Modern Screen 1956-08 Vol. 50, No. 8

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uella wonders oder 607121 | ONE COPY SENT T0.L. C. _, WHAT I'VE LEARNED ABOUT BOYS... DEBBIE ANSWERS || YOUR LETTERS ON DATING fi PROBLEMS

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Sea SS ee wee es = B % 6071215 eee ee = This is the motion picture so crowded with exciting achievements This is that it is REGORY PECK area as the fiery man-without-a-woman Gregory Peck’s mighty portrayal is certainly one of them. Co-starred with him are as the young, romantic rover and LEo GENN as the vengeful ug Starbuck In a year of so many wonderful screen advances the mightiest leap forward of all is WARNER BROS: presentation of the JOHN HUSTON production of Herman Melville's OoBYy DICK ORSON WELLES as Father Mapple cotor sy | ECHNICOLOR SCREEN PLAY BY RAY BRADBURY AND JOHN HUSTON a MOULIN eicture- oirecteo by JOHN HUSTON: eresenteo sy WARNER BROS.

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FEEL CAREFREE ON THE HOTTEST DAYS (EVEN AT “PROBLEM TIMES’) Hot weather's bad enough. But when you have to wear a clinging external pad, a twisting belt, you feel three times as hot! Bring your boiling point down to normal by changing to Tampax. Internal sanitary protection is so comfortable, so unobtrusive, that you aren’t even aware you're wearing it. You're free from em- barrassing odor, free from chafing—and you perspire far less. How long can you go on deliberately making yourself un- comfortable when Tampax is so sure, so secure, so available? Perhaps the only thing that’s holding you back is a nagging doubt or two. Then know that literally mil- lions of women have used Fe billions of Tampax—that it was ep ie invented by a doctor for the aia" welfare of all women, married or unmarried, active or not. It’s con- venient to carry—easy to dispose of. Don’t go through another hot Summer feeling even hotter. Get Tampax now and enjoy every normal activity—even swimming. Choice of 3 absorbencies (Regular, Super, Junior) at all drug and notion counters. Tampax Incorporated, Palmer, Mass. ; NO BELTS Invented by a doctor— now used by millions of women August, 1956 AMERICA’S GREATEST MOVIE MAGAZINE modern screen MEET THE NEW BOSS-MAIN! Jn. 07 ets hen ie ae een ee 29 stories INSIDE THE WILDINGS’ MOUNTAIN HIDEAWAY (Liz Taylor-Mike Wilding).............000....... by Linda Matthews 30 WHY JACK LEMMON LEFT HIS WIFE THE BEST DAYS OF THEIR LIVES (Russ Tamblyn-Venetia Stevenson).....by Kirtley Baskette 34 A SHY GIRL DISCOVERS THE JOYS OF LOVE (Marisa Pavan-Jean-Pierre Aumont)........ by Susan Wender 36 by Louella Parsons 32 ELVIS: ‘PRESLEY snceatecte st acme ent cunts ere coin, ea eerie by Louis Pollock 40 “DEBBIE TALKS ABOUT THOSE BOY-GIRL PROBLEMS (Debbie Reynolds) 2.0.0.0... as told to Jane Wilkie 42 HOW TO BE DIFFERENT TOGETHER (Guy Madison )................ by Marva Peterson 44 LANA DISCOVERS PARADISE (Lana Turner-Lex Barker )....0.0.....0.0cccccccceseseeeceeeeeeees 46 TOMORROW IS A LOVELY DAY (Shirley Jones). .............cccccccccc cocseceseceeeesecenereneeeee 50 WHAT WE LOVE ABOUT OUR BOY BILL @BillaCampbell) = by Mom and Pop Campbell 52 HOW I'LL BRING UP MY BABY (Jonet Leigh)...... ............0c by Jill Rawlings 54 SHE RAN THE OTHER WAY UNTIL HE CAUGHT HER (Dana Wynter-Greg Bautzer )...................... by Mike Connolly 56 I WAS TASTEEN-A GE BRIDES). eee by Rhonda Fleming 58 featurettes FULL TIME "PANS i. ecticc 0. ieticcistageaccier rel Gee etc ee 8 SHE WANTED TO BE A SECRETARY (Dorothy Collins)... 10 MINEO ON WHEELS (Sal Mineo)... ae 3 Be teAS I REMEMBER 13 (Terry Moore))............. = 26 WITH THESE HANDS (Peggy Lee)...... efay7o PIXIE TURNS MOTHER (Julie Harris )..........0...cccceccccssseesessseseees ix, 760 THE CASE OF THE NERVOUS MODEL (Audrey Hepburn ).... we 8 GOD! SENT, A ERIEND) (Cleo) Moores) ice: ece errr eee 84 departments LOQUELLAY PARSONS IN) HOLE YWi@O Ds eee ee 17 H 1 fad iy SNF oe ceert erarrae tare Seite youd THE INSIDE STORY.. 6 NEW: SMONVIES bs een eee 12 MODERN SCREEN FASHIONS 62 1000 PRIZES FOR YOU 70 *Color portrait of Debbie Reynolds on the cover by MGM. Debbie is now in MGM's The Catered Aftair. ! BARBARA J. MAYER, story editor INA C. STEINHAUSER, assistant editor CONNIE SHERMAN. western associate BILL WEINBERGER, art editor BOB BEERMAN, staff photographer AUDREY FREIHEIT, assistant art editor FERNANDO TEXIDOR, art director DAVID MYERS, eaito: CARL SCHROEDER, western manager NOTICE TO SUBSCRIBERS Changes of address should reach us five weeks in advance of the next issue date. Give both your old and new address, enclosing if possible your old address label. POSTMASTER: Picase send 1 notjee on Ny 3579 4 or J to ee Avenue, N MODERN SCREEM Vol/50, No. August, 1956, bled monthly by Dell Publishing Company, inc. Office of eiclicaten at Washington and South Aves., Dunellen, N. J. Executive and editorial offices, 261 Fifth Avenue, New York 16, Y. Dell Subscription Service: 10 ‘West 33rd St.,, New York 1, N. Y. Chicago advertising office, 291 Re LaSalle St., Chicago, Ill. Los Angeles advertising nd editorial offices: 8701 West 3rd Street, Los Angeles 48, California. George 1. Delacorte, Jr., President; Helen. Meyer, Vice-Pres.; Albert P. -Delacorte, Vice-Pres. Published simultaneously in the Dominion of Canada. International copyright secured under the provisions of the Revised Convention for the Protection of Literary and Artistic Works. All rights reserved under the Buenos“Aires Convention. Single copy price 20c in A. and Possessions, and Canada. Subscriptions in U. S. and Canada $2.00 one year; $3.50 two yeats; $5.00 three years; foreign, $3.00 a year. Entered as second. leek matter September 18, 1930, at the post office at Dunellen, N. J. under Act of March 3, 1879. iC eyaleh 1956 by Dell Publishing Gompany, Inc. Printed in U. S. A. The publishers accept no responsibility for-the return of unsolicited material. Trademark No. 301778.

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m-g-m presents a most important motion . picture From the best-seller and life-inspired story in Look Magazine that thrilled millions STARRING Paul Newman wih Everett Sloane Screen Play by Ernest Lehman : Directed by Robert Wise } ‘Pier Angeli Eileen Heckart - Sal Mineo Based on the Autobiography of Rocky Graziano Written with Rowland Barber Produced by Charles Schnee An M-G-M Picture

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What Sid Caesar will do for Janet Blair... Ben Gazzara’s romance... Sammy has a ball TV TALK You know how funny Phil Silvers is on television. And we’ve told you how hilari- ous he can be at private parties—or even when just meeting a friend on the sidewalk. But few people also know that here is a man who takes himself very seriously. Phil, a man with a short and sketchy formal education, nas made a point of educating himself through the years. This is a man who reads omnivor- ously and who can talk, seriously and knowl- edgeably, on a wide variety of subjects. He even does research. When he was rehearsing for Top Banana on Broadway, he was not satisfied merely to learn his lines and fix up bits of business to go with them. No; for one sketch alone—a spoof on psychoanalysis—he went and dug. He read books on analysis, he talked to analysts, he talked to people who had gone to analysts. None of this research caused him to change one line of the sketch, but when it was finished Phil felt that his new knowledge gave him some added assur- ance. That alone made it worth the work. Silvers is really a scholar! ...In Ben Gaz- zara's most important roles on Broadway— in Cat On A Hot Tin Roof and A Hatful Of Rain—he has played introspective, tormented young men. A drunk in one and a dope fiend in the other, he spent most of his time on the stage holding himself in, keeping his emotions to himself. In real life, however, Ben is forthright, opinionated, and dynamic. When he talks, he says what he thinks in no uncer- tain terms and he bangs the table with his fist to prove it. He is very bright and, like Phil Silvers, knows a lot about a lot of things. You name it; Ben can declaim on it. He has also never forgotten for a minute that he was born and brought up on the Lower East Side in Manhattan. (As far as we can tell, no one who was born and brought up on the Lower East Side—Red Buttons, Georgie Jes- sel, Eddie Cantor—has ever been able to for- get it.) He often refers to his childhood in his conversation, and swears that today, when he frequents all the town’s fancy restaurants, he does not eat as well as he did when his moth- er was cooking her Italian specialties for him. He is exceptionally close to his mother still, and visits her twice a week for dinner with- out fail. He is also getting her a fancy mid- town apartment. It will be on elegant Sutton Place or, perhaps, Elaine Stritch's old apart- ment—if Elaine can find the perfect new one she’s looking for. Ben and Elaine are as con- stant a duo as ever these days. You can tell at a glance what changes they’ve wrought in each other. Ben, who used to be a “member in good standing of the blue-jean set, now wears slightly more formal clothes; and 4 Elaine, once a model of high-style fashion, Nancy Walker (who thinks she isn’t pretty!) and Phil Silvers, Doris Day, Eddie Foy, Jr. now leaves her most formal outfits in her closet. He dresses up a little, she dresses down—the perfect compromise. Ben _ still doesn’t like ties, and seldom puts one on; but Elaine keeps one in her purse at all times, and when they’re about to enter a restaurant that demands neckwear, she pulls it out and Ben ties it on .. . All of Janet Blair's friends are crossing their fingers hoping that her role on the Sid Caesar show in the fall is the Big Break she needs. Well into her thirties and in show business for years, Janet has made countless movies and even more Tv guest ap- pearances; but she’s never really made a splash. If Caesar's Hour does for Janet what it did for Nanette Fabray, she will, at last, be a star. If so, her friends are con- vinced of one thing: She will remain the ex- tra-sweet and modest person she is now. They say Janet will always have that girl-next- door quality to her . Speaking of nice girls, people who have known Margaret Tru- man for years couldn’t be happier over her choice in bridegrooms. And friends of Clifton Daniel, Jr., are enchanted with Margaret. We predict that here is one couple about whom you will never hear one hint of a harsh word . . . You’re always reading about performers who nurture a deep-seated inferiority com- plex. One actress who has one—for no rea- son anyone else can figure out—is Marie Wilson. Although no chicken, Marie can pass for a girl in her twenties, even in the bright broad light of day. But she keeps thinking her nonexistent wrinkles are showing. When she does summer stock, she insists that the lighting on the stage always has to be flat- tering to her. (This means, sometimes, that the lighting on the scenery is bad.) And even when she eats in a restaurant, she insists on dim or orange lights. (Orange and pink lights, as every actress knows, are so flattering to the complexion.) If the lamps on her table are not right, they are changed. Marie is always ~ polite about it, of course—she’s a thoughtful person—but she will not eat under a glaring bulb, not even with her husband and close, close friends. They can’t figure it out, but there it is ... An actress who has completely recov- ered from her inferiority complex is Nancy Walker. Never a pretty girl, Nancy used to suffer from her lack of even features. It af- fected her so much that it sometimes hindered her work: she would turn down parts or leave roles on account of it. But then she started going to a vocal coach named David Craig. She credits him with having restored her voice, which she thought she had lost. She can—and does—now credit him with much more than that. Craig and Nancy got married—a move that made her realize she was an attractive, wanted woman. They have a daughter, Miranda—an event that boosted her ego, as it does most women’s. Nancy’s career—which is going great guns since she got the main starring role in the Broadway revival of Noel Coward’s Fallen Angels—is the focal point of the Craig household—an- other ego-reviving factor. David Craig thinks that his wife is the greatest female clown in the theatre (he’s not alone in his view), and he does not hesitate to say so, out loud and often. Nancy now is swimming in self-con- fidence, and—this comes as no surprise to ex- perts on womankind—she has become a handsome woman. People who saw Nancy on the stage ten or fifteen years ago and who now see her in person are amazed at her good looks. This is what’s known as the Power of Love, and it works . . . Sammy Davis, Jr., didn’t get very good reviews for his Mr. Won- derful—(the critics liked Sammy, but hated the show)—but he is so popular with his fans that he cannot leave the theatre on matinee days. When he’s doing both an afternoon and an evening performance, it’s worth his life to push his way through all his admirers at the stage door and make it back in time. The critics might even like the show better if they saw it these days because Sammy—who was a little ill at ease on his first Broadway stage at the beginning—has now relaxed and is having a ball up there. He ad libs like crazy —just the way he does in night clubs—and even stops and talks to members of the audi- ence that he knows. If Mr. Wonderful turns out to be a long-running hit, Sammy did it. ... Shelley Winters often looks casual when she’s all dressed up; at fancy affairs, where the other women are obviously coiffed to a faretheewell, Shelley sometimes look as though she threw on a dress, ran a comb through her hair, dabbed on some lipstick, and headed for the party. Presentable, but nothing you could photograph for Vogue. And when Shelley’s not going to a party, she can really be casual. She’s been seen smack in the middle of Man- hattan in slacks, without any makeup, with her hair rolled up in pin curls and no kerchief to cover the bobby pins, and—as the final unchic touch—with galoshes that flop with her every step ... Patti Page's costume designer, Joe Fretwell, has gone with her to the hour show she’s doing as a summer replacement for Perry Como. Patti would not have it other- wise. She, in fact, credits a big percentage of her current popularity to Fretwell. Once a plump, fluffily-dressed girl, Patty these days is sleek and sleekly garbed. Fretwell’s clothes —which she wears on and off screen—inspired her to lose weight in the first place, and con- tinue to give her a lot of self-assurance.

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| Hl | THE GREATEST LOVE STORY TO COME | Va } OUT OF THE WAR... j TWO OF TODAY’S | MOST BRILLIANT STARS IN A | A | DRAMA THAT PROBES DEEP Nr, IN THE HEART OFA ve | ed ' | | i i I- | Is}! i i od | | nd | I 1 i on ho 0 : } bf i) DN- ce alls g y g i We. Paramount presents q SD : ‘ Lo S WILLIAM — HOLDEN ie) was - : : as Colin Black... whose heart i ‘ : was the color of his name i 2 _ ta ..™ DEBORAH ih and i y z i} ly ee awe 6s KERR | nS es : ; : ike : \ i i : ae ___as Lee Ashley...destroyer — i) | hen Cie of one man, almost Wi ber - — by another : a ie ; : hn 2 ee The producer-director-star team. ee Ae : i i vil y ee (oe t gave you “Country Girl” and : | ey’ oe J : s e : 2 / 16 Bridges at Toko-Ri’’ surpasses 7 } sual — ’ " | i ee revious triumphs! | in A PERLBERG-SEATON PRODUCTION ~ | | h her | ww {| i] : e OUCdan rorTrane | i } e co-starring THELMA RITTER: DEWEY MARTIN with witttam REDFIELD I in Produced by William Perlberg - Written for the Screen and Directed by George Seaton li i Based on a Novel by Lucy Herndon Crockett im Hi = vsmVison

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You think you collect autographs? Well, dig these crazy RS FULL TIME FANS Claudette Colbert would but Rick Jason obliged and getting Gable have been turned down... with the Chihuahua .. . is a triumph! @ In Hollywood there is a group of about twenty dyed-in-the-wool fans who have been collecting autographs of movie stars for the past ten or fifteen years. They range from the age of ten to seventy-five. Each year several new faces join the band and an oldster drops out. Each one has his own special way of collecting signatures. A middle-aged couple make their rounds requesting movie stars to pose with them. The gentleman always poses with the feminine stars, while his wife gets the heroes. Their album boasts such shots as the husband with Marilyn Monroe, Marie Wilson and Esther Williams, and the wife with Van Johnson, Richard Conte and Ronald Regan. In five years they have collected several hundred. Another collector is a little shy about posing with the stars. Instead she asks them to pose holding her small Chihuahua or petting her big Boxer. One of the older men collects only pictures of young upcoming talent. After taking their pictures he keeps them in an alphabetical file which he carries with him at all times. When he sees the newcomer again he rushes through the file and has the photograph autographed. The youngster is usually more popular by then and writes a long personal dedication. Most of the collectors are very fussy about handwriting. They will throw out a signature which doesn’t meet their standards. They never get an auto- graph in pencil, ball point pen, or washable ink. They use permanent ink so that the signatures will not fade away. Most of the collectors insist upon dedicated autographs. They never get more than one autograph from the same star and frown upon the tourists who want one “for Aunt Susan, Sister Jane, and Uncle George.” If they collect candid photos they will only take one shot on any single afternoon—providing the star isn’t their very favorite. In the case of a favorite they may snap a whole roll of film. The photo-fiends won’t shoot a pose unless the star is perfectly still without anyone in the background. If the star is wearing dark clothes theyll request a light colored background. They will never take a picture of a star wearing sunglasses. No autographs are traded or sold. Sunday is the collectors’ favorite day. They haunt the radio and Ty stations, the famous restaurants and the theatres. At night they post themselves in front _ of Ciro’s, Mocambo and LaRue. They follow the stars everywhere. Their patience never fails. They will wait eight or ten hours for a new signature. The stars who “never sign” present a challenge to them, and their happiest moments are spent admiring the autographs of a star in this category. Rainy weather only lures them on, in the hope that the stars will admire their faithfulness and sign a ledgible signature. Many of the collectors keep a list of automobile license numbers. The older All Drugstores § crowd knows most license numbers and car models from memory. If they have Midol > ’ 3 E 3 2 1 spot a star’s car, they'll wait near it for hours tili the driver shows up. Of course some of the stars disapprove of this band. They get tired of seeing the same faces at every shindig. Others are very amused, and still others are very flattered. And by the way—the autograph hunters will wait the longest for the cranky stars—but they'll only attend movies in which the nicer ones appear.

