brought here, to this place. . . . She opened her eyes and rose from her chair and walked across the dark little room to a sink. She filled a glass with water and brought it to her lips. There's trouble again, she thought, —tonight. I know. The house of terrified women At the big house, at that moment, Bob Crosby put down the glass he'd been hold- ing, rose and went to Malia's room. According to June, his wife, this is what happened next: "He walked into the room and I could see he was feeling belligerent, that some- thing was wrong. I suppose he had been drinking quite a bit. He usually does drink. I wanted to ask him where he'd been since his golf game ended. Except that I'm not supposed to ask. He has a persecution complex. He thinks everyone is against him. "Yes, I could see that something was wrong, by the way he was still talking to himself, by the look in his eyes. I didn't want any trouble in the baby's room. So I ■ got off her bed and went to another room. I called our doctor and asked him if there was anything I could do. The doctor said no, just to keep quiet and not to get into an argument with him. "I went back to Malia's room, to see if he was still there. He was. As soon as he saw me this time he began to shout. It was something about where were the boys and why weren't they home yet. I know it was mostly Cathy's being in the hospital that was preying on his mind. But he didn't mention that. "Then, suddenly, in the presence of Malia, he began to walk over towards me and he began to beat me. He beat me unmercifully. He hit me about the head !iL-i 1 Bill! Tall? Send for Free |4 '"i 'jS Catalog of new tBIljfjk smart styles to fit 1k4** you. Prices are no IQAsSj higher than regular U 3l ' misses' size fashions. k Cotton Shirtwaist I'bf i *> Dress in multicolor Si*^ striped print. Step- in style; washable. Sizes 12 to 24. Only $3.98. Also coats, sportswear, lingerie, shoes. 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Address- City new movies (Continued from page 6) HOUND-DOG MAN country living Fabian Carol Lynley Stuart Whitman Arthur O'Connell Betty Field ■ Fabian wants to go hunting with the hound- dog man (Stuart Whitman). Fabian's dad, Arthur O'Connell, convinces Betty Field that their son is old enough to let go of her apron strings. Off he and his kid brother trot. They don't go far before they meet Carol Lynley and friend. Whitman, who doesn't believe much in marriage, (and who would take in all those hounds?) should never have set eyes on Carol. He and the boys turn up at her family's farm with a turkey and some sassy behavior that gets them kicked right back onto the trail again. There they find one of their pals lying helpless in a ditch (broken leg) and Fabian rides into town for the doctor. After the leg-setting there's a big party to which the whole county comes. Fabian sings, everybody dances in the barn. Fabian stops singing when he sees his girl (Dodie Stevens) snuggling up to another fel- low. All the music stops when a jealous husband tries to blast Whitman out of a hayloft. Fabian's father is the only man in the crowd who'll stand up to the bully. Makes Fabian decide home isn't such a bad place after all, not with a man like his father in it. It's a homespun, happy kind of movie. — Cinema- scope, 20th- Fox. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY a husband confesses David Niven Mitzi Gaynor Carl Reiner Monique Van Vooren Patty Duke ■ For nearly thirteen years David Niven and his bride (Mitzi Gaynor) have been living in Gramercy Park. It's been swell. He's successful, she's chic, the kids (Kevin Coughlin, Patty Duke) are understanding. And a TV set has never crossed the threshold. Until tonight, the eve of their 13th anniversary. The TV set crosses, followed by its donors — Mitzi's mother and father. David tries to control him- self all through a champagne dinner. Finally he lets the cat out of the bag. Yes, we've been legally married thirteen years, he says. But illegally? Ha-ha. Fourteen. The thought of that first, illegal year sends his. in-laws home in a helpless rage. Niven kicks in the TV screen. Mitzi locks the bedroom door. Patty goes on a TV show to discuss her parents' pre-marital problems before a panel of her peers. By this time, a second TV set has arrived in the Niven home. Just in time for Niven to kick in the screen. So much for his marriage. He's through. His in-laws are through, too. Niven's business partner (Carl Reiner) and a client, divorcee Monique Van Vooren, are in and out trying to patch things up. It's much ado about not very much, but the acting's pleasant.- — United Artists. THE FLYING FONTAINES Joan Evans Michael Callan , Roger Perry daring young men Evy Norlund Joe de Santis ■ Out of the Army, Michael Callan returns to the 'big top' where he was a star on the flying trapeze. First disappointment: his old girl (Joan Evans) has married his old catcher (on the trapeze) Roger Perry. Second disappoint- ment: Mike thinks he's found a new girl (Evy Norlund) but she's engaged to Rian Garrick who replaced Mike in the air. Third disap- pointment: Mike's father (Joe de Santis) hasn't changed a bit; he still thinks Mike needs more training before he can join the biggest circus of all, Ringling Brothers. Well, all of this could drive a boy to drink. But when a boy's drunk he shouldn't try to fly. In an at- tempt to save Mike's neck Rian Garrick falls and breaks a few bones, which makes him afraid ever after of trapezes. Rian becomes a bitter clown; he's bitter because his girl, Evy, likes Mike more and more. Mike, the show-off, does good deeds — such as not handing Rian over to the cops when Rian cuts a rope that holds up the trapeze, such as telling Joan to go back to her husband when Joan decides to make a play for him. If only Rian would stop seeking revenge everything would be okay. The movie picks up whenever it's fo- cused on the circus itself. — Technicolor, Columbia. A TOUCH OF LARCENY Vera Miles George Sanders outrageous comedy Harry Townes Robert Fleming ■ Once a war hero, never a husband, James Mason is the freest soul in the British Admiralty. That is, he is the freest with women. Women adore him, even married women, even women who ought to know better. Like American widow Vera Miles. Vera has come to London to marry George Sanders who has a rather stilted charm but, con- sidering his vast wealth and potentialities as a diplomat (he's about to become an ambas- sador), it sits well on him. When George dashes off to Brussels (duty calls) James spirits Vera onto a sailboat. Marry you? she says, shakily, don't be silly. James admits that the only asset he lacks is money but he has a fantastic scheme to get some — loads of some. His idea is to overstay his naval leave, after hiding a top secret file, and to shipwreck himself. While he is sitting com- fortably on a little island the newspapers will accuse him of delivering information to a rival power. Then he has only to return, prove his innocence and sue the press for defamation of character. You wouldn't, you couldn't — says Vera, completely enchanted. Of course he would and he could and he does. He is a terrible fraud. And the worse he be- haves the more delightful this movie gets. — Paramount. RECOMMENDED MOVIES: THE BEST OF EVERYTHING (20th-Fox) : Point One: All the men in New York are either immoral, amoral, married or drunk, and they all seem to work at the Fabian Publishing Co. Point two: all the appealing ladies (Joan Crawford, Diane Baker, Suzy Parker, Hope Lange, Martha Hyer) who also toil for Fabian become hopelessly involved with these no-goods. The somewhat forlorn message here seems to be that true love and careers do not always mix well. BELOVED INFIDEL (20th-Fox) : F. Scott Fitzger- ald, outstanding American novelist, had a romance with Sheilah Graham, Hollywood columnist. A nat- ural for a movie? You bet! Gregory Peck and Deb- orah Kerr, as the lovers, are introduced by Peck's friend Eddie Albert (playing the late Robert Bench- ley). Peck's much-loved wife has been ill for years, be drinks, his writing is nearly nil. But, the romance which begins on this doomed note brings happiness too late for Peck, just in time for Deborah. THE WRECK OF THE MARY DEARE (MOM): There's a gale blowing in the English Channel and two ships collide in the night. Charlton Heston and Ben Wright, aboard the Sea Witch, find the Mary Deare in flames, with one lifeboat and sailing to a rocky graveyard. Captain Gary Cooper, the almost- mad sole survivor, grabs Heston from behind. When the Captain calms down, he finally begins the strange story that ends in a London Court of Inquiry. and nose and he broke one of my ribs. "While he was hitting me I saw Malia, in her bed, watching, terrified. Then I saw this letter opener on the bureau. I picked it up. I didn't mean to hurt him. I delib- erately tried to inflict as minor damage as possible to scare him and make him stop beating me. "When I saw the blood on his shirt, I dropped the letter opener to the floor and rushed to the phone again. This time I called the Beverly Hills police. I was in a panic. I said, 'I've just stabbed my hus- band,' and asked them to send over an ambulance, fast. "But he was gone, out of the house, a few minutes later. "Later I was to find out that he went to his brother Bing's, and spent the night there. That he was to pass off the incident by saying, T really don't think June in- tended to do anything. She just got mad, so mad she didn't know what she was do- ing. We've had family arguments before. I guess this one just exploded.' "He said, too, 'I'm not a wife-beater. I didn't lay a finger on my wife. If my wife is hurt, it's only because I had to use force to take the letter opener away from her. I'm the one who got stabbed, not her.' "It's true. I'm not the one who got stabbed. Not with a letter opener. "But for twenty-one years now I've been taking this, these constant arguments, con- stant fights. If you live with Bob on the inside you know he's not the easy-going Crosby that the public imagines him to be. . . . This has been going on for twenty-one years. And I've had it, finally. I've put up with it for the sake of the children. Twice — once in 1943 and once in 1956 — I started divorce proceedings against Bob. Both times I changed my mind. I took him back both times. But after everything now, this night, I've had it. I'll never take him back. This is the end." What could be wrong? At 12:05 that night, the nurse heard a report of the Crosby incident on the radio. At 12:20, while making her rounds of the hospital, she decided to have a look in Cathy's room. She was surprised to see Cathy, not in bed. but standing near the sink. She was about to say something. But before she had a chance, Cathy turned towards her and asked, "Is some- thing wrong? Is that what you've come to tell me?" The nurse shook her head. "Of course not," she said. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing at all ... I was just checking the room down the hall and — " She stopped as she saw Cathy begin to lean against the sink, hard, and grab it with her hands, as if she might fall. She rushed over to the girl, put her arm around her waist and began to lead her to the bed. "Is it a bad dream you've been having tonight?" the nurse asked. Cathy shrugged, "I ... I don't know." The nurse helped her into the bed, and then she lifted a sheet over her. "Well," she said, "the dream is over and done with and now you're ready for a good night's sleep, eh?" Cathy didn't answer. "My, what a lovely night it is," the nurse said, suddenly, turning towards the win- dow and looking out. "Just lovely. . . . And tomorrow, tomorrow should be just as nice. I hope so, anyway. Because tomor- row, right after breakfast, we're all going to take a walk on the grounds. And pick flowers." She had walked to the door and snapped off the light when she heard the girl ask, "And nothing's wrong?" She forced a great big smile. "Really, child — what could be wrong on such a lovely night as this?" she said, end The Two Faces of Troy Donahue (Continued from page 50) And what happened? When she caught him making love to another girl in his apartment — while they were still going steady for two years — and demanded an explanation, he threw her out bodily — !" Could this be one and the same Troy Donahue? It is! But how could a fellow like Troy have such a wonderful reputation with some people, and create such a strong antipathy with others? Why has it never been brought to the surface before? And what turned him into the kind of guy he is — which is a far cry from the typical young Hollywood leading man type of the Tab Hunter, Rock Hudson. Edd Byrnes tradi- tion? Those who know him closely agree that there is in Troy a temper, a fire, a drive, an ambition that seems in direct contrast to the easy-going, pleasing mannerisms that has endeared him to Hollywood moth- ers and daughters alike. Much of the answer to Troy's twin be- havior can be found in his own back- ground. Troy's father was the head of General Motors' motion picture division. His moth- er was a stage actress, who retired after her marriage. The Johnsons — Troy's real name was Merle Johnson. Jr. until agent Henry- Willson changed it to Troy Dona- hue— had a fashionable home in Long Island, and an equally fashionable apart- ment on New York's East Side. Troy himself attended some of the best schools in the country, including the New York Military Academy at Cornwall-on- the-Hudson in upstate New York. And if it hadn't been for a severe knee injury- he suffered during a track meet in his senior year, he would have continued to the United States Military Academy at West Point. Undoubtedly he had all the ad- vantages of a rich man's son. And this is where his trouble started. He remembers being sent to first grade in flannel slacks, jacket, white shirt and imported tie, and expensive custom-made moccasins which were in dire contrast to the dungarees and tee shirts worn by the other boys. Right away they treated him like Little Lord Fauntleroy. During the very first recess, Troy found himself at the bottom of the heap of six boys who were beating up on him, and tearing his clothes to shreds. Yet when he came home he would not tell his par- ents what happened, and why. But there- after, he tried to assimilate in his own way. On the way to school he would mess up his clothes by rolling in the dirt, by tearing his shirt, by ripping off buttons. In wanting to look like the other boys, however, he went overboard to such an extent that the teacher finally sent a note to his parents, demanding to know why they sent him to school looking like a little tramp. As a result, he got it from the other side too. They could not understand how a boy like Troy, raised by a gov- erness, could feel so indifferent about his own appearance! Troy*s attempts to be like others con- :inued to get him in trouble. He was twelve when he snitched his father's double-barrelled shotgun out of --he glass -enclosed cabinet in the den, and sneaked out of the house to meet a pal, with whom he went on a hunting expedi- tion. They stalked through the swampy area near the Johnsons' Long Island home, but Jie only thing they could find were some crows. It was good enough for them. Troy fired two shots in quick succession before he reloaded and handed the gun to his friend, who managed to get off just one more shot before they heard someone call out. "Wouldn't it be funny if this were a cop?-' Troy giggled. ''Sure would be," his friend agreed. It was! A few seconds later they were whisked to the nearest station, and booked on six counts — hunting out of season, hunting without a license, hunting in a residential area, trespassing, walking around with a loaded gun, and carrying a gun while being under age! Needless to say, his father was not in a cheerful mood when he had to bail out his son. It wasn't long, however, till even the restraint of his father was gone. Merle Johnson died when Troy was barely four- teen. Yet if anything, Troy's ambition to be accepted by the group, to be one of them, to be important in his own rights, grew with age. At fourteen, except for his family's wealth — which he tried to ignore — there were other things he felt he could boast about to raise his importance, such as the famous people he met at his house, and the trips he had taken. But instead of winning his fellow students' respect, he earned their jealousies. The situation changed for the better in the next couple of years, when Troy shot up to nearly his present six-foot three. Tall, well-built, and strong, he became a member of almost every athletic team in school, and was instrumental in winning victory after victory for it. And with it, the adulation and admiration of his fel- low students. Troy wanted more than just to prove himself on the football, baseball and bas- ketball field. He wanted to be accepted so badly that he went to any length to achieve being a "regular" guy. This often ran counter to Mrs. Johnson's wishes. The relationship between Troy and his mother had become strained already dur- ing his father's long illness. Looking back, he now recognizes the tremendous re- sponsibility she took on when her husband became incapable of making decisions, and it was entirely up to her to raise Troy and his younger sister, Eve, who is now fifteen. Yet Troy began to resent more and more what he considered his mother's over-concern. He was afraid she would make a sissy out of him, by keeping him from doing what the other boys did. And so he rebelled — never realizing that the other boys' parents were often just as op- posed to their offsprings' actions as she was. For instance, after ball games the other boys would frequently sneak off to a little beer joint, strictly off-limits to them. When Troy's mother heard about it, she promptly forbade her son to go along. He did anyway. When he was seen by a friend of the family, who told his mother, she bawled him out right in front of his classmates when he came home. This made him feel all the worse. Thereafter he would often sneak out after his mother was asleep, usually through the bedroom window. Troy got away with it till he attended a senior party one night, where everyone had a lot more to drink than was good for them. Troy himself drank so much that he felt ill, and scared. 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" The secret is a new healing substance (Bio-Dyne* ) — discovery of a world-famous research institute. This substance is now available in sup- pository or ointment form under the name Preparation H* Ask for it at all drug count- ers—money back guarantee. *Reu. u.s. Pat. Off I Believe 1 Heard the Voice of Jesus (Continued from page 39) arms. "My baby . . . my own baby. . . ." "Virginia," my father's voice was sharp. "Quick," he said. "Call the doctor.*' I swallowed and it was as if a thousand needles were stuck in my throat. My father brought me a small white wash basin and he held it in front of me as I coughed blood into it. When my mom returned to the room after telephoning the hospital, she said, "They'll send an ambulance, but I told them you would drive her there. It'll be faster. We'll save time. They're notifying Dr. King to rush to the hospital immedi- ately." I have never seen my mother look so worried. Tears ran from her eyes, and, as my father wrapped me in a dark blanket, I remember hearing my mother's voice whispering, "Hail Mary, full of grace, blessed art Thou amongst women . . ." My father lifted me into his strong arms, and I looked at his round face, his warm brown eyes and dark wavy hair, and suddenly he looked fuzzy. I squinted to try to see, and I fainted. I bled all the way to the hospital, my father told me. Mom stayed home with Joey. Dad drove me to the emergency entrance of St. Joseph's where, he says, two internes were waiting. I was carried to the emergency room where Dr. King gave me a shot in my arm. When I came to, I was lying on a long hospital table, wrapped in the blanket from home I looked up into Dr. King's kind eyes, and he said, "There, there now. we're going to do everything we can." He was so gentle, so sure of himself that I was calmed, although I continued to bleed. The internes placed towels around my neck to catch the hemorrhaging blood that dribbled down my chin. In a few minutes, Dr. King inserted silver rods in my mouth, and I lay back while he stroked my forehead and soothed me. There was a strong smell of alcohol in the room that gagged me. The internes assisted Dr. King as he called out instruc- tions. My father stood by me crying. When your father stands beside you with tears brimming over in his eyes, you know something's wrong. For my father to cry, my life had to be in danger. All I could do was pray I closed my eyes. My mother's prayer came into my mind. And I began reciting the prayer in my head. I couldn't speak or whisper with the silver rods stuck in my throat. But I said the prayer over and over again in my mind until the white emergency room with its shiny silver in- struments and snow-white walls came rushing toward me, overpowering me. But the words stayed with me. Hail Mary, full of grace . . . pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. With all my heart I prayed. There was a thump- ing then in my brain, and I blacked out. I remained unconscious all through my stay in the hospital and the return home. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was the wooden crucifix on the blue wall of my mother's bedroom. I prayed with all my might. I prayed to the Virgin Mary, whose own Child had suffered when He was hung on the Cross. Ha l Mary, full of grace . . . pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death. When I opened my eyes again I saw the soft rosy light of dawn filtering thi-ough the ruffled white curtains at the window. My mother, sitting on a chair beside me. her eyes daik and baggy and her hair pulled back in a knot, caressed my cheeks with her warm hand. She had stood vigil with me through the night. I couldn't see my mother too well, but the crucifix, which was further away, seemed like it was next to me. The small Cross of dark wood with the figure of Jesus, crowned with thorns, was right in front of me, and I kissed it. "I am with you," I heard a Voice saying. All that day I was delirious with fever. And that same night, my head was dizzy and I craved ice-water every time I woke up. My mother kept a lamp lit in the room while I slept, and whenever I awakened, I would see the pink wool blanket on the bed and I would finger it lovingly before I dozed off, thinking, Someday. I'm going to have an all-pink bedroom. I still remember one of the strange dreams I had as I lay there de- lirious. In the dream I saw a beautiful pink, satin-covered bed, a vanity dresser with a mirrored top and a wide pink-net skirt. On the dresser were sparkling at- omizers and bottles of perfume with sweet, flowery scents. I dreamed I sniffed all the perfumes, then sat cross-legged on the pink satin bedspread in my pink pajamas while a white bedside radio serenaded me with dance music and I ate a hot fudge sundae. That next morning when I woke up I saw the crucifix again, and I prayed. My brother Joey, chubby and brown-eyed, bounced into the room in good spirits and said he was going to read me a poem from his first-grade book. Getting better I sat up in bed and my mother served me a warm broth. Joey asked Mom if he could read another poem, and she told him to be careful and not to strain his throat. He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek and said, "Annette, I don't want you to be sick. I want you to get out of bed — like me." Then Mom told him to let me rest, and as I lay there in bed, I could hear the kids on the block, playing and laughing. Some of the girls were skipping rope to jump-rope rhymes, and others were play- ing hopscotch. I could hear the clack of the slate against the sidewalk as they took hopscotch turns. One of the neighbor girls, Mary Jo, bounced a ball to the tune of One, Two, Three O'heary. For the first time since I'd been in bed I felt lonely. I wanted to go out and play with them. When the doctor came that afternoon, he asked me if I wanted anything. I asked him if I could have a few visitors for a little while. I wanted some company. I could have them, he said. But, only if I promised not to talk. Three of my girlfriends came at five o'clock. They brought me presents — a rec- ord and a charm bracelet and a Peter Rabbit hand puppet made out of a Christ- mas stocking. They sat by the side of my bed on the kitchen chairs my father brought in for them. All of them were dressed up in pretty Christmas dresses, and they told me they wanted me to get well. I wanted to reach over and hug them all. My mother served them cups of hot chocolate and anise cookies, and when the sun started going down they left and said they'd come back and see me tomorrow. They visited me every day until I was completely well. We played Jacks and Old Maid and sometimes Mary Jo would tell split nails... made lovely in minutes WTH Marvel Nails us a ghost story her old sister Rosie had read in a grown-up magazine. Then came the day when mother cooked spaghetti and the doctor said I could come to the table to eat it. I knew I was well. My sickness was over. That next Sunday we went to Mass at St. Charles Roman Catholic Church on Moore Park Boulevard, and as I knelt to pray to Him, I also thanked Him for look- ing after me, for watching over me all through my crisis. That night I went into my mother's bed- room and looked at the figure of Jesus on the wooden Cross, and I leaned over and kissed it. I have never forgotten my faith since. I pray every day. I thank Him for protecting me. And for letting me see my dreams come true. For, not long afterward, the day came when I appeared on television, in my short skirt and cheerleader sweater, as one of the Mouseketeers on the Mickey Mouse Club TV show. And, later on, when we moved into our new house, my bedroom wish came true. It's all pink, and the bed has a pink satin bedspread, and in the corner I have my mirrored vanity dresser with the ruffled pink skirt and a collection of per- fume bottles, each of them with a sweet heavenly scent. God never forgets those who trust in Him. END Annette's last picture was Walt Disney's Shaggy Dog. At 17 My Life is Over (Continued from page 20) "I think I'm pregnant," Beverly said, softly, still looking away. Her girlfriend squeezed her hand now. "Yes," Beverly said. "I'll know for sure in just a little while. I have an appoint- ment with the doctor. At two o'clock." She pulled her hand back from her friend's and brought it up to her face to wipe away the tears that were there. "There," she said, "I've told you. What I*ve told nobody else . . . Are you sur- prised?" Her friend nodded. "I am," she said. "Yes." Beverly smiled a little. "It's funny," she said. "I'd thought it would be so different ... I mean, here it is, the middle of the day, a bright and sunny day, in a restaurant, over lunch, a cold chicken salad, me in my black dress, my eyes still burning from all the crying, look- ing like I-don't-know-what because I haven't looked in a mirror for two weeks now — looking like I-don't-know-what and caring even less . . . and — " She shook her head. The smile was gone from her lips already. The muscles in her slender white neck seemed to be pushing hard against her skin. "And what, Bev?" her friend asked. "And I'd just thought," Beverly went on, straining to get the words out, "that it would be so different . . . that's all." She picked up a glass of water and took a sip. She held up the glass for a long minute, looking into it, at the insipid and colorless water — silently, neither she nor her friend saying anything. "I want this baby . . And then, talking again, almost as if to herself, she said, "For two years I'd thought exactly how it would be, if and when this moment ever came, when it came time for me to tell ... It would be night, I'd thought. I would be wearing something new, and special. I would be beautiful. And I'd joke with him for a while. And then I'd run into the kitchen, to the refrigerator, and grab hold of a bottle of champagne I'd had icing all that day, hidden, behind a big milk container or something. And I'd run back to where he was sitting and, holding the cham- pagne up high, I'd say, 'It's time for a little celebration, my darling.' He'd ask why, of course — 'And what is it we have to celebrate now, Woodnymph?' he'd ask. And I'd make him try to guess. Till he did guess. And then we'd both begin to laugh. And he'd get up and kiss me and hug me and squeeze me, hard, so hard that I'd have to remind him to be more gentle. that I was very fragile now, that I was different now and had to be treated very tenderly. And he'd stop. 'Yes, that's right,' he'd say, 'you're not a little girl any more, Woodsie, are you? You're the woman I'll be marrying someday soon, as soon as I get my divorce. You're the woman who will be my wife, and the mother of my child. Aren't you?' And as I would say yes, happily, he'd take me in his arms again, only much more gently this time, much more tenderly. And we would kiss. That minute. The next min- ute. All night. Kiss and hold each other and make love, forgetting all about the champagne, all about everything. Every- thing but us. . . . "I had it all figured out, dreamed out, if and when," she said, putting down the water glass. "It would have been so wonderful. Except that he died, before I even knew about the baby myself, or had a chance to tell him." She smiled again, a small and bitter smile this time. "It's all what I guess some people would call ironic, isn't it?" she asked. "Beverly," her girlfriend asked, "are you sure? About the baby?" "Pretty sure," Beverly said. "I wake up sick. I hurt up here . . . I'm pretty sure." "And do you feel all right about it?" her friend asked. "Do you mean how do I feel about it in my heart, a young, husbandless, loverless, broken-up girl like me?" Beverly asked back. "Do you want to know if I'm happy or sad about this? Ashamed or proud? Is that what you mean? Honestly. Is that what you mean?" Her girlfriend's face reddened and she tried to say something to explain. "This baby — " Beverly said, after a moment, " — this is all I've got left of the only man who has ever meant anything to me, or ever will ... I want this baby More than anything else on earth." A waiter came over to the table now, as she said this, and he asked the two girls if they would care for something else. "A brandy, Beverly?" her girlfriend asked. "No, thank you," she said. "Coffee?" "No," Beverly said. She looked down at her watch. "As a matter of fact," she said then, "it's about time for me to be going. Two o'clock, the doctor said. It's nearly that now . . . Do you mind if I go? Now?" "No, not at all," said her friend. Beverly rose from her chair and began to reach into her purse. "Forget about splitting anything," her — a new liquid preparation that hardens into long, glamorous finger nails. Now you can change broken, split, bitten nails into strong beautiful nails — stronger than your own nails. STOPS NAIL BITING. Will not break or crack. Stays on until your own nails grow out. Can be filed, trimmed and beauti- fully polished. Each nail is made in one minute. You can do any type work while wearing these nails. No oreparation like it. MARVEL KIT. 59« DELUXE JIFFY KIT, S1.50 MARVEL NAILS, Dept. DM-2 5249 W. Harrison St. Chicago 44, II! 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Just show giant catalog to a few friends. $l-weekly Club Plan backed by multi- million-dollar assortments. Members save. 20%. YOUR selections are FREE. Easy and it's fun. No risk. Mail coupon for full details and free 300-page catalog. GRACE HOLMES CLUB PLAN Dept. 512, Ashton, Rhode Island Address City State FREE WRITE FOR COMPLETE CATALOG ■ The hotel detective raced for the elevator lobby. "Woman just told me about three guys walking in here with tommy guns," he said. "Who were they?" The elevator boy — new on the job — shrugged. "Don't know," he said. "I just took them where they told me — twelfth floor." "Get me up there," the house dick said, "and quick!" The corridor of the twelfth floor was quiet — for a moment. Then the detective heard the voices, loud and lusty, from a room a few yards away. It sounded like trouble, all right. The detective rushed over to the door. "Open up in there," he shouted. "Come on . . . Open up!" Slowly, the door did open. A pair of mischievous eyes looked up into the detective's. "Hi," a voice said, softly. "Paul Anka!" the detective said, recognizing the culprit, who happened to be drenched with water from head to toe. "What's going on here?" Paul explained. "Sir," he said, pointing into the room, "my buddies and I, we're in town for a few days to cut some records . . . and because we had nothing to do. but nothing, we decided to have a li'l ole water fight ... so we went out a little while ago to buy some water guns, and — " He went on and on explaining, until the detective put up his hand and sighed. "All right, Paul, all right," he said, "fool around a little bit more, if you have to . . . But please, try not to get too much of that juice on the walls or anything." He turned and began to leave the room. He was just about out, in fact, when he felt a dash of some- thing— strangely water-like — hit him in the neck. "Who did that?" he asked, turning back around. The three boys stared at him, the picture of angels. "What . . . who . . . how?" they asked, their guns planted firmly at their sides. The detective couldn't help laughing. And then he walked out — backwards, this time. Paul Anka's Tommy Gun friend said. "I told you I was only kid- ding. Lunch was on me." "Thank you," Beverly said. Then she bent and kissed her friend, quickly. "Excuse me if I was — " she started to say. "Never mind," her friend said. "I know how you must feel right now." Beverly turned, and began to walk away. And her girlfriend, watching her, thought: "God, protect this poor lost kid. . . ." All that's left of the man she loved The doctor was a busy man. He minced no words. "Miss Aadland," he said, after he'd completed his examination, "there is no way of telling immediately whether you're pregnant or not. We just don't know yet. It takes a laboratory report and that won't be back here in this office till tomorrow. Tomorrow morning at nine. Now why don't you go home and try to relax and give me a ring then? Tomorrow — nine o'clock. That's all I can say to you now. Good-bye, Miss Aadland. . . ." Beverly stood at the door of Errol Flynn's house. She hadn't been here since that night, three weeks earlier, when they'd left for Vancouver, together. She'd thought, when he died, that she would never come back to this house. Not alone. Not without him. But she did not feel alone now. Inside her, she knew, somewhere deep inside her, lay the little germ of the baby that was hers and Errol's. It didn't matter to her that the doctor she'd seen a few hours earlier had been evasive about the whole matter. Baby doctors, for all the humanity they tended, were men of science, she figured. They never said yes or no to anything, she knew, till they'd checked with their test tubes, their blood specimens, their rabbits and mice, their laboratory reports: till they'd scratched their graying heads and studied these reports and come to their 'conclusions.' Well, she thought now, let the men of science do their scratching, their checking. But she — she was a woman. And women knew these things, instinc- tively. As she knew now. That inside her, somewhere, lay that child of hers and Errol's. As she knew, too, that, though her lover and husband-to-be was dead and gone, she was no longer alone. . . . She opened the door and entered the house. She flicked a switch that turned on all the lights downstairs. She walked through the foyer, past the living room to the right, past the raised dining room to the left, to the sun- room in the rear of the house — the room that had been their room, complete with shining checkered linoleum and well- stocked bar and big fat TV and view of the pool, and with the old soft couch. PHOTOGRAPHERS' CREDITS The photographs appearing in this issue are credited below page by page: 9 — Globe; 10 — Globe; 11 — Nat Dallinger of Gilloon, Larry Schiller, Frances Orkin; 12-13 — Nat Dallinger of Gilloon, Globe; 14 — UPI: IS — Gene Trindl of Topix, Gary Wagner; 16— Wide World, UPI; 19 — Globe, Wide World; 20-21 — Bill Crespinel of Combine, UPI; 22-23 — Topix, Pictorial Parade; 26 — Bruno of Hollywood: 28- 29 — Don Ornitz of Globe; 30-33 — Larrv Schiller of Globe; 34-35 — Larry Schiller, Globe; 36-37 — Dick Miller of Globe; 38-39 Larry Schiller of Globe, Brown Bros.; 40-41 — Dick Miller of Globe, Wide World; 42 — Del Hayden of Topix; 44-45 — Globe; 47 — Jacques Lowe; 48 — Wide World. where they used to sit — so close, so much of the time— still there, just like always. She walked over to the couch now, and she sat. After a moment — the room was quiet, too quiet — she reached for the little TV switcher that sat on the end table to the right, blew off some of the dust that had gathered on it, and pressed a button. The television, across from her, lit up. A man said something to her about a 1960 car. '"Big, beautiful and roomy; a totally new idea in automobile styling," he said. "Made for you!" Beverly pressed another button. A girl in a ruffled dress sat at a piano, playing something Schubert-like, candle- light playing on her face. She looked over at a man, who stood listening to her, watching her. He began to approach her — Beverly pressed another button. This time she got a Western, two men in big hats arguing, slurringly. She pressed another button. Another western. Another button. A cartoon lady, advertising bread. Another button. Another. Another. Till she rose from the couch, suddenly, the room quiet once more, the television off. and walked over to the bar, in the far corner of the room. "My life won't be over . . ." Among all the bottles there, a small split of champagne had caught her eye. Learn 4810 facts about the stars! Which actress' husband wrote the music for "My Fair Lady"? Which actress writes children's stories? Which male star once wrote articles on fox-hunting? Find the answer to these and other interesting questions in MODERN SCREEN'S SUPER STAR CHART Just mail 25 cents in coin with the coupon below. Box 515 Super Star Information Chart Times Square P. O. New York 36, N. Y. Enclosed please find 25 cents in coin. Please rush my copy of MODERN SCREEN'S SUPER STAR INFORMATION CHART Name . . Address City.... She reached for it and took it from its shelf. She struggled for a moment with the wiring and silver foil around its neck, and finally she opened it. "My darling," she said, aloud, as she reached for a glass and poured in some of the champagne, " — it's time for a little celebration." She lifted the glass to her lips, and took a sip. She shuddered. "It's warm, much too warm," she said. "I know how you like it iced . . . but, you see, I've been so busy today, at the doc- tor's . . . because, you see, we're going to have a baby — Yes, yes, my darling — A baby. And it's certain. Oh yes, of course it's certain. . . ." Her hand began to tremble. She let the glass she was holding fall. It crashed to the floor, the wine splash- ing against her ankles. She walked back to the couch. She sat once more. She closed her eyes. "'Darling," she whispered, her voice breaking as she made her confession to the silent room, " — it's almost certain." She brought up her hand and ran it through her long blonde hair. "Only a phone call," she said. "I have only to phone the doctor, tomorrow, and he has only to say 'Yes, it's true' . . . And then everything will be all right with me again. And I'll know that my life isn't over." She fell back on the couch. "Our child," she said. "I'll have at least that ... It will grow inside me, and then it will come. It will get big. I will take such care of it, such loving care. And one day I will tell our child about its father — about how good and glorious a man he was. And when I am finished telling our child, he will smile, proudly — and he will ask me to tell him even more about you, his father. And I will. And so you will always still be with us — with me, with our child." She nodded. She brought her hand up to her stomach. "Little baby," she whispered, "I want you so much." And then, desperately, she tried to fall asleep, so that the morning would come that much more quickly. . . . Too hard from here on in It was exactly 9:00 asn. Beverly picked up the receiver and dialed the doctor's office. "Hello?" she heard the busy-sounding voice ask. "This is Miss Aadland," she said. "Bev- erly Aadland ... I wondered — " she started to say, nervously. "The report, yes," the doctor said. "It should be here — among my papers." She heard the rustle of the papers; the short silence that followed; then the doc- tor's impatient voice, calling out, "Nurse!" Another silence followed. Till, finallv, the doctor spoke up again. "Miss Aadland?" "Yes," Beverly said. "Now. the report," the doctor said, "yes. It's negative." Beverly repeated the word after him. "That's right," said the doctor. "You're not pregnant." "That can't be," Beverly said. "There must be a mistake." The doctor told her that the report was conclusive. "The nausea, the other symp- toms that you told me about," he said, "are probably the result of the tension you've been undergoing these past few weeks." "But that can't be," Beverly said again, her hand clutching hard at the receiver. "There must be a mistake!" 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Modern, prac " tical home courses in Stenography, Typ ing, Business English and Procedures Personality Development; also Book- keeping and Business Law. Mail coupon or postcard now for Free information. Wayne School, Desk S-2, 2527 Sheffield Avenue, Chicago 14, Illinois Name was a different tone to his voice now; soft- er, friendlier — "let me tell you something, please ... I think I know most of the facts of this case, more than the medical facts. And I think I should tell you this. There is nothing more beautiful in life, for a wom- an, than to have a child by the man she loves. This I know. I have delivered many babies in my time, seen the expression on the faces of many new mothers right after the deliveries . . . But I have seen, too, the faces of mothers whose children arrived fatherless, girls who thought that this was what they had wanted — thought. And these girls — girls like you — they did not smile when the important moment came. For it was as if they had realized suddenly that it would be too hard from here on in — not for them — but for the little son or daugh- ter they had just given birth to. As if they realized that from here on in it would be a life of continual explanations, of terrible incompleteness, of foisting a mother's memories on a child who knows only the present, and does not, never will, under- stand a distant and far-removed past. . . . "Do you understand, Miss Aadland, what I am trying to say, to tell you?" Beverly did not answer. "Miss Aadland? Do you understand?" "No," Beverly said, finally. "I know, I know," the doctor said. "It doesn't make much sense to you now, does it? But someday it will. Believe me. . . ." He said good-bye. DIANE BAKER I was once a model so I know that models work just as hard as gals in Hollywood do — maybe even harder. That's why I got such a kick out oj that article in the new INGENUE Mag- azine called "Beauty Tips From Top Teen Models." That ev ery -hair-in-its place look is an around-the-clock job. And they hung up. And Beverly, looking around the room she and Errol had shared, felt cold sud- denly, and she rose, looked down at the wrinkled dress she had slept in, picked up her purse and walked, slowly, alone again, towards the door. END Beverly stars in Cuban Rebel Girls, Ex- ploit Films. Dick Clark, I Love You (Continued from page 45) the sun-porch of the house where she lives with her parents and her twenty-three- year-old brother, Marty. We were alone. Her mother, Essie, had just cleared the supper dishes and was in the living room, reading the Evening Bulletin. Her father, Samuel, a public relations man, was up- stairs dressing, getting ready to go visit some relatives. "When did I first meet Dick Clark?" Myrna said, in answer to our first question. "It all started on a Monday, I remember, during school lunch, two and a half years ago. I heard from somebody that Tab Hunter, my then most favorite of all the stars, was going to be on the Dick Clark Bandstand that coming Friday. I wanted to see him in person, so much, that that's all I thought about for the rest of the afternoon. Then after school I decided to go to the Bandstand studio, only four blocks from the school, to see if I could get a ticket in advance maybe. I went. I got on a line. And before I knew it, somehow, I was following the line right into the studio and up to Dick Clark who was saying hello to everyone as we passed, saying, 'Welcome to today's show. I hope you have a good time.' I thought to my- self, 'My gosh, am I going to be seeing a real TV show? Oh my gosh!' " The first thing Myrna did inside the studio was to look for a seat, a good place from which to watch the goings-on. She found one, and for the next few minutes she kept her eyes glued on Dick, busy now talking with his director, producer and a few of the technicians. Then she watched him as he walked up to his podium, called the crowd to order and gave his pre-show speech. "You know," Myrna says, "for the fellows to keep their jackets on, for every- one to look his pleasantest, directions as to how to get to the boys' and girls' rooms just in case, and things like that." After the speech, Myrna was surprised to see Dick step down from the podium and walk over to her. She was nervous, so nervous that she 82 found herself speaking even before he did. I didn't even 'Is it in the 'You can do "Hi," she said, "this is my first time here." "I know," Dick said, "I just wanted to check ... to see if you'd signed the guest book. Everybody does that the first time they come on the show." Myrna shook her head, see the book," she said, lobby?" "That's right," Dick said Myrna started to rise. "Never mind," Dick said, it later, on your way out." As Myrna sat again, he said, "I hope you enjoy the show this afternoon." "I'm sure I will," Myrna said. "You know," Dick said, "most of the fun for our kids is the dancing — " "Oh yes," Myrna said. "I've seen the show . . . and I think that's the best part, too, watching the kids dance and have fun." "You going to dance, Myrna?" Dick asked. She shrugged. "Gee, I don't know," she said. "Do you like to dance?" Dick asked. "I guess," Myrna said. "I've danced a few times at school. But, gee, I don't know. Here. On television and every- thing ... I really don't think so, Mr. Clark." "Well," Dick said, after a moment, "I'm not going to ask you to do what you don't really want to do. But let's just say one of the fellows here comes over to you later and asks you to take a few turns around the floor — will you think it over before you say no to him?" Again, Myrna shrugged. "Please?" Dick asked. He smiled now. And then he walked away. . . . A few minutes later — at exactly 3:30 — the show began. And it wasn't long after that, in the middle of a swingin' R&R number, that a boy did come over to Myrna and ask her to be his partner. Myrna took a deep breath. "Gee, I — " she started to say, looking Intimate Thoughts of a Bride-to-Be (Continued from page 33) share her joyful plans. "I have to keep all the excitement to myself," Evy com- plains wistfully — but only to herself. She does not want to tell Jimmy. "I want to be everything for him," she says to herself, "everything good ... I do not want to bring him any sadness . . . Because of Jimmy, I am happier than I ever dreamed possible. I want him to be as happy be- cause of me." Then Evy smiles, looking forward to the wonderful honeymoon they will have in Europe soon, and that very special day when her husband will meet her family. These are the intimate thoughts of a bride-to-be. END Modern Screen fashio available at the following stores: Brooklyn. N. Y. Chicago. Illinois. Buffalo. N. Y Cleveland. Ohio.. Portland. 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Jordan Marsh Lytton's .Woodward & Lothrop Stewart & Co. ndervoort & Barney Jordon Marsh For further information on store listings, write to MODERN SCREEN Fashion Dept., 750 Third Ave- nue, New York 17, N. Y. FREE! BOOKLET FOR BRIDES-TO-BE Box 515 Modern Screen HB Times Square P.O. New York 36, N. Y. Send for your FREE INFORMATIVE BOOKLET, •WEDDING GUIDE FOR BRIDE AND GROOM." This booklet contains a list of things to be done before the wedding and when to do them, etiquette pointers, tips about diamonds and wedding rings. By the makers of Artcarved Rings. Name away from the boy. Her eyes shot over to the podium. She hoped that Dick wasn't watching this. But he was. She tried to smile at him. He grinned a big grin, and he winked. Myrna's head felt hot, suddenly. I don't want to, she thought. No. I don't want to . . . But he's been so nice to me — She looked back at the boy. "I thought it over," she said, rising. "And yes, I'd like very much to dance. . . ." It was fun after all . . . At the end of the show, Dick came over to her. He put his arm around her shoul- der. "How was it. Myrna — fun?" he asked. "I felt a little shaky at first, I've got to admit," Myrna said. She nodded. "But it was fun — at least, soon as I got over thinking that there were a couple of thou- sand people watching me on their sets." "A couple of thousand?" Dick asked. He stepped back from her and gave her that famous mock-shocked look of his. "Miss Horowitz," he said, "don't you realize that at last count there were eighteen million people who — " "Eighteen million?" Myrna interrupted him. She closed her eyes. "Oh no," she said, moaning, as if she had a sudden stomach ache. "If it was that bad — well, you don't have to come back any more, you know," Dick said. Myrna opened her eyes, quickly. "Or do you think," Dick asked, "that maybe you'd like to come back?" "Oh I would," Myrna said. "You see . . . the reason I came in the first place was so I could come Friday. I wanted to make sure I'd see Tab Hunter, I mean. And he's going to be here Friday." Dick reached into his pocket and handed Myrna a ticket. "This'll get you in Friday," he said. " — Matter of fact," he said, "this ticket will get you in tomorow, too, if you decide you'd like to come then . . . Would you?" "I wasn't so sure at that exact moment," Myrna recalls. "But the next morning, soon as I woke up, I found myself thinking how much I really would like to go back that afternoon. And so I went. And I went the next day. And the next. And each day I'd find myself having a better and better time, and dancing more and more, too. I went so much, in fact, that after a while one of my teachers at school stopped calling me Myrna and started re- ferring to me as 'Bandstand.' "Boy, things really got funny like that. So many people began to recognize me from the show. I remember once I was in Atlantic City, walking down the board- walk, and an old lady came rushing over to me and pinched my cheek and said, 'I watch you on TV — you're so cute.' And there was the time I was sitting in the trolley and two little kids saw me and asked me for my autograph. That was the first time that happened. It's happened lots of times since. Oh I've had the time of my life ever since I've been going on the show. "Like the people I've met, for instance. "Friends first. Other Philadelphia girls who come to the show all the time. Joyce Shafer and Carole Higbee and Mary Ann Cuff and Lois and Barbara Trott, the twins. You should hear the phone ringing all the time in our house now7. My father says it sounds like a Bell Telephone Exchange office. How life has changed "And stars! I've met Roger Smith on the show — he's so cute, such a doll. And Pat Boone. Annette Funicello. Johnny Mathis. Connie Francis. James Garner. The Teddy Bears — Phil, Marshall and Annette. And Fabian. I even danced with Fabian. "And, of course, there's Dick. "And how can I tell how great I think he is, all that he's done for me? "Like the time I went to the hospital, for instance. . . ." The time was December. 1958. Myrna's bad leg was beginning to bother her. A doctor recommended corrective surgery on the knee-cap. Myrna's first question was, "How long will I have to be in bed?" The doctor told her, "A few weeks in the hos- pital— then a few months at home, two, maybe even three." That afternoon, after the show, Myrna told Dick about the operation. He took her into his office, behind the studio, and closed the door. "When's the operation?" he asked her. "Day after tomorrow," Myrna said. "I go to the hospital tomorrow, and then, the next morning, the doctor operates." Dick took her hand. "I guess this is the time for a nice speech from me," he said, softly. "Well . . . I'm not good at making speeches, Myrna. But let me tell you this: I wish you all the luck in the world. I know you'll come through with everything all right. I have faith. I want you to have faith, too." He leaned over, and kissed her on the cheek. "Good luck," he said, again, " — and hurry back to us." The next day, on the air, Dick told a nationwide audience about Myrna and the operation. "She'll be away from us for a little while," he said, "but if you'd like to keep in touch with her, just drop her a postcard every once in a while. I think she'd appreciate that. . . ." "And do you know what happened, just s150 FOR YOU! Fill in the form below (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) as soon as you've read all the stories in this issue. Then mail it to us right away. Promptness counts. Three $10 winners will be chosen from each of the following areas — on a basis of the date and time on your postmark: Eastern states; Southern states; Midwestern states; Rocky Mountain and Pacific states; Canada. And even if you don't earn $10, you'll be glad you sent this ballot in— because you're helping us pick the stories you'll really love. MAIL TO: MODERN SCREEN POLL, BOX 2291, GRAND CENTRAL STATION, N. Y. 17, N. Y. Please circle the box to the left of the one phrase which best answers each question: 1. I LIKED ERROL FLYNN: rj] more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all am not very familiar with him I READ: E all of his story 0 part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: T super-completely E completely E fairly well [JJ very little GO not at all 2. I LIKE TUESDAY WELD: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little Jl! not at all ID am not very familiar with her I READ: E all of her story E part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: S super-completely E completely IT] fairly well E very little E not at all 3. I LIKE DEBBIE REYNOLDS: E more than almost any star (TJ a lot E fairly well S very little E not at all [J] am not very familiar with her I LIKE GLENN FORD: E more than almost any star [JJ a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with him I READ: E all of their story E part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: E super-completely E completely E fairly well E very little E not at all 4. I LIKE CRASH CRADDOCK: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with him I READ: E all of his story E part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: E super-completely E completely E fairly well E very little E not at all 5. I LIKE CATHY CROSBY: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with her I READ: E all of her story E part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: E super-completely E completely E fairly well B very little E not at all 6. I LIKE EVY NORLUND: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little [JJ not at all E am not very familiar with her I LIKE JAMES DARREN: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with him _ I READ: Lii all of their story E part E none IT_ HELD MY INTEREST: T super-completely E completely E fairly well E very little E not at all 7. I LIKE GIA SCALA: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am no_t very familiar withjier I READ: E all of her story [JJ part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: E super-completely E completely _3i fairly well E very little E not at all 8. I LIKE JEAN SIMMONS: E more than almost any star E a lot fairly well j_i very little E not at all E am not very familiar with her I LIKE STEWART GRANGER: E more than almost any star E a lot from what Dick said?" Myrna asked us. "I didn't only get postcards, hundreds and hundreds of them, from people all over the country. But I got fancy cards, bought and homemade. And I got things like bracelets and necklaces. And handkerchiefs, hand- kerchiefs, handkerchiefs — I don't know how many of those I got. "I was in the hospital for a couple of weeks. Then, on Christmas Eve, I was sent home. I was home, recuperating, for fourteen more weeks. I watched the show on TV every day. Boy, came 3:30 and you knew what I was doing — it was stop everything and turn on the set . . . All of the shows were great, I thought. But there was a best show for me, a special show. That was on February 25. It was after five o'clock and nearly the end of the show. All of a sudden — I'll never forget it — Dick stopped everything and reached for a cake somebody was holding. It was a beautiful cake, all lit with candles. 'Today,' Dick said, 'is Myrna Horowitz' birthday.' Then he looked straight into the camera and said, 'Happy Birthday, Myrna.' I felt kind of funny, lying there in my bed, having Dick talk to me. I even felt kind of funny crying in a room, all alone. But as I kept looking at that cake, and at Dick, I didn't care. I just sat up in my bed and, as if I were right there in the middle of the studio, I said, 'Thank you, Dick' — just like that. Dick's been wonderful "Another time I'll never forget," Myrna goes on, "was the party Dick and the kids gave for me the first day I was allowed to get out of bed. It was at Palumbo's res- taurant. It was a surprise. There was din- ner at Palumbo's. And then, later, Dick took us all to the movies, to see Ricky Nelson in Rio Bravo ... At first, at Palumbo's, I thought it was just the kids who were giving the party for me. But then, through the main door, in walked Dick. He made believe he didn't see me at first. 'What's this all about,' he asked, keeping a straight face, 'who's here?' One of the girls said, 'Oh, you know — Myrna Horowitz.' 'Myrna Horowitz,' Dick said, 'who's that? There's no such person?' And then he looked over at me and he started to laugh and to say something like, 'Myrna, it's so good to see you again — .' And I started to cry — I cry very easily, you see; at the movies and on TV, in plays, I even cry at happy endings. And there was such emotion between us that night." Myrna paused for a moment as she re- membered that night. "There are so many other things I can tell you about Dick," she said then. "Things he's done for me, reasons I love him so much ... I just wouldn't know where to begin." Her father walked into the sun -porch now. "Phone call, Myrna," he said. He watched his daughter as she rose to leave. "I tell you," he said, "just like the Tele- phone Exchange, this house." Then he turned to us and smiled. "Dick Clark, Dick Clark." he said. "He's become like another member of the family these past couple of years ... I guess you could tell by now that our daughter is crazy about him. And, you know. I like him, too, very much, very much. To me, he's what I'd call a moral therapist. He keeps morality in the kids. He speaks softly to them, kindly. But, from what I understand, he's a hard taskmaster when he doesn't like something the kids might do. I hear, for instance, that he won't put up with kids cutting school just to come to the show. Some of the kids tried to get away with this. But when he found out he banned them from the show, for good. He means business. He's like a good teacher. Well, you remember a good teacher long after you've graduated and grown up and got married and had kids of your own. And that's the way I feel it's going to be with Dick Clark and the children of the present generation who have got to know him . . . Like Myrna." Myrna returned to the sun-porch now. "That was Joyce Shafer, one of the girls I told you about, from the show," she said. "We're going to the movies together in a little while." She sat again. "You know," she said, "on the way to the phone, and back, I was thinking that everything I've been saying so far is to make people who read this story know what I think of Dick. "And I thought: There's Dick himself now, probably sitting at home and looking through some newspapers right now, read- ing more of the things they've been writing about him these past few days, and feeling just awful. "And I thought I'd like to say some- thing to him, while I'm talking; something to maybe make him feel better. "I'd say it to him in person, at the studio, except I guess I'm too shy that way, still. "But, anyway, I'd like to tell him now that I, for one, am behind Dick Clark, no matter what. And I'd like to tell him the same thing he told me when I went to the hospital last December: I wish you all the luck in the world. I know you'll come through with everything all right. 1 have faith. I want you to have faith, too. "All right?" Myrna asked. "Would you please print that in your magazine?" We promised that we would. END Dick stars in Because They're Young. Columbia. GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him I READ: (JJ all of their story 00 part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely 00 completely 00 fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 9. I LIKE ANNETTE FUNICELL0: GQ more than almost any star 00 a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with her 1 READ: GO all of her story 00 part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 00 super-completely 00 completely 00 fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 10. I LIKE SAMMY DAVIS, JR.: GO more than almost any star 00 a lot 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him 1 READ: 00 all of his story 00 part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely 00 completely 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all 11. I LIKE JAMES ARNESS: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him I READ: GO all of his story 00 part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely [i] completely GO fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 12. I LIKE DICK CLARK: GO more than almost any star 00 a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him 1 READ: 00 all of his story 00 part Gil none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely 00 completely 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all 13. I LIKE SANDRA DEE: 00 more than almost any star 00 a lot 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all 00 am not very familiar with her I READ: GO all of her story 00 part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 00 super-completely 00 completely GO fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 14. I LIKE EVELYN RUDIE: GO more than almost any star 00 a lot 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with her 1 READ: 00 all of her story 00 part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 00 super-completely 00 completely 00 fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 15. I LIKE TROY DONAHUE: GO more than almost any star 00 a lot GO fairly well 00 very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him I READ: GO all of his story 00 part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 00 super-completely 00 completely 00 fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 16. The stars I most want to read about are: (3) (!) (2) . (3) . AGE NAME . ADDRESS CITY ZONE STATE .1 Sta-Puf rinses new f luffiness nto all your washables! Y"ou"ll be amazed at the softness that Sta-PufT Rinse restores to wash-hardened fabrics! Just add Sta-Puf to your final rinse, and bath towels fluff up almost double in thickness. Ordinary woolen sweaters feel like cashmere, muslin sheets like expensive percale! 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M onroeC hemicalC ompany QUINCY, ILLINOIS MARCH. 1960 AMERICA'S GREATEST MOVIE MAGAZINE STORIES Debbie Reynolds 19 Frustration by Bob Thomas Robert Blake 22 Biography of a Beatnik Boy by Ed DeBlasio Elvis Presley 24 Happy Valentine's Day from Elvis Elizabeth Taylor Eddie Fisher 26 I Don't Want to Leave You, Eddie by Earl Wilson Diane Baker 28 The Nice Girl by Doug Brewer Pamela Lincoln Darryl Hickman 30 A Real Swinging Shower, and an Old-Fashioned Wedding by Terry Davidson lana Turner 34 Lana In Love! A Louella Parsons' Scoop Pat Boone 36 "I Never Feel Sure About My Marriage" by Daniel Stern Diane Varsi 38 Last Photos of Diane Varsi by Hugh Burrell Brigitte Bordot Jacques Charrier 44 The Truth About Brigitte Bardot's Marriage Janet Leigh Tony Curtis 48 Daddy's Pictures Always Say "I Love You" by Janet Leigh as told to William Tusher Gene Barry 50 In The Shadows Behind Bat Masterson: A Broken Wing, A Shattered Dream, A Woman in Love by Lou Larkin SPECIAL FEATURES 41 Should I Go Steady? Elizabeth Taylor 57 A Special Report From Liz' White Prison FEATURETTES Michael London 17 Michael Landon's Tale of the Cat Joan Crawford 18 The Visitor William Bendix 54 The Babe and the Batboy DEPARTMENTS Louella Parsons 9 Eight-Page Gossip Extra 4 The Inside Story 6 New Movies 70 March Birthdays 72 Disk Jockey's Quiz 73 $150 For You Cover Photograph from Wagner-International Photos, Inc. Other Photographers' Credits on Page 53 DAVID MYERS, editor SAM BLUM, managing editor SHIRLEY LAIKEN, promotion director TERRY DAVIDSON, story editor LINDA OLSHEIM, production editor ED DeBLASIO, special correspondent BEVERLY LINET, contributing editor ERNESTINE R. COOKE, ed. assistant GENE H0YT, research director MICHAEL LEFCOURT, art editor HELEN WELLER, west coast editor DOLORES M. SHAW, asst. art editor MARIO GUILIAN0, photo research LUPITA RODRIGUEZ, photo research SHELDON BUCHANSKY, reader service EUGENE WITAL, photographic art AUGUSTINE PENNETTO, cover FERNANDO TEXIDOR, art director POSTMASTER: Please send notice on Form 3579 to 321 West 44 Street, New York 36, New York MODERN SCREEN. Vol. 54. No. 3. March. 1960. Puhlished Monthly ,.i publication: at Washington and South Axes.. Dunellen. N. J. Executive .\vcnue New York 17. N. Y. Dell Subscription Service: 321 W. 44th St.. New Yi ,,1'ti.e '-'I No l-aSalle St.. Chicago. 11!. Albert P ~ Executive Vko-rrfMlrnt: William I". Callahan. J Dell Publishing Co.. Inc. Office and editorial offices. 750 Third [. Y. Chicago advertising Publisher; Helen Meyer. President: Paul R. Lillv. . Vice-President: Harold Clark. Nice President-Advertising Di- rector Published simultaneously in the Dominion of I anada. International vopyright secured under the provisions of the revised Convention for the protection of Literary .mil Artistic \\ orks All rights reserved under the Buenos Aires Convention Single copy price 25c in C. S. A. and Possessions an.| « anada. .Mih-c nption in U. S. A. and Possessions and Canada $2 one vear. $4 tin two years. JC-ii three years. Subscription lor Pan American and t. .reign countries. $1 sO a year Second class postage paid at Dunellen. New Jersey, t opynght 1"mi by Dell Publishing Co.. Inc. Printed in U S A The Publishers assume no responsibility for the return of unsolicited material. Trademark Xo. 596800. THEY WANTED-SO MUCH-TO LOVE EACH OTHER BUT BETWEEN THEM, LIKE A WALL, WAS A FATHER'S SHAMELESS PAST AND A MOTHER'S POSSESSIVE LOVE 1 '■ AND A BOY, WHOSE STRANGE SECRET THE WHOLE TOWN KNEW... TOO WELL! METRO-GOLDWYN-MAYER presents mm R0RER1 'MITCHUM- ELEANOR PARKER GEORGE PEPPARD-GEORGE HAMILTON * EVERETT SLOANE-LUANA PATTEN Screen Play by HARRIET FRANK, Jr. and IRVING RAVETCH • in C nemaScope And METSOC0L0R Directed by VINCENTE Ml NNELLI • Produced by EDMUND GRAINGER NOW- TOTAL RELIEF FROM PERIODIC DISTRESS FEMICIN TABLETS Hospital-tested, prescription-type formula provides total treatment in a single tablet! igff: ho pHuvup&Bw vadtd. ! Worked even when others failed! Now, through a revolutionary discovery of medical science, a new, prescription-type tab- let provides total relief from periodic com- plaints. When cramps and pains strike, FEMICIN'S exclusive ingredients act in- stantly to end your suffering and give you back a sense of well-being. If taken before pain starts — at those first signs of heaviness and distress — further discomforts may never develop. No simple aspirin compound can give you this complete relief. Get FEMICIN at your drugstore today! It must give you greater relief than you have ever experienced or your purchase price will be refunded. For samples and informative booklet, "What You Should Know About Yourself As a Woman!", send 10$ for postage and handling. Box 225, D pt.Dl5, Church St. Sta., N. Y.S,N.Y. I BETTER tSODVCT Want the real truth? Write to INSIDE STORY, Modern Screen, Box 515, Times Square P.O., N.Y. 36, N.Y. The most interesting letters will appear in this column. Sorry, no personal replies. 9 Aside from the comedians and the older character actors, are there any top male stars in Hollywood who have stayed married to the first and only woman in their life for more than ten years — and without any separations either? — T. R., Staten Island, N. Y. A Not too many. But Bill Ho/den, Gor- don MacRae, Joel McCrea, Richard Widmark, James Stewart, James Cagney, Gene Barry, Van Johnson, Burt Lancaster, Van Heflin, Louis Jourdan, Arthur Kennedy, Robert Ryan, Wendell Corey, MacOonafd Carey, Jerry Lewis, Lloyd Bridges and Clint Walker fit into this category. Other old marrieds like Gary Cooper, Danny Kaye, Ray Milland, Spencer Tracy and Bob Mitchum—have stayed married but skirted the divorce courts on several occasions. 9 Could you tell me Zsa Zsa Gobor secret of having such beautifully groomed hair? I've never seen her with a wisp out of place. _r p., Odessa, Texas A Wigs. Zsa Zsa has a dozen. 9 Who hold Hollywood's record for the most husbands and/or wives? —A. S., Reno, Nev. A Martha Roye has said "I do" six limes. Clark Gable leads the men with 5 marriages to his credit. 9 Will you tell me who is the wealthier — Liz Taylor or Debbie Reynolds? — E. F., Cincinnati, Ohio A Liz — by virtue of her share of the late Mike Todd's estate. 9 Is it serious between Frank Sinatra and dancer Juliette Prowse? Is there any possibility they will marry ? — G. A., Birmingham, Ala. A As villi all Frank's romances — serious at the moment, but Frank's moments are all short lived. 9 Is Lee Farr, co-star of Robert Tay- lor's The Detectives, any relation to ac- tress Felicia Farr? — L. J., Encino, Calif. A He's the father of her nine year old daughter. Felicia divorced Lee when she got her first film break. 9 If Esther Williams is dating that Doctor LaScola as reported — where does this leave Jeff Chandler ? — M. N., Tacoma, Wash. A Sitting at home nights. 9 Is Bob Hope completely cured of that eye-ailment that bothered him most of last year — or is it a permanent condition ? — B. S., Scranton, Pa. A Bob's eye has improved — but doctors feel it could be a permanent malady un- less he follows their orders and slows down. 9 I read that Gary Merrill left the tour he was on with Bette Davis because he had a picture commitment. Is this really so — or are there other reasons? — D. D., Sioux City, Iowa A Gary who had to report for The Pleasure of His Company was report- edly not enjoying the pleasure of his wife's company. The marriage is shaky again. 