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10 HOLLYWOOD DISCOVERY! A non-drying spray-set with no Laequer at alt ! = R ae “I'm in love with Lustre-Net!” says ANITA EKBERG, co-starring in . “BACK FROM. ETERNITY” An RKO-Radio Picture New SUPER-SOFT lushe- Net the spray-set with lanolin esters! Keeps hair in place the Hollywood way— without stiffness or stickiness, contains no lacquer. Leaves hair soft, shining! 2 Actually helps prevent dryness—helps LUSTRE-NETS preserve softness with lanolin esters! Quick-sets pin-curls in damp or dry hair . . . ends sleeping on pins! THERE ARE | ee SUPER-SOFT— gentle control for loose, casual hair-do’s. Spray on after combing. REGULAR—extra control for hard-to- Any pin-curl style manage hair, or curly hair-do’s. sets faster, manages Gai ae; easier, lasts longer! get new) Lustne-Net recommended by Top Hollywood Movie Stars 5% oz.—a full ounce more . . . Only $1.25 plus tax. By the makers of Lustre-Creme Shampoo DOROTHY COLLINS: she wanted to be a secretary @ Usually it’s the daughter who wants to be in show business and the parents who say, “No, go learn a trade. Be a secretary.” But in Doro- thy Collins’ success story, there’s a bit of a switch. Dorothy’s ambition was to be a first-rate secretary. How- ever, her parents had different ideas. As a lark, they entered her in a local amateur singing contest and she won. She was offered a chance to appear on a children’s broadcast series in Detroit and out the window went all secreterial plans. Dorothy’s first big break came in 1942 when she visited friends in Chi- cago who knew band leader Raymond Scott. They whisked her to him, he heard her sing, and one year later, she was on the air with the Raymond Scott Show. In 1950, while Dotty was taking vocal lessons, the American Tobacco Company (sponsors of Hit Parade) commissioned Ray to write advertis- ing jingles; he used Dorothy anony- mously to sing on a demonstration record. The sponsor not only liked the jingle, but the sweet singing voice. Dorothy was hired. Later she became a featured vocalist on the show. Now the question is, will her daughter, Deborah, (born October 24, 1954.) meet with the same change of plans? It’s too early to tell, of course, but with Raymond Scott’s in- fluence around the house, Deborah might plan on being a photographer, pianist, professional ham operator or maybe, even a secretary. For Dotty and Ray, who were married in July, 1952, actually only live in two and one-half rooms of their Babylon, Long Island home. The rest is used for Ray’s big piano, tv sets, dark room and ham radios. Deborah’s future, as yet. is unde- cided, but if she gets confused. she should certainly ask Mama. In the Collins’ case, Mama knows best!

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movie previews Continued from page 12 The fact is he lost his wife on an African safari and hasn’t been the same since (lost her to another man, that is). Well, he doesn’t trust women any more, but he trusts Jane (although there she sits taking notes and long distance phone calls from New York). Any- way, he offers to fly her back to Mexico City, but by some slight miscalculation they crash in the midst of the Mexican jungle, which apparently belongs to Trevor Howard and Peter Van Eyck. Anthropolo- gists, say they. But who they really are is Lord Haw-Haw and an ex-Nazi chieftain. They have a pack of wild dogs guarding their hacienda, an arsenal in the basement and a love of sadism. The rest is an exciting chase through that jungle—Wid- mark and Jane, of course, running ahead. Techni- color. Superscope—U.A. SOMEBODY UP THERE LIKES ME the life of Rocky Graziano @ Rocky Graziano’s story is not a pretty one, but it is certainly exciting—not only physically (although the action doesn’t let up for a minute) but in the sense that here is a man finding himself, struggling against almost insuperable odds to become a whole human being. Dragged up in New York’s Lower East Side, he had a violent temper and a complete disregard of the law; nobody could tell him what to do. Dis- honorably discharged from the army (after ignoring every regulation, knocking out a captain who repri- manded him and going AWOL), Rocky realizes that his only hope is to fight professionally, there his hatred can work for him and his living will be as- sured. The love of an understanding woman (Pier Angeli) and success reform him. He forgets about the past but there are others who plan to use it against him. Paul Newman is fine as Rocky; Eileen Heckart as his devoted, long-suffering mother, Everett Sloane as his homey manager. Don’t miss this movie—_MGM STORM OVER THE NILE daring adventure in Sudan @® It’s about 1900, in the dining room of those great old houses in England and a little boy (who grows up to be Anthony Steel) is listening to his father and friends boast about their perilous exploits in the Crimea. Steel must follow his family’s tradi- tion of soldiery but he’s convinced he’s a coward. (His father convinced him.) Anyway, ten years later he’s a lieutenant in the North Surrey regiment along with Lawrence Harvey and a couple of other noble young men; he’s also engaged to Mary Ure, daugh- ter of a retired general. Just before he’s ordered to the Sudan, Steel resigns. His friends send him three white feathers (Mary adds a fourth) which means they’ve marked him off as a coward. Well, he shows ’em. He travels to the Sudan, disguises him- self as a mute native, rescues Harvey who’s blinded and left for dead on a battlefield, endures incredible hardships and is finally responsible for the British victory. It’s a colorful, romantic adventure story. CinemaScope—Col. THE AMBASSADOR’S DAUGHTER an wpper class romance m= Ambassadors’ daughters are not like other girls, Men are polite to them; men don’t dance cheek to cheek with them (and wouldn’t dance at all if it weren’t protocol). But that’s not the main point. The main point is: Senator Adolphe Menjou wants to declare Paris off-limits to Army personnel. He ar- rives in Paris (with his wife Myrna Loy) to accom- plish this mission—a mission which the ambassador (Edward Arnold) and his daughter (Olivia de Havil- land) consider nothing short of disastrous. Well, at a benefit fashion show G.I. John Forsythe mistakes Olivia for a model (because she’s modeling) and flirts. There begins a wild adventure during which Olivia attempts to prove that the American G.I. is decent, honorable, and very nearly angelic even to girls who aren’t ambassadors’ daughters. Well, she proves it. And it’s more than nice to see Olivia on the screen again. With Tommy Noonan.—U.A. TRAPEZE Lollobrigida on the flying trapeze = In the whole history of the circus there were only six men who could do the triple roll on the flying trapeze—Burt Lancaster was one of them. But on his last flight he fell, injured his leg and has since be- come a rigger. Tony Curtis finds him in a Paris circus. Tony wants to learn the triple but first he has to persuade Lancastér to teach him. He achieves this without too much trouble. The trouble comes with Gina Lollobrigida whose yearning for the spotlight is equalled by. nothing. She exerts her considerable charm on Burt (he resists) and Tony (he doesn’t) and soon finds herself a decorative, if somewhat unnecessary, member of their newly formed act. Tony 14 learns the triple, John Ringling North comes all the way from New York to see him do it—at which point Gina’s manipulations of her leading men break up the act. Carol Reed, who directed, has come across with wonderful circus atmosphere, breathtaking trapeze shots. Cast includes Thomas Gomez, Katy Jurado. CinemaScope—U.A. THE MOUNTAIN ... and Spencer Tracy who climbs it @ There are people who climb mountains simply to get to the top, but Robert Wagner is more compli- cated; he wants to get to the airplane which is lying on top and just chock full of treasure—watches, diamonds, cameras and whatever else one normally finds on rich corpses. His brother (Spencer Tracy) views Robert’s ambition with horror and shame—he feels responsible because he reared the boy in their cottage beneath the Alps. Once they lived well because Tracy was a famous climber but he retired, convinced that the mountain was bad luck for him. Now the plane has crashed, searching parties have been unable to reach’it and Robert figures he can get away with the loot. Tracy goes up with him and that is a climb! It’s dangerous, thrilling and exhausting to watch. Do they make it? Go see. The excellent cast includes Claire Trevor, William Demarest, Anna Kashti. Vista Vision—Para. HILDA CRANE love in a soap opera @ When Hilda Crane (Jean Simmons) comes home to Winona, a small college town, her mother (Judith Evelyn) dutifully meets her at the station. But Mom and daughter never saw eye to eye. Hilda loved her father, but he died. Then she left for a career in New York, succeeded in marrying and divorcing two men (one at a time) and has nothing left but bitter memories and a mink coat. In Winona there is a dashing professor, Jean-Pierre Aumont, who was crazy about her and still is—but he ain’t proposing, and there is Guy Madison who is crazy about her, but his mom (Evelyn Varden) threatens to have a heart attack if Hilda marries her boy, a boy who worked his way up from nothing to a mansion. Hilda’s not so keen on marrying her boy, anyway. He’s dull and respectable. But she marries him— and his mom has a heart attack. This puts some what of a damper on the honeymoon. Mothers will hate this movie which says something true about some of them. Unfortunately, it’s too soap opera-ish to be really good. CinemaScope—20th-Fox THE LEATHER SAINT double life of a minister = Father Gil Allen (John Derek) is an impatient minister who wants desperately to buy an iron lung and build a swimming pool for several young polio victims in the parish. To keep fit, he works out in a Los Angeles gym where he is discovered by fight manager Paul Douglas. Then he begins a double life. He fights every Saturday night (without bothering to train), hands the money over to naive Father Ritchie (Ernest Truex), who literally skips with joy over each “donation.”” Meanwhile Father Gil is wooed by hard- drinking Pearl (Jody Lawrence), girl friend of fight promoter Cesar Romero. Naturally she—and every- one else involved—is stunned when their promising protegé turns out to be a minister. But even these lost souls find salyation.—Para. THE RAWHIDE YEARS out west with Tony Curtis m “You're bigger, better, but the same Ben,’’ says Colleen Miller to Tony (Ben) Curtis who returns to Galena three years after he fled that western town to escape lynching. The thing is, he’s innocent of murder, which is more than can be said for nearly everybody else. You see, he was a card sharp and on this riverboat he met a nice man (Minor Watson) from Galena, but that man was murdered in his state- room ‘by a band of pirates. Who done it? Before Tony solves that he has more adventures with charm- ing, unscrupulous buddy, Arthur Kennedy; he nearly loses Colleen to evil, unscrupulous Peter Van Eyck (who owns the casino in which Colleen sings) and he tries to win the confidence of Minor Watson’s brother (William Demarest), rich ranch owner—all of which leads, in a blaze of action, to who done it. Technicolor—U.1I. SAFARI hold that lion! kill that Mau Mau! @ What Sir Vincent Brampton (Roland Culver) wants, Sir Vincent gets. He got Janet Leigh off a barstool, gave her a diamond engagement ring and brought her to Africa. Now he wants to get Hatari —a rare, black-maned lion. Never mind that Hatari roams in cutthroat Mau Mau country; never mind that white hunter Vic Mature has lost his hunting license and can’t guide him. Sir Vincent gets his license back (Mature lost it because the Mau Mau slaughtered his young son and now he wants ven- geance, especially on ex-servant Earl Cameron who turned out to be a Mau Mau chief). So off we gu on safari and what a motley crew we are—Sir Vincent’s beady eyes thirsting for Hatari; Mature’s flashing eyes thirsting for his ex-servant; Janet Leigh— thirsting. There’s a chap named John Justin along, too. He’s a friend of Sir Vincent, but rather weak. Well, what with the heat and the tension and the 200 Mau Maus who have just broken out of prison camp and are heading our way, I tell you, it’s no picnic. Technicolor—Col. INVITATION TO THE DANCE a new kind of movie m™ Here’s Gene Kelly’s movie of the dance. It con- sists of three ballets and no speaking parts. The first ballet is called “Circus.”’ In it Kelly plays a white- faced, pathetic clown whose unrequited love for circus girl Claire Sombert (her heart belongs to Igor Youskevitch, king of the highwire) leads to his tragic death. Kelly restricts himself to pantomime but Youskevitch (of the Ballet Theatre) and Sombert perform a lovely duet against a dramatic, moon- flooded background. The second ballet, ‘“Ring Around The Rosy,’ opens at a cocktail party at which a husband presents a bracelet to his wife. The brace- let passes through the hands of at least half a dozen fickle lovers before it comes back full circle. In this, Kelly plays a marine, and other well known ballet dancers (including Tamara Toumanova) are involved in assorted guises. It’s a slick, sophisticated presenta- tion. The last ballet, “Sinbad The Sailor,’”’ creates most unusual effects with the use of cartoon se- quences. That is, Kelly (Sinbad) enters an animated cartoon world and dances in it to themes derived from Rimsky-Korsakov. Even if you’re not a dance addict, you'll go for this. Technicolor—MGM THE GREAT LOCOMOTIVE CHASE a true incident of the Civil War = There were some bloody battles during the Civil War but not all the feats of bravery took place in them. Here is the true story of a locomotive chase. Fess Parker looks and acts like a southern gentle- man but he’s a northern spy and along with a group of soldiers (de-uniformed) he attempts to dismantle the southern railway system. With his charm and poise he easily steals trains right from under the noses of the southern folk, but there is one nose (belonging to motorman Jeffrey Hunter) that sniffs trouble. He chases Parker down the railway tracks and nothing, but nothing, can stop him. By the end of this film the two men have developed such respect for each other’s ingenuity they wind up shaking hands. What makes this movie delightful is the way Disney has captured the feel and the look of the South. Technicolor—Disney RECOMMENDED FILMS NOW PLAYING THE MAN WHO KNEW TOO MUCH (Para.): Hitchcock at his best—and that’s about as good as anyone can get. The suspense doesn’t let up for a minute; the characters and the backgrounds are unique, lavish and exciting, and so is the plot. Doris Day and James Stewart are excellent in this fine film. THE EDDY DUCHIN STORY (Col.): Tyrone Power plays Eddy Duchin, whose skyrocketing to fame was balanced by tragedy. Kim Novak and Victoria Shaw handle their roles as Eddy’s two great loves beautifully. You'll like it. GABY (MGM): Derived from Waterloo Bridge, Gaby is a tender, moving story of two youngsters who fall in love in London during the war. Leslie Caron and John Kerr star as the lovers. MOBY DICK (Warners): The suspense-filled novel by Herman Melville becomes one of the screen’s most exciting movies, with Gregory Peck as the possessed Captain Ahab, and Leo Genn and Richard Basehart terrific in the great whale-hunt. ALEXANDER THE GREAT (U.A.): Richard Bur- ton, Dannielle Darrieux and Claire Bloom star in a brilliant, battle-filled spectacle about a world of bar- barism and civilization—and its conqueror. BHOWANI JUNCTION (MGM): Ava Gardner and Stewart Granger in the vivid, romantic and action- packed movie that weaves a love story against the tensions and hatreds of India. THE RACK (MGM): Disturbing, thought-provoking movie about the ruthless brain-washing of a young American officer captured in Korea. Paul Newman, Walter Pidgeon. TOY TIGER (U.1.): This one is a heart-warming comedy about a woman executive who is too busy to be a good mother—even to Tim Hovey—until a young art director comes to the rescue. Laraine Day is the mother, Jeff Chandler the artist. THE MAN IN THE GRAY FLANNEL SUIT (20th- Fox): Gregory Peck is a war veteran who is now fighting his battles on Madison Avenue and in his typical suburban home. His struggle to maintain both his integrity and his wife (Jennifer Jones) is exciting. With Fredric March, Marisa Pavan.

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j modern screen’s 8 page gossip extra! LOUELLA PARSONS in holly Ries) de sai Ea _# “IN THIS SECTION: ~ “fhe Bridey Murphy craze Good News i Nominate For Stardom About Jimmy Dean «Kim goes to Cannes

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OUELLA PARSONS in hollywood | Ernie Borgnine and his Mrs. live it up the few times they go out. | LOVE ERNIE. It's ‘way past Oscar time, but Emest Borgnine is just as excited over the little gold statuette he won for Marty as he was the night he won it. And that’s plenty excited. “I'm taking Oscar back to my home town, New Haven, Connecticut when I go there. The picture I made with Debbie Reynolds, Catered Affair, is premiered there,” Emie told me with a big grin on his face. The whole Borgnine family, Mrs. B. and daughter Nancy, will accompany Ernie on this trip as soon as he finishes The Best Things In Life Are Free at 20th. “And, of course, Oscar Borgnine goes along,” Ernie reminded me. “I’m going to keep him on display on the living-room table as long as we're home so our neighbors and friends can get a look at him.” It's a pleasure to run into some one as refreshing as Emie. May he never be blase! STORK DEPARTMENT: That charm- ing Veronique Peck (Mrs. Gregory Peck) called me bright and early one morning to tell me her happy news. “Gregory and I are going to have a baby,” she said. “You are the first newspaperwoman I met in Hollywood and I want you to know first.” Now, that's what I call being an ever lovin’ doll. Veronica told me that she is four months pregnant, so it won't be too long before 4 there’s a brand new little Peck in the nursery. With Greg already the pappy of three boys, I suspect that he and Veronique are keeping their fingers crossed for a girl. TAKE CARE, JERRY! Jerry Lewis had just finished one of his wild and zany rou- tines with Dean Martin for Hollywood Or Bust—and just as usual, he threw himself in his canvas-back chair puffing and panting. “That was okay—but come on, Jerry. Let's do it again,” said Dean. Jerry didn’t get up, which was not as usual. “T can't,” he almost whispered, “I can’t. Ter- tible, terrible pains in my chest.” Seldom has a company in the midst of pro- duction had such a scare. Almost before anyone could reach his side, Jerry was bathed in perspiration and he was gasping for breath. The first thing they did was to call the studio doctor, and then Jerry's own doctor, Dr. Marvin Levy, was summoned. He was rushed immediately to the hospital, where Dr. Levy said that Jerry had every symptom of a heart attack. Later, after tests were made, the doctor said, “Miraculously, Jerry did not have a real heart attack. But he had a serious warning. He has suffered from a heart murmur for years—and all the extra work he has been doing, plus his excessive smoking—has put a £ The Pecks dined out after seeing Man In The Gray Flannel Suit. louella parsons’ GOOD NEWS an enormous strain on his heart.” Jerry was told that he could finish the pic- ture with “limited activity, rest between scenes, and the promise that he will give up smoking entirely.” Listen to your doctor, Jerry—and heed his words. Take it easy, boy. We need you around. BUT NOT FOR PIER! While we are in the stork department, Pier Angeli denies that she and Vic Damone are expecting a second child. Poor Pier went through so much after being injured by a fall aboard an air- plane enroute to Palm Springs while she was carrying her first baby. Both she and Vic want to be sure she has completely recovered her strength before increasing their family. Wait ‘til you see Pier in Somebody Up There Likes Me. It's by far the best acting she has ever done, and reflects the maturity she has attained since marriage and motherhood. But Pier, I think, is happiest when she’s just traveling around with Vic on his night- club dates. Get a load of the lovebirds snapped by our MoperNn ScrEEN photographer while Vic was appearing in Las Vegas. DATELESS DON: What's holding up the Donald O’Connor-Gloria Nobel marriage? I saw them at Chasen's and they said they still hadn't set the date. I doubt if it will

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: : Pike fitinripar a pmeillaanaaeeer as annie sania itt AGy Just a few days afier he got out of the It’s hard to believe that Pier and Vic are an Donald O’Connor’s daughter dressed up asa Peggy Lee looks so happy as just Mrs. Dewey old married couple by this time, isn’t it? squaw when she brought Don to the Fair. Martin. She says she’s giving up her career! ra

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LOUELLA PARSONS in hollywood Here are those long awaited baby portraits! Jane Powell’s Lindsay Averil objected to the camera, but Ann Blyth’s Maureen just ignored it. be before Donald finishes The Buster Keaton Story. However, he certainly lavishes gifts on the lady of his heart. In the last few months Donald has given Gloria a new car, a pearl and diamond bracelet, a white mink stole and a new refrigerator! i CAN’T BELIEVE PEGGY LEE really means it when she says that, excepting a few dates in Las Vegas she’s contracted to ful- fill, she’s going to retire to be just Mrs. Dewey Martin. “You wouldn't let her do that, would you?” I asked Dewey over the telephone at the home he bought from Peggy when they were married. “Sure,” he laughed. wants to?” “But just this year she won the Audience Award as the best supporting actress of ‘55 in Pete Kelly's Blues,” I reminded the happy bridegroom. He said he’d put Peggy on and let her speak for herself. “I've worked hard for a long time,” she said, “I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoy- ing doing nothing. Right now, Dewey is re- painting the house. He says he has to de femininize it from all those pale pinks and whites.” “You're just a bride, gal,” I protested, “Why not, if she “You'll have to prove to me that you're seri- ous about giving up your recordings, your composing, night-club and acting jobs per- manently.” Peggy just laughed and said, “You may be surprised.” ANN BLYTH is really too thin but she’s planning to put on at least five pounds be- fore starting work with Donald O’Connor in The Buster Keaton Story. By the way, did you ever see anything cuter than the picture of Ann and her baby daughter in this de- partment this month? Ann told me that she and Dr. Jim McNulty are flabbergasted over the comedy antics of their infant. “We're such serious people—and she’s so zany!” Ann laughed. DODO AND JUNE: For a girl who didn't like parties and would hardly accept invitations this time last year, Doris Day has certainly become a social butterfly. She and Marty Melcher were at the bon voyage party the Henry Rogers hosted for June Allyson and Dick Powell (headed for Europe). Doris, a vision in white, seemed to be on the dance floor constantly. She and June are close pals and Doris told me she would miss her a lot while she’s away. The summer dresses the girls wore were Ee Tae “3 seis Ta te SP Pes so pretty. June wore a black and white organza without her usual peter-pan collar. Gracie Allen looked like a doll (as always) in a pale pink gown designed by Orry Kelly with beautiful hand embroidery on the bodice and skirt. Everyone was taking a second look at Anna Kashfi, the East Indian beauty who came here after making The Mountain with Spencer Tracy in Europe and was immedi- ately grabbed up-under contract to MGM. Currently, she’s on loanout to UI for the lead with Rock Hudson in Battle Hymn—which should give you an idea of how popular she is. Anna came with producer Ross Hunter, and while she frequently wears American | clothes, for this occasion she looked lovely in a beige chiffon sari, the garb of her countrywomen. Among others who had a very good time at this party were Frances and Edgar Bergen, Charlie Feldman with youthful starlet Pat Livingston, the Mervyn Le Roys and the Johnny Greenes. IF ELIZABETH TAYLOR isn’t a nervous wreck every time a leading man of hers steps into a car, she has good cause to be. Montgomery Clift had dined at the home of Liz and Mike Wilding on a Sunday in a. a ff eS

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| | ' mid-May and was following Kevin McCarthy down the curving mountain road of Beverly Hills Estates, when his (Monty's) car went out of control and crashed into a power line pole! Next to Kevin, Liz and Mike were first on the scene of the horrible accident and as the men tugged and tugged to free Monty from the wreckage, Elizabeth sobbed as though her heart would break. / “For an awful moment I thought he was |) dead with all that blood pouring down his : face”, she told me later, the shocking mem- ory still vivid with her. Clift's nose was broken, three teeth knocked out, and at the hospital it was found that he had suffered a brain concussion. Yet, he was a lucky boy that he escaped with his life. A power-line executive said that it was a miracle that he was not electrocuted by a live wire torn loose by the impact. As this is written, Raintree County, the five- million-dollar Civil War story costarring Monty, Elizabeth and Eva Marie Saint, is closed down for three weeks while his face if is healing. They can’t shoot around him at MGM. He’s in practically every scene. This serious accident, following so close on the tragedy of Jimmy Dean’s death in an automobile accident right after young Dean and Liz had finished Giant, has been a severe shock to Elizabeth's nervous system. PERSONAL OPINIONS: Clark Gable not only has a beautiful wife in Kay Williams, he has a perfect companion. Of course, Kay went along with The King when he left for Knabe, Utah, for weeks of location on King And Four Queens. She took along her rid- ing clothes (she may even work in some background scenes just for the kicks), just as when she goes to Palm Springs with Clark fil. she takes her golf bags. And, come party | time, Kay is dressed to the teeth—just as Clark likes her to be. A plenty smart wife, Mrs, Gable. THE CUTEST SOCIAL EVENT of the mite month: The Child’s World Fair conducted by ila, | the Buckley Schools attended by so many of mys) | the stars’ children. Kelly Eleanor Powell was entertainment chair- ofice man and a lot of money was raised for scholarships to enable working mothers to send their children to the fine Buckley schools. Peggy lLee’s daughter, Nickie, won the door prize—a live burrow. re anne Se eee ee ee City of Hope Hospital named Rosie Clooney, |) Deborah Kerr and June Allyson all Mothers a Of The Year. Congratulations, you three girls! I’m on my soapbox @ I want to say that not since Valentino has any actor been more idolized in death than when he was alive than the late James Dean. some of the adulation is good. Some is hysterical—such as one teenager telling the police that she tried to com- mit suicide “to join Jimmy in death.” Yet no one seems to have touched the heart of the public more than this fine young actor. Warner Brothers reports that in the month of April, seven months after his death, the fan mail department received 5000 letters about young Dean. CBS-tv is reissuing his one filmed tv drama, The Un- lighted Road, because of public demand. His friend and director, Nick Ray, who led young Dean through Rebel Without A Cause, is writing a book on him. So is his father, Winton Dean. Elizabeth Taylor, Jo Van Fleet, Sal Mineo, Natalie Wood and other stars who worked with Jimmy, tell me that they get as much fan mail begging for information about him as they do about themselves. Director George Stevens, who directed Jimmy's last picture, Giant, says he receives mail ‘‘demanding” to know the release date of the picture. His grandparents, in Fairmount, Indiana, say that fans stop daily at their home to talk about the actor and to ask where they can visit his grave. At Princeton University, a mask of Dean will be dis- played along with masks of Edwin Booth, Beethoven, Thackeray and Keats! A young pal of his recently said to me, “Some of this adulation shocks me. If there is anything Jimmy hated it was sensationalism. And, yet—I think he would be pleased if he knew how deeply he still lives in the heart of the public.”

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LOUELLA PARSONS in hollywood ee hy EI GS RR era 2 | nominate for stardom: ' PAUL NEWMAN ™ Paul is the sensational newcomer who has the fans winging since The Rack and even before he’s seen as Rocky Graziano in Somebody Up There Likes Me. Although like Marlon Brando and Jimmy Dean he is a product of the Actors Studio, it burns him to a crisp to be accused of imitating their style. “The only person I've ever imitated for a role is Rocky Graziano,” he says heatedly, “and that's because I'm playing him on the screen. Rocky was talking like he had adenoids long before Brando.” So there! Paul comes to pictures a seasoned performer. He clicked in Picnic and The Desperate Hours on the stage in New York before coming to Hollywood and also played four seasons of summer stock in a great variety of roles. Bor in Cleveland, he attended grammar school and high school there before entering Kenyon College, Ohio. From there he went to Yale (V-12 Naval Air Corps offi- cers’ training school during the war) and returned to the Yale School of drama. In 1947 he married the former Jackie Witte and they have three children, Scott, Susan and Stephanie. Paul has light brown hair, stands five-foot, eleven-inches, weighs 165 and his eyes are blue. When I asked him if his career had been pointed to- ward Hollywood, this outspoken young man said, “Not necessarily. My career was never pointed beyond my next role. I love the stage and hope to keep my home in New York so that I will be handy to do a show be- tween movies. But I love pictures, too. In fact, you might just say that I love acting in any medium.” Donald O'Connor was there with his Donna, getting to be such a pretty girl and growing so tall. One of the funniest things took place when one of the little students sneaked up on cowboy Jock Mahoney while he was talking to Mr. and Mrs. Rex Allen and stole a bul- let from Jock‘s gun belt. He got caught right in the act, too. SUSAN HAYWARD and Kim were the belles of the Cannes Film Festival. I couldn't be happier that Susie won the award for the © finest performance by an actress for her wonderful playing in I'll Cry Tomorrow. Now that it’s over—for my money, Susan should have won the Academy Award, and those aren't idle words. I have a feeling a new day is dawning for Miss Hayward. While she was in Europe her divorce from Jess Barker became final. So there’s no more worry on that score. And, while it's still a little early to be sure, I wouldn't be surprised if Susan hasn‘t found a new romance in Gordon White, a London pub- lisher. He gave her such a big romantic tush that Susie postponed her retum to the USA at the gentleman’s insistence. WE MIGHT AS WELL GIVE IN and nominate Anita Ekberg the Princess of Pub- licity. That “news” story from Florence, Italy, that Anita and her husband Anthony Steele were arrested for kissing and holding hands in a parked car in Lovers’ Lane, sounds very much to me like Anita‘’s fine Swedish hand was in the whole escapade... . KIM NOVAK wrote me from the Riv- iera that she was invited by the Aga Khan to have tea with him and his Begum and she was “'so surprised that Aly Khan dropped in during my visit.” I’m not. That young man has a sixth sense about ferreting out where a pretty girl may be. Her letter went on, “I got a real kick out of meeting the Gary Coopers, who are travel- ing with their lovely daughter, Maria. Isn't Anita and Tony got married in Florence, Italy, and spent their honeymoon there, too.

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here vel Isnt pnt, 100, it funny—after working for years in Holly- wood and never running into the Coopers, I met them in Europe? I hope the friendship continues when we all come home because I like them so much.” THE HOTTEST ROMANCE: At this writing, it is that of attractive blonde Diana Lynn and Mortimer Hall, ex-husband of Ruth Roman. I pinned my friend Diana down and asked her about wedding bells. She said, | “Mortimer won't be free until March and we do not want to marry outside California. But we are very much in love with each other.” Of course, Diana has had many romances since she and John Lindsay were divorced. | he’s a beautiful girl and much sought after At the Cannes festival Aly Khan kissed Susan Hayward’s hand—and well he might! My Susie got the top acting honor of the world there! ~~ > by Hollywood bachelors, so we will have to wait and see what happens. CONTRARY TO REPORTS that she was seeing her ex, Frank Sinatra, in Madrid (where he’s making The Pride And The Pas- sion), Ava Gardner says he hasn't even telephoned her. “But the phone system here is very bad,” she explains—one of my fa- vorite quotes of the month. VICTOR MATURE says he has no seri- ous romance and no wedding plans, and I’m inclined to believe him. His divorce from Dorothy cost Vic too much for him to be enthusiastic about another marriage. He's building a group of homes at Rancho Santa Ingrid Bergman (with Rosselini) was a huge hit, too. Ingrid is making Anastasia now. It’s her first American movie in a long, long time. The minute they met, Aly Khan deserted his date to dance all night with Kim Novak. But—am I wrong?—he looks happier about it than she does! Fe—but he isn’t planning to carry a bride over the threshold of one of them. THE “BRIDEY MURPHY” IDEA of reincamation and all the hypnotist shennani- gans has hit Hollywood with a bang. Count the evening lost when ringsiders in night clubs and guests at parties aren't invited to “go under.” Arlene Dahl and Femando Lamas started the ball rolling with a masquerade party at their home. With a hundred or more guests invited to “Come As You Were’ (in some other life) there was a laugh—or a trance —a minute. Theirs most definitely was The Party Of The Month. With her startling red hair and beautiful

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< OUELLA PARSONS | in hollywood | ZB ast the letter box ROCHELLE EISENBERG, BROOK- LYN, writes: “Not only is Paul Newman a fine actor but I would like other fans to know that he has wonderful fan-mail manners. He wrote me a charming letter in his own hand thanking me for writing to him. He’s a doll.” GEORGIA EWING, ATLANTA, GEORGIA, is upset because Louis Jourdan doesn’t receive enough attention. “He’s just wonderful in The Swan and before that, Three Coins In The Fountain.” I’m sure Louis thanks you, ma’am. JOAN DAVIS, NASHVILLE, (not the comedienne) is disgusted: “I'm furious about these Ty come- diennes who do their disgusting imitations of Marilyn Monroe. They just prove their jealousy of the most beautiful and famous girl on the screen.” MILDRED WILLIAMS, WIL- MINGTON, N. C., wants Gloria Grahame to snap out of her dold- rums “. . . or whatever is keeping her off the screen. She’s a fine actress and should leave Paris for Hollywood—where she belongs.” “I don’t care if he is tempera- mental,” opines JO ANN KILAN- ASHI, ST. JOE, MIssouRtI, “Mario Lanza is the greatest. I’ve just seen Serenade and if Mario is ruled off for temperament, I say Hollywood is nuts.” BARBARA WILCOX, MARSHALL- TOWN, IowA, is beating the tom- toms for her favorite, Eleanor Parker. “She is the most beau- tiful actress in Hollywood, and the most neglected. She has more talent in her little finger than most of the body-wigglers have in their whole torso.” Take that and that, you body-wigglers. “MARIA, NEW YORK, tosses us a nice bouquet: “Louella, I think you had a hand in the reconcilia- tion of the Dean Martins. You wrote an open letter in your de- partment in Moprern ScREEN telling Dean and Jeanne how silly they were to stay apart when they really love one another. I read your words, and I bet they did, too.” Thank you, Maria. face, Arlene was an eyeful as Empress Eu- genie in a highwaisted empire gown and a sparkling diamond tiara. Fernando could have stepped right out of a bull ring, he was so correctly and handsomely done up as a Matador. It was one of the first big parties Jeanne Crain has attended since her marriage to Paul Brinkman crashed (and how!)—and apparently Jeanne fancied herself as the re- incarnation of a leopard woman because the gown she wore was so tight it might still have been clinging to lady leopard’s hide. But the highlight of the evening was when a noted hypnotist, W. McConigal, put Mickey Rooney, Jane Powell and hair stylist Sydney Guileroff under his spell. He asked Janie (be- fore putting her to sleep) if there was any bad habit she would like to lose. “Yes,” she admitted, “I really want to diet but I can’t resist candy and ice cream.” While Janie was under, McConigal told her that from now on candy and ice cream would have a bad taste in her mouth. And do you know something—when Jane came out from under the trance, she was offered ice cream and said, ‘No, thank you. It tastes terrible!” Now I ask you! (When I saw Jane a few days later in Beverly Hills she told me she hadn't slept for three nights, ever since she was hyp- notized. ) A funny thing about Mickey Rooney, when he was put under, he stayed completely asleep. Not a move out of that body of per- petual motion. “Better than a Milltown,” cracked Mickey when he woke up. I was invited to go under—but no thanks, 2 . - : boi During a stop-over on their honeymoon, Grace a it's not for me. It was enough of a kick for me when Co- bina Wright Sr. and I won the first prize for our costumes. We went dressed exactly alike as the favorite wives of Tutankhamen. Co- bina’s prize was a gold poodle pin and mine was a jeweled heart. As the party went on and on into the wee hours, the singing started as usual. Fernando sang “Some Enchanted Evening” so beauti- fully he gets my vote to play the Ezio Pinza role in South Pacific on the screen. Nice, too, that Jane Powell wasn't hypno- tized out of her voice. She sang like a lark. Among others who enjoyed the very un- usual evening were Benay Venuta (as a Barbary Coast beauty), Vera Ellen (appro- priately garbed as a Spanish dancer), Dani Crayne (an Italian belle), Jack Warner (a Mississippi gambler with diamond buttons on his suit) and Reginald Gardiner whose wicked Rasputin garb won first prize for the men’s costumes. All in all, quite a night, although I must say I am not in favor oi making entertainment out of hypnotism. HAD TO HOLD MY SIDES laughing when I learned that Prince Rainier has en- gaged .a British Miss Tiffle to teach Princess Grace protocol and the way to correctly con- duct herself as a member of Serene Royalty. Wonder if the lady has anything to say about sulking when you don’t get your vray —as His Highness did with the world press before, during and after his marriage to the movie star? THAT'S ALL FOR NOW. SEE YOU NEXT MONTH! & nd the Prince went toa bullfight. The matador dedicated his “kill” to Grace by tossing her his hat; then she had to throw it back to him!

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Took out See? It’s like washing your hair | for hotrod Sal: 1] in >| MINEO ON WHEELS naturally soft rainwater Co. @ A while back Sal Mineo bought his ine first jalopy for $50. When he reported ' each morning for work on Rebel With- i | out A Cause at the Warner lot he would i park it right next to Jack Warner’s an | custom Cadillac. Then the studio police would promptly drive it off and hide a0 it for the day. When Sal was ready to go home, they'd have to drive him to it in a studio car. mt Sal had other trouble with his ini | Wheels. The horn of the 41 Dodge (0 | coupe would stick every time he ti | turned the motor over—and blast for ten minutes. When it happened one day right in front of the Giant set, ri | the jalopy was barred from the lot, but the final indignity came when police didn’t like the smoke trail the crate » | left behind it, and gave Sal a ticket for ws | being a smog nuisance. Sal sighs, “I om | used to wash it every day, hoping tl | somebody would want to buy it. I Rainwater-soft suds! New White Rain gives you floods of suds, soft as softest rainwater. Rainwater-clean rinsing, too . . . all dulling film z finally sold it for scrap.” disappears in a twinkling! nes When Sal got his next wheels, a 49 ite | Mere, he joined the Kurb Krushers, a club for car addicts. He can’t stop talking about the progress his Merc is making. “I am Frenching the head- lights—you know what | mean?” He explains in English—‘That’s when you build a hood over the lights, like the new Fords have. No true Kurb Krush- er would be caught at a dog fight without Frenched lights.” Among his other labors of love is Sal’s peeling and repainting. He’s also, sandpapering down and _ putty- ing up some incidental holes, in which he'll insert fancy brass screws after the paint job. Then there’s the rear end. To finish the job, he’s going to have a pair of miniature radio aerials on the back fenders. But the big dream is to combine an Olds- Merc-Chevvie engine, put it into the Merc and try it out on the six drag race strips near Hollywood. At least, Warner Brothers have one consola- tion. Sal says sensibly, “I won’t do it until I really know the car. And not while I am working on a picture.” r | The Kurb Krushers meet every NEW 6 W Wednesday night for three hour ses- sions of talk on wheels. Sometimes AE A, / they go to the drag races together. That’s Sal’s big social event of the iil’) week. It’s easy to see why he doesn’t "| date much. No female has a chance against that Merc. NTH! Rainwater-soft results ! You comb out hair that’s sunshine-bright . . . soft as a summer cloud. Yet all your sunny curls just naturally spring back into place! LOTION SHAMPOO Use New White Rain Shampoo tonight... Tomorrow your hair will be sunshine bright!