9 Is it true that 20th Century-Fox wouldn't give Stephen Boyd the lead opposite Marilyn Monroe in Let's Make Love because they were so furious at him for walking out on The Story of Ruth? —R. K., Muncie, Ind. A Partially. 9 Could you tell me which movie stars have made the list of the ten best-dressed women in America this vear? — B. T., Albany, N. Y. A None. 9 How are such stars as Henry Fonda, June Allyson, Robert Taylor, Betty Hutton, Dennis O'Keefe, etc , doing on TV? Popularity-wise? —P. D., Washington, D. C. A Fine on the Late Show. Their series have failed to recapture their golden days on the big screen. 9 What makes a movie or TV star fight with his studio for a new contract and more money the minute he achieves any kind of popularity — when, just a year ago, he'd have given his right arm for any kind of a break? — S. B.. Hardy. Ark A Short memories — big heads! 9 It's been a whole year since Rock Hudson made Pillow Talk. Since he's the most popular star in Hollywood — what's keeping him from working? —P. G., Oak Ridge, Tenx. A .-1 difference of opinion with Universal- International. They won't allow him to leave the lot for the pictures and plays he wants to do — he doesn't like the scripts they want him to do. 9 Now that Ava Gardner has gotten such good reviews for On The Beach, has she softened her hostile attitude toward the press? — P. K. D., Trenton, N. J. A Only toward the critics that gave her the fine notices. Interviews and photog- raphers are still on her "get lost" list. £ThO Bramble WAS WRITTEN IN TH & BLISTER-HEAT OF FEELINGS AND EXCITATIONS ... IT COULD COME TO THE SCREEN IN NO OTHER WAV ! STARRING Richard Burton Barbara Rush Jack Carson Angie Dickinson James Dunn (The" sensational 'Feathers' of 'Rio Bravo'!) A WARNER BROS, picture TECHNICOLOR® ALSO STARRING I^SS HENRY JON ES- Screenplay by MILTON SPERLING and PHILIP YOR DAN- From the novel by CHARLES MERGENDAHL RjffiM Music Composed and Conducted by LEONARD ROSENMAN • Produced by MILTON SPERLING • Directed by DANIEL PETRIElfcal j WARNER BROS. First in Motion Pictures, Television, Music and Records"] new UNDER-ALL Don't make a move without your "guardian angel"— the dress shield that keeps you confident in com- fort! Elasticized to stay put; $2.75. ONCE MORE, WITH FEELING Yul Brynner Kay Kendall music and madness Gregory Ratoff Geoffrey Toone Maxwell Shaw ■ Yul Brynner is a marvelous symphony con- ductor, but he is an impossible person. If it weren't for his wife (the late Kay Kendall) his temper tantrums would have ruined his career long ago. She smooths the way, faints at appropriate moments, is unfailingly charm- ing. One day while she and Yul's manager, Gregory Ratoff, are out managing his career, Yul prepares to hear a 12-year-old child prodigy (Shirley Ann Field). Shirley, it seems, was the victim of a typographical error. She's 21. This delights Yul, who knows how to turn a private concert into a personal conquest. Unfortunately, when Kay comes home she kicks him out of the house. His career plunges while Kay is falling in love with a college president (she's teaching music at the college). A rich music lover, and orchestra sponsor (Grace Newcombe) agrees to sign Yul to a contract if he can prove that he and Kay have reconciled. Kay arrives at the right time and place (Yul's house) but for the wrong reason. She announces that she wants a divorce. The catch is, they were never legally married. Now Kay wants to get married so that she can get a divorce so that she can marry the presi- dent without having to seem like a fallen woman. Zany's what you call this film, and f un , too . — Tec h nicolor- Columbia . WHO WAS THAT LADY? Tony Curtis Janet Leigh how to save your marriage BarE N-Tchois James Whitmore ■ When Janet Leigh sees Tony Curtis kissing another girl she's off to Reno — or says she is. And all this time she thought she was married to a simple college professor! Tony calls on his old college pal, Dean Martin, now a TV writer, to save him. He convinces Janet that Tony is an undercover FBI agent. Further- more, says Dean, Tony knows the names of all professors working on secret projects. And. of course, he was kissing that girl in the line of duty. Didn't enjoy it a bit. Janet swallows this whole; particularly since Dean has pro- vided Tony with a revolver and an FBI card (props from CBS). But, the prop man un- wisely notifies the FBI. Now that Tony's in Dean's power, Dean ropes him into spending an evening with a couple of chorus girls (Barbara Nichols, Joi Lansing). Loyal Janet runs after Tony (into a Chinese restaurant) to give him his revolver. Janet is accom- panied by FBI agent James Whitmore who plays it cool. In the powder room Janet hears what she considers a plot to assassinate her husband (it's the chorus girls discussing one of Dean's 'proposals') and starts a scuffle with the revolver. A cruising TV-news- unit truck drifts by and Janet tells the world about her brave husband. In the world are some real foreign agents who come after him in the morning. Well, that's marriage for you. — Columbia. THE HYPNOTIC EYE Jacques Bergerac Allison Hayes ■t u 7.:;i Marcia Henderson ij looks could kill . . . Merry Anders Joe Patridge ■ One would think that Jacques Bergerac didn't have to use any hocus-pocus to hypno- tize the ladies, but here he is as the Great Desmond who has an eyeball throbbing with light (not his eyeball but a prop he uses on stage). Ladies come to see the show and then they go home arid do all kinds of terrible things to themselves. (One girl wen4, home and washed her hair in a gas burner — the burner was lit.) Detective Joe Patridge takes his girl. Marcia Henderson, and her friend, Merry Anders, to a Bergerac performance. It looks harmless; Merry volunteers to be hypnotized on stage and Bergerac's beautiful assistant. Allison Hayes, assists her. That night Merry douses herself with acid. Next night Marcia goes back to the theater and pretends to be hypnotized. Bergerac isn't fooled. Anyway, there's a monster in this picture who hates beautiful girls. Is it Bergerac? — Allied Artists. SUDDENLY, LAST SUMMER Katharine Hepburn Elizabeth Taylor violent death abroad Montgomery Clift Albert Dekker Mercedes MacCambridge ■ Grief has turned Katharine Hepburn into an elegant recluse. She lives in a mansion in New Orleans surrounded by memories of her bril- liant son, Sebastian, who died suddenly last summer in Italy. With him when he died was her niece Elizabeth Taylor. Now Elizabeth is in a sanitarium, apparently insane. Miss Hepburn has asked young psychiatrist, Mont- gomery Clift, to perform a frontal lobotomy on Elizabeth in a last attempt to relieve her misery (a lobotomy is a brain operation that kills the disease but renders the patient more or less infantile). As payment Miss Hepburn offers to build a hospital for Clift and his superior, Albert Dekker. It's not that a loboto- my is illegal, it's that the patient must be really hopeless to undergo it. Clift, being an ethical physician, wants to be sure. The trouble is that Elizabeth, despite the fact that she was badly shocked by her cousin Sebastian's death and overwrought by being confined to a sani- tarium, is more or less sane. However, Miss Hepburn is insistent, Albert Dekker wants his hospital and Montgomery Clift must make up his mind. As the mystery of Sebastian's hor- rible death unfolds, it's much easier for Clift to separate the insane from the merely neu- rotic. The movie is beautifully written, exoti- cally imaginative, and essentially the story of a twisted relationship between a mother and her son. — Columbia. NEVER SO FEW in the Burmese hills Frank Sinatra Gina Lollobrigida Peter Lawford Steve McQueen Paul Henreid ■ Captain Frank Sinatra's men do more with less than any other troops in World War II. They are a small group of Allied soldiers, stationed in the hills of Burma. No medical supplies, no doctor (until Peter Lawford is drafted), no artillery support, not even orders. They just keep killing Japanese who nightly raid the camp. Well, Sinatra, being a rugged individualist, is very successful at the sport. However, he must necessarily take a great deal into his own hands and this is what gets him into trouble with the higher-ups. When one of his Burmese soldiers is mortally wounded Sinatra kills him rather than pro- long his death agony. When a Chinese convoy is slaughtered by other Chinese (working for War Lords) Sinatra leads an unauthorized raid into bandit headquarters. This provokes an international incident and Sinatra faces hanging by his own government (us). Also, in Burma proper, is Gina Lollo- brigida, looking luscious as the constant companion and houseguest of rich Paul Hen- reid. She gives Sinatra the cold shoulder (once she gives it to him from the bath- tub) but it's obviously love. They come from different worlds, she keeps telling him. Never mind. Sinatra is an old hand at making it all one world. This movie hops rapidly along to its exciting climax. Metrocolor, MGM. /1mdM: i/tfmafe %nma^t ptxM&nA- 1. Germicidal protection! Norforms are safer and surer than ever! A highly perfected new formula releases antiseptic and germicidal ingredients right in the vaginal tract. The exclusive new base melts at body temperature, forming a powerful protective film that permits long-lasting action. Will not harm delicate tissues. 2. Deodorant protection! Norforms were tested in a hospital clinic and found to be more effective than anything it had ever used. Norforms are deodorant — they eliminate (rather than cover up) embarrassing odors, vet have no "medicine" or "disinfectant'" odor themselves. 3. Convenience! These small vaginal suppositories are so easy and convenient to use. Just insert --no apparatus, miximj or meas- uring. 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Sal rebels, plays in a jazz band or- ganized by his friend James Darren and is much admired by girls (especially Yvonne Craig and Susan Kohner). When his father dies, dutiful Sal enters a seminary. It isn't for him. Despite the bitterness and disappoint- ment of his mother (Celia Lovsky), he takes his drums to New York and, with driving am- bition, works his way up to the big-time. Success ruins his romance with Susan Kohner and, temporarily ruins him (girls, girls, girls — parties, parties, parties) ! And one day police- men find marijuana in his overcoat pocket. After ninety days in jail and months with- out work, Sal makes a comeback — looking startlingly unchanged. YouH hear some good music, and swinging singing by songstress Anita O'Day. — Columbia. THE GAZEBO corpse in the house Debbie Reynolds Glenn Ford Carl Reiner John McGiver Mabel Albertson ■ Broadway star Debbie Reynolds once made the mistake of posing for photos in the nude. Now her husband, TV director Glenn Ford, is paying for it. Blackmail. Ford would do anything to protect his wife's reputation; he'd even commit murder. That's where the gazebo comes in and where the high-pitched hilarity of this movie goes distinctly off-key. A gazebo is a round open-air platform with a high roof. Ladies like to put one in the garden and serve tea there. Ford would drink tea there if he weren't upset by the fact that a corpse is buried under it. He buried it. This whole movie revolves around Glenn's nit- wit attempts first to pay off the blackmailer without making Debbie suspicious, and sec- ondly to turn that blackmailer into the afore- mentioned corpse. Everybody's so gay about it you'd think murder was almost as good a game as Monopoly. — MGM. RECOMMENDED MOVIES BEN-HUR (MGM): The magnificent spectacle of Ben-Hur opens with a prologue of dazzling beauty — scenes of the birth of Christ — and moves into the conflict between the Judean prince Ben-Hur (Charlton Heston) and Roman Tribune Messala (Stephen Boyd). Boyd finally condemns Heston to galley slav- ery, puts his mother (Martha Scott) and sister (Kathy O'Donnell) into a dungeon. Jack Hawkins, as a Roman Commander who rescues Heston, and Haya Harareet, an ex-slave who loves him, figure prominently in this story of the triumph of the new kind of love taught by Christ. HAPPY ANNIVERSARY (United Artists) : David Niven and Mitzi Gaynor are successful, chic, proud parents (of Kevin Coughlin, Patty Duke) and happily married. Happily, that is, until David's in-laws give them a 13th anniversary present — a TV set. An en- raged David tells how it all really began in a happily unmarried state fourteen years ago. Well! AM that follows is complicated but good fun. HOUND-DOG MAN (Cinemascope, 20th-Fox) : Fabian wants to go hunting with hound-dog man Stuart Whitman. Fabian's folks, Arthur O'Connell and Betty Field, finally let him go, with misgivings. The hunters meet Carol Lynley (bachelor Whitman likes her), find a pal, on the trail, with a broken leg. After the leg-setting, there's a barn party where Fabe's father proves to everybody he's pretty brave, and to Fabian that home isn't such a bad place, after all. This is Fabian's first picture. MODERN SCREEN'S 8 PAGE GOSSIP EXTRA by HOLLYWOOD'S GREATEST COLUMNIST Sam Spiegel (standing), producer of Suddenly, Last Summer, stops to congratulate Liz Taylor (center) on her wonderful performance. Louella, Jimmy McHugh, Liz' mother, and Eddie Fisher also consider it a triumph. continued Though they seldom go to Hollywood parties, the Clark Gables attended the one for Suddenly. That charmer, Rock Hudson, was attentive t( Doiis Vidor, ividow of the late Charles Vidor So in love, Jimmy Darren and Evy Norlund, will wed soon. Comedians Milton Berle and Danny Kaye amuse Mrs. Kaye. Although Liz teas still weak from he pneumonia, she gave off a wonderful r r recent adiance. Liz Taylor's Happiest Night The most star-glittery night of the Holly- wood holiday season was the turn-out of big names for the 'dressy' showing of Suddenly, Last Summer at the Screen Directors Guild, fol- lowed by supper at Chasen's. Although she had been a very sick girl in New York with pneumonia, Elizabeth Tay- lor was able to fly out for her picture, with Eddie Fisher, of course. And what a radiance Liz gave off, arrayed in a cloth-of-gold gown sprinkled with rhine- stones and with real diamonds around her neck and wrists. At Chasen's, we sat with Elizabeth's mother and father and later Liz and Eddie joined Jimmy McHugh, Joseph Levine, myself and her parents. On closer look, Liz was still very pale from her serious illness and it was hardly a sur- prise that she also had her doctor, Dr. Rex Kennamer, with her. But she was -ery gra- cious and pleased at the compliments she received on her really wonderful performance. (Right here I'd like to say the Tennessee Williams' story. Suddenly, Last Summer, which Sam Spiegel produced, is one of the best-acted films I've ever seen, a triumph for Liz, Kath- arine Hepburn and Monty Clift— but oh, oh, oh — the subject matter! It's a shocker!) Elizabeth said to me, "I can hardly wait to get to Palm Springs and sit in the sun and rest. I feel quite weak. But as soon as I get my strength back, Eddie and I will return to New York for BufterfieJd 8." This is the movie in which Eddie has a big role with his wife. At both the showing and the supper I saw Rosalind Russell, that always effervescent stunner — wearing the latest fashion, a real dog-collar choker of pearls and diamonds — and having a ball greeting old friends after several months in New York. Two other 'returnees,' Kay and Clark Gable, just back from Rome, were very much present — although The King and his Queen sel- dom show up for social affairs. Had quite a chat with Rock Hudson (he was with Doris Vidor, widow of the late director Charles Vidor) and Rock told me he was a very disappointed boy that his studio, Universal-International, wouldn't let him co- star with Marilyn Monroe in Let's Fall in Love. He said. "Of course I wanted to do this picture with Marilyn — and I am so sorry I can't get permission." Mary Benny looked like a fashion plate in a stunning red dress, and she was with Sylvia and Danny Kaye. Gary Cooper and Rocky, with their daughter Maria, dropped by Chasen's just long enough to congratulate Elizabeth, as they were planing out at the crack of dawn the following morning for the debut of the Henry Fords' daughter at Grosse Pointe. The Milton Series, the Mervyn Le Roys — oh, just everybody was there for what must have been Elizabeth Taylor's happiest night in Hollywood in a long time. Mickey Rooney ever per- go on if he ivas 'loaded?' The TV Mess of Mickey Rooney And, I'm on sort of a sub-Soap Box about the Mickey Rooney-Jack Paar TV show debacle. Don't think I'm taking Mickey's part. He had no business showing up when he'd been 'celebrating' a marriage anniversary — or anything else — to make a public appear- ance. But if he was as 'loaded' as Paar insists — for heavens sake, why was Mickey ever per- mitted to step in front of a camera? It was certainly 'careless' on someone's part to let Mickey go on. My final thought is that the whole thing was a mess — which might have been avoided with just an iota of common sense on somebody' s part. And if that shoe fits, Mr. Paar, you can wear it. Debbie's a dear where Glenn Ford is concerned— but he feels more like patting her head than holding her hand. To him, she's the 'little girl next door.' Hard-to-Kill Rumor Don't get excited because Debbie Reyn- olds and Glenn Ford walked into a Thalian club meeting at the Beverly Hills Hotel arm in arm. They met accidentally in the lobby, Debbie having driven herself from her home alone — and ditto Glenn. He has steadfastly refused to discuss either his divorce from Eleanor Powell (for which I admire him) or all the rumors which have linked his name with Debbie's. But not long ago, Glenn, feeling that he was speaking off the record said, "Debbie seems like a little girl to me. There's never been even the slightest romantic flare be- tween us. I would feel foolish. Like getting romantic ideas about the little girl next door whom you've watched grow up from grade school to high school." In other words, Debbie's a dear where Glenn is concerned — but he feels more like patting her head than holding her hand. Debbie, as well, has persistently denied any flame between herself and her co-star of sev- eral gay comedies. But it's really one of the hardest-to-kill rumors that ever cropped up in our town. A to Tony Franciosa Take it easy. Slow down — Stop — Look — and Listen : You are at a stage in your screen career, with two hits in release. Career and Story on Page One — which could see you as the new big movie rage of 1960. After a slow start, you are now breathing the rarefied air. It is also a very dangerous and unsettling spot to be in. Important things in your life — for instance your marriage to Shelley Win- ters— are sure to be affected. In fact, I have heard disturbing rumors about you and Shel- ley which I hope are not true. Or, if true, that you will evaluate what may seem today like big problems. Frankly, Tony, you have always been a bit of a problem boy since your advent into Hollywood from a successful stage career. You have had several headlined fights (literally) with the press — one that had serious conse- quences. You are not given to easy friend- ships or to understanding the other fellow's point of view. But, believe me, you are a fine actor. From here on in you are sure to reap all the good things that come with success. It's just im- portant to not reap too many of the bad ones. People who know you well are a bit afraid you may be becoming a little off balance in your perspective. Taking it big, in other words. But please forget that chip on your shoulder and make sure your hat band still fits that handsome head of yours. You have so very much to give in the line of talent — don't give yourself a personal clip on the chin. In the most friendly feeling may I repeat — take it easy — stop — look — and listen. That chip on Tony's shoulder may af- fect his marriage to Shelley Winters. continued I nominate for STARDOM James Shigeta . . . which may come as a bit of a sur- prise. But not since the days when the young Sessue Hayakawa completely charmed Ameri- can movie fans has a Japanese actor regis- tered as compellingly as this tall, dark and handsome Japanese. I caught Jimmy first when he was appear- ing in Las Vegas in the revue Shirley Mac- Lai lie's husband, Steve Parker, imported from Honolulu to the New Frontier. I was amazed at the way Shigeta scored as a singer and dancer but I was even more amazed when I saw his Columbia picture The Crimson Ki- mono to see what a fine dramatic actor he is. His second Hollywood picture will be Walk Like a Dragon for Paramount and he will be starred. Personally, he is a most gracious and polite young man with excellent manners. After I had written a glowing tribute to him in my newspaper column, he called to ask if he might drop by to thank me. Even more handsome off-stage than on, Jim- my arrived bearing a beautiful bouquet of gardenias and violets from his native Hawaii. "These are inadequate to express my appreci- ation," he said, "but I am deeply grateful for the interest you have shown in my career — and in me." Oh, what a charmer this boy is! As we talked, I discovered he has a won- derful sense of humor in addition to his other assets. He also loves music, American va- riety, and plays the piano as though he had been born in a band. "I want to make my home in Hollywood," he told me before he left, "everyone here is so kind and helpful." He'll have to go travel- ing, however, after he finishes at Para- mount, for he has a big role with Marlon Brando coming up in The Ugly American to be shot in the Near East. Look out, Brando, you'll have your work cut out for you. A Name for Audrey and Mel's Baby If you can think of a name for a baby that goes well with Ferrer, Audrey Hepburn and Mel Ferrer will be glad to listen! I was very amused when the Ferrers came calling on me so happy and excited about that long-desired baby that they're having one of the few disagreements of their married life over a name. These two who are known as a couple of love birds who never argue (as a matter of fact, Mel treats Audrey like a treasured child or a delicate piece of Dresden China) are pretty definite about this name business — and pretty far apart. If 'it' is a girl, Audrey is holding out for Kathleen (her middle name). Mel's solid for Maria. If 'it' is a boy — Audrey wants Ian — for her brother. "I don't like Kathleen — and I don't like Ian," laughed Mel. "This is getting serious.' "Well, I don't like Maria," kidded Audrey so slender she looked like anything but an expectant mother in a bright red suit from Paris. But one point the Ferrers meet on is they want this baby more than anything else in the world, Audrey particularly, as Mel has four children by two previous marriages. Audrey was brokenhearted last year when she lost an expected baby. She and Mel were in Switzerland at the time and when Deborah Kerr returned to Hollywood she told me, "I've never seen anyone cry as Audrey did when she lost that baby. My home in Switzerland is near hers and I went to be with her during this difficult time. She tried so hard to be brave, but unexpectedly, she would just burst into tears. And this went on for days until the doc- tor told her that there was no physical reason that she might not again expect a baby." The Ferrer baby will be born in the USA al- though Mel and Audrey will go to Europe first where Mel will direct Blood and the Rose in Italy. PARTY of the month There's one department in which the former glamour queens of the screen have it all over the present day crop — and that is in giving parties. Proof of this was brought vividly to mind when Sonja Henie returned to Holly- wood after a year in Europe and gave one of those all-out parties for which she, and other movie queens of several years past, used to be We don't hardly 'git them kind' no more, nc more. For the cocktail party (from six to nine\ Sonja opened her beautiful Beverly Hills home and gardens. The home is so luxurious and the landscap- ing so beautiful, it's more of a minor palace than a residence. And what a day and evening Sonja had for her fete. Although it was mid-winter, the weather was so warm that roses were bloom- ing everywhere, mingling with the December poinsettias. As late as 8:30, the beautifully gowned feminine guests were sitting around the swimming pool without wraps. Sonja's jewels, of course, are famous and fabulous — but on this occasion she was much more proud of the new paintings she has ac- quired. On exhibition were a Rouault, several by Picasso, and others of the modem school, which she and her handsome husband Niels Omstad just recently purchased. Against the musical background of a strum- ming Hawaiian orchestra, I chatted with Ron- ald Reagan and his wife. Nancy Davis, who confided the music made them homesick for Honolulu where they had recently vaca- tioned. Norma Shearer looked as beautiful as when she herself was a top screen star, in a bright red dress. Mildred and Harold Lloyd were there from their neighboring show place. Virginia Mayo, whom I've not seen in ages, looked lovely in a green cocktail dress. Jeanne Crain (Mrs. Paul Brinkman), who is again expecting, wore a blue maternity suit. Although there were about 150 guests pres- ent, Sonja wailed, "Everybody changes his telephone number all the time. I didn't get half the people I wanted." Norma Shearer (left) wore a glamorous satin dress and hostess Sonja Henie displayed her famous jewels-. Reginald Gardiner's 'deadpan' story-telling found a reall receptive audience in Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Reagai Jeanne Crain man are happi band Paul Brink- their sixth child! Russ Tamblyn was thrilled at being able to play a role in Cimarron, even though it means serving three extra weeks of his Army duty. 3. I'm on my SOAP BOX I'm really burning over these criticisms of some people who haven't bothered to get the facts straight — or to get facts at all — over RUSS Tamblyn's 'getting out of the Army' to play a role in Cimarron. One woman, who states she is speaking for six mothers, writes that their indignation knows no bounds that a movie star can get out of the service for a mere motion picture, when their sons can't. And some TV commentators who should know better have popped off along the same lines. Now here are the tacts: Russ is nof out of the Army. Nor has he received preferential treatment. The three weeks he was given off to make the MGM picture with Glenn Ford and Maria Schell will be added to his dis- charge date — meaning Russ will serve three weeks at the end of his term of Army duty. Secondly, if any young boy deserves a hand for the way he has overcome initial difficulties in the service, it is Russ. When he was first inducted, it is no secret that the discipline and hard training was rough on him. He became ill on several occasions. It was feared for a time that he might have a nervous breakdown. But Russ, himself, insisted on remaining in the service and doing his stint of duty just as other young men in his age bracket were doing. As time went along, he was no longer troubled with nervousness or bad health. His commanding officers expressed themselves as very pleased with his conduct and his effort to serve. If anything — Russ deserves commendation and praise for the extra effort he made — not snide criticism from those who do not know the truth. Love in Capital Letters How guickly these youngsters grow up to marriageable age! But it still comes as a shock to me when one of these 'little girls' calls to tell me she's getting married. Pretty Luana Patten, cavorting in pig- tails such a short time ago, sounded so grown up and happy when she telephoned that she and young actor John Smith were tying the knot within a few weeks. John Smith's real name is Robert Van Orden and I've never been able to riddle why he changed such a high-sounding name (and a very good one for an actor) to plain John Smith. When I commented on this in my news- paper column, John called to say, "I did it because 'John Smith' is so plain it's almost startling for an actor." So I kidded Luana when I asked her, "Will you call yourself Mrs. Van Orden or Mrs. Smith?" "Oh, Mrs. Smith," she laughed. "John has changed his name legally." Both these young people are doing very well in their careers, John on the Laramie TV show and Luana working with Harriet and Ozzie Nelson. "I'll remember this as one of the most won- derful years of my life," Luana enthused. "Everything good has happened in my work — and then along came iove." and believe me she put that word "love" in capital letters in her happy voice. It was not long ago that pretty Luana Patten was cavorting around in pig- tails. Now she's engaged to John Smith. 14 Even though Katharine Hepburn didn't like the script, she may get an Award. Sandra, Tony, and the Diet No high school freshman co-ed was ever as thrilled as Sandra Dee over her 'blind date' with Tony Perkins. "We've never met," the pretty blonde Sandra confided, "and, well, what girl wouldn't be excited about going out with Tony?" In Sandra's set, I guess Mr. Per- kins rates as an 'older man.' I didn't happen to catch them out on this date, but Tony must have liked Sandra. I saw them on a 'repeat' at Kathryn Gray- son's opening at the Moulin Rouge and Tony looked quite smitten. P.S. — Sandra told me that never, never again would she over-dose herself with Epsom Salts to keep her figure. I scolded her about that — and she agreed with me that she was wrong. Sandra Dee was thrilled when Tony Perkins phoned her for a 'blind date.' Superstitious Kim Novak may not be sure of it herself, but the odds are that she'll marry Dick Quine in 1960. Sid Luft says that his wife Judy Garland is going to come out of her current illness a 'very slender girl again.' PERSONAL OPINIONS Don't get the idea that it was Rock Hud- son who turned down Let's Fall in Love with Marilyn Monroe. Rock was very upset — he told me so — when his U-I bosses nixed the picture at 20th even though Marilyn had prom- ised to make a movie for Rock's company if she could get him. . . . What a bit of irony it will be if Katharine Hepburn is up for an Oscar for her out- standing performance in Suddenly, Last Sum- mer. Katharine didn't like Tennessee Williams' story, didn't like working with the other actors (Elizabeth Taylor and Montgomery Clift), nor being directed by Joe Mankiewicz. Wonder why she ever accepted the part — which jolly well may win her the Academy Award. . . . Shelley Winters is an unhappy girl. Not only is she having her problems with Tony Franciosa, but she deeply misses her little girl who remained in school in the East while Shelley was making Reach for Tomorrow (formerly Let No Man Write My Epitaph) in Hollywood. On top of everything she fell very ill with a near attack of pneumonia. . . . What a lot of illnesses! Elizabeth Tay- lor's personal physician. Dr. Rex Kennamer, who flew East when Liz was hospitalized with pneumonia, told me that this was one of the most critical illnesses of her life. . . . Judy Garland is another victim of sick- ness. She and Sid Luft planed East to see some shows and have a good time when Judy was unexpectedly stricken with a bad case of hepatitis and was in a hospital for two months. One favorable thing about it — Sid says Judy is going to come out of this illness a "very slender girl again. . . ." Kim Novak, a very, very superstitious girl, lost two 'prop' wedding rings making Sfrangers When We Meet and worried that this might be a "subconscious resistance to marriage"! Even so, I bet she marries Dick Quine in 1960. . . . continued Even when Mickey Rooney asks, Zsa Zsa isn't telling her age. Millie Perkins doesn't like publicity, es- pecially concerning her Dean Stockwell. The Fabian-Elvis contro- versy rages. Who's cutest? A thirty-nine-year-old fan from Switzerland believes she speaks for people in her age bracket ichen slu makes a request to hear about {left to right) Karl Maiden, Alec Guinness, Henry Fonda, Fred Astaire LETTER BOX How can Hollywood be so careless of real talent? asks Roy Hehberger, Williamsville, New York. What has happened to George Nader? Is he on a 'black list'? Where ever did you get that idea? George is busy on TV these days having gone into a new series Man and the Challenge following Ellery Queen. But where movies are concerned, George is hold- ing out for an important picture. No more pot- boilers. . . . Your glasses must have been smudged with smog when you said that Fabian is more handsome than Elvis Presley, snaps Vir- ginia Minger, Pottstown, Pa., (and at least ten other fans made a similar complaint!) Mrs. Roy Pine. Chesapeake, Ohio, is even more indignant: Presley is Prince, the others just Phonies — incJuding Phabian! All right, I agree that Elvis looks great with his new army hair cut in his photos from Germany. . . . From Zurich, Switzerland, comes a most intelligent letter in excellent English (and typewritten) from Leni Egli: Both you, Miss Parsons, and Modern Screen make a big mis- take in cafering so much to the preferences of teenagers. I am 39 years old and there are many fans in the world in my age bracket. We want so much to read about Fred As- taire, Eli Wallach, Karl Maiden, Alec Guinness, Henry Fonda. But all we get are Debbie and Liz and Eddie and Ricky Nelson and some character named 'Hook- ie.' Why not a department in the magazine devoted to actors — nof rock n' rollers? How about it, David Myers . . . ° Never was I more ashamed and shocked than I was at Anatomy Of A Murder, writes Mrs. J. J. Brown, San Diego. Nothing but sex, sex, sex! I don't agree with you. While I grant there was some ultra frank dialogue, I do not think this picture catered to sensational- ism. Its approach was almost clinical. Holly- wood films cannot stay forever in swaddling clothes. . . . I'm sick of the names Liz and Debbie, snaps Theresa Townes, Chicago, III. Let's hear about the talent. Don't be quite so snippy, Theresa. You may be sick of Elizabeth Tay- lor and Debbie Reynolds — but don't sell them short on talent. Liz was up for an Oscar in Cat On a Hof Tin Hoof and Giant (and may be up for another in Suddenly, Last Summer^. And Debbie is proving herself a deft light comedienne in all her films or haven't you read the critics . . . ? Connie Van der Voors, Duluth, asks: Last year Millie Perkins was receiving more publicity than any newcomer in Hollywood. In Diary of Anne Frank she proved she rated all the fuss. Now nothing about Millie? What's happened? Is she being temperamen- tal? No. Millie is a shy girl and doesn't like the spotlight, particularly where her romance with Dean Stockwell is concerned. But 20th is biding its time about her next picture, feeling Millie is a future big star and must have just the right story. . . . How old is Zsa Zsa Gabor? is Mrs. Vera Session's loaded question from Dallas. Even if I knew (which I don't) I wouldn't answer that one, Mrs. S. Zsa Zsa is really in the 'ageless' bracket. . . . A cute letter from "Missy" Tangier, Detroit. who wants to know if movie stars spank their children. (I gather from the printing that Missy is about seven to ten years of age). Well, Missy — all I can say is that some stars spank their children (but never too hard) and some don't. But on the whole, the stars insist on discipline and well-behaved youngsters around the house. . . . That's all for this month. Michael Landon's TALE OF THE CAT Dodie and I met on a blind date. All I knew about her was that she was a widow with a young son, and that I wanted to see her again. When I arrived for the date. I got my first shock — Dodie likes cats. At that moment she had six. They ranged from a large elderly Siamese named Pogo through various half- breeds to a stray named Dormouse. As cats go. they were nice: well-bred, friendly. But I detested cats. I did like Dodie. though, so I kept my sentiments to myself at first. Later on it became a terrible prob- lem— because I wanted to marry her. I never was able to get up the courage to tell her I didn't like cats, so we drifted along having dat°s and falling in love. Finally, we had a terrible argument over something I quite unconnected with cats I . and we split up. I was dreadfully unhappy, and as it turned out, so was Dodie. She stood it for a week. Then when it began to seem that I wasn't going to give in. she took action. I got a telegram saying POGO VERY ILL COME AT ONCE, signed Dormouse, Of course, I thought it was only a gag. but my pride had been saved by her making the first move, so I hustled over at once — and you know what? Pogo really was ill! He was in the Small Animal Hospital and not allowed any visitors! Once Dodie got me back by a clever excuse, she never let me go again. Pogo was pronounced 'con- valescent'— so we piled the rest of the cats into the car and took them to the kennels, sent Dodie's son to stay with friends, and we took off for Mexico where we were married. We got back. Pogo was well. What miracles love can work: and I was glad to have him. I complicated things more, gave Dodie a new Sia- mese for a wedding gift, and bought a puppy for my new son. Today we have eleven cats, plus the puppy, and a look in Dodie's eye that says no end is in sight! Woman's 'Difficult Days' and Her Perspiration Problems Doctors tell why her underarm perspiration problems increase during monthly cycle. What can be done about it? Science has now discov- ered that a thing called "emotional perspiration" is closely linked to a woman's '"difficult days." So much so that during this monthly cvcle her underarm perspi- ration problems are not onlv greater but more embarrassing. You see. "emotional perspiration" is caused by special glands. They're bigger and more powerful. And when they're stimulated they liter- all}- pour out perspiration. It is this kind of perspiration that causes the most offensive odor. New Scientific Discovery Science has found that a woman needs a special deodorant to counter- act this "emotional perspiration" and stop offensive stains and odor. And now it's here ... a deodorant with an exclusive ingredient specifically formulated to maintain effectiveness even at those times of tense emotion . . . during "difficult days" when she is more likely to offend. It's wonderful new ARRID CREAM Deodorant, now fortified with amaz- ing Perstop,* the most remarkable antiperspirant ever developed! So effective, vet so gentle. Used daily, ARRID with Perstop* penetrates deep into the pores and stops "emotional perspiration" stains and odor . . . stops it as no roll-on. spray or stick could ever do ! You rub ARRID CREAM in . . . vou rub perspiration out. Rub ARRID CREAM in . . . rub odor out. Twice as effective as roll-ons Doctors have proved ARRID is more effective than any cream, twice as effective as any roll-on or spray tested. And yet ARRID CREAM Deodorant is so gentle, antiseptic, non-irritating . . . completely safe for normal underarm skin. So ... to be sure you are free of the embarrassment of "emotional perspiration," use this special kind of cream deodorant. ARRID with Per- stop* stops perspiration stains . . . stops odor too. not only during the "difficult days" but every day. Remember, nothing protects you like a cream, and no cream protects you like ARRID. So don't be half safe. Be completely safe. Use ARRID CREAM Deodorant with Perstop* to be sure. Try it today. Buv a jar at anv drug or cosmetic counter. -Carter Products trademark for sulfonated hydrocarbon surfactants. 17 • 1 ober 26. 1959 hard- worked hands heal twice as fast with new t heavy-duly * * TRUSHAY § withsilicones Ik III — 9 Kitchen tests prove it... with women just like you I Hard-worked hands heal twice as fast with new heavy-duty Trushay with silicones. Try new Trushay. What happened to these hands can happen to you. And new Trushay helps protect your hands against ■ Glamorous Joan Crawford often likes to do her own housework, and when she does, she dispenses with make-up and puts on an inexpensive house dress. One day when she was cleaning the sink in her palatial Hollywood home, the door- bell rang. She was alone so she answered it herself. A neatly dressed young man stood there, smiled timidly at the be- smudged woman before him and said, "I know it's presumptuous of me. but for ten years I've had just one ambition: to meet Miss Crawford." He hesitated, "Uh. do you think she would just say hello to me . . . ?" "I'm sorry, but she's in New York on business." said the lady in the house dress. The visitor's face fell. "Darn it. just my luck," he said. "Probably the only time in my life I'll ever be in Los Angeles and she's away." Joan Crawford: detergents and through every single chore you do. TRUSHAY.. .the heavy-duty lotion for hard-worked hands The Visitor "I'm so sorry," she said sympathetically and started to close the door. He smiled again. "Sorry enough to do me a favor? If she's not around — do you 1 think I could possibly just look around her ! house? Just see how she lives ... I mean, I if it wouldn't get you in any trouble. . . ." I Joan Crawford hesitated. Then, smiling. | "I've been her housekeeper for many 1 years. She won't mind whatever I do. Come I in." § For an hour, they explored the house. 1 In the kitchen they had a companionable I cup of coffee. The young man sighed hap- | pily. "This has been the greatest day of my I life. I hope one day I'll meet Miss Craw- | ford in person, but you've been the most | wonderful hostess. I can't thank you | enough." { "That's perfectly all right," she told | him. "I — I'm glad you like Miss Crawford I so much. She'll be happy to hear it." | The caller got up and said. "I must go | now." She accompanied him to the front I door. Suddenly he grinned and said. 1 "Thanks for everything — Miss Crau ford.'' FRUSTRATI ft can be a young divorcee's most perplexing problem.. [TurrTthe page for Debbie Reynolds' explanation o jhow and why she is able to live a life without frus itration - - - without the need for romance Can a woman live without love - the love of a man? Debbie Reynolds thinks so, and that is what she admitted to me in a private heart-to-heart we had recently in her dressing room. She and I* have been having heart-to-hearts for several years. We can speak directly and honestly with each other— so, I started off right at the heart of the problem: "Is the breakneck schedule you've been leading a substitute for love?" "Perhaps so," she ad- mitted, "if you mean romantic love. I don't think I'm ready for that. I'm not interested in romantic love right now. I don't have time for it, and I don't care about it. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't do any steady dating. I leave the house at six in the morning, work all day at the studio and return home at seven-thirty. By the time I get cleaned up, have dinner and play with the kids, it's nine o'clock and I have to go to bed. I'm an eight-hour sleep girl; and I can't {Continued on page 67) FROM ELVIS! *(P.S. Why not give Elvis a chance to find out? Send him your own valentine picture % Modern Screen) I DON'T WANT TO LEAVE YOU, EDDIE When Elizabeth Taylor resisted going to the hospital a few weeks ago, even though she got double pneumonia as the result of her delay, people psychiatrically inclined claimed this was more than just a beautiful wife being stubborn. They maintained that Liz was determined not to leave Eddie Fisher alone while he was fighting his comeback battle; that he was now her man and that she wasn't going to leave him for love, money — or pneumonia. . . Too vividly in her mind was engraved (the amateur psychol- ogists and philosophers believed ) the memory of the time she permitted Mike Todd to board an (Continued on page 56) Gir DIANE BAKER clutched the suit- case and looked over at the small house. Her plane had been de- layed, it was late and she'd wondered till now if anyone would still be up. There was, she noticed, a light on down- stairs, in the parlor. She didn't know whether to be glad or sad about this, whether it wouldn't have been better just to be able to sneak up to her room now and face the family in the morning — her mother, her dad, her sisters Cheryl and Patricia. She sighed. Well, someone was still up, and there was nothing she could do about it. And, nervously, she began to walk towards the house. Reaching the front door, she knock- ed, lightly. Her mother answered. "Diane," Mrs. Baker called out, stunned. "Diane, what on earth — ?" She stared at her daughter for a mo- ment, and then she began to laugh and she threw her arms around the girl. "This is [Continued on page 64) Maynard (Daddy-O) Krebs Dobie (Girl-Crazy) Gillis and Judi (Best-Friend) Meredith THROW A REAL ■ "It's so wonderful to be engaged," sighed Pamela dreamily. "And a long one — well, I guess I'm old-fashioned, but I wouldn't have given up those ten months Darryl and I were formally engaged for anything. We figured if marriage is for a lifetime, why not an engagement of at least a few months . . .? Why rush into marriage? It's something you do only once." "And," Pamela added with a twinkle in her eye, "one of the nicest things about being engaged is that you give your friends {Continued on page 32) Silver— Young Love in Heirloom Sterling by Oneida; China— King sley by Lenox; Fry Pan— a Toastmaster Automatic; Luggage— a Silhouette Beauty Case by Samsonite ; Clock Radio— from Westinghouse; Ekco Kitchen Appliances. %ing//Vg shower for Dobie's lovely new sister-in-law Pamela (I'm-oid-Fashioned) Lincoln But on the big day, poor Maynard (l-forgot-to-wear-my-tie) Krebs couldn't Anyhow, he was happy for he knew that a HAVE THE DREAMIEST parents. (Below) That's some kiss for a new brother-in-lai (Continued from page 30) a chance to toss a shower for you, like Judi Meredith did for me . Pamela Lincoln and Darryl Hickman's closest friends are Judi, and Darryl's brother Dwayne — he plays the girl-crazy Dobie in The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis on CBS-TV, and Bob Denver, the boy who plays the beatnik, May- nard Krebs, in the same series. The three friends' got together and decided to throw a real swing- ing shower for the bride-to-be — only Judi made the boys promise they wouldn't show up at- the party, at least not until it was over. The way it worked out, it really was an honest- to-goodness surprise for Pam. Judi phoned her one day and suggested they have lunch on Saturday at the Sheraton West Hotel and then go shopping together. When Pamela got there (Continued on page 53) get into the church or the reception afterwards. real Daddy -0 and Mommy -0 wanted Pamela and Darryl to OLD-FASHIONED WEDDING LANA TURNER SPEAKING AND SHE AND I HAD bIenYlKING ^STHIS MARRIAGE, LANA?" 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Proved by Skin Specialists! In tests on over 300 patients, 9 out of every 10 cases were cleared up or definitely improved while using clearasil (either lo- tion or tube). In Tube, 69 £ and 98£. Long-lasting Lotion squeeze- bottle, only S1.25 (no fed. tax). Money-back guarantee. ^^^f Guoionleed LARGEST-SELLING PIMPLE MEDICATION BECAUSE IT REALLY WORKS Clearasil The Truth About Brigitte Bardot's Marriage (Continued from ■page 46) many clothes on, and they told reporters they were married when they weren't mar- ried, and then they looked at each other, suddenly charmed by the whole idea. Why not get married? The wedding was part of the game, too, no rules, no penalties, just two golden movie stars imitating life. Brigitte giggled in Jacques' arms, and Brigitte's father fought with a photographer, and it was more a comic opera than a sacred cere- mony. "Do you want me to bash your face in?" Brigitte's father asked a cameraman, bit- ing the fellow's hand to prove he wasn't just empty threats, and the Mayor, at- tacked by Monsieur Bardot for not having provided more police, nearly walked off in a huff. "I'm not going to act like a prizefighter," bellowed Mayor Guillaume, nervously stroking his tri-colored sash. "Let's do it quickly," said Brigitte, and there in the Mayor's private office, under a dangling electric bulb, Brigitte Bardot Vadim became Mme. Jacques Charrier. The reception was private, with the guests drinking champagne, while Jacques nibbled on Brigitte's bare toes. And so the languorous summer months drifted by, with love, oh, love, oh, careless love, and no end to the wine and the kisses, and music and dancing and shop- ping sprees, and buying twenty-five cash- mere sweaters at a clip — "You like them all? Let's take them all" — and crazy nights at the beach with Jacques trying to abash nosy neighbors by brandishing a toy pistol. Minor annoyances marred the idyll, from time to time. Pregnancy rumors started a week after the wedding, and separation rumors started almost as soon, and Jacques had appendicitis and lost twelve pounds, and then it was Fall. The game was ending Cold weather and cold facts descended on the Charriers. Brigitte was dunned for back taxes by her government — one of France's biggest assets was now being treated like a step-child. She developed skin trouble, and hid in the house, un- willing to show her blemished face to the public. Then it turned out, she was preg- nant, and she was afraid to have a baby — can a baby have a baby? — and to top it off, Jacques was drafted. All at once, the game wasn't fun any more. The Charriers regarded each other anxiously. Only a little time ago, they'd frolicked in the sun, the world's most beautiful irresponsibles, and now suddenly the sun had gone in, and they were here in this grey place wondering how to cope. What would she do without him? Jacques Charrier must have asked himself, glanc- ing from the army orders to his frightened wife. She, who'd never been able to stay alone, who used screaming rock 'n' roll records to fill the void of silence, who fondled stuffed teddy bears when no hu- man being was near. Even her career was cut off now, until the baby should arrive. Jacques Charrier shook his head, a boy who needed to be- come, overnight, a mature man. He took his bride on his lap, and smoother! the wild hair, the frowning forehead. "I'll be very good," she said seriously, like a five- year-old promising to remember to use his handkerchief. "I'll stay home and be quiet and think of names for the baby." And then she kissed him, trembling. "Will you phone? Will you phone?" On November 6th, not five months after their marriage, Brigitte saw Jacques off on 58 the train to the induction center. At the station she cried, and he turned away so he wouldn't see his pregnant little girl- wife who couldn't understand where all her good times had gone. You wonder what Jacques Charrier thought when he learned that Brigitte had gone to the theater the evening of that very first day he'd left. Their Paris apart- ment had seemed so bare, so full of shad- ows and echoes, and her father had called, and she'd grasped at his invitation. A man could be only grateful to his father-in-law for looking after his lonely wife. But what about the next night? And the next? Who would companion Brigitte through all the nights of the twenty-seven and a half months Jacques would be gone? A man beside her You remember — and surely Jacques re- members— when Brigitte was in love with actor Jean-Louis Trintignant. She'd left her first husband, Roger Vadim, for Jean- Louis, and she'd even turned domestic for him — decorating, cooking — but when he'd been called up for military service, the romance had not survived. She'd told the press about it later, in a sad little voice. "I don't hold anything against Jean-Louis," she'd said. "He was no longer beside me, that's all. And I need a man beside me all the time ... to con- sole me." Were these words ringing in Jacques Charrier's ears as he approached the army post at Orange? It's hard to know. With his commanding officer, Jacques behaved very well. "I expect to be treated just like everyone else," he said, but that was before he walked into the barracks and saw a pinup of his wife over almost every bunk. Jacques had been willing to share the other soldiers' work, but he hadn't figured on the other soldiers shar- ing Brigitte. "It's bad enough to leave her to join the army," he's reported to have moaned, "but to see her like that above every bed — it's just a nightmare!" Less than a week after induction, Jac- ques was hospitalized with "a bad case of nerves," though army doctors said Char- rier was having his "eyes checked." Three days later he was back in Paris with Brigitte (he'd been given an emer- gency leave) and, when it was printed that he'd spent some of this leave shoot- ing his latest movie, all hell broke loose. Jacques returned, not to his barracks, but to the military hospital of Val de Grace for psychiatric treatment of his "nervous depression," and a member of Parliament took exception to what he felt were the unusual goings-on. "What I want to know," cried Deputy Roland Boudet, "is whether all recruits are submitted to the same obligations when they enter their regiments, even if they come from the arms of a movie star!" Other deputies chimed in, yelling "Very good!" and "Bravo!" and the army minister looked pained, and within a matter of hours, the Bardot-Charrier family doctor had got into the act. He — one Dr. Duprouy — wrote to the newspaper Paris Jour, condemning stories about the couple. He said Brigitte and Jacques were both ill, and that "putting forward doubts on the importance and gravity of Charrier's health had become so excessive that it is grotesque. Because this is also doubting the honesty of the doctor who is taking care of him, Duprouy went on, and whose name you put in your articles. I sent a telegram to Jacques Charrier's colonel. It was because his wife was in bad shape. If I have sent Jacques Charrier to the hospital, it was because his health was also alarming ... I am disgusted that someone, anyone, can be that partial, that unjust and that hateful, and do so much harm to those who have only one thing against them, that they have succeeded too well. Brigitte followed the doctor's letter with a message of her own to the same Paris Jour: My husband is really sick and is now under treatment at Val de Grace, she wrote. He has only one desire, which I share with him: that is, that as soon as he gets well, he will go back to do his military service as anyone else. Never would he accept special treatment, nor would his family. (Jacques has a father and two brothers in the French army.) If I can formulate one wish, Brigitte wound up, it is that the public consider him as a soldier among the others and stop being ironic toward him when misfortune causes him to fall sick. . . . Behind barred doors set in the great, keyhole shaped stone wall of Val de Grace Hospital, Private Jacques Charrier paced like an animal, head down, shoulders hunched, thoughts pulling back, back, back . . . What did he know, after all, about the woman he had married? Try to sort the truth from the fiction, try to understand the future by examining the past . . . "Bribri," that was what her sister Mijanou had called Brigitte. "We were both very romantic as children," Mijanou had said. "And the stories Brigitte would write always had a Prince Charming who never failed to love and marry the heroine." During the war, it was Brigitte who clung to her fuzzy bears, her dolls when the air raid sirens sounded, because the real world was too scary, but in an imag- inary world, peopled with soft velvet ani- mals, a little girl didn't have to be afraid. At twenty-three, Brigitte still sucked her thumb, and ate too much chocolate, and was terrified of airplanes, and hated the cold, and admitted she owed everything she was to Roger Vadim. She'd met him when she was sixteen, and he was an ambitious assistant director in French movies, and he invented her, the professional her. The tousled hair, the nakedness, the sex-kitten label, all were Vadim's ideas. He even made publicity out of their mar- riage, but his hard work boomeranged when Brigitte, herself beginning to believe the stories about how she was just a child of nature, proceeded to fall in love with her leading man. Instructions from a husband There are film technicians who remem- ber the day it hanpened, on the set of And God Created Woman. It was hot, and Jean-Louis Trintignant hovered over a bedded Bardot, covered only by a thin sheet. "Caress her hair," called Brigitte's hus- band, Vadim. "Softly. That's it, very softly. Closei\ Jean-Louis. Get closer. And now you can't stand it any more. You grab her, you squeeze her, you kiss her. Stronger, more violently!" Jean-Louis kissed Brigitte. The long, passionate embrace went on in the quiet until finally Vadim stirred in his canvas chair, raising his hand. "Cut!" he called. The cameras stopped, but, on the bed, the kiss continued. It was the end of a marriage which had lasted four years. Vadim had succeeded in fulfilling his ambitions for himself and Brigitte, but he had also succeeded in de- stroying their life together. "Why don't you at least wait until we finish the picture?" he asked Brigitte that night. "Afterward, you can do what you like—" "Thanks for your permission " Brigitte said sharply. "I'll use it." "Jean-Louis is a nice guy," Vadim said. "That's right, said Brigitte. "So long." There's been plenty of criticism leveled at Brigitte for her airy disregard of her marriage vows; there's been plenty of sym- pathy for Vadim, who's always been a glib talker. "I suppose I should have slapped her when she looked at another fellow," he's said breezily, "but how could I? She has always had such an innocent look." Still, perhaps Brigitte was more to be pitied than scorned. Picture a gawky ado- lescent in a pleated skirt, a heavy sweater, soft brown hair, being transformed by a brilliant promotor into a sex symbol — "the unattainable dream of every married man." And she loved the promoter. "I used to wake up at night just so I could look at him." But Vadim was a sophisticate who cared more about her as a property than a wife. "He wasn't even jealous," Brigitte said wistfully. "How could he have loved me if he wasn't even jealous?" With Jean-Louis (though he was already married), Brigitte moved into a duplex, furnished it with Empire-style couches, and hi-fi sets and animal-skin rugs. She gave Jean-Louis an allowance, and he gave her a few insights into herself. "The first scene we shot together," he said, "I thought to myself, What's the mat- ter with that little mouse there? At fust. I felt pity for you. You must forgive me, but I said to myself, This girl is lost. They have put a mask on her face and told her it is her face, and now, without realizing it, she is trying to live up to the mask." "Say you love me," said Brigitte. "I love you," said Jean-Louis. "And your caprices, your bad side, all that is not really you. At heart, you are afraid of being judged as you are. You are afraid someone will find beneath that vamp ex- terior a silly little girl who is ashamed at being a silly little girl." For a while, Brigitte and Jean-Louis were happy. Vadim had been aloof, Jean- Louis was warm, and Brigitte felt safe. As though a desperate old woman . . . But Jean-Louis was called into military service, and Brigitte, ever-needing, unable to be satisfied by long-distance phone calls, took up with a Spaniard called Gustavo Rojo who had movie ambitions and saw Brigitte as a logical means to his end. Rojo announced they'd marry, and Bri- gitte, outraged, promptly announced she was going to marry Jean-Louis, which sur- prised Jean-Louis' wife, who had refused him a divorce. In the end, it didn't matter. Jean-Louis, home on leave, found Brigitte in the arms of a singer named Gilbert Becaud, and made his final exit, after throwing a salad bowl at his love and her new friend. Becaud also had a wife, and gave Brigitte up when the going got public. Brigitte took sleeping pills, collapsed briefly, but recov- ered as soon as she met Italian actor Raf Valone. Raf liked her fine. The only trouble was he liked his wife and children even better, and soon that amour was fini. She seemed defeated. The most desirable girl in the world, reduced to picking up pretty boys as though she'd been a des- perate old woman. In 1958, she had a mild fancy for a youth named Lhote, and she got him an extra's job in her picture, The Woman and the Puppet, and after the movie was finished, she moved him into the villa at St. Tropez. Dressed in a bikini, seated in Lhote's lap, occasionally kissing him, she received vis- itors. Asked about her new love, she re- acted with a male kind of frankness. "He's not my love," she said. "He's my flirt." Cruelly, she gestured toward him. "He's cute, no? But oh, how stupid. . . ." One writer, calling her a bad little bad girl, saw Brigitte destined to continue down the long road Vadim set her on, without guidance, without loyalty, without love. Brigitte might have been the first to agree with that writer. Shifting between fits of elation and dejection, sometimes kind, sometimes mean, she cared more for her dog Froufrou than for anyone in the world until, late in 1958, she met Sacha Distel in St. Tropez. "I had known him slightly before that," she said, "and hadn't found him particu- larly interesting. He felt the same way about me. We were on vacation, and I was tired, depressed and a little sad." Brigitte hired Sacha to teach her the guitar, and the first afternoon he came over, she asked him to stay for dinner. He said no, she said yes. And he was undone by the anxiety in her voice. "I want to eat dinner with someone, I'm so alone here — " He stayed, and he believed her when she said the thing she most wanted was to be a wife "To bear children, to raise a loving family in the eyes of God — " With newspaper columnists, however, Brigitte waxed nowhere near so maternal. "I'm in love with Sacha," she said, "but I live from day to day. Maybe one day I will just decide to get married. Not now." Sacha and Brigitte got along famously, though they didn't agree on everything. "He can spend a whole day listening to Frank Sinatra," Brigitte once complained. "I like Sinatra too, but there's no need to exaggerate it — " Sacha enjoyed saying he'd fallen in love with Brigitte's piano before he'd fallen in love with Brigitte— "It's the best piano in Saint Tropez" — and on September 8th, Bri- gitte announced their engagement, and said they'd be married next spring. "Marriage," she commented, "is decidedly beautiful." What did Sacha most admire in his fiancee? Her youth, he said. And her frank- ness. "When she thinks something, she says it. When she wants something, she gets it." Even when that something was Jacques Charrier, as it turned out. Jacques ap- peared to co-star in Brigitte's picture, and stayed on to co-star in her life, but the very knowledge that he pushed Sacha aside must make Jacques nervous. After all, can't he be pushed aside too? And now Brigitte's gone on record as saying her first child will be her last. She doesn't want any more, she doesn't find pregnancy "much of a joke," she's alarmed by the coming birth, "but I'm afraid I can- not find any way of avoiding it." Restless, cooped up awaiting her con- finement in February, Brigitte complains that she misses doing "hundred of things," but "I'll make up for it afterwards." There must be a threat in her words for Jacques, who can't kid himself into cher- ishing the picture of a contented little woman playing with a rosy baby while waiting for her husband's discharge. And it isn't just Brigitte's new words that threaten. So many of her old words could come back to haunt the troubled man. "When Jean-Louis was doing his mili- tary service, how I wanted him near me!" she said once. "I always need someone near me ... I need real affection. I need to feel it and to give it. The other day a contractor who was working on my house said to me: You know, you're really very nice.' That made me melt. I could have thrown my arms around him — " A wife who hates being pregnant, who falls in love too easily, who can't bear solitude, who's vulnerable to the kindness of any stranger . . . Behind barred doors set in the great, keyhole shaped stone wall of Val de Grace Hospital, Private Jacques Charrier paced like an animal, head down, shoulders hunched, thoughts pulling back, back, back ... END PERIODIC PAIN Midol acts three ways to bring relief from menstrual suffering. It relieves cramps, eases head- ache and it chases the "blues". Sally now takes Midol at the V» first sign of menstrual distress.^ WHAT WOMEN WANT TO KNOW a book expl is yours, FREE. Write Dep't F-30, Box 280, New York 18, N. Y. (Sent in plain wrapper) EXPECTING THE STORK? JUST FOR YOU! Plus . . . TWO EXCITING NEW CONTESTS FEATUR- ING PRIZES FOR YOU AND YOUR BABY-TO-BE ,„ DELL'S newest 1000 Hints Magazine — Molina Mothers -tobe ON SALE NOW JJjjG Lana in Love! (Continued from page 35) brilliant, sensitive, intelligent and with a real sense of humor. Moreover, he is hon- orable and good. And so handsome!" she enthused. "Six feet tall, dark hair — and the most amazing hazel eyes I have ever seen. "But to answer your question — Fred isn't free until February — and this time, with me, it has to be right. Oh, how right it has to be this time. We are not discussing marriage until the day we have the right to discuss it. He has not asked me to marry him." I persisted, "And when he does?" She made an almost imperceptible ges- ture of the shoulders as though she had already given that answer when she said, "Who can plan for tomorrow? Life is so uncertain." "And how does Cheryl feel about Fred?" I went on. "She likes him and respects him as I do. I know now," Lana said, "that love, the real thing, isn't a wild passion. It's based on companionship and respect and mutual interests and an admiration for the man in your life. "Fred talks to me and advises me and what he says is always so sane. He always wants me to do what is expected of me — even to small things like being on time and keeping appointments. If I make a promise he insists that I keep it. "He has three children, two girls, one twelve — one, eight, and a boy of five. Fred is devoted to them and naturally feels a deep sense of responsibility — just as I feel for Cheryl. I couldn't feel as I do about him if he felt less deeply about his chil- dren." I thought, Lana, my jriend, these are the words of a woman in love and I mean a woman, not the girl I have talked with so many times over the long years I have known you, a girl who was in love with love. The difference At thirty-eight, Lana is as beautiful and as much the glamorous movie star as she was at sixteen. But with — oh— what a dif- ference! Maturity, and a new serenity set on her shoulders as tangibly as the decora- tions on a soldier who has been brave in a dangerous battle. I, who have known her so long, realized that this Lana, who has suffered and known the bitterness of tragedy and al- most unbearable heartaches and heart- breaks through sorrows that would have broken a less strong woman, is a much finer person at this point in her life than she has ever been. I couldn't take my eyes off her when she entered the room overlooking my gar- den where I have interviewed her so many times in the past. I couldn't believe she was the same woman who was so crushed at the time her daughter Cheryl had ended the life of the late, unlamented Johnny Stompanato in an effort to save her adored mother. Then, Lana had looked her age, with sadness etched deep into her face. But this day she looked so glamorous, so poised, so chic, so in possession of her- self. Lana was wearing a Jean Louis dress and short coat of . beige with a matching mink collar, the whole ensemble melting into the shades of her hair. After we had greeted each other, both of us interrupting, trying to cover all the ground since we had last met and talking, talking, talking as women do who haven't recently seen each other, I said, "Oh, how different you look, Lana." "Maybe it's my hair," she laughed. "It's called the 'frosted' look. It's several shades darker than my natural color and is just streaked with blonde." She wears it in a bouffant style that frames her face in a soft and becoming effect. "Could be part of it," I agreed, "but there is something more than a mere ex- ternal change. You have an inner glow." She was quiet a moment, looking out over the garden at the lovely roses still in bloom, and the greens so verdant after our long Indian summer, even though this was the first afternoon with winter nip in the air. Lana seemed to be measuring her words before she spoke. "Perhaps that's because I have found faith, a faith I never knew before." Her voice was low and soft as she went on, "I have found God and I have placed myself in his hands. I no longer worry about tomorrow. I meet my problems as they come up day by day — knowing that He will take care of me." She was silent a minute but I didn't interrupt. She said, "You know perhaps better than anyone that I used to live as well as work in a make-believe world. I didn't particularly want to face reality. My trouble was that I existed in a sort of fairyland, believing that everything and everyone was good and never realizing that this beautiful dream world was sur- rounded by a deep and dreadful jungle." I assumed Lana meant Stompanato, but she mentioned no names and neither did I. I had promised not to go into that closed chapter in her life. Besides, we had other things to discuss. Lana and Fred May I particularly wanted to know about this Fred May in her life, this brilliant young business executive in the manufacturing field with whom Lana's name is linked exclusively these days. When I mentioned his name, Lana's mood brightened. Those old dimples sprang back into her smile as she said, 'You know — I nearly brought Fred with me this evening. I so very much want you to know him and like him — and for him to know you, my friend." It was at this point that we had the conversation which opens this story and naturally I was eager to learn more about this man whom Lana describes so — shall we say — affectionately. "How and where did you meet Fred?" I asked. She said, "I was invited to a party at the beach. I hadn't been going out socially at all and I dreaded to accept. I almost backed out at the last moment I so dreaded being in a large group of people again. But I went. The jump had to be made sometime. "I was sitting with a group of casual acquaintances wondering again why I had come — when suddenly a man, a stranger, walked down the stairs from the entrance hall. "I liked his looks, he was different. Later, we were introduced and after we chatted a while, I thought — how easy he was to talk to. No strain. No fencing. I really laughed when he told me confiden- tially that he very nearly had not accepted the invitation either! "We talked about so many things — and he made them sound so interesting — even those topics far removed from my usual spheres. Horses, for instance. Fred owns a stable of race horses, among other inter- ests." Lana didn't need any prodding from me to continue telling about this (perhaps) fateful night in her life. "When the eve- ning was over, he asked for my telephone number. I was surprised to find this made me very glad. I gave it to him, of course. "Then, three days went by without a word. I thought. WelL that's that. It seemed obvious he didn't intend to follow up our pleasant evening, or that's what I thought "I told myself when he did call— I'd be quite aloof. So when that phone finally rang and he asked me out to dinner, what did I do? I accepted," Lana laughed. "From that time on, we started seeing each other four or five times a week — and now it's every night." The kind of man she needs "Lana," I said, "from the way you are talking I have a feeling Fred is just the kind of a man you need." "I need a strong man and he needs a strong woman — and I guess this is it," she said with startling honest}.-. I can state with equal honesty from the front row seat I have occupied during other loves and marriages in her life, that Lana has not made a habit of falling in love with strong men — at least strong enough for her to lean on. Of all of the loves of her life, I know she most deeply cared for Tyrone Power, and she admits it. As dark as she was blonde, as handsome as she was beautiful, passionately in love at the height of their fame and youth. I have always felt that if Ty and Lana had married, how different both their lives might have been. I remember attending that lavish party they gave together just before Tyrone left for Italy— and subsequently (and sadly) Linda Christian! How sentimental and naive Lana and Ty were in their love story. The decora- tions at the party were hearts and flowers entwined: And. during the entire evening they were never more than a handclasp apart. Who will ever know what happened to break up this id\-ll? Lana believes that someone poisoned Ty's mind and heart against her. Others think that Linda Chris- tian, the original 'Lola' who gets what she wants, decided she wanted Ty— and got him. Whatever the reason, the mar- riage turned out to be a bad mistake for Tj-rone and a shattering heartbreak for Lana. Her marriage to millionaire Bob Topping was definitely on the rebound from Ty. In trying to forget him. Lana rushed into marriage with the millionaire- sportsman with whom she had little in common. She admits she was never in love writh him. In addition, most of the time of their mar- riage she was quite ill, once from a dan- gerous miscarriage. I mention Topping in Tina's life ahead of her first husband. Artie Shaw, and her second. Steve Crane, to explain why she rushed so impulsively into a union she knew from the start couldn't be happy. But, just as Topping was an antidote to a heartache, both Shaw and Crane had the misfortune to be married to Lana before she had really grown up. while she was still living in that •make-believe' world she had spoken of. Of that long ago first marriage to Artie Shaw when she was just a girl, the less remembered the better. Lana was just starting out in her career and also in her love life. I've always thought she was more impressed with Artie's fame as a musician and his highly touted 'culture' than she ever was with him as a human being. She was flattered by his attention in the beginning — and that's about all. She has said. "When I eloped with Artie it was like ninning away with a stranger I had just read about." Cheryl's father Shaw did very little to become more than just a stranger in her life. His main concern seemed to be to improve the mind of his new bride — a little habit he carried over to his next wife, Ava Gardner. Husband Number Two, Steve Crane, was something else again. A handsome and sympathetic young man, he was far more in love with Lana than she with him. He was devoted and tender with her and out of this union came great happiness when Lana's only child was born, their daughter Cheryl. To this day — and all through the shattering nightmare of Cheryl's tragedy, Lana and Steve have remained friends. As for Lex Barker, that typical matinee idol who became Lana's third husband, this was another romance that Lana built out of all proportion to reality. Lex was not, and is not, a temperamental person nor a mean one. But he was a typical actor on the make for stardom, involved to the hilt in his own career, looking and acting the role of the movie idol away from the camera as well as in front of it. Lana and Lex were bound to break up. There was noth- ing substantial to hold them together. No. Lana has never had a man in her life like Fred May — removed from her world of show business, substantial, not blinded by her glittering fame as a movie queen. Not too long ago Lana had told me, over the telephone, before we met for this more detailed talk. "From here on, I want the quiet life. I've had the headlines, the heartaches and the hectic pace. I want peace of mind and the solid things. I want this more than anything else in life. I want to understand people — as I pray they will understand me." This is no idle talk on her part. Every- thing about Lana's 'new' life bears out this philosophy. Even to the house she lives in. No longer does she live in a typi- cal movie-star mansion manned by a staff of servants and costing a small fortune to maintain, the way she lived with Lex. "As soon as you can, I want you to come up and see my 'happ3r' house," said Lana continuing our interview. "It's not a big place. It's atop a mountain, each window looking out on the most beautiful view of all of Los Angeles. I suppose you would describe it as Hawaiian in design, all on one floor, and there's not a room the sun- shine doesn't pour into many hours of each day. I was so glad when Cheryl said the same thing I had thought about the place — it is a happy house." Of her daughter growing tall and ma- ture and beautiful and getting such fine marks in high school, Lana speaks with the most touching devotion. She said with such pride in her voice, ""Cheryl and I are closer today than we have ever been. Our troubles have brought us closer together. Tragedy either brings on a complete estrangement between the people involved — or else it brings you into each other's arms. Thank God, with us, it has been the latter. "I don't suppose I ever really had to come into Cheryl's arms," Lana went on. "We have always loved each other very much. But somehow my concern for her after the tragedy and hers for me. has made us more conscious of this love." Cheryl continues to five with Lana's mother, Mrs. Mildred Turner, under the terms imposed by the Juvenile Court au- thorities. But she is free to come and see Lana whenever she wishes and Lana is free to visit her. A few weeks ago, Cheryl was ill with the flu and as her grand- mother had to be out of town for a few days, Lana brought Cheryl back to her home and nursed her back to health. She said, "I can't tell you how precious those dajTs of closeness were to both of us." Career excitement Another vital point in Lana's newly opening door of life — is that her career WIN •1, 000.00 U. S. SAVING BOND 49 OTHER GRAND PRIZES IN THE NUM-ZIT TEETHJNG LOTION "SMILING BABY" CONTEST 1 Constance Bannister, world-famous baby photogra- pher and one of the contest judges, snapped this photo of a smiling teething baby. 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Diane found herself room- ing in a large barrack with some forty other girls, girls from all over the world: Xegro girls, blonde-barred, girls with al- mond-shaped eyes: rich girls, poor girls; all sorts of girls. "They're such a terrific group." she wrote home one day. "and we're having the best time. We swim and hike and play croquet and checkers and things. And we go to Chapel every night right after sup- understanding arr.or.g the people o: the world. And it's so interesting and wonder- ful I hope it never ends." The two %veeks passed quickly, however. And finally one night, the night before all the girls were to say good-bye to one an- other and leave for their homes, a last service, candle-lit and beautiful, was held in the Chapel. Join LIZ at the happiest birthday of her life in next month MODERN SCREEN on sale March 3 a revelation ot a ki Too sad to join th well meeting at the she went off alone I beach, to walk, an vately this time. She prayed, first would have a safe j be traveling all Hiffea came to Diane, her girls in a fare- n hall of the camp, night, down to the 3 pray again — pri- LrSme". ^Thev'll it 'ways, to all dif- sase keep the skies ferent places ... So p] clear and the oceans cairn and. please, keep the railroad engineers and bus-drivers wide awake." Next she prayed that two of the girls — "Babette. from France, with her terrible cold from too much swimming: and Yu- kiko. from Japan, with that swelling on her big left toe from the crab that bit it" — recover, quickly. And then she prayed for herself. Tlease." she said, "from all that I have experienced here I know that there is something I should have learned, some- thing to keep with me for the rest of my life — but honestly, honestly, I don't know what that is exactly. And if You could just — " It was at this point that Diane stopped as she noticed, ahead of her, a bench, right there, in the middle of the beach — and a wooden plaque behind the bench. She looked up at the plaque and tried to make out the words that were carved on it. From a Sermon of John Donne. 1624. she read. And then she read the words below: No man is an island, entire of it- self; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. Diane read the words again, and again. And. finally, she sat and she looked out at the water, the ocean, dark and endless. And, thinking about the words she had iusi read, she said to herself: "That's it — isn't it? That's what I've learned here, being with all these girls, girls from all corners of the world — girls of different colorings, religions, backgrounds — was that people can live together, get along to- gether, love one another, if only they try — that none of us can five alone, either in- dividually or in cliques, and exist as islands, entire of ourselves?'" She could feel her face flush as the word cliques repeated in her mind. She remembered her group back home, the cliquishness of it. how she had once objected mildly to tbig cliquishness, how she'd kept silent about the matter after she'd been called ""nice girl — oh so nice girl." "Well" Diane murmured to herself now. "T was wrong, I made a mistake not talk- ing up. I made a terrible mistake acting so weak, so cowardly . . . But I tell you this. That come tomorrow and I'm back home Im — Tm going to have a talk with every girlfriend of mine and tell them ex- actly what I think about their attitudes. And no matter what they call me — let them call me anything they want — I'm go- ing to tell them about Asilomar. About girls living together the way we did here. About the complete absence of any kind of prejudice here. About the real good friends we all became here . . . Yes sir. Im going to tell them all about it. Exactly what I should have said that other rime!" And she nodded. As she nodded now. this night years later, remembering her thoughts on that bench that night — remembering, too. her mother's questions, the questions that had prompted all this: '"You're made mistakes before in your life, Diane, haven't you? And learned by those mistakes, too — didn't you?" '"But this mistake, this mistake."' Diane -sked herself, suddenly. " — have I learned anything from this? Running off and going to New York, leaving my home, my family, the life I knew. Running out on every- thing. My home, my family . . . Denny.' She closed her eyes as the name came to her mind. Denny — so tall, so handsome, so good, so loving. Denny — so concerned that night, six long months ago. when they'd sat together at the hamburger joint, over a couple of cups of coffee, and Diane had told him she'd de- cided to go away. "How long have we been going to- gether?" Denny had asked after he'd heard "Four years, going on five," Diane had said. "And in that time," Denny had asked, ""have I ever told you you were doing the wrong thing? About something big? Some- "I guess not." Diane had said. "Well Fm telling you now. that you're doing the wrong thing, and about a big thing." . he'd said. "Why. Diane, just tell me whv in the world do vou have to go to New' York?" "'Because. Denny," she'd said, "for the tenth time — I want to be an actress. And to be a good actress you've got to have training on the stage. And there are very nakes your lashes look as long as they really are! PERMANENT DARKENER FOR LASHES AND BROWS soft, dark I uxuriant--»rithout mascara! T*ear, doesn't wash off: You can rub i the rain, even enjoy a good cry at the 25* SI 25 'DARK-EYES" COMPANY, Dept. A - : ; ADDRESS- TOWN HOLLYWOOD FILM STUDIOS, Dept. B-26 7021 Sonto Monies Blvd., Hollywood 33, Calif. SHEETS, TOASTERS, TOWELS,MIXERS,etc. GIVEN TO YOU FREE! Thousands of famous prod- ucts to choose from— furni- ture, fashions, silverware, zr..~i drape:. es. e::. You £ 5; c: a ?:?_.i: ^» you help your friends form. It's easy! It's fun! Nothing to sell, nothing to buy. Write todav: Popular Club Plan. Dept.A906. Lynbrook. X. Y. Popular Club Plan, Dept. A906. Lynbrook, N. Y. | Send Big FREE 276-Page FULL-COLOR Catalog | Name ■ — | Address — | few stages around here, and lots of them in New York. New York, Denny, that's where the breaks are. That's where I want to go to get my chance." "And you think it'll be easy there?" Denny had asked. "I do." "Do you think it's going to be the same as the last time you were there, last year? A celebrity. A princess. One of the Miss Rheingold finalists, living in the fancy Ambassador Hotel, with lots of pampering, nothing to pay for, nothing to do but stand around and look pretty?" "Not exactly, no," Diane had said. "But New York, big as it is, happens to be a wonderfully warm and big-hearted town. I know, Denny. I've been there, happy there. And I'm sure I'll be happy there again. And no, no, I don't think I'm making any mistake, or doing anything wrong. And I'm going, Denny," she'd said. "I am going!" She opened her eyes now, as her mother re-entered the living room, carrying a tray and tea. "Feeling better?" Mrs. Baker asked her daughter, as she walked towards the couch. "A little," Diane said. "Well, take my word, a few tastes of this magnificent brew of mine and you'll be feeling lots better," Mrs. Baker said, laying down the tray, pouring the tea. She handed a cup to Diane. "You still look so serious . . . and pale, darling," Mrs. Baker said, after a little while. "What've you been thinking?" "Just now, about New York again," Diane said. "About the mistake that it was. About how tired I am of making mistakes. About — " "Yes?" her mother asked. 'About how I'm going to rectify this mistake, Mom," Diane said. She brought her cup up to her lips. Her hand trembled a little, as she did. She took a sip of her tea. "I've decided to give up the whole acting thing," she said then. "It's no good for me. I'm going to give it up." "Now wait a minute — " her mother started. "Give it up," Diane interrupted, softly, "forget about it. And stay here, at home, where I belong. With you. With daddy. The girls. Denny." "Now wait a minute" Mrs. Baker re- peated, more sharply this time. "Staying at home. Yes. That's fine, Diane. But giv- ing up your acting, your ambitions, all those dreams you used to have as a little girl. That, Diane, that I don't like. "Look," she went on, "I said it before, and I'll say it again. You made a mis- take? You learned something from it? Fine. That's what mistakes are for. "But to become defeated by a mistake?" She shook her head. "No. No. That's no good. And I, as your mother, won't hear of it. Not from any daughter of mine! "Now listen," she said. "Sherman Oaks here isn't so very far from Hollywood, is it? And in Hollywood they've got the big- gest movie studios in the world, don't they? And all sorts of producers on the watch for talent? And agents? And drama schools? And everything you could want? "Well," she said, "in a couple of weeks, after you've had a nice rest, after you've gotten to know your family again, gotten to know your Denny again, you hie on down to that town called Hollywood and you might just be surprised to find it waiting for you. Right here! "How about it, Diane," her mother asked, " — does that sound reasonable to you?" "Yes, Mama," she said. "Yes." Mrs. Baker sighed. "And Diane, Diane," she said, "please don't go crying again now, with that cup up there in front of your face. • . . It's sugar you"re supposed to put in your tea. Not salt." And after she'd said that, they both looked at one another and began to smile — Diane through her tears, Mrs. Baker through a few tears of her own. . . . end Editor's Note: Within a year after this evening, Diane Baker, who'd since enrolled in a drama class with coach Estelle Har- man, was spotted by a talent scout, given a test at Twentieth Century-Fox Studios and signed to play the role of Margot in The Diary of Anne Frank. Following this came star billing in The Best of Every- thing oid the just-released Journey To The Center Of The Earth, with Pat Boone and James Mason. The word around Fox is that this is only the beginning ... it couldn't happen to a nicer girl! "I Never Feel Sure About My Marriage" (Continued from page 37) having won this borrowed-from-kids race. Then, surrounded by press agents, man- agers, and a swarm of fans, they went back to the hotel to dress for dinner. Even though the afternoon had been busy and they had been surrounded by strangers all day, Pat didn't mind, because this eve- ning they were going to have a quiet din- ner with two friends, a couple from Hollywood who were coming down espe- cially for the race. When they were alone at the hotel Shir- ley told Pat the bad news. Their friends wouldn't be joining them. "Nobody sick, is there?" Pat asked wor- riedly. Shirley shook her head. Then she took a deep breath and told him. Their friends were getting a divorce. As swiftly and as suddenly as that. "But everything was fine when we left," Pat said in amazement. "He'd finished his picture and they were coming down here to have some fun with us. I just can't believe it." "I didn't want to tell you before," Shirley said. "I didn't want to spoil winning the race for you, darling." Pat gave her a grateful kiss. Then, shaking his head in disbelief, he repeated: "I still can't believe it." But the newspapers they glimpsed on the way out to dinner confirmed the sad story, in glaring headlines, of another "idyllic" Hollywood marriage that had hit the rocks. They had dinner alone at a small, dimly lit, romantic restaurant. Try- ing to forget, for a few hours, the unhap- piness of their friends, they joked, held hands and whispered to each other as if the years had rolled away. "Pat," Shirley said, "I'm so glad we came. Even if it is only a weekend." Pat grinned and squeezed her hand. But, he couldn't get his mind off his friends' 66 divorce . . . They'd had plenty of money . . . fame, too . . . and yet, in the midst of the terrific pressures of the life of fame that stars in Hollywood lead, something had gone wrong with their marriage ... it was too easy to throw stones at people for this, Pat knew . . . most people see only the bright, glittering exterior, not the day to day tug-of-war which anyone has who wants to remain a simple human being in the middle of the most glamorous life in the world And one thing Pat was sure of: that the only kind of person who could keep a mar- riage alive, was a simple, human kind. . . . Be vigilant, always "Penny for your thoughts," Shirley was saying. "Oh, I was thinking; wondering how many stars will be taking that sad divorce road this coming year. It's kind of a sober- ing thought." "I was thinking kind of the same thing," she replied sympathetically. "Remember that magazine reporter in the hotel this morning?" Pat said. "Well, he asked me: 'Pat, with things the way they are in Hollywood, why are you so certain of your marriage?' ... I said, 'I'm not!' Boy, did he jump. But then I told him what I really believe: As soon as you're sure, you're in danger." Pat glanced at Shirley to see her reaction to this. "I think you're right, Pat," she said. w Good news for Pat Boone fans. A A On March 1, his best-selling book, Zk A "Twixt Twelve and Twenty" will J *A come within allowance range. E 2 After selling close to half a R K million copies at $2.95 per. it's # W. being published in a paperback A w edition priced at just 35$! A Pat laughed. "I figured and hoped you would. After all, I've always called you the pessimist of the family." I'm not," Shirley rebelled, "I'm just a realist. That's an important difference. If more people in Hollywood were my kind of realists, things might turn out a lot better for some of them. I've done a lot of thinking about it. So often you see a young couple come to Hollywood. They're happy with each other and all's well. Then the guy makes it . . . makes it big. There are a million demands on him, on his time, on his mind and feelings. It's not easy to keep things on an even keel any more. "When they were struggling, they never knew where the next pork chop was com- ing from; and they had fun just watering the lawn, or window shopping. Now, when things are big, the people change . . . and somehow nothing's fun any more. It's not simple to insure yourself against that. That's why it's best to be a realist before that happens." "I know what you mean, honey," Pat said, slipping her arm through his. "You've got to be vigilant, always . . . you've got to safeguard your marriage." He sighed and it was a sigh of double meaning. It was full of happiness and also tinged with sadness . . . sadness for all those who, like his friends and all other unhappy stars, couldn't make it . . . who couldn't hold on to each other in the stormy seas of Hollywood marriage . . ■ and for all those who. in the coming year, would be dragged away from each other by the relentless undertow of success and stardom. . . . He thought then of the people, all over America, who loved these stars and wished them well. He wished there was some way he could tell them about the problems, the difficulties of being a star, as well as just a human being . . . and ask them to have patience and compassion. . . . Probably, Pat Boone thought, if I had that chance I could only say to all of them: "Please try to understand. That's all . . . Before you ever judge or condemn . . . try to understand!" Pat stars in Journey To The Center Of The Earth. 20th-Fox. Debbie Reynolds: Frustration (Continued from page 21) survive on any less. I do some dating on the weekend, when I don't have to work. But, sometimes I'd just as soon go out with friends, as I went to the Dean Martin testimonial dinner with the Buddy Adlers. It's comfortable to go out with old friends, and then I can leave and go home any time I want. "Even though my life has no romance, I'm not without love. I have a great deal of love in my life. The love of my children. When you have two young children like mine, your house is full of love and there is plenty to do, just picking up after them. "I also have the love of my family and of my friends. I have friends I have known for years and years, and I can't say merely that I like them. They are so close to me that I love them." Millionaires and a gas station attendant But what about recurrent rumors of new romances for Debbie? One columnist even boldly predicted that she would become the new Mrs. Harry Karl as soon as he was free of Joan Cohn. Debbie laughed over that one. "I don't even date him now," she said. "I don't believe in dating someone who is not free of his marriage. When he is divorced, I'll probably go out with him again. Harry is one of the nicest people I know; he's kind and generous and has done a great deal of good for many persons. But there's no question of a romance." Nor is there any romantic attachment involved in her dates with Bob Neal, she said. "I've known Robert for nine years — almost since I started in the business," she explained. "We have fun on a date and we're excellent friends. That's all." The same goes for Leon Tyler, she added. He is an old buddy and they like to go dancing together — when she isn't tied up in a picture and he isn't working at his father's gas station. It somehow seemed quite like Debbie to number as her dates two millionaires and an actor who pumps gas in a service station. I asked her if she shared Kim Novak's complaint about the scarcity of males in Hollywood. For that and other reasons, Kim prefers the New York life. "It's true that there might be a more solid group of men to pick from in New York," Debbie said. "You have a more stable community there; there are men of the advertising world and the stock market. Out here in Hollywood, there are fewer men, and many of those lack stability. "But the lack of eligible males doesn't concern me right now. And I'm different from Kim, anyway. When I go home after work, my two children are there, and the house is lively and full of love. There's no chance to be lonely. "When you work all day and then go home to an empty house, it can be awfully lonely. No matter how many servants you have, it's still a lonely house." She conceded that in Hollywood her dates are likely to be actors, and she's not so sure that is a good idea. "I think it's a good idea to date men who are in the industry or understand it," she said. "It's a lot easier when they know what you have to face. A lot of men wouldn't understand when you said you had to leave the party at ten because you had to work the next day. Or they would resent it when you stopped to talk to fans in a public place. "But though I feel an actress needs a man who understands her problems, I'm not so sure of the actor-actress relation- ship. There is bound to be some competi- tion present, and that's bad for a marriage. "In some cases, the actor-actress rela- tionship has worked. Take Janet Leigh and Tony Curtis. They had their problems, but they have worked them out and they're very happy together. But one of the main reasons is that Janet has subordinated her career to Tony's. She doesn't make many pictures any more. That's the way most marriages of actors and actresses succeed." Filling the vacuum in her life But isn't it difficult for an actress to loosen her grip on a career she has fought so hard for? "It wasn't for me," Debbie replied. "I did it when I was married to Eddie. I made only three pictures in a three-year period. I didn't mind. I felt my home and family were more important." The bust-up with Eddie changed all that. She is devoted to her children spends more time with them than many working mothers. But the vacuum in her life caused by the end of her marriage has been filled by work, work and more work. Debbie has been on a schedule that would make a stevedore tired. She has gone from one picture to another with scarcely a day off between. Say One for Me . . . It Started with a Kiss . . . The Gazebo . . . The Rat Race . . . The Pleasure of His Company. . . . All of them big, important pictures. All of them hard work for Debbie. "The only thing that saved me was going to Hawaii for a month," she said. "I took all my family along, so I could really rest; I wouldn't be able to relax if they were back here. I slept most of the time. I got up late, sat on the beach and then took a nap with the children. I was back in bed by nine o'clock at night." Besides making movies, Debbie has served as president of The Thalians, the charity organization of young people of Hollywood. "It has been a big job, but well worth it," she said. "We put on two big dinners this year. Our last one raised $100,000. Deducting expenses, that means $80,000 will go toward helping mentally disturbed children." Debbie is no mere figurehead in the organization. She pitches right, in and helps with plans and projects, playing a major part in the entertainment at the dinners. She is not a girl to do anything half-way, and that helps to explain the tremendous leaps her career has taken. Until recently, she has been tied to MGM, for whom she has labored ten years. But now she has only one more picture to make for the old home lot and she will be her own master. She has the future well planned. Already Debbie has made a dream deal for several films with Perlberg-Seaton, which will bring her a healthy salary, plus ten per cent of the gross income. That means for every dollar that comes into the box office, Debbie gets a dime. Only a dozen top stars in Hollywood can exact that kind of deal. "Then I've got my own company, Har- man Productions," she said. "It's named after my grandmother — it's my mother's maiden name and a lucky one. I've already bought a story that I'd like to do, and the company would make pictures that I didn't appear in, too. "This doesn't mean that I'm going to blossom out as the girl producer. I'd be out of my head to try that. I'll hire a producer who knows what he's doing, and I'll sit in on the preparations. But I'm not going N* CRIME SHAMPOO Especially |f BLONDES Washes Hair Shades Lighter Safely! Watch your blonde hair come to life with this new home shampoo. BLONDEX CREME SHAMPOO gives your hair the radiant shine and sparkling golden color men love. Contains lanolin to leave hair soft and easily-managed and "miracle" ANDIUM to lighten and shine as it shampoos. 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Satisfaction guaranteed or money back. !~ Florida Fashions, 4501 £. Colonial Drive, Dpt.60M1U, Orlando. Fla. [ J Send FREE copy of new Spring Catalog. Also I I send me, FREE, every new issue for 1960. | Name | | Address j |_Posf Office State _j to worry about all the business matters. It doesn't appeal to me, and I don't think I'd be any good at it." Marching to the bigtime Harman Productions will also produce Debbie's TV spectaculars. That's the latest development in her march to the big-time. She signed a million-dollar deal to produce three specials for ABC in the next three years. As with the rest of her career, she is going about it with careful thought. "I've been around TV shows (Eddie's) so it's not entirely new to me," she said. "I know that you can't get any quality unless you take pains. A lot of stars just throw together a show, collect the money and get out. "I can't do that. I was schooled in movies done by craftsmen like Gene Kelly. Gene and Fred Astaire have pointed the way on how to do TV well. They take their time and rehearse until they get the quality they're looking for. I hope I can do the same. I plan to devote two months to preparations." All this activity makes it sound as if Debbie is working herself to a frazzle. She admitted that the pace has been too great for her. And the untimely deaths of figures like Mario Lanza, Errol Flynn and Wayne Morris have given her pause. "It made me stop and think," she said seriously. "Maybe this pace we lead has something to do with stars dying early. Perhaps it doesn't show up when you are young. But in later years the hectic life may take its toll. "I like it here. I hope to be around for a long, long time. So I'm going to try to plan my career so I will have long periods between pictures when I can spend time with the children and get away from the frantic life." I asked her if she wasn't worried about getting ulcers as girl president of a big production company. "Me get ulcers? Never!" she said flatly. "Nor do I give them. There is nothing in the world important enough for that." That gave me a chance to ask about the printed report that she had shut down the set of The Rat Race because of her argu- ments with the young director, Robert Mulligan. "I don't know how that one got started," she said "I've never closed a set in my life; I wouldn't know how to go about doing it or even if I could. "Actually, the set was closed by Bill Perlberg, the producer, because I had a lot of dramatic work to do. Crying and all that. Dramatic stuff doesn't come easily to me; I'd much rather do comedy. I guess Bill was trying to make things easier for me. "I don't argue with directors. I might discuss things with them, but I always accept their judgment. Their job is to direct, mine is to act. If we have a differ- ence of opinion, I'll do it their way. If the scene comes out badly, we'll do it over. If it's good, the picture is helped and I'll admit I was wrong." Try as you may, you can't find a shred of neurosis in this girl. Her attitude is so deucedly normal that it's catching. She told of another actress on The Rat Race who was in a bit of a snit about something that had happened on the picture. Debbie stopped her ranting with this logic: "Three days from now, you will have forgotten what you were so upset about. And if they push the bomb button, you won't have anything to remember, any- way." Who knows? Maybe a level-headed girl like Debbie Reynolds can confound the experts and be able to live without the love of a man. For a while, at least. end Debbie can be seen in The Rat Race, and The Pleasure Of His Company, both Paramount, and right now in The Gazebo. MGM. Daddy's Pictures Always Say "I Love You" (Continued from page 49) most likely both — over which he can ex- claim, "Gee, that will make a great pic- ture!" People who don't know us too well can and frequently do get the wrong idea. It is not very often that a visitor finds my husband in a vertical position. They are just as apt to encounter Tony on his back, hands and feet waving like an overturned beetle, crawling on all fours sneaking up on some deathless moment, hanging from the chandeliers or practically climbing up a wall. I remember one time a flustered middle- aged woman was at the house on business, and I overheard her whisper to her hus- band, who had accompanied her: "Good Lord, I would have thought he would be more dignified than that." It's not that Tony lacks dignity, or even that he's in his second childhood. It's simply that he's exercising, with an ex- uberance that only he is capable of, the time-honored paternal privilege of enjoy- ing the first childhood of his children. I doubt that there is a mood or gesture either of our four-year-old daughter, Kelly Lee, or one-year-old Jamie that Tony has not captured on film. He's taken pictures from every conceivable position, and from many positions not previously conceived of — including shots that he's ricocheted off mirrors to be sure that the subjects were unaware that his camera was eavesdrop- ping. "Great shot, great shot . . Wherever Tony and I go, the babies go, and wherever the babies go, Tony's cam- eras go, too. Kelly and Jamie are never safe from his image grabbers — whether peeking out of their carriages as infants, waking up from a sound sleep, raiding the candy jar, or being wheeled by me — as Kelly was — on the streets of Paris, London and Berlin, with Tony walking backwards, oblivious of the gaping crowds, and yelling like a crazy American tourist, "Great shot! Great shot!" Yet in all the thousands upon thousands 63 of pictures that Tony has taken of the chil- dren I don't think there's a single stereo- typed pose. In fact there just isn't anything posed. Pose is a dirty word to Tony. If a situation is stilted, artificial or prosaic he wouldn't think of contaminating his film with it. Tony never takes a picture because it's a special occasion, a holiday, a birthday- party or anything like that. He just takes pictures when it comes on him, and believe me, it comes on him often- With him, there's no such thing as blowing the dust off the cameras to photograph the children at six months, one year and eighteen months. He does it when the spirit moves him. He hates it when I forget myself and say, "Tony, I think we ought to take some pictures because grandma and grandpa are here today," or if I have a similar lapse and remark, "Gee, this is the first day the sun's come out in a long time. Don't you think it would be nice to take pictures?" Tony is absolutely insulted when I make a suggestion like that. He feels I should know better, and I do — when I think about it. Tony despises the idea of taking ordi- nary pictures. To him it isn't enough that he's taking pictures of Kelly and Jamie. Our little girls must be doing something he feels would be worth putting on film even if they weren't related to us. Long before all the quiz and 'payola' scandals, Tony never would think of taking a rigged picture. If he's shooting Kelly and Jamie, what he tries to do is let them do what they're going to do anyhow. He shoots very fast. He may take thirty pictures in just a few minutes, and he catches wonderful ex- pressions that way. The exclusive pictures accompanying this story are examples of unforgettable mo- ments Tony has preserved on film. This is the very first time he has allowed any of his pictures to be published. Tony never took them with anything like that in mind. But I feel they're so wonderful, that look- ing at them has brought us such pleasure, that it would be nice to share them. I couldn't even begin to describe Tony's equipment. The only way I can take a pic- ture is to push down a Brownie button. With Tony, it's a science — a challenge. He's always making sure of the lighting, taking readings on the light meter, figuring out composition. He's always spinning dials and making settings. He switches like a juggler from one camera to another, from his thirty-five millimeter to his Polaroid— for a fast sixty -second burst of enthusiasm or groan of disappointment — or the home movie camera. He's a real expert with his camera gear, but shall I tell you some- thing? I'm convinced that the real secret of Tony's gift for picture taking is that he photographs with his heart. He doesn't take pictures with film alone. He weaves some kind of magic with his love and en- thusiasm. There isn't a picture he's ever taken of the children that doesn't have "I love you" written all over it. Every snap- shot is a valentine from their daddy. Waves of mutual adoration go back and forth between them and somehow — not because of all the intricate gadgets, but in spite of them — that exquisite affection gets on film. All Tony's rejoicing in the children, all his tenderness for them is transmuted when Tony clicks the camera. It simply would be impossible to say that any set of pictures are the five or ten best Tony has ever taken. But those published with this article certainly have those won- derful, intangible qualities that only so loving a father could imprison in the split second it takes for an insight into human personality to dart across a room. Tony shot most of them week ends, afternoons at the pool or evenings in the house, while we were playing man and wife, of all things, in Who Was That Lady? If I may be pardoned a slight family bias, I think they're priceless. Take that precious picture where Kelly is laughing so hard, so joyously, that she just can't contain herself. That's the shot in which she's got her little terrycloth robe over her sunsuit. Let's admit that Kelly is a ham — which she most assuredly is. Still, in a hundred years no one could purposely pose a picture like that. Of course while her daddy insists on spontaneity at all costs, he is not beyond inducing spon- taneity. And if there's one thing Tony- knows, it's where Kelly's funnybone is located. There's nothing in the world Tony- enjoys more than the laughter of the children, and there seems to be nothing they enjoy more than to have their daddy make them laugh. When Tony took this particular picture, Kelly had been swimming all afternoon and she was awfully tired. But Tony is a big tease and he felt like playing with her. Pretty soon Kelly was laughing and laugh- ing, and poor Tony was frantically flying off for the cameras. By the time he re- turned to the scene of the hilarity, Kelly was limp with exhaustion. She'd laughed herself dry. But Tony had no intention of letting that moment get away. He aimed his camera, made funny faces and kept threatening, "I'm gonna tickle you! I'm gonna tickle you!" It doesn't take too much to give Kelly the giggles, anyhow. Pretty soon the giggles developed into rolling laughter. And with Tony goading her on, there was no stop- ping Kelly. She got to laughing so hard that she had to hold herself. She almost couldn't stand it. To Tony, who drinks of Kelly's laughter as nectar from the gods, this was something worth photographing. Tony's assistant There have been times, I must hasten to add, when Tony has been similarly moved by moods of the children, but has been unable to get them to sustain or turn on these moods again. Somehow, in many cases like that, I seem to wind up in the middle. When Tony is after a picture of the children he simply takes the impossible for granted. He's such a bug for trapping the unexpected that he sees no reason why I shouldn't be able to freeze spontaneity dead in its tracks until he can get film into the camera. Jamie or Kelly might suddenly be doing something he'd like to photograph. He'll turn to me, and shout, "Hold that now! Hold that, Janet! Keep her there and don't let her change that expression!" It's nice that Tony should credit me with such occult powers, but somehow I al- ways let him down, and he never seems quite able to understand my mortal fail- ings. "Why did you let her move?" he asks, completely crushed. "I told you to keep her that way." But if Tony seems a trifle unreasonable at such moments, I never really mind. It is such a small price to pay for the pictures that he doesn't miss, and that he'd never get if he wasn't just a little bit hysterical about the whole thing. In another of the accompanying pictures. Tony caught Kelly as she took it into her pixie head to play with the little golf stool that Tony was using while convalescing from the injury to his leg. What he caught in that picture, which is so darling to both of us, is not merely Kelly in a playful mood, but the serenity, the wistfulness that is so much a part of her personality. And he took such sensitive advantage of the luminous light coming in through the windows that he had her emerge pictori- ally as she is in his heart — an angel. In another moment that I think is per- fectly breathtaking, Tony captured that absolutely divine image of Kelly cupping her face in her hands and being a positive riot of coyness. Her coyness was prompted by the fact that she was wearing her frilly baby- doll pajamas for the first time, and was showing them off for her daddy as she came down to say good night. Weather willing — and it pretty nearly is the year round — I take little Jamie in the water almost every day I'm not work- ing. She just loves it. She splashes, kicks and purrs. I'm sure she'll grow up to be a wonderful swimmer. Usually I don't even bother to put anything on Jamie when it's swim-time. One day, when I didn't realize Tony was home, I decided to show my little birthday-suit-girl how to float on her back. As I started to put her in position, I heard a roar of approval from the side- lines. "Wonderful!" Tony yelled as he dangled like a spider from a ladder rail and kept taking pictures. "Just beautiful, Janet. Beautiful!" Considering how the pictures came out, I wouldn't even say that Tony was carried away with his enthusiasm. Spontaneity — sometimes induced Tony's own zest for living and his sensi- tivity to beauty are always the determining factors. The shot he took of Kelly going for that toy is, in my opinion, a cameo. I'd go so far as to say that another masterpiece of its kind was the picture Tony took of Kelly as she was poised to leap off the diving board. He caught the expression on her face so vividly as her little toes left the board that looking at the picture you practically can hear her counting off, "'One — two — fee — jump!" As you might know, Kelly doesn't always feel like sitting — or standing — still for daddy's hobby. It is during such spells of reluctance that Tony is forced to fall back on his induced spontaneity. Once when all other conditions were perfect but Kelly wasn't in the mood, Tony charmed her into cooperating by giving her a camera and saying, "All right, you take a picture of Daddy." Sitting on the floor like a trading post Indian. Tony got this hauntingly lovely study of Kelly with the hall seeming to unreel behind her. Most of Tony's pictures are gems, but as I mentioned before, sometimes even the master misses. I remember when Kelly was starting to walk. Oh, poor Tony was so anxious to get home movies of that. He was so excited! He went to such trouble to set up the whole thing in her room. The after- noon fight spilling through the curtains was just right. As far as Tony was con- cerned, he couldn't ask for more ideal conditions under which to photograph this imperishable moment in Kelly's develop- ment. Everything was under control — but Kelly. Not that she stopped walking the minute Tony trained the home movie camera on her. She walked a blue streak — only out of camera range, out of the light, and out of sight. Tony almost went out of his mind. He cooed and crooned to her. Ordinarily, she'd be spellbound at the sound of his blandishments. This time, wouldn't you know, she was aloof. She turned her back on Tony as if he wasn't in the room. She climbed up a chair. She did everything but get within camera range. Tony waited and waited and waited, tried and tried and tried. Finally, he was so exasperated that he reached for his handkerchief and wiped his face. Somehow the sight of the kerchief as Tony mopped his furrowed brow intrigued Kelly and she made a beeline for him— right in camera range! The trouble was that Tony was operating the handkerchief instead of the camera, and he never did get pictures of Kelly's first steps. Tony, the Picture Taker, is not infallible, I grant. However, considering the pictures he has come up with, and considering that every last one of them is so fresh and natural and uncontrived, I'd venture that my husband has the smallest margin of error of any picture-taking father in cap- tivity. And he has that rarest of talents — the ability to put "I love you" on film. 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Fiippen John Smith March 6 March 6 Gordon MacRae MacDonald Carey 70 March 12 March 15 Last Photos of Diane Varsi {Continued from page 40) in that tiny annex right next door to it. It's got two rooms upstairs. Two rooms down . . Fools lots of curious folks who drive by Sundays to take a look and who think that maybe they'll get to see her and that little son of hers." He turned his head slightly. "She's been divorced twice, you know," he said. "Son's from the first mar- riage . . . Twenty-two years old and di- vorced twice. What do you think of that?" He looked back at the road. "Yup," he said, "that's it, up ahead, the small place. And it sure fools folks who drive by Sun- days to take a look. Most of 'em think she's still got all that California money and lives in the big house." He stopped the cab, with a jolt, in front of the little place. "I better wait," he said, as we paid him and got out. "You're liable to be right back in here, you know." We felt him watching us as we walked to the door and knocked; as — after a few moments — the door opened and Diane stood there looking at us; as she whispered something, surprised, at first; and then as she began to smile a little and said how nice it was to see us and asked us if we wouldn't come inside. "You stayin'?" we heard the cabdriver call out, at that point. We said we were, for a little while. "Humph." he said. Then he said, "Well, let's make it a hour-and-a-half, if that's all right with you. 'Cause you can't phone me when you want me to come. She ain't even got a phone in there!" Diane today And, with that, he drove away. . . . Diane closed the front door and led us into the living room of her house. As we walked along with her, we noticed that she looked lovely, and relaxed — more love- ly, more relaxed than we had ever known her to look. She was dressed in slacks, light blue, and a white blouse. Her hair was longer than she had usually worn it, soft- er-looking, it seemed. Her blue eyes were bright. Her skin was clear, her cheeks rosy, minus the blemishes that had marred them at the time she left Hollywood. The living room we entered now was a smallish room, no larger than eight-by- twenty; sparsely-furnished — with one couch, one chair, a phonograph, some rec- ords, a bookcase — half -filled, a Picasso print on one of the walls, a pair of neat but ancient-looking curtains on the win- dow. We both sat. And Diane spoke first. She asked us nothing about why we had come to see her (a subject we ourselves didn't intend to bring up immediately). Instead, she said, very simply, "Nobody has ever come to visit here before. You're the first company I've had in this house. It feels nice. Very, very nice." Then, quickly, she began to ask about the few good friends she'd had in Holly- wood the three years she was there, people we mutually knew. She asked about Diane Baker, Dick Sar- gent, Dean Stockwell. She'd worked with Dean in Compulsion, her last picture. They'd been very close. "Has he done any directing?" she asked. "I remember the last time I talked to him he said how anxious he was to do that." We told Diane that as far as we knew he hadn't directed anything yet, but that he was doing lots of television. Had she seen him, we asked, in the Ernest Heming- way story, The Killers, a few months back? Diane shook her head. "Like the taxi man told you, I don't own a phone," she said, "and I don't own a TV either. "Maybe when Shawn is a little older — maybe then I'll get one," she went on. "I mean, he'll want to see things like cartoons, the Disney things. And the way he's so crazy about cowboys — " She nodded. "Yes, I guess I'll have to get one then, when he's older . . . But not before." We asked about Shawn, how he was. "Sweet," Diane said. "A good boy." He went upstairs now, she said. He'd had his nap a little while earlier and he was up- stairs getting dressed. "My mother's here for a while, with us, and she's helping. They get along very well. They're very simpatico, my mother and my son. They can spend hour after hour together and enjoy themselves thoroughly. Time passes very quickly for them." And how was time passing for herself? we asked. "It passes well," Diane said, smiling a little again. She brought her hands up behind her head. Taking care of her son — of her house — that made time pass, she said. Fooling around with her jeep when something went wrong with it — that made time pass. Taking classes at the college a few times a week — mostly in poetry — studying, reading, writing poetry of her own — that made time pass. We asked Diane if we could read one of her poems, hear one. "Never," she said, bringing down her hands and clapping them together, laugh- ingly. "Nobody read Emily Dickinson's poems till she was dead. And nobody's going to read mine — ever." She winked. "Unless maybe one, someday, maybe, if I feel it's good enough." She got up, suddenly. "Coffee," she said, " — I should have asked you earlier. Would you like some? Good and hot and with rich brown sugar?" We said we would. Souvenirs Diane headed for a door that led to the kitchen, stopped midway and walked over to the phonograph instead. She picked up the few records that lay on the floor, un- derneath the phonograph, and examined them. "Just so you won't get bored wait- ing," she said, "how about a little music?" We noticed that one of the records was a capriccio by Saints-Saens. One was Bach — toccatas and fugues. One was the Surprise Symphony by Haydn. One was Kurt Weill's Berlin Songs . . . We remem- bered, silently, that these were the same few records Diane had had when she was back in Hollywood, in her home in To- panga Canyon. And we wondered, silent- ly, if Diane kept these records, and only these records, as a link to the past, a past she somehow missed. Despite her re- laxed look. Despite her smiles. Her laugh- ter. . . . We brought up the subject of returning to Hollywood, finally, a little while later, as we were having our coffee. We brought it up suddenly, in order to get an immediate and true reaction. And a reaction we got. Before Diane said a word the coloring in her cheeks vanished, we saw. The bright- ness in her eyes dimmed. Her lips pursed momentarily. And then she sighed and, her voice tight-sounding, tense, she said. "I couldn't ever go back. It's not for me. It never was and it never will be. Know that . . . please. Please know that." She was silent for a moment. "Do you know what living out there did to me?" she asked, then. "When I got sick — you remember that, don't you? How the studio said I was just a little tired, nervous, needed a couple of weeks in the hospital? How they didn't say that for five days of those two weeks I was blacked out, completely blacked out, sick and tired and completely blacked out? "The opposition . . . Maybe the right word is jealous y, competition- — I don't know. But the first word that comes to my mind is opposition. I felt it there, in that town, Hollywood. All the time. All over ... I could never take opposition. Even as a little girl, playing a game, chil- dren opposing one another. I couldn't take it then, when I was small. I can't ever take it. Other people can. But not me." She turned away from us, towards the window. "Here it's different," she said "There's nothing to fight here. For the first time in my life I'm somewhere where there's nothing to fight. There's only beau- ty here. Only nature. Things change — they are not stagnant here. Things change, and in their changing there is . . . peace. The peace of a snowfall, the peace of a bird in spring, the peace of the summer sun, of an autumn leaf, that turns color and with- ers but does not die, not really. There's quiet here . . . but there's life here, too, nonetheless. To me, it's the most real kind of life. It's seeing things grow, and die, and then become reborn again. There's no destruction here. There's only peace. And quiet. And the most beautiful kind of strength." Shawn She rose again, suddenly, at the sound of a noise on the staircase. "And there's him, my son," she said, walking toward the doorway. "I have him all the time here. He's mine here. No maids, no nannys, no baby-sitters sitting by while I am off in the world of make- believe. I have him, in this, my real world. And, believe me, I need nobody except my baby." Shawn, a handsome, blond-haired boy — three-and-a-half years old now — rushed into the room at this point, and over to Diane. He wore a fancy little cowboy suit. He held a small object in his hand. "Mommy," he asked, holding up the ob- ject, "What's this?" "A Brillo pad," Diane said. "That is called a Brillo pad." "And what's that?" Shawn asked. "A pad — for cleaning — that I use for cleaning the kitchen, and the bathroom." Diane said. Shawn nodded. "Oh, I see," he said. Then he asked. "And what are you, Mommy?" Diane looked down at her son for a moment. And then she knelt and took him in her arms and she hugged him, very tight. "I am a person. Shawn," she said. "And more and more and more, as I live, I hope to become a better person. . . ." A message from Diane The cabdriver removed the toothpick from his mouth as he drove away from the house. "Well," he asked, "you get what you came for?" No, we told him. "Too bad," he said, "Not even any pic- tures with that camera you lugged?" A few pictures, yes, a few pictures we i got, we said But they were the last pic- ! tures that would ever be taken of Diane ' Varsi, we added. Because nobody was ever going to come bother her again. We : had come with a message. Now we would return with one. Leave her alone, we would say to the world outside. She is I happy. She is very happy. And what is I more important than that? The old cabdriver shrugged. "Humph," he said, "and why shouldn't she be happy here? This is a friendly place I we have here, ain't it?" As he said that, a very light snow began I to fall. And we thought of what Diane had said about her snowfalls here, of her I bird in spring, of her summer sun, her | turning leaves, of the joy these things i brought her. the new-found love she felt J for them. And we said, "Yes, it is. A very friendly place you have here " END Biography of a Beatnik Boy MIDWINTER SPECIAL! Baby's First Shoes BRONZE PLATED IN SOLID METAL Only $399 Limited time only! Baby's precious shoes gorgeously- plated in SOLID METAL for onlv S3. 99 a pair. Don't confuse this offer of genuine lifetime BROXZE-PLATTNG with painted imitations. lOO^o Money-back guarantee. Also all-metal Portrait Stands (shown above), ashtrays, book- SEXD NO MONEY! Rush name and address to- day for full details, monev-saving certificate and handy mailing sack. Write TODAY! AMERICAN BRONZING CO.. Box 6533-P, Bexley. Ohio Fabulous gifts, imports, household gadgets, toys, cards, ceramics, jewelry . . . sell on sight! Write to: _______ _ _ __ Dept. 6-507, NORTH STAR SVS'iK KILL THE HAIR ROOT PROVIDENCE 15, R Ingrown NAIL> Just a few drops of soothing ' A Dr. Scholl's ONIXOL in nail groove relieve soreness and pain, soften embedded part of nail for easy removaL Sold everywhere. I DrScholls ONIXOL {Continued from page 23) Joannie, then at his son Jim. "Didn't we, Mike, hah? — Didn't we get it?" he asked, squeezing the hand he was holding. The small boy looked at the others, too, and nodded. "The MGM," Papa Gubitoni said, "—the biggest studio in all Hollywood. They gave our baby a test today and before we could leave they said they want him for the Our Gang. The big, famous Our Gang comedies. He's a movie star, our Mike, our little boy. Everybody, get up from your chair and come kiss him." The others did, obediently. And as they did, Papa Gubitoni closed his eyes. "They laughed," he said, "they made faces, they whispered things behind my back, those people in Nutley, New Jers', when I told them: 'Yes, yes, it's true. I only got seventy-five dollar to my name, but I sick of this Depression and this WPA and I gonna pack my family in the car and take them to Hollywood, California, and make my Mike a movie star. Because he's got talent, my Mike. You just gotta hear him sing, a kid his age, to know that, how much talent he got!' . . . They laughed, and whispered. And, San Rocco, mio, what they would have done when they see us arrive here last month, ail dirty and with only thirty-eight dollar left out of the seventy-five, and having to move into this place, two tiny room and a lousy tiny bathroom, worse than anything even in Nutley, New Jers', hah?" He opened his eyes, quickly. "Hah? What they would have said?" he asked. The others, all standing now, nodded. "Well," Papa Gubitoni went on, "the next things they're all gonna say, I can tell you what those are gonna be. They're gonna say, 'That Gubitoni, did you hear about his kid? He's in the Our Gang, in Hollywood, the movies, honest to God!' And ten years from now they're gonna say, 'That Gubitoni, you remember? Well, his kid's still in the movies, better all the time, working all the time, making we don't know how much money by now. San Rocco mio, and how we used to laugh at the old man. And just look at him and his kid today!" He looked down at his son. "Mi jai felice, Michele," he said. "You make me very proud and happy, Mike, by what happen today." "That's good." the boy said, shrugging. POEMS WANTED for musical setting and _ recording. Any subject. Immediate consideration. FREE examination. Send your poems today to SONGCRAFTERS, Studio L, Acklen Station, Nashville, Tenn. Shrinks Hemorrhoids New Way Without Surgery Stops Itch -Relieves Pain For the first time science has found a new healing- substance with the astonishing- ability to shrink hemorrhoids and to relieve pain — without surgery. In case after case, while gently relieving pain, actual reduction (shrinkage) took place. Most amazing of all — results were so thorough that sufferers made astonishing- statements like "Piles have ceased to be a problem ! " The secret is a new healing substance (Bio-Dyne*) — discovery of a world-famous research institute. This substance is now available in sup- pository or ointment form under the name Preparation H." Ask for it at all drug count- ers—money back guarantee. *ReE. u.s. Pat. off The Nation's Top Disk Jockeys pose a series of questions to see if you know your record stars. 1. He has attained phenomenal success as a vocalist in rather short time. He's married to Eydie Gorme, records for ABC- Paramount, was featured on the Steve Allen show. Fred Allen, 2. This trio records for Capitol. WIRK, West The boys had a hit in Tom Palm Beach, Dooley; their latest single is Coo Coo U. Their hobbies are songwriting, surfing, sports car racing, and .. water-skiing. 3. This composer, ar- ranger, conductor has long scored music for spectacular-type movies. His latest music is for SJL the film Ben-Hur, and was released as an album Ken Gaughran, WREB, by Lion Records. Holyoke' Mass' 4. This gal vocalist gained fame singing ivith Benny Goodman's band. She's appeared in mov- ies, night clubs, on TV. She had million-record sellers Ma- riana, I've Got You Under My Skin. Latest album is Beauty And The Beat, with George Shearing. 5. This young vocalist came to America's notice with his recording of Venus. First KEZYny Anaheim! movie wa,s Gun* 0f The Tim- Calif. berland, latest is The Alamo. He records for Chancellor. 6. This maestro-arranger is known for his lush ar- rangements. One of his own songs is Holiday For Strings. Lion has issued an album titled The Magic Melodies Of . 7. This orchestra leader's famous for comedy song- ; \ renditions, is married to W vocalist Keely Smith. Lat- * est album's Hey Boy, Hey Norm Stevens, Girl; latest single's My WMGM, New York Cucuzza, backed by Hey! cit*' N- Y- Ba-Ba-Re-Bop, Dot Label. vmujnnoj uojDay siqavjj ■<} "And all of us, the family," Papa Gubi- toni said, looking back at the others, "all of us should be very proud of our baby." "We are," his wife said. "We are," said Joannie, then Jim. "Now," said Papa Gubitoni, walking over to the table, still holding his young son by the hand, "for tonight you sit here, at my place, Mike. And you eat in the place of honor. And as long as you live you will remember this night, and the happiness that you bring to all of us." He let go of the boy's hand. The boy stood there, motionless momen- tarily, confused. "Go 'head, sit," Papa Gubitoni said. And as the boy did, finally, Papa Gubi- toni picked up the plate in front of him and walked to the stove to serve him him- self. . . . Hard work and pampering "I played in the Our Gang series for five years, till I was ten," Robert Blake (for- merly Michael Gubitoni) says today. "I don't remember much about those years except that it was a lot of hard work and that I got a lot of pampering, from my father at home and from producers and directors at the studio. But then, when I was ten, the series was dropped, I was re- leased from my contract and the misery be- gan. At first it centered around school. I was sent to a public school for the first time in my life and I found out right away what people on the outside thought of child stars. They hated them. The teachers figured I had to be snotty, because of my | background, and so that's what they were to me. Snotty. The kids — they were even worse; the same kids who used to run to see me on the screen on Saturday after- noons. Well, I found out the movies were one thing and real life was another. And now that these kids had me in their midst, in real life, I was like some crippled mon- ster to them. They'd pass jokes and push me around and a couple of times a few of them sneaked up on me and pulled off my pants and threw them out the window. As time went on, things got worse. I got beat up more than once and I guess the only reason I never fought back was that I figured once I started throwing my fists around I would never stop. Anyway, that was school, the misery there. Then there was the misery at home. My father, he was like a broken man when I wasn't working. He'd had this big dream about me going places, and now nothing was happening. He was broken, defeated. And always complaining. Twice he got happy again. Once was when I was about twelve and Republic Pictures signed me to play Little Beaver, the Indian boy, in the Red Ryder series. That was a big success. And Pop was happy. While it lasted. Then, when I was fifteen, I was signed to play in Black Rose, with Tyrone Power. Pop was real happy this time. His son was off to Europe to make a big-time picture with a big-time star for a big-time studio. This was going to be it. The beginning of the real big stuff. But when Pop's son — when I got back from Europe that week end and went back to school that Monday morning and got beat up by a couple of tough guys and then got a paddling on the behind by the vice-principal who said it was me who started the whole thing, well, I went home and told my father I didn't care what, but the hell with movies, and I wasn't ever going to make another one again. We had a big fight. I don't want to say too much about it, because it's about my family and I don't want them to be hurt by this. But things came up during the fight like me asking what happened to all the money I'd made all these years and why didn't we ever seem to have a cent, nothing, nothing except for this new house I'd bought, and I started hearing from my father about some bad investments he'd made with the money — bad investments — bad property — bad land— bad this— bad that— and I stopped my father right in the middle and told him I was getting out, leaving, that I didn't want to live in this place anymore. I went upstairs to pack a suitcase. When I came back down I could hear my parents talking in the other room. My mother was crying and saying, 'He shouldn't break up the family like this.' My father was say- ing, 'That boy belongs in the house, with us. What does he mean by wanting to leave? What does that ungrateful boy mean? That ungrateful boy!' My sister Joannie was standing there, near the front door, as I came down the stairs. She didn't say anything but I could tell from her expression that she understood why I had to go. I was sick and miserable from everything and I couldn't take it anymore. She understood, a little at least. So I walked past her and out the door. For a while, I just walked down the street, lugging my suitcase. I didn't know where to go. I didn't really have enough money to go anyplace. And then, suddenly, it came to me. There was this couple, parents of this guy I knew who was away in the Marines. I'd visited them a few times. They were pretty poor, so I didn't know if they could take me on. They were pretty drunk, too, those few times I'd seen them — I'd even heard they were alcoholics — so I didn't know if they'd want to take me on. But they were good people. And they'd been nice to me. I remembered that. And I thought I'd go to them and see what they'd say. . . ." Cure for the woes "Hello there, son," the man, all bleary- eyed, said when he opened the door and saw Bob. "Sure, sure I remember you. And how've you been? Going someplace with that valise? Wanna stay here? Sure. Sure. Now come in and talk to Mama first. And tell me, how've you been?" "Wanna stay here?" the woman was asking Bob a few minutes later. "Well, now, I'm not gonna pry into why. Ain't none of my business. But I'm gonna tell you this. If you do stay with us, we want you to be happy. We don't want you feelin' formal about things or addressin' us Sir and Ma'am, like you been doing. Pop there — he's Unc. And me — I'm Aunt. That's the only condition we lay down with you. We want you to feel like part of the family. And if you don't like that, vou can git." (They all laughed.) "You'll stay?" (Bob nodded.) "Well, good. Now let me show you where you'll sleep and then let's all keep quiet and watch TV!" It was a little after eleven that night — they were sitting in the parlor, watching the News — when Unc passed Bob the bot- tle he and Aunt had been drinking from, and a glass. "Help yourself. It's Four Roses — not that cheap stuff. It'll do you good," he said. Bob shook his head. "I don't drink hard — " he started to say. "Hard?" Unc asked, interrupting, his eyes still glued on the screen. "Why, boy, that what you have in your hands, that is the softest and the gentlest stuff in the whole world. It's warm. Clean. Alcohol kills any impurities. You should know that. And it'll make you feel better, if it's woes you got. It's made me and Mama feel better a long time now. Contented's what we are now. Contented, not woeful no longer. . . You got woes, boy?" Bob nodded. "Yes," he said. "Then help yourself to that stuff. Not too much. But not too little, either, if'n you want to get the proper effect." Bob looked at the bottle and the glass in his hands. Then he looked over at Aunt and Unc, sitting there, holding their glasses. They both seemed very contented. And so, after a moment, he found him- self pouring a drink. . . . "I went to bed dead drunk that night," he recalls, "and I was relaxed and happy for the first time I could remember, and glad I'd gone there to stay. I stayed two years, in fact, until about a year after I graduated from high school. Practically every night of those two years I got drunk. Not rowdy. Not out in bars. But home, just me and Aunt and Unc together, real quiet- ly, slowly, friendly-like, watching our TV till the moment came when I just went to bed and forgot everything that had hap- pened in my past and didn't care what happened in my future. Drunk. Happy. Glad I'd come to stay . . . The one thing I didn't count on, though, was getting sick. After high school. I'd taken on some jobs. Construction gangs, lifting crates in a TV factory, stuff like that. Heavy work. Sweat work. Almost like self-punishment work. Well, after a while, between the work and the drink, I got sick. I dropped about twenty pounds, to 115. I had headaches all the time, stomachaches, aches in the neck, the arms, everyplace. . . . Then one night Aunt and Unc had a talk with me. They said they didn't want to butt into my per- sonal affairs, but that maybe what I needed was to get back to acting. We talked a long time, me saying that it was the last thing I wanted to do. ever, and them saying maybe now that I'd been away from it two years I would find it different to go back to, better. While they talked, I began to realize something. That these people had been carrying me for a long time now, that I was becoming a broken arm to them, that I'd never given them more than a few bucks a week and that maybe it was about time I did something to pay them back. So I said okay. And a few days later I got myself an agent ... I'd never had an agent before. Pop had always handled everything for me. But I signed with this fellow Carlos Alvarado now and I went back to work. There was plenty of work, mostly TV, some movies. And I started making plenty of money. The checks really came flying in and for the first time they were addressed to me and came to me. The money felt good. I payed back Aunt and Unc every cent I owed them. I bought a car, too, an old Ford jalopy, yeah, but the first thing I'd ever actually owned. It felt great sometimes at night to sit back and think I was paying my debts and had a car and that if I stuck with this acting thing I'd never have a debt again and own lots more things. Beatnik But in the morning, mornings I had to go to work, back to the studio, the feeling was different — lousy and sick again, as if getting out of bed and knowing that in a little while I'd be walking through that studio gate was like knowing I'd be walk- ing right into my own coffin. The memories were still with me. My father. The big star I was supposed to be to him. School. The teachers calling me Snotty. The kids laughing, pushing, hitting, hating. The brand of Outcast, my label to the outside world. Me. me myself, running away from home and taking to drink and practically turning into a vegetable. And why? I knew why. That it was because of studios like this one I had to get up and go to that all this had happened to me. Because of that great industry known as the movies, TV, acting. Because of the big swell glam- orous life you were supposed to get out of all this and never, except in few rare cases, did ... So one morning, waking up, think- ing. I decided the hell with it all again, and I stayed in bed. I'd be a vegetable again, I figured. Nobody'll be hurt but me, so what difference did it make. I hung around. I didn't work — not at construction, not at acting, not at anything. I became a bum. I became a Beatnik bum, the worst kind. I didn't want any friends, but I couldn't take being alone either, so I joined the Hollywood coffee house herd, the weirdos in sandals and jeans, the phonies, the peo- ple who had settled for their misery. I wallowed in their company, in the stink of their life. And when, after about six months, I got my letter from Uncle Sam, telling me he wanted me to come serve in this man's Army, I couldn't have cared less. Even when, after basic training, they sent me up to Alaska and stationed me at Anchorage and I met a girl, a beautiful girl named Gloria Cross, a ballerina, and we thought we were in love, me for the first time in my life, and then her father forbade her to see me — he didn't like sol- diers, he said; we were all a bunch of no -goods out for no good, he said — I didn't care. Even when, after Anchorage, they sent me up to the north part of Alaska and put me into a guinea-pig experimental outfit that had to live in fifty degree-below weather, I didn't care. I didn't care about anything anymore. I didn't care the day that sergeant with the big fat face, the one who used to roar with laughter every time he saw me and called me Little Beaver — Hollywood's Answer to the United States Army, the day he came and told me I was going to be court-martialed. I just didn't care about anything anymore. . . ." "I was caught stealing . . ." The Chaplain, a big Irishman, a Catholic priest, asked Bob to have a seat. "I've sent for you, Private," he said, smil- ing a little, "so that we could have a talk about this court-martial. A private talk." "There's nothing much to talk about," 150 FOR YOU! Fill in the form below (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) as soon as you've read all the stories in this issue. Then mail it to us right away. Promptness counts. Three $10 winners will be chosen from each of the following areas — on a basis of the date and time on your postmark: Eastern states; Southern s+ates; Midwestern states; Rocky Mountain and Pacific states; Canada. And even if you don't earn $10, you'll be glad you sent this ballot in— because you're helping us pick the stories you'll really love. MAIL TO: MODERN SCREEN POLL, BOX 2291, GRAND CENTRAL STATION, N. Y. 17, N. Y. Please circle the box to the left of the one 1. I LIKE DEBBIE REYNOLDS: B more than almost any star B a lot dO fairly well E very little B not at all GO am not very familiar with her I READ: B all of her story E part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: [TJ super-completely B completely QTj fairly well B very little GO not at all 2. I LIKE ROBERT BLAKE: B more than almost any star B a lot [H fairly well B very little QD not at all GO am not very familiar with him I READ: UJ all of his story [Tj part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: [TJ super-completely QO completely GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all 3. I LIKE ELVIS PRESLEY: [TJ more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him phrase which best answers each question: I READ: GO all of his story GO part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: E super-completely GO completely GO fairly well GO very little Q{] not at all 4. I LIKE ELIZABETH TAYLOR: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little B not at all E am not very familiar with her I LIKE EDDIE FISHER: E more than almost any star GO a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with him I READ: B all of their story E part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: E super-completely E completely E fairly well E very little E not at all 5. I LIKE DIANE BAKER: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with her I READ: E all of her story E part E none IT HELD MY INTEREST: E super-completely E completely E fairly well E very little E not at all 6. I LIKE PAMELA LINCOLN: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with her I LIKE DARRYL HICKMAN: E more than almost any star E a lot E fairly well E very little E not at all E am not very familiar with him I READ: E all of their story E part E none IT HELO MY INTEREST: E super-completely E completely E fairly well B very little E not at all Bob said. "I committed a crime, I was caught and now they're going to get me." "This crime," the Chaplain asked, "what was it?" "I told you I stole," Bob said. "And you stole what — a jeep, a truck, an airplane?" the Chaplain asked. "Aw, come on. You know what I stole," Bob said. "You've read the reports. I stole a can of gasoline." "And why, Private?" the Chaplain asked. Bob shrugged. "It's not important," he said. "But it is," the Chaplain said. "If you're convicted of this charge it could mean years, long years, in prison." "So what?" Bob asked. "I want you to tell me why," the priest said, raising his voice now, the smile gone from his face. "I want you to stop being a wise guy and tell me why, so that maybe I can help you." "Well," said Bob, "at night when you and all the other officers are sleeping in your barracks, we guys — " He looked down. "You guys what?" asked the Chaplain. "We guys," said Bob " — we're out in those tents of ours." "Yes," the Chaplain said, breathing deep- ly, "yes, I know." "Father," Bob went on, staring down at his shoes, "the last few nights . . . it's been murder. Fifty-five below. Fifty-eight be- low. Four nights ago one of our guys, while he was sleeping, his ears froze and turned black on him. The next morning the medics came and took him away. That afternoon they cut off one of his ears. A big guy. A healthy guy. They took off one of his ears." "Yes," the Chaplain said. "And two nights ago," Bob said, "I woke up. It was in the middle of the night. And I saw this guy who sleeps next to me. He'd been mumbling something about his fin- gers beginning to turn color and freeze. He was afraid they were going to freeze but good in a few hours and that they'd have to be cut off, too. And so he was standing there now, trying to make a fire out of two lousy post-cards he'd received from home. He was crying and shivering and afraid, and his hands were so frozen he couldn't even strike the match. . . . "Well," Bob said. He paused. "Well, our stove had gone out. We'd used up all the gasoline we had for the night. We needed more. I knew, too, where the gasoline was stored. So I left the tent and went there and stole a can and came back and filled up our stove. It was a little warmer after that. It wasn't as cold as it had been be- fore." He looked up. "That's it," he said. "That's what hap- pened." "And you were caught," the Chaplain said. "This sergeant," Bob said, "in the morn- ing, he followed my footprints from the storehouse to the tent. I was caught, all right." The Chaplain offered Bob a cigarette now. and took one for himself. For a while neither of them, the priest nor the private, spoke. And then the priest said, "Blake, I'm going to see what I can do for you, see if I can get you out of this mess." Bob shook his head. "Father, I don't want to sound like that wise guy you were talking about before. But I say what I think. And I think that if you're doing this for me to be grateful, so that I start coming to Chapel on Sundays or do any of those things I don't do any more — well, I just don't want you to go wasting your time then. I'm not the kind of guy who goes to church or anything like that." "You mean you don't want me bugging you about God?" the Chaplain asked. "If that's the way you want to put it," Bob said. The Chaplain shook his head. "I'm not going to bug you, Blake," he said. "I'm going to try to help you, period, no strings attached, because I think you did the right thing, because I don't want you to be punished for something you felt you had to do . . . About God — " He sighed. "God will help you in His own way, in a way and at a time He deems best, when you're most alone, when you need His help most. For God, you see, Private, God — " He shook his head again and put out his cigarette. "I'll try to help you, son," he said, then. " — period, no strings attached. All right? . . . That's all." "I got out of the court-martial, thanks to the priest," Bob remembers. "And after a while my Army hitch was over and I got out of that. And I found myself back in L.A., in Hollywood. And I found that things seemed somehow different about me. my life. I wanted to work, really wanted to work, for the first time. I wanted friends, too, people to like and to like me. It wasn't easy at the begin- ning. But as time passed, things worked out. I started getting the jobs, good jobs. And I started having friends. And I was closer to any kind of happiness than I'd ever been before. Like I am now . . . Sometimes I wonder how it happened. Why it happened. I honestly don't know. But sometimes I find myself thinking that maybe it has to do with what that big Irish priest told me that day, about God. God helping you when you're most alone, when you need that help. And I find my- self thinking, Well, maybe. . . ." end Robert is in The Purple Gang. Allied Artists. 