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nee ee ae rs eer 1dne Ate oN a arse m The part of my life that I remember best began with the “gang age,” around thirteen. Nobody really had dates. But the girls would gang together and the boys would gang together and somehow both gangs always managed to turn up at the same place. We went to dancing school and parties and Saturday afternoon moy- ies. Those movies were the highlight of the week. Four or five girls would get to- gether, pick a movie and then let the word get around that we might—just might—be going to a certain movie. We girls paid our own way in and sat in a group, managing, of course, to keep a few vacant seats beside us. If another movie- goer started to sit in one of the vacant seats we'd say politely “Sorry, this seat is taken.” Then, with one eve on the screen and one on the audience we'd search around for the boys—without pre- tending to notice them. There was always an intermission at which we could ac- knowledge each other’s presence and after which the two gangs would sit to- gether. I looked forward eagerly to every Saturday. But the day of all days was the first time Mac, my first love, actually asked me in advance to meet him at the movie. He paid my way in and even bought me a candy bar! That was a real date. Let me tell you about Mac. His name was Robert MacDougall. We met when we were only eleven or twelve and, although our friendship con- tinued into high school, it’s those early years I remember best, partly because I dated other boys later on, but mostly be- cause he was the first member of the Other Sex to notice me. Mac was good looking in a blond sort of way; the most popular boy in class; and all the girls were crazy about him. We met when my family moved to a new neighborhood and I entered a new school. I didn’t know a soul and felt like an outcast. Then one day he made a few friendly overtures. Being sought out by 13 Mac immediately put the sign of approv- al on me. I was accepted. I belonged. I don’t mean that he began calling for me in a Cadillac every morning. But he was sweet, carried my books and walked me home from school. On Saturdays he presented himself at my house wearing clean overalls. And he always remem- bered to wash his hands before meals. This so impressed my mother that she was confident he had all the makings of a fine cavalier. But he was no sissy. And he was a terrific athlete. I think it was Mac who gave me my first interest in sports. But Mac wasn’t always the number one man on my list, nor I the number one girl on his. Both boys and girls had “lists” in those days (still do, I hear tell) and maintaining yourself on the poll was a game in itself, depending on whether you'd been on the same parties, and had or had not quarreled about something. If I told Mac he stood fourth or fifth on my list he’d complain, “Hey, I was number one last week!” Giggling, I would reply, “But that was last week!” My own rating rose and fell like a barometer. My parents were very under- standing about this and whenever I hit a new low they'd manage to have the gang in for an evening. One night, at a party at my best girl friend’s house, her parents allowed us to play Post Office and Spin The Bottle. Mac singled me out for his attentions. I was sure we would grow up, marry, and live happily ever after. But all was not roses. At this time we all suffered all the agonies of the awk- ward age—too fat, too thin—eye glasses —braces on teeth—and we delighted in ridiculing each other. My own cross was that I was slow to blossom out. In fact, I was downright skinny—and super-sen- sitive about my spindly legs. During classes we passed caricatures of each other around in notes. There were no names on the drawings but when one with pipe- stem legs got around everybody knew who by Terry Moore it was. And everybody would laugh— my chivalrous knight along with the rest of them. I'll never forget that after one of these incidents my best girl friend, who had been more generously endowed by nature, was sitting sidewise in a seat in the schoolroom with her feet propped on the seat opposite, thus barring Mac’s prog- ress down the aisle. He laughingly said, “Get those million-dollar legs out of my way.” This made me feel more self-con- scious than ever and I resolved then and there that some day I would have the most photographed legs in the world. They’d all be sorry they had laughed. I'm convinced that the telephone (everybody knows how much I use it) played an important part in shaping my future. I like people—always have—but during those growing-up years I was shy — particularly about approaching people directly, more specifically boys. It was al- ways easier to telephone on some pretext or other, in hope that a date would de- velop. Also there was the intermediary. For instance, I would go to Barbara’s (a school chum) and she, not I, would get Mac or some other boy on the phone. While she sounded him out as to how well he really liked me I waited—palpitating. If he was noncommittal she quickly ended the conversation. But if he said he liked me, that I was really tops on his list, Barbara would casually say, “Oh, guess who just came in,” or “Guess who’s here,” and I'd take over. The fact that he knew that I knew that he knew I was there all the time didn’t spoil our intrigue in the least. Then we grew older, and somehow, during our middle teens, Mac and I drift- ed apart. I didn’t know what had become of him until I received a letter from him while he was in the service during the war. He has since married and I don't know where he is now, but I will always remember him as the man in my life when I was 13!

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HALO leaves hair Cleaner Softer alesse Halo—unlike most shampoos— contains no greasy oils or soap to leave dulling, dirt-catching film! Clear, liquid Halo bursts into rain-soft lather in any kind of water. Cleans thoroughly, quickly, then rinses completely, carrying away dirt and dusty-looking dandruff. Brings out all of your hair’s bright, shining beauty with each shampoo. Get safe, gentle Halo today! Halo Glorifies Your Hair—Naturally! a WITH THESE HANDS by Peggy Lee @ When I was eight years old some- one very close to me said my hands were too big. I grew up terribly con- scious of them. When with people I would hold them behind me, fold them up, never present them flat to view but edge-wise only. I wouldn’t think of knitting or doing any hand- work. I was one of the quickest hand shakers you ever saw. The problem that singing before the public pre- sented was a horrible one. I went through agonies trying to figure out what to do with my hands; I even used to make fists of them, leaving just my thumbs sticking up to soften any pugnacious effect. And this kept up until I was well into my career. Then one afternoon, while rehears- ing a song number. my accompanist asked why I made such a production of hiding my hands. At first I was mortified that he had noticed it. Then I told him the truth. He was astonished. “Why, they aren't too big at all!” he exclaimed. “Theyre your size. Any smaller and they would look odd. And something else—they are strong hands, full of character!” Well! I looked at my hands with new eyes. Whether he was right or not is beside the point. I could tell by the wonder in his voice that he really meant what he had said. I could also tell that he was touched by the misery with which I had confessed my trouble. And for that second of understanding between us. we had touched hearts, finely and warmly. as people too seldom do. So actually, my hands brought me a friend. And he opened up a whole new world to me by taking away a misery I never should have had. I don’t think my hands are too big now; | like them. Neither do I avoid thinking of hands. As a matter of fact I study them—for fun!

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Dear Readers, There’s a treat in store for you. See that good-looking guy in the picture on the left? He’s twenty-nine, smart as a whip, has a marvelous sense of humor, and .. . well, he’s just about the friendliest, nicest guy I’ve ever known. His name is David Myers, and if any of you are wondering when and where you can meet him, stop wondering—from now on, you'll meet him in every issue of MopERN SCREEN. A few months ago I stole David away from his very successful job as the director of Dell’s Special Projects Division and made him managing editor of MopERN SCREEN, so that he’d be ready to take over my chair. I’m going to devote myself full-time from now on to drawing and painting—something I’ve been dreaming of doing for a long time. In fact, signing this note will be my last official act as editor of MS. This seems to be a perfect time to introduce the other members of our staff, too. The guy with the crew cut is Bill Weinberger, art editor of MopERN ScREEN since 1942, and the reason why our magazine has won so many awards for excellence in layout and design. Next to him is Audrey Freiheit (a redhead), who is his top assistant. To her right is Ernestine Cooke—“Cookie” to us and you—our office manager, who keeps our frantic coast-to-coast operation on an even keel. The Great Profile on her right is Barbara Mayer, our brilliant story editor. This isn’t quite the entire staff—Ina Steinhauser, our assistant editor, was out when the picture was taken, and of course Carl Schroeder and his West Coast staff were in California. And besides them, there’s a huge production staff, and the printers and the writers—but we couldn’t get that many people into the office! Anyway, we're proud of them all—and we're all proud to have David as MopERN SCREEN’S new boss-man. Readers—meet David. David, take over now on the best magazine and the most friendly bunch of readers you'll ever come across. It’s your party now—have a ball! (hades D. Sancen

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Your reassuring letters to Liz and Mike poured in by the thousand. They thank you with all their hearts. We want to thank you, too—and the best way we know how is by taking you... inside the Wildings’ mountain hideaway: by LINDA MATTHEWS @ Morning, in the Liz Taylor-Mike Wilding household, is at 6. That’s when Mike wakes up, stretches, climbs out of the “acre of bed” he and Liz sleep in and bounds to the window. He gazes happily at the dank, foggy California morning and says brightly, “Just the day for a swim!” From under the electric blanket comes a muffled groan. “What's that, dear?” inquires Mike. “Care to join me?” The blanket gives a convulsive shudder and subsides. Mike tours the room, banging closet doors, opening drawers, overturning boxes. “Bathing trunks,” he mutters under his breath. “Towel . . . where?” The blanket heaves despairingly and the enchanting nose of Elizabeth Taylor emerges from it. “Bathroom,” she says. “Goodbye, honey . . . please, honey ... . goodbye?” Mike disappears into the bathroom, and emerges a minute later clad in swimming trunks. He tiptoes to the door, elaborately quiet, leaves. The nose retreats under the blanket. Five minutes later, faintly, comes the sound of a colossal splash. Mike Wilding is having his early-morning swim, but no one hears him. Liz Taylor has gone back to sleep. For an hour and a half, the room is quiet.. Then the door bursts open. Two small figures in rumpled pajamas hurtle across the room and land on the electric blanket in a manner designed to short-circuit the current. (Continued on page 82) “Our fireplace,’ Mike explains, “is rather unique. No chimney. There’s a little switch on the right and when you turn it on, the smoke blows out the side!” The entire Wading house is like that—and so is their family. Off-beat, full of fun—and wonderful.

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66 Pve seen a lot of heartbreak and tragic misunderstandings, but after talking to Jack and Cynthia (separately, in private) about their sudden break-up, I’m frankly puzzled. The more I think about it, the more I wonder... 1 Jack says he and Cynthia are separating so their baby, Chris, will be happy! ae waite Bedi And both of them say they're the best of by Louella Parsons @ I don’t get the separation of the Jack Lemmons. I’ve talked with both Jack and Cynthia (not together) for hours— and I repeat, I don’t get it. You'll pardon me if I say that I’ve been a reporter for so long and I’ve seen so many Hollywood marriages go on the rocks that I feel I can uSually ferret out the true story behind a divorce no mat- ter what the principals tell me. It’s sometimes, too often in fact, an- other man or another woman. Now and then it’s money—a lack of it, or too

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4 } 1 much of it. Sometimes it’s because raudy, blinding, intoxicating success has “ome too suddenly and either the man x the wife “goes Hollywood.” But these young Lemmons, both so liensible, so level-headed, just moved nto their new home, both so devoted to heir baby, Christopher—what in the vorld happened to them? “Our marriage wasn’t good,” Jack told ne in an emotionless manner of speak- ng. “There was nothing we could do 0 save it.” This young man who recently won an Oscar for his charming supporting per- formance in Mister Roberts was no- where near as blithe as he was in that film as he sat in my playroom on a cloudy afternoon and sipped a cocktail. Neither was he seemingly depressed. His attitude was that of a fatalist up against a problem for which he saw no workable solution. I have much more to say about my talk with Jack. But here I want to di- gress for a moment to my meeting with me ng people know what marriage is? Cynthia Lemmon (the former Cynthia Stone) who came to my home, at my invitation, a few days after I had talked with Jack. She is a lovely-looking girl with blonde hair and, I think, the most enor- mous brown eyes I’ve ever seen. She looks and dresses like a model although her clothes are not expensive. Altogether, she is a most attractive woman. Cynthia knew, of course, that I wanted to talk about her separation from Jack. She hadn’t (Continued on page 89) 33

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{ | {| | oon “T married a girl, they say,” Russ sighs, “but I got me a wife!” Venetia, though she just turned 18 and has a tendency to tap dance while cooking, is a whiz at budgeting, and a good enough housekeeper to make Rusty take off his shoes before he puts his feet on the furniture! to pieces!”’ Ws by Jack Wade the best days of their lives m@ It was after a premiere and the hour was late. Mr. and Mrs. Russell Irving Tamblyn turned the key to their apartment—and sank down on the long, curving sofa to post-mortem the evening. They’d teamed up that night with Tab Hunter and his date, cute Lili Gentle, a Fox starlet just sixteen years old. After Russ had yanked loose his tie and started to spin a particularly sentimental platter of theirs called, “Please Don’t Leave Me,” Venetia spoke. “She’s so pretty,” she murmured, “and so very, very young. Sixteen! Gee,” stated Mrs. T. reflectively, “I can remember when I was sixteen.” “No kidding!” teased Russ. “Can you really?” His bride’s blue eyes regarded him gravely. “Yes,” she sighed. “It’s a wonderful age.” “You know what?” Russ broke up the reverie—he thought. “I’m sleepy.” He yawned and padded into his bathroom to scrub his teeth. After a minute he heard Venetia enter hers. She seemed to stay a long time. When she came out Russ took one look and bolted up from his pillow as if a wasp had drilled him. A mess of white goo covered his bride’s face like marshmallow whip. Through the zombie mask she cracked a sheepish smile. “It’s a miracle night cream,” she informed him. “I saw it on tv. It takes ten years off your age.” “Ten years? Holy cow!” yelped Russ. “Don’t tell me I’m going to be married to a girl eight years old!” Now, of course Venetia Stevenson Tamblyn, who was just seventeen when Russ took her to wife, and turned eighteen a month later, needs to shed years like she needs a shawl and a wheel chair. So the result was that finally she towelled off the wonder pack and they both laughed themselves to sleep. But from that little domestic scene, which took place only a few nights ago in the Tamblyn’s West Hollywood apartment (an apartment appro- priately named “Desiree” ), you might reasonably deduce that for Venetia and Russ the honeymoon is over. When a blushing bride, who still occa- sionally thinks “Mrs. Tamblyn” refers to Rusty’s mother, starts fretting about her advancing years—even if it adds up (Continued on page 72) ?

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a shy girl discovers the joys of love by Susan WENDER @ A couple of months ago, MoDERN SCREEN referred to.Marisa Pavan as “The dark one, the quiet one.” And she was, too. A shy, silent girl with large sad eyes, beginning to make a career for herself, but still living on the fringe of her sister’s life, spending her time with her sister’s gay young friends, and feeling desolately alone among them. A girl whose bright inquiring mind had been denied the university career for which it was trained, whose love of books and music was lost in the world of sports cars and night clubs and success (even her own) into which her sister, with the best intentions, had led her. (Continued on next page Photos by Peter Basch

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Marisa and Jean-Pierre were made for a miracle. Even disasters turn A couple of months ago, the spark and the brightness were the property of Pier Angeli, and Marisa Pavan made do with the lonely virtues of dignity and poise. But today Marisa is a girl transformed, a sprite compounded of laughter and glow and shouting joy, a radiant, shin- ing creature. And to put it simply— the cause was a miracle that took three years in the making. For it was a little less than three years ago that Marisa met Jean-Pierre Aumont. Back then she was Marisa Pierangeli, who had still to be noticed by anybody at all, and as usual, she was tagging along on a spree of Pier’s. This time it was to Paris. And as usual it was Pier who dashed happily about from theatre to theatre, seeing the shows and meeting the stars, while Marisa, by choice, roamed through the museums and bought tickets to the operas. But one night Pier came home so excited she could hardly talk. She had been to a show and she had seen Jean-Pierre Aumont. He was absolutely the most wonderful thing in Paris, so handsome, so charming. Of course she had gone backstage afterwards to say hello and in person he was even more wonderful—simply a delight. Ma- risa must tear herself away from her sight-seeing and come too. So~ must Mama. She, Pier, would adore to go again, and afterwards they would all go backstage. Would they? They certainly would. Mama because she loved the theatre, and Marisa be- cause—because all of a sudden, sitting there with her dark eyes shining, she wanted very much to meet Jean-Pierre Aumont. A real actor, not a glamour- boy. A man everyone talked of with respect and love. A man who had lost a wife he adored and who had recovered from despair to make a life for himself and his daughter. Marisa thrilled to the prospect of the meeting. For once—a

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Ecstatically happy about the marriage, Jean-Pierre’s young daughter Maria Christina came to Hollywood for the wedding. (She is the child of Jean-Pierre’s first, happy marriage, to Maria Montez, who died tragically a few years ago.) In Hollywood “Tina” and Marisa’s young sister Patriza (on the left) became close friends, picked identical dresses to wear to the wedding. Two weeks after the ceremony, Tina (her father’s nick-name for her) was back in school in New York, greeted the honeymooners when they returned (below). This summer she’ll join them in Eurode as soon as school lets out, and next fall she’ll go home to Hollywood to live with them in the house Marisa bought last year, and to go to the same school as Patriza. into blessings for them. really exciting man! But when the great moment came, and after watching the play for an en- thralled three -hours they were ushered into his dressing room, Marisa was shy. After all, what was she doing there? Pier had every right to chat with a fellow-artist, and Mama would get along anywhere, but who was Marisa, with her _ skimpy French and worse English? A | bystander, that was all. Of course, Jean-Pierre was most charming. He talked to her for quite a long time, and if he was bored at what she’d been do- ing in Paris, or surprised that she had seen Napoleon’s (Continued on page 86)