7. I LIKE LANA TURNER: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all 00 am not very familiar with her 1 READ: GO all of her story GO part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely GO completely \T\ fairly well GO very little GO not at all 8. I LIKE PAT BOONE: GO more than almost any star 00 a lot HO fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 00 am not very familiar with him 1 READ: [j] all of his story 00 part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely GO completely QO fairly well GO very little GO not at all 9. I LIKE DIANE VARSI: nrj more than almost any star [T| a lot 13. The stars I most want to read about are: (3) AGE NAT ADDRESS CITY 0 fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all 00 am not very familiar with her 1 READ: [TJ all of her story GO part 00 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: [TJ super-completely GO completely 00 fairly well [JJ very little GO not at all 10. I LIKE BRIGITTE BARD0T: GO more than almost any star GO a lot 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all 00 am not very familiar with her 1 READ: GO all of her story 00 part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely GO completely 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all 11. I LIKE JANET LEIGH: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little 00 not at all 00 am not very familiar with her I LIKE TONY CURTIS: GO more than almost any star GO a lot 00 fairly well 00 very little 00 not at all GO am not very familiar with him 1 READ: GO all of their story GO part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely GO completely 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all 12. I LIKE GENE BARRY: GO more than almost any star GO a lot GO fairly well GO very little GO not at all GO am not very familiar with him I READ: GO all of his story GO part GO none IT HELD MY INTEREST: GO super-completely GO completely 00 fairly well GO very little GO not at all (1) . (2) . (3) . . ZONE STATE lust for f Isit true... Mondes have more fun? the fun of it, be a blonde and see ... a Lady >lairol blonde with shining, silken hair! You'll love he life in it ! The soft touch and tone of it ! The avely ladylike way it lights up your looks. 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OM-3, Garden City, New York Send me at once the 4 books checked below and bill me only 99 ^e famous Hollywood ■ " producer of, among others, Elvis' new picture GI Blues, talks about his star from a professional yet warmly human point of view. Finally, with the invaluable cooperation of the Presley's friends and neighbors in Memphis, Tennessee, we offer a glimpse of what for Elvis — returning to walk the street of memory, past the house of M I % M I empty rooms, up the hill to the cemetery £^ Lbi W —will surely be the real story of his homecoming mmm Elvis longed for the sight of Graceland, the mansion he bought his mother, and to kneel again at her grave. by Ed DeBlasio As we go to press, Ellis Presley is expected home. This is the story of that home- coming, by a newspaper- friend of the celebrated G.I. ■ A very few days from now. the soldier will be home from Germany. According to present plans, he will be handed his discharge papers in the same building where he was inducted two years ago, on March 20, 1958— a big and old and homely red-brick building some six miles outside of Memphis, Tennessee, a building called, simply, the Army General Depot. Papers in hand, his dad at his side, he will leave the building and begin to (Continued on page 52) Three American teenagers (LaVerne Novak, Pattie McCabe and Toni Cistone) report on their recent Hal Wallis (producer of Elvis' upcoming Gl Blues) reports on his star's immediate future his grown-up way with the ; ■ Probably one of the greatest thrills for any teenage girl in this tw is the opportunity to meet and talk to Elvis Presley. Recently three t to Europe on a singing tour, and they not only had the chance to me< were lucky enough to spend part of a weekend with him, talking, sin: what makes Elvis the great guy that he is. Who were the girls? The Poni Tails, a young and exciting singing g fine harmony in Born Too Late and I'll Be Seeing You). Of the three, Toni Cistone, who's brown-haired and brown-eyed, is sing while washing dishes. Blue-eyed Patti McCabe is chestnut-haired ( his plans, his projects & his d ■ When Modern Screen learned that Hal Wallis was going to Gerr the new Elvis Presley picture, G.I. Blues, we asked him for news of E discovered and has carefully guided Elvis to stardom in pictures, not e as a substantial actor, we asked Mr. Wallis to bring us a candid repoi Elvis himself. A report to separate the facts from the many conjectu] saturated Elvis' loyal fans these past two years. And here in detail is Mr. Wallis' account of his meetings with Elv G.I. Blues in Hollywood on his release from the Army in March. " 'I've sure been getting a lot of experience and local color to play « LIKE AWFUL 11 Afternoon bike-rides with Kimm Charney, or sisterly TV ses- sions, are okay — but Dodie dreams of a night-time date. Dodie hears it from all the boys right now : "Like I'll call you back in about three years." ■ Saturday night on Sun- set Boulevard. And thirteen - year-old Dodie Stevens was doing a last run-through at a recording session. Crying her heart out into the studio microphone. Like she'd loved and lost a lifetime .... With excited big brown ' eyes — just level with the glass in the sound-box — she watched Louis Prima gesturing from the control booth, super- vising her first album session for Dot. She looked at the (Continued on page 68) ■ Here is a happy woman . . . oblivious to the camera, lost in the discovery of her new-born son, lost in the un- believable joy of motherhood. Unbelievable to Brigitte, because this is the same girl who, not long ago, told the world that she didn't find pregnancy "much of a joke," that she was "alarmed" by the coming birth — in fact almost admitted that she really didn't want this child. And the ecstatic-looking young man, toasting the little family with sparkling champagne. . . This is Jacques Charrier, the proud father, whose nerves, not long ago, were so frazzled, whose depression was so grave that he had to undergo psychiatric treatment. With the coming of little Nicolas, his sanity is restored, Brigitte is delivered, and no longer remembers the an- guish, for the joy that a child is bom into the world. ■ It seems like only yesterday that I was standing in line at the bank— making a withdrawal, of course. It was my second day at Northwestern University, where I was taking summer courses. I had enrolled because all my friends were going there, and because I had heard everybody went there either to make up courses, or to indulge in the legendary summer romances on the shore of Lake Michigan. Well, here I was at the bank . . . and three or four paces ahead of me was a beautiful, tall girl- making a deposit, no doubt! I stared at her, and noticed her prematurely gray hair, her lovely figure, her freckles, her bank book . . . No, not her bank book. I gaped, and I gulped, and my little heart pounded. I suspect all 115 pounds of me shook. My small brown eyes grew smaller as I squinted at this lovely girl. I clutched my withdrawal slip while she finished her business. Then she walked briskly out, and I lost her in the crowd of students pouring into the bank (to make withdrawals, of course). I snapped out of my daze, forgot to withdraw the money, staggered out uncertainly, and wandered back to my room to inform my best friend: "I just saw the girl I am going to marry!" He just yawned and went back to eating a potato chip sandwich. When I got hold of myself, I scurried out to hunt down this girl. Soon I discovered she was Florence Mitchell, a student at the same university, who, unfor- tunately, was not in any of my classes. So I managed to get up a list of her classes. Since (Continued on page 51) never before told (and probably never again) CE Parboil by Tony Randall there was just 10 minutes between classes, I would run to the classroom where she was due, just to catch a glimpse of her. I didn't have the nerve to talk to her. At times, I would run into her quite accidentally in the corridors or on the campus (well, not always accidentally) and my heart would pound something ter- rible. Of course, I never let on that her mere presence threw me into a tizzy. Being part of the clique of kids who did the school plays, I was quite an actor, and I knew how to conceal my true feelings. She has always said she never, never did notice me. But she must be fibbing, for how could she have failed to notice me? After all, I was then about a half inch taller than I am now. I was a solid 115 pounds, including pimples and a pinch face. I had bushy hair, with a great big wave up front, which made my forehead look only one inch deep. I had black rings under my eyes, and humped shoulders from always slumping because I didn't get enough sleep and was always napping in my chair. I was 18 then, at the age when I felt it was real living to stay up all night and drink beer and talk and talk. I never went to bed, and I was always tired and sleepy, and I'm sure I had a charmingly idiotic look. Worse, I smoked a lot and drank coffee, and wasted my life away. Of course, I felt that I was living a ter- ribly romantic life. And the only reason I don't live this kind of life any more is that I cannot stand it! It would kill me! Well, one bright day . . . no, it couldn't have been bright because I was carrying an umbrella ... or maybe I was still in a daze . . I was walking along with some fellows when I realized (sigh! sigh!) that she was walking behind us. Joe College wasn't chic I don't know why I did it, but I suddenly started to show off badly. I exclaimed loudly, so she could hear, that, "This summer I'm going to be Joe College!" This meant that I would wave the banner and wear a racoon coat and wide bell-bottom trousers, and act like the movie version of a wild college student. And at our school, all students were trying desperately not to behave like students. It just wasn't chic that summer. So, of course, I screamed and fussed and made an idiot of myself (which was not difficult) and presumed that She was im- pressed. Several days later, I was again carrying an umbrella (it was a rainy summer, you know), when I saw her. Don't ask me why, but on sheer im- pulse I went over to her and started beat- ing her on the shoulders with my um- brella, and shouting. (Poor girl, it seems I never had these impulses on a sunny day when I wasn't carrying an umbrella.) Well, she did not kick me in the shins or call for the police, as she should have. Instead, she said, sweetly, "Stop Joe!" (I guess she thought my name was real- ly Joe College.) Bless her heart, she wasn't mad at me. She thought I was very funny. I realized at once that she was a girl of superior intelligence. She laughed at everything I said or did, and I was shocked into sheer delight. No other girl had reacted so wholeheartedly to my alleged sense of humor. We made a date to go swimming. I will never forget the date: July 3. I joined her on the beach. There she was: a Venus in a beautiful blue bathing suit. And there I was: a sight in my yellow bathing trunks, my concave chest sag- ging, my shoulders sticking out like wings, my ribs sticking out like a set of old pipes, BRA BY PER MA-LIFT Adorned with Self -Fitting Cups Blessed with the Neveride Band Your bosom, is gentry cradled from the sides, gloriously lifted to bewitching new contours, by a new, trium- phantly feminine "Perma • lift" bra with Self "Fitting cups that conform to you, and a Neveride Band that securely holds your bra in place. Wash-'n'-wear cotton, S3. Con- tour or padded style, S3. 95. At the finest stores. 3. Pat. Off. A product of A. Stein & Company ■ Chicago — New York — Los Angeles — Toronto Jim Martin, Station WSOC, Charlotte, N. C Howie Leonard, Station WLOB, Portland, Me. The Nation's Top Disk Jockeys pose a series of questions to see if you know your record stars. 1. His Calypso records were big hits. Perhaps the best folk-singer of the day, RCA- Victor issued a special album titled at Carnegie Hall. He starred in the movie Odds Against Tomorrow. 2, The title of her new album, a Disneyland release, is her first name. She's eighteen, had hit singles such as Tall Paul, Danny Boy. An original member of the TV MOUSKETEERS, starred in Shaggy Dog. 3. He records for Verve, Roulette, plays great piano with his orches- tra: latest album is Chairman of the Board. He's been in movies, TV, radio. Two hit singles were Shake, Rattle and Roll, and One Mori Tim i . jfF****^^ 4. Before his first big hit, on m % : Chess label, he worked as a hairdresser. The hit was ^p^tCS*! Ma ybellene, which he . u rate: latest album is J *; on Top and some of his hit I^L ' jmm singles were Sweet Little Sixteen, Too Much Mon- . /, key Ht sini.ss and Ron. Si ' 'Warn Over, Beethoven. Jerry Grisham, 5. These girls are a quartet Station KVIP known bv one name. They Redd.ng. Calif. smg fof jom Qn ^ Arthur Godfrey Show: their latest single is A Girl's Work Is Never Done. Ca- dence label. A past hit was Mr. Sandman. 6. A smooth-style singer; he's written an auto- biography titled Twixt 12 and 20: stars in Journey to the Center of the Earth, had past hits Ain't That a Shame, I Amost Lost My Mind. 7. He's on the Atco Label, had the biggest single hit of the year, Mack the Knife. Paramount Pictures just signed him. uuvq Xqqog juoog joj .g 3}SBgtunoj -£ Bill "Total" Reck, Station WTRR, Sanford, Fla. George E. LeZotte, Station WTRY, Troy, N. Y. my ears sticking out, my eyes ringed in dark circles. She looked like a model for good health. I looked like the Before fellow in the before-and-after ads for vitamin pep pills! I still don't know why she was not ashamed of being seen with me. I tried puffing out my chest, but this was im- possible. I strutted a bit — this was easier, although a gruesome sight. Finally we ran briskly into the water. We splashed around, and I had to strug- gle to hold my place when the waves re- ceded and tugged at my legs. Yes, I know the waves of Lake Michigan are pretty weak, but so was I! Finally, we came out of the water and as we walked happily on the sand, she put a wet lily-white hand on my shoulder and whispered, "My Adonis!" I looked around furtively, and asked, "Who . . . me?" "Yes," she whispered back, evidently annoyed that I would doubt her. "Not skinny me?" I protested, half heartedly. But she insisted I was her Adonis. And to this day I periodically ask, "Did you really mean it when you said I was your Adonis?" And she keeps saying, "You were magnificent, dear." Two weeks after I had hit her with the umbrella, we sneaked off to Worcester, Massachusetts, and got married. We were both 18, and we were mad for each other. We were laughing all the time. She was the greatest one-woman audience I've ever had. She was laughing so much, we had to do something to stop that. We did . . . and to this day, I beg her to go back to those mad courtship days when she laughed and laughed. (Sometimes I wonder if it's because I'm hooked now . . . and she doesn't have to . . . Well, it's a dark thought and we won't go into it.) We did not tell our parents. In fact, we eloped without telling anybody! We sneaked back to college after our week- end in Worcester and, of course, started living together. All our friends, naturally enough, sus- pected we were living together without benefit of clergy. We would not tell them. Why should we worry, we thought . . . let them worry! When I recall our courtship, I just can- not remember how I proposed, if I did at all. I blank out on it. And nobody is going to trap me into saying I blank out be- cause it was an unhappy experience. I'm too foxy for that. Flo Flo, which is what I call her some- times, won't tell me how I proposed. She says it's her secret. It was while studying speech at North- western that I decided to become an actor. Before that I had only worked for three weeks as an office boy with an oil company, and the oil industry made it clear that it could survive my departure. Any- way, after our summer course at North- western, Flo Flo and I went to New York. She notified her parents and I notified my parents that we were in New York for further studies, so they continued to send us our allowances. These allowances, plus what I could pick up as a struggling actor and what Flo Flo could get from modeling, kept us alive during our early years of marriage. We didn't tell our parents that we were married until two or three years later, when we no longer needed our allowances. I went into the U.S. Army for four years, serving in the Signal Corps, and Flo Flo traveled with me as much as possible. When I returned to Broadway, my career started to pick up and I've managed nicely, and now Flo Flo doesn't have to work at modeling any more. She just stays home and cooks. Sometimes, in a desperate effort to get her laughing again, I call my wife Ivan Simpson, after an old actor with whom I worked in Caesar and Cleopatra. He wore his hair in bangs for the role, and my wife cut her hair short at that time and looked a bit like Ivan Simpson. Unfortunately, she doesn't laugh at this. She, in turn, calls me Idol of the Mil- lions. After dinner, when I am washing the dishes, she sits (exhausted from the big meal, of course) and lights a cigarette. And while she blows smoke rings toward the chandelier, she says (somewhat sar- castically, I must say), "Well, weD . . . everybody from the building across the way is looking over at the Idol of the Millions washing dishes!" Unfortunately, I don't think this is funny . . . and I don't laugh. So, you see, we have a few kinks to iron out. And to think that it all started when I went to the bank — to make a withdraw- al, of course. END Tony co-stars in Pillow Talk, U.I., will be seen later in Let's Make Love for 20th- Fox. The Memories That Will Never Die (Continued from page 43) head for his car, one of the two new Cadil- lacs that have already been ordered for him. He will walk out of the door, and onto the steps that lead down to the side- walk. But he will not get far down these steps before the crowds, waiting for him since early that morning, will surround him. Hi, Elvis, they'll shout, welcome home . . . the kids, the grown-ups, the cops, even the MPs. A few babies, held high by their mothers, will wave haphazardly. A few young girls, blushing and brazen, will rush forward to touch him. And he will smile politely, warmly, and say thank you ma'am, thank you sir, thank you sis. thank you . . . And as he speaks he will look around and remember this same spot, that other morning, exactly two years ago, that chill and rain-swept morning when she stood there, in her plain black coat, the little black hat on her head, the handker- chief clutched tightly in her hand, in the midst of this same-type crowd, and how, smiling through her helpless tears, she said to him: Good-bye, God bless you. Take care. And write so's I don't worry too much. And to himself, as he stands there this morning, two years later, remembering her, he will think: Later, later, when dark- ness begins to come and we can be to- gether again, for just a little while at least. . . . Questions, answers Once in the car, there'll be the usual de- lay. The motor warming, ready to go, he will lean out the window and, still smiling, he will wait while the photographers, pop- ping away these past few minutes, call out for one more, a couple more, just a few more shots pu-leez; while the reporters — men from the Commercial Appeal and the Press-Scimitar and the big three wire services— finally making their way through the crowd, call out their questions. "Come on, 'fess up, did you get engaged to any of those frauleins over there?" — it's a cinch they 11 ask this. "Nope," Elvis will say. "How long you going to be in Memphis before you head for Hollywood?" they'll ask. "Two, three weeks — the longer, the bet- ter." "Going to live it up?" The smile widening: "I hope so." Then: "Is it true about the rumor, Elvis, that you're planning to sell Graceland?" And Elvis will shake his head and he will say, "No. Not on your life. Never. . . ." Stop on the hill The ride home, down Airways Boule- vard, will be as swift as Tennessee law allows. The tobacco fields, the farms, the factories, the patches of still-brown wood- land, the schoolhouses, the motels, the bill- boards, the fruit stands, the turn-offs with their zigzag signposts, the new shopping center, the new housing developments, the used car lots, the empty lots, the circus site — all will pass by him quickly. The windows of the car will be down. The air, filled with the sweet clay smell of South- ern earth, will whip against the sides of his face and up into his nostrils. The feel- ing will be a good feeling, familiar once but then half-forgotten and now, once more, familiar. The car will continue to race on. Till when it reaches the hill it will slow down momentarily, practically stop. For from the crest of the hill he will be able to look down, way down, and there, slightly to his right, three-quarters of a mile away, he will be able to see it — Graceland. It will look as lovely as ever, this lovely house, with its white-pillared entranceway standing out bright and proud, with its big windows glistening, its acres of rolling lawn hugging all four sides of it, with its sleepiness, its majesty ... its memories. And as he looks down at it from the top of the hill this day, he will remember exactly how it was the first time she saw it, that morning back in '57. How, when he stopped the car in which they were riding at this exact same place and pointed to the house, she turned to him after a mo- ment and she said, That beautiful place? For us? So big? Oh my God. How much did it cost you, Elvis? Now come on. How much? How, when he told her how much, she said, Ohhhhhhhh — breathless, unbe- lieving, thinking back, as she was to say later, to a two-room shack in Tupelo, Mississippi, a shack built by her hus- band's hands and hers, where the boy seated next to her once lay in a rough- hewn cradle while she and his father talked, sometimes-hopelessly, sometimes- dreamingly, about his future. And he will remember her reaction this day, this moment — every bit of it, just as it was. And he will think to himself: Later, later, when darkness begins to come and we can be together again, for just a little while at least. . . . He'll understand Travis Smith, his uncle and head care- taker of Graceland. a lean and tall man, his hair just a little grayer now than it had been the last time, will be at the gate. He will grin as the big car pulls up. They will shake hands, he and his famous neph- ew. The nephew will ask a few questions about this and that — and then he will ask his uncle about the bad fall he took around Christmastime and about the con- dition of his back, which bore the brunt of the fall. Fine now, Travis will probably say. He will probably add: And thanks for taking care of all those bills, the doctor's, the hospital. He'll understand when his nephew makes light of this — That boy, he once told a reporter, is one of those people who just doesn't like you to mention any- thing he's ever done to he'p you; embar- rasses him, 1 guess. And he'll understand, too, when the car pulls away after a few minutes' time. Because he'll know how much his nephew wants to get up to the house. . . . The little trench chair He'd made it clear to her, from the be- ginning, that it was her house. But she could never, in that short year-and-a- half she lived there, get used to the idea. The idea of having a place with a swim- ming pool, no less, and five bedrooms — five — and five bathrooms — and with those what-they-calls, strange words, a solarium and a den and a library and a game room — This was too much for her to get to know really. But there was a place in the house that she did know. A room with a chair. A very special chair . . . She'd seen the chair once at a charity auction — a very elegant little chair with shining wood han- dles and a petit-point design embroidered on its back, A great little beauty from la belle France, the auctioneer had said, from the summer chateau of a real king. It was so expensive a chair that that night she had mentioned its price over supper — Can you believe it, she'd asked, what they want for some things? But he had sensed, from the way she'd said that despite her shocked tones, that she loved the chair. And so he'd gone the next day and bought it. And surprised her with it. And it had become her pride and joy — Not to be sat shoes chosen for their STAR QUALITY Gay young starlets, these happy-go-lightly flats have great things in store for them . . . put star quality at your footsteps, new excite- ment into your whole life for spring! $6 Molly Bee soon to be seen in "Chartreuse Caboose' TOBER-SAIFER SHOE MFG. COMPANY, INC. 1203 Washington Ave., St. Louis 3, Mo. ■ Kathy Nolan, a girl discovered by Hollywood, was in the hospital, suffering from a severe brain concussion. The room was filled with flowers, telegrams, baskets of fruit, and the visitor's chair was never empty. Alyson, a girl who hadn't yet been discovered, was a visitor in tears. "I know I oughtn't to bother you," she sobbed, "but I'm frightened. My understudy role ... I have to play it tonight, and don't know how." "Of course you do," Kathy said firmly. "You're a good actress; all you have to do is go on stage and show them." "But I relied on you," Alyson sighed, "and you can't come." "I'll call my friends," Kathy assured her. "They'll all be there, and tomorrow you can tell me about it. . . ." Much cheered, Alyson wiped her eyes and left bravely — while Kathy lay in her hospital bed, staring at the ceiling thoughtfully. She'd prom- ised to call her friends, to pack the audience with people to applaud for Alyson — but sadly she realized it would be hard to keep that promise. After an hour of phoning, only two people had agreed to go. Then the nurse came in and firmly removed the phone. "You'll have a relapse," she reproved, and began fussing about, clearing up the room while Kathy concentrated on what to do. And as firmly, the nurse said, "I'll just take the flowers out now, Miss Nolan. You know you can't have them in the room at night, and there'll be a lot more tomorrow." "Flowers!" said Kathy excitedly. "Of course! Bring me some florist's cards, and bribe that clerk you're always flirting with to bring up wrapping paper." Blushing, the nurse hurried away, while Kathy giggled. At 8:00 p.m., the stage entrance to a small Hollywood theater was electrified as two delivery boys hauled seventeen floral tributes to Dressing Room One. Miss Alyson Lewis was obviously a person to be aM witk respected, and the cast treated her accordingly. Alyson herself, jittery with first-night nerves, glanced hastily at the cards, gasped, and burst into happy tears. Kathy had certainly kept her promise ! It seemed that every important person in Hollywood wished Alyson Lewis the best of luck that night. Everybody had sent flowers, promising to be out front, wishing her success. "I won't let her down," Alyson vowed, as she put on her make-up. "I'll show them Kathy Nolan was right!" On stage, she gave her best performance — and won enthusiastic ap- plause. Glowing with excitement, Alyson went back to her dressing room after the final curtain call. Happily, she took another peek at the cards on the flowers, saying proudly to herself, / hope you're all impressed with Kathy' s friend I She took a second look at the cards on the flowers, hastily gathered them together, spread them out on her dressing table and stared in bewilderment, and burst into laughter. She was still giggling when her fellow actors crowded into the room to congratulate her. "But, I was playing to an audience of ghosts," she said. "Look!" Now, she realized the handwriting on all the cards was exactly the same — and all Kathy Nolan's. j on, please, she would say, just to look at j and enjoy that way. And now, standing in the room, he will ! look at the chair again after these two ! long years. And he will remember how she had j stood alongside it that last time they'd ! been together, when the Army had given j him special leave so he could come be ; with her. How she'd sighed and said, One j thing 1 wish about this hospital where I'm j going — that they'd let me take just this. \ But they won't . . . No, you know how \ hospitals are. And as he remembers, he will think to i himself, Later, later, when the darkness i begins to come. . . . Busy afternoon The afternoon of that first day, the j homecoming, will be a busy one. After ! lunch, as now planned, he will drive into j town. With what is described as "the most i minor fanfare, as per the subject's request"' | he will go to the office of Memphis' mayor i Henry Loeb to accept a key to the city. ; Following this, there will be a small recep- j tion at either the Peabody or Claridge hotels (not yet decided on), given by some of his old hometown buddies. And then, undoubtedly, there will be a quick drive | over to radio station WHHM and a reunion i with that station's, and probably the en- tire South's, prettiest disk jockey, blonde blue-eyed Anita Wood, his all-time favor- ite local girlfriend of years gone by (rem- iniscences here — and news: Did you know that so-and-so married guess-who last year; that such and such owns his own taxicab now and that he's in college, and she's in New York trying to become a model) . . . and then, a drive over to the First Assembly Church of God, and a talk with the minister there, his old friend, the Reverend James Hamill (reminiscences here, too — and laughter: I remember you at thirteen. Elvis, when you always needed a haircut: and who can jorget the time you tried out for my son Jim's Gospel quar- tette and lost out, because your voice just didn't have it, the others said. Eh?) And then, after all this, then finally, it will be late afternoon — nearly evening — and he will get into his car again. And then, then finally, alone, he will drive out to that most important of all the places. . . . Finally, nightfall The gatekeeper at Forest Hill Cemetery may have a question or two. "How you feelin'?" "Fine, sir." "How's civilian life treating vou?" "Fine." "Been expectin' you . . . Fact, thought you'd be here first thing today, soon's you got your discharge papers." "I waited for now so the others would go. I didn't want there to be anyone else here, spoiling anything." "Sure . . . Well go on, son . . . Just one more thing, though, before you do go. I jus' want you to know that those flowers you been orderin' — that we been puttin' 'em on the grave every week, nice and fresh, jus' like you asked us to." "Thank you," he will say, as he begins to walk away. It will be a long walk he will have to make. Not remembering exactly — for he has only been here once before, exactly nine- teen months before — he may even lose his way somewhat. But, eventually, he will reach the spot he has been looking for. And, once there, he will stop and lower his head. He will whisper something, too. Softly, he will say, "Ma . . . I'm home." END Should I Go Steady? {.Continued from page 36) YES so darn fast. But when you like being with a certain person, it's kind of nice to know he's the one you'll be spending the time with. It's sort of a prelude to an engagement without any of the entangle- ments of an engagement. I think it's reassuring for a girl to have a man to count on, once she starts dating. I do feel, though, that a girl should try to go steady with a lot of boys before she starts thinking of anything like an en- gagement. After all, there are loads of boys and girls, and it wouldn't be right if you felt you hadn't met enough to be really sure of the final choice for the matrimonial leap. (Asa just finished Tightrope for CBS- TV and Not For Hire for WNEW-TV.) Jill Corey: When I was fifteen, back in my home town of Avonmore, Pennsylvania, all the boys and girls my age steady-dated, I steady-dated, and I liked it. Most of us girls, from fifteen to about eighteen, went steady. But it didn't mean you were going to marry the guy. It just meant you liked one particular boy more than the others, so you hung around to- gether. It was comfortable, and it got to be a habit. Today, of course, I've got a career cook- ing and I can't steady-date any more. I'm on the road about twenty weeks a year, and even when I'm home (New York) my staying home is often interrupted by quick trips to Hollywood and back. So I'm not long enough in one place to get to build up a steady-dating habit. As a result, I date a lot now but with various fellows. And that means each date involves dressing up, having a fancy din- ner out, going to a show or maybe a night club, and coming home late. Each date becomes a production. But if I still had a steady, I could stay home and relax, have a home-cooked meal, watch TV and sit around listening to records. For me, steady dating is better. I'm in favor of it. I wish I could get back to it. (Jill is currently in the Columbia movie, Senior Prom, and records for Columbia.) Judi Meredith: I'm for going steady. The only reason I'm for it is because I'm prac- tical. In Hollywood, when you've dated a man more than once, everyone assumes you're going steady. No actress has time to experiment with lots of dates with dif- ferent fellows when she's working. So, instead of dating all sorts of people, I go out with people I enjoy being with. It's natural that when you enjoy a man's company, and he enjoys yours, you end up spending lots of time together. I sup- pose this could be called going steady. If a girl is planning on marrying at some point in her career (and what girl isn't?) then she's got to get to know whether she likes someone well enough to get engaged. This works out to a strong vote for going steady in my book. I felt this way in my teens, just as I do now. If you date a person often, at any age, let's face it, you're going steady! (Judi is in Hotel de Paree and River- boat episodes on TV.) Penney Parker: I believe every girl should go steady with a fellow she enjoys. Sometimes, simple companionship is taken as 'going steady' when this may not be the case at all . . . especially where the companionship is relative to mutual in- terests such as hobbies or careers. This is not going steady in its strictest sense since the mutual interests are not deep and lasting as perhaps those found in engaged couples. However, going steady can many times aid a person in determining what he or she is looking for in a mate — what he or she dislikes in a mate. I'm for it. (Penney, eighteen, is a feature of The Danny Thomas Show on CBS-TV.) YES, BUT: (Continued from page 37) serious, and the first step to eventually becoming engaged. To me, however, going steady is very serious and not something to be taken lightly or to do just because "everyone else is doing it." I wouldn't condemn any teenager for going steady if he or she is mature enough to realize the responsibility that such a relationship holds. We owe ourselves the right to develop as well-rounded persons — physically, so- cially, spiritually — and it is during the formative years between thirteen and twenty that we establish our basic prin- ciples and character. Therefore, by going out with only one person, we are limiting our own development, as well as coming up against many unnecessary problems. So, have fun, date many different types, and pray that one day you will meet the right person when you are ready. (Gigi is a regular on The Betty Hutton Show, on CBS-TV.) Anita Bryant: I've always felt it was im- portant to have many friends. If one goes steady only for reasons of security, to assure a prom date, or as in- surance against being the only one without a Saturday night date, then I'm against steady-dating. If one finds the company of one person more pleasant than any other, there must be an attraction, which is good reason to go steady. The important thing is to know why you are taking either course. (Anita is a feature of The George Gobel Show, on CBS-TV.) Elana Eden: I am for steady-dating, if you are in love. For example, if a girl likes a boy so much no other seems as interesting, and she realizes she loves him and he loves her — then all is wonderful. No need to date anyone else. But if you are not in love, there is no reason to steady-date. I was in love with a man whom I found so fascinating, I did not have the faintest interest in dating anyone else. Of course, I had other friends whom I loved, both men and girls; but there is a vast difference between loving people as friends and being in love with one person. We saw our friends together. We did everything together. We went for walks, we went to concerts, to the theater, to movies, to par- ties. We enjoyed everything and every- The perfect pair lovelier hair COMFY CURLER KIT with REMOVABLE BRUSH and HOLD-BOB® BOBBY PINS Mr. Stubbs Rescues Toby Tyler When Kevin Corcoran was on location during the filming of Walt Disney's Toby Tyler, he got to be very good friends with the monkey, Mr. Stubbs. The movie is the story of a young runaway boy (Toby Ty- ler, played by Kevin) who joins the circus. Toby and the circus monkey become insepa- rable pals — just as Kevin and Mr. Stubbs did in real life. One day between scenes, Kev- in got out a pint-sized milk bot- tle, and a needle and a razor blade. Then he picked up a piece of wood and began carving. "What are you making?" the director asked. "A ship in a bottle." The director thought this was pretty delicate work and he was a little worried. Mr. Stubbs thought this was terribly dangerous work for his friend to be attempting, and he was very worried. He began chattering and making frantic motions and trying the best he could to distract Kevin from playing with that razor blade. Even the director asked if the boy weren't afraid of nick- ing himself. "Nope," he said, "I'm not go- ing to hurt myself. But just in case, I brought along a couple of band-aids, too!" Well, Kevin finished his ship- in-a-bottle (a pretty good one, too) and he didn't cut himself. Mr. Stubbs was so relieved that his friend had finished his dan- gerous task safely that he threw his arms around Kevin and begged him (in monkey-talk, of course ) not to take such a chance again! one even more because we were together. But when you are not in love, then you date many boys, because you are curious, and you wonder perhaps this one will be interesting, or that one will be fascinating. Some people say you should not steady date when you are fourteen or fifteen or sixteen. But age has nothing to do with it. Some young people are more mature than others. True feelings count more than age. Of course, I am aware that feelings can change. But that is part of growing up, becoming more adult. But it is only by going steady with the person you think you love that you learn whether you really do. (Elana stars in the title role of The Story of Ruth for 20th Century-Fox.) Diane Baker: I am not against steady- dating. I've been steady-dating the past few years with Denny, an artist at Occi- dental College. But I am against possessive steady- dating that cuts you off from the rest of the world, that means you see only one person all the time. Denny and I under- stand each other, and we see others on different levels. I can see one man be- cause we're studying a script; and another man at drama classes; and another man for something else. Each man has some- thing different to give. When you love somebody you don't care what other people he sees. Unfortunately, to many young people, steady -dating is a set of rules, and it means you must keep up with the rules and they become more important than the actual seeing of each other. The ritual of exchanging gifts, wearing each other's pin or ring, or seeing each other constantly, becomes the thing . . . rather than romance. I'm for steady-dating, but without pos- sessiveness or emphasis on ritual. (Diane's featured in Journey to the Center of the Earth for 20th Century- Fox.) Jeannie Thomas: I'm twenty-three now, and I started to date when I was about six- teen. My parents were very strict, and I felt I was lucky enough to be permitted to date, let alone steady-date. So I never steady-dated. Of course, even then I was busy with music lessons and had less time for ro- mance than my girlfriends. Now that I'm older and, I hope, wiser, I could steady- date but don't. That's one of the sacrifices a career girl makes. I just don't have the time now. Personally, I'm for steady-dating — but only after a girl has dated a lot of boys. She should never steady-date with her first boyfriend. She should first go out with a lot of boys, so she can learn to differentiate between worthwhile boys and time-wasting boys. Then, after she has had this experience, she can concentrate on one boy at a time. (Jeannie, a former Miss Virginia, is with Seeco Records.) Carol Lynley: I believe in going steady only if people are in their late teens, eighteen and nineteen, and are mature. I don't think it is wise for girls (or boys, either), just starting to date, to tie them- selves down to one person. I think you benefit by meeting and getting to know a great many boys — and not until you have known many boys, should you settle down to dating just one person. I think for older girls, eighteen or nine- teen, who have met and dated lots of boys, steady dating is all right. (Carol, eighteen, is in Hound Dog Man for 20th Century-Fox.) Margo Moore: There is nearly as much to be said in favor of steady-dating, I believe, as there is against it. I am for it, if — Now I can remember, as a teenager, that terrible left-out feeling that comes when every other girl had a date for the big dance or the big party, but me. Every girl has felt this, and often, rather than be left out, accepts a date with a boy she neither cares about nor wishes, really, to be with. Going steady eliminates this urgency about a 'must date.' Also, going steady allows a young fellow and girl to enjoy and understand the nice- ties of a relaxed and companionable re- lationship. However, the grave tendency in steady- dating is to get too serious at too early an age. Until a boy or girl is, at the very least, eighteen, he or she cannot have an intelligent idea of what sort of person they want to settle with seriously. One's needs change with maturity. Some of our very young marriages, so often doomed to early failure, are a result of serious steady dating at too early an age. I did not go steady as a teenager. I ap- prove of steady-dating if youngsters keep their good sense and don't look upon it as a preamble to marriage. Most youngsters, I think, will find there's more fun and more to do in groups. A wide circle of friends, at any age, is worth having. (Margo is in Wake Me When It's Over for 20th Century-Fox.) NO! (Continued from page 37) Suzanne Storrs: Teen steady-dating, it seems to me, is often a business arrangement, a practical, lazy method to insure having a partner on dates. It provides for a second- rate kind of social life when you're a teen- ager, a period when you should be meeting a lot of people and learning to be more adept at social relationships. It brings teenagers together too often and too inti- mately, and this sometimes leads to sex- before-marriage and worse. It often leads to young, unhappy marriages. Steady-dating in the early teen years doesn't seem a rewarding or a rich ex- perience. But, in the early 20's, steady- dating leading to engagement and, in turn, to marriage, is all right. This kind of mature steady-dating happens when you meet the person you love and you want to be with them all the time. (Last seen in the Naked City series on TV, Suzanne appears on top TV dramatic shows.) Connie Francis: I went steady for about a year, when I was seventeen, and looking back on it now, I know it was a mistake. To me, going steady means being en- gaged, and if you're not ready to be en- gaged then you should not get involved. The trouble with going steady while you're still a school girl is that it shuts you off from variety in boys, and it takes you out of circulation, and you don't get to know enough people. During your high school years, you might think you know a lot about boys, but you usually don't, and it takes a few years of outside living to really know boys. The divorce rate is higher among teen marriages, and it's due a lot to young people steady-dating and thinking they know a lot about each other and have a lot in common . . . and then marrying and finding out this was not so. Too often, steady -dating during your high school years is only date-insurance. It's understandable when your crowd is doing it and you're afraid of being left out in the cold. But I still say that steady- dating for the sake of convenience and conforming with the crowd is all wrong. (Connie, with MGM Records, is top- (.Advertisement) What some women don't know about internal cleanliness Day before yesterday, many women hesitated to talk about the douche even to their best friends, let alone to a doctor or druggist. Today, thank goodness, women are beginning to discuss these things freely and openly. But— even now— many women don't realize what is involved in treating "the delicate zone." They don't ask. Nobody tells them. So they use homemade solutions which may not be completely effective, or kitchen-type antiseptics which may be harsh or inflammatory. It's time to talk frankly about in- ternal cleanliness. Using anything that comes to hand . . ."working in the dark". . . is practically a crime against yourself, in this modern day and age. Here are the facts: tissues in "the delicate zone" are very tender. Odors are very persistent. Your comfort and well-being demand a special prepara- tion for the douche. Today there is such a preparation. This preparation is far more effec- tive in antiseptic and germicidal action than old-fashioned homemade solu- tions. It is far safer to delicate tissues than other liquid antiseptics for the douche. It cleanses, freshens, elimi- nates odor, guards against chafing, pro- motes confidence as nothing else can. This is modern woman's way to internal cleanliness. It is the personal antiseptic for women, made specifi- cally for "the delicate zone." It is called Zonite®. Complete instructions for use come in every package. In cases of persistent discharge, women are advised to see their doctors. Millions of women already consider Zonite as important a part of their grooming as their bath. You owe it to yourself to try Zonite soon. selling girl recording artist in the world today.) June Blair: I've gone steady, and I don't like it. Maybe I'm too darned independent. As much as I've liked some of the boys I've dated steadily, I never enjoy the feeling that I've got to be out with that particular boy or I shouldn't be out. Most of the boys I did date steadily were fair, I must admit. They didn't mind if I went out with someone else for a friendly date now and then. But their friends minded! Oh, did they! I've had people look at me as if I were a scarlet woman because I walked into a party with some- one other than the boy I was supposed to be going steady with at the time. It didn't matter that my steady date was out of town, or that he himself had called and ar- ranged for me to be taken to this party by his best friend. All these so-called 'friends' cared about was that I was out with some- one else. I think more romances are ruined by well-meaning friends who meddle than anything else. Until I find the boy I want to marry, I'm going to date lots of boys. After all, like I said, I'm independent. (June Blair is in a new TV series, Two Faces West.) Molly Bee: Steady-dating? I'm agin it! Why should a girl limit herself to one fellow, or for that matter, try to limit an active young male to one giri? It doesn't make sense, at least not to me. It's okay if you are on the way to the altar real soon; but I'm only twenty years old and I don't want to be tied down to one man yet. Think of all the others I'd never get to know! I don't like to be selfish with a man's time, and I sure don't like anyone else to be selfish with my time. Some day, when the right guy comes along, the natural process will be to end up going steady with him. But I don't think you decide these things in advance. They just work out that way. Pretty soon you look around and you're seeing just one fellow all the time. But, until that time, I'm going out with, different fellows and enjoy doing it! (Molly stars in the movie Chartroose Caboose, and on Capitol Records.) Cindy Robbins: I'm against steady-dating, the way it's practiced now. Too often, the girl who maneuvers a boy into steady - dating does it to rush into marriage. She's rushing into marriage not so much because she's in love but to get away from home and try 'adult living.' I don't think a girl should even consider steady-dating until she's gone out with a lot of boys, and only after she's dated this particular boy for quite some time. Steady-dating should be the result of courting rather than a method of courting. And steady-dating should last a year at least before the girl should even consider marriage. (Cindy was Rock Hudson's leading lady in This Earth Is Mine.) Shelley Fab ares: During my junior high school years, I steady-dated with five boys because it was the thing to do. I think it's a terrible thing for a girl to tie herself down to a steady boyfriend at that age. Like, for instance, if you go to a party with a boy and happen to meet another fellow who likes you and would like to date you. A girl can't very well accept an invita- tion to go out with this new friend because of a so-called regular companionship with the other boy. It leads to all sorts of com- plications, keeps you tied down, and hurts your chances of making new friends. It's always your fault if and when your steady gets mad, or jealous, and it's not worth it to be stuck this way. And I mean it works both ways — for a boy as well as a girl. At my age, sixteen, I feel we should all "play the field" and not be obli- gated to any one person. There's plenty of time to decide on a definite 'steady.' A girl might begin going steady at about her college freshman year. By this time, she's maturing, especially in her emotional evaluations. (Shelley is a feature of The Donna Reed Show, over ABC-TV, for Screen Gems.) Ziva Rodann: I don't believe in going steady, except when you're serious about a man. For young boys and girls, not mature enough to know the one person they want to be with all the time, it is ridiculous to go steady just because it is the vogue. I am aware that maturity does not de- pend on actual years, but going steady means you are engaged, are going to marry the person — otherwise why go steady? — and you've got to have judgment for it. You must know people. The more people you know, the more your judgment develops so that you can recognize the right person when he comes along. If you don't go out with a variety of members of the opposite sex, then you don't learn enough to judge them. We really never know our minds completely unless we are aware of knowing the minds and characters of many different indi- viduals. In knowing others, we learn to know ourselves. So, really, "going steady" makes me smile. I have seen too many high-school boys and girls going steady just to avoid being considered unpopular. The phrase, "going steady," is juvenile. I doubt you ever hear it mentioned among college boys and girls. It is a junior phrase, not an adult one. Mature people don't use the phrase "steady-dating" because it represents constant dating without good reason. I have been fortunate in that I have always been considered popular; but I have never been interested in going out a lot for the sake of being considered popular. I have always enjoyed the company of just a few men. I like them, their intelli- gence, their companionship. I feel at home with them. I don't believe in going steady as an institution (except when you're serious about a man) . One doesn't have to wear a fraternity pin. What you wear in your heart doesn't need a label or a phrase. end (Ziva portrays Orpah in The Story of Ruth for 20th Century-Fox.) PHOTOGRAPHERS' CREDITS The photographs appearing in this issue are credited below page by page: 9 — Jules Davis; 10-11 — Nat Dallinger from Gil- loon Agency, Frances Orkin, Metropolitan Photo Service, Inc.; 12-13 — Nat Dallinger from Gilloon Agency, UPI. Frances Orkin: 14-15 — Rick Strauss, Wide World, Dave Sutton of Galaxy: 16 — Wide World, Dick Miller of Globe, The Harwyn Club; 19-21 — Gilloon Agency; 22-23 — Bill Hamilton of Galaxy. Marvin Wellen; 24- 25 — Pictorial Parade; 26-27 — Nat Dallinger from Gilloon; 30-33 — Larry Schiller; 38-40 — Wide World, Galaxy; 41-45 — Wide World. Galaxy, UPI, Conda-Galaxy; 46-47 — Curt Gunther of Topix; 48-49 — Paris Match. The Happiest Birthday of My Life (Continued from page 27) on in the children's playroom, a few yards away. She walked to the door, opened it and peered into the room. There, in a corner, seated at a little table, she saw her son Michael Jr., seven years old. "Hey there, young man — " she called. The boy turned around suddenly. Liz smiled. " — the last time I saw you, you were in bed." "I know," the little voice piped up. "And well on your way to sleep " "I know." "And what happened?" "I don't know — not 'sactly," the little boy said. Liz noticed that he crossed his pajama-ed legs as he said that (a sure sign that he was fibbing); that he sat very rigidly now; that his arms, spread-eagled on the table in front of him, seemed more and more to be covering something. Liz turned to Eddie. "Something wrong?" he asked. "I don't know," Liz whispered, " — not 'sactly. But I'm going to find out." Michael's surprise She asked Eddie if he'd go downstairs and wait for her — she would be down in a few minutes, she said. And then she turned towards the playroom again and walked inside and over to the little chair where Michael Jr. sat. She put her hand on his head, and sat, on a little chair beside him. "Mike, you know it's late, don't you?" she asked. "You look awful pretty, Mommy," the boy said. "Now don't go changing the subject- It's late, and you should be in bed," Liz said. "You look sooooooo pretty," the boy tried again. "Mike!" Liz said. There was a moment of silence now. And Liz had a hard time keeping back a smile during this time. "Now come on, Mike," she said, "what in the world are you doing up?" "I was just finishing my surprise," the boy said, finally. He lifted his arms from the table. "See." Liz looked down. Her eyes fixed on two small pieces of paper. On one of the pa- pers she read the words, gayly crayoned: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, CHRISTOPHER On the other: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MY MOTHER, MOMMY "Today," Michael said, as Liz looked down at the papers, "Missy (the children's governess) said to me, 'You know. Mi- chael, in not too long from now, on Feb- ruary the twenty- seventh of Nineteen Hundred and Sixty, this year, it's going to be both your Mommy's and your brother's birthdays.' And she said to me, 'Now that you're getting to be a big boy, you've got to think about giving them presents.' And we thought and we thought what those presents could be. And while we were thinking I said to Missy, 'Besides from presents, there have to be birthday cards, too.' And Missy said what a good idea, and why didn't I make them — my own cards to you. And I started. I made about ten of them. But none of them were good. And then Missy said, 'Tomorrow, Michael, we will continue to try. . . .' "But tonight, Mommy, in bed, I thought 58 I'd like to keep trying now, and not to- morrow . . . And so that's why I got up." He shook his head. "I guess I shouldn't have gotten up, should I have?" he asked. "Because now you've seen my surprise. And so it isn't a surprise any more ... is it?" Liz put her arms around her son, and she hugged him. "Oh yes it is," she said, "the most wonderful surprise I've ever gotten, Mike . . . for what's going to be the happiest birthday in my whole life. 1 know." Some birthdays aren't happy "Didn't you always have happy birth- days?" the boy cut in. "Like I always have?" "Oh, when I was small . . . yes ... I had very happy birthdays," Liz said. "My mommy — Grandma Taylor — she would in- vite all my friends over to the house, and then we'd play pin-the-tail-on-the-don- key, and other games. And we'd have a cake, and ice cream, and colored candies in those little paper baskets — " "Just like my birthday," Michael said. "Yes," said Liz, "just like yours . . . But then the years pass," she went on, "and we grow up, and — " "And then the birthdays aren't happy anymore?" her son asked. "They should be," Liz said. "For most people they are — always, every year, very happy." "But not for you, Mommy, they weren't?" A Doris Day: People don't have to P 2 understand your words to know 4 K what you sinq. The important A t thing is to feel what the lyrics A W say, not just to say them. rA Sidnev Skolskv ft J in the New York Post A "No." Liz said, "not always, Mike." "Why?" he asked. The question hit Liz strangely. She was used to having her son ask "why" to this and to that — ingenuously, the way seven- year-olds almost invariably ask the ques- tion, after almost any statement of fact. She was used, too, to answering the "why's" quickly, not with annoyance, to be sure, but with a let's-see-how-quickly- we-can-get-this-settled attitude. But, somehow, this time, there was something about the way young Michael asked his question that prompted Liz not to rush her answer. But to talk to her son . . . really talk to him. And so she started. "When Mommy was just a little over being a little girl," she said, "her life be- came a very unusual one ... Do you understand what the word 'unusual' means, Mike?" "Sort of," he said. "Well, in my case," Liz said, "it meant that suddenly I was in the movies, an actress, a very special person— in the movies at thirteen and fourteen, an age when most other girls get excited just at the thought of going to the movies." "And this made you not happy?" the boy asked. "At first, Mike," Liz said, "it made me very happy. As I said, I was suddenly very special. There were all sorts of people doing all sorts of things for me. I went to a special little school. I had my pick of the nicest, the most special clothes any- body could want. I made lots and lots of money — not ftfty-cents-a-week allowance like you get, Mike . . . but hundreds of dollars, then even thousands." "Wow," the boy said. "Yes, wow," said Liz, sighing just a little. "Except that after a while I real- ized, young as I was, that there was a price I had to pay for all this specialness. I realized it, in fact, on one of my birth- days— on the day I became fifteen years." "Was that one of the not happy birth- days, Mommy?" Michael asked. Liz nodded. Some promises must be broken "Someday, Mike, when you're older," she said, "you might just find yourself looking through some of your Mommy's scrapbooks. And you might come across some pictures and some articles, from newspapers and magazines, showing your Mommy on her fifteenth birthday. And you'll see the big party her studio gave for her that night, and all the people who were there — oh, so many people, all look- ing so happy and festive. And you might say to yourself, 'I wonder why my Mommy said that was a not happy birthday. . . .' "Well," she went on, "I'll tell you why, Mike. You see, at this studio where I worked, there was a lady called Helen. She was what they call a hairdresser — she used to fix my hair whenever I was making a picture. She was a very nice woman, always smiling, always so friendly. And she had a daughter, a girl called Lucille, who was just as nice as her mother — one of the nicest girls I ever knew." "She was your friend?" Michael asked. "My very good friend," Liz said, "my only friend really . . . Lots of times Lu- cille, my friend, would come to the studio and the two of us would find a quiet place and we would talk. We would talk for hours. For hours. About just about any- thing that came to our minds — about peo- ple and pets and parents and books and music and poetry and clothes and boys, sometimes, and oh about lots and lots of things . . . And then one day, just at about this time of the year, we started talking about birthdays and the fact that mine was coming around soon. And I said to her, 'Speaking of birthdays, Lucille, I just found out that I'm going to have a big party at a big hotel, a real special party, given just for me by the studio — and Lucille,' I said, 'I want you to come. More than anybody else.' " Again, Liz sighed. "What's the matter, Mommy?" Michael asked. "Couldn't Lucille come to your party?" "She wasn't allowed to come, Mike," Liz said. "There was something — some- thing very important — called a guest list. I found out. It was made up by one of the men at the studio. When I asked this man to put Lucille's name on, with the others — hundreds of other people, most of them people I didn't even know — he said, I'm sorry, Elizabeth, my child, but if we include this Lucille, there are other children, children of other studio em- ployees, we'll have to include. And,' he said. 'I might add, children of much more important people than your hairdresser!' " 'But I promised Lucille,' I started to say. I started to cry. 'I promised,' I said. "And this man said to me, 'Some prom- ises must be broken, Elizabeth. Youll find that out as you grow older. . . .' " "So that's how Lucille wasn't allowed to come to the party?" Michael asked. Liz nodded. "Was she mad, Mommy," the boy asked then, "that you had to break your promise to her?" "I don't know," Liz said. "I never found out. Because I felt so bad about the whole thing that the next time Lucille came to the studio I — I avoided her. Turned and walked the other way. Just so I wouldn't have to talk to her. To tell her . . . And. as it turned out. Lucille stopped coming to the studio altogether a little while after that . . . And I never spoke to her, or saw her. again." "Gee,'' Michael said. "Gee Mommy, that was not a very happy birthday, was it?" "I'm afraid it wasn't," Liz said. Birthdays in bed Her son took her hand in his. "But the other ones." he said, "the ones after that — they were happier, weren't they, Mommy?" "Some were . . . yes," Liz said. "And some — Well, Mike, this Mom of yours can remember two birthdays after that she spent in bed. Sick. Sick with back- aches and with doctors standing around and with a table next to her bed loaded with more medicine bottles than little Liza has blocks and dolls or you have soldiers or Chris has trucks and cow- boy hats . . . Those were my presents those two birthdays. Medicine bottles." "Some presents." Michael said, consol- ingly. "And then . . . other birthdays," Liz started to go on. She paused suddenly, looking away from her son for a moment, then looking back at him. "Last year, Mike," she said, " — I don't know if you remember. You probably don't. Not exactly. But that, that was the worst birthday I ever had." "Why, Mommy?" the boy asked. "Well," Liz said — the words came slowly now — "lots of things, strange things, almost bad things, were happening to your Mom last year this time. They're too involved to go into now. Honestly. Mike, you're not old enough to understand them yet. even if I did go into them. Someday, when you are older, when you read about them, or hear about them — as you probably will — well, then youll know what I mean, by these things. But for now, just under- stand this — that your Mom was the most unhappy woman on this here earth. Peo- ple, everywhere, were saying things about her. pointing their fingers at her, whis- pering, whispering, the most terrible things. And because your Mom didn't want to show these people that they were winning their point, that they were in any way bothering her — she acted very blase about the whole thing ... Do you know what blase means, Mike?" The boy shook his head. "No," he said. "It means unconcerned," Liz said, "not caring, not being the least bit interested. That's what blase means." "Oh," the boy said. "But," Liz said, "I did care, Mike. I cared so much that I got sick. Not sick with my back again, like the other times I told you about. Not the kind of sickness that sent me to bed. Or that brought doc- tors running. Or that I had to take medi- cines for . . . But a sickness of the heart. A sickness that's called sadness. And sad- ness, Mike, that is the worst, the very worst kind of sickness." "Sadness," the boy said. "Is that like when you lose something and you cry?" "Sadness," said Liz. "is like . . . is like when you lose something, Mike, and you don't cry, but you force yourself to go on smiling still." Difficult words and deep matters The boy looked -at her, and shrugged. "I know, I know," Liz said, "I'm talking difficult words now, aren't I?" "A little," the boy said. "Well," Liz said, "no more difficult words. They're all too much for you to understand — And it's too late, too^ to go into such deep, deep matters . . . But. Mike, just let me tell this — this one more thing before we finish talking. "I said to you before, about birthdays, that this birthday of mine, the one com- ing up. was going to be the happiest ever. Remember?" "Yes." "I just want to tell you why," Liz said. "It's going to be the happiest birthday. Mike," she said, "because in this year that has passed, between my last birthday and this, I have become happy. More happy than I've ever been." "Why?" "One," Liz said, "selfish maybe, maybe the least important reason, but a real rea- son nonetheless — I've worked very hard this past year as an actress. I've worked in hope of the day when people would stop saying. "That Elizabeth Taylor is pretty, yes; but what else does she do?' — in the hope that they would pause one day and say, "She's been in this acting field for fifteen years now and do you know, gosh darn it. she really is an actress!' . . . Well. Mike, this year, finally, they've been saying it. That your Mom is a worthwhile member of her profession — a great pro- fession. That she's more than just a face. A figure. A newspaper-and-magazine per- sonality. They've been calling me an 'ac- tress,' Mike. This has made me happy." "I'm glad. Mommy." the boy said. Liz reached over and took him in her arms and hugged him. "And other things." she said, still hold- ing him, "other things have made me happy. "Liza, our baby, getting over her bad sickness of last year. "You and Christopher growing up into such fine young boys, good boys, making me prouder and prouder of you both as each day passes. "And then — " She paused again. "And then," she went on, after a mo- ment, "there's a wonderful man who has made me happy. You call him Uncle Eddie. I call him my husband. He is the man I married last May . . . He's a fine man, Mike. And he's made life fine for me. And I love him very, very much. Just the same way he loves me, and you. and Chris and Liza. And — " "And." a voice behind her interrupted, "you keep this up and you'll embarrass the heck out of me." "'Uncle Eddie," Michael said, as Liz began to turn around. "Eddie." Liz whispered. Eddie looked down at his watch. "I hate to break this up." he said. "but. you know. I think it's about time for all young men named Michael to be tucked away in bed." He looked at the boy. "Huh — what do you say?" he asked. "Okay," said Michael. "And," Eddie said, "for all mothers named Elizabeth to stand by while I pick up Michael — " He scooped up the boy " — and take him to that bed of his . . . Huh. what do you say?" "Okay," said Liz. " 'Night, Mommy." Michael called out to her as Eddie began to carry him away. And then, as Eddie continued carrying him, she heard her son say. "Did you know, Uncle Eddie, that Mommy's going to have the happiest birthday in her whole life on February the twenty- seventh. Because, you know why? Be- cause— " . And Liz smiled and closed her eyes as his little voice trailed off. farther and farther down the hallway. . . . end Liz can be seen now in Suddenly. L^st Stam- mer. Columbia: in a guest performance in Scent Of Mystery, Mike Todd Jr. Prods.; later. Liz stars in Cleopatra, 20th-Fox, Two for the Seesaw, UJL.; and Liz and Eddie are both in Butterfteld 8, for MGM. DON'T BE IXestle Hair Color* R/NSES IN... SHAMPOOS OUT Nestle Colorinse glorifies your natural hair shade with glamorous color-highlights and silken sheen. It removes dulling soap film, makes hair easier to manage, unbelievably lovely! 12 shades that stay color- true till your next shampoo. 35e NESTLE COLORINSE Nestle Colortint intensifies your natural hair color OR adds thrilling NEW color. Colortint also blends-in gray hair— beautifies all-gray and white hair. More than a rinse but not a permanent dye— Colortint lasts through 3 shampoos! 10 shades. 35* NESTLE COLORTINT Wedding Bells for Debbie and Harry? (Continued from page 20) emerald necklace which picked up the brilliance of her matching emerald ear- rings. Her hands looked dazzling, for she wore an emerald ring and bracelet. All of these had been Christmas gifts for which Harry Karl, her escort, had paid $40,000 only a few days previously. A look of radiance — almost triumph — shone on Deb- bie's face as Karl, suave and attentive, helped her off with her chinchilla. A woman who knows Debbie fairly well leaned over and said to another woman at her table. "I'll bet she came tonight because she knew Eddie and Liz would be here. She wants them to see her with Harry. He's a big catch and she wants to show him off. I think that means Debbie's really getting serious." All Hollywood is wondering: What does Debbie's intensified interest in Harry Karl mean? Could it possibly be a prelude to marriage? Harry's divorce from Joan Cohn, Harry Cohn's beautiful widow, won't be final until November. Some of Debbie's closest friends believe that if she continues to feel about Harry the way she does right now, there may be wedding bells for Deb- bie and Harry when his divorce is final. Who is Harry Karl? And why does he currently seem to be the leading contender for Debbie's hand? Harry is 47, not handsome but dis- tinguished looking, with horn-rimmed glasses, a serious mien and iron-grey hair around the temples. He dresses elegantly but conservatively, like the millionaire businessman that he is. He's a big money man and heads a large chain of shoe stores along the West Coast. A friend says, "Harry's the most fabu- lous catch in town. He knows how to court a girl — and beautiful women who are used to the best will go out with him. He has dated the top glamour women in town, like Zsa Zsa Gabor and Hedy Lamarr." Harry Karl is not only extremely rich, but extremely generous with his women friends. Only a few months before he began to steady-date Debbie, he took Audrey Meadows to the "Share" party which was held at the Moulin Rouge. A full-length mink coat was being auctioned off for charity. The bidding started at $1,000, but Harry rapidly brought the bidding up to $15,000. When no one could top his bid, Harry bought the mink for $15,000, and while the spotlight was on his table, he casually draped it around Audrey's shoulders and said, "It's yours." Everyone in the room, accustomed though they were to lavish spending, gasped. Audrey was just a casual girl- friend of Harry's. Mr. Charity "He's the last of the big spenders," a friend who knows him well says. "Harry's the same type of big sport as Diamond Jim Brady was — only Harry's got a lot more class. Even a movie star as success- ful as Debbie is bound to be swept off her feet by his big spending." But it isn't only Harry Karl's wealth and extravagance that impressed Debbie. She is also impressed by his kindness. In Hollywood Harry is also known as 'Mr. Charity.' He gives enormous sums to charities. He gives with his heart, because Harry Karl has heart. This, too, is what has endeared him to Debbie. Harry is deeply aware that if it hadn't been for the kindness of the two people who are the only parents he has ever known, he would D have had a life of poverty himself. When he was a baby his mother, a penniless widow, was forced to place him in an orphanage because she was unable to take care of him. With tears rolling down her face she placed her infant in the arms of the superintendent of a shabby lit- tle Home on New York's lower East Side, mumbled a Jewish prayer, and left. He was not a pretty baby. He was thin and wan and sickly and cried a lot. To this Home one day came Rose and Pinches Karl, a middle-aged couple who had no children of their own but whose hearts yearned for a child. When they saw the sickly little baby who had recently been placed there, Rose Karl picked him up and cuddled him. As Harry once told a friend, "They could have chosen a dozen other babies who looked a lot better. But they chose a baby who needed love and care, because that's the kind of people they are. I became their son, just as though I had been born to them. They gave me love, and, as my father's shoe business grew, every advantage that money can bring. But the kindness they showed in adopt- ing the sickliest little baby in the or- phanage was something I'll never forget. All through his life, my father gave to those who needed help. And this is some- thing I hope I've learned from him." I I I I I I I I I I I I I T I T T I T T I I T I I Z Steve McQueen: I don't talk ~ - mumbly. People listen mumbly. ~ Sidncv Skolsk\ ~ in the New York Post - Tt i i i i i i i i i i i i i i t i i i i i i i i i i r When Debbie's favorite charity, the Thalians, whose purpose is to help mentally disturbed children, put on a big campaign to raise money to add a new wing to Mt. Sinai Hospital Debbie discovered that the project would cost a fortune. Even the $100,000 raised by the Thalians' Christmas Ball was not enough. She decided to make a personal appeal for contributions to wealthy men about town, in order to reach the needed quota. She recalled that only recently Harry Karl had spent $110,- 000 building an entire floor at the City of Hope and dedicated it to his parents. For years she had known Harry Karl casually. He had always been interested in theatrical personalities, and was a member of the Friars Club, which consists primarily of theatrical men. with a scat- tering of influential business men. Debbie knew the many favorable com- ments in town about 'Mr. Charity.' She knew, also, that he had a weak spot for actresses, and that he had dated many of the most glamorous girls in pictures. She also remembered his heartbreaking mar- riage to Marie McDonald, and their head- lined divorce which had been so humiliat- ing to Karl. She had felt sorry for him when she had read about it, and she realized how he must have suffered when Marie had publicly proclaimed that she was "allergic" to him. Even after that, Debbie remembered, Harry had made up for a while with Marie, had forgiven her and tried to make a go of their marriage. At this time — shortly after her inter- locutory divorce decree — Debbie wasn't particularly interested in dating. She had suffered too much herself to want to go out on dates. But she was convinced that anyone as kind and sentimental as Harry would respond to her appeal for a contri- bution to the Thalians. She phoned him and talked as only Deb- bie can talk — with sincerity and charm and enthusiasm. Harry said, "You know I won't turn down a good cause. Why don't you have dinner with me tomorrow night and we can talk about it?" When Harry called for her the next night, he was driving his $22,000 gunmetal Rolls-Royce convertible. Later she was to learn that this is only one of the three sumptuous cars he uses; the other two being a black Ghia limousine, custom- built for him in Italy at a cost of $17,000. which is usually chauffeured, and a red convertible Cadillac. Santa Claus and Prince Charming Harry took Debbie to dinner at La- Rue's, a swank restaurant on the Sunset Strip. The maitre d', deferential to Harry, immediately ushered him to the best table. Everyone bowed and scraped for Harry. People waved to him. Debbie, used to being the big wheel when she went out on a date, was surprised to find so many people kowtowing to a man who is not a "name" in pictures. Over the dinner table she began to tell him of the work the Thalians were doing for mentally disturbed children. Harry's mind flashed back to his own childhood, and the thought came to him that perhaps if it hadn't been for the wonderful couple who had adopted him. he might have not only grown up in poverty but with warped emotions. And he couldn't refuse this pretty movie star opposite him. He promised her a huge donation. At that moment, Harry, to Debbie, seemed like Santa Claus and Prince Charming rolled into one. She must have realized that her personal charm had influenced him as much as the need of children for his help — and this, too, was balm for her bruised ego. Since her break-up, she had often wondered if she was lacking in that magic quality women like Liz have for men. In Harry's eyes she read the truth she wanted to discover — that she herself has the capability of being fascinating to men. After dinner, Harry suggested going to an amusing night club, the Largo. At the Largo they were joined by another couple, Zsa Zsa Gabor and Hal Hayes. When he took her home, Harry didn't attempt, as so many men might have, to make love to Debbie. Only his eyes told her how desirable he thought her. Before her marriage, Debbie had been a good girl, almost puritanical, in fact. And underneath the more seductive ex- terior Debbie began to acquire, she is still a girl who keeps most men at a distance. She would resent a man who expected lovemaking in return for a kindness shown to her favorite charity. Harry showed no such crudeness. Next day, one messenger after another arrived at Debbie's home bringing her long boxes of flowers. They were all from Harry Karl. He called that night. They arranged another date. Even though they began to see each other frequently now, Debbie wasn't dating Harry exclusively. She was also seeing Bob Neal, the rich young coffee heir. Harry decided to make himself indis- pensable to Debbie, to impress her more than any other man could. There wasn't a thing he wouldn't and didn't do for her. He deluged her with expensive gifts. When she was working in The Rat Race at Paramount.- he sent her an $1800 electric golf cart so she could spin gaily around the big studio lot. One day he went to Abe Lipsey, a well- known Beverly Hills furrier who makes up the finest furs for many of the movie stars. Abe is Elizabeth Taylor's favorite shave lady? don't do it! Cream hair away the beautiful way... with new baby-pink, sweet-smelling Xeet — you'll never have a trace nasty- razor stubble! Always to neaten underarms, even-time to smo legs to new smoother beauty, and next time for that faint downy fuzz on the face, why not consider Neet; Goes down deep where no razor can reach to cream hair awav the beautiful wav. & furrier, so Harry- went to see him and told him he wanted to knock Debbie's eyes out with something lavish. "A stole?" suggested Abe Lipsey. liNo, something more unusual and original.'' said Harry. '•Something imp- ish and different for a girl who's different.'" Together they figured out something that would surely amuse and impress Debbie— dozens of red roses, each stem wrapped in lustrous, dark rnink. Chuckling to himself at the thought of the surprise in store for Debbie, Harry- ordered the lavish gift. Debbie was de- lighted and showed her mink-trimmed roses to everyone at Paramount. When Debbie went to Palm Springs for a rest, Harry followed. He has a beautiful modern home in Palm Springs, as well as bis S200.000 estate in Beverly Hills. Dur- ing her week in Palm Springs. Debbie had to go to Las Vegas to appear at a benefit which Shirley MacLaine had arranged for the hurricane victims of Japan. Debbie didn't want to disappoint Shirley, but she realized she had to be there that very night. She told Harry her problem, and he chartered a plane and pilot, and flew to Vegas with her. After Debbie's per- formance, Harry tried to charter another plane for Debbie, but couldn't get one. So instead, he rented a limousine and chauffeur and drove back with her. She has begun to lean on him and his generosity. But earlier in their friend- ship his generosity had boomer anged. Debbie had to face the fact that Harry was in love with her, and that he was hoping to win her love. She didn't want to lose her heart again: she was all wrapped up in her accelerated career, in her new freedom. She felt she could not return Harry's love. One night she told him that they must not see each other so much. She began to date Bob Neal more frequently — feeling sure that happy-go-lucky Bob, whom she'd known for years, would not become as serious as Harry KarL She took a trip to New York and went night-clubbing with Walter Troutman, a millionaire realtor. Harry was terribly lonely. He missed the gay, happy companionship of Debbie. Before he'd become so deeply interested in Debbie, he had courted Joan Cohn, the beautiful widow of Harry- Cohn. the late head of Columbia Pictures. In her way7, Joan is as big a catch as Harry. Beautiful, chic, she'd been left millions by Harry Cohn's death — but she was lonely and suspicious. She was afraid that w-hen a man showed interest in her. he was really interested in her money. But when Harry started to shower attention on her, she was not apprehensive. She knew that he had millions of his own in the business which he headed after his father's death, and that through his business alertness. Harry made this chain of shoe stores even more successful. Joan and Harry became engaged: then their engagement was mysteriously broken. To this day, no one knows wrhy. But Joan's friends think that the day he discovered Debbie was the day he lost in- terest in Joan. When Debbie told Harry that she could never become seriously interested in him. he went back to Joan. Joan Cohn had not found anyone she seriously cared for. In a moment of mutual loneliness Joan and Harry decided to marry. Ten days later they faced the heart- breaking fact that they were not in love and never had been — that Harry had married her on the rebound. He made up his mind to face the ridicule of the world if he had to, in order to break up the marriage that was meaning- less. When he tried to date Debbie, she told him, "I won't date a married man." It was only when Joan Cohn went to the divorce court — and was given S100.000 by Harry Karl for their ten-day mar- riage that Harry and Debbie started see- ing each other again. When Harry- Karl pursues a woman, she really knows she's pursued. Since his interlocutory divorce from Joan. Harry has been even more attentive to Debbie. A friend of Harry's, seeing how over- board he's gone for Debbie, asked him. '"Harry, you've gone with the most beau- tiful women out here. What do you see in Debbie?" Harry- replied, "She's the most wonderful girl I've ever known. I've never had so much fun with anyone." One of Debbie's closest friends told me. "I don't think Debbie is in love with Harry, but she may not be looking only for love now. She once married for love — and got badly hurt. She figures now, 'In every marriage one person is more deeply in love than the other. I loved Eddie more than he loved me. Mightn't it work out better if I married a man who was more in love than I?' She respects Harry, and that may be enough." There are still remnants of the puri- tanical girl in Debbie's personality7. The gifts she has accepted from Harry are hardly- tokens. Could a girl of Debbie's makeup accept such gifts — chinchilla, minks and S40.000 emeralds — from a man she has no intention of marrying? Some in Hollywood feel that the differ- ence in their ages is a great barrier. "Actually. Harry is 47 years old — al- though he may look older," says a friend. "That's not too great a disparity for Debbie, who's about 30 no%v. (And Debbie does not feel that this is necessarily- a handicap to a happy marriage. Eddie was about her own age, and that didn't work out. Debbie feels that perhaps a more mellow man — one whose mind and heart have been deepened by suffering — may be better for her than some good-looking, conceited young actor. "In spite of the fact that Harry's a grandpa — his daughter by his first mar- riage has a baby son — Harry is young in spirit," this friend went on. "And he supplies a vital need in Deb- bie's life — the feeling that she has a man around who is mature enough to advise her when she needs advice. I know the kind of girl Debbie is, and the kind of mother she is. She would never give her children a stepfather whom she felt would be too young to take the responsibility seriously." Another friend of Debbie's thinks that Debbie may find Harry's three marriages and divorces a distinct handicap. "One marriage failure. Debbie feels, might be the woman's fault," explained this friend. But it is hard for Debbie to believe that if a man has failed at marriage three times, each time it was the woman's fault. Harry was married the first time when he was in his twenties, to a non-professional. They have a daughter, Judy, who is now- married. "Although Debbie is very sympathetic, she doesn't want to be a two-time loser in the marriage game. And she knows very well that the chances of a happy marriage are less with a man who has had three divorces. She's got that thought in her little noggin, too." Between now and the day Harry gets his final decree of divorce. Debbie will have to face these problems and think about them. Debbie has seven months in which to make up her mind. END Debbie can be seen now in The Gazebo. MGM: soon in The Pleasure of His Com- pany and The Rat Race, both Paramount. Elvis' Grown-up Way with Girls U. S. for a few weeks and that El missed him very much. (Continued from, page 45) and adores costume jewelry and red shoes. Hazel-eyed LaVerne Novak is auburn- haired, dreams someday of becoming a movie actress. All three girls have bright, sunshiny personalities. They hail from Cleveland, Ohio, and confess they began singing dur- ing 'babysitting' nights. Here are their individual reports on their unexpected meeting with Elvis. Isn't it in- teresting how each of them noticed differ- ent things? TONI CISTONE: After we toured Ireland and England, we went to Germany where we sang at a hotel called the Von Steuben in Weisbaden. About forty-five minutes out of Weisbaden is Bad Nauheim where Elvis is stationed, and we never ever ex- pected to meet him. But through a friend of ours, Cliff Cleague, who knew Elvis' traveling com- panion, Lamar Fisk, we got to meet Elvis on a Friday night. We drove out and stopped at a sign that said 11 Goethe Street — Autographs be- tween 7:30 and 8:30 p.m. It was dark, and the house was dark because the windows were boarded up for Elvis' safety. There were hundreds of fans waiting outside, and Lamar pushed through the crowd to make room for us to go through the gate. The house was dark inside, too. There was only one lamp on, and I couldn't help thinking, "What a nice and soft romantic atmosphere." We sat on a low couch and waited for Elvis. We were all nervous. I could hear the other girls breathing, and I didn't know what to do with my hands so I fidgeted with my skirt. All of a sudden Elvis barged in and he came right up to us, shook our hands and repeated our names back to us as we intro- duced ourselves. That was a great thrill in itself, hearing Elvis say each of our names. Then for a couple of minutes I was dumbfounded. I didn't know what to say or think. I remember I kept wishing I had my best dress on. Finally I pinched myself to snap out of my daze, and I found myself staring into Elvis' eyes. They're very blue, bluer than they look in pictures. They're like pools of clear blue lake water on a sunny summer day. I could look into them forever. I was a little surprised by Elvis' hair- cut. It was a crewcut and it wasn't long. It was an in-between haircut I'd never seen in pictures before. Of course, I've always loved his sideburns and I hope he goes back to them when he gets out of the Army. He wore a sexy pink shirt and dark frontier pants. Then, after our introduction, he did the most wonderful thing. He went over to his rack of single records and pulled out a 45 record, and he said, "I've got one of your songs here!" And all three of us swooned. We told him how we went to see him at the Cleveland Arena Auditorium and how we lost our purses in the mob. We talked about showbusiness, our marvelous trip through Europe, and he listened very attentively. He was so easy to talk to that I told the other girls later, "Gee, El is a wonderful everyday kind of fellow." He didn't scare us off the way some stars can. He walked out of the room for a moment then and came back with his big guitar and flashed a dreamy smile. When he smiled 62 that dark living room lit up. Elvis has a big smile (it's a little crooked, goes way up the right side of his face) and it's so real, so beautiful, that you can't help but shiver when you first see it. Elvis strummed his guitar and asked us to sing our hits — I'll Keep Trying and I'll Be Seeing You. Then he imitated a couple of old-style singers and sang Good Golly Miss Molly. We clapped to the beat, and while I was listening to him I realized Elvis had lost a lot of weight. I've often thought back to how Elvis looked, and I believe Elvis is better-looking now than before, if that's possible. His face looks leaner, and you can see that wonderful bone structure very clearly. We talked after we sang, and then we had to return to the club for our show. El came out to our blue Ford convertible and he said he'd join us at the Roman Gar- dens later if he could. The Roman Gardens is a pizza place. But if he didn't get away, he made us promise to come back to a pizza party on Sunday. He didn't come to the Roman Gardens that night — so we couldn't wait 'til Sunday. PATTI McCABE: On Sunday we went to mass at a lovely old church, the Church of St. Augustine. Then we lunched at our hotel, and Mark Wildey, the tall, young, handsome blond manager of the Von Steu- ben, drove us out to Elvis'. The day was perfect with a bright sun and blue skies. When we arrived at 11 Goethe Street, there were thousands of fans crowding around the house. Well, we went into Elvis' house by the backdoor because of the big mob out front. The house was a dark grey stucco, and there was a nice lawn around it. I re- member there were fruit trees in the back- yard: apple and plum and pear. And there were wasps and bumblebees, too, because a bumblebee almost stung me, and I couldn't help chuckling because Elvis has a song called J Got Stung! That day El struck me as being different. He wasn't as shy; he seemed more re- laxed; he talked more. He was wearing an open-necked blue sport shirt, a grey Perry Como Sweater and navy blue pants, and he had a black pearl ring on his little finger. We talked about what hit records were popular in the U.S., and he told us he constantly reads movie magazines to keep up with everything. Some GI's came from Elvis' camp then, and the jam session started. Al, the sol- dier who played piano for a while, told me how Elvis was the end. He made me prom- ise not to tell, but he did tell me a couple of stories of how Elvis went out of his way to cover up for a couple of guys in his outfit who were eightballs. In the middle of the jam session I went into the kitchen for a glass of water, and his grandmother was there. She's a riot. She's tall, almost six feet, nearly as tall as Elvis, and she's got a sense of humor that's a dilly. She started telling me what a big pain all the immunization shots were. When Elvis asked her to come over, she had to get lots of overseas shots. "They nearly killed me," she screamed, "and if they have to give them to me again when I go back to the States I'll stow away or something. Anything to avoid that needle!" She said she cooks for Elvis, and that he won't eat just anybody else's food. He flips for juicy steaks and apple pies. She also told me Elvis' dad was in the LAVERNE NOVAK: You know a guitar is what usually symbolizes Elvis Presley, and he does have a beautiful bass guitar made of black wood. But we were all very surprised halfway through the afternoon to see Elvis put down his guitar and go to the piano. And do you know something? He's just as good a piano player, if not better, as a guitar player. He played dozens and dozens of songs and sang along with himself which is pretty hard. Do you know what he sang? He sang mostly spirituals. I was so impressed. He's such a wonderful emotional singer that I just couldn't stop crying when he sang. His voice is so rich and full, and if you listen to him sing 7 Understand and I Be- lieve, The Lord's Prayer and I'll Never Walk Alone — well, you just get goose- bumps from all the feeling he gives them. After all those hours (four or five) of singing, we were all a little hungry, so El sent out for the pizzas, and I don't know how many he ordered but I've never seen so many pizzas in my life. All kinds of pizzas — tomato and cheese, sausage, pepperoni, mushroom. Everybody ate and ate. Elvis himself had four or five huge pieces. He's got a wonderful appetite, IN THE MAY ISSUE Louella tells the facts about MARILYN MONROE'S marriage The romance of KIM NOVAK and RICHARD QUINE LOOK FOR DORIS DAY ON THE COVER and he eats as though he's enjoying evei-y single bite. I don't think I can ever forget the way Elvis' face glows when he smiles at a girl. He kept smiling at us and I kept wondering if I was in a dream. It was too unbelievable to be true, seeing and being with Elvis for all this time. Something else that made a very deep impression with me: Elvis' gentlemanli- ness. He never forgets his manners, ever, even with his fans. He went out to sign autographs, and we stood with him, and he was just as nice to the last person who asked as he was to the first. Finally we had to get back to the hotel and we started to say good-bye and he leaned over and kissed Torn and Patti and myself, and said, "Gee, I hope I have a chance to see you all again real soon!" There were lumps the size of apples in our throats. We just couldn't talk. We left, happy tears in our eyes, unable to speak, choked up with admiration and emotion over our singing idol. Of course, being in showbusiness it was an extra-special thrill for us to meet Elvis because we were able to share our sing- ing with him, and I don't think I'll ever forget our week-end with Elvis as long as I'm alive. END Stephen Boyd (Continued from page 29) Boyd. He has a different name but often the same wonderful dream, asleep or awake. And he believes it as firmly as he believes in leprechauns. That is one big reason why Irish Steve Boyd is the honest new he-man star in Hollywood. Since his ruthless Messala lost the chariot race but captured the sympathy and sex-appeal of Ben-Hur. Steve has had to turn down eleven juicy offers that could make him rich — if he were a foot- ball squad instead of just one man. Steve missed starring with Marilyn Monroe in Let's Make Love by a flick of her false eyelash — but he's up for Marc Antony with Liz Taylor's Cleopatra. After that they're talking Valentino's sexy part in Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse for Steve. Critics are already running out of five- dollar adjectives describing Steve's virile authority, and even tough-minded Willie Wyler. Ben-Hur s director, calls him a young Clark Gable. Wherever Steve goes, girls break out in goose pimples. Some reasons why are obvious. Steve Boyd is a gorgeous broth of a boy with a wavy, red-glinted mop of hair. Celtic blue eyes and a rocky, deep-dimpled chin. He's loaded with genuine Irish wit and charm and there's nothing wrong with his six-foot-plus. 180-pound hunk of mus- cle, either. But there the standard Holly- wood hero portrait stops, and Steve's dream takes over. All he really cares about is acting. For himself, handsome Steve Boyd has absolutely no admiration. "I'm not very fond of myself." he'll tell you. "but I'm all wrapped up in the people I play." Fame leaves him cold. He doesn't care about being a star. He can skip fun. too. and even money. Til work for nothing." he's offered, "if I like the part. But I'll go out of my mind if I don't.'" Nothing besides his job Steve has even less interest in sports, social life, politics, business or much of anything besides his job. If people ask him about them he has a stock answer: "T don't know. I'm an actor." Not long ago an interviewer dreamed up a fancy quote: "If I have one cause in life." he had Steve say grandly, "it is to fight for the freedom of Ireland;" When that hit his home town. Belfast people who knew him laughed out loud, along with Steve Boyd. For one thing, they're all loyal subjects of the Queen. Corrected Steve. "The only cause I've had to fight for all my life is my own freedom. That's a battle that keeps on and on." When fans mobbed Steve for his auto- graph recently in New York he was equally amazed. "Why should anybody want anything from me?'" he puzzled. "What have I got to do with that guy in Ben-Hur?" To him Steve Boyd and Mes- sala were two entirely different people. A character like that can be hard to fig- ure in a town where the first person, sin- gular, is almost holy writ. Steve Boyd is hard to figure. You have to start all over again ■with each part he plays. As long as two years ago, when Steve first came to Hollywood to play a Tsad guy' in The Bravados, the impact was baffling to all concerned. In fact, when Steve showed up at Twentieth Century- Fox to draw his wardrobe. Mickey Sher- rard, in charge, took one look at him and exploded. "My God — they've gone out of their minds:" Steve's Savile Row clothes and London accent seemed about as right for a western heavy as David Niven's. Furthermore, Steve cheerfuilv admitted he didn't know how to strap on his guns, shoot them or straddle a horse. But he learned — and he was perfect in the pic- ture. As for Steve's experiences — he took a walk from his hotel the first night and got stopped by the cops. "It's not safe to walk in Beverly Hills." they told him cryptically, escorting him back. When he got his hotel bill, each day nicked him for more than his dad earned in Ireland for a week's labor. The apartment he fled to promptly stuck him for six months' rent, even though almost all that time he was in Mexico and Rome! "I found it all pretty confusing," says Steve. He could say the same thing today, be- cause the truth is that Stephen Boyd doesn't fit the Hollywood pattern, or any pattern for that matter. He doesn't because with him reality always takes second place. Acting comes first and it always has. But it hasn't made things easy for Steve. This kind of schizophrenia is nothing new to Steve Boyd. He's been dreaming as much as waking and. in one way or an- other, acting as often as living, ever since he was born on the Fourth of July. 1928. in Glen Gormley. outside of Belfast. His mother. Martha Boyd, who traced back to the Bally Castle Boyds. was the youngest of thirteen children, and Wil- liam Millar, as Steve was christened, was her last baby. "The last child of a last child." says Steve, "and they're always queer ones." Besides. Martha had "a poi- son in her stomach" most of the months she carried Billy and even the doctor didn't expect much of value to be deliv- ered. "I'm inclined to think he was right," grins Steve today. Billy was no prize Stacked against his husky brothers, it's true. Billy was no prize. They took after their dad. James Millar, a mountain of a man who drove a truck for a living, who could down a mug of beer at a gulp and who. even today. Steve proudly claims, "can wipe up the floor with me any time he feels like it." The brothers, from James, twenty years older, to Alex next above, were buckos so famous for their brawn and red tempers that one was called "Blow" at school, because he blew his top and clobbered anyone who crossed him. Billy wasn't like that. He was solid and strong enough, a "Billy Bunter" kid, as they said around Belfast. He could run like the wind, rough it up in soccer and hockey, but fighting, which was glorious sport for his brothers, made him feel cheap. But once, when an American boy named Eugene challenged him on the school grounds Billy fought desperately, "and I beat the tar out of him." says Steve. "But I was sorry afterward. The master bent us both over and whacked our bot- toms with a paddle." Billy never hit any- one after that. Sometimes Billy Millar couldn't understand himself, but he didn't try too hard. He was too busy being some- thing else. He was a steamship, usually the Queen Mary, blowing foghorn blasts through his fingers and sailing up and down the side- walk. He was a racing automobile, rip- ping down the hills in a skateboard, once clear under the wheels of a passing car. The driver only jumped angrily out at the bump, yelling "You little so-and-so!" and chased him up the street. He roamed the woods outside of town and up on the Cave Hill, alone — being whatever came to his imagination — Robin Hood. Brian Boru. a deer, fox, or even a tree. Later, when he grew up enough, he'd set out on solitary hikes through the Mourne Mountains, singing Irish ballads . . . "where the mountains of Mourne sweep down to the sea . . ." and staying at youth hostels. "I was a dreamer." admits Steve. "And the things I liked best I liked to do alone." W SANITARY BRIEF Keeps you cool and calm 'cause thev fit to a fare-thee-well— feel like noth- ing at all. All-Acetate tricot, water- proof panel. White or Pink: SI. 85. ■ The distinguished-appearing man behind the wide mahogany desk looked at the signed contract with satisfaction. Then as his eyes surveyed the signer sitting opposite, his face grew troubled. "You have three weeks before your first costume fitting," Y. Frank Freeman, the head of Paramount, said firmly to Bob Hope. "The clothes of that period were form-fitting, remember, so you better spend all your time on that golf course!" "That's the nicest order I ever got," Hope said happily, and departed for the links. But two weeks later, he hadn't taken off an ounce, and studio officials were in despair. The suits for the movie were to be made by Sy Devore, noted Hollywood stylist. The fittings for Bob Hope were cancelled several times, until Mr. Devore pointed out that time was getting short. "We know it," the studio said sadly, "but the suits are to be size 32 and Mr. Hope's only down to 36. How's he to try them on?" "Leave it to me," said Mr. Devore, "but send him in for a fitting." Accordingly, Bob Hope arrived at Devore's — but he couldn't quite get into the suit. "I don't understand it," he commented blandly. "I've been losing Aveight steadily for three weeks." "Oh, I can see that," Sy Devore told him, "but you'll need to take off just a little more. This is Monday; come in Thursday for the next fitting." For three weeks thereafter Bob Hope still couldn't quite get into the suit. Sy Devore would say encouragingly, "You just need to take off a little bit more, Mr. Hope." It was a great day when the suit fitted superbly. Bob Hope said delightedly, "That shows what golf will do for you!" But, it was only when the picture was finished that Sy Devore revealed the secret. "I never saw anybody need so many fittings for a suit," Bob remarked one day. "Why, you could have made four suits in the time it took you to fit that one!" "I did," said Sy Devore with a chuckle. "That first suit was a 35: you were a 36. The next week when you'd lost a bit, I'd made a 34 — and so on, until you finally got down to a 32." Bob Hope's last words? "Now I know what they mean by 'Clothes make the man.' " The picture was Beau James, in which Bob Hope portrayed the late svelte Mayor Jimmy Walker of New York. Today Bob's golf score is still in the low 80's — and his waistline is back in the high 30's! PAR FOR THE COURSE That was hard to manage the way the Millars lived in Glen Gormley. They rented a tiny house, smaller than the mod- est apartment Steve has in Hollywood to- day, for $1.10 a week. All eleven crowded inside, and a succession of cats who in- evitably met sad ends. The main support for this brood was James Millar's salary of $18 a week. Sometimes Martha worked and each Millar kid, girl or boy, found a job as they grew up to help. Billy pulled potatoes on farms nearby. Once he tried a job in a garage, until a towed tractor he was steering tipped over on the slippery road to Belfast and almost killed him. Ireland was poor and the Millars were poor Irish. The world-wide depression in Steve's boyhood didn't help, and then came the war to make things desperate. Food was scarce and the Nazis plastered the port of Belfast regularly, leaving in- cendiaries and delayed action bombs that blew up without warning and killed plenty of kids Billy knew. Some families moved out into the hills but the Millars stayed where they were, thinking themselves lucky compared to Jack, Billy's brother, who joined the Navy and stuck out the war on Malta, the heaviest bombed spot of all. Despite all this and his poverty, Steve Boyd calls himself lucky to have had the boyhood he had. Nobody's impressed He likes to go back home today. "In fact," says Steve, "I need to. It gets my feet back on the ground." When he does his mother tells him, "Now, there'll be none of that Stephen Boyd business around here, boy. You're still Billy." Sometimes she calls him "Poison," from the recollection of his birth. And his dad who, after thirty-two years, drives the same trucks for the same company and makes about the same pay, teases him roughly. "How's the head, Billy — swelling up? I'll get a bucket of water!" His broth- ers are all men who work with their hands. He has twenty-two nephews and nieces. Nobody's impressed. Stephen Boyd prizes this and even envies them. "My father and mother," he believes, "are both remarkable people. At an early age they made and kept their happiness. If I could ever achieve what they have," he muses wistfully, "I'd be content." Back then contentment didn't mix with Billy Millar's dreams any more than it does today. But he's grateful that some virtues and values of respectable poverty rubbed off and clung to him. "Life was a struggle," as he puts it. "But a cheerful struggle. We never had a shilling ahead but I don't remember any feeling of fear or insecurity. There was always life and excitement in our house, always love, al- ways humor and always pride." At school Billy Millar had a nickname. "Smiler." "I was a serious kid," he ex- plains, "but happy serious." From the min- ute he trotted off to classes, at the age of four, he liked everything about school. But he was always speaking his mind. He'd argue until they shut him up. "I was sure hard to convince," says Steve. At the Scottish Presbyterian church he even argued with the Reverend Nicholson about his sermons. "It amazed me." states Steve, "that a man could read a text from the Bible and then have the nerve to tell others what it meant. Why, it means some- thing different to everyone who reads it!" He'd tell the good man this and they'd have word battles after church, to the preacher's delight. But later, when Billy Millar briefly thought he'd like to study theology and be a minister himself, Rev- erend Nicholson shook his head. "I know your mind, Billy," he counseled. "And you won't do for organized religion. You'd never accept it." By then Billy Millar was already a vet- eran in a profession where it didn't hurt a bit to have ideas of your own. But it did hurt to have your voice change. At four- teen, Billy was a has-been kid actor. It had all begun when he was eight with a little school play in Glen Gormley, something about Scotland Yard, as Steve remembers. He played a policeman and he can still rattle off his opening lines, "Lrook — Maggie and Jim are comin' down the street. She's grumblin' like me grand- mother's parrot — and he's gone all red in the face!" A scout from the British Broad- casting company was combing the schools for a kiddie talent and he snapped Billy right up for the Children's Hour program. A kid who was always being something else anywuy found this a pushover. For most of the next six years Billy was either rehearsing or happily being everybody but himself over radio. This was good — but bad, too. Into the family pot The good part was the expressive out- let for imaginative Billy Millar — and may- be even more than that — the money. For a skit he collected the equivalent of $16, a de- cent week's wages for any grown working man in Ireland. For a play he got $25, more than his own dad earned. All of it went into the family pot, which could use it. But it was bad being cut off from his age group at a time when Billy Millar, par- ticularly, needed them. "Sometimes," glooms Steve Boyd today, "I still have the feeling I'm a bit of an adolescent." He never had a chance to knock around and get the growing kinks out of his sys- tem. There wasn't time to do what the other guys did — play on soccer teams, dance, join a gang, mess around. All that time Billy never had a date. With all the chicks nipping around Stephen Boyd now it's hard to believe, but in those days he couldn't get to first base with the colleens. By North-of-Ireland standards, they fig- ured him a kind of 'kook.' Steve still winces remembering one who gave him a specially hard time. Audrey was a dainty blonde doll he worshiped hopelessly. His big brother, Alex, took her out whenever he wanted to. But when Billy tried she just swished her skirts and snapped, "No!" "Lord knows I was persistent," grins Steve. "I kept asking her for six straight years and I got the same answer every time." Finally she told him, 'Billy, you're just too odd a one for me." While Steve was still on BBC, but fad- ing, he entered Hughes Academy in Bel- fast, a business school. His aim was a white-collar job in an office. University was out of the question for the likes of the Millar kids. Billy always knew that — there wasn't the money. But he didn't want to steer a truck, or swing a pick. He hit typing and shorthand hard and got pretty sharp. He'd been there about a year when Martha Millar met him one day as he rolled in on his bike. "Let's take a little walk, Son," she said. And then she told him, "Things are bad with so many mar- ried and gone. We can't keep it up with you in school and all." Billy knew what she meant: That he had to start bringing in steady money. That's what an Irish family's son like Billy Millar had to do when it came time. He was fourteen. So. Billy got himself a job in a Belfast insurance office, "assistant in charge of motors," he called himself dramatically. Actually, he was office boy. He got a bet- ter one soon at McCalla's Travel Agency, earning $20 a week. For a fifteen-year-old in Belfast that was fabulous. His family and friends began thinking maybe Billy was going to amount to something in busi- ness after all. Billy told himself that was his one ambition. Now, Steve Boyd knows he just wanted to please his folks. Be- cause, nights he joined up with an acting group called the University Players. After seven months at McCalla's he faced his boss one day and announced that he was quitting. The boss almost fell out of his chair. "What for?" "I want to be an actor," said Billy. "Humph!" snorted the man, "Now lis- ten, Lad — a rolling stone, y'know, gathers no moss." Maybe Billy had heard his snappy comeback somewhere. Anyway he said, "Sure, and who wants moss?" He applied to a professional acting company named the Ulster Group Theater, took an exam and got a job. Five dollars a week. He stayed there three years. At the end he was making $10. "I'll bet on the Irish" But Billy swallowed his pride and stuck it. He's never been sorry. He learned the tricks of his trade with the Ulster Group. Steve Boyd thinks there are few better places to learn them. He has great respect for America's 'Method' actors like Brando and Newman. "But when it comes to tricks, acting or any other kind," smiles Steve, Til bet on the Irish!" He learned more than tricks, of course. Starting on the ground floor, literally, sweeping out the house, Billy shifted scenery, hammered sets, stage managed, worked up from bits to character parts and then leads. Finally, he was playing eight shows a week, forty-eight weeks a year — Noel Coward, Bernard Shaw, Terence Rat- tigan, Sean O'Casey, J. M. Synge and all the modern playwrights. By the time he was twenty, Billy Millar figured he was a pro- fessional and he longed for the Big League — London. Billy got there first in 1950 for the Fes- tival of Britain. The Ulster Group sent over three plays for that, and Billy got a free ride as an understudy. He tried to stick around when the party was over to find a job. All he got was, "What've you done in England?" Since the answer was "Nothing," they yawned, "Come back when you have." Instead, Billy went back to Ireland, broke and in the doghouse. The Ulster Group figured he'd deserted them, and the head director kicked him out, "To teach you a lesson." "He did," says Steve grimly. "The lesson was that if you want to get anywhere you'd better not depend on anyone but yourself." That fall he borrowed five pounds (about $15) from a Belfast pal and boarded a boat back to Liverpool, lugging a cheap guitar that was kicking around the house. The battered box occupies a place of honor by Steve's fireplace today. In London it practically saved his life. He got there after hitching the long stretch from Liverpool. But he didn't know a soul and his stake was all of ten shill- ings. He found a job at Lyon's Corner House, a chain cafeteria on Piccadilly Cir- cus, pouring coffee and carting out dirty dishes for four pounds a week, and a room for thirty shillings. The job was okay, al- though he worked twelve hours a day, but the room was pretty grim. It was actually a tiny hall, four by nine feet, "and you had to edge in sidewise or you'd step right into the bed," recalls Steve. "There wasn't a window, but there was a door out to the garden. The other roomers had to go through my place to get out." That was bearable as long as he just slept there nights. But after he'd saved up ten pounds, Billy quit his bus-boy job to make the agent's rounds, with plenty of no luck. 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"It's funny what you can do," reflects Steve Boyd, "when you have to." What he did was to somehow drag himself and his guitar down to Leicester Square that night. In front of the Empire Theater long lines of ticket buyers queued up. Billy Millar started 'busking.' Whanging his guitar, he croaked out the folk songs he knew from childhood, Star of the County Down, Just a Poor Way- farin' Stranger and such. People tossed him pennies and sometimes a shilling. That was Stephen Boyd's first London performance, and for him it was a big success. "Not because of my music," ad- mits Steve, "but because I looked like I'd drop dead if they didn't tip me. I prob- ably would have, too." But a nice little racket like 'busking' was not overlooked in crowded London. There were pro 'buskers;' they even had a union. Pretty soon a goon squad chased wobbly Billy Millar off the Square. By then he had enough for his first meal in a week, and a pound to stall off the land- lady. He bolted the meal — veal schnitzel and beer — bought a small bottle of brandy and a packet of aspirin. Back in his room he downed those and crawled in between the sheets. Twenty hours later he woke up in a sea of sweat. But he'd had that wonderful dream. He felt just great. From that low point the only way Billy could go was up. Not very far up, at first. But the doorman's job he snagged next at the Odeon Theatre, with its gorgeous uniform, triggered the break he was hunt- ing. Billy was so impressive in the glit- tering rig that, when they staged the British Academy Awards at the Leicester Square Cinema across the way, someone grabbed him to usher in the winners. Billy took stars up to emcee Michael Redgrave, all that evening. At the end Redgrave, a star himself in London, politely inquired just what the hell Billy was doing in that field marshal's uniform parking cars and opening doors? "You're an actor, aren't you?" "How did you know?" "I can tell," said Mike, "by the way you handle yourself. Why aren't you acting?" So Billy told him his sad story: Nobody would give him a job. After a chat, Red- grave said maybe he could fix that. He gave Billy a note to the director of the Windsor Repertory Group, and Billy took a train up the next day. Luckily, they were just casting a play and needed a boy for — of all things — Little Women. He hired Billy for the part of Laurie, and, says Steve, "Was I ever lousy!" But they kept him on and, after a few plays, his second good luck angel zeroed in. This one was Derek Marr, a London agent. Before, whenever Billy Millar had busted into London agents' offices they'd practically called the bobbies to boot him out. Of course, Marr hadn't come to Wind- sor to see Billy. He had a client who starred in the show. But, like a lot of other people since, he saw something in the handsome young Ulsterman that Billy couldn't see in himself. The day Marr took on Billy as a client things began to change. "In fact," says Steve, "everything good that happened to me up to Ben-Hur I owe to him." Derek switched Billy's name to Stephen Boyd, for one thing. He lent him money to operate. He took him to West End tai- lors and taught him how to dress, tamed his wild Irish mop at the barber's. He calmed him down, took his dreamy head out of the clouds and planted his feet on the ground. Best of all, he forced out Ste- phen Boyd's thunderclap personality. "It was the turning point for me," Steve be- lieves. "Until then I kept myself inside myself. I wouldn't let anything out to hit people with, on stage or off." In no time he was hitting them hard. At both the Guildford Repertory and Midland Group in Coventry, where Marr steered Steve, he played leads and col- lected rave notices. When he came back to London he took on TV and soon could pick and choose his scripts. "So I picked and I chose," grins Steve, "and I starved." Not like he had that time before, of course; what Steve means is that he was stubborn about doing the right ones, and you don't get rich saying "No." "I didn't care," he says. "I developed almost a reli- gious feeling about what I did. I guess you'd have called me a long-haired actor. Maybe I was. But it was the happiest time of my life." And in the end, it paid off. Steve took on a job in a TV play called Barnett's Folly, which no other London actor would touch with a ten foot pole. He played an idiotic weakling. Well, it just won him a nomination for an English Em- my, and a contract with Sir Alexander Korda for movies. In fact, it pointed Ste- phen Boyd toward Hollywood, although he certainly didn't know that then. Because, after a couple of break-in movies for Korda, Steve played an Irish spy in a war thriller, The Man Who Never Was. and that put him up for a British Oscar, only three years after he'd ushered other winners in his doorman's rig. Then Korda died and Twentieth Century-Fox JIM ARIMESS ESCAPES FROM ANZIO ■ Long before a young giant named Jim Arness ever dreamed of being a hero on a television screen, he was trying to find himself after a rugged stretch as a member of the Third Infantry Division — the one that assaulted the Anzio beachhead. He was wounded in that assault and now he lay in an Army hospital in North Africa and did a great deal of thinking. He wanted to forget all the terrors he had known. He wanted to settle down somewhere to a nice, pleasant career far removed from violence. With his discharge, he returned to his native Minneapolis planning to en- ter the University of Minnesota. He had no definite career plans as yet — just something as unlike the fires and horror of war as possible. Then while he was waiting for the new semester to begin, he happened to get a job at a local radio station. WLOL. He liked it so well that he con- tinued, even after classes at the University had started. This might be just the career for him — no bloodshed, no fire, no violence. It was a small station, and Jim did a little bit of everything. He did the commercials, read spot announcements, was disc jockey, weather reporter and all-around handyman. But on his first day as a full-fledged newscaster, the fellows at WLOL de- cided that he was due for a bit of hazing. The news was read as it came off the teletype, in strips many feet long. On this occasion, the boys set fire to the other end of it! "Here I was," Jim recalls ruefully, "trying to make good on my first big chance. I had to read the top footage of the teletype in an authoritative, well-modulated voice, while the bottom footage was roaring up in flames! Anzio was never like this!" inherited Steve's contract. But it took them two years to get him to Hollywood. Most of "that time, Steve Boyd played loan out jobs in England and around Eu- rope. And in that time, there were more changes made. With a decent income, he moved into a Kensington flat, built up a smart wardrobe, even bought himself a second-hand Vauxhall to run around in. He got away from London for some trips to Italy and "the South of France. A picture in Paris helped his education along. So did women. He made a picture called Seven Thun- ders with French actress Anna Gaylor and lightning struck them both. Anna, -who still acts in Paris, is in Steve's words, "beautiful, fascinating and a true artist.'' The liaison lasted for 18 months and Steve still hasn't forgotten Anna. In fact, he still writes her now and then. Like all romantic involvements since, it ended without hard feelings. "It always comes to the point where either you do or you don't' explains Steve simply. ''Anna and I reached that point and we made the right decision. But she was very, very good for me." Steve signed for The Night That Heaven Fell before he'd laid eyes on Brigitte Bar- dot. When he did, he got an excellent view. Roger Vadim. Bardot's first husband, took Steve to Brigitte's Paris apartment to meet her. She met them wearing only a smile. "I know," announced BB in her cutest English, "that Fm going to enjoy working weeth you varee mooch." All Steve could stammer was, "My name's Stephen Boyd."' But Brigitte was right: she thoroughly enjoyed working with Steve — and it was very much vice versa. Steve and Brigitte They shot most of the film in Spain, and Steve says frankly, "She's a great com- panion. Around Brigitte you feel more alive than you normally do. She has the most animal in her of any woman I've ever known. As a person, I'm still a fan. She's a remarkable girl." he confesses. Brigitte was so remarkable that, after five months as her leading man, Steve had to take a vacation in Wales to recuperate. He was finally summoned by Fox to Hollywood, in January, '58. Once he started making movies. Steve had always itched to come to America, but the closest he'd got was the West Indies with Island in the Sun. "I had a special reason," reveals Steve, "and it wasn't money. I thought American writers turned out the kind of things that were right for me. Americans and Irish have a close af- finity. They're both gutsy." If Steve longed for the gutsy bit in Hollywood, he got it, pronto. To prepare him for that western badman the studio sent Steve out to Fat Jones' riding stable. Steve's rear was just getting used to riding Western style down in Mexico, when Derek Marr cabled him about Ben Hur. He barely had time to collect his things in Hollywood before he was back in Europe. He reported to Rome in April, 1958. this time to learn how to drive horses instead of ride them — four big, black ones from Yugoslavia. Several times they bolted away, once crashing Steve through a high fence. That was just a sample of things to come. Making Ben Hur was "a fabulous experience" for Steve Boyd. In fact, plenty of times he felt as did General Lew Wal- lace, who wrote the epic, "My God. did I set all this in motion?" Each morning Steve had to sweat out having his dyed hair curled. All day he had to bear the cutting pain of contact lenses to tint his blue eyes brown. He could see only straight ahead through a tiny peephole, so he was always bumping into things and had to be led around the huge Cinecitta studio sets. The armor he wore was heavy steel. Under the sizzling Italian sun it got so hot that wardrobe boys had to wear gloves to remove it, so you can imagine how Steve fried under- neath. What was left of Steve's skin got peeled when they plastered him with blood-and-muck makeup for his death scenes. It took three men three hours each time to strip off the rubber adhesive and red goo. Today his skin still bleeds when- ever he gets run down. As for the risky chariot spills — Steve figures he's alive to- day only because Yakima Canutt, Holy- wood's stunt wizard, taught him tricks to stay in one piece. But while Steve Boyd kept his life those six months in Italy, he lost his heart al- most the day Ben Hur started. Mariella di Sarzana was Rome representative for MCA. the big talent agency. MCA handles Steve, so Mariella had instruction from Hollvwood to "take good care of Stephen Boyd." She did. Steve often worked from six o'clock in the morning until nine at night. But after- wards and on weekends he viewed the beauty and grandeur of Rome through the eyes of romance. Mariella. in Steve's words, is "a beautiful, sophisticated, in- telligent woman. She speaks eight lan- guages, has great taste, sense of values and understanding of artists. She's full of entertainment and charm." He concludes, "Ours was a wonderful courtship of two people in love." From May until August they -visited the Colosseum in the moonlight, prowled the museums and ruins, the Vatican. St. John's Lateran and such. On weekends they drove in Steve's little MG down to Anzio and Naples or up to Florence. With Ma- riella Steve saw sights tourists never see because Rome was her home. Special views from hilltops, hidden cafes, quiet gardens and fountains off the beaten path. And sometimes just quiet dinners alone together at Steve's apartment in the Ter- mecaracaldi section or at Mariella's in the Parioli. One blue sky day in Sperlonga. a beautiful seaside village. Steve asked Ma- riella to marry him and got the right an- swer— or so they both deeply believed then. When he had five days off, they flew to London and were married. Steve's Brit- ish citizenship made arrangements faster there. Back in Rome, Steve and Mariella lived together exactly one month to the day. When Ben Hur ended, he flew off to Lon- don alone. Every night for two weeks they talked long distance trying to find out what had gone wrong. The}- never did. Then Steve flew to Hollywood to make Woman Obsessed with Susan Hayward. Last February Mariella travelled there, too — to get a divorce. Stephen Boyd still struggles to explain to himself what happened. "I really don't know for sure," he admits. "I suppose I wasn't ready for marriage. Maybe I was still too much of an adolescent. There are so manj' things to think about before you take that step and I didn't think them through. I wish to hell it had worked." Steve Boyd carries no torch. But after his experience he thinks another marriage is a long way off for him, even though he'll be a free man this March. "I'll get married again." he promises himself. "I think I need marriage. But I've got to come to terms with myself and my work first." Meanwhile, he's playing the field, if you can call it that. The only framed photograph Steve keeps in his apartment is one of a fas- cinating blonde named Valerie Till. Steve helped her father, Antony, come over from England and establish himself in Holly- wood in the auto business. Recently, Val- erie got a job as a model. She's five vears old. In Hollywood, Steve Boyd leads the life of a typical bachelor, but not a typical Mothers! Imagine Wonderful Washable leather baby shoes Other styles to S3.99 for infants crib to age 3. Over 60,000,000 pairs have been sold. AVAILABLE EVERYWHERE . . . COAST TO COAST W. T. Grant Co Christ* s Stores MrCr:-.-M,Le. Spr- _^-P^,-_: C Gamble Stores Kaufman & Wemsrt M H KmsCo W W Mac Co Mattmgly Bros Co. H L Green Co Sehulu Bros C* Scott Store* Sterling Stores Co I At FREE BOOKLET WRITE TODAY Valuable information on fant foot care and measure size. MORAN SHOE CO. Dept. MS, Corlyle, Iliinoi HPS SORE? POCKET SIZE 39c COLO \S0ff£S Style Your Own Hair As the Experts do! 