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ELVIO PREDLEY | who is he? why does he drive girls crazy? a LL 7” ae : aa d singing a combination of hill-billy and rock’n roll. 7 } ae ete He came out of the south carrying a guitar as if it were a tommy-gun an @ It was at the Coliseum in Fort Worth, Texas, not long ago. The tall boy on the stage had hardly begun his song, “Let’s Play House,” swaying and twisting his body with the beat, fairly lashing at the strings of his guitar, when his audience of 7,000 li turned into a sea of excited girlhood. Suddenly a teen-ager jumped up. “Oh, Elvis, ) I'm going to die!” she screamed. Other girls rose, shouted and danced as the singer’s | voice went into full-throated cry. ik “It was utterly fantastic,” said a writer reporting the show in The Ft. Worth Star- a Telegram, one of the city’s newspapers, the next day. And it was. But it was nothing new. Elvis Presley has cast this same musical spell through a good part of the rest of a the south and all along the eastern seaboard. He doesn’t even have to be seen, appar- ently; the mere playing of one of his records seems to be enough to stir up wild en- thusiasm. And it’s been like that almost since the day, nearly two years ago, when he quit his $35 a week delivery-truck driving job in Memphis, Tennessee, to go on the | road—a nineteen-year-old troubador with a magnetic manner and an atomic baritone. li His rewards have been big. He has four Cadillacs, a canary yellow convertible, a pink Fleetwood sedan, a blue limousine and a light purple Eldorado. His show | salary runs to thousands of dollars a week. For a fortnight at the New Frontier Hotel |] in Las Vegas, Nevada, he collected $15,000. His first big time recording, “Heartbreak Hotel” (backed by “I Was the One”), sold a million within ten weeks of its issuance | last January, and practically every guitar-playing singer in the country is imitating / him. And early last May he was signed for the movies in a contract that can well We bring him millions over the years. I | It’s such a fabulous beginning that Elvis himself finds it (Continued on page 90) by LOUIS POLLOCK | 40 insta sterity oo

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= > a7 ais 1S ee TSE a Rae SSR Lee : WOE T e = = = = =F tees ee Ranker on Renee : Sess z a See as told to JANE WILKIE Debbie answers your questions about THOSE BOY- GIRL PROBLEMS... m@ I’m no expert on teen-age problems; at least I never thought of myself as such, but MopERN SCREEN feels I might be able to help some of you. I’ve read the letters you sent me and al- though of course it’s impossible for me to an- swer them all individually, I think just about everything is covered by the letters I’ve chosen. It might interest you to know that whatever your problem is, it is shared by many your age. I was worried by some of the same things my- self—and some of them I was spared. I can thank my mother for that, for she always man- aged somehow to have time to talk things over with me. She used to say, “If you want to try something new, just promise me you'll do it at home. I don’t want you to feel you have to de- ceive me.” And so when I wanted to take a fling at adventures in the adult world I tried them out with my mother’s knowledge. Like that first ciga- rette. I smoked it, I got sick as a dog, and I haven't had one since. My mother is a very wise woman, I think: _ But now to answer your questions. DEAR DEBBIE: My problem is whether or not to go steady. I’m sixteen and want to go steady with Tommy, who’s seventeen, but my parents want me to date other boys too. My sister and I argue about it all the time. She's fifteen and sort of old-fashioned because she doesn’t believe in go- ing steady until eleventh or twelfth grade. Maybe you can settle it for all of us. How old do you think teen-agers should be before they go steady? And how long should they know each other before they go steady? If you don’t go steady, how many times a week should you date? My sister wants me to ask you a question for her. If a boy gets serious and you feel you're too young to be tied down, what do you say? SuE. Dear Sve: I’m afraid I’m a little old-fashioned, like your sister. I don’t believe you should go steady just for the sake of saying you do. If you are attracted to a young man and he’s fun to be with, you don’t have to make a pact in blood or call it going steady, in order to know you are going with him. In that way, if and when you want to break it off, it won’t seem like a minia- ture divorce. Personally, I never went steady, and I never had the feeling that a great tragedy had struck if I didn’t have a date every Friday and Saturday night. I always had a good time, whether it was with boys in school or some of my best girl friends. I don’t feel that going steady is at all necessary. You'll have much more fun if you date a variety of boys and stay fancy free until you're engaged to be married. Concerning the frequency of dates, I don’t think it’s necessary to date, at sixteen, more than once or twice a week. What is a girl who dates more often trying to prove? As for your sister’s question, a boy shouldn't get serious unless you allow him to. All you have to do is tell him, “I like you very much, but let's not get serious. Let’s just enjoy each other's company.” If the boy is as fond of you as he says, he should understand. I’ve found a fellow will treat a girl the way she expects to be treated. Dear Dessie: What do you do about kissing? Boys always want to kiss me goodnight and I - don’t think this is proper. I try my best to dis- courage them but unfortunately they can't seem to take a hint. I hate to be rude but I think the only way they'll leave me alone is for me to tell them off. I don’t want to do this but it’s the only way I can see. How do you say ‘no’ without hurting the boy's feelings so that he won't ask you out again? Do you agree with me that a boy shouldn't try, par- ticularly on the first date? And if you think it’s all right after a while, how old should a girl be before she lets a boy kiss her? (I'm fifteen.) Many of my girl friends go with boys about sixteen, and I don’t think much of the boys be- cause they're so fresh. Then I'm called a square because I don’t swoon for them. GINNY. Dear Ginny: If you don’t think kissing is prop- er, you shouldn't do it. And it isn’t a matter of how long you’ve known a boy—it’s how much you think of him. When I was in high (Continued on page 59) Ce ee ge ee ee LL eee Oe

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' | i i i | ( | ( How to be different together When Guy and Sheila got married they knew they were opposite types—and didn’t care. But how do you go about building a house with a split personality to match a marital double life? Guy wanted a man-sized pool—“For swimming, not splashing !”—but Shiela went for the “cute modern ones.” They settled for a tremendous, kidney-shaped affair. = anh ap) : iss 7: xi The breakfast bar does everything from catch Bridget’s spinach to serve company—and keep the kitchen out of the living room.

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A month or so ago, we revealed the PEOPLE Wi oAy WERE IN LOVE story of Shirley Jones’ romance—a sad story— and told her to choose wisely and well. She has done that. The happy monies of shite it ayes t ending 1s im sight : m@ Until MopEern Screen told the story last May, Shirley Jones’ romance with Jack Cassidy was a secret. It was kept a secret because Jack had been separated for more than two years from his wife, Evelyn Ward, and there were still complications which made him unable to obtain the divorce he so desperately wanted. At least three times Mrs. Cassidy agreed to go to Las Vegas or Mexico to dissolve their marriage. And each time she changed her mind. When she heard Jack had fallen in love with Shirley (when both were in the State Department production of Oklahoma!) and wanted to marry her, she became even more reluctant to give her husband his freedom. The fact that Jack met Shirley long after the Cassidys mutually agreed that there was no sense in continuing a relationship that was hurting not only - themselves but their young son David, didn’t matter. A hurt ego was involved. Mrs. Cassidy, however, is basically a wonderful woman. Whatever her feelings were, she conquered them. Realizing that unhappiness breeds only more unhappiness, she agreed, a few weeks ago, to give Jack his freedom. And at the same time, Jack, who had been having trouble finding another part to follow his success as the lead in Wish You Were Here and Oklahoma! was offered a wonderful role in a new musical, Shangri La. The week Jack went into rehearsal, Shirley was asked by 20th Century-Fox to go to England for the London premiére of Carousel. As with everything she does these days, she discussed the offer with Jack. “Of course, go, darling,” he insisted. “I'll be working night and day on the show when you leave and we couldn’t see much of each other anyway.” “Are you sure you won't need me?” Shirley asked. “Tl always need you,” Jack answered, remembering how she had stuck by him when he was out of work. “But go to London. It will be wonderful for you.” It was. The British press took Shirley to its heart. She sight-saw all over town, and would have been presented to the queen except that nothing could stop her from leaving for home in time for Jack’s New Haven opening in April. Her career is beginning to show some changes. She is free of her exclusive Rodgers and Hammerstein contract. This enables her to try her hand at anything that appeals to her, and to make sure she doesn’t end up as a girl who got a break and muffed it because she became a star before she had enough experience. That's why she turned down making The Wedding Clock for 20th this summer and went into summer stock musicals. She did The Beggars’ Opera at the Cambridge Musical Festival, and then sang the role of Magnolia in Show Boat in Dallas. When she returns in the fall, there’s talk of her repeating that role in the Tv color spectacular. But there’s something far more important for Shirley this autumn. It’s that wonderful day when, with their parents and closest friends in attendance, Shirley and Jack will be united in the marriage they have waited for so long. May they live happily ever after. END 51 Sere a eaeaceee sai a ee 7 a a

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FEA Oe ENE PARROT TEL TTS ° “What we love about... BOY BILL” 1 > by Mom and Pop Campbell m@ Today, I am devoting to spring cleaning—the last spring cleaning I will do in my New Jersey home. In a few months, Dad Campbell and I will move out to California, where our sons Bill and Bob are building a home for us. When we were in Hollywood last fall, Bill took me aside and said, “To heck with all the old furniture and bric-a-brac, Mom. Toss everything out. You won't need that stuff. Sell the house, throw a few duds into a trunk and come out. We'll take care of everything else.” That was a generous and easy thing for Bill to say. But hard for us to do. How can we throw away all the china and things that were wedding presents thirty-three years ago? Or all the mementos of our sons growing up? For instance, here’s Billy’s first baby bonnet. His Grandma Campbell crocheted it for him and he wore it for the He a es ee first time when he was six months old. Looking at it pe ati SEM es reminds me of all those visits to Grandma and how spoiled Miifvobleven tothe our baby son was when he came home. beach, but he He was the apple of his Grandma’s eye, and his arrival was the most active there would be heralded as the coming of a national hero. 03) Sa Bill could do no wrong. If he knocked over the best eae Perhvoe: lamp or gurgled over the new sofa, these were considered signs of genius. “That boy is going to be something big,” Grandma would say, “you just wait and see.” Our biggest regret. was that she didn’t live long enough to see her predictions all come true. And we still have Bill’s first “grown-up” suit. It was of silk pongee especially made for him by a friend of mine for Bill’s second birthday. That day, I'll never forget. es oa ae Dad and I had decided to have Bill’s portrait taken every When the Navy | 2 took our son away i year until he grew up. But at age two, our son had Vion as, wel were | different ideas. He didn’t want his picture taken and that both very down- was that. He was angry and cranky and temperamental. We hearted, but when we bribed him with toys until the photographer got a fast heard that pretty Judy Inmoor was shot but on the way home I resolved “never again.” taking him for If our son hated cameras so much, we'd just keep him life, we were away from them for good and save a lot of wear and overjoyed. tear on everyone's nerves. Somewhere between age two and seven, however, Bill’s | attitude toward having his picture taken underwent a drastic—and permanent—change. In fact, the day he was supposed to pose for his first school portrait wild horses couldn’t keep him away. We weren't as concerned about | wild horses as we were about the slight fever he was running due to a bad boil on his nose—but boil or no boil, Bill wasn’t going to miss school that day. He got up i two hours earlier than usual in order to have plenty of | i time to spruce up! That was our (Continued on page 74) 1 so

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| It was just before : | her baby was born, | | and Janet Leigh | was feeling good. i || Good enough to lie back and dream about ee ie, i gg ON a se Fri a < (+++ eee oe a4") 4 eaaeereet?.,

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bring up my baby by JILL RAWLINGS m@ It was funny, Janet Leigh reflected, sitting in the sun a few weeks before the baby was born—funny the way she hadn't thought of a name for the baby. She and Tony just referred to it as It, or sometimes he, or sometimes she. It was proof that neither of them really cared whether it was a boy or a girl. She was sure she didn’t, and Tony was too happy about becoming a father to care one way or the other. If it was a boy, she thought, she’d be all right as a mother. She’d been a tomboy herself, and could always substitute when Tony was working. She wondered if she could still throw a curve ball. He would—she would—it was so awkward not having a name ready. But then neither of them wanted a name right away. It would be like talking about a part in a picture before you really knew you had it. She supposed they’d end up with a Biblical name. They were substantial names, and not frilly, and they had worn extremely well through the ages. Frilly! She laughed, as her thoughts moved to lace and polka-dots. Clothes would be their weak point, as parents, all right, even if it was a boy. She remembered the father and son she had seen in that men’s shop, and how they had walked out wearing identical gray flannel suits. That would be Tony, with his mania for clothes. He’d have a ball buying clothes for a son. And if it was a girl, what things she would have! That would be her own department, the ruffles and ribbons. But they mustn't spoil this child. To give children nice clothes was one thing, but to lavish them was another. This baby must grow up knowing the value of a dollar and that life, while secure, is not necessarily, a bed of roses. It would be so hard to find the middle road. When she was a little girl she had felt the lack of clothes. She loved them so and never felt she had enough. Not like the other kids in school. Her own daughter must never feel that lack, but then again, she must learn that nice things don’t grow on trees. You must work for them, you must deserve them. Well, maybe the child would inherit her own money sense. When she was only twelve and was given money at Christmas, she had managed to wait until the January sales before she went shopping. She figured that was pretty unusual for a child of twelve. And it had always been clothes. She remembered the time she was seven or eight and had won a contest as a drum majorette. She was to receive a prize and they had wanted to get her a bracelet or a ring, something that would last as a memento. But she had been wanting a raincoat and had insisted that’s what her prize must be. Let’s see, it had been green plaid, and there had been a hat to match. And then when she was older she had worked in the five-and-ten after school and on holidays. Yes, she’d had sense about money, all right. But what if the child inherited Tony’s genius for spending? Tony always wanted to buy the world for everyone he loved. (Continued on page 70) 55

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by MIKE CONNOLLY Almost every star in Hollywood would have given her right arm - just for a date with Greg Bautzer. Dana Wynter was the only one who wasn’t interested—so what do you think happened? @ For years Greg Bautzer has been Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor—and the most popular, besides. Good-looking, charming, well-to-do, incurably romantic—a living doll. Also—determinedly single. He’d dated and gone with the most beautiful, sought-after women in Hollywood—everyone from Lana Turner to Joan Crawford, and every one of them had thought she was the one to break the spell at last and marry the elusive Greg. Not one of them made it. Even the most romantic of the Hollywood observers finally stopped taking his dates seriously. But that didn’t stop every other single girl in Hollywood, including any member of well-established stars, from trying. That’s why when a mere starlet named Dana Wynter turned a cold shoulder on him, it felt like the world had turned upside down! But it happened. And it also happened that Greg proposed marriage to her! Dana accomplished the impossible by not even trying. They met at a party at Cobina Wright’s hilltop home in Beverly Hills in July, 1955. Greg spotted her across Cobina’s living room. Wham! that was it. He made his way to her side as quickly as he could and introduced himself. Did Dana’s heart go pitter-patter? - Indeed it did. But Dana hadn't trained with the Old Vic Academy for ambitious young actors and actresses in jolly old London for nothing. She didn’t (Continued on page 87) rae ee? >

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66 We were a couple of immature kids, with no foun- dation for marrvage. At an age when we should have been carefree, we stuck our noses into the grindstone of life. . . | Iwasa | teen-age | bride” by Rhonda Fleming @ At sixteen I ran away and got married. I'll never “I learned the hard way, but my son regret it nor call it a mistake, if only because my ees eee eee PPE US Te marriage gave me my son. But if, instead of a ON ae amen son, I had a daughter who wanted to marry at sixteen, ’'d do everything within my power to stop her. Mother tried to stop me. She failed. I’m not shifting responsibility to any shoulders but my a own, where it belongs. Ill go this far, however. Had my parents’ lives been different, mine might have been different. Pe I was a sensitive youngster, and very gullible. Maybe, for a child, “trustful” is the better word. So when disenchantment hit, it hit with a bang. tS Till I reached the ripe age of nine, Santa Claus was real to me. My folks made him real. “While you were asleep last (Continued on page 79)