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His pad is a comfort- able old, pink-tinted duplex in the un- fashionable part of town. Since Ben-Hur a secretary comes in some days to handle his ballooning fan mail, but that's about his only luxury. The small Falcon he owns is the first new car he's driven and he still wears the tailored suits he bought in London. He drinks only beer, skips parties and night clubs and squanders $25 a week that his business manager doles out. Partly, this is because in some years, 87 per cent of Steve's four-figure paycheck vanishes with double taxes — to Britain and Uncle Sam, too. Partly, it's because he likes to send money home. Besides, there's still a lot of Scot in Steve Boyd and he can't forget his poor Belfast beginnings. He has bought his mother and father a house in Belfast. But mainly, the reason Steve operates quietly despite the furor of his big hit, is that that's the way he likes it. "I'm often alone," he'll confess, "but I'm never lonely." Steve still has his dream to keep him company. Most nights Steve Boyd settles down to work on that at home. He shuts off the phone, turns on the hi-fi for background music, gets out his tape recorder and stack of scripts. Any part will do. He's still working on Messala, for instance, although Ben-Hur has been playing for months. For that matter, he's still polishing up his drunk in The Best of Everything, the spy in The Man Who Never Was — and back beyond. Sometimes he forgets the clock and it's daylight before the well runs dry. Then Steve blanks out on his king-size bed and it might be midnight again before his belly feels like an empty mail sack and "I'm Like 13 and It's Like Awful!" (Continued from 47) symphony of instruments — so many of them — surrounding her. "Wowie — fifteen violins," she counted. And golly, what an afternoon it had been. A real princess from Europe who was visiting Hollywood had come to the studio to hear Dodie sing, and they'd taken a picture of the two girls together. For young Dodie, sometimes — like now, it was all just too much. Her new 20th Century-Fox contract. The big television shows. Personal appearances like in Aus- tralia. And now this album for Dot Records. No rock 'n' roll either. Just beautiful standards — all love songs — like this one she was doing now. "Ready, Dodie, darlin'?" Louis Prima said. Her voice, a lot like Judy Garland's, flooded the big room, the last note dying slowly in a catchy sob. "That's it, Dodie, baby!" Louis said. And she could tell he was real happy with the way it turned out. She stepped out of the sound-box, a little girl in red plaid cotton capris and tan leather moccasins, lugging an enormous white bag. A cute young colt of a girl, all legs and expressive eyes and heavy shoulder-length brown hair. She looked at the clock, and Dodie's brown eyes clouded and the happy feeling died — just as always when a session ended. It was six o'clock, and everybody else was so happy because Dodie had done such a great job and they'd finished on time. But six o'clock for this little thirteen- year-old Cinderella meant the magic was over, and she would be taking the freeway back to Temple City . . . and homework. At six, Dodie Stevens, star, turned into Geri Pasquale, Temple City school girl. Tomorrow, another record session in Hollywood! Then tomorrow night, back to Temple City — and more homework. It was so discouraging sometimes. dino Freeway, and turn into the driveway of a modest stucco home. And in no time Dodie would be spending the rest of Saturday night at the mahogany dining table doing double homework. "Golly," thought Dodie, "why did it all have to finally happen now, when I'm like thirteen?" "Thirteen is awful — it's so . . . in-be- tween," Dodie explains when you're talk- ing a few days later in her Temple City living room. "I wish I wouldn't have gotten my real break now," she goes on. "I just wish I would have waited until I was, oh — like sixteen or seventeen. It would have been so much more fun. I'd be getting out of school and everything would be so much simpler for me," she sighs. "There's no other girl in the business who's just thirteen," Dodie goes on with a grimace. "Like Annette Funicello is seventeen and Sandra Dee is seventeen — and I mean I could go on and on. You have more of a chance then — because you can do date lay-outs, see . . . and every- thing. "I was supposed to have two date lay- outs with Fabian," Dodie says sadly. "But I couldn't because when you're like thir- teen-and-sixteen, well they just didn't think it would work out very well, you know. If I could be sixteen now, see — it would be so much better." And being sixteen would, see, solve so many problems in her personal life too. "Mom and Dad won't let me date until I'm like sixteen," Dodie says. "They think when you're sixteen — that's just right. They think you know everything then, I mean, well, practically everything. But three more years isn't going to make any dif- ference. Because I think a lot of kids know just as much when they're thirteen as they'll know when they're sixteen. "Practically all the freshmen at Temple Dodie at home In a few minutes Dodie Stevens would leave the studio, along with her youthful parents, her Italian father, Cesare Pas- quale, a house painter, and her pretty dark-eyed Yugoslavian mother, Mary Pas- quale, housewife. They'd get into the family Ford and turn south on Sunset, away from the bright lights and the mo- tion picture and television studios. Away from the fifteen violins and the visiting princesses. Away from — well — people like Fabian and Frankie Avalon. They'd drive across Los Angeles and 68 twenty miles further on the San Bernar- City High date — except the weird ones," Dodie goes on. "I'm asked a lot, and at first when boys asked me to go out I used to make an excuse. Like I'd say, 'I'm going over to my aunt's or something. Then I thought, 'Well I can't always be going over to my aunt's.' So now I just tell them, 'My parents are old-fashioned and they don't think I'm old enough to date.' " And what do the boys say to this? "They say, 'But that isn't fair.' And I say, 'I know — but what are you going to do about it?' And then they say, 'Oh well, we'll call you back in three years.' " That's what they're going to do about it. Everybody. Call Dodie back in like wakes him up. He goes out, wolfs a big steak and feels fine. If some people think him crazy, that's okay with Steve. He thinks they're nuts when they call him "another Gable". Because Stephen Boyd knows, only too well, that he's nobody but himself. Yet sometimes he's not sure who that is, ei- ther. "All I'm really certain about," he says, somewhat pensively, "is that it's get- ting to be a very complicated world." That it is for Stephen Boyd, since Be?i- Hur. And the plot seems due to thicken, day by day. But, thick or thin, five will get you ten that Mrs. Millar's boy, who still believes in leprechauns, keeps the luck of the Irish, enough of their tricks — and, above all, his right to dream. end Stephen is currently co-starring in Ben- Hur, MGM. three years. But there's nothing much that you can do about life when you're thirteen. You can just do homework and dream and die waiting — until you're like sixteen— when you can do all the really im- portant things. Not that Dodie isn't thrilled about to- day's success and all. And though she's just thirteen now, "It sure took a long time," she sighs. "Don't call me, we'll call you" Show-business may think of Dodie Stevens as an over-night discovery, but as she says, "I don't remember my first audition. Golly, that was a long time ago. I just remember their exact words, "Don't call me — we'll call you.' That's all I re- member— it was coming out of my ears all the time." She was able to sing just about as soon as she could talk, as the neighbors on the other side of the thin walls of the Pasquales' two-room apartment in Chicago, where Geri and her older sister, Elaine, were born, could undoubtedly affirm. Since the Pasquales moved to Southern California when Dodie was two years old, she considers herself "practically a native Californian." Her father worked as a house painter, but he started giving Geri voice lessons at $5 a lesson when she was five years old, so happy to be able to give his little girl the training that, for all his own love for singing, Cesare Pasquale could never af- ford back in Italy. He always managed his work to be able to drive her to her lessons, or get her to an audition at CBS or NBC or wherever they were holding them. When she was six years old Geri was singing 7 Believe on USO camp shows. When she was "just turning seven," she sang on Art Linkletter's Houseparty. "When I was eight — no, eight and a half — I was one of the kids who sang Italian folk songs on the CBS-TV spectacular, A Bell For Adano." Ten-year-old Geri sang Come Back To Sorrento in Italian, like she was born there. She memorized Italian, French and Yiddish and she projected so much feeling into the words her father says, "When Geri sang the songs people would think she knew what the words meant — but be- lieve me, she didn't know a thing about them. She would sing for a dinner for the City of Hope and people would walk from the table with tears in their eyes." Once Eddie Cantor heard a tape of Geri singing a Yiddish song and asked later, "Did you say your name is Pas- quale?" The pay-off began "about two-and-a- half years ago when I was on Larry Finley's local TV show," Dodie recalls. The president of Crystalette Records saw the show and was very impressed with her. "But that was when the rage was just Elvis and all the boy-singers." "When the time was right and some good material came along, Mr. Burns said he'd give us a call. So when Pink Shoe- laces came to his office, he called us. I didn't like it. I thought it was a silly song," she says frankly. But Geri really performed it, and she became Dodie Stev- ens, recording star, almost over-night. "I didn't like the name they gave me either. I like Geri better, and I used to go by Geri Pace, which means 'peace' in Italian —but they didn't like Geri at all. They thought Dodie Stevens would catch the attention more, you know." Pink Shoelaces sold over a million records, and it's still selling. Now under contract to Dot Records, she'd recorded her album of standards, Dodie Sings. After her first movie, Hound Dog Man. 20th-Fox signed her to a contract for two pictures or more a year, at up to SI 000 a week. Fame comes to Dodie It's all very thrilling, even though she feels her thirteen years do handicap her. When Dodie went to the preview of her first movie '"when they came on with '20th Century-Fox Presents" and all the fan- fare, the tears started rolling down my face. And when they started reeling off the names and came to me — well, I really cried." And to walk down the street in Melbourne. Australia and find they knew her way over there! "When I'd go shopping people would turn and look at me and I'd hear them say, 'There's Dodie Stevens'— just like they would if Lana Turner walked down Hollywood Boulevard. I was so amazed. "But it sure took a long time." Dodie repeats. And since it was going to take like eight years, why couldn't she have hit when she could really feel part of this new exciting life, when she could be working at it and enjoying it full-time? "Like when Fabian went on tour for the studio for ten days and they wanted me to go — I would have enjoyed that trip. But because of school I couldn't go. I mean if I'm going to have to turn down all these things. . . ." Dodie says. Then if she does miss any school at all, she has to do double homework to make up for it. Today at thirteen little Dodie feels she's pretty much of a misfit in either life, the new or the old. She's torn between two worlds that keep overlapping. "Some- times when I'm singing, I'll be thinking about a math exam," she says. ''And when I'm doing my homework I'll be thinking of the lyrics to a song." She feels a little like a stranger in her own hometown now. She can't seem to belong to the gang any more, and her schoolmates don't accept Dodie as they did Geraldine Pasquale. Between them is envy and jealousy and a world they don't know and can't share with her. "I don't have any best friends any more," Dodie says sadly. "There's one girl I used to be real good friends with, but after I got back from the Australian tour with Jimmie Rodgers, she just changed completely. I mean she really ignored me. At school we used to always lunch together, and we'd make a point to meet before and after school, just to be together, you know. But after this she wouldn't lunch with me, she wouldn't talk to me or say 'Hi' when I'd walk down the halls, and she started saying things to the other kids about me. "It hurt at first," adds Dodie, "It hurt a lot. As it might hurt any sensitive warm- hearted thirteen-year- old who wants to be liked by the crowd. "The boys treat me pretty good," Dodie goes on. "Of course there's always a few who make wisecracks and every- thing. Like sometimes when I'm walking down the hall to class one of the seniors will say, 'Oh there she goes,' or some- thing, but I just smile, you know, and walk on." Dodie can't really participate in school activities because of her part-time career. "I can't run for office in the Student Cabinet or anything," she says, "because I would have a big responsibility and I wouldn't always be able to be there at meetings. It wouldn't be fair to the kids or to those running against me who could be there, you know. "I can't try out for Junior Varsity, be- cause they're the cheer-leaders and I can just hear me screaming at a football game and then — no voice. Of course I couldn't anyway, and I couldn't be a Song Girl and help lead the singing either, because I wouldn't be able to be at practically any of the games. I love football, but the games are always on Friday and I'm usually working on weekends." And if she makes a personal appearance or jets to New York for a fast television show it's doubly hard, because the teachers really descend with the homework. "It's so rough because some of the teachers don't really understand what's happening to me, you know," she says. "They give you a deadline and that's it. Like one of my teachers just gave me a week to do two weeks and four days of work — and it was in history too. "History's my hardest subject," Dodie goes on. "I can't remember things — and it's terrible. Like if I read a paragraph in a history book about the boundaries of Switzerland and the natural resources there, well I read it and it's gone. Be- cause I don't think I'll ever be able to use it when I get older, you know. I mean, what am I going to do? Give a speech about Switzerland?" To Dodie it just seems teachers don't communicate with her on the importance of music — or realize how much her music means to her. The shock of death The one person who could have helped so much to synchronize the confusing worlds of young Dodie Stevens now, died a few months ago. Mrs. Helen Bishop. Dodie's singing teacher since she was seven, whose training and whose faith in her were so important to her success, died suddenly of a heart attack at the age of fortyr -seven. "She had just become legally my per- sonal manager," Dodie says slowly. "We'd just gotten back from a world disc jockey convention in Miami, Florida. All the big stars were there, and we'd had a grand time." Her teacher had been proud of the way Dodie performed among the many pros, and Dodie had been so happy. "Then just two days after we got home ... all of a sudden — she — " Dodie breaks off, her voice almost a whisper. On the plane back from Miami her teacher had mentioned having a pain in her chest for the past two weeks. "She said she was going to go to the doctor when we got back, but she said it wasn't anything seri- ous, you know." Two days later while Dodie's mom and dad and their lawyer and Mrs. Bishop were all in conference in her agents' office, the pain became suddenly acute — and in a matter of minutes she was gone. All the way back to Temple City, her parents kept worrying how to break the news to Dodie. She and her sister, Elaine, had gone over to a friend's house after school and were staying there until their father came for them. "Dad came to pick us up, you know — after — and we got in the car," Dodie says softly. "He said, T have something to tell you. It's something that happens. $1 ,000.00 U. S. SAVINGS BONO 49 OTHER GRAND PRIZES IN THE NUM-ZIT TEETHING LOTION "SMILING BABY" CONTEST Send a snapshot of your teething baby's smile and win a first prize of $1,000.00 U. S. Savings Bond or one of 49 other grand prizes. Ask your local drug- gist for full contest details and entry blanks. Babies up to 2Vi years are eligible. 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Drexel at 58, Chicago 37 Send Coupon for FREE catalogs ■ llhi -ALL YEAR M 4MB When you mail this coupon B , *^Sk&M you'll receive immediately not ■~ HSR? onl>' Florida Fashions latest ; SffisSi " "Fashion Right-Fashion First" Spring Catalog, but every new issue for a whole year-all FREE. How you'll save on these wonder- ful up-to-the-minute styles at Florida Fashions low, low prices. Satisfaction guaranteed or money back. j~Florida Fashions. 4501 E Colonial Dtive, Dpt.BOAll A.Orlando. Fli. { Send FREE copy of new Spring Catalog. Also I | send me, FREE, every new issue for 1960. j Name | I J | Address j_Posf_Off;ce Stole- you know, and we don't know when it's going to happen.' He talked just as if something had died." Dodie thought of her toy German Shep- herd dog. "All I could think of was that something had happened to Frisky. I knew it wasn't Mom, because Dad wouldn't have been taking it that easy. And my sister was with me. "Frisky's dead!" she cried. "No, Geri," her father said sadly. "Well, I know it isn't Mom," Dodie went on — wide-eyed — waiting — fearing — "It's Mrs. Bishop." Dodie sat there in the car in a state of shock. Disbelieving. "But I just talked to her on the phone today," she said. "I just talked to her." How could Mrs. Bishop be dead . . . when she'd just talked to her ... ? Then within a matter of hours, for young Dodie the sad experience of learning the show must go on — some way — "Mrs. Bishop has always said that some day she wanted to go to New York before she died. She'd never been there. And then the next day after — I got a call say- ing I was supposed to go to New York for a TV show." Dodie did that one in a dream. For Dodie, first shock, then tears — then the terrible feeling of loss. The wonder what to do. Where to turn. "I didn't know what to do, because I used to go to her house for a lesson . . . and she wasn't there any more. I didn't want to go any- where. I wasn't practicing or anything, and my voice got- in pretty bad shape for a while. I'd try to forget about — about . . . but I'd keep thinking, 'What am I going to do?' " But finally the music goes on too, as young Dodie discovered. Her voice coach now is Jerry Dolan, her arranger, who also conducts the orchestra for her record sessions. Dodie takes lessons from him remote . . . via a tape recorder. "Jerry tapes the vocal exercises and instructions and everything, and when I come home from school I play the tapes on my re- corder and practice here." The house she lives in Hers is a normal warm family home life in suburban Temple City, far removed from any celebrity-atmosphere. The modest stucco home has traditional fur- nishings. The dining room also serves as Dodie's trophy room with a few gold cups and plaques on the shelves for a starter. There's a big shady backyard with fruit trees and a barbecue table and benches. And there's a patch of lawn where Dodie, who must have a tan, takes sun baths "when I can't go to the beach." Dodie's own immediate world is the pink-and-white bedroom she shares with her sister, Elaine. She's proud of their new pale grey bedroom suite and the bed with the ruffled white organdy canopy and the white organdy bedspread over pink. "But Elaine doesn't sleep here with me," Dodie volunteers. "She sleeps in the living room because she says I snore." Theirs is a normal sisterly relationship too, undiluted by Dodie's fame. "'Elaine's thirteen months and five days older than I am," Dodie informs. Being even that near the same age might be all right — well in a way, she agrees doubtfully. "But I just wish we were almost the same size," Dodie says. "Elaine wears my socks and she takes an eight-and-a-half and I take a size five. They're angora— and she really stretches them out. It isn't as bad if I wear hers because I don't stretch them." Elaine, on the other hand, has a fairly steady and legitimate complaint about the state of the one closet they share. "I guess Elaine's more neat and all," admits Dodie. "I'm neat and everything, but maybe I'll hang one of my blouses on the rack with hers and she really gets mad. She keeps the closet, I keep the dresser and the bed." "Who keeps the dresser?" Elaine says, entering then. "Well — I keep the bed — " Dodie amends. "So what is that to keep clean?" Dodie's hobby is collecting shoes and she has "eleven pairs of heels and seven pairs of flats. Whenever I go traveling I get different shoes, like those red ones I brought from Australia. I like high heels mostly, and I like the New York shoes. They're different from California shoes — they're a little pointier and the very latest, you know." Dodie's mad for the color pink and for talking on the telephone, and she and Elaine have their own prized pink phone in their bedroom with their own private number, which was the only way their father could get any business calls through. "Our phone bill was like $62 the first month for the two phones," Dodie tells you. "Like I'd call Mrs. Bishops daughters in Hollywood and I'd talk for an hour and that's a toll call, but it doesn't seem like it though." She sets her own hair, a little to her despair now. "I used to have a certain way to set my hair and it would go into a perfect page-boy. I set it exactly the same way now — and it doesn't come out like that, and I just don't know why." Make-up for a 13-year-old On the other hand, Dodie is compara- tively indifferent about make-up. "Ex- cept I line my eyes and my eye-brows, but sometimes I don't even wear lipstick. Mom sort of gets on me for that, because she says I look too pale without it. But ifs such an effort to put lipstick on, and I like light oranges and pinks and toward the end of the day they change to a real dark pink or red. Then I have to wash it off and rub real hard — and put it on again, and well — it's all such a mess." She's living for the day "when I can have my own car — when I'm fifteen-and- a-half. I want a pink or gold 1957 T-bird —I love those little darlings and I can't wait until I get mine! I don't like the new ones. I like the '57's because they're so tiny and sort of long and they have such a good body to them, you know." And she just loves records, naturally. "I love all the records today, but I don't like to sing them," she says. "I just like to sing the standards, and if they want to put a triple-beat to them I wouldn't mind singing that." But when it comes to buying records, Dodie buys "the ones that when I hear them on the radio I have to turn them up real loud and dance to them. I love to dance," she says. Dancing, of course, like just about any interesting social activity, is sort of con- Behind the scenes at TEEN TOWN "It all started this way," says George Christy, the mayor of ABC radio network's Teen Town program. "One day when I was talking with Connie Francis she mentioned that she was dying to hear about Edd "Kookie" Byrnes. I had interviewed him for a story in MODERN SCREEN, and I had gotten to know Edd pretty well. So I told Connie all about Edd, what a great guy he was and how easy he was to get along with. And when I told her he had given me a preview of some of the brand new "Kookie" words he was planning to use this season. Connie just flipped. I promised her the next time he came to town I'd introduce her to Edd. "Then a couple of weeks later Fabian asked me about Annette (this was before Fabe met her in Hollywood), and I told him what a doll she was. Again I said, 'Gee, I wish you could meet her . . .!' "All of this sparked off my thinking, and I wondered if it wouldn't be a great idea for all the teens to meet their idols, to hear them talk about their lives personally: the things they do, what they believe in. dating problems they've ironed out." George brought his idea to Glenn Mann who produced The Frankie Avalon Show, and the two of them got to work and set up a stake at the ABC radio network. Every night, Monday through Friday, George interviews a teen favorite ("already he's interviewed Fabe on how to be popular, Carol Lynley on her beauty secrets, Annette on how she buys a dress. Bobby Darin on how to get out of the boredom ruts, plus dozens of other stars). Besides the interviews, George gives tips on dating, careers, appearance, fads. It's a fun show, and, of course, there's music — hits, as well as the new records Mayor George is stamping with Teen Town's We-Dig-This seal of ap- proval. Recently, the editor of MODERN SCREEN, David Myers, was inter- viewed by George on the pros and cons of a Hollywood career for the teens. David's verdict: Go to it — but don't be a phony. George has asked David to return to the show for another talk about Hollywood. Meanwhile' George is asking for suggestions and comments from all the citizens, his Teen Town listeners, on what they want their favorite stars to talk about. fined for a 13-year-old who isn't allowed to date. "There's nothing much to do in Temple City anyway," she says. " There's a miniature golf course but it's nothing, because none of the kids hang around there." There is, however, a pretty keen school hang-out in nearby San Gabriel, but Dodie's limited there too. "It's called 'The Yankee Doodle' and I like it but, well — you have to go there with a guy who has a car." Any romancing Dodie does now has to be generally confined to operating by re- mote— via the pink telephone. But she has her views on the matter, subject to change. Like making out — "I think to make out is a real mess," Dodie says with a grimace. "The other kids think I'm gone, you know, just real gone to feel this way. But I think it's just awfully stupid really, because like if you're thirteen or fourteen and you're makin' out, well it's like you're really put- ting on an act — like something you saw in the movies or something. "Everybody says. "But Geri. you don't know what you've missed until you've made out." But I just don't think that's any fun. I'd rather go to a drive-in and see a movie and then go have a Coke and hamburger, you know, and just goof oft and talk." And Dodie isn't — well — entirely inexpe- rienced— Dodie's sort-of boyfriend "Mike kissed me good night once — and he knows how I feel," she says, dropping a name that she can expand on for any given length of time. Who's Mike? Some platonic boy friend? "That's right." Dodie agrees. Then thoughtfully. "What's platonic mean?" And when told. "Well — " she hesitates. "Mike's my boyfriend — in a way. He's a real good friend of Mrs. Bishop's daugh- ters. Adria. who's sixteen, and Jane, who's thirteen. I met him at their home in Holly- wood. He used to work at a gas station, but he quit. He goes to St. John's, he's sixteen, and he's sort of moody, you know, like me. "He has blue eyes and he has short hair — a flat-top — and he has a real good physique." Dodie goes on. "He calls me about every night, and whenever I go over to the Bishops' Mike comes over there, because that's the only time we can see each other. But we just talk. Mike knows how I feel about — well — you know." He did kiss Dodie goodnight once, when her sister. Elaine, egged him into doing it. "We have a sliding joke that all the time we're saying good night to each other, we shake hands like everybody else would kiss." "Don't shake her hand, go on and kiss her. Mike," Elaine urged. "I don't want my face slapped." he said. "So Mike looked at me and I looked at him and we both smiled — and he kissed me," says Dodie. "And then I said, 1 fooled you. didn't I?' " Even at thirteen that's a woman's pre- rogative. "I like him a lot — but I just don't like that . . . you know." Dodie goes on. "When I was seven or eight a little boy kissed me at a party and wowee — I thought it was great. Golly, it should be just the opposite, that I should like it now. I'm a weird one. I guess." And like why is Dodie so moody about men? "When I'm around boys Fm terrible," she says. "Especially when I'm around Mike. I don't know why, but just because I like him I guess, Til go in another room and Til ignore him — like I can't stand rrm. But I'm not that way around anybody else." Why does she act like she doesn't like Mike when Mike's the only one she does like? "Maybe I'll be more sensible when I'm like sixteen." Dodie sighs. Maybe she'll have more answers then. "Or maybe when I'm fifteen," Dodie says, hopefully trying to advance the magic hour. "I think Mom and Dad might let me ride home in a car with a boy then, just as long as it isn't a date," she says, watching her dad out of the corner of one eye. "If Mike came over here — he was going to come to a ball game once — I don't think Dad would have minded that." Dodie goes on hopefully. "He would have just picked me up, we would have gone to the game, then gone to the dance afterward . . . and then he would have brought me home." "I call that a date, Geri," her father observes. "But it isn't, Daddy, because it wasn't just going to be me going." Dodie goes on carefully, losing ground but still trying. "Mike was going to bring two other guys, one for my sister and one for another girl. We were just going and coming home, you know. There wasn't going to be anything wrong with that — " "Oh ... a group thing?" her dad says — doubtfully. Between two worlds During these in-between years when she's torn between two worlds and two lives and her own hopes and fears, little Dodie is feeling more and more at home on the Hollywood end of the freeways. She spends as much time as she can in the home of her late teacher, who was such an important part of this new exciting life. She's more comfortable around Helen Bishop's teenage daughters, who five in the family home with their father, than she is with the kids at Temple City High. "They know a lot of kids and they're all so friendly. They go to Fairfax High, you know, and they're the sweetest "bunch of kids. They wouldn't do anything to hurt you." Dodie says earnestly. They're closer to Dodie's life today too — to motion pictures and records and TV. They don't I make her feel apart from them. With her new 20th-Fox contract, Dodie's really pulling for the Pasquales to move over on the Hollywood side, and they're considering moving to the San Fernando Valley, which would be so much closer to | her work. "And see — if we moved to the valleyr then I'd be able to go to school on the studio lot!" Dodie says, her eyes lighting up. "Wouldn't that be wonderful!" Say — just Dodie and Fabian, when he was in town, going to the studio school. And what about Tuesday Weld? "Yeah." Dodie says, her face falling to her shoes. She'd forgotten Tuesday. What chance could you have when you were thirteen? Any day now Dodie Stevens will be fourteen — which, when yrou come right down to it. isn't much better. "Oh fouiteen's ivorse — golly, fourteen's awful." she says. And so for Dodie at thirteen the future means — like sixteen. Like eternity. END j Dodie can be seen in Hottxd-Dog Man, for 20th-Fox. 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WE PAY POSTAGE • no other charges tight Perfect i etc. SEND ANY PHOTO, clear SNAPSHOT or NEGATIVE (rerun harmed) and just $1.00 for every 25 photos — or $2.00 fo BELL STUDIOS DEPT. DM ENGLEWOOD, NEW JERSEY loiordq $jog Peace Comes at Last to a Tortured Soul (Continued from page 40) with her stage manager who asked her, "Maggie, did you ever put any money aside?" She said, "Oh yes, but it's not from show business. I put some money in I.B.M. eighteen years ago and it's four million now." Certainly her problem wasn't talent. She had been a star, a real star for over thirty years. And we know that she was loved by her husband and her three children. Still and all, we know that the problem that was on her mind the week before she died was love. She was heard to say time after time, "I cannot make them like me . . . I've never been able to make them like me." To understand that, we should start at the beginning: Margaret Garland Sullavan was born on May 16th, 1909, in Norfolk, Virginia, into a family which boasted Revolutionary War heroes as ancestors. But American aris- tocracy didn't impress little Margaret. She set her sights higher. "I was secretly con- vinced I was of royal blood. I kept a suitcase packed, so I'd be ready when my real people came for me." Money couldn't buy it Mr. and Mrs. Cornelius Sullavan adored their child, and they had the money— he was a stock broker — to indulge her whims. But what Margaret wanted, money couldn't buy, and what Margaret needed, only a psychiatrist might have figured out. When she was older, she recalled that she had "suffered from malnutrition." The state- ment was true, yet the fault was Mar- garet's own. She asserted herself against her parents by refusing to eat. And by running away. In her teens, she ran away seven times in three years. The last trip, she got all the way to New York, and her father, worn out with fetching her home, settled down to have a talk with her. "Peggy, what's the matter with you?" "I want to go on the stage," Peggy said defiantly. The good man offered a compromise. "When you're twenty-one, you can do as you please." His daughter's blue eyes glinted. She could wait. Eventually, she got her way. She studied acting in Boston, she played in stock shows on Cape Cod — and she met Henry Fonda, whom she married. The year was 1930, and the marriage was over before 1933, by which time, according to one reporter, Fonda "had evidently suffered enough from the Sullavan temperament." The likelihood is that work, not tempera- ment, destroyed the lovers. Margaret, set upon her goal of stardom ("I'm not going to be an off-stage voice the rest of my life") couldn't have had much instinct for wifehood. In New York, she made the usual dreary actors' rounds, then got a road show of Strictly Dishonorable, and soon, a Broad- way lead. It was in a play called A Modern Virgin, and Lee Shubert hired her because he liked her voice. "You sound like Ethel Barrymore," he said. "He didn't know," said Margaret Sulla- van later, "that my huskiness was due to a bad case of laryngitis which I subse- quently took great pains to prolong. After several months of mistreating my vocal cords, it stuck. My voice is now perma- nently ruined." In after years, Margaret Sullavan was to insist, "I'm no pillar of the theater. If I didn't need the money, I wouldn't be working." But people, remembering the fanatic determination of the Sullavan be- ginnings, found this hard to believe. Not that she didn't always mean what she said at the moment she said it, just that she often changed her mind. A Modern Virgin was a flop, and four more New York flops followed, but a movie director, John Stahl, brought her to Hollywood, where she amazed people who thought they'd seen everything. She wore slacks, and sneakers. She went to a showing of her first movie, Only Yester- day, and was so horrified, she tried to buy up her contract. She refused to let the studio fix her teeth. And she attempted to keep a lion cub as a pet. She likened acting in movies to "ditch digging," and she wouldn't go to premieres. She made a movie called The Good Fairy for director William Wyler, during the ten-week course of which she and the bril- liant Wyler fought all over the set, and then confounded everybody by eloping. Again, the marriage lasted a scant two years. Moggie as mother The next man on Margaret's horizon was Leland Hayward, an agent who was clearly destined for grander things. Even in those days, he was known as the "boy genius." Those days. The year was 1936. Maggie Sullavan had divorced Wyler, and come back to New York to do a part in a play called Stage Door. "I want to learn how to act," she said, ungratefully brushing off Hollywood's golden dust. All during the rehearsals of Stage Door, Leland Hayward was omnipresent. And Maggie Sullavan, who'd never listened to a word of advice from another living soul, was paying strict attention every time Hayward opened his mouth. It was ob- viously love, and soon it was marriage, and then it was baby rumors. But no- body dared to ask the new Mrs. Hayward whether she was expecting. One columnist wrote hopefully of Lin Yutang's observation that "many a vixen or hot-tempered woman has grown sweet and supine with the coming of a child." Yet Maggie's temper seemed to continue unabated. After a while, Maggie's press agent sent out a release announcing her imminent retirement, but the mother-to-be still kept her mouth shut. Backstage, nobody knew what to do. Congratulate her? What if she snapped your head off? She was fa- mous for being inexplicable, for spicing her moments of charm with outbreaks of fury. One night a gentleman in the cast took a chance. He stopped by the star's dress- ing room, and offered his good wishes. "Kids, are a lot of trouble," he said, "but they're worth it. I know, I've got three — " Maggie rose from her dressing table, five foot two-and-a-half inches of out- rage. "It's a lie," she screamed. "It's a lie!" She darted past the actor, into the hall, then turned back. "Three children," she said softly. "How perfectly wonder- ful— " Then she slammed the door. Baby Brooke Hayward was an Act of God. She closed Stage Door, and she put an end to her mother's war against the West Coast. The Haywards settled down in a big Brentwood house, complete with swimming pool, and, in 1939, Bridget was born, and, in 1941, William was born. Maggie went back to ditch-digging, too. She signed an MGM contract, and made Three Comrades, Shopworn Angel, The Shining Hour. She didn't exactly mellow — "No one can be so completely rude as Margaret Sulla- van, who makes it a habit," wrote a miffed columnist in 1942 — but she looked as if she'd found what she'd wanted. She was so charmed with her husband and babies that in January of 1943, she issued an announcement of her retirement from the movies. "The best service that mothers can render their country in these wartimes is to take care of their children," she said. Four months later, she was back in pic- tures. Merle Oberon had been set for a part in Cry Havoc, Merle Oberon had got sick, and that was that. Maybe if she'd stayed retired .... but that's hindsight. And she was an actress, and a fine one, and after Cry Havoc, a play called The Voice of the Turtle came along, with a girl's part nobody could turn down. . . . That year, 1944, she was professionally triumphant. The Voice of the Turtle got great reviews, and Maggie herself collected more awards than she could count. Still, she couldn't eat, and she couldn't sleep, and she was beginning to wonder if she'd paid too much for her new laurels. "I don't want to be one of those ruth- lessly successful actresses whose whole life is lived in the theater, or the movies, and who end up with nothing at all," she told an interviewer. "Success, yes, I'm glad to have it. I love the play, and giving eight performances a week — but I cannot have a happy private life. I'm giving up every- thing for such success — " Growing suspicion She spoke of separation from her three children, her husband. "I've lost fifteen pounds since the play opened. Much as I like to act, I like to do other things too. I'm not going to do another play after this. And I'm not going back to movies, either. I gave up movies. I wanted a play, and I've got a play I love, but — " The but was a big one . . . bigger than anyone dreamed till the days immediately before her death. Maggie was living with a growing suspicion that audiences hated her. It was only when it was too late that a few very close friends began to under- stand. "I was always cheating the au- diences," she said. "But nothing I could do, could get them to like me . . . really like me." In Hollywood, Leland Hayward com- mented on the difficulties of maintaining a marriage by phone calls and cross-coun- try commuting. "I never knew it would be so tough without her," he said. Sad to say, tough things get easier. One separation leads to another. And love, untended, dies. In the summer of 1947, Margaret Sulla- van starred in The Voice of the Turtle in London. That same summer, in Holly- wood, Leland Hayward was the constant companion of Slim Hawks, estranged wife of producer Howard Hawks. The Hayward marriage was over, and the principals had stopped fooling them- selves. In her divorce suit, Margaret testified that Hayward had declared his marriage irksome. "I'm not meant for home life," he'd complained. It was an ironic note, consdering that the only simon-pure home life the Hay- wards had known in more than ten years of marriage had been the four months of Maggie's 'retirement' in 1943. She was a three-time loser, but now there were children to consider. Margaret moved her brood to Greenwich, Connecti- cut, and threw her considerable energies into domesticity. "I've never understood," she said, "how a woman can have a career, and be the right sort of mother, too. I made my choice long ago, and I've never regretted it." Long ago? the listener wondered. Long ago? For two years, Margaret Sullavan re- mained content. The kids got big, her garden grew, the deafness which had plagued her since the early days of the war yielded to an operation. How strange. she must have thought, that this cure should come now, when it hardly matters any more. When I no longer force myself to stand in the wings of a theater, panicked that I may not hear my cue. too proud to admit my trouble. . . . Irresistible challenge She turned down scripts by the bushel, until 1950, when she was offered a movie called No Sad Songs for Me. It was a movie that Joan Crawford, Irene Dunne and Loretta Young had all rejected, but Margaret loved it. "It presents an irresis- tible challenge." She worried about leaving the children, but rationalized her worry. In the future, she would work only during the summer months, while the children were in camp. As for this time, "I have a wonderful housekeeper, and it's perfectly all right to leave them with her — except I find when I get back, they're rotten spoiled." In August of 1950, Maggie married for the fourth time. Her new husband was Kenneth Arthur Wagg, a "British indus- trialist," according to the papers, and the bride and groom honeymooned in England. Now there were seven children in the family (since Wagg had four sons by his first marriage), and Margaret could be motherly to her heart's content. But the need to act still set up conflicts for her. She worked in television, though she called it '•hellish," and in 1952. she was back on Broadway, in The Deep Blue Sea. She liked The Deep Blue Sea because it wasn't a play "about international prob- lems, or headaches." The world was get- ting to her, and she turned from it, afraid. In 1953, she played Sabrina Fair on Broadway. She was forty-four, but her portrayal of a young girl was masterful. The year 1955 brought Janus to New- York, and more critical raves for Miss Sullavan's skill. The seven children were by now all away at school. "Seven tuitions, seven allowance checks to pay each month. Seven letters a week to write, and each has to be different," the Waggs told Leonard Lyons. "We figure we've paid for seventy-eight years of education, with thirty-six more to go." Except for a tendency to flee from dis- cussions of global woes, and an aversion to any kind of turmoil, Margaret seemed well. She was moody, but she'd always been moody; she was nervous, but what sensitive artist didn't suffer from nerves? Early in 1956, her doctor ordered Mag- gie out of Janus (she was replaced by Claudette Colbert) "to rest" and there were rumors that her "condition" was worse than people guessed. There was no more news until the fall of the year, when headlines broke again. Miss Sullavan had accepted a starring role on a Studio One show, but the day of the performance, she hadn't appeared. Reporters cornered her husband, who looked harried. "She hasn't been well for some time," Wagg said. "I think it is prob- ably the strain again. She is in a hospital, and I would prefer not to say where." Hubbell Robinson, a CBS vice president, was dumbfounded. "She is not a woman who would capriciously not show up. I just hope and pray that nothing is wrong with her, and that she hasn't had an acci- dent, or an unexpected breakdown." Unexpected breakdown as opposed to expected breakdown? To avoid pressure Brooke Hayward, who'd quit Vassar to elope with a Yale student, fretted in her New Haven apartment, while her husband tried to explain to newspapermen. "My wife is upset, but feels her mother will get in touch with her when she wants to." A couple of days later, Margaret, where- abouts still unknown, contacted her lawyer, and issued a statement. "I did not realize that my failure to appear would create such a stir," she said. "Last Sunday, the day before scheduled telecast, I was not satisfied with aspects of the rehearsal, and particularly with my ability to portray the leading role. I advised the producer (Felix Jackson) of my dissatisfaction and advised him that I did not feel up to the role and could not appear. "I insisted I be replaced. The producer apparently did not take me seriously. The next day, in order to avoid pressure, I decided to leave town. I regret the inci- dent, and am glad it is closed." After a while, there's almost no place left you can go to "avoid pressure." You have to have help. Help for Margaret Sullavan was found in a rest home called the Austen Riggs Center at Stockbridge, Massachusetts. The Center gives "therapy to persons not able to cope with their emotional problems in their customary home or business en- vironments, but not sick enough for a closed institution." For several weeks, Margaret stayed in Stockbridge. Then she came home to Greenwich, where she spent nearly four years — the first truly quiet years of her life— as Mrs. Kenneth Wagg. But last fall, she read a script called Sweet Love Re- member'd, and she got excited. "I read it on Wednesday, and on Thurs- day, I knew I wanted to be in it, desper- ately. I haven't been so anxious to go to work in a play since I was young, and just beginning." Kenneth Wagg, however, knew his wife well. "Everything's so great now," he said. "You're relaxed, happy. You know how disturbed you get when you do a show." But Maggie said, "It's a calculated risk. I'll be miserable if I don't do this script — and it will probably kill me if I do." Rehearsals began on December 1st. Be- fore starting work, Maggie took a two- week vacation in Jamaica, and had a phys- ical check-up. She was pronounced healthy. On Monday, December 28th, the play opened at New Haven's Shubert Theatre. Critics were not impressed, though they gave Miss Sullavan glowing personal praise. By Thursday of that week, she was jit- tery, worn-out, and she phoned her hus- band in Greenwich. She told him she wanted to quit the play. Wagg came to New Haven, called in a local doctor. At 2 in the morning, the doctor — Dr. Rafi Tofig — gave the near-hysterical actress a tranquilizing injection. "I found her nerv- ous and depressed," he said later. It was like an old nightmare repeated. Kenneth Wagg saying his wife had been exhausted, and "fed up with show busi- ness," while producer Martin Gabel denied the whole thing. "She was full of tempera- ment, but behaved very well with us. She never indicated that she was unhappy!" But the cast disagrees with Mr. Gabel. Backstage they had begun to notice that she was crying, crying silently to herself. "I couldn't believe it was Maggie when she began to tell me that the audience didn't like her," states one of her friends in the cast. "I kept saying, 'It's not true, maybe they don't like the play . . . maybe they're not ripping up the seats or any- thing, but they think you're great.' But it wasn't doing any good. 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"A wonderful girl" Your mind flies back to that fateful television show, and producer Felix Jack- son insisting, "She never said she wasn't coming back!" And you think of poor Maggie, who could no longer finish what she started. Except, perhaps, in one ter- rible way. On Friday, Dr. Tofig again visited his patient. Her condition was no better. He left her resting, early in the afternoon, and at 5: 30, when Wagg came to her room, he found a chain across the door. Frightened, because he couldn't rouse his wife by calling her, he notified the hotel manager, who got an employee to saw through the chain. She was dying, when they reached her, the remains of three bottles of Seconal on the night table. . . . In a hotel room next to the theater with his wife's name on the marquee, Kenneth Wagg wept. In an off- Broadway theater, where, the week before, she'd begun work in her first play, Brooke Hayward listened to the news, then +urned blindly out into the street, headed for her father's apartment, though she had no idea where he was. At his Manhattan home, Henry Fonda said he was "shocked and saddened," and in New Haven, producer Gabel unsuccess- fully went about the business of seeing that his show would go on (he hired his wife, Arlene Francis, to fill the star part but the show folded anyway), and two days after her death, Margaret Sullavan's temporal bones (the bones of the ear) were delivered to the doctor who'd once cured her deafness. "The bequest was a complete surprise to me," announced the doctor. "She never had said anything to me about it. She was a wonderful girl." Maybe that's the best way to remember her. END Perfect Honeymoon (Continued from page 32) take her to dances and the movies every week, is unwise." "And can be dangerous," added Warren. "Like those two kids in Blue Denim. They were young and inexperienced. When they got so involved with each other and they didn't know how to handle themselves or sex — and got into trouble. When I was making that picture, Brandon de Wilde, Carol Lynley and I would talk about it. Most of us agreed that going steady could be like playing with dynamite." "Nevertheless," said Betty Lou, slipping her hand possessively into Warren's, "it was right for us — even though I wasn't quite fifteen nor Warren sixteen when we began to steady-date. Each person must decide if going steady is best. "It was for us, because we really wanted to. Not because it was a fad. And not because it was security. Our feelings for each other were real. We didn't tie each other down. "And we went steady because we were really in love. Our marriage was a cul- mination of that love." Warren, who is in Because They're Young and played Brandon's pal in Blue Denim, and Betty Lou, who is the young girl in Henry Fonda's TV series, The Deputy, met when they were both in the stage play, A Roomful of Roses, four years ago. They were teenage actors even then. "I think that two people see each other at their worst, as well as their best, when they're thrown together in work," ex- plained Betty Lou. "While we were re- hearsing in the play, Warren saw me flying around backstage in jeans and oversize shirts, my nose shiny, my hair in curlers. I saw him when he was moodily concen- trating on his lines. "We started going out for Cokes during rehearsal breaks, and then for hamburgers after the show. Soon we discovered we were seeing a lot of each other. "We learned we had a lot in common. We even found out that we had first met when we were seven, and we had both done extra roles in a picture that was filmed in New York called The Window. "One day I came to the theater wearing an oversized red-and-white checked boy's shirt. Warren showed up wearing the identical shirt. Warren has always loved to tease me. When he saw me he grinned and said, 'Look, girl, that means you have the same awful taste in clothes I have. Why don't we go steady?' I was really pleased, but I wouldn't let him know it. 'Go steady with you?' I replied. 'Just be- cause we both liked red-and-white shirts? Humph! That's a dandy reason. Besides,' I said, 'I wouldn't go steady with anyone.' "But later that evening Warren and I talked more seriously. He gave me a charm bracelet. That meant I was 'pinned.' I was his girl. He was my boyfriend. "But even though we began to go steady we didn't feel that we owned each other. I guess it was our work that saved us. I had to go to Hollywood to make a pic- ture, and I told Warren he ought to go with other girls. In Hollywood I dated other boys. I discovered, though, that I didn't like any of them as much as I liked Warren. And Warren had the opportunity to go with other girls, but that didn't seem to mean much, either. "I think the main objection to the cus- tom of going steady is tied around the necking problem. They say that young people going steady tends to lead to grow- ing intimacy. How did Warren and I avoid it? Warren is a gentleman. And behaved like one. And we were both so interested in acting, it took the stress somewhat off sex. We'd get so excited talking shop and discussing what was going on in Broad- way and Hollywood that we just didn't have to get too steamed up over each other. "Our dates were filled with activities. I think that kids have a tendency to rely upon heavy necking when there isn't very much else to do. Because Warren and I were all wrapped up in the theater, we had lots to do, lots to talk about when we got together. We had that kind of ex- citement. Some kids go in for the other kind of excitement out of sheer boredom. "The longer we went together, the more our friendship mellowed into a warm, wonderful romance. We felt that we were really in love. By this time, we had worked out many of the differences be- tween us. "And there were differences. Plenty of them. I'm headstrong and have a temper. Warren likes to have his own way, and underneath his boyish looks is a very strong, mature personality. He has a lot of drive and serious ambitions for his fu- ture. He is serious about acting, but he also wants to study law. Well, if he had sprung that on me as a surprise after we were married, I might have not have un- derstood his wanting to take certain col- lege courses at night. We could have had some big battles over it. This way, gradu- ally- by going with him, I learned why he wants to take law courses, and what it means to him. I'm all for it. "Our most serious difference was that of religion. It took years of going steady for us to blend that difference and really mean it. "This way, I had a chance to know — to really know — Warren's family. To have dinner with them on their religious holi- days, to realize what Warren's back- ground was, because this is what makes him what he is today. He also had a chance to know my parents and realize what my childhood religious background meant to me. "This took time. It wouldn't have been right for Warren to demand that our children be raised in his faith, or for me to demand that they be raised in mine. "But after going with Warren for sev- eral years, I decided that I would want our children brought up in the Jewish faith, which is Warren's. He didn't force that on me. I came to that decision after I got to know Warren and his family so well. I could see what his family back- ground meant to him. I realized, when I saw him on many occasions with young children, how much he loves children, and that he would probably make a won- derful father some day. In fact, one evening as we were talking about what we wanted out of life after we were mar- ried, Warren said, 'I'd like to have chil- dren right after we marry. I don't want to wait. I want to be a young father and grow up with my children. I want to play baseball with my sons, and be young enough to understand them and be a pal.' "I know that although Warren may be young, he isn't too young to assume the responsibilities of being head of the house. Warren likes responsibilities. This I know. If he's going to be head of the house, then I felt it right that the children be raised in his religion. . . . "Now we have each other for a life- time. And our honeymoon is the perfect start of that lifetime together." END Warren's School. MGM's Platinum High DETAILS FOR MODERN SCREEN'S "BECAUSE THEY'RE YOUNG" CONTEST BERMUDA — Quaint Horse-drawn Surreys . . . Flower-lined Roads . . . Pink-White sands in Hidden Coves . . . Lovely Moonlit Nights . . . Picturesque Cottages or Luxurious Hotels . . . Rates from $55.50 plus air each. 1. Who can enter? Anyone. 2. How? Simply by checking with your local theater playing "Because They're Young," a Columbia Pictures' release of Drexel Productions' new Dick Clark movie, a timely story of high school days, starring Dick Clark, along with Michael Callan, Tuesday Weld, Victoria Shaw, and guest stars James Darren and Dwayne Eddy and the Rebels. 3. Prizes? The "Modern Screen Perfect Honeymoon Wardrobe," as worn on pages 30-33 by Betty Lou Keim . . . The National Grand Prize of a "Perfect Honeymoon, All- Expense-Paid Trip for Two." 4. What does this Honeymoon Trip include? 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That day at the doctor's Her mind went back to that afternoon when she and Mel had sat side by side in the doctor's office in Beverly Hills. They had gone together to see him to let him know that they were going to leave for Rome at the end of the week. There, Mel was to start work in Paramount's Blood and Roses, and Audrey, quite naturally, was planning to go with him. Since she was now only two months pregnant, she wanted to know what she must do to make sure that her baby would be born alive. She had endured a miscarriage only last summer. . . . The doctor had looked strangely grave at the news of the trip to Rome. "There was a reason why you lost your first baby through a miscarriage," he had said. "And since we do know why, we can try to prevent its happening again." Then he had gone on to explain that in her particular case there weren't enough hormones being secreted in her body. This, the doctor had added kindly — noting the alarm in her face — was not too unusual. Many women with this problem had gone through the heartbreaking ordeal of one miscarriage after another, until medical science had recently discovered a hormone that worked almost miraculously so that these women could bear their babies. Audrey breathed a sigh of relief. "It sounds so simple, doctor," she said. "You mean I could have these hormone treatments and they could help prevent another miscarriage? Why, that's won- derful." "Yes," he said. "But" — he paused for a second — "just as important as the hormone treatments is the fact that you'll have to stay in bed a good part of the time, not have any excitement and not move around too much. That means cutting out major traveling." When he announced that the trip to Rome would add to the risk of her having a baby, a look of panic came into Audrey's eyes. By an effort of will, she wiped away that look. She didn't want Mel to know how upset she was at the thought that she might have to give up going with him. Audrey hates every moment when she is away from Mel. Up until that moment in the doctor's office, she hadn't even con- sidered staying at home while Mel went to Rome. But faced with this heartbreaking di- lemma, she didn't even want to turn to Mel for an answer, for if he were to make the decision and it didn't turn out well, he would never be able to forgive himself. She stole a quick look at Mel's face. It was tense. Audrey realized that Mel was going through the same torment of inde- cision she was. The hardest decision That night, for the first time, they had their dinner almost in silence. There was none of the gay conversation, the happy banter about the coming baby that had marked their dinners in recent months. Audrey thought to herself: "This is the hardest decision I've ever had to make. I can't bear to risk the life of Mel's child and mine . . . but neither can I bear to spend the next few months without Mel. Particularly now." What was it to be: the safety of her unborn baby, or the blessed months to be spent with Mel? How could she make such a choice? When she'd experienced the first signs that she might be pregnant, she'd welcomed them with the fervent hope that she was carrying a baby. And she'd taken the usual medical tests. All morning, while waiting for the results of those tests, she'd prayed. When she learned the good news from her doctor, she had called Mel at the studio. He was thrilled, and for the first time in his career he left his work to come home so that he could kiss her tenderly and tell her how happy he was. From that time on, Mel had treated her almost like a baby herself, insisting that she stay in bed, having breakfast brought in to her, joining her for coffee in the sunny bedroom that overlooked the Pa- cific. When he'd had to leave her to go to the studio, he'd told the maid that Audrey must not get out of bed until noon. And she, too, had been very cautious. She would shop very carefully for baby things — some of them useful, some of them just gags that she and Mel could laugh at, like the baby toothbrush she'd bought when she heard that the baby's teeth would be forming during a certain period. Most women put off wearing maternity clothes until they absolutely have to. But Audrey, almost from the moment she knew she was pregnant, was so happy about it that she had gone almost imme- diately to a maternity shop in Beverly Hills and asked to be shown some ma- ternity outfits. "What size is the woman for whom you're buying these?" asked the sales- woman. "My size," she replied. "They're for me." The woman was amazed. "But you're so flat. You won't need maternity clothes for months." "I want them now— just as soon as I can get them," replied Audrey, eyes shin- ing. "I can't wait to wear them." Only recently the memory of her first miscarriage, last year in Switzerland, had come back to panic her. The talk with the doctor today had allayed that fear — only to produce a new one. If she wasn't quiet; if she moved around too much, as she must to get to Rome, would she be risking the life of the baby she and Mel wanted? "But planes today," she argued with herself, because this was the answer she really wanted, "are so safe and smooth. And once we get to Rome, I can remain quietly in our hotel suite, waiting for Mel each day. I know Italy so well, I needn't do any sightseeing. I can stay quiet, just as I would here." She thought how much happier she would be with Mel beside her — how miser- able she would be, and how long the months would seem, if they were apart. "And Mel will be finished with the picture in March," she thought, trying to reason this thing out. "We can go home then, together, and be back in Cali- foria for the final months before our baby is born. "The doctor said it would be better for the baby if I were relaxed all through my pregnancy rather than tense. If I'm with Mel, I'll be happy and relaxed. If I'm home alone, I'll be nervous and tense, and all the bed-rest in the world won't change that." The moon had disappeared and the sky was beginning to lighten. Like her heart. She stood up. holding the chiffon peignoir around her. She walked up the curved stairway and down the hall, her head high, a smile on her face. When she stepped into the bedroom, Mel stirred. He opened his eyes and looked at her. There was an expression of infinite content on her face. "You look so happy, darling," he said. "What's happened?" Audrey reached over and slipped her hand into his. "I am happy. I really am. I'm going to Rome with you, darling. I'm going to be with you. Everything will be all right. I just know it will be. . . ." end Audrey will star in The Unforgiven and My Sister And I, both United Artists. Mel will be seen in Blood And Roses, Para- mount. Elvis' Plans, Projects and Dreams (Continued from page 45) this part,' remarked Elvis with his usual sense of humor. 'And I'm sure anxious to see the script.' " " 'I'd like to give you one, but I didn't bring you a script,' " I told him. " 'You'd probably memorize it, and we might make some changes between now and when you start shooting in Hollywood.' " Actu- ally I didn't take Elvis a script because I remembered when I first signed Elvis for pictures, I didn't have a script ready for him at that time, and he went to Fox to make Love Me Tender. The studio sent 76 him a script to Memphis, and Elvis arrived with every line of his part and everyone else's parts memorized. If he could mem- orize an entire script when he was on a heavy schedule of personal appearances, TV, and recording dates— I felt sure he'd do it on his free time after Army hours. And I didn't want him to put himself to such a task, although knowing Elvis' restless mind, he'd probably have en- joyed it. " 'I'm sure anxious to get back to work,' " Elvis continued. " 'And you are here — actually here in Germany with the cameras, and the crew all set to go — it's really great,' " he repeated, with excitement. "Then I had to disappoint Elvis all over again, and watch the excitement in his eyes fade to a thoughtful mood that hid any let-down he may have felt. " 'You won't be before the cameras over here,' " I said. " T understand that this is your own decision, too.' " " 'Yes, of course. I guess I just forgot for the moment,' he sighed. 'It's because I'm so anxious to get back to work.' " "While anyone in the Army could do whatever they liked on their own time, I had decided in the beginning that Elvis would not appear in any scenes we'd shoot in Germany. I didn't want him to take the risk of being embarrassed by putting him in front of a camera, and then have some people take the position that he was being privileged to work as a movie star while he was still in the service. This is one of the daily problems that Elvis faces as a GJ.. making sure that he does not receive any special atten- tion or privileges. He himself doesn't make a case out of it, but he is very- careful to go along living a normal life, as quiet as possible, as a soldier. That's why he has been successful in the Army, and he has won the liking and respect of his buddies. " 'Man. how Pd like to be working in front of those cameras,' ?' Elvis repeated with boyish enthusiasm cropping out. "Tve often wondered if I've forgotten everything I learned, and what it will be like again. Man, how Td like to try it again. I can't believe it — you're all here, the whole crew!' " Then, " "It's just like it was yesterday at Paramount, and it's almost two years.' " "Elvis was reacting to my announcement that I had brought my director, Mickey Moore, he was assistant director on Elvis" last picture King Creole, and my art director, first cameraman and my com- pany unit manager with me to Germany to start Elvis' new picture. I had filled in the rest of the crew I told him, and we had forty ah set to shoot locations when I went out to see Elvis. " 'Fm sure glad to see you; " Elvis had greeted me when I had first arrived at his house which is outside of Frankfurt in Bad Nauheim. Elvis is living in a little house — a cottage with a fenced in back yard, rather than the huge castle he was reputed to live in. Soldiers are all permitted to live off base if they so desire, and if their families are there, and many others five in similar places. Elvis' house is stucco and small and when I ar- rived Elvis opened the door. " Golonel Parker wrote me you were coming, and man it is good to see you, Sir,' " he said warmly. He was playing records at the time, but not his records. " 'Some new imports from the United States — Bobby Darrn and Ricky Nelson's new hits,' " he said. There's not an atom of jealousy in Elvis, and while he has consistently worried that his fans might forget him. he is a great booster of the boys with talent who have come up as the top waxers of Rock 'n' Roll during his Army stint. We exchanged greetings and then Elvis said, " "Come on out into the kitchen, and we'll have a Coke.' " We sat down at the table and I was delighted at the new- Elvis. He was in uniform, since he'd just come back from field maneuvers. He's matured and while he still naturally retains his youthful quality of charm, and he is basically the same — he is also noticeably sleek and he's physically- as hard as nails. Too. the Presley with the duck tail hair cut and side burns is gone. For he will wear his same G.I. hair cut in the picture — since he will be playing a GJ. "Elvis wanted to hear all about his new picture, however, and I told him that we were taking some exciting locations — shooting all of the exteriors in the locale of his Army activities. We'd shot in Frankfurt. Weisbaden. Idsten, Friedberg. and along the Rhine River and we were set and did ultimately shoot the tank corps in action, but never with Elvis. We used plenty of G.I.'s but again not Elvis. This seemed unfair, but I would not take a chance of any criticism being directed towards him with this picture." " 'Are you shooting in color?' " he asked. I told him that I was, and that the weather was perfect. " 'Now that the two years are up, it all doesn't seem so long,' Elvis said, 'but Man, in the beginning I counted the days — thirty and thirty-one to each month, and 365 days to a year — like that,' " he laughed. " 'Then it seemed forever.' K "'Elvis' face saddened when I again ex- pressed my condolences in the loss of his mother. 'You'll remember. Elvis.' I re- called, 'that we had both your mother and your father in a scene of your picture. You remember they were visiting you on the set that last day of the shooting, and we asked them to sit in the audience as players? We have some good footage, and you can have it as a clip when you re- turn.' "Elvis' appreciation, which is so ready and so genuine lighted his eyes. He swallowed hard. "I miss her,' he said. T guess 111 never get over losing her.' "I could well understand Elvis' feelings. We sat and talked for awhile longer, and then we went outside for awhile to get a breath of air, and we sat on the grass. The boys took some snapshots of us. When it began to get dark, I arose to go. " 'Maybe we could have dinner to- gether if you can spare the time,' " Elvis said. I told him to call me the following week at my hotel. "In the interim we began shooting the picture, and I must admit I felt a little regret that Elvis couldn't have been with us, if only as a spectator. But his Army duty kept him elsewhere. His officers and Army friends however, were anxious to talk with me. " 'El's a £ne boy, and he does his job well,' one said. 'He certainly avoids any favoritism. and he bends over backwards to do his job one hundred percent!' "Another of his officers observed, 'The Army has sure changed Elvis. We got hold of an old movie magazine with a pre- army story about Elvis. It sure made him out to be a belly-rolling vulgar type of singer who had a bad if popular influence with the American teenagers. But today he sure has changed. He is a perfect gentleman. He is always polite, and no one has ever heard him say a vulgar word or tell an off- color story — ' I could have told him that he had found a very wrong story based on a very wrong conception of Elvis. One that has long since been dispelled and erased. He was, and long before he came to Hollywood, a thorough- ly nice and well mannered boy. who had no feeling about ever being vulgar. As he once said. 'I just follow the beat of the music. It's the folk dancing of this gen- eration. The kids understand it. Some- times I get carried away, but I never think it is vulgar.' " 'Our only trouble.' another officer told me, 'is the girls. They won't leave Elvis alone. We've had to put up roped lines to get him through them at times. Elvis j always looks amused, but he never takes advantage of his popularity. He just trys to go on with what he is doing. And when he is off duty, I've been amazed at his patience. He'll spend time talking to these kids, and some of them are only ten or twelve. They can't speak English, and he can't speak German, but he has the ut- most patience with them. " "Elvis will get out his little German- English dictionary, and they'll make signs and talk back and forth. The kids worship him. But he sure has an amazing patience with children, and such a real liking, that he'll be a wonderful father someday.' "Another G. I. made this observation on Elvis' romantic status, 'It looks like Elvis is going home single all right. He'll take a fraulein out a few times, and they blow it up big in the papers. But he hasn't gone steady over here with any one girl. He doesn't have much time, and the time he does have he spends pretty much at home with his dad and his grandmother. His grandmother sure can cook. El is al- ways nice about taking some of us home for her real southern cooking.' "Elvis is very prompt and reliable and he called me a week later as he said he ( OPPORTUNITIES FOR YOU For rates, write COMBINED CLASSIFIED 529 W. Madison, Chicago 6 OF INTEREST TO WOMEN CW.April '60 GOOD PAY MAILING advertising literature for reputable organization. Start immediately. Literature, lists, stamps a»B£^i4iS&gff ^6fundable)- HOMEWORKtRS: EARN MONEY sewing precut ties for j« ,.i s.;: , "i-.i'a; -st'.c: :rs. ti: Se ; : : H : ~ e-Se ... Inc. Dept. 249, Box 2107. 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Free E-ar-i-at'on, Rush ~ Acklen Station, Nashville, Tennessee. NEVER FAIL- ZONE YOUR MAIL The Post Office has divided 106 cities into postal delivery zones to speed mail delivery. Be sure to in- clude zone number when writing to these cities; be sure to include your zone number in your return address — after the city, before the state. would. 'I can make it tonight to get in for dinner,' he said. We made an engage- ment to have dinner together that night. And Elvis arrived driving his Mercedes Benz, a stock model sedan. We went to a German restaurant, and I must report that it was very unique. There wasn't a dozen or so girls popping out of the walls and the ceilings as they did in America when I took Elvis out to dinner. I said to him, 'This is different than it was in New Orleans.' He smiled. For in New Orleans, on the location of King Creole, I had to hire a special security policeman to keep the girls off his hotel floor, and still they seemed to manage to come in through the walls — in every direction. "Elvis ordered German food. An ac- cordion trio played during dinner, and again I must report that Elvis did not get up and sing. The bus-boys and the musicians recognized him and one by one they politely sent a menu over with a request for his autograph. Elvis seems to have a quality that is warm and polite, but one which also commands respect. Today people no longer seem to impose on him even though the very little girls may mob him. " 'I've been very homesick at times. That's the worst,' Elvis admitted as we ate. 'I've thought again and again, Man, if I could only go home for just one day. And wow, the time is almost here to go home. And I'm very excited about it.' "Elvis also said that he wasn't going steady and that his 'little old heart is still in one piece. But it would be nice to fall in love — after I get my career going again. But not before — because I've got too much work to do first — to have the kind of time to fall in love.' "His thoughts kept returning to the pic- ture, his new picture. I told him, 'There'll be parts for two German girls and one Italian girl. And there'll be parts for your G.I. buddies, for you'll be playing your- self, a G.I. in the tank division.' "'Have you cast the girls?' he asked with natural male interest. " 'No, not yet,' I laughed, 'any sugges- tions?' " 'No, I guess not,' Elvis replied thought- fully, adding half to himself, 'as long as they're pretty.' " 'I'll be seeing you,' Elvis said, 'in Hollywood! Man, that sounds good, be see- ing you in Hollywood,' he repeated with a flash of a smile. Then he turned and walked towards his car, jumped in, switched on the ignition and roared up the road." From that minute on, Mr. Wallis says he was besieged all of the way home by the foreign and the international and the domestic press — for any word of this inter- view and his visit with Elvis, of their plans. Luckily, we caught up with him for this exclusive report on Elvis! END The Bad Boy and the Good Girl (Continued from page 23) "Like with Jo-Ann. I'm sorry it had to happen this way with her. I'm sorry I ever had to hurt her for one single minute. "But what else can happen when a bitter, unhappy guy like me meets a good, sweet gal? "What else can come of this but hurt — lots and lots of it. . . ." Bobby and Jo-Ann Campbell first met one night three years ago (he was nine- teen, she was just going on eighteen). With two dozen other young entertainers, they sat around a few tables in the rear of Hanson's Drugstore, just off Times Square in New York City, waiting for the bus that would take them to a record hop over in Brooklyn. Actually, Bobby sat at one table, gabbing away, surrounded by five or six wide-eyed girl vocalists and dancers; while Jo-Ann — new to New York, show business, this crowd — sat alone at her table, a few yards away. Like most of the others she had ordered a sandwich and something to drink, a chocolate milkshake in her case. But, this being her first close- to-bigtime record hop, she was too nervous to eat or drink much. And, besides, that fellow over there, that Bobby Darin, made her just a little more nervous, the way he was constantly looking over at her, even while he was gabbing away the way he was and being oohed and aahed over by those girls sitting with him. Jo-Ann was glad, very glad, when the announcement was made, finally, that the bus for Brooklyn had pulled up outside the drugstore. That fellow, that Bobby Darin And she was surprised, once inside the bus, sitting in her seat next to the win- dow, watching the others climb aboard, to see that fellow, that Bobby Darin, enter with his crowd of girls, break away from them suddenly, and come rushing over to grab the empty seat alongside her. "I guess you know who I am," he said — his first words. Jo-Ann nodded. "How do you know?" Bobby asked. "That Splish-Splash you just recorded—" Jo-Ann started to say. "And wrote," Bobby put in. "And wrote," said Jo- Ann, " — well, it's been making quite a splash, hasn't it? And they've started writing stories about you in the papers and magazines, and putting in your picture . . . And that's how I know." 78 "Uh-huh," Bobby said. Then he asked, "And who are you?" Jo-Ann told him. "Pretty . . . blonde . . . blue-eyed . . . and with an accent like that yet," Bobby said. "Where you from, honey chile? South Cah'lina?" He laughed and Jo-Ann smiled. "No," she said, "Jacksonville, Florida. And I'm a singer, in case you never heard of me, which you no doubt never did. And I've cut two records, neither of which has sold very well, but my manager tells me not to worry about that, he being a very nice and understanding manager. And — " The bus began to move. "And?" Bobby asked. "And," Jo-Ann said, "I guess there's not much more to tell except that my daddy thought it might be good for any career I might have in store for me if he and my mother and I moved up here to New York. So that's what we did. And here we are, all settled in a little apartment over Flushing way, waiting to see what the future will bring . . . hoping it'll all have been worth it." She turned to look out the window, at the theater marquees, the cars and cabs, the blur of people on the sidewalks. "Glad you came?" Bobby asked, after a moment. "To big old wonderful New York town?" Jo-Ann looked back at him and nodded. "Well," Bobby said, sitting back in his seat, "lemme tell you something about this big old wonderful town, this big old wonderful business of show business . . . They can both turn out to stink if you don't watch that pretty step of yours." "How do you mean?" Jo- Ann asked. "The people," Bobby said. He spelled out the word. "Sniff-sniff-stmk, if you don't watch your step. All kinds of creeps. But the leeches, first of all. They're the first ones you got to worry about." "Borrowers?" Jo- Ann asked. "Takers," Bobby said. "Takers — It's a whole bit, and I've been through it all. Take a place like that drugstore we just came from. It's a hangout for our crowd. A new one like you walks in and you're spotted. The leeches, they know how you feel. All young inside and nervous and wanting to please, to make friends, to be accepted, considered nice, A-l. So for this privilege they invite you over to their table and then, then they let you pick up their check. A cheeseburger here, a steak sandwich there, a Danish, a couple of cups of coffee — 'You don't mind just this once, do you, pal?' they say, 'I'm just a little short right now.' " "Is this what happens to you?" Jo-Ann asked. "Juggle those verbs around a little, honey, and you've got it," Bobby said. "It's what used to happen to me ... I used to be the champion check grabber wherever I was. As long as I shelled out, man, I was the most. They used to wait for me to come in, the whole damn bunch of them. And me, I wanted to be accepted so bad, I never said no. Not till one day when the message came to me and I said the hell with them and being nice and all that junk, and stopped." "Gee," Jo-Ann said. Backslappers "Then," said Bobby, looking up at the ceiling of the bus, remembering, "there's the backslappers. I guess they're like the leeches, basically, except with diplomas. They're the ones who get after you when the breaks start coming your way. They're the ones who want the favors. You've been meeting big people in the business? They want to get to meet them. You're their best bet, so they start slapping your back so hard that just to get them to stop and to end the embarrassment you say, 'Gee thanks, now what can I do for you?' And they tell you. Until you find yourself spending so much time working for them that you're lousing up on yourself." "How'd you stop them?" Jo-Ann asked. "Same as with the others," Bobby said. "I woke up one day and told them all to go to hell, that I knew I was good, that I didn't need their compliments, and that they could all just go to — " "I know," Jo-Ann said. "Yeah," said Bobby. He turned to face her again. He looked into her eyes. "Then there's the love crowd," he said. Jo- Ann began to blush. "Yes?" she said. "Watch for 'em, honey — watch — or they'll drag you down under," he said. "With me it was this dancer. She had to have me, had to love me . . . she said. I was seventeen, she was thirty-one. Man, was I impressed with myself. I was so impressed I couldn't see what a patsy I was being used for. This dame, she was a pathological liar, along with being a tramp. She didn't know how to tell the truth, so how could she know- how to be true to anyone . . . ? I was hit over the head with danger signals. But did I take 'em?" He shook his head. "No," he said. "Instead, I talked about getting married with her. And I talked about com- mitting suicide with her. And all this while I found out she was just using me for what I was worth to her, cheating on me — " He stopped, suddenly. "Now you tell me your problems," he said, still looking at her, hard, intently. Jo-Ann smiled again. "They'd sound pretty third-class next to yours." she said. "No boyfriend problem?" Bobby asked. "Xot really." Jo-Ann said. "There's this boy in Jacksonville. I liked him some. I thought I'd miss him when I had to leave. . . But I don't — not terribly. I mean." "Want a new boyfriend?" Bobby asked. Jo-Ann said nothing. "Don't get scared, sweetheart — I mean just for tonight." Bobby said. "To ex- plain." he said, still getting no reaction from Jo-Ann. "tonight, after the show, you and me take this bus back to town. And then, when we get off. I take your hand and take you to this pizza joint on Forty-ninth Street where we grab a pizza and some cream sodas or something . . . Sound okay?" Before Jo-Ann had a chance to answer. Bobby pointed out the window of the bus. "This here we're crossing now is the Brooklyn Bridge — and that back there, all those twinkling lights." he said, "that's Manhattan . . . New York. Few years from now I'm gonna own that town. Then, few years from now. when I ask a gal for a date it's gonna mean El Morocco and the "2T and the Stork Club and Copa and everyplace — " His eyes began to brighten. " — With waiters tripping over their fool feet to get to my table and hatcheck babes framing the dollar bills I give 'em and all the bigshots in town staring over at me and my date, some of 'em just looking, others waving, and nodding and — " Again, he stopped and looked back at Jo -Ann. "But for tonight," he said, "after the show, pizza and cream soda at this joint on Forty-ninth Street. Sound okay1?" He put his hand on hers. "Huh?" he asked. He smiled at the wav Jo-Ann began to blush again, at the way she nodded slowly and said yes. . . . One of these New York creeps The show in Brooklvn ended at 11:10 that night. By 11:20 Jo-Ann had her stage make-up off. had changed and stood just inside the stage door waiting for Bobby. It was some twenty minutes after that — seconds after the bus. loaded with the others, had left — when Bobby did show. "Jo-Ann — " he started, out of breath. "Bus took off." Jo-Ann cut in. starting to laugh, "but there's always the subway." "Jo-Ann." Bobby said, shaking his head, not listening. "I can't make it. Not tonight." "You can't?" Jo-Ann asked, the laugh suddenly gone. "Look," Bobby said, bringing up his hands, holding them together, "this dame . . . Fd forgotten all about her. Two weeks ago she says to me, 'After the Brooklyn show, how about it — a night out. us two?" And me. I don't know what I was think- ing, but I said. "Yeah. sure. . . ."' Jo-Ann waited for him to go on. He didn't, "She's here?" she asked, then. "In my dressing room." Bobby said. "She showed up right after the show. She's a little on the loaded side. I tried talking to her. I thought maybe I could get her to call this off and we, we — " "Bobby." Jo-Ann said. She forced a great big smile. "Bobby, it's perfectly okay what's happened." "It is?'" he asked. "Yes," Jo-Ann bed. "Listen." Bobby said, "this subway. Do you know how to get to it from here?" "Oh yes." Jo-Ann lied again. "Better." Bobby said, "if you wait a few minutes, we'll be getting a taxi and we can drop you off. This dame — " He shrugged, and forced his own smile now. "—She never wants to ride in anything but taxis. And she always pays. So — " "No, thanks. Bobby." Jo-Ann said. "I can walk it." They were both silent for a moment. "Jo-Ann." Bobby said, "these New York creeps I was telling you about before. I guess you think I'm one of 'em but good — huh? . . . Lots of other people do, you know. So you're not alone in what you're thinking." "No ... I don't think that," Jo-Ann said softly. "No. Ill bet." Bobby said. He laughed a hollow laugh. Then. "Well, no sense us standing here like this ... So long, Jo- Ann . . . I'm sorry." • "So long. Bobby." she said, turning quickly, and leaving. "Another girl would have been sore as heck," a friend of Jo-Ann's has said. "But Jo, she'd fallen for him from those first few minutes together, in the bus. And nothing, not even being stood up that first night, was going to change the way she felt about young Mr. D." A quiet love "She carried her love for him about as quietly as is humanly possible. She'd never mention him to you . . . never. But. boy, when someone else mentioned his name, you should have seen the things that happened to her face — her eyes get- ting big. shiny: her color all flushed; all that. And if she ever happened to be carrying a copy of Variety and you asked to see it and noticed something clipped out. you could be sure the clipped-out article had something to do with young Mr. D. and that that clipping was tucked in the bottom of her pocketbook where she could take it out when she was alone and read it over and over again. "I guess it was nine or ten months after The Greatest Addition to Bath Time since Soap... DONALD DUCK SOAP BOAT one of the many new WaitDisneV SQUEEZE TOYS designed and distribuied by DELL Shirley MacLaine LEMONADE AND FRIED MICE ■ Although by now Shirley MacLaine is getting used to being one of Hollywood's most sought-after actresses and top money-makers, she was once quite accustomed to living on "nothing a week." This was when she was struggling to get a break in New York. Rodgers and Hammerstein were auditioning for Me and Juliet, and five thousand hopefuls showed up at the first try-out. "I lied," Shirley recalls, "changed my name three times, was turned down five times and kept using other people's Equity cards. "There were seventy-five at the final audition — and I wasn't a good dancer then. "They got down to the last person, and Dick Rodgers called out, 'Hey, you with the legs!' "That was me." Shirley had to run through every dance there was, and sing too. And she got the job. And she figures she owes it, in a way, to lemonade and fried mice. Because in those days, she saved every cent she made I and that wasn't often I for lessons. Every kind of lesson there was. Singing, dancing, acting. And to do this, she had to cut down on eating. Or eating money anyhow. Shirley had two tricks to help her along. One had to do with the awful old apartment where she lived with "twelve dif- ferent roommates every year. They would get tired trying to crash Broadway and go back to Baltimore or wherever they came from. That was 1952, when unemploy- ment in the theater was at its highest. Three thousand girls would show up when six were needed. "Still the roommates and I didn't starve. We could always count on one thing when we got home for dinner — fried mice, because they were always on the oven!" At least, that's what Shirley says. . . . Shirley's other trick, the Automat Ploy, sounds a little more palatable. The Automats in New York are like inexpensive cafeterias. You serve yourself. Put a coin in a slot and open a little glass door and out comes a fresh sandwich or dessert. For beverages like iced tea, or iced coffee, the ingredients are laid out. You help yourself to ice, to sugar, to cream, and then purchase the tea or coffee. "That's how I learned to like lemonade," Shirley explains. "I would make out like I was going to order iced tea. I'd get some lemon, then take sugar from the table and have lemonade . . . free of charge." Well, those days are past. And the way she lives now? Oh, she likes it fine. But if the day ever came that she'd have to go back to a budget, Shirley MacLaine 80 can qualify as experienced and expert. that first night that they saw each other again. It was at a nightclub. Bobby was on his way up by now, and playing his first big club date in New York. Jo-Ann wanted to go see him something desperate, of course. She wouldn't ask a boy to take her, she's that shy. And none of us girls could go with her for the simple reason of money. So she went alone, about a week after he'd opened — after she'd got up enough money for herself. And enough nerve. . . ." Jo-Ann sat at the little table way in the rear of the nightclub and watched Bobby make his entrance. And she could tell, from the beginning, that something was wrong that night. It seemed to start with the audience. It was a bad audience, unusually bad — talka- tive, a big-drinking crowd, a convention- type crowd where practically everyone seemed out to put on his own show. Then Bobby tried to handle this audi- ence. And he didn't help. Midway through his first number he called out to the crowd to clap along with him. "Help old Bobby keep the beat — yeahhhh?" he asked. And he began to clap. But most of the customers didn't co- operate. Jo-Ann could see him begin to do a slow burn. She'd been reading quite a bit recently about his bad temper, about how he'd blown his top at one performance somewhere in Pennsylvania not too long ago and told his audience off, another time in Florida . . a few other times, a few other places. She hoped nothing like that would hap- pen this night. "Shhhhhh," she found herself saying as Bobby began his second number and the audience continued talking it up. "Shhhhhh!" But nobody paid any attention to Jo- Ann. Nor to Bobby. And, finally, Jo-Ann saw it happen, as midway through his third number, Bobby brought up his hands to stop the band, mumbled something, went into his finale, cut that short too and went rushing off the stage. It's safe to guess today that if nothing had gone wrong with Bobby's show that particular night, Jo-Ann would very likely . have finished her dinner, paid her check and taken the subway back to Flushing. And that would have been that. But, because something had gone wrong, because she knew that Bobby was un- doubtedly hurt and sulking now, feeling as if he didn't have a friend in the world — because she wanted to show him that she was still his friend, for a few minutes at least — Jo-Ann got up from her table and made her way backstage and to Bobby's dressing room. . . . "Lousy show," he was saying a few minutes after she'd entered and they'd said hello, " — but lousy, wasn't it?" Jo-Ann began to shake her head. "Sure it was," Bobby said. "And you know why? Because me and that audience out there were having a fight." He lit a cigarette he'd been holding. "Me," he said, "I was fighting with them before I even went out. I was in a mood. I felt low, I mean. And when I'm low, I'm low. And there's not much I can do about it ... . You know that feeling?" "Some," Jo-Ann said. Bobby nodded. "And then that mob out there," he said. "A bunch of drunks. Boy, have you ever seen a bunch of drunks like that? Noisy? Rude? Rude to me? Well, I figured from the beginning that I'd have to show 'em. And I did, too. Cut the whole damn act short and showed 'em." Jo-Ann looked at him and said nothing. Bobby took a long drag from his ciga- rette. "You don't buy this kind of talk, do you?" he asked. "It's not that . . . exactly. . . ." Jo-Ann started to say. She looked down. "Well," said Bobby, "you sure don't look as though you'd pay a nickel for it." To show the audience Jo-Ann looked up again, quickly. "No, Bobby, you're right," she said, her voice suddenly firm, "I wouldn't pay a nickel for it. You talk . . . you talk as though you're so proud in a way that you went out there and showed that audience. You sound as though, just because you cut your act short, that you hurt them. Them. When the person you really hurt, the only person, is yourself." Bobby took another drag from his ciga- rette, a short one this time. "The others," Jo-Ann said, "they're out there still, Bobby — eating, drinking, talk- ing, having fun. They've probably for- gotten all about you by now . . . Isn't that wonderful? Ten minutes after you've left the stage. They've probably forgotten all about you. Isn't that wonderful, that that's what you're so proud of?" She took a deep breath. "Bobby," she went on, "I don't know much about show business. I've been around, but not that much . . . But I do know this. That the only time an enter- tainer should be proud is when he's given his audience everything that's inside him, everything he's got — good audience or bad. When he's taken a bad audience and quieted them and made them better by just one thing — " "His talent?" Bobby cut in. "Yes," Jo-Ann said, "his talent." Bobby looked down at his cigarette. "Seems to me," he said, "I have heard that song before." "Well, learn the song then," Jo-Ann said, her voice doubly firm now. "Learn it!" Bobby watched an ash fall from his cigarette to the floor. "Bobby," he heard Jo-Ann say then, her voice somewhat softer now, "you've got talent. More than anybody else I've ever seen or heard, you've got it. And someday, someday you'll be sitting on the top of the whole wide world — " "How do you know that?" Bobby asked. "For one thing, you told me," Jo-Ann said. "Yeah?" Bobby asked, looking over at her. "And for another," Jo-Ann said, " — I just know it." "Yeah?" Bobby asked. "Yes," Jo- Ann said, " — I fust know it. And I just happen to think that you're the most marvelous, the most — " She stopped. And rose. "It's getting late," she said. "I think I'd better be going." "Hey," Bobby said, rising too, "I haven't even offered you a drink yet." "No thanks," Jo-Ann said. "I don't drink." "Stay for a cigarette?" "No— don't drink, don't smoke, and very boring in conversations sometimes . . . like tonight," Jo-Ann said. She picked up the purse she'd put down earlier. "Well — " she said, beginning to walk to- wards the door. "Somebody waiting for you there?" Bob- by asked. Jo-Ann shook her head. "I'm alone," she said. "So can't you stay for a little while more?" She shook her head again. Bobby walked over towards the door now, too. "Tell me, Miss Florida," he said, putting his hand on hers. "You still liv- ing out in Flushing?" "Yes," Jo-Ann said, "still." Hello and good-bye "You know," Bobby went on, "I got a car now. And I was just thinking how it would be if I came out to pick you up some time and the two of us took a drive someplace . . . Can you give me your number so I can give you a call some time?" "No," Jo-Ann said. She removed her hand from his. "You're not going to call. I know that. You know that. And — " She smiled. " — And, anyway, I just came by to say hello, Bobby. "And now. good-bye, Bobby. . . ." "You could have knocked Jo-Ann over," says her friend, "but Bobby got her phone number somehow and called her the very next day. That afternoon, they went out driving in his new car. And soon their friendship, their relationship — whatever you want to call it — was well on its way. "For that next year, whenever they were both in New York and not out on tours, they were almost always together. Bobby would take Jo out a lot — movies, restau- rants, nightclubs. But most of the time he just enjoyed going over to her apart- ment and having dinner with her and her folks, watching TV, telling jokes, relaxing, talking. They both seemed very happy, and it was enough to make you take back any- thing you might have said about Bobby had you only known him casually and not as the friend of your friend. "Bobby, by the way, became a very hot property during this year. Every month he seemed to grow more and more popular and famous. He was beginning to do lots of TV and swank club dates. He made his biggest hit record — Mack The Knife — dur- 150 FOR YOU! Fill in the form below (or a reasonable facsimile thereof) as soon as you've read all the stories in this issue. Then mail it to us right away. Promptness counts. Three $10 winners will be chosen from each of the following areas — on a basis of the date and time on your postmark: Eastern states; Southern states; Midwestern states; Rocky Mountain and Pacific states; Canada. And even if you don't earn $10, you'll be glad you sent this ballot in — because you're helping us pick the stories you'll really love. MAIL TO: MODERN SCREEN POLL, BOX 2291, GRAND CENTRAL STATION, N. Y. 17, N. Y. Please circle the box to the left of the one 1. I LIKE DEBBIE REYNOLDS: Ui more than almost any other star rjp a lot 10 fairly well UJ very little UJ not at all UJ am not very familiar with her I READ: rjj all of her story HJ part UJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely HI completely UJ fairly well UJ very little UJ not at all 2. I LIKE BOBBY DARIN: UJ more than almost any other star UJ a lot UJ fairly well UJ very little UJ not at all UJ am not very familiar with him I READ: UJ all of his story UJ part UJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely B completely 0 fairly well UJ very little GO not at all phrase which best answers each question: 3. I LIKE AUDREY HEPBURN: JJ more than almost any other star [JJ a lot UJ fairly well JJ very little [JJ not at all UJ am not very familiar with her I LIKE MEL FERRER: JJ more than almost any other star UJ a lot UJ fairly well [JJ very little UJ not at all UJ am not very familiar with him I READ: JJ all of their story UJ part UJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely UJ completely [JJ fairly well JJ very little UJ not at all 4. I LIKE ELIZABETH TAYLOR: JJ more than almost any other star UJ a lot UJ fairly well JJ very little UJ not at all UJ am not very familiar with her I LIKE EDDIE FISHER: JJ more than almost any other star UJ a lot UJ fairly well JJ very little UJ not at all UJ am not very familiar with him I READ: JJ all of their story UJ part UJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: JJ super-completely UJ completely UJ fairly well UJ very little UJ not at all 5. I LIKE STEPHEN BOYD: JJ more than almost any other star UJ a lot UJ fairly well JJ very little UJ not at all UJ am not very familiar with him I READ: JJ all of his story UJ part UJ none IT HELD MY INTEREST: J] super-completely UJ completely UJ fairly well UJ very little UJ not at all ing this time. In fact, it was because of Mack and its success that he got his biggest break up to that time, an appearance on the Perry Como show. "And it was at this time, too, that the thing happened between him and Jo-Ann. The thing about the ring. . . ." It was a Tuesday night, late. Rehearsals for the Como show had ended a little while before and Jo-Ann, who'd come to watch, had gone with Bobby to a small French restaurant not far from the studio. The place was only half-filled. Bobby and Jo-Ann sat at a window table, sipping their cafe espresso, waiting for their desserts. Finally, the waiter returned to their table. Winking at Jo-Ann, he said, "Creme caramel for mademoiselle . . . and for monsieur, the mousse — and this, mais what have we here?" On that last word, he lifted a tiny package from the side of the dish and handed it to Bobby. "What is it?" Bobby asked. The waiter grinned. "You will have to discuss that with the mademoiselle," he said, as he bowed slightly, and left. "What's up, Jo?" Bobby asked. "What's in here, anyway?" "Just a little something," she said. "From you?" Bobby asked. "Uh-huh," Jo-Ann said, beaming. She watched Bobby as he placed the paper wrapping aside, as he stared for a moment at the box in front of him, as he opened it, then as he looked up again. "It's a ring," he said. "That's right," Jo-Ann said. Proudly, she added, "A genuine star sapphire ring." "What's it supposed to mean. . . ?" She waited for Bobby to take it out of the box now and put it on. Instead, he asked, "What's it for? What's it supposed to mean?" Jo- Ann found herself clearing her throat. "I don't know exactly, Bobby," she said "Lots of things, I guess. Good luck on the show tomorrow night. Thanks for all the nice times we've had together. I like you. I hope you like me . . . Lots of things." Bobby shook his head. "I can't wear it," Bobby interrupted her. "You can't wear it?" Jo-Ann asked, the smile beginning to disappear from her face. "Why not?" "Because," Bobby said, "guys don't go taking rings like this from girls unless — " He picked up a half-filled glass of water and took a swallow. "Because," he said, " — because it would mean that there's something more serious between us than there actually is . . . Look, sweetheart, you and me, we've been seeing a lot of each other lately, sure. But I don't want you to go getting the idea that you're the only girl I see." "I didn't say I was," Jo-Ann said. "But you thought maybe that's the way it was, didn't you?" he asked. Without giving her a chance to answer, he went on, "Well, it's not that way, honey. I see you. I see other girls. I like them. I like you — none better, none worse. I like all girls. I'm peculiar. That's how I get my kicks, from knowing lots of girls — some nice like you, some not so nice. . . ." He picked up the glass of water again, swallowed again. "Honey," he started, "you're probably the best girl in the world for me. Pals of mine who've met you once have told me that. But, honey — " "Don't," Jo-Ann said, suddenly, strange- ly. "Don't, Bobby. Don't call me honey anymore. Don't say anymore. Don't try to follow me as I walk out of here now. And don't try to give the ring back to me. It's yours, Bobby. I bought it for you, and it's yours. To throw out if you want, or to put in your bottom drawer and keep for old times' sake, or to throw in a fire and watch melt, or to do anything you want." She got up. Bobby started to. "Don't,"' she said. She looked at him. Then down at the ring, once more. . . . Bobby had never been drunk before. But he was now. "Monsieur," said the waiter, approaching the table, "this is the very last cognac I can serve you. We must close in ten min- utes. C'est la loi — the law." But Bobby didn't hear him. He picked up the glass. And he looked down into it, beyond the eerily-ambered fluid there. And he thought of two women. Damn you, he thought about the first. Taking a kid. Lying to him. Cheating on him. Sucking him in with your talk about marriage, your talk about death. Holding him in your arms one minute, throwing him out the next. Making him sick and bitter and self-pitying . . . making him take it all out on other girls. On her. . . . "Jo," he whispered. "Jo-Ann . . . Jo." The waiter came back to the table. "You called me, monsieur," he asked. "You wish your check now." Bobby shook his head. He reached for the little box on the table and opened it. "Tomorrow," he said, " — I'm gonna call her. First thing. And I'm gonna tell her I'm wearing it. . . . I'll always wear it." The waiter smiled. "I do not know the girl, except for tonight," he said, "but I do know this — that it will make her very 'appy." "I hope so — finally," Bobby said. And he saw that his hands, which had begun to shake these past few hours, stopped. END 6. I LIKE BETTY LOU KEIM: 0 more than almost any other star 0 a lot 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 0 am not very familiar with her I LIKE WARREN BERLINGER: 0 more than almost any other star 0 a lot 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 0 am not very familiar with him 1 READ: 0 all of their story 0 part 0 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 0 super-completely 0 completely 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 7. 1 LIKED MARGARET SULLAVAN: 0 more than almost any other star 0 a lot 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 0 am not very familiar with her 1 READ: 0 all of her story 0 part 0 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 0 super-completely 0 completely 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 8. I LIKE ELVIS PRESLEY: 0 more than almost any other star 0 a lot 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 0 am not very familiar with him 1 READ: 0 all of his story 0 part 0 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 0 super-completely 0 completely 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 9. I LIKE DODIE STEVENS: 0 more than almost any other star 0 a lot 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 0 am not very familiar with her 1 READ: 0 all of her story 0 part 0 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 0 super-completely 0 completely 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 10. I LIKE BRIGITTE BARDOT: 0 more than almost any other star 0 a lot 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 0 am not very familiar with her 1 READ: 0 all of her story 0 part 0 none IT HELD MY INTEREST: 0 super-completely 0 completely 0 fairly well 0 very little 0 not at all 11. The stars I most want to read about are: (2) . (3) . (2) . (3) . AGE ADDRESS . CITY .... Now these Sears Kenmore washers add Sta-Puf automatically To Make Your Wash i& . » Your rinsing is just as complete as your washing with these Kenmore machines. They're Simply Wonderful, the easiest-to-use automatic washers in the world. 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Thatgirf in the boys locker room i "^ose pom-pom COo.' 000/ 'erf 'VI anthony Perkinsadjanefoncla " Lf!e "^3bu/0U.Q ho^„ WARNER BROS. First in Motion Pictures, Television. Music and Records Jour all day veil of ^agrance scents, smooths, clings more lovingly, more lastingly than costly cologne „ Cashmere m ■ bouquet No cologne prolongs and protects your daintiness like Cashmere Bouquet Talc. Never evaporates. Never dries your skin. Leaves you silken-smooth, flower-fresh all over. Make Cashmere Bouquet ...pure, imported Italian Talc... your all day Veil of Fragrance. Cashmere Bouquet Talc the fragrance men love modern MAY- AMERICA'S GREATEST MOVIE MAGAZINE STORIES Dor's Day 29 Doris Day's Secret Son by Hugh Burrell Elvis Presley 32 Bring Me Back To Your House, Oh Lord by Ed DeBlasio Judi Meredith 34 Judi, The Little Love-Goddess by Kirtley Baskette Kim Novak 38 Scoop! Kim To Marry! Johnny Nash 40 America's First Negro Teen Idol by Paul Denis Diane McBain Cindy Robbins Michael Callan Brian Kelly 42 No Tears, No Trouble, When Your Dates Are Double by Helen Weller Diana Barrymore 44 What Killed Diana Barrymore? Annette Funicello Frankie Avalon 47 Petting And Parking I Park . . In Front Of The House by Annette Funicello as told to Steve Kahn I Pet . . . We're All Human by Frankie Avalon as told to Robert Peer Rock Hudson 50 Rock And Women Photo oj Rock Hudson as host of Revlon's "Big Party" Rock Hudson Courtesy Wagner -International linda Cristal 54 But One Girl Won't Give Up! by Doug Brewer Marlon Brando Anna Kashfi Barbara Luna France Nuyen 56 Memoirs Beautiful And Bitter Of Casanova's Ladies Connie Francis 58 From Ugly Duckling To Cinderella by Connie Francis as told to George Christy Cyd Charisse Tony Martin 60 The Marriages That Last by Dena Reed and Ethel Barron SPECIAL FEATURES Grace Kelly 4 The Princess Who Saved The Birds by Victoria Colette Evy Norlund Jimmy Darren 26 The Wedding Of The Month by Terry Davidson 74 "Because They're Young" Travel and Fashion Contest DEPARTMENTS Louella Parsons 15 Eight-Page Gossip Extra 8 The Inside Story 10 New Movies by Florence Epstein 14 Disk Jockeys' Quiz 23 May Birthdays 83 $150 For You Cover Photograph by Gene Trindl from Topix Other Photographers' Credits on Page 24 DAVID MYERS, editor SAM BLUM, managing editor MICHAEL LEFCOURT, art editor SHIRLEY LAIKEN, promotion director HELEN WELLER, west coast editor TERRY DAVIDSON, story editor DOLORES M. SHAW, asst. art editor LINDA 0LSHEIM, production editor CARLOS CLARENS, research ED DeBLASIO, special correspondent MARIO GUILIANO, research assistant BEVERLY LI NET, contributing editor SHELDON BUCHANSKY, reader service ERNESTINE R. COOKE, ed. assistant EUGENE WITAL, photographic art GENE HOYT, research director AUGUSTINE PENNETTO, cover JEANNE SMITH, editorial research FERNANDO TEXIDOR, art director POSTMASTER: Pleolse send notice^rfForm 3579 }o 321 West 44 Street, New York 36, New York 579-Jo MODERN SCREEN. Vol. 54, No. 5. May. 1960. Published Monthly by Dell Publishing Co.. Inc. Office of publication, .it Washington ami South Aves.. Ounellen. N. J. Executive and editorial offices. 750 Third Avenue. New York 17. N. V. Dell Subscription Service: 321 W. 44th St.. New York 36. N. Y. Chicago advertising office, 221 No. LaSalle St.. Chicago. 111. Albert P. Delacorte. Publisher: Helen Meyer. President: Paul R. Lilly. Executive Vice-President: William F. Callahan. Jr.. Vice-President: Harold Clark. Vice-President-Advertising Di- rector. Published Miiiiillaneoii-.lv in the Dominion of Canada International copyright secured under the provisions of the revised Convention for the protection of Literary and Artistic Works All rights reserved under the Buenos Aires Convention. Single copy price 25c in C. S. A. and Possessions and Canada Subscription in U. S. A. and Possessions nd Canada $2.50 one year. $4.00 two years. $5 Ml three years. Subscription for Pan American and foreign countries. $3.50 a year. Second class postage paid at Dunellen, New JerseyVCopyright 1960 by Dell Publishing Co.. Inc. -Printed U. S. A. The Ptililisbe sponsibility for the return of unsolicited Trademark No. 596800. Tune in to the Oscar Show on April 4. See local newspapers for time and station. A true and touching fairy story translated from the French PRINCESS WHO SAVED THE BIRDS ■ Grace Kelly Rainier was awakened by the guns: loud, sharp sounds of bullets whistling in the early spring winds. Turning in her wide, comfortable bed, she looked at the luminous green dial of the gold boudoir clock on the nightstand. Five o'clock! Would she never get a full night's sleep? Out- side, through the filmy billowing curtains at the windows, she could see the orange flames of dawn beginning to rise in the velvety dark sky. Each and every morning it was this way. She closed her eyes, recited a prayer only to have it punctuated by the sound of gunfire. Shivering from the cool morning winds, she pulled the soft satin covers close about her throat. She fervently hoped that the prayer would quiet her spirit. There were few things that this gentle woman hated in her life, and this she loathed. From that very first day when Princess Grace heard the guns outside her bedroom window, she turned frantically to her husband, her nerves suddenly quaking with fear and foreboding. But the Prince, his loving eyes tender with sincerity, smiled gently. "Darling," he said in his low soothing voice, "you'll get used to it. All you hear are the guns of hunters. Did you think we were having a war?" "Hunters?" Princess Grace questioned. "Hunters on the palace grounds?" "Yes, yes," he spoke calmly. "Now don't look so worried, my love. There are wonderful game birds here. In abundance. Pheasants and quail and pigeons. And the friends of the Throne come by in the mornings to pass their time. It's been a tradition here for years, and years. Hunting's a big sport with many of our friends. There's nothing to fear." She sighed. Then he added, "You'll get used to the guns. Have no fear. In another month you won't even be con- scious of them." She didn't know how to answer him. There was a tight knot in her throat. Should she tell {Continued on page 6) THE BROADWAY HIT-NOW THE SCREEN'S CRAZIEST LARK! Joan Blackman • Earl Holliman • Fred Clark &s barbIu™ Oirected by NORMAN TAUR06 • Screenplay by EDMUND BELOIN and HENRY GARSON • Based on the play by GORE VlDAL • A PARAMOUNT PICTURE Only 20 minutes more than last night's pin-up . . . (Continued from page 4) him she hated the sound of guns for as long as she could remember? And now she was going to have to live with them every day of her life as a princess in Monaco. She nodded to her husband, pretending to understand, pretending to be sympathetic, but within her heart she was petrified. How could she ever get used to the gun- fire, accept it as every-day routine? When- ever she heard a bullet fired, she recalled the day when she was nine or ten. when she first heard that terrifying sound. And she remembered the sad, forlorn face of Pinky, the blond-pink Pekingese she and her sister Margaret had. Pinky had been given to the two sisters one Christmas by their mother who wanted them to have the responsibility of looking after something of their own. And the girls adored him. They pampered him, brushed him, taught him 'company' tricks, even bought a small mattress bed for him by saving money for several months from their weekly allowances. Pinky was very affectionate and he would play with the girls for hours on end. Whenever they went to school, he missed them and cried. Pinky was so lovable he was the talk of the neighborhood. He was not only well-groomed but very well- behaved. That terrible, tragic first time Then, one summer afternoon when Pinky was romping through the thick green grass in the backyard, they heard the shot. Grace and Margaret, in pale summer dresses, were sipping lemonade in the kitchen. They looked at each other quiz- zically. The gunfire sounded frighteningly near. Where was it coming from? wake up In a moment another shot rang in the air. Grace looked at her sister. "Am I hearing things?" she said, i "It's a gun," her sister said. "I hear it, too." They looked at each other in disbelief, put down their lemonade and walked to the back porch. Where was the gunfire coming from? Standing there on the porch steps, in the heavy silence of that sunny afternoon, they waited. But the gunfire stopped. Suddenly Marge screamed. And pointed to the middle of the yard. There, prostrate in the green grass, lay Pinky, his small round body smeared with blood. Grace gasped and then shrieked and she started to run to him, but as she rushed there was a throbbing in her head and a fierce pounding in her heart, and only a few feet away from the bleeding Pinky, she dropped to the ground, fainting from shock. When she came to, she was Kong in her mahogany four-poster bed with its white dotted Swiss canopy. Her mother waited with her m the shaded room. White pencil- strokes of sunlight filtered through the drawn Venetian shades. "Grace," her mother spoke softly, "just close your eyes and relax." But the nightmare of the afternoon ex- ploded in her mind, and she began to sob uncontrollably. Her mother tried to calm her by telling her the cook was pre- paring her favorite lamb chops for dinner. But Grace demanded to know what had happened to Pinky. Her mother tried to avoid relating the tragic news. Finally, she lowered her eyes and told Grace the veterinarian had been called but Pinky had died before his ar- rival. "Your father has the police checking to see who was roaming the neighborhood with a loaded gun, and when they find him we'll take him to court." Grace fell back into her bed. Her dear, beloved Pinky was dead. How could she and Margaret ever get along without him? For days afterward, Grace moped around the house, heartbroken, haunted by the echo of gunfire in her ears. It was months before she agreed to another pet, and, even then, whenever she fed or brushed her new pup, she couldn't help recalling the horrible death of her beloved Pinky as tears flooded her eyes. . . . Part and parcel Now in Monaco she was expected to learn to live with the sound of gunfire, morning after morning. At first, she chided herself for being hypersensitive. After all, weren't there women in the world who actually went on hunting expeditions? And she herself had learned, hadn't she, while working for the Red Cross, to stand the sight of blood. Couldn't she now, as an adult, face the sound of a hunter's rifle? She tried. For months she prodded her- self to be less fearful of the shooting, but, even so, it disturbed her, awakened her in the pre-dawn hours of night. . . . Months passed into years. Her children, Princess Caroline and Prince Albert Alex- andre, were born. Her days were full. She was complete now as a woman, a wife with a doting husband, a mother with a loving daughter and son. Her days were steeped in family and palace activities, and each evening she craved a long night's sleep and rest — but, every morning, the guns awakened her. And every shot was a stab tearing through her heart. For months she debated what to do. Her final answer was: nothing. She must simply learn to accept the hunting as part and parcel of the palace routine. . . . Then, late one autumn afternoon, as she was strolling through the palace woods, admiring the pink and gold of the autumn leaves, she paused to take a deep breath. Her children were napping, and the Prince was on a tour of official duties. She had a moment to breathe, to catch up with her- self. Standing in the woods with the whis- pering leaves, she looked around her at the beautiful world God had created. Tall trees and evergreens and wildflowers, blue sky and golden sunlight and soft warm air. Amid the rustling leaves she heard a sound, a pitiful cheeping. Was it a bird calling? Didn't it sound pained? She turned, and there, behind a massive oak tree, in a blanket of fallen yellow leaves, lay a baby quail with a wounded wing. Princess Grace looked down at it lying there in quivering pain, and her eyes filled with tears. She fell to her knees and gently lifted the wounded bird and held it against her breast. For a moment she didn't know what to do. Should she call for help? No, she decided. Time was of the essence and, with the hurt little bird cupped in her palms, she hurried back to the palace, left it with the caretaker and summoned a doctor to look after it. Then she went upstairs to dress for the evening meal. She just couldn't hold back her feelings any longer. She would tell the Prince tonight that, for her own peace of mind and heart, the shooting must stop The Prince's problem Prince Rainier shook his head in dis- agreement. "You're taking all of this too personally," he said. "If the guns bother you, we'll change the bedroom." "No," she told him. "I just won't be able to five with myself if I know these poor helpless birds are being killed outside our windows. Maybe it's childish of me, but I can't stand killing, and I beg you, please, to have it stop. (Continued on page 24) with a permanent! Only new Bobbi waves while you sleep . . . brushes into a softly feminine, lasting hairstyle! If you can put up your hair in pin curls, you can give yourself a Bobbi — the easy pin curl permanent. It takes only twenty minutes more than a regular setting! Then, the wave' 'takes" while you sleep because Bobbi is self-neutralizing. In the morning you wake up with a perma- nent that brushes into a soft, finished hairstyle with the lasting body only a permanent gives. Complete kit with curlers, $2.00. Refill, $1.50. The most convenient permanent of all — home or beauty shop! Only $2.00 Paris is more than a city- it's a state of being in love! EVENING IN PARIS >. - 4 BOTH FOR ONLY $1 PRICE OF THE COLOGNE ALONE! You become the woman of your most secret desires (his too!) when you surround yourself with Evening in Paris, the fragrance that keeps him falling in love with you again and again! And you'll fall in love with this almost unbeliev- able bargain! created in paris • made by bourjois in u.s.a. Want the real truth? Write to INSIDE STORY, Modern Screen, Box 515, Times Square P.O., N.Y. 36, N.Y. The most interesting letters will appear in this column. Sorry, no personal replies. 9 Is it true that all is not well between Betty Grable and Harry James? — T.T., Nanticoke, Pa. A The marriage has hit some sour notes. Harry is ready to blow taps. 9 Does Troy Donahue intend to marry his long-time girlfriend, Nan Morris? — J.H., Orlando, Fla. A \7o. 9 What about the rumors of a romance between Maureen O'Hara and Rex Harrison? — D.B., Reno, Nev. A The only time that Maureen and Rex romanced was in the movie, Foxes of Harrow, made ten years ago. Mau- reen's heart still belongs to her long- time Mexican beau, and she's furious about the rumors. 9 What is holding up the release of The Fugitive Kind? I thought the picture was to be released in time to contend for this year's Oscars. — W.T., Canton, Ohio A That was before the sneak preview. Anna Magnani is difficult to understand. She refuses to return for retakes because of her lack of admiration for co-star Brando — and his multitude of close-ups. 9 Is there any substance to the fact that Tony Steel is threatening to end it all — unless Anita Ekberg gives him an- other chance to make their marriage work? — A S., Paris, III. A Tony is threatening — but neither his friends nor Anita are taking the matter very seriously. 9 Why does Dirk Bogarde call Ava Gardner 'mother dear,' as I read in a column he does ? — F.S., Beverly Hills, Calif. A He brings out the maternal instincts in her. 9 Can you possibly tell me how some of those aging movie stars who appear aging in 'still' photographs manage to look like ingenues when they appear on TV? Is it lighting, a special make-up? — R.T., Buffalo, N.Y. A Sagging chins and necklines are pulled back tight by a thin strip of netting. Make-up is blended over it and ten to fifteen years melt away — temporarily. 9 How serious is it between Tuesday Weld and Ray Anthony? — J. I., New Haven, Conn. A As serious as it is between Tuesday and anybody. A passing fancy. 9 There's a story going around that Shelley Winters will no longer let Tony Franciosa out of her sight for a minute. Anything to it? — C.B., Seattle, Wash. A Xo. Shelley merely plans to spend more time in her husband's company. 9 I read your story on the Bob Crosbys a couple of months ago, but have seen nothing about what happened after the stabbing. Did Bob divorce his wife? — R.P., Wilmington, Del. A Bob patched up his knife wound and his marriage. 9 Isn't it unusual that Marilyn Monroe was given the rights to cut and edit her scenes in Let's Make Love? How come the studio agreed to put this in her contract? — J.R., Topeka, Kan. A It wasn't in her contract. Marilyn Monroe personally persuaded director George Cukor to let her sit in on the editing. Cukor found it easier to agree than to argue and hold up production. 9 Could you tell me why all the TV cowboy stars like Dale Robertson. Nick Adams. Bob Horton, Peter Breck, Ty Hardin. Gene Barry and Hugh O'Brian suddenly consider themselves singers and are turning up as such on TV guest shots and records? — G.H., Far Rockaway, N.Y. A Gene Barry was a former musical comedy star. The others are optimistic about becoming same when the Western craze is over. 9 Do Frank Sinatra's gifts of a huge Palm Springs home and diamond ring to ex-wife Nancy and the frequent din- ners they've been having together mean that there is a possibility that there may be a re-marriage some time in the future? — V.C., Montpelier, Vt. A No. Nancy still has a place in his heart, but other girls keep catching his eye. 2a ELI A SMOULDERING STORY OF THE SOUTH! You can't hold back... A WILD RIVER. . . A DEEP LONGING... A SUDDEN LOVE! starring - — MONreOMERYCUFT7 LK REMKJK^ joVan Fleet Produced and n I I A 1/ A "7 A M Screenplay by ^ COLOR by Directed by LLIA l\AZ.AN -PAUL OSBORN OlMEN/lAS<=OF>e DELUXE. COLOR by JANE HUGHES, /uraior, Clarke High School, East Meadow, L.I.,N.Y., says : "I used to be tormented by skin blemishes. They just wouldn't clear up even with scrubbing and special skin creams. A friend urged me to try Clearasil and right away I saw improvement. Now my skin is com- pletely clear." . . . \jMefWirie4- SCIENTIFIC CLEARASIL MEDICATION STARVES PIMPLES SKIN-COLORED, Hides pimples whi/e if works clearasil is the new-type scientific medication especially for pimples. In tube or new lotion squeeze-bottle, clearasil gives you the effective medications prescribed by leading Skin Special- ists, and clinical tests prove it really works. HOW CLEARASIL WORKS FAST 1. Penetrates pimples.' Keratnlvtic' action medications can penetrate. Encourages quick growth ol healthy, smooth skin! 2. Stops bacteria. Antiseptic action stops and spread pimples . . . helps prevent clear pimple lurther pimple 3. 'Starves' pimples O action 'starves* pimple helps remove excess oimples . . . works fast I 'Floats' Out Blackheads, clearasil softens and loosens blackheads so they float out with normal washing. And, clearasil is greaseless, stainless, pleasant to use day and night for uninterrupted medication. Proved by Skin Specialists ! In tests on over 300 patients, 9 out of every 10 cases were cleared up or definitely improved while using clearasil (either lo- tion or tube). In Tube, 69<£ and 98(f. Long-lasting Lotion squeeze- bottle, only $1.25 (no fed. tax). Money-back guarantee. At all drug counters. 10 LARGEST-SELLING BECAUSE IT REALLY WORKS •jf ill ■{movies by Florence Epstein Doris an en Day finds that taking care of a successful drama-critic husband and irgetic family of little boys gets her into some comical situations. PLEASE DON'T EAT THE DAISIES Doris Day David Niven domestic comedy Richard Haydn Charles Herbert Patsy Kelly ■ It's an apartment in New York — you can tell, even though it's buried under the scattered belongings of four healthy sons. Happy parents (Doris Day, David Niven) live there, too. Tonight's the night. David has left his teaching job to become drama critic on a big newspaper. As soon as Doris' mother (Spring Byington) comes to "sit" they're off to their first open- ing. Thus ends one life and begins another. Does a drama critic have any friends ? Does he deserve them when he raps their plays? Is a drama critic's wife glamorous enough to hold her husband — with all those gorgeous actresses buttering him up? We'll see. Doris doesn't wait and see. She moves to the country, joins the PTA, involves herself in the local theater group. Well, a wife has to do something when she only has four kids, a new house and a thousand repairmen to keep her busy! The conflicts come — but they're small and cozv. — MGM. TALL STORY campus romance Anthony Perkins Jane Fonda Ray Walston Anne Jackson Marc Connelly ■ If you're a co-ed and want to catch a hus- band try for a basketball star. You see, there are gamblers near every campus who try to bribe basketball stars. Co-ed Jane Fonda doesn't know anything about — well, nearly anything. She just wants to marry basketball star Tony Perkins. She knew that even before she met him. It's only a matter of weeks after she's met him that he proposes. Swell. But where will they get the money to move out of the dormitory and into a trailer? It just so happens that unseen gamblers offer Tony the money (and much more than he needs) if only he'll throw a game against visiting Russians. Tony is honest, but he's tempted. "My uncle is sending me money," he tells Jane. Somehow that doesn't sound right. It throws Tony into turmoil. Turmoil leads to his purposely flunk- ing a midterm exam so that he'll be disquali- fied for playing. The whole school rises against (Continued on page 12) KATE A BREATH OF PARIS ABOUT YOU-EVERY DAY! EVENING IN PARIS DEODORANT BOIM OR STICK 2F0R1 regular $L 50 value SHARE THE COMPLEXION SECRETS OF THE SCREEN STARS Liquid Makeup 39? also available in giant deluxe size 590 plus tax new movies (Continued from page 10) Professor Ray Walston (they want him to give Tony another exam). Walston won't. Not even when Tony tells about the bribe and his reasons for flunking? No. Not even when the Russians have a nineteen-point lead? Well — that's better. That's Tall Story.— Warners. EXPRESSO BONGO Laurence Harvey Sylvia Syms , , , Yolande Donlan wonderful satire Cliff Richard Meier Tzelniker ■ This is an hilarious comedy that takes place in London's Soho — a section full of espresso joints, seedy nightclubs, shady ladies. Laurence Harvey's a talent agent but his clients can't even keep him in salami sandwiches. For a couple of years he's been in love with a stripper (Sylvia Syms). She's a sweet school- girl type, wants to become another Judy Gar- land. That's her problem. Laurence wants to become a bigtime operator. Enter teen-ager Cliff Richards whose nagging mother drives him to the bongo drums (for solace) and to singing rock 'n' roll. Laurence signs him to a SO-SO contract. Then, by a series of outrageous and daring maneuvers, turns him into a na- tional idol. The money isn't pouring in long before a visiting American singer (on the way down) takes Cliff under her wing. Laurence is out in the cold — his 50-50 contract wouldn't stand up for one minute in any court. Teen-age fads, television, a whole segment of the enter- tainment world is brilliantly satirized. — Continental. HELLER IN PINK TIGHTS Sophia Loren Anthony Quinn Margaret O'Brien new twist on the Old West Steve Forrest Eileen Heckart ■ From the moment it starts you realize that Heller has a special charm. It's about show business in the Old West when performers traveled from one wild town to another in painted wagons — and often traveled fast, to lose their creditors or the sheriff. The heller is Sophia Loren, a gorgeous flirt, who plays all the star roles in Anthony Quinn's stock company. The plays are terrible (for the climax of one Sophia's tied to a white horse which is let loose in the theater) but the charm is that Quinn and company (Eileen Heckart, Margaret O'Brien, Edmund Lowe) are serious about their 'art.' Quinn loves Sophia; she loves excitement. She falls for the first hired gunman (Steve Forrest) she sees, but when he wins her in a poker game she gets scared — he's a man who collects. Owing money to everybody, it's into the wagons again for the company. Indians, mountain blizzards, stray gunmen, and Steve Forrest dog their trail. By the time they get to the next town they've lost everything — and Quinn is convinced he's lost Sophia to Forrest. The acting is excellent, the story is solid and colorful with many satiric touches. — Paramount. BABETTE GOES TO WAR Brigitte Bardot Jacques Charrier BB in the secret service Ronald Howard Francis Blanche Hannes Messemer ■ BB wears clothes all through this movie, which should have ruined the movie but didn't. Takes place in 1940 when the Germans occu- pied France. BB manages to be in London at the time where she serves as charwoman at Free French Forces headquarters. (The reason she submits to the khaki and mop is because Jacques Charrier is a lieutenant in those forces.) One day British Major Ronald How- ard notices that BB bears an uncanny re- semblance to the ex-girlfriend of a German general (Hannes Messemer) who just happens to be planning the invasion of England. Much against the better judgment of Charrier (who thinks BB is cute but stupid) Brigitte and a radio set are dropped from a plane outside Paris. The idea is for her to find Messemer and kidnap him. That way the Germans will think he deserted (with the invasion plans) and they'll have to dream up a whole new invasion. While Charrier (who jumped in another para- chute) is still getting off the ground at his end of Paris, BB is sending radio messages from her own bedroom at Gestapo headquar- ters where she has become the protegee of Gestapo leader Francis Blanche (who, as a lunatic rolypoly monster, steals the picture). He notices an uncanny resemblance between BB and Messemer's ex-girl and instructs BB to dazzle Messemer and report every move he makes Poor Messemer doesn't have a chance because he, too, notices an uncanny re- semblance etc. Needless to say, BB, gay and Gallic all the way, almost singlehandedly stems the German invasion. — Columbia. THE MOUNTAIN ROAD James Stewart Glenn Corbett Lisa Lu trouble in China Frank Silvera Henry (Harry) Morgan ■ This road is uphill all the way. It wind; through East China and where it ends nobody knows. But Major James Stewart knows his job: It's to slow down the Japanese who are advancing just a little behind the retreating Allies. Well, he and his crew of eight demoli- tion experts get to work lighting fuses. First they blow up an Allied airstrip, then a Chinese bridge, then a curve in the road, then an am- munition dump. It would be good clean work if there weren't so many Chinese civilian; around. These Chinese civilians get in the way of all that dynamite and it's pretty trying on James. Somewhere along the road his jeep has picked up (by official request) the widow (Lisa Lu) of a Chinese General and she and James indulge in a continuous, if well-man- nered, argument. It boils down to: he likes his job, she doesn't like his job. What James doesn't like is the fact that two of his crew are murdered by Chinese bandits, and the fact that starving Chinese trample on — and kill — crewman Glenn Corbett while he's in the act of giving them food. War is hell, as they say. It's even worse when you can't tell your friends from your enemies. That's James' problem. — Columbia. TOO SOON TO LOVE teen-age romance Jennifer West Richard Evans Warren Parker Ralph Manza Jacqueline Schwab ■ The way to keep teen-agers down in Los Angeles is to set the police on them. Minute they park in a car — police. Minute they gather in groups of two— police. Never mind, some kids are dangerous. Jennifer West and Richard Evans are not. They're just in love. Jennifer's father (Warren Parker) would probably beat her black and blue if she even mentioned the word. That's why she and Richard meet secret- ly. Too often. Jennifer's mother never told her you can get pregnant that way. Too bad. Be- cause when Jennifer gets pregnant she feels like committing suicide, dreadful thought. Richard isn't very happy about it, either. Their idyllic romance turns somewhat sordid. The acting's fine but the problems the movie presents might have done with a little more analyzing. — U-I. MAN ON A STRING the spy game Ernest Borgnine Kerwin Mathews Colleen Dewhurst Alexander Scourby Vladimir Sokoloff ■ Ernest Borgnine is just a well meaning, rich Hollywood producer. If the Chief of the Rus- sian Espionage in the U.S.A. (Alexander Scour- by) pays for the parties Ernest gives and then gets introduced to influential guests — is that bad? Ernest doesn't think it's bad as long as Scourby lets Pop (Vladimir Sokoloff) and Ernest's brothers leave Russia. The Central Bureau of Intelligence shortly informs Ernest that what he is doing is not only bad it's prac- tically treason. In which case Ernest agrees to work for the CBI as a counter-spy. (Even so, he's kind of upset when he discovers that his production assistant, Kerwin Mathews, has been a CBI agent all along.) Being a movie producer, it doesn't seem suspicious for Ernest to shoot a film in West Berlin (meanwhile he picks up information on East Berliners). Then he's invited to Moscow where his old friend, Scourby, vouches for his loyalty. There he's taken on a grand tour of a super-spy school and memorizes the names and descriptions of all his future contacts in the U.S.A. Naturally, it's only a matter of time before the Russians realize he's spying on them instead of for them. He gets out of Moscow, all right, but he has a heck of a time getting out of East Ber- lin (in handcuffs). Fascinating to see how our spy system works (hidden TV sets, hidden mikes, hidden tape recorders); fascinating to see how theirs works, too: particularly since this movie is based on a true story. — Columbia. RECOMMENDED MOVIES: SOLOMON AND SHEBA (Cinemascope, United Artists): Way back when Solomon ( Vul Brynner) was King of Israel, and Sheba (Gina Lollobrigida) was Queen of . . . well, you know, everyone was doing fine until Egypt's Pharoah got worried over Israel's prosperity. Solomon's older brother (George Sanders) had been plotting against him; but when Sheba and Pharoah join forces, Yul is really in trouble. His trials include blasphemous 'sacred' orgies, and the destruction of a temple (in which Marisa Pavan was praying for Yul). But, in these days of visions, Yul sees how to destroy his enemies, and Gina repents her sins. It's a lavish spectacle! VISIT TO A SMALL PLANET (Paramount): Other-galaxy man Jerry Lewis is crazy about Earth. One day he flies down in his disc, and lands on the lawn of TV commentator Fred Clark. Clark is about to broadcast his views that such things as Jerry and his saucer don't exist. Well, Jerry shows him, his daughter {Joan Blackman), and her jealous suitor (Earl Holliman) a trick or two before he leaves. Keeps you laughing. GUNS OF THE TIMBERLAND (Warners): Alan Ladd and Gilbert Roland are loggers. When they come to this town and want to chop some trees, every- body's mad at them. Why? Rancher Jeanne Crain tells how no trees on the mountains mean floods in the town. Lyle Bettger. her foreman, tries his darndest to do in Alan's plans. Frankie Avalon, a likeable sort, helps solve the problem. THE GALLANT HOURS (United Artists): This is a tribute to Admiral William F. Halsey Jr.'s long career, and a aood war movie. Halsey saved Guadal- canal from the Japanese, and his daring and decisive- ness earned the admiration of his staff (here, played by Dennis Weaver, Les Tremayne, Walter Sande, Karl Swenson). Cagney's leadership, 'ourage, and everyone's awareness of the high stakes add great WHOEVER YOU ARE YOU'RE IN THIS PICTURE! Because this tells of youth's challenge to grown-ups who don't understand! : "One mistake L "My kisses aren't 'M doesn't make me B going to pay a scarlet woman!" ; rent for the ring m ■ you gave me!" ■ "We don't love people because they're perfect... we'd have no one to love!" His first film role! Columbia Pictures presents the movie you've been hearing about on Radio and TV! fa 9i Michael Callan Tuesday Weld and Victoria Shaw »,.« Warren Berlinger- Roberta Shore ............. GUEST STARS •*»•«•»«»•♦»•*«« James Darren • Duane Eddy and the Rebels : Hear James Darren sing "Because They're Young" ♦ Don't miss the Academy Awards TV show April 4th. Check your local newspaper for time and station. H ! Wear it off the shoulder — on the shoulder — strapless. That's one joy of this convertible corselette! Another joy: a zipper that zips in front! Also, there's the chic of a plunged hack, the subtle deception of padded cups. Sound expensive? Actual cost is just $12.50. So even on a no-car income you can afford CAPRI by BEST FORM BIT LYLB KBNYON EXGEL The Nation's Top Disk Jockeys pose a series of questions to see if you know your record stars. 1. The singing of these two young brothers is hailed by teenagers. One was born in 1937 , the other in 1939. Million- record sellers of theirs were Wake Up, Little Susie and Bird Dog. 2. This curly-headed songster records for Roulette, has Jack Lacy Station WINS New York, N. Y. hobbies guitar. been on TV piano and fib; Hi are Two million- record sellers were Kisses Sweeter Than Wine and Honeycomb. 3. He's a singer on the Columbia label. He writes songs and insists that his hobby is fishing: One great single is I Walk The Line. His lat- est hit is Little Drum- mer Boy Johnny Johnson Station KOY Phoenix, Ariz. Paul Flanagan Station WPTR Albany, N. Y. 4. This songstress is a former ballerina. She records for |^BHB| MGM and is married to con- ductor Acquaviva Ho latest W 1 album is Sings Sweet. 5^ *1 Her latest single is Little Things Mean A Lot. Past jL-f • hit single* nere Your Cheat- v ing Heart and Why Don't You Believe Me? ^Hfl^Fh so relaxed that some people wait for him to fall asleep while he sings on his TV show. He records for RCA Victor, and he used to be a barber. G. At ten, he played piano by ear, sang in New Orleans' honky-tonks. His recording company is Im- perial. One great single was Blueberry Hill. His latest album is Twelve Million Records. 