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rere te catenin ete + Noles Pe ae “e ; Sei at ‘ Rabe seth Sate Teas ei a ey i es ose hoy-girl problems (Continued from page 42) school it was a very rare thing when I kissed a boy good- night at the end of a date. I had to know a _ boy very well before I felt it was some- thing that was right for me to do. Because of that, I had no feeling of shame; only a feeling of growing up a little bit. d Kissing, I think, is a matter of individ- ual conscience. If you don’t want a boy to kiss you but allow him to because you think it’s the thing to do, I think this is wrong. The boy will then think you do this with all your dates and will have no respect for you. If you refuse.a nice boy he'll like you all the better for it. If he isn't so nice, you’re well rid of him. Next time that type calls, tell him you’re ‘busy. And if it will help, I was called a square hen I was your age, and I lived through it. Should | try my heart? Dear Dessie: I’m seventeen and a junior in __ high school. For a year I’ve liked a college freshman. We've dated only a couple of times but he writes me every week and tells me he’d like to see me more often but can’t get home from college. I know this isn't so because my friends see him in town often, sometimes with another girl. Since I met him I haven’t dated any other boys, but at a birthday party I met Johnny, who says things that let me know he likes me. Johnny is very popular in school and I’m not, so I’m afraid to like him. The other girls just roll when they hear his name. What should I do? Try to stay with the college boy or try my heart on Johnny? “ Dopo Dear Dopo: I think my letter to Sue should answer your question. Your college friend is obviously not inclined to tie himself down, so why should you? There’s little sense in sitting home mooning over one boy when you might be having fun going out with others. You don’t have to work up a romance with every date you have— being friends is just as much fun. And who knows? You might meet someone you like even better. If Johnny asks you for a date, go out with him. Don’t be afraid to like a boy just because you aren’t yet popular. Maybe this will start you off and you'll need an pucceement book to keep track of your ates. How do you talk to boys? DrEar Dessre: I’m sure lots of teenagers hawe the same problem as I do. When you go out with a boy, how do yow act and what do you talk about? I know that a good listener is popular with boys, but I can’t go around being a quiet mouse all my life. I love to talk, and with girls I go a mile a minute, but words seem to fail me and I get panicky when I’m out with a boy. How do you stop worrying whether you've made a good impression? ELLEN Dear ELLEN: You're quite right about others having your troubles. I received more letters about this problem than any other, and I know it’s because every girl has the same fear, at first. I did too, but it didn’t last long because lack of conversation has never bothered me. However, you should keep in mind one very important thing. Chances are that your date is just as scared as you are, and’ probably more so. I remember on my first date when.I was fifteen, I almost died of fright. And then about three years ago I saw this boy again. He’d been in and out of the Navy in the interim, and he reminded me of our first date. “Debbie,” he said, “I was so’ scared that night I could hardly talk. But you were so calm and uncon- cerned. I thought you were wonderful.” “Calm!” I said. “I was petrified.” So you see, it’s a common difficulty. The best advice I can give you and all the others is to be yourself. If you talk a mile a minute with girls, you prob- ably have a good personality, so try to relax with a boy. And stop thinking about the impression you’re making. If you keep worrying, it’s going to show. Before you go out with him find out what he’s interested in—and whether it’s football, baseball or birds, bone up on the subject and bring it up yourself. This will relax him, and in turn make you more comfortable, too. Just remember that you’re going through a stage that few escape, and that it won’t last forever. Our parents won't let us date Dear Dessie: Both my girl friend and I have trouble with our parents. We are fif- teen and all our friends date, but our par- ents won't let us. Margie’s mother isn’t so bad, but her father hits the roof if she so much as mentions a boy has asked her for a date. He disapproves whether or not he has met the boy, and Margie feels he wants her to stay locked up in the house and never look at a boy. She loves her you'll love every tender moment in the story jane russell’s aunt told us! it's in the september issue of modern screen on sale at your newsstand august 7 with jane herself on the cover. father, of course, but he’s so possessive and Margie says she thinks he’s afraid to let her grow up. What should she do? My own problem is that both my mother and dad refuse to let me date. They don’t seem to trust me. They wont let me go to the corner to mail a letter at night; they say it can wait until morning. I keep turning down invitations to dances, even when they know an older person is driv- ing the car. I always sit home every eve- ning and never have any fun. Debbie, could you help me find a way to convince my parents to let me go out once in a while, like the other girls? Also, what time should a fifteen or six- teen-year-old get home from a date? NAncy Dear Nancy: I never had this problem with my parents, so what I know is -a result of what I feel, not from experience. However, I do feel your parents are wrong in preventing you from dating a respectable boy, particularly on week- ends. I see nothing wrong in going to a matinee or Saturday evening movie with a boy who has been introduced to your parents and approved by them. A fifteen-year-old girl knows right from wrong. At least she should, and if her parents know this I think she should be allowed an occasional date. I wish that parents would remember how important these things were to them when they were young and take time, as my own mother and father did, to talk things over with teen-agers. Would it be possible to discuss this thing with your parents as an adult, which you are just short of becoming? As for the time allowed for a date, this is up to the parents. I should think you might be allowed time for a movie or dance or whatever is the occasion, plus about an hour for a coke or snack before you come home. I say this because this is the way my own mother worked it. And I should add that she never had to worry that I might spend that social hour in any other way. I never approved of girls who sat in parked cars and necked. To be quite blunt about it, I was afraid of necking and tried to hide the fact by putting on a show of disliking it intensely. I was always like that, and it worked for me—maybe it might work for all of you. Must | blind-date? — Dear DessieE: I’d like to know what you think of the blind date problem. Does a teen-ager have to accept dates with boys of whom she knows nothing, and run the risk of getting into situations beyond her control? If you think it’s necessary to accept a blind date in order to pacify friends, what would you say is the best kind? Pam DEarR Pam: I went on one blind date, when I was nineteen. That was my first and my last. I don’t think I have to go any further into the subject. If you feel you must accept a blind date suggested by friends, by all means make it a double date, or a triple date, with those same friends. I can’t emphasize ‘too strongly that a girl should never go out alone with a boy she hasn’t met. This boy won't leave me alone Dear DEBBIE: What do you do about a boy who won't leave you alone? I went with Chuck for a while and then we broke up. Now I’m going with another boy, and Chuck is trying to break us up. He bothers me by phoning the house all the time, and last week he came to the house, but my mother saw him first and told him I wasn’t home. Last year I had a similar problem—with a boy I didn’t date at all. He hung around in front of the house at all hours, and sometimes followed me on-the streets. His family moved to another town finally. Can you give me any suggestions as how I might handle this, without hurting a boy’s feelings too much? Susan Dear Susan: You can’t handle it without hurting his feelings, and that’s that. I’ve always been blunt and have often been criticized for it, but I can’t help it—that’s the way I am. It came in particularly handy for pests. I used to say, “Please don’t bother me. I don’t want to see your face around here any more.” I know that’s rude, but the pest is being rude, too. If you want to get rid of him you have to be perfectly honest and forget his feelings. If by any chance such a blast from you doesn’t work, try conspiring with your dad. The next time the pest calls you, put your father on the phone. If your dad will bellow something to the effect that he doesn’t want Chuck bothering his daugh- ter any more, that should frighten the boy into submission. We're worried about our looks DEAR DessiE: | told my girl friends I was going to write you about my weight problem, and some of them asked me to include their own problems. First of all, 59

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JULIE HARRIS: pixie turns mother Everyone remembered Julve Harris as the other-worldly girl in East of Eden and that’s the way she thought of herself too until Peter arrived. When he was born, Julie exchanged her scripts for baby books. And husband Manning Gurians became a proud Papa, raptly echoing Julie’s ecstatic description of their son—“He is lovely lovely lovely—there aren’t any words.” (Continued from preceding page) I’m sort of fat—not too fat, but I know that boys like trim girls and I'd like to control my weight. I don’t have a glandular prob- lem, but I just can’t stop eating sweets. Bunny wants me to ask you about her freckles. She’d be very pretty if she didn’t have freckles (she has red hair), and she thinks boys don’t ask her for dates be- cause of them. Carol and Beth are both very tall: Carol has a boyfriend an inch shorter than she is and wants to know if you think she should go with him. Beth says she’s a wallflower at dances. She’s 5’ 10” and has to pretend she’s having a good time even though she’s really miserable. Doris has crooked teeth and her father doesn’t have enough money to have them fixed. Could you tell her anything to help her? ALICE AND THE GANG Dear Auice: If you have no glandular problem it’s obviously a matter of self- control. There is no magic formula; the awful truth is that no one can help you but yourself. You must be adult about this thing, and stick to a diet. Many peo- ple do it—movie stars diet—and while no one enjoys refusing food they like, a good figure is something to be proud of. Tell Bunny I feel she’s worrying without cause. I think freckles are charming. Doris Day has lots of freckles. What do .you think of her? Tell Beth and Carol that three of my best girl friends are more than 5’ 8”, are 60 happily married and have done very well for themselves. Remember, the boys get their height later, so don’t worry about it now. I hope the girls won’t stoop. They should carry their height proudly—they might even become Conover’s most popu- lar models. And if they’ll just think about it they’ll realize that many women marry men shorter than themselves and never consider it a problem, other than staying away from high heels. As for Doris, I’m sorry about her teeth, but there is always the future. If her family hasn’t the money for orthodontia, Doris should consider the possibility of working after graduation and saving her money for the project. Can | break dates? Dear Dessie: I am sixteen years old, and wonder what you think of breaking dates. If you accept a date, should you ever break it in favor of another one? I’ve been hav- ing a great deal of trouble with this. Norma Dear Norma: Here I go being blunt again, but breaking dates is in very poor taste. I’ve never done it, and I think anybody who does deserves trouble. When should | start wearing make-up? Dear Dessie: I’ve discussed this with my mother but don’t feel she has answered me well enough. At what age do you think it is proper for a girl to wear makeup— lipstick, rouge, etc. I am fifteen now and a short time ago was allowed to shape my eyebrows. I'd like to wear pencil but am afraid to ask my mother. I want to be a model when I’m older and would like to start off on the right track. Also, would you advise me about what to wear on a date? Not only how much |) makeup, but what about clothes? And should I wear perfume? BARBARA Dear Bargara: I didn’t wear any makeup or lipstick until I was eighteen. However, I realize this is a matter of personal taste. It just happened that I didn’t want to. I think for a girl of fifteen it’s all right to wear a light pink lipstick if her mother feels it’s proper. It’s a thing that must be worked out between young people and | their parents. The only definite suggestion | I can make is that heavy makeup is in bad taste regardless of age. The younger a girl is, the better she looks without it. There’s a charm about a teen-ager that is ruined when she tries to look like a grown woman. The same goes for clothes. Simplicity is always better than being overdressed in any way, including jewelry. If your mother approves of perfume, keep it very sparse and at your age choose a fragrance that is extremely light. How important are a boy's looks? Dear Despre: I am a senior in high school and very shy, and don’t have many dates. The president of our class did ask me to two dances but he isn’t good looking and doesn’t appeal to me and I naturally re- fused him. How can I get the more popular boys to ask me for dates? I do like one boy, but he is even shyer than I am. How can I make him notice me? How can I tell him I like him without appearing foolish? My sister is twenty and has never had even one date, and wants me to ask you what she can do to attract boys. I guess we both have the same problem. A. J. Dear A. J.: Personally, I never choose my friends by looks, but rather for the kind of person they are. Perhaps if you would realize that looks are not important, you would be a nicer person. Certainly, if a boy is president of his class he is well- liked, and by refusing him you may have lost an opportunity to make the other boys sit up and take notice. I think your attitude is wrong, and that it is your own lack that keeps away the boys who are more popular with the girls. You ask how you can tell one particular boy that you like him. The answer is, Don’t. There is something inborn in the male that makes him run like a rabbit if he thinks a girl is interested in him. [If there is any chance at all for you with this boy, it will come when you make yourself popular with all girls and boys. As for your sister, if she shares your opinion that looks are important, it may be the reason she has never had a date. I must give her the same advice I gave you. If you can become popular with other girls, eventually the boys will waken to the fact that you two might be inter- esting people. How do | know if he loves me? Dear DEBBIE: I am nineteen and have been going with Don for a year. He has never asked me to go steady or given any indi- cation that he is in love with me. He is very understanding, kind and thoughtful —everything I would want in a husband. I'm very much in love with him, but of course he doesn’t know this. ‘I’m asked for dates by other fellows but refuse them because I’d rather go out with Don. I know he is not seeing any other girl and that he likes me, but I guess that’s as far as it goes. Should I continue seeing Don the way I have been, or tell him how I feel, or forget about him (Continued on page 67)

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“modern screen fashions to please a King M What does “he” really think of the way “you” look when he takes you on a date! The great secret of getting and holding a man is to look like the girl of his dreams. There is nothing that will please and flatter your king so much as to have the girl by his side at the top of the list of the best dressed among the gang. You will always remember, too, all the lovely clothes you wore on those exciting dates with him. : In fact, these clothes will become almost keep- sakes; they will mean so much when he lets you know that you have pleased him. Romance begins with dress-up clothes. And, just as importantly, with the coat that tops the finest in — your wardrobe during the long chill months as you dash here and there with him. Accessories, too, take a leading role. Your legs must be dressed in the loveliest of stockings—and precious costume jewelry is the final touch. To please your king, MoperNn ScrREEN asked a group of America’s leading designers to draw inspiration for their fall collections from : the resplendent Oriental costumes designed by Irene Sharaff for The King And I. ‘Gaston Mallet adapted the exquisite full length evening and ball gowns, Ric McClintock the glamorous Date Line cocktail dresses—both for the house of Murray Hamburger; Alfredo designed a handsome group of classic Cashmere ‘coats including a luscious mandarin style inspired by the fabulous coats worn by Yul Brynner in The King And I (see one of the coats from the picture at the left). Alfredo designed the coats for the house of Habley- Barber; The King And I inspired stockings— full fashioned, seamless and a sensational new permanent pleated style called Permapleat—all designed by the famous Willys of Hollywood who makes stockings for stars and royalty; Robert created the magnificent jewelry— pearls, jewels, gold, silver—for the house of Fashioncraft. To please your king wear these clothes and accessories—dress like a queen! Opposite page: top, Rita Moreno models emerald green Du Pont satin by Murray Hamburger. Below, our M.S. model wears soft-as-a-cloud Julliard Cashmere (milium lined) by Habley- ‘Barber. Far right, Deborah Kerr poses in palest pink Du Pont satin by Murray Hamburger. In his arms you can look as beautiful as this! Deborah Kerr’s exquisite costume from The King And I inspired the evening gown Deborah poses in on the For a list of stores carrying these opposite page. Picture above is from the Twentieth Century-Fox EL ane ie Roe ea by the CinemaScope ’55 production starring Deborah Kerr eee peae EES Ee ag: ues Niobek&s Sieee and Yul Brynner with Rita Moreno. Color by DeLuxe. 261 Fifth Avenue, New York 16, N.Y.

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m all love you He w these fall clothes and d by the costumes from accessories INSPire di the King an Engstead qUIbid Engstead

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John Engstead to please a King- dress like a Queen M@ When you choose clothes for your dress- up wardrobe be sure to buy not only a variety of styles but also a variety of colors and fabrics. There are times when black is the choicest color to wear. Black is very seductive and most men like it. There are men who prefer the paler tones like beige, others who favor the high shades. In the novelty range stripes are the top inspiration selected by our designers from The . King And I costumes and—men like slimming stripes. Smooth and silky satins are favorites with men, likewise soft figure moulding jer- sey and crisp young taffeta. Of course, noth- ing is so appealing to men as a coat soft and cuddly to the touch—these are the qual- ities you'll find in lush, elegant Cashmere which can be worn for all occasions. To en-

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hance all of your clothes you must dress up your legs. Clothe them in the finest and sheerest of nylons—seamfree, stretch or full-fashioned—in colors that coordinate ‘with your costumes or match your shoes. Wear darker shades with dark seams if your ‘calves and ankles are heavy. Jewels are the | vogue in fashion just as they are in The King And I—wear them from head to toe. Select at least two sets, one in pearls, one in ‘rhinestones. Buy stockings with jewels to match. Photos, left to right: Rita wears Habley-Barber’s tuxedo collared Cashmere with push-up sleeves and softly draped back. ‘Rita also models a draped Empire style ‘black jersey with deep plunging neckline and a pale beige jersey with bateau neckline and | swathed midriff. Both Date Line dresses— = Murray Hamburger. The coat colors: Nude, Wild Rice, Crown Red, Vista Blue and Black; the jersey dresses in black, navy, green, red and nude. Rita’s satin evening gown with net fichu is worn over crinolines and hoops to give it more grandeur. In white or palest pastels. By Murray Hamburger. Deborah Kerr poses in a cocktail dress of black and white striped taffeta trimmed with black. See the matching jacket worn by our M.S. model right, above. By Murray Ham- burger. Right, our M.S. model holds an ultra sheer nylon seamfree stretch-welt nude heel, demi-toe stocking by Willys of Hollywood. She also shows a close-up of a set of pearl jewelry by Fashioncraft. The King And I inspired stockings—Willys of Hollywood; jewelry—Robert of Fashioncraft. HAVE BEAUTY AT YOUR FINGERTIPS, see pg. 68 eo modern screen fashions For a list of stores carrying these clothes and accessories inspired by the costumes from The King And I see page 67/—or, write to Fashion, MopERN SCREEN 261 Fifth Avenue, New York 16, N. Y. Prigent