7. She is known as the greatest jazz singer of our time. She records for Verve Records, was once married to Chick Webb. She's been seen on TV and in films. The song that cata- pulted her to fame was A Tisket, A Tasket. ouiutoQ stvj -g S3UtV£ mof TO »"»'"(«/ "£ Jim Mack Station WJBW New Orleans, La. MODERN SCREEN'S 8 PAGE GOSSIP EXTRA by HOLLYWOOD'S GREATEST COLUMNIST Louella asks the critics to please give Fabian a chance and stop attacking his act- ing and his singing. He's a -nice kid, she declares; he deserves a hand— not a boot. !! » Prediction: Marlon and France will Marry Now that the smoke is beginning to clear around the big romantic explosion of the year and we can see the situation a little more clearly, I'm going out on a limb and make a prediction: That Marlon Brando and France Nuyen will marry as soon as his divorce is final in May. Perhaps before that, if he can enlist the aid of Anna Kashfi (she has to give permission for a 'quickie' divorce in Nevada) — which I doubt. Anna just isn't in the frame of mind to cooperate. Certainly l'aftaire Brando-Nuyen-and Bar- bara Luna has been the big story in the love realm out of Hollywood in months and months. For the press it had everything — famous names, jealousy, a headline phrase "compul- sive eating" (which first appeared in my front page story ), and money — a S750.000 loss to producer Ray Stark when France had to be re- placed in his The World of Suzie Wong be- cause she had gained so much weight from compulsive eating, worrying over Marlon and Barbara back in Hollywood. Unless you've been hibernating in a cave like the bears during these winter months, I'm sure you are familiar with the details: Marlon and France were apparently very much in love when she left for Hong Kong to start the screen version of her Broadway hit. The World ot Suzie Wong, opposite Bill Holden. Then, it starts getting talked that Brando is seeing Barbara Luna, former girl- friend of Vic Damone Maybe in way off Hong Kong, France didn't hear this gossip — but she most certainly did when the company got to London to film the interiors. If you can believe what you hear — France meets emotional problems by eating, eating, eating, and the first thing you know she had added so much poundage she didn't "match" up with the Hong Kong exteriors — and she was removed from the part — practically a million- dollar decision and loss to the producer. There is, however, an element of mystery here. A friend of mine, a reporter who had gone to London expressly to interview France for a national magazine, tells me she talked with the half-Chinese, half-French charmer fhe day previous to her departure, " — and she didn't look fat to me. At least, not fat enough to be removed from a role that was practically completed." Second element adding to the puzzle came after I talked over the telephone to Barbara Luna, herself an exotic Oriental, half-Filipino and half-Hungarian. "I don't know what all the fuss is about." she told me, "I've been out of town over the Since Fro do has be ? Nuyen's return to Hollywood, Moody Marlon Bran- devotion itself to his emotionally-npset girlfriend. week end and knew nothing about this storm until I returned yesterday. "I'm not in love with Marlon Brando but I do admire and respect him. I haven't heard from him since all the commotion started. Yes. my name has been submitted to Ray Stark to replace Miss Nuyen in the picture, but I doubt I'll get the part." (She didn't. The girl who made the original test for the picture. Nancy Kwan. did.) Away planed Marlon to New York to meet his "emotionally upset, plus bronchitis victim- ized" girlfriend, France, as she planed in from England. Since her return to Hollywood he has been devotion itself, dining with France nightly in the out-of-the-way spots and being most sym- pathetic. From all I can gather, France needs friend- ship and help. Long before she was taken off the film, there were reports that she was very, very difficult, some people close to the situation saying she was doing all she could to be a "female Brando." Her outbursts reached the unreasonable stage in London when she blew a fuse over being quartered in the Connaught Hotel, which is one of the finest in London and where the rest of the cast including Bill Holden was staying. Many people feel faintly sorry for her. What- ever the cause. France has 'blown' a great op- portunity— there are few and far between roles as fine for an Oriental girl as The World of Suzie Wong. On the other hand there are others, Barbara Luna among them, who feel France has been her own worst enemy. "Mar- lon never mentioned her name to me," said Barbara, "I don't know her at all — so I can- not say whether I feel sorry for her or not." My personal reaction is this: It's a shame she lost Suzie — but in the long run France may gain what she apparently wants most — Mar- lon Brando. Las Vegas Highjinks All roads lead to Las Vegas this month. With Oceans 11, starring Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin. Sammy Davis. Jr. and Peter Lawford, shooting there with a host of guest stars, the gambling mecca was jammed with Hollywoodites and fans from all over the country. The big show, of course, was the nightly appearance of Frank, Pete, Dean and Sammy, (plus that wonderful Joey Bishop) on the stage at the Sands Hotel — and you never heard or saw such wonderful clowning as these top- notchers breaking each other up at every per- formance. To give you an idea, during a sentimental song of Frank's Dean Martin called from the wings, "And now we'll hear two words from Eva Marie Saint!'' The week end I spent in Las Vegas it was hard to tell whether there was a better show on the stage or in the audience. Even those stay-at-homes, Joanne Wood- ward and Paul Newman, came down to see the fun. I always thought Joanne a pretty girl. But she is so glowingly happy since her marriage to Paul, she's really beautiful these days. Her hair is very blonde (for her role in From The Terrace^ and the night I saw her she was wearing an orange-pink evening gown — by far the prettiest girl in the room (or the chorus). Joanne told me that when she and Paul com- plete Terrace, she's getting ready to be just "Mrs. Newman." She said, "When Paul leaves for Israel to mcke Exodus, I'm going along just as his wife. Remember when you interviewed me in New York (for Modern Screen) I told you I didn't want any long separations in our marriage. So, I'm going along just for the ride," she laughed. Shirley MacLaine was bounding around here, there and everywhere. She had come to Vegas to do a small guest appearance role in Oceans 1 1 with Frank — and Miss Shirley was having a ball. The little Mexican comedian, Cantinflas is such a dear. Chatted with him right after the show at the Sands and he invited me to be a 'guest' in his picture! My typewriter keeps me too busy. Mrs. Peter Lawford was in a party with her distinguished brother, Senator Jack Kennedy, who is running as fast as he can to be the Democratic presidential nominee. Joey Bishop said from the stage, directly to the Senator: "If you become President, sir, I have a few requests — just simple ones: Make Sinatra ambassador to Italy, send Lawford to England — and for me — just see I don't get drafted again." Las Vegas is always jumping. But I wonder if it will ever hit this peak of on-stage and off- stage excitement again. Wow! Joanne and Paul enjoyed the big show the Oceans 11 cast put on at the Sands. The stars: Peter Laxoford; Frank Sinatra; Dean Martin; Sammy Davis, Jr.; the producer, Jack Entratter; and comedian Joey Bishop. Sammy and Frankie applauded the others; they all were great. Senator John Kennedy (center) chatted with his sister Pat and her husband, Peter Laic ford. continued PARTY of the month Never have the Hollywood juveniles had it so exotic as the Oriental costume party Lita and Rory Calhoun hosted for daughter Cindy's third birthday. The entire nursery so- cial set was there, turned out in Oriental splendor — and never have you seen anything so cute. To show you how far this Oriental angle was carried out, the hostess, Miss Cindy Calhoun, and her sister Tami had a regular studio hair- dresser do their hair in Eastern style — and when Lita first saw her Cindy she didn't rec- ognize her child in the black wig and make-up. Carrie Frances Fisher and her brother Todd were done up in Japanese costumes Debbie Reynolds had bought for them in Honolulu. The little Fishers attended under the proud eye of their great-grandmother, Mrs. O. Harmon who was visiting Mrs. Maxine Reynolds. She told me she had never seen such adorable cos- tumes and such a children's dream of toys as highlighted the big Calhoun garden. There were hobby horses, big stuffed ani- mals including a life-size giraffe and elephant big enough for the children to ride. There was a merry-go-round playing tinkling tunes, bal- loons galore — and everyplace, everywhere were the 'little people' toddling around in their Japanese or Chinese togs. Keenan Wynn's two little girls, Hilda and Edwina, had fantastic eyebrows under their coolie hats. Keenan. who came with them, told me he had made them up. Charlie Robert Stack, son of Rosemary and Robert Stack, wanted no part of any of the little girls and ran away bawling when they came near. His big sister Elizabeth had herself a time, particularly when she sat down at the table and saw the big cake decorated in Orien- tal motif. Her eyes got as big as the cake. The table where the children sat was gaily decorated with every Japanese favor imag- inable and they brought squeals of delight from each and every little guest. Dean Martin's youngest, Gina, was the only one who did not come in Oriental splen- dor, selecting instead a ballet costume. She is the cutest thing you ever saw and as good as gold, never grabbing a thing off the table — which is more than I can say for some of the other Orientals. Jane Powell's three. Cissy, Jay and Lind- say, amused themselves — the two older ones playing ping-pong in a corner and the youngest just jumping up and down on a specially con- structed contraption. Two of my godchildren were done to the teeth, I mean Miss Dolly Madison (accom- panied by her parents Sheila and Guy Madi- son) and little Tami Calhoun, the cutest Ori- ental I ever saw. Dolly's older sisters Brigit and Erin were in Japanese kimonos with their long blonde hair falling to their shoulders. John Wayne's little Aissa was ill — so Lita sent her all the favors to make up to the young- ster for missing out on the big social event of the season. Got a chuckle out of Ricardo Montalban arriving by himself because his small son Victor had the flu and Georgiana had to nurse the young man. Ricardo had promised to bring home a blow by blow account of the event plus any favors he could pick up! One young lady I would love to have stolen was tiny Nikki Ericson, the John Ericson s beauty. What a darling and so well behaved. I missed seeing Yvonne De Carlo and her son Bruce who were late and arrived after I left. But I wouldn't have missed this party for anything! I Carrie Frances and Todd came in cos- tumes Debbie bought them in Honolulu. This is the banquet room that Lita and Rory Calhoun prepared in honor of their daughter Cindy's third birthday. The kids never had it so exotic. Mrs. Calhoun and little Miss Calhoun < right) chat with the Madison children. Gina Martin, Dean's youngest, came in a ballet costume. The Star Had to Go to Bed Sue and Alan Ladd invited a lew of us to dine at their home (really a beautiful place since Sue redecorated it) and see a special showing of Dog of Flanders. It's the first time I've been present at a movie party at which the star of the picture had to retire before the screening because of his tender years — and I do mean 11-year-old David Ladd. Right after dinner, David politely made the rounds shaking hands with the Gregory Pecks, pretty Margot Moore (leading lady of Wake Me When It's Over), her fiance Bob Radnitz — who produced Dog of FJanders, and the Hall Bartletts. To each and every one of us, he said (loud enough for Alan to hear). "I certainly hope you enjoy the picture. I'd like to stay up and see it myself, but — ." Alan didn't come up for air. The star of this delightful and enchanting movie about a boy and his dog departed slow- ly upstairs. But don't think for a moment that Sue and Alan aren't proud of their small fry. David is such a fine little actor. "If he keeps on being this much competition he's going to have to pay for his room and board," kidded Alan. The movie was made in Holland and Belgium and the backgrounds in color are so beautiful. Take my word for it that Dog of Flanders is worth your investment at the box office — a breath of clean, vigorous fresh air and beauty in the midst of too many smutty plots. Sue and Alan Ladd are he's a tine little actor certainly proud of their David (center), in a delightful movie— Dog of Flanders I'm on my SOAP BOX continued Eva Marie Saint is a fine person, but hates being called 'nice.' A OPEN LETTER To Eva Marie Saint Ii you think I'm on a soap box to lecture you about that headlined 'word' you used at the Producer's Dinner, you are mistaken. I've known you ever since you came to Hollywood and I know you to be a fine mother, wife and actress — and a very 'nice' person as well, as much as you hate being called 'nice.' But, my dear, never be afraid to say "I'm sony." So far, you've said everything else. When I talked with you over the phone the following morning, you said: "You've known me well enough to know I don't ordinarily use such language. "I had expected Jack Benny to say just a few words introducing me — instead he made such a flowery speech, including how George Jessel would have said it, that I didn't think I could reply with a mere 'thank you.' "It was a closed party, that is, no TV or radios, and I thought I was among friends. I guess I wanted to 'top' Mr. Benny, a dramatic impulse of an actress — and well, it just popped out! "But with all the important things happening all over the world — they've sure made a big fuss about me on the front pages." And you are right, there was a lot of com- ment— some being indulgent and excusing you, others having the proverbial 'fit' gasping, "Eva Marie Saint of all people!" Well, so much for the unfortunate slip itself — and the ensuing reaction. But afterward, there were some stories print- ed that you woke up in the middle of the night laughing about it, and there were other stories insinuating that you didn't really care about saying that word. I don't believe it. But I do think that if you ever get in a spot like this again (heaven forbid") it would be so easy — and so like the real Eva Marie Saint, to say that one little phrase, "I'm sorry." For heaven's sake, let's give Fabian a chance. These kind words on my part are not payola because he sends me red roses by the dozens and is also so very grateful when I print anything complimentary about him. I happen to know that he is very hurt over much of the criticism he has taken about his movie acting. But it is in his favor that he isn't becoming difficult or temperamental about it. He told me, "I guess getting panned is doing me good. I want to be deserving of the chance I'm getting at 20th. I'm now studying with Sandy Meisner in the hopes of getting some pleasant nods from the critics instead of their disapproval." Despite his enormous popularity as a singer, he doesn't claim to be the greatest warbler on the pike. "I caught on;" he admits, "I'm lucky." Such a nice kid deserves a hand — not a boot. He's only 17 — and it's to his everlasting credit that this big success hasn't gone to his head. He doesn't talk about it much, but he feels he has a debt \o aid other young people. He and Frankie Avalon hope to raise S750.000 from their records and personal appearances to go to youth centers around the country. And while he has been shooting High Time, his college campus movie with Bing Crosby, at Stockton, California, not a Sunday has gone by that Fabian hasn't visited the Stockton Boys' Home to put on a show for these less fortunate boys. For his efforts in their — and his own — behalf I repeat — let's give this boy a great big chance. He deserves it. Fabian's hurt about those crac 20 (Left to right): Barbara Fredrickson Crosby cuts the cake; groom Lindsay, Philip and Sandra Crosby, Dennis and Pat Crosby, and maid-oj -honor Nina Vaughn smile; Gary Crosby, the unmarried brother, ponders the situation. Another Crosby Settled During the height of the quite formal recep- tion Bing and Kathy Crosby gave for Linny Crosby and his bride Barbara Frederickson (nothing served but wedding cake and vintage champagne), Bing came downstairs carrying his only daughter, infant Mary Frances. "Note how good I am at this," he kidded, "complete support of her spine and her head doesn't wobble because I have it in a hammer lock." Bing's a happy man these days with a little girl in his life and all those old feuds with his sons settled. Millie and Dean's Confusing Romance I'm confused about all this pussyfooting se- crecy in the romance of Millie Perkins and Dean Stockwell Here are two healthy, happy young people, obviously very much in love, who carry on their nice boy-and-girl romance as though it were some sort of illicit grande passion. Even when they first started dating in Holly- wood, while Millie was making Diary ot Anne Frank, they entered small restaurants by the back door. If photographers showed up they fled like a pair of guilty married (to someone else) lovers. Why? Not long ago, when Millie returned from visit- ing Dean in London where he is working in Sons and Lovers, she moved into his home. Nothing wrong with that. Dean wasn't in this country and why shouldn't Millie use the house until he returned? Yet, when a press agent at 20th called her there, Millie disguised her voice saying, 'Miss Perkins no livvee here,' or something like that. Someone who was in London on Dean's pic- ture told me that when he innocently inquired of Millie if she and Dean expected to marry in England she looked as though he had said something risque and turned her back. Dean managed to stand up under it better and ad- mitted they are engaged before walking away. I hope her first and only movie starring role, playing Anne Frank and hiding out in a garret so long, hasn't rubbed off on Millie. Doesn't she know, as Mr. Shakespeare put it, "all the world loves a lover" — particularly when the romancers are such nice, wholesome youngsters as Dean and Millie. . .? .."All the world loves a lover," but Millie Perkins and Dean Stockwell don't want the world to know about their romance. Many fans were heartbroken about the death of Margaret Sullavan. Bing Crosby handed out lots of laughs to the fans following him. Tuesday Weld just might be a lot smarter than we all think. . . . W| LETTER BOX Are you sure Tuesday Weld isn't foxing all you columnists by being a lot smarter than you think? A year ago, no one had ever heard ot this girl. Today she is nationally and internationally known as the girl who showed up barefoot on a TV show, who never combs her hair, etc. Her salary has jumped by leaps and bounds. Dumb? 1 wish 1 were so dumb! is the pertinent comment of Claire Kelly (no re- lation to the movie star) of Duluth. Maybe you've got something there, Claire. . . . Bevehly Edwards, Orinda, California, writes: J offended fhe Bing Crosby Golt Tournament in Monterey — yes, in all that storm and downpour. I had always heard that Bing was cold and stand-offish. He couldn't have been nicer to me and he and Phil Harris certainly handed lots ot laughs to the crowds that followed the players. I love Bing. I'm sure Mr. Crosby thanks you, Beverly. . . . 7 dare you fo print this: It makes me sick the the way you writers harp on Marlon Brando's hassles with Anna Kashfi and his 'love life' with France Nuyen and Barbara Luna, snaps Katrina Boyer, Brooklyn. The only important thing about Marlon is that he is the screen's greatest actor! It's Marlon making the news about his love life, my fine friend, not the writers. We just report it. . . . Diana Dixon, Atlanta, cried my eyes out when / read of the death of my beloved Margaret Sullavan and learned of her serious deafness. I am not a teen-ager, in fact, I am the mother of four small children. But no actress of the screen ever gave me so much pleasure as the incomparable Margaret and I shall never forget her. Your sentiments are echoed by many others who remember Mar- garet in her heyday and who grieve over her passing, Diana. . . . Where, oh where is John Kerr? He's the greatest in South Pacific. Yet Hollywood lets him get away — and Modern Screen isn'f much beffer. No stories on him, complains Theresa McNeill, Dallas. I agree John is great but I'll be darned if I know where he is. This is an old query — but still many people ask the question posed by Mrs. Sam Feinberg, Cleveland: Whaf do fhe stars do with their old clothes either from their personal or studio wardrobe? Can the public buy them? Some stars give their clothes outright to charity or- ganizations, Mrs. Sam. Others give them to be sold by charity organizations which maintain small shops. But most of the clothes worn by actresses go back into the studio wardrobe departments to be remodeled for "extras" or lesser players. And there are always relatives to inherit personal wardrobes of the stars. Do you fhink Doris Day is really shy or is she just using this as a means for escaping personal appearances, charity affairs and other outside interests? asks Vivien McCary of Walla Walla, Wash. I think Doris is shy — but I also think she dislikes very much making appearances, although she isn't as retiring as she used to be. . . . There were more comments about Carol Lynley than any of the new young femmes this month — all of them good. Shelley Chester, of Los Angeles, says: Carol's face is tender and beautiful — she is indeed Younger Than Springtime and she is our next big woman star — when she becomes a woman. . . . Maybe you and American fans might be in- terested in letter from German girl, Christa Walz, h'ving in Stuttgart, Germany, and how we feel about USA stars, writes this same Christa Walz. We like very much Marlon Brando but also Pat Boone who are of a difference, no? So far, only read about Fab- ian, Paul Anka, Ricky Nelson and this 'Kookie' but we want to know better. You can see, we are very dated. Not dated, Christa, you mean 'up-to-date.' And yes, we enjoy knowing about your favorites. That's all this month. See you next month. MAY BIRTHDAYS If your birthday falls in May. your birthst'one is the emerald and your flower is the lily of the valley. And here are some of the stars who share your birthday : May l— Glenn Ford May 2— Bing Crosby May 4— Audrey Hepburn May 6— Stewart Granger May 7— Gary Cooper May 8— Lex Barker May 15— Anna Maria Alberghetti Ursula Thiess Joseph Gotten James Mason May 16— Henry Fonda Liberace May 17— Dennis Hopper May May May May 20— George Gobel James Stewart 21— Raymond Burr Rick Jason 22— Susan Strasberg Laurence Olivier 23— Joan Collins Betty Garrett John Payne May 24— Mai Zetterling May 25— Jeanne Crain Susan Morrow Victoria Shaw Steve Cochran 26— James Arness John Wayne May May May 31— Elaine Stewart 25— Carroll Baker Sally Forrest Maureen O'Sullivan Vincent Price May 17 May 27 BRA BY PERM A-LIFT Adorned with Self- Fitting Cups Blessed with the Neveride Band See how the Magic Insets gently cradle your bosom from the sides and from below, gloriously lifting you to bewitching new lines. Self-Fitting cups con- form to your exact size and the "Perma-lift" Neveride Band holds your bra in place always. Long line style of wash 'n' wear cotton, $5. Bandeau Bra $3. At nice stores everywhere. t. Off. A product of A. Stein & Company • Chicago— New York— Los Angeles— Toront ■ Three of the fellows in Donna Reed's son's gang started to take newspaper routes, because their father, a self-made, very successful business man, wanted them to "know how to work." It was getting pretty lonely, young Reed thought, with half the gang gone, "out working," so he figured he might as well get himself a route, too. Donna, who has always been very careful not to let her kids be spoiled by money or by her fame, thought it was a fine idea. Teach them independence, initiative, self- reliance, perseverance, conscientiousness. Donna was certainly proud of her boy. Meantime, the last remaining boy in the bunch was the loneliest, and longed to join in what "everybody else is doing." But his father, an arc-self-made millionaire — couldn't see any reason for any son of his to be delivering newspapers and wouldn't give his consent. So most of the time, the boy was either moping around the mansion waiting for the other guys to be free, or else hanging around Donna Reed's house, waiting for his buddies to come home from the route. The next week, Donna noticed that the millionaire's son didn't come around any more, and that her own son got back from delivering all those papers pretty quickly. She was worried that maybe his original enthusiasm was lagging, that he was tired of the job and cutting corners now, to get it over with . . . And where was all that perseverance and conscientiousness? So she gently probed him: "Darling, you're still with your newspaper route, aren't you?" "Sure, Mom." "Well, uh, you do take time to get close enough to the house so that the paper lands on the porch, don't you? I mean, you don't just rush by and aim at the lawn, or the driveway . . .?" "No, Mom, honest." Well, that seemed to be that, and then one day Donna happened to be outside around delivery time, and discovered the secret of her speedy young business man. There was the limousine, belonging to the millionaire, and the millionaire's son, and the chauffeur, and the "hard-working" guys in the gang, and they all had just returned from their routes. And who do you think ran the papers up to the porches? You guessed it, the chauffeur. Donna Reed: SMART BUSINESS- MAN, THAT BOY OF HERS (Continued from page 7) Can't our friends go elsewhere to hunt?" He didn't answer her immediately, then he asked her to let him sleep on it. When she approached him about it the next day, he admitted, "I just can't stop it. It's . . . it's a tradition. How can I put an end to something as deeply rooted as that?" "Oh my dear," the Princess said, "I have prayed to St. Francis, the patron saint of the birds, to show me what is right, and I believe my prayers are answered. I know, deep in my heart, that this is murder, that we are sanctioning destruction of God's beauty right here on our estate." The Prince had no reply. The following morning, after the usual round of gunfire from the hunters, Prin- cess Grace went to the Prime Minister to seek his advice. He was very sympathetic but suggested she talk to the Prince. The Prime Minister looked at her kind- ly, lifted his right hand to adjust his silver pince-nez, and said, "In this matter, Your Royal Highness, you can probably exer- cise the greatest influence." When she talked to the Prince again he said he needed time to think about it. And all through the following months of Octo- ber and November the hunting continued. December arrived with cold winds, snow. Gifts were to be chosen for her staff, for her own dear children, for her beloved Prince. Two weeks before Christ- mas, when she told him she had ordered a white Jaguar convertible as a gift for him, she smiled and added, "My darling, the greatest gift you can give me this year is — " He lifted a finger to her lips and stopped her sentence short. "Wait!" he said. "I have a surprise for you. But I can't tell you until Christmas Day." "But—" "Please," he begged. "Wait!" On Christmas morning, she awaited his gift with anticipation. The Prince gave her a diamond tiara with teardrop earrings. The diamonds were dazzlingly beautiful, and she was thrilled, but what she wanted for Christmas was. . . . "This isn't all," the Prince added, inter- rupting her thoughts as she admired the tiara and the earrings. He handed her a large ivory parchment envelope. "Read this," he said. Removing the crinkling sheet of parch- ment from the envelope, she began read- ing, and her heartbeat quickened from a sudden, overwhelming happiness. It was a Royal Decree with an official seal, signed with the Prince's flourishing signature. for all hunting on palace grounds to termi- nate commencing this Christmas Day. "It was what you told me about St. Francis that convinced me," the Prince admitted. She looked up, into the Prince's twinkling eyes. She murmured a prayer of thanksgiving to the patron saint of the birds, and. smiling, she stepped forward to meet her husband's tender embrace. END PHOTOGRAPHERS' CREDITS The photographs appearing in this issue are credited below page by page: 4 — Ed. Quinn. A. W. Ambler of Nafl. Audubon Society: 15— Vista Photos; 16 — Wide World; 17 — UPI. Dave Sutton of Galaxy; 18-19 — Globe, Nat Dallinger. Gilloon: 20 — Gilloon; 21 — UPI; 22 — UPI, Gilloon, Don Ornitz of Globe; 26 — Ken Regan: 29-31 — Topix. David Preston, Len Weissman: 32-33 — Topix, Alfred Wertheimer: 34-37 — Larrv Schiller: 39 — Gilloon, Nat Dal- linger; 42-43 — Topix, Gene Trindl: 44-46 — N. Y. Daily News. Acme Photo. UPI. Wide World; 48-49 — Topix. Vista Photos. Sandy Har- ris: 50 — Wagner-International; 57 — Friedman- Abeles: 58 — Topix, Curt Gunther; 60 — Frances Orkin. world's fastest natural tan! MFWIE Want a honey of a tan in a hurry ? There's only one lotion with a tanning booster that gives you a faster, natural tan. . . and no burning or peeling. It's Tanfastic! And what better way to show off your Tanfastic tan than in the swimsuit above —"Tanfastic" by White Stag! creamy, ivhite available everywhere handy tubes or plastic squeeze bottle GET NEWEST 45 POP RECORD "SHE'S TANFASTIC!" with Bobby's "Moment of Love" on the flip side! Send 5CR for each record, with your name and address, to: Tanfastic. Box 4A, Hollywood, California (Offer expires December 31. 1960. Void where taxed, prohibited, or otherwise restricted.) ■ The ceremony was in the lovely candle-lit Our Lady Chapel of St. Patrick's Cathedral, on New York City's Fifth Avenue. Not quite the wedding of Evy's dreams— not in her own church, back home in Denmark, with her own family at her side— but still, dignified, reverent, beautiful. Jimmy's too-full schedule would not let him travel, and Evy had waited a long, long time for this marriage. She had wanted it to be right, to be for- ever. Now she was done with waiting. There was no telling how long it would be before Jimmy could go to Copen- hagen; her family would understand, and Evy and Jimmy would visit them when they went to Europe— as man and wife. Jimmy's father had taken her aside and said gently, "You will be like a daughter to me,'' and so it was he who j gave the bride away. The photographers (the very few i who were admitted, by personal in- jvitation only) respected the Church's ruling of "No flashbulbs." No re- porters, no autograph hunters, to dis- turb the beauty of the ancient rite. Jimmy and Evy wanted to cooperate with the press, though, and planned to pose on the church steps immediately after the wedding. But they were met with a mob of squealing girls, crying, "Jimmy, don't leave us," and trying to kiss him. Some representatives from the studio had been waiting by the car, keeping the motor running, ready to rush the newlyweds off to the pri- vate reception. Now they couldn't even 26 help. The mob of fans and photog- Evy Norlund— Jimmy Darren raphers had surged around Jimmy and Evy with such force that they were gradually being pushed, not in the direction of the waiting car, but into the church fence. Photographers shoved through, shouting directions. "Hey, Evy, over here, let's have a smile . . . Hey, Evy, give us a few words on how it feels to be Mrs. Darren. . . ." At that moment Jimmy bent to whisper something to a sweet-faced, middle-aged woman, and a photograph- er yelled, "Hey, lady, get out of the way, I'm trying to get a shot of the bride and groom." Jimmy could take no more. "Get this straight," he said firmly, coldly, as he put his arm protectively around the woman. "Don't talk to my mother that way or there'll be no pictures at all. . . ." The couple finally managed to get to the car, despite the girls who strug- gled to touch him through the open window. They were still calling. "Jimmy, don't leave us," as they fol- lowed the limousine down the street. As they drove away, Jimmy tender- ly cupped Evy's face, so serious-look- ing now, in his hands and said, con- cerned, "I hope all that rumpus didn't upset you, Evy ; I hope it didn't spoil | your wedding day. . . ." She hushed him with a kiss. "No. my darling," she murmured, "I will remember always the beautiful mo- ents at the altar— that is what counts —and this: I have you. . . ." end Jimmy's in Columbia's Because They're Young. Is it true.. blondes have more fun? : - Your hairdresser will tell you a blonde's best friend is Just for the fun of it. be a blonde and see ... a Lady Clairol blonde with shining, silken hair! You'll love the life in it! The soft touch and tone of it! The lovely ladylike wav it lights up your looks. "With amazingly gentle Instant Whip Lady Clairol, it's so easv! Takes onlv minutes! And Ladv Clairol feels deliciouslv cool going on, leaves hair in wonderful condition— lovelier, livelier than ever. So if vour hair is dull blonde or mousev brown, why hesitate? Hair re- sponds to Lady Clairol like a man responds to blondes— and darling, that's a beautiful advantage! Trv it and see! NSTANT WHIP" Lady Clairol8Creme Hair Lightener Each curl and wave on this page came out of this bottle of protein waving shampoo (I wash'ii Wrlb#$^$f the greatest discovery Each model's hair was washed, suds left for five minutes, rinsed Since the home permanent! feS ? and set. Lovely, lustrous waves last from shampoo to shampoo. This picture of Terry Melcher was taken many years ago. Since then, there have been no public photographs, no discussion of him by his parents. Now— Modern Screen lifts the veil on Hollywood's best-kept f amilv secret "I do not want to talk about my private life!" For several years now, Doris Day has greeted interviewers with these words— and a charm- ing smile. "Tell us about Terry," the interviewer will persist, "I understand he's living at home now, and. . . ." But suddenly the interview- er will stop, feeling under the table the warning kick of the studio representative or press agent who attends such interviews with Doris, and noticing how Doris' charming smile has quickly disappeared into a frown. "Okay," he will say, "let's get on with it. Shall we talk about your latest record, or picture, or how about giving us your opinion of Rock Hudson?" And so it will go; small talk, small talk, small talk. For over the Melcher home a heavy cloud of se- crecy has been dropped— a cloud so heavy that many of Doris' most ardent fans are not aware she's a mother, few know that her son Terry is eighteen years old, and none of us have seen any pic- tures of Terry in the last few years. A few months ago, we at Modern Screen began to ask ourselves (and others) Why? And the harder we looked into the matter the stranger it all became. We learned that Terry's dad — a man named Al Jorden, di- vorced from Doris sixteen years ago, and whom we tracked down recently in Cincinnati — knew as little about his own son as we did. "Haven't seen the boy in twelve years now," he said. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have a recent picture of him, would you?" When we told him we did not — that no one did— Jorden said: "I'd like to see my boy. But I haven't been able to. I wonder what he's like now. I'd sure like to know." This spurred us on. Where was Terry now? What kind of boy was he? Why — why was his mother hiding him? The story that follows presents, for the first time in any magazine, the answer. . . . (Continued on page 66 > BRING ME BACK TO YOUR HOUSE, OH LORD SUDDENLY, IN ANSWER TO HIS PLEA, ELVIS FELT AN EASTER MIRACLE HAPPENING INSIDE HIS HEART... ■ The little old man stood along with the rest of the mob outside the Hollywood hotel where Elvis was staying. His was the only placid face of the group. He was the only one who did not speak. . "When's he coming?" some of the others, girls, would ask from time to time. Those who knew were proud to tell: "He had to do his TV rehearsal with Frank Sinatra this morning, don't y'understand? He had to go to the studio, too, to talk about his next picture. They had a big homecoming lunch for him at the commissary over at Paramount. It's prob- ably not even over yet. "But don't worry. He'll be here. Soon ... I hope!" The little old man listened. And he continued to wait. And he smiled when, final- ly, the big white Cadillac was seen coming down the long palm-lined street and the shout went up among the girls: "El-vis!!" He watched the famous young man as he stepped out of his car, as he waved at the mob. He watched the mob as it began to push closer around the famous young man. And then he, too, began to push. Old as he was, small as he was, he was at Elvis' side (Continued on page 72) Jl DI. THE LITTLE I I S «h j Young girls in Hollywood -seventh of a series Subject: Judi Meredith H j! LOVE - GODDESS ■ One recent morning, a white Plymouth convertible streaked out of Hollywood along Ventura Boulevard a few notches under the speed of light. At the wheel, Judi Meredith muttered "Darn!" when the cop wailed her down. She smoothed her wind-tossed auburn mop impatiently, turned up the radio full- blast to drown out the scolding, and sassily stuck out her hand for the ticket. Then she gunned off, dusting the cop's pants with her fender. The cop didn't like it at all. Two blocks later he flagged her again. This time Judi blasted away with a roar that knocked off his cap. The third time, the Law inquired ominously, "Where do you want to go, Lady — jail?" "No," stated Judi, leveling her hazel- green eyes. "I want to go to my job — and I'm late." This time she left him gasping in confusion and a puff of scorched rubber. That evening, when Judi Meredith got home, she dumped three speed tickets out of her purse, collected in almost as many minutes. She also opened a ribboned box on her doorstep and put the red roses in a vase. They {Continued on page 37) Judi Meredith — continued I'm the kind of girl who frightens people because if I love someone, I come right out and say I love you. came from the cop who'd flagged her down. That's a fair sample of saucy, sexy Judi Meredith's effect on men. On the record, it's devastating. In the five years since Judi hit Holly- wood, she's been engaged, officially, and unofficially, five times — to Troy Donahue, Wendell Niles, Jr. and Barry Coe, among others. In between, she's had so many dates she can't remember them. Frank Sinatra adores her and Bobby Darin does, too. Judi dates delightedly and (Continued on page 68) 37 SCOOP! ■ "Please write a story about Johnny Nash, and print his picture. We think he's marvelous." The letter was ad- dressed to Modern Screen and signed by six teen-age girls from Atlanta. That was four months ago, the first inkling we had that a new star was being born. We heard his records, A Very Special Love, As Time Goes By, Too Proud, but had no idea who he was. More letters came in, so we sent for photographs of this fellow Nash. We were not surprised to find he was a teen-ager. We were surprised that he was Negro . . . and delighted. We had known it was going to happen sooner or later. Belaf onte had paved the way. Johnny Mathis built himself a teen-age following, but sooner or later, some Negro boy had to come along who could hold his own with Fabian and Frankie Avalon, Tommy Sands, Bobby Darin, and from the streams of letters that were now coming in, we knew this boy was doing it. Johnny Nash was not simply another entertainer . . . he was something new in our world ... he was the first Negro to become a teen idol. (Continued on page 76) FIRST NEGRO TEEN IDOL! Diane McBain/ Brian Kelly, Cindy Robbins, and Mike Callan prove: WhEN Youi- arE Doubl§ ■ There comes a time in every girl's life when she's not in love and she sees no good reason why she should be in love ... at least not immediately. Things are just too pleasant the way they are. No madness, no lovers' rights, no sadness, no sleepless nights. But it's no easy matter to keep things in that euphoric state. At least that is what Diane McBain has (Continued on page 74) WHAT KILLED DIANA BARRYMORE? SLEEPING PILLS' ■ There was the name. Barrymore. She loved it, and she hated it. When she was proud she would proclaim, "It's bigness, it's life, it's everything beautiful about the theater, about the world, my world — really the only world." When she was miserable she would moan, "My father was a bum to me — I never really knew him. My uncle Lionel, I think I met him four times. My aunt Ethel was forever telling people She'd complained to her friends sleeping pills gave her no rest. about what an embarrassment I was. They all hate me. She's degrading us, they'd say; she's not living up to the name! Them and their pride — and their name, their great big lousy name!" She didn't have to take the name. Actually, she was born Joan Blythe, the daughter of John Blythe (John Barrymore's true name) and Blanche Oelrichs (a renegade society girl, a would-be writer, who married the famous actor and then, after the birth of her daugh- ter, embarked on a writing career and took the pen-name, Michael Strange). Born Joan Blythe, she could have remained Joan Blythe. But when, at eighteen, she decided to follow in the family tradition and become an actress, she told her agent that the name was to be OR THE HEARTBREAK? She couldn't hold first husband, Bram Fletcher. She tried mar- riage again, with John Howard. She threw her last husband, Robert Wilcox, out of her house. She hoped for hap- piness with Ten- nessee Williams. Barrymore. That was the way she wanted it. "Diana," she said, "after the name my mother has always called me by. And Bam-more, after him . . . my father. ..." And there was the booze. She loved the stuff, and she hated it. When she was happy, it was loathsome to her. "Who needs it?" she told a friend, two years ago, when she gave it up, temporarily. "It's got me looking five years older than my real age ithen thirty-six) ... I spend three-quarters of my time reeling ... I can't memorize a line after a couple of sips . . . It's making me fat . . . I forget names, places, thoughts ... I feel like hell just thinking about it." Yet, when things went wrong again, recently, she said, "I need it like I need the air to breathe, like a baby needs milk to stop it from crying. I need it for strength — there's nothing sweeter-feeling to my bones. I need it because I'm me, be- cause it's a curse — an inheri- tance, from my father, his father probably, way down the line. Because our middle name is A, for Alky " Men. There were men, too. They were nothing to her, at first. Then they were every- thing. As a young girl — when she was pretty, independent, a deb- utante-going -on -actress — she laughed them off. She didn't need them. They were rich, these men, most of them. Hand- some, some of them. Passionate, a few. "How they all bored me," she once said. "The world, my life ahead, had so much more to offer. Theater. Art. That was my life." But when, after a couple of years on Broad- way and in Hollywood, after her flops, after she began her drinking, after she realized that she needed something more than those early dreams, she turned to men, and love. At least, she tried. There were three disastrous marriages in the course of the next twelve years — one with an actor, one with a tennis player, one with a playboy. "Love," she mumbled, in 1955, after a suicide attempt, as two doctors stood over her, slowly pumping the powdered remains of twenty-one sleeping pills from her stomach, " — love . . . there's no such thing." She came close to it — once, later. Two years ago. She called him Tom, this man who seemed to come to her. His full name was Tennes- see (Continued an next page) She inherited the curse of alcohol, Diana said, from her father, John Barrvmore. FAMILY CURSE? WHAT KILLED DIANA BARRYMORE? Continued The Rev. Sidney Lanier pre- sided at the burial ; her friends felt Diana had found at last the peace she'd sought. . . . Williams. He was the most famous and successful play- wright in America, author of The Glass Menagerie, A Streetcar Named Desire, Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. They'd met just at the point when she thought, again, that every- thing was over. Despite her name, despite the success of her autobiography, Too Much, Too Soon, and the movie based on that autobiography, despite all this, she was having trouble getting work — more important, getting praise, encouragement. Then, from out of the blue, a pro- ducer-friend gave her a chance to do the lead in one of Williams' lesser works, Garden District, in a small theater in Chicago. Williams happened to be in town the night of the opening. He attended the performance. Afterwards, at a party, he approached Diana. No woman, he told her— not Vivien Leigh, not Jessica Tandy, not Julie Haydon, not Geraldine Page — no one, he said, had ever played any role of his the way she had, that night. They became immediately attached to one another, a news- paper columnist has written. Diana not only fell for Tennessee, but she was sure, from the way he talked, that his next play would have a starring part for her, get her back into the harness again. The 'next play' turned out to be Sweet Bird of Youth. The star- ring part — that of The Princess Kosmono- polis — went not to her, but to Geraldine Page. Diana was disappointed, to put it mildly. But still, she felt, she had 'Tom.' She did everything to please him. She changed her mode of dress to try to please him. She cut out a lot of the boisterousness. The drinking was definitely out — even the oc- casional nips. And she waited, hoped and prayed for the day he would want to turn their friendship into marriage. Only, recently, Tennessee told Diana that there could be no marriage. Neither he nor she, he told her, could ever expect to be happy people. Recently was obviously Christmas Eve of last year, 1959. That is the night Diana toppled off the wagon and took up drink again. That night, friends say, there was approximately a case and a half of Scotch in her New York apartment, nine or ten bottles of vodka, three or four (Continued on page 75) 46 PETTING AND PARKING "What's wrong with kids today?" is a question we've all heard often. But are the customs and morals of today's teen-agers really different from those of the past? We went to Annette Funicello and Frankie Avalon, two very nice and typical teen-agers, to learn what they consider sexually right and wrong. We owe .them both a debt of gratitude; although our questions were very intimate, their answers were very frank.. . ^ the facts of life in teen-age Hollywood third of a series Frankie Avalon: I pet... we're all human 1 1 1 !|| j 48 Q Are you really turning over a new leaf? A Oh, yes. IVe had it. Being fickle was fun when I was young, which wasn't so very long ago, I guess. But today I think I'm grown-up and have passed this baby-ish stage. I've started looking for the boy and don't go out very much any more. I don't care about it any more. Q What do you mean by 'it'? A Sex, I suppose. Q Hate you also stopped falling for older men — a habit which used to cause you great grief? A Yes. Long ago. It was another of the little girl problems I've outgrown. Q But there is one older man you can't erase from your memory, isn't there? A So, you found out about Jack. He's a handsome cameraman at the Disney Studios. I had a mad crush on him and he once promised to 'wait' for me. But when he got married last year I guess he forgot that promise. But I suppose he's just a part of the past. I'm trying to forget him. Q It's not easy, is it? A To be honest, no. I'm having a hard time convincing myself that it's all over. But it is. It was just another one of my silly crushes. Q You've had a lot of them, haven't you? A I used to fall in love every other week. Q There was also Guy Williams, wasn't there? A That was another crush. I see him all the time and we do publicity together. But that's it. Q From the past let's jump to the present. Rumor has it that three guys whose initials are P, F and F are sort of chasing you. Care to confirm the rumor? {Continued on page 80) Q Being on the road as much as you are, and on your own so much of the time, don't a lot of girls make advances to you? A They sure do ! Q Are most of the women younger, or older? A They vary. Q Are they obvious, or subtle? A Well — they're subtle yet obvious. If they know they're going to meet you, they'll do anything to get your attention. Some- times they ask a lot of questions. Sometimes they even ask you to come to their house for dinner. I've never accepted any of these invitations, although I would like to. But I can't afford to get into trouble, and since I don't know the people extending the imitation, I have no way of knowing what I'd be getting into if I did accept. Q Did anyone ever get into your bedroom while you were out, or while you were in? A No one has broken into my room, but they've made it to the door. I've come home and found fans waiting outside my door several times. Once they tried to break in, but I managed to hold the door and keep them out. Of course, then I couldn't leave! Another time I walked into my room and found three girls in it. Dumbfounded, -I wanted to know how they got in. They blithely answered that the maid had let them in. Now I always tell the maid, no matter where I am, not to let anyone in! Otherwise I could never tell when someone might be hanging around .... Q What was the hardest time you ever had getting rid of a fan? A I guess getting rid of those girls was about my worst {Continued on page 80) For the first time in any magazine the plain truth about It's almost two years now since the headline-making-, heart-breaking divorce of ock Hudson and Phyllis Gates. Since then Rock, who once squired Hollywood's oveliest young ladies around town, has steadily retreated from the world of ro- | nance. Deeply hurt by that ill-fated marriage, Rock has, like a wounded animal, kone off by himself to nurse his scars, scars that some people say will never heal. In k small remote beach community many miles from Hollywood, a place called Lido L'sle, Rock has made his sanctuary — a gorgeous home within whose walls the soft bound of a woman's voice is rarely heard. The home is Rock's alone, a home into which he has poured every ounce of his ^xtra energy, as though he knew deep in his heart that this was not to be the usual pakeshift bachelor quarters, which some future bride would refurnish to her own ;aste. With decorator Peter Shore, Rock has torn down interior walls to achieve at eat expense the special effects he's wanted; at night, when he's not recognized so Easily, he's roamed the streets window-shopping for paintings and furnishings; and pn free days he and Peter have traveled up and down the West Coast from San IDiego to San Francisco stopping at auctions, antique shops, junk shops, everywhere, to find the exact piece needed for some corner of his private sanctuary. Few people taiow what this sanctuary looks like inside, few people have stood in the grand airy living room with its muted shades of beige, white, mocha and burnt orange, and looked out onto the roaring ocean below — for the house is off-limits to members of the press and photographers. He surrounds it with secrecy, and only a certain group of his friends, close friends such as George Nader, and producer Ross Hunter, are invited there. Often they are invited for the weekend, to talk, play guessing games, do imitations, take trips on Rock's boat (in season) to Catalina Island, and to cook fancy gourmet dinners for themselves. For variety, once or twice a month, in slacks and open sport shirt, Rock drives up the Coast in his new Silver-grey Chrysler Imperial (top down) to a little artists' colony called Sausalito, just outside of San ROCK AND WOMEN continued m mk Francisco, for coffee Matches, small dinner parties and long seri- ous discussions with sensitive artists. But in his private life (a life never discussed in movie magazines) there seems now to be little or no place for feminine companionship. Only when required to attend an opening night or big Hollywood party, does a woman manage to occupy his time— and on these occasions he will usually invite his current leading lady or some friend who is a casual— not romantic — acquaintance. Rock's world, in short, is a world without women, his home a kind of fortress protecting him against the dangers of love. "I've had enough marriage to last me a life- time," he says. "I'm happy with the way things are now. I have my dream house, and . . . ." But those of us who know and love Rock turn away saddened and care to hear no more. Saddened to think that someday when he is old and grey this wonderful, charming, sensitive, intelligent man will wake up one morning and, sitting by the window, looking down at the ocean, drinking orange juice for one, hear in his imagination the footsteps of children and grandchildren who were never born, turn his back to the window and understand that the life he built, like the living room itself this morning, is suddenly, strangely, terrifyingly empty. And yet there is a girl . . • please turn the page OCK AND WOMEN continued This is the moving story of / Rock Hudson and Linda Cristal— the one girl in all the world who can. (if Rock returns her love) save him from the empty bachelorhood to which he has doomed himself. ■ It begins on a Saturday morning., not long ago. Rock stood on the deck of his yacht, the Khairuz- ham, tied to its pier in Newport, a little coastal town not far from Los Angeles. He was annoyed. His guests — four couples, friends and their dates — had been told to show up by nine o'clock, so that this week end cruise could get off to a brisk and early start. And here it was, nearly 9:30 now, and only three {Continued on page 64) Anna Kashfi g5£ Barbara Luna France Nuyen M.emoirs Beautiful and Bitter of Casanova's Ladies A psychoanalyst's intimate report on the strange love-life of Marlon Brando ■ Once Marlon loved a woman, pretty as a wildnower, with shaggy black bangs. She had the look of never quite belonging in the small towns where they lived. She talked about art, she forgot to stock the refrigerator, and she drank. When the world grew too ugly, too sharp-cornered, too grey, she drank it back to blurry pinkness, and then the proprietor of the particular tavern where she happened to be would phone her house and ask for somebody to come and fetch her. Her name was Dorothy Pennebacker Brando. She was Marlon's mother. After he was a star, he had a dream of bringing her to New York. "I thought if she loved me enough, trusted me enough, then we could be together and I'd take care of her. Well, she left my father and came to live with me. But my love wasn't enough. She was there in a room one horrible night holding on to (Continued on page 72) FROM UGLY DUCKLING Connie Francis own story of her remarkable transformation ■ When Macy's Department Store called me and asked me to be the Cinderella in their Thanksgiving Day parade last year, I was flabbergasted and speechless. "Me?" I said, a funny burr in my throat. I was certain they'd made a mistake. Don't get me wrong. I was thrilled. More than that: flattered! Because, never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine myself as a glamour girl. Not that I don't like gorgeous dresses and gowns and jewelry. I flip for them. Like any normal girl, I love dressing up in rhinestone necklaces, pretty silks that smell of cologne, high-heeled satin shoes, the works. But me, Connie {Continued on page 78) Small? Very Small? LOVABLE Ira is a welcome addition in-between? "Interplay" (above) with foam contour shell to round out your glamour. Curved front defines beauti- fully. White, black. Only $1.50 small? "Add Vantage" (far left) with medium foam contouring to fulfill the promise of your figure. Soft-touch anchor-band never curls. White. Only §2 very small? "Add-a-Pad" (near left) with removable full-foam pads to make the most of you. Pert demi-plunge neck- line. White, black. Only $1.50 It Costs So Little To Look Lovable. The Lovable Brassiere Co., New York 16 • Los Angeles 16 • Also sold in Canada. 1 Ask for Lovable girdles, and panties, too. A A Modern Screen Special Feature Cyd Charisse— Tony Martin ■ "For better, for worse; for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do you part . . . Whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder. . . ." There was a long pause when the minister fin- ished the marriage service. Then the tall hand- some groom opened his arms and embraced his lovely bride. Finally Cyd and Tony, starry-eyed, turned to accept the congratulations of the minister and the wedding guests. No marriage — not even in Hollywood — started out with such good wishes — and such dire prophe- cies— as did the union of Cyd Charisse and Tony Martin. It couldn't last, their friends said. There were too many strikes against it. They had warned Cyd careers never mixed — especially careers like theirs. Singers and ballerinas were both tem- peramental. And both Tony and Cyd had been married before and divorced. Cyd had a child by that first marriage. Tony was supposed to be hard to get along with. "Ask Alice Faye what she had to put up with," they said, "and he was madly in love with her, too." His and Cyd's interests were so different. He loved sports and she didn't ; he liked people around him ; she was a homebody ; he liked to be on the go constantly; she was content to stay put. "And you didn't like him when you first met him," her friends reminded her. The marriage, they felt, didn't stand a chance. Nevertheless, Cyd Charisse, despite the warn- ings, serenely and (Continued on page 61) 60 (Continued from page 60) confidently went ahead with the wedding plans: her friends had completely missed the point. They forgot that she loved Tony, that he and she were in love with each other, that she had faith not only in him but what was even more important — in herself. What did her friends know of the depth of her understanding of this man? What measure did they have to gauge the sureness of her instincts about him? She herself was the best judge of what she was doing and why she was doing it. She saw qualities in Tony that others perhaps did not see. She knew that he was good and kind and sweet and that all that was needed was a guiding hand. She felt she had that hand. Her marriage, she was convinced, would succeed. Her friends pooh-poohed her theories. They had heard them before. It must be a source of great satisfaction to Cyd Charisse to know that she has proved her own instincts right and the dire prophecies of the crepe-hangers wrong. The marriage has lasted. To all intents and purposes, it will last "until death do them part." This marriage has not only confounded the Hollywood wise- acres, it has also given renewed hone to marriage as an institution and proved that every marriage can succeed if the two people involved have faith in each other and are willing to work for success. Why it has succeeded Every happy marriage has its own formula, its own recipe for happiness. It is interesting to analyze the reasons why this marriage succeeded when every signpost pointed to failure. Why was Cyd Charisse so sure of the Tightness of her instincts about her husband? What in- gredients made up the recipe for happiness in her case? To get the answers, we must first study the two personalities involved — their characters, their backgrounds and the circumstances which helped to mold them. Cyd Charisse was born Tula Ell ice Finklea in Amarillo, Texas. She came of good healthy Irish, French, and English stock. From the time she was a small girl, she was surrounded by nothing but love and understanding. "There always was so much love in our house."' she recalls. Between her and her father, a jeweller who loved the ballet, there was a special raDoort. Her little brother adored her, called her Cyd because he couldn't pro- nounce Sis. Cyd she remained. The little girl grew rapidly. At eight, she could pass for twelve, she was so tall. "But I grew too fast and I was as thin as a rail," she says now. Her father in- sisted she take ballet lessons to develop her body. Cyd, anxious to please her beloved father, and already sensing that her destiny lay in a dancing career, enrolled in a local school. "She has talent." her teacher said. After four years of lessons in Amarillo. her teacher admitted that the girl had gone as far as she could with her. She needed a better teacher. Inquiries brought forth the informa- tion that there was a famous school in Hollywood, California, run by a man named Nico Charisse who was connected with the Ballet Russe. Nico gave her an audition and was enthusiastic about her. After several years as his pupil, he con- sidered her good enough to join the Ballet Russe troupe and recommended her to the attention of the troupe's head. Colonel de Basil. De Basil watched her perform and signed her on the spot. The troupe toured Europe each spring and as the time neared for its departure for abroad, Cyd was thrilled beyond words. She was as happy for her parents as she The Opposite Sex and Ybucc Perspiration Q. Do you know there are two kinds of perspiration? A. It's true! One is "physical," caused by work or exertion: the other is "nervous," stimulated by emotional excitement. It's the kind that comes in tender mo- ments with the "opposite sex." Q. How can you overcome this "emotional" perspiration? A. Science says a deodorant needs a special ingredient specifically formulated to overcome this emotional perspiration without irritation. And now it's here . . . exclusive Perstop*. 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A tele- gram was handed to her. It was from her mother advising her that her father was gravely ill. There was no word about her having to come home. She must make up her own mind about it. But her mother, knowing Cyd, knew what she would do. She decided to go to Amarillo at once and see her beloved dad. Her decision gives us an insight into the character of Cyd Cha- risse, a foretaste of one of the reasons for the success of her marriage with Tony Martin. Hers was no brave 'the-show- must-go-on-my-career-comes-first' philos- ophy. She was a loving daughter; she loved her father; that was enough. Her place was with them. The troupe sailed without her. Her father died. The young girl, now sixteen years of age and saddened by grief, returned to Hollywood and to the dance troupe. When Nico Charisse saw her again, he was startled by the change in her. When she had left for Texas, she had been a child. Now she was a woman, a very beautiful woman. Grief had molded her, had matured her. Unusually tall for her age, she could pass for several years older. Nico Charisse fell in love with his pupil. He asked her to marry him. May-September marriage Lonely, in need of comfort and strength, Cyd married a man much older than her- self. Though she looked like a woman, she was in truth still a child. She had had no youthful experiences with boys, no adoles- cence, no fun. The time came for the troupe to tour Europe again and this time, Cyd, accom- panied by her husband, went with them. In Paris, Nico, Jr. was born. The year was 1942 and the world was at war. The troupe decided to return to the States. Back in Hollywood, Cyd resumed her dance career, but now it took a new turn. David Lichine, choreographer for the troupe, introduced her to Gregory Ratoff, the famous Russian actor and director. Through this introduction, she got parts in pictures like Something to Shout About, Mission to Moscow, Ziegfeld Follies, and The Harvey Girls. She did not cut a particularly wide swathe at this time, but acting in motion pictures intrigued her, and she decided to remain in that medium. Meanwhile, her marriage was crumbling. Though Charisse was kind, Cyd began to realize all she had missed by marrying him. She was hungry for the youth she should have had. They were divorced in 1947. Cyd was only twenty-four years old at the time. Divorce embitters some people; it ma- tures others. It made Cyd a calm, wise, tolerant, understanding woman who had profited by her experience and had learned a new set of values. This was the woman who accepted an invitation from Nat Goldstone, her agent, to attend a party he was giving at the Bel Air Hotel. Goldstone seated her next to a tall, dark, handsome man. "This is Tony Martin," Goldstone said. She found the young man interesting and the feeling was evidently mutual, because he invited her to Chasen's after the party to enjoy a little snack. The date, however, was not a success. Instead of sitting down and quietly con- versing with Cyd, Tony table-hopped all evening. She decided she would not go out with him again — this man was not for her. She forgot about him completely. Then one evening Nat Goldstone called her again. "We're seeing the premiere of Black Narcissus next Wednesday night and I called to ask if you'd like to join us all." Cyd gladly accepted the invitation. When she arrived at Nat's home, she was amazed to find that Tony Martin was her escort. "He asked me to invite you," Goldstone whispered to her. She liked Tony much better on this second meeting. He was kind and sweet and very attentive. It is significant that on the occasion of their second meeting, she began to show that deep and remark- able understanding she has of him. She realized he had table-hopped that last time because of his great need and his great love of people. As she saw more and more of him, she found herself falling in love with him. She knew all his faults, but she knew his good qualities too, and to her, the good qualities far outweighed the faults. What was important to her was that she could make this man happy just as he could make her happy. They were good for each other. She could bring her maturity to his small boyishness, her serenity and calm to his restlessness. He was gay and fun-loving and exciting. She had never known such a man. Tony's background Tony Martin was born in Oakland, Cali- fornia. He was born Alvin Morris and he was the only child of a mother and father who was a physician and who died when Tony was only two years old. Thus, the little boy had never known a father's love or a father's guiding hand. As a child, he began to show great musical talent. At the age of twelve, when most youngsters are playing marbles and hooky, Tony was playing the saxo- phone and the clarinet. At Oakland High School, he was organizer, leader and sax player for a four-piece orchestra. Even as a kid, he was a good earner. He was exceedingly good to his mother, to whom he felt a great responsibility, and handed over most of his earnings to her. Along with his love of music, he early showed an interest in sports; he was sports editor of the student paper, and excellent at baseball and track. After he was graduated from Oakland High, he was enrolled in St. Mary's College since his mother wanted him to follow in his father's footsteps and become a doctor. He was an excellent student but while there, he showed a tendency to get himself into difficulties with those in authority. One day, in a moment of youth- ful exuberance, he played a jazz solo on the college organ. To the school authorities, that was nothing short of sacrilege and he was promptly asked to leave college. Tony seized this opportunity to get into show business where he felt he belonged. He headed for Chicago where he played and sang with a band at night clubs, among them the Chez Paree. Here he met Frances Langford who sold him the idea of going to Hollywood. It was then he assumed the name of Tony Martin and headed back to California. The country was in the depths of the depression and musicals were not being made in Hollywood. He got a job as a singer on the Burns and Allen show and appeared at the Trocadero, then Holly- wood's most elegant night spot. His first pictures were Follow the Fleet and Poor Little Rich Girl. One day at the horse races he was introduced to a very pretty girl named Alice Faye. She was a former show girl who was beginning to make a name for herself in motion pic- tures. Their courtship was one of the stormiest in the annals of Hollywood romances. It was on again, off again, on again. Finally when everyone agreed it was off and probably would not be on, they astounded their friends by eloping suddenly, -unexpectedly, to get married. In speaking of the failure of this mar- riage they admitted that they were both too stubborn to give in to each other. The marriage ended in divorce. What Tony needed then and has always needed was a girl like Cyd Charisse. When World War II was declared Tom- was called to the colors. After his honor- able discharge he went back to Hollywood to take up his career. Nervous, restless, lonely he found it difficult to make an adjustment to Chilian life. He became the gay young blade of Hollywood. He went in for flashy clothes, for sports, for people of all kinds. He was never alone: he never wanted to be alone. He was always on the go. This was the man who was introduced to Cyd Charisse the night of Nat Gold- stone's party at the Bel Air Hotel. Cyd's happy-marriage theories For one tbing, she has never tried to change her husband. She has learned to live with his craze for sports and for the people with whom he must necessarily sur- round himself, such as music arrangers, press agents, musicians, song pluggers, TV big shots and his pals in the sports world, people with whom his wife has nothing in common but accepts without a word of protest. "I know Tony thoroughly," Cyd said, "and I don't want to change him. I fell in love with him as he is, not as the man I want him to be." For another thing, she has never let her career interfere with her marriage. She has a clause in her contract that when she is not making a film, she has per- mission to join her husband wherever he may be. It is the first clause of its kind ever inserted in the contract of a lead- ing Hollywood personality. But good wife though she is. she has never forgotten she is a mother, too. She and Tonv alwavs manage to be home in time to spend their wedding anniversary with then- son, Tony. Jr., born in 1950. Not only has she never let her career interfere with her marriage, but she has done what few women — far less gifted and far less prepossessing than she is — are willing to do. She has submerged her own personality. When Tony wants to go out at night to a night club. Cyd goes with him even though there are times when she'd much rather stay at home. She has turned down good roles in pictures whenever she thought they interfered with her marriage. With insight and emotional maturity, she has turned her unhappy experience in her first marriage to profit in her second. She learned not to deflate a man's ego, nor to worry him needlessly; and never to be possessive nor jealous of her husband. She manages to be a delightful com- panion to her husband, springing all sorts of surprises to give him pleasure. Once she talked him out of buying a new Jaguar which he wanted badly. Then later at Christmas, which also happens to be his birthday, Cyd suggested that they go for a little stroll. As they walked, she pointed to a lovely Jaguar at the curb. "That's the kind I wanted to buy," Tony said sadly. "Isn't it a beauty?"' "It certainly is." she laughed. "And that's my birthday present to 3rou." She cannot understand women who constantly whine and complain to their husbands, without even giving the man a chance to cross his threshold and wash his hands. A man's home should be his peaceful castle, she says. Neither can she understand women who do not want their husbands around too much. "I can't see enough of Tony. Gosh, when you love a person, how can you see too much of him?" She doesn't believe in the theory that a wife should keep her husband guessing. "If a woman wants her peace of mind and wants her husband to have his peace of mind, she should let him know she loves him and leave no doubt about her loyalty." She is convinced that a calm and happy woman has a better chance of succeeding in her career than has a tense or overly - ambitious one. As a result, she has attained great success in her career since her mar- riage. Singin' in the Rain, The Band Wag- on. Easy to Love, Brigadoon, Deep in My Heart, and It's Always Fair Weather . . . smash successes which have brought her stardom were filmed after her mar- riage. "If a woman doesn't succeed,'" Cyd said once with a shrug of her shoulders, "a happy woman will learn to accept failure, too." Their friends say that marriage with Cyd has made a remarkable change in- Tony. He is quieter, gentler, more re- laxed. Ironically enough, if Cyd had planned this change in him, it probably would not have happened. The change was wrought by the miracle of happiness. His star too, is in its ascen- dency. What makes these two vivid, vital charm- ing people so remarkable is that neither is envious of the other. On the contrary, each takes delight in the other's success, in each new triumph. Perhaps the best reason for the suc- cess of this marriage which everyone thought was doomed to failure, lies in the words which Cyd Charisse once said to her bosses at MGM when she turned down a role because she felt it would inter- fere with her marital happiness. "A career is a wonderful thing but it will never take the place of a husband. I know. I've tried it."' END Married women are sharing this secret . . . the new, easier, surer protection for those most intimate marriage problems What a blessing to be able to trust in the wonderful germicidal protec- tion Norforms can give you. Nor- forms have a highly perfected new- formula that releases antiseptic and germicidal ingredients with long-lasting action. The exclusive new base melts at body tempera- ture, forming a powerful protec- tive film that guards (but will not harm) the delicate tissues. 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At exactly 9:30, the little yellow convert- ible pulled up alongside the yacht. Rock watched as the girl — tall, dark, dressed in white slacks and shirt and a red- striped jacket — got out of the car and rushed towards the boat. He recognized her as Linda Cristal. the young South American actress who worked at the same studio where he worked, whom he'd met a few times, at a party here, a reception there. He recognized her type, too, he thought. The vital type, he thought to himself, yawning internally, as she waved at him and shouted "Hi, Rrrrrrock!!" as she con- tinued to rush towards the boat. "I'm here," she said, smiling broadly, when she reached him. "I hope I am not too late. I really hope that, in all apology. Are you surprised to see me?" Rock ignored the apology, the question. "Where's Al?" he asked. "Al — " Linda said. "I'm sorry to have to tell you this about a friend, Rock — but he's sick, with the bad sore throat. Thurs- day night, when he called and asked me if I'd like to come along on the cruise, he sounded fine. But," she went on, "this morning, at eight o'clock, when he called to say he couldn't make it. because his throat had the soreness — " She shook her head. " — he sounded terrible . . . like this." She made a gargling noise, and laughed. Rock did not laugh back. Instead, he continued to look at her. And Linda's laughter, her smile, disap- peared. "I don't mean to make fun," she said. "I know that the sore throat is not a pleasant thing. But with the pills, the salt and warm water . . . he'll get over it. Don't worry." There was a pause, a long one, as Rock continued to say nothing. Linda forced a smile to her lips again. "And meanwhile," she said then, "I thought I might as well come anyway, on the boat trip, even if Al couldn't." Her face began to redden a little. "I know, maybe it isn't proper, a girl coming alone," she said, " — but for two days now I look so forward to this . . . I thought maybe it would be all right." Her fingers played momentarily with the handle of her small suitcase. "Is it," she asked, "all rieht?" "Sure," said Rock, unenthusiastically. "Bueno. good," said Linda. She looked up, towards the sails. "Now," she said, "let's hoist the mizz- mast and be off." "Miz?enmast," said Rock. She looked back at him. "Is that how vou say it, in the nautical language ... in English?" she asked. "Mizzenmast?" "Yep." Rock said. "So then," Linda started to say again, "let the crew hoist the — " Rock interrupted her. "Lin'-'a," he said, "if you'd like a cup of hot coffee . . . some bacon and eggs — " he pointed " — that ladder will take you down below, to the galley. And you can join the others. "Me," he said, "I'm going to be busy now . . . It's late ... I'd like to take off while the tide is still with us." Linda clutched the handles of her suit- case even more tightly. "Yes, mi capitan," she said, softly, her