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Veen hgela from page 60) pasar iss I What shall I do? N. C. | Where to buy the clothes 1 t if I could do Yi eiae Dot pee ve we ee ey oy the laws of Dor: Don’t put all your eggs in one ___ the Catholic Church, so it follows you must , y y ket. It’s true you are of marriageable forget about this infatuation. and accessories Bey wred by but it’s possible that Don is not yet Dear Dress: Is it possible to experience C. eady, financially or mentally, to tie him- true love at thirteen? H. ® elf down. If you really love him, you are Dear C. H.:: Anything is possible; however, S I @| d } of course uninterested in other men, but I Ive never known of a true love at thir- DIG IY) would advise you that you will lose noth- __ teen that is still a true love at eighteen. it ing by occasionally dating another boy Dear Dessie: When a girl is invited to a : or two. In fact, it may nudge Don into birthday party and asked to bring a date, | HABLEY-BARBER (coats)—Pp. 63, 64 ‘declaring his intentions. should the boy bring a gift, too? JEAN Akron, Ohio—M. O'Neil Co. i In the event he still keeps his silence, I Derar.JEan: The girl should purchase the ite Ger eh Pietpeeie ive you a comforting quote from a book gift and present it with a card bearing both Dieainaie ‘Ala New Wrilliame iE called Facts Of Life And Love For Teen- her name and the boy’s name. Buffalo, N. Y.—Wm. Hengerer Co. } ‘agers (published by the Associated Press Dear Despre: Do you think it’s okay for phaiener an Tenn.—Millers Bros. Co. lik at 291 Broadway, New York 7, New York): teen-agers to waltz? Marian Cte SU ne pious Go AN “One of the most unfortunate illusions is Drar Martan: I think it’s okay to do any Cleveland, Ohio—May Co. f a | that love comes only once in a lifetime. kind of dancing you enjoy, regardless of Columbus, Ohio—F & R Lazarus Co. Nothing is more false. Any person capable the current fad. ee OG fem ers Ce: ; Wa Jof loving another has the capacity to love Drar Derssm: A boy likes me and I like Duluth, Minn.—Oreck’s Inc. | not once but many times; not one individ- him, but years ago our fathers had a Hartford, Conn.—G. Fox Co. ; 3 y g | ual but many persons. For any normal business quarrel and won't allow us to sy EH Se A Bros. | man or woman there are many possible speak to each other. Can you help me? Little ROGk Aes apap. Hie artners with whom a fine marriage could MartTHA Milwaukee, Wisconsin—Stuarts \ | ‘be worked out.” Dear Martna: If each of you could have DELO ae ar asECH an a 5 , NV. Y.—B. man q m only fourteen a family counsel, your mothers included, Oklahoma. City, Okla.—Peyton Marcus Co. a | Ba eT ee cin er I met Kenn and try to make your parents understand Philadelphia, Pa.—Strawbridge & bh m vacation and fell in love with him ii LO UAEED OER GH UNS [Oy Veins WO Se2 Pittsburgh Bi —Jos. Horne Co f ! ‘September he joined the Navy and is now each other, perhaps your prospective Providence, R. I.—Gladding’s } Bon th t t H eR fathers will realize the smallness of their San Antonio, Texas—Frost Bros. ‘ nm Pe coas se e eT e Tack for reactions. San Francisco, Calif—tI. Magnin Co. “more than a year a since I am only four- Dear Dessie: If a boy orders somethin St. Louis, Mo.—Famous-Barr Co. teen, my mother wants me to go out with 4, oqt should the girl ord f s 4 other boys. So I have dated others a few than the one CRO OL RET Ue een MURRAY HAMBURGER (Date Line cocktail Bre ictal that tone of thom monn aye DEsx Downa: It's all right if you mow the | Gresses)—Pp, 63,6500 {| | thing to me. The last thing im the world 1 POY can afford it. If not, stick to his price Atlanta, Ga—I. P. Allen al f y fe fi ‘altimore, — ld, hn Co. H | ai et Migr os a oe ne Dear DessiE: Do you think a girl eleven Birmingham, Ala, —J. lac Ging. | He ston, —Say’ f | glad be tae Fe himself while he was years old shows eee eos is sole abou Brooklyn, Ni V.—Abraham & Strauss } / ) away. er all, you can’t expect a nine- ond back? — Dr uffalo, N. Y—J. N. Adam a f i ANNE Chicago, Ill.—Chas. A. Stevens I | ) ee old boy not to go out on his Dear Dianne: I think so, if she has the Cincinnati, Ohio—H. & S. Pogue Co. a permission ie se parents. Cleveland, Ohio—The Higbee Co. iH Can you give me any idea how I can Set i eaerar Dallas, Texas—A. Harris ! be honest and tell him I’m dating others, 2eLt Oren When a gi invites a boy ENE ET ACO agar mneido without hurting him or making him OP Cue, Cees SNe Cle ate pee me Detroit Mich_B. een DS ngry? Decora does he ask her? And does the girl buy Elcabeth, N. Ta. 1 Coerke’ eke DoroTHEA: Since you are only four- her own corsage? JOANNE Houston, Texas—Sakowitz Bros Peer lewce a pres Reena cacther that Dear JoaNNE: The boy always asks the Indianapolis, Ind—Wm. H. Block Co. Hid) y girl to dance, regardless of which is the Jacksonville, Fla.—Levy’'s Hh vyou should date other boys. You are old AH ER rain choald not Kansas City, Mo.—Harzfelds (et) ‘enough to think you are in love—and old 80€S" Cibrro aolo cao Wears e Little Rock, Ark.—M. M. Cohn Hn) Pcdgh festntecege really’ belin’ love, corse unless it is given to her by the ites eee Cobia es Haggerty when we remember Romeo and Juliet. 2°” SUE TL eee) eben iB But because of your age I think your Dear Desste: I like a boy who has a bad MEM Bidar re al \SSbifion “s Uns Guannene. reputation, euhougt hes always been Mobile, fe Hammel D. G. Bi | ; i i is- => haux Co. 1) A | And I think you atone feliKenny thea ae Pec me. Tcont want to mis NEE YEE bby, NOY CBO ATE ‘truth. Going out with others doesn’t judge him on other peoples’ word. Should Oph Nchraska= Galicia (Ghabman Ht (necessarily mean you will forget him only I listen to them or use my own judgment Philadelphia, Pa.—John Wanamaker i] li that will fill th ahead f and keep on liking him? — L. Y. M. Pittsburgh, Pa.—Jos. Horne Co. HW geist go ral fhe years ahead of Toe Dag Lc YM: Never listen to idle gow | Reve Sharer Sete . San Antonio, Texas—Fro. TOS: oy \him about it, and you will probably hurt sip. Don’t believe it unless and until you San Francisco, Calif—H. Liebes Co. Bs 8 Sere te eed baat K find out yourself it is true. Salt Lake City, Utah—Makoffs mA at al Be eeccs under ihe biseunietonccesto Dear Desste: I am Jewish and like a boy Ty rion, N. tect yey fee | b 5 5 5 Trenton —Nevin’s Voorhees be let off the leash. If he really loves you, who is Irish. Should I go out with him? Washington, D! G=Julius Garfinckel | ay he. will appreciate your honesty f f Lynn Youngstown, Ohio—Chas. Livingston & Sons i! ; ‘ Dear Lynn: Race and nationality should p fi ] i Here are some short ones have no bearing on having fun together. | FASHIONCRAFT (jewelry) Ae Dear Despite: I’m fifteen and more inter- My husband is Jewish and I am Irish. The same stores as listed above for i} | ested in sports than boys. I want to be a Dear Dessie: I’m going steady with a boy GEE Con SE ee ai boy’s Bel and that’s all! The girls call ine iw whe is ue geno of a boy ts me ie ie : : | isquare. Am I wrong? . K. ast year. flow can I convince him Im no WILLYS OF HOLLYWOOD (stockings) 38 Dear P. K.: You don’t have to go to an interested ‘in this other boy? Kay Akron, Ohio—M. O’Neil Co. 5 Th yee either way. I ae called a square Dew Bee eb on only ee done by ae gil ees GUD Buns Hee ; n min i ing it over fran ith him i altimore, Md.—May Co. Hoing Cae I liked ei ects eee stall doesn’t taliene coe trust an ecu Bogen Mfass:—Tordan Marsh | ‘Dear Dessie: What is your opinion of have to decide whether it’s worth it to go Anderson i ‘h l hould talk Th 1 ith a jeal b : Chatt T L now to we s _ wil a jealous boy. attanooga, I enn.—Lovem | phone? ee oes ie eee DEAR Deaate: If ef is true that boys prefer Chicago, 7il.—Marshall F jeld & Co. a \ # BAS Bae a 0 : Cleveland, Ohio—Bailey Dept. Store | hi (Dear HELEN: It depends on how man feminine girls, does an athletically inclined ; 5 Hi| p Ly z 2 < Columbus, Ohio—F & R Lazarus Co. i there are in your family. You should girl have to wait around until she finds a Detroit, Mich.—Crowley Milner Co. WW ti have a family counsel about it, and abide boy with the same interests? If a girl Hom ord, SS NE a Wl) by the rules set down. should “be herself” on a date, how can she A AN ape és bi ‘ ; = Little Rock, Ark.—Pfeifers yl [Dear Desste: I am eighteen, and he is strike a happy medium? SANDRA Los Angeles, Calif—May Co. |) | t hirty-two and wants to marry me now. I Dear Sanpra: I think a girl should always jared ler Bar cine auk Eh aia lGeare aid ove him, but I wonder if the age differ- be herself and should never pretend she New York City, N. Y.—B. Altman i mee is too great. ELAINE is anything else. I was a very athletic Oklahoma City, Okla.—Peyton Marcus Co. aA) | Dear Exame: If you love him but still girl and always had a good time. If you P Alaaeiphe, Pa.—Strawbridge & i i} ‘| think about the age difference, I think feel you are unfeminine, make an effort Pirgh Pas Koupmans 1] you should be a little worried. in that direction, particularly through Providence, R. I.—Gladding’s | st'DEAR Despre: I know it sounds odd, even your choice of clothes. END San Antonio, Texas—Frost Bros. Hl wi\stupid, but I like a priest and can’t get him Debbie Reynolds can next be seen in DIO REEE I COI ES 5 5 St. Louis, Mo.—Famous-Barr Co. ii | il my mind. My parents think I’m silly. U-Is Tammy. Washington, D. C.—Woodward & Lothrop & Hh

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modern screen beauty to please a King- have beadgty at gour Cingertips At that moment—when your eyes have met—and your hands touch— it does matter! Your natlsk—and hands— must be worthy of soft caresses and lingering glances. Rita Moreno’s nails and hands are as beautiful as her gown (by Murray Hamburger), her cotffure, her face as she dates 20th’s Barry Coe, next in Bernadine. @ Be proud of your nails—always! And he will be too! They’ll give joy to you also, at the boss’ desk, at the typewriter, turning the pages of a book as well as at home. There is something truly glamorous about well-kept nails. And toenails, too, as they peek through the open toes of your pretty shoes, reveal- ing the care you give them. This little intimate fastidiousness will pay off many times in compli- ments galore. : For expert manicure advice we went to Rose Shawl, who for many years has manicured the nails of 20th’s top stars. Only in Hollywood could we find such perfection, as the eye of the camera is merciless and the nails of the stars must be flawless in care—and in color! Miss Shawl suggests a massage of the cuticle with an especially prepared cream each night before retiring. This keeps circulation in the nails and makes them strong, healthy and beautiful. When the cuticle is trained back and softened with this brief routine you will find it is not necessary to cut. Cutting the cuticle not only toughens it but makes it rough and unsightly. Serious hangnails can result. After a few days of this nightly cuticle care you will notice a remarkable difference in your nails. Set aside a regular time each week for your mani- cure. Miss Shawl says this regularity will keep your nails from growing too long and you will catch little splits and chips in time. Your nails should be carefully and artfully shaped to a long oval—or, if you prefer, a short rounded nail, which is just as chic. Most stars wear their nails medium length—Rita wears hers extremely long but she is an exception. Be sure to use an emery board when you shape your nails and not a steel file. Don’t file down the sides as this weakens the nails and they break much more easily. The cuticle should be softened with a cuticle remover and a piece of cotton wound around the end of a flat orangewood stick. Press the solu- tion around and under each nail—press the cuticle back gently. Brush and rinse the nails, dry and tub with a towel to remove the dead tissue. Only a few tiny places on the cuticle will need a clip or two with your manicure nippers. Now the fun part—the nail polish! Choose a wardrobe of nail polishes—a color to match or accent each of your costumes. The summer’s lovely pink tones and the muted corals are exciting colors for your glamorous new tan. Choose a matching lipstick, of course. First, a base coat to protect your nails, then two coats of polish and finally a top coat. Several coats of polish keep the nails from breaking. Always remove old nail polish before applying the new—use an oily, prepared remover. Manicure your toenails the same way as your nails—at least once a month. Change the polish often—and match it to your fingernails! Don’t forget to massage a cream or a lotion into your hands each night—they are just as im- portant as your nails and one care without the other won’t do. When you wash your lovelies use a mild soap that won’t hurt them or your nails and hands. Use rubber gloves for heavy chores. Acquire the little habits and accomplish the techniques of manicuring and you'll find that the care of your nails and hands has become as “daily” as sleeping. You'll also find that by doing them yourself you have saved many dollars that you can spend on other glamour things you want.

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how Ill bring up my baby (Continued from page 55) And Tony loved so many people. Well, you certainly couldn’t say that was wrong. The baby should have some of that generosity. And another thing, this baby was going to get one big lesson in life from his father. Tony had always said he would teach his children that the most important thing was to love people. This baby would know that soon. All you had to do was live in the same house with Tony, and it rubbed off on you. She hoped the baby would have Tony’s enthusiasm for life. Then again, maybe Tony’s enthusiasm should be tempered a bit with some of her own practicality. If the baby grew up just like Tony, she’d have to spend half her life pulling them both down out of the air. A new thought struck her and she laughed softly. What if this baby were a girl, and a perfection- ist like herself? Tony had a hard enough time living with her and her clean ash trays, but two women like that in the house would be too much for him. On the other hand, suppose the child was hampered by Tony’s inability to say no. Then her life would be in an uproar. Not one, but two people saying sure, they’d speak at the club luncheon—or have the Women’s African Violet Associa- tion for tea, or giving away clothes they hadn’t worn yet. But she hoped Tony’s talents would be handed down intact. Tony was so facile. He could do and learn anything he wanted to. She appreciated painting, but she couldn’t paint. She loved to listen to music, but she couldn’t create it. He had so much artistic ability, and this would be wonderful in a child. As for what she might give it, maybe it would have her love for singing and dancing. And she hoped it would have her nose. She won- dered briefly if anybody would object to her saying that. After all, it was a pret- ty good nose. But it should have Tony’s hair, dark and curling, and his eyes and lips. Janet looked down at her lap. There was a book lying there, and she hadn’t even opened it. She sighed happily. It was obvious she wanted to think about the baby, and why shouldn’t she indulge herself? There had been all those months of feeling rotten, and during that time she couldn’t even think straight. But now she felt she could beat her weight in wildcats, so why not take time to think, if she wanted to? Tony wouldn’t be home for a while, and there was nothing that had to be done. He must be so relieved that she was feeling better—he had been a tower of strength when she was sick, and if he worried he hadn’t let her know it. He really was holding up quite well. But then, they weren’t children any more; they’d been married for five years. There was no sense getting hysterical over hav- ing a baby. Lots of people had babies. And it was wonderful. It made you feel complete, it filled the future. Not an only child This one wouldn’t be the last baby, she hoped. She was an only child herself, and she’d been lonely. She had read a lot, but you can’t read all the time when you're a child. Oh, she could entertain herself if she had to, and it had been fun on rainy days playing store by herself and making out those endless shopping lists. But it would have been more fun if there had been a brother or sister to play with. She’d seen the love and en- joyment Tony got from his brother, and it was a heart-warming thing to watch. No, God willing, this mustn’t be an only child. One would be easier to bring up, perhaps, because you could give it more attention, but then was that really a good thing? Large families always seemed to have better-behaved and adjusted chil- 1000 PRIZES FOR YOU ( The Young Lovers by Julian Halevy LI This Side Of Paradise by F. Scott Fitzgerald We want to know how you like—or maybe dislike—the stars and the stories listed below. And we want to know what others you're interested—or disinterested—in, so that Modern Screen can go on being your magazine! In return for your ideas, we'll send you free one of these exciting Dell novels—provided your questionnaire is one of the first 1000 to reach us. So check your choice and send it in today! (1 The Steep Ascent by Anne Morrow Lindbergh Please check the space to the left of the one phrase which best answers each question: 1. | READ: (J all of the editorial (] part (1) none 2. IT HELD MY INTEREST: (] completely (F fairly well [) very little [J not at all 3. | LIKE LIZ TAYLOR: (J more than almost any star [j a lot {J don’t know her well enough to say 1 READ: [jall of her story [}part [Jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [] completely fairly well (1 very little [ not at all 4. | LIKE JACK LEMMON: {J more than almost any star [ a lot fairly well [j very little [ not at all (© don’t know him well enough to say 1 READ: [Jall of his story Djpart none IT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely O fairly well (J very little [ not at all 5. | LIKE ELVIS PRESLEY: (J more than almost any star [ a lot O fairly well ( very little [j not at all {J fairly well [1 very little () not at all- (3 don’t know him well enough to say | READ: [jall of his story ()part [Jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely D fairly well [] very little () not at all 6. | LIKE MARISA PAVAN: [] more than almost any star [7 a lot LC) fairly well ( very little ( not at all {4 don’t know her well enough to say 1 READ: (jall of her story [Jpart [[none IT HELD MY INTEREST: [] completely OD fairly well (1 very little [J not at all 7. | LIKE RUSS TAMBLYN: {J more than almost any star [a lot ( fairly well [J very little [ not at all {J don’t know him well enough to say 1 READ: [jJall of his story [jpart [jnone 1T HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely ( fairly well [ very little [ not at all 8. | LIKE DEBBIE REYNOLDS: LJ more than almost any star [ a lot UO) fairly well ( very little 1 not at all (J don’t know her well enough to say | READ: [jall of her story (jpart [Jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely LD fairly well (1 very little (J not at all 9. | LIKE GUY MADISON: {5 more than almost any star [ja lot O fairly well ( very little [) not at all {j don’t know him well enough to say | READ: [jall of his story [)part [Jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely D fairly well [1 very little [J not at all 10. | LIKE LANA TURNER: {J more than almost any star (j-a lot OO fairly well [ very little [j not at all { don’t know her well enough to say 1 READ: [jall of her story [jpart (jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely fairly well (] very little (j not at all 11. 1 LIKE SHIRLEY JONES: {J more than almost any star [7] a lot a da rs A ee A Se eee eee eh 16. Which male and female stars do you want to read about? Please in- q@) MALE q@) RENAE! dicate your preference at the right by writing your first choice next to @) MALE (2) FEMALE (1), your second choice next to (2) and your third choice next to (3). cal MATE era) Sse 17. To which movie magazines do you subscribe? AGE eee NAMES te unceniunee ore sume pecmaentrs ce ADDRESS¥y-reeasessnaer cise era eon ans RAS RES Rar MOM RRO ES cohen aS ar CUI or eRe at «eee med ees SILA genes oe cee a Mail To: READER POLL DEPARTMENT, MODERN SCREEN, Box 125, MURRAY HILL STATION, NEW YORK 16, N. Y. D fairly well (1 very little (J not at all (J don’t know her well enough to say 1 READ: [jJall of her story [jpart [jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [] completely D fairly well [J very little () not at all 12. | LIKE WILLIAM CAMPBELL: Oj more than almost any star [j a lot 0 fairly well (j very little (j not at all {5 don’t know him well enough to say | READ: [jall of his story [)part [jnone iT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely OD fairly well (J very little [) not at all 13. 1 LIKE RHONDA FLEMING: ‘] more than almost any star () a lot DC fairly well [1] very little [ not at all {0 don’t know her well enough to say | READ: [jall of her story (jpart [jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely (J fairly well (] very little [ not at all 14. | LIKE JANET LEIGH: {J more than almost any star [ja lot © fairly well [1 very little (J not at all { don’t know her well enough to say 1 READ: (jall of her story (jpart [jnone IT HELD MY INTEREST: [) completely LJ] fairly well [) very little (J not at all 15. Which of the following cosmetic items do you wear every day? (lipstick i |make-up base Dloose powder [jrouge [jeye make-up [nail polish (perfume [cologne [hair spray (]face cream [(Jcleansing cream (deodorant j i 1 ] : i

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dren, and maybe it was because the par- ents had less time to fuss over each child. Heaven knew she’d been fussed over enough. By now it was a joke between her and her mother. After her hair was washed she’d been made to wear two hats, to be certain she wouldn’t catch cold. And she didn’t remember it, but she’d been told about the time her mother was preparing to bathe her, as a baby, and had the house so hot it was practically steaming. A neighbor had come in and realized her mother was about to faint, and had to take over with the tempera- ture, the bath, and her mother. There was no doubt about it; she’d been over- protected. That was the trouble with an only child. You had nothing else to think about and kept looking for possible dangers. If you were forever telling him to be careful, to look out, and not to do that, he might grow up scared to death to take a step for himself. -l was a nau-gh-ty girl Except that, on second thought, it hadn’t worked that way with her. Maybe it-was because she had been stubborn, maybe it was because she was self-sufficient; whatever the reason, she had never been timid, she hadn’t grown up into a Polly- sit-by-the-fire. On the contrary, she’d been disobedient. She hadn’t been allowed to even ride home from school in cars, or date like Joe DiMaggio and George Jessel were at the night ball game to- gether this week. A group of youngsters rushed to their box, to get DiMaggio's autograph. “Can't you keep these juvenile delinquents away?" Jessel told the cop near the box. “We came here to enjoy a ball game!” . . . Then one lone boy approached the box to ask Jessel's autograph. The cop stopped him, and was berated by George: ‘Are _ you trying to rob a child of his in- nocent pleasure?" Leonard Lyons in The New Vork Post the other kids, and she had resented it. She didn’t drink or smoke and didn’t want to stay out late, but she had wanted to do some of the things the other girls were allowed to do. So she’d chafed at the bit and ended up doing things she wasn’t sup- posed to. When she was wrong, she knew it, and it bothered her conscience. _ She’d never blamed her mother for it. The problem had been that she was the youngest in her class. She had skipped three half grades, so all her school friends had been a year or two older than she was. So it had been hard for her mother; it had made a problem for both of them. If this baby were given an opportunity to skip a grade in school, she wouldn’t allow it. It made too many emo- tional problems for a child. If they were bored in school as a result of being held back, you could always fill in the void at home. You could give them piano les- sons, or teach them to paint—Tony could do that—or have them tutored in a lan- guage. And in the meantime they’d be growing up with children their own age. She thought Tony would agree with her on this. She couldn’t foresee his dis- agreeing with her on very many things about bringing up the child. Not the im- portant things, anyway. They’d give it love, and they’d give it discipline. She wanted to get a pile of books on child rearing, but she wasn’t going to swallow them verbatim. It was a matter of ap- plying the advice to the individual child. She’d take what she wanted from each book, and she wasn’t going to agree with any of that modern theory about never 1. Is your feminine daintiness , well protected atalltimes / Vista lllbibla LTE OOLOL ES LLACCOE LOOM LLLALIL ALLE il 3. Is there a sure way to put an 4) end to ugly perspiration stains @ AAA TA AAA SMM SSS SSNS MRERAEAAMAM AAA SONATA Z SWAN AEA Z Z 2. Can the rush of nervous 4) perspiration be controlled ¢ OLLI D ECLA LAUT OETLOTUUC CLOUT OCMOOLOALL LOLOL RUA REED 4. Is one bath a day really enough for an active girl like you Girls who know _ the answers use Artid —to be sure! You owe it to yourself to get 100% on this test. It’s a cinch you will, too, if you’re smart enough to use Arrid daily. For Arrid is the most effective deodor- ant your money can buy. Doctors prove that Arrid is 11/4 times as effective against perspiration and odor as all leading deo- dorants tested. Why? Only Arrid is formulated with the magic new ingredient Perstop.* That's why more people have used and are using Arrid to protect against odor and perspi- ration than any other deodorant. What's in it for you? Just this! Rub Arrid in—and you rub perspira- etion and odor out. When the cream vanishes you know you're safe. And ap- proachable any hour of the day or night. Tropical heat-wave weather included! 2 Arrid protects you against all kinds *of unexpected perspiration. It keeps you dry even when anxiety or excitement cause your glands to gush perspiration. 3 Arrid, used daily, keeps your clothes esafe from ugly stains. It keeps your underarms so dry, soft and sweet there’s never a hint that the situation’s getting warm. Not even on hot, sticky days. 4 Arrid’s ‘‘rubbed-in” protection starts e on contact— keeps you shower-bath fragrant up to 24 hours. Rub it in right after your daily bath and you can forget about perspiration and odor. No wonder gals “in the know” are steady Arrid users. Don’t be half safe. Be completely safe. Use Arrid... to be sure. 43¢ plus tax. *Carter Products trademark for sulfonated hydrocarbon surfactants

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beatae atetat esate a cm LR ARTRNT SEAS TACT 19 IORI ERT REARS B RANE BART LE RE VN aE eR ee Ng ER Er crossing a child. She’d cross it all right, if it did something wrong. There was a lot to be said for common sense, too. She couldn’t see any reason why this baby wouldn’t grow up with the same sense of family closeness she had had. Her parents had given her a great deal of that. True, there had been the tug of war all the time about the privileges she felt she was denied, but what fun they’d had as a family! There were the week- ends when the three of them would get in the car, planning a trip to nowhere. They’d end up in Santa Cruz or some other place—it was always a surprise—or they’d go on picnics together. And there were the days her parents had taken her and the whole gang to the football and baseball games. She was sure they'd done all that to make up to her for the lack of other things. She hoped this baby would like school. She had loved it so much, whereas Tony had resented every day of it. Oh, he could get excited about Daniel Boone or Alex- ander the Great, but dates and trivia bored him. It was a matter of his appli- cation. He could then, and still could, get wrapped up in anything that interested him and do a job to perfection, but nobody could drive him to doing something he disliked. She, on the other hand, went too far overboard in the opposite direction. She tackled a job as a matter of discipline, and put even more effort into it if she didn’t like what she had to do. The baby, for its own sake, should be fifty-fifty on this score. Well, whichever way this baby was put together, she and Tony would allow it to have its individuality. She wouldn’t force it into anything. She’d expose it to all the things its parents were still learning to appreciate—the art and the music and the good books and the gra- cious living. And the friends who were well-versed in so many interesting topics. But expose was the word, not cram. And this baby could pick and choose what it liked. She hoped that all during its growing-up period she and Tony would be able to give it these advantages. There would be college, if the child wanted it. And maybe education in Europe after it had finished formal schooling here. Starring Somebody Curtis But there she was, pushing already. She and Tony mustn’t make the same mis- take with the child that they had made with each other. Always pretending they enjoyed every single one of the other’s interests, when they didn’t really. They had learned, but it had taken three whole years. There is such a thing as close- ness, but it mustn’t become suffocating. Yes, she would let the child go its own way, but she couldn’t help wondering if it would choose show business. If the answer was no, she wouldn’t care, as long as he or she was happy—and if the answer was yes, it would be fun. And sort of nice, too, when she and Tony were old and gray, to go see a play or a movie starring Somebody Curtis. Heaven knew show business had been kind to them. A shout echoed through the halls and out into the garden, and Tony was stand- ing there, grinning at her. “Hi,” he said. “What’ve you been do- ing?” “Thinking,” she said. “About what the baby will be like.” He walked over and kissed the top of her head. “You got it all settled?” She nodded. “Just one thing,” Tony said. “If it’s a girl, don’t ever let her see you clean- ing an ash tray before I’m through with ile” Janet laughed. “I’ve got that settled, 72 too,” she said. END the best days of their lives (Continued from page 35) to absurdity— well, things have changed. Russ and Venetia still wake each other each morning with “Happy Daily Anniver- sary, darling.” But the golden alchemy of marriage is indeed already taking place— and they couldn’t be happier about that. It’s a fabulous time of unending sur- prises, intimate revelations and glorious promise. It’s a constructive time, too— dedicated to falling in step, further in love, and to building one life for two in harmony. It beats a honeymoon all to pieces. It’s been that way ever since one night last spring, when two sleepy people climbed a flight of steps, stopped, turned right, looked at each other and heaved grateful sighs. Russ fumbled for the key. They were out of words. The honey- moon was over. They had seen America from South Dakota to New York to Boston—and it had been fun—but hectic. The plane bringing them home to Holly- wood had been late and the ride bumpy. No door ever looked so good. When it swung open and Russ started to lift in the luggage, Venetia touched his arm. “Rusty—darling—haven’t you forgotten something?” “Don’t think so,” he mumbled sleepily, looking around. “Bags are all here .. .” “T don’t mean that. But—well, aren’t you going to carry me over the threshold?” “Honey ...!” He swooped her up, took three steps into the living room, collapsed —and fell flat on his face! They just stayed there for awhile, on the floor, laughing hysterically at that crazy homecoming. Then Russ noticed some- thing shiny in Venetia’s eyes. He scram- bled to her side and circled her in his arms. “You're crying,” he said. “Hurt?” “T do that sometimes,” she told him. “No, I'm not hurt. Just happy. Oh, Rusty, we're home! Even if we fell in, we're here! It’s the best part of our honeymoon.” And they both knew she was right. They know it more every day that passes. The only trouble is, there aren’t enough hours. Love nest As all newlyweds know, getting a home organized and operating is a full time job, especially when you start from scratch, which pretty accurately describes the housekeeping state of the homecoming Tamblyns. The apartment they tumbled happily into that night was no show place, nor even a comfortable love nest. Apart- ments are scarce in Hollywood, and Russ and Venetia had found theirs just three days before the wedding. They barely had time—with all the other nuptial arrange- ments—to make midnight hauls, lugging over their personal plunder and stacking it in the living room. It was still there—in grocery cartons, boxes, sacks, suitcases and trunks, pyramided halfway to the ceiling. At the glass wall facing the patio —and their curious neighbors—sagged a hastily hung bedsheet, with a hole in the middle. Only two dusty pieces of furniture graced the living room—a long, modern coffee table that Russ had _ laboriously made, and a Tv set with the tag still on. In the kitchen were a refrigerator and stove that went with the lease. In the bedroom was a bed—period. “Actually,” remembers Russ, “it looked like a warehouse. Only thing missing was cobwebs. But it looked like heaven to us.” By now it’s beginning to look the same to everyone else. But that has taken plenty of weighty decisions and work. Venetia put out an S.O.S. for her dec- orator friend, Ann Sullivan, and they got busy. Gradually deep-pile carpets have covered the floors, gray-blue with drapes blending at the picture windows. By now a big beige modernistic sofa sweeps around one end of the room. In the dining area a handsome marble table swings out from a massive mirror with a new buffet behind it. The pink bedroom’s cozily com- plete and the den’s in working order. Every few days another new piece—chair, table or something—arrives. “We’re opera- ting on the furniture-of-the-week-club plan,” grins Russ. Wedding gifts have helped. Towels, linen, utility and party china, glassware to fill the shelves, pots and pans for the kitchen, a rotisserie, toaster, a clock radio by the bed and flatware—stainless steel, not sterling. “Golly,” whistles Tamblyn, “do you know what all this household stuff costs? We have to take it easy, man, or we'll go broke!” My wife, the actress That’s a slight exaggeration, of course. Russ and Venetia have no money prob- lems. Riding a string of hits, Russ makes a swell salary by now and last December 30, when he turned twenty-one, he collected enough bonds to paper one wall of the courthouse. And now Venetia has an in- come too. She got the good news about her RKO contract at the wedding recep- tion. That was bitter-sweet tidings to Russ Tamblyn. At that point he nursed a weak frown at the idea of an actress for a bride. But it was inevitable—and he knew it. Even before Russ slipped on the diamond, wherever he took beautiful Venetia talent scouts and movie moguls table-hopped over with, “You ought to be in pictures.” Although her mother, Anna Lee, was an actress and her dad a director, Venetia was Pearl Bailey, a hit at the Waldorf, complains that H'wood moviemak- ing starts too early: “It was the first time | knew there were two 6 o'clocks in the same day.” Earl Wilson in The New York Post then only a dilettante model, with no burn- ing desire to act. Frankly, Russ hoped to keep her that way. But finally her agent, Dick Clayton, levelled with him. “Look, Buster, you’re going to spend the rest of your life saying ‘No’ to this. You can’t stall it forever. Why not let her have a try and see how it goes?” Two weeks be- fore they married she took a screen test— and got the verdict on their wedding day. By now, Russ is not only reconciled, he’s glad. As for Venetia, she’s frank: “It has always been marriage first with me,” she says. “The career comes second and it always will.” Happily though, both Vene- tia and Russ have discovered that two careers, in their case, augur a better mar- riage. Not because of the extra check— although that’s not to be sneezed at by a couple just getting started—but because they know now that mutual interests make the best family bond. Invincible Venetia é While plenty of people wagged, “too young to be steady” at Venetia and Russ when they got married, you don’t hear that refrain any more. Few couples in Hollywood or anywhere else have proved to be more sensible and serious about their life together. It shouldn’t really be such a surprise, and it isn’t to Russ. At sixteen, that “wonderful” age Venetia so recently sighed about, she was a Conover model in New York living in her own apartment and running her own affairs. In Hollywood one week after she was en- gaged to Russ, Venetia took over his apartment when he went on _ location. When he came back, all his chaotic finan- cial affairs were straightened out with Ne

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money in the bank that she’d saved for him. No wonder Russ thought he knew what he was getting. He hasn’t been dis- appointed. Venetia’s Dresden doll beauty makes her seem fragile, helpless and so young that she can still stall off salesmen at her door with, “I’m sorry, but my mother’s not home.” But, as Russ points out, “Her middle name’s Invicta—and you know what that means.” If you don’t, it’s Latin for “invincible.” Russ finds that out when- ever he tries to up his $30 a week spend- ing allowance. But she’s not only invin- cible, she’s capable. Both Venetia and Russ are still lost in that lovely state where even the tiniest misunderstanding is just a marvelous ex- cuse for a make-up embrace. Their differ- ences so far are only the normal ones any two people who start living together notice, unless they’re vegetables, sugar angels or identical twins. “Oh, I may have a few faults as a hus- band—but they escape me right now,” Russ cracks glibly under pressure. “I leave food around the kitchen and that draws ants. But Venetia blocks them off with Scotch tape over the cracks where they come out. Then I’m a late sleeper and she’s up with the birds. Sometimes I bang the piano a little loud—and I might pull a magic trick at the wrong time or try a handstand too near the dishes. But I write her poems and I sing her pretty songs,” he grins. “Venetia? She’s perfect—except that she likes to tap dance while she’s cooking —and she’s a pretty tight girl with a buck.” First fight Actually, their only spat worth the name, Russ admits, was nobody’s fault but his own. One night when Venetia couldn't make it he went off to Drama Class and afterwards went along with a guy he knows who pats a piano in a Valley night spot. Russ sat in at the keyboard while the pal beat the drums. Since rock-and-roll is like dope to Russ he got so lost in his work that he didn’t come home until the small hours. Venetia was wide awake, not a bit amused, and she bawled him out good. Then, like a wiser wife than she’s really had time to be, she did something constructive about it. Next day, while Russ was on the set, she rented a piano and had it rolled into the den. “If you want to play the piano all night, you can play it at home,” allowed the little woman. That’s what Russ sometimes does, with socks crammed in the windows so the neighbors won’t howl. “I don’t mind how loud he plays it, but it’s always the same piece,” frets his wife. “I guess I like it, though. I like everything about Russ.” There isn’t much doubt about that. In fact, so far Russ and Venetia have found each other’s company about all that’s needed. They both had lots of friends before they were married and still do. But somehow they don’t seem to get to- gether as they used to. For six months before the wedding Venetia wore a ring and in that time the old gangs sort of drifted away, still on the chase, dancing and night-clubbing. That doesn’t send the Tamblyns any more. Sometimes they see Debbie and Eddie Fisher, when they’re on the loose or Pier and Vic Damone when he’s in town. Rafael Campos, Tab Hunter, Bob Six and a few more stags Russ knew in his bachelor days are likely to drop around any time. But as yet Russ and Venetia haven’t had time to collect a young married set in Hollywood. They’ve been too busy. For instance, the call that broke up their honeymoon turned out to be not about Fastest Gun Alive but a new picture MGM had loaned him for while he was away, Young Guns at Allied Artist. Russ DO YOU NEED EXTRA MONEY 30.00 IS YOURS for selling only 50 boxes of our. ALL STAR Christmas card line. And we give you a FREE ALBUM to work with. Also these four outstanding box assortments on approval. Mail coupon today! you nothing to Last Year some folks made $250 — $500 — $1,000 and more this easy way. Church groups and organizations can do it, too. No experience ncessary. FREE ALBUM This expensive ALBUM contains 6 Christmas card lines, 3 Choices of stationery, unusual exclusive METAL FOIL gift wrappings plus satin ribbons that sell for a penny a yard. SR ASR STO mM OS ewsOe wee eemaamanesecel

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But you'd never know one was a seasoned pro of ten years’ standing and the other a green beginner at the game. Both team up afternoons and at night to take acting lessons, and it keeps them busy! If they can sneak in a neighborhood movie, a plunge in the patio pool or a drive up the hills to look at the stars they figure they’re lucky. Actually, the way they’ve been going it’s a wonder they’ve had time to fry an egg. Sometimes, in fact, because Venetia’s plugging so hard to get started right now, Russ tells her, “Tll cook dinner. You just lie in the tub and soak your feet.” And that’s all right with Venetia because she knows he likes to cook. Only she’s dreadfully cer- tain she’s going to have hamburgers. Life is roses But the nice part is—the more they work and do things together—the happier they are. The reason: Russ and Venetia share a goal. It’s a rather general ob- jective now—just to make a happy work- ing team and to get ahead in their chosen professions. Later on there are a few specifics. They’re saving for a trip to Europe. For a while they had a lot picked out in Pacific Palisades to buy and build a house on. That project’s postponed because, as Venetia sensibly points out, “We want to find out what we like first. And the only way you can do that is by renting a while.” They do want children— but “not for a year’—they’ve agreed on that but not on what sex. Russ wants a boy, Venetia a girl. They figure they can compromise—maybe both—later on. Meanwhile, life is opening out for Russ and Venetia Tamblyn like a garden of roses. When they look out the window there’s not a cloud in their sky. “Problems?” puzzles Russ if you ask him. “There aren’t any. With Venetia how could I have problems? I married a girl_they say—but I got me a wife. That’s the answer, man. The only prob- lem I had was finding her.” A few nights before Russ walked down the aisle in Palos Verdes, twenty-odd guys of the old gang he used to chase around with tossed him a bachelor din- ner. They drank a bit of beer, traipsed off to La Zombo, a burl-ee-que in the Valley, smoked big black cigars and cheered lustily as the girls did their bumps and grinds. “We had ourselves a time, all right,” Russ admits in a faraway voice. “It was just great. But that night it was, ‘Good- bye, boys, ’m through,’ for me!” When he left they razzed him with the age-old nifties. “Eat a hearty breakfast before they come get you,” they yelled, as if he were set to shuffle down the last mile to the hot seat. And, “Why don’t you jump off Suicide Bridge and save your- self fifty years of toil and misery?” He gunned away grinning to a _ funereal chorus of, “P-o-o-r ol’ Russ. P-o-o-r uy!” Well, it’s funny how things switch once youre married. When Russ Tamblyn sees those stags these days, what he thinks, but is usually too polite to say, is “Poor guys—they don’t know what they’re missing.” END our boy bill (Continued from page 53) first sign of things to come. I suppose Bill wouldn’t mind my throw- ing away his box of old sea shells. They are of little value. But to me they recall the summers we spent at the beach in New Jersey. Bill loved those summers. For: one thing, there was no school. (Not that Bill actively disliked school—as long as it was social activities or sports—or appearing in class plays. But when it came to studying—well, it-was his brother Bob who was the scholar of this family.) Those summer days consisted of Bob sitting on the beach reading every book he could get his hands on, Bill disappear- ing into the surf and daring the waves to defy him, and two very anxious par- ents standing on shore begging Bill to stop going out too far. Bill just never knew the meaning of the word “fear.” POP CAMPBELL: We couldn’t afford to give our sons many luxuries during those early days of the depression, but I didn’t care how much scrimping and saving we had to do to get them to the beach for at least a couple of weeks each summer. I considered those weeks of fresh air and sunshine in a different environ- ment important. I had my own methods of bringing up my sons that didn’t come from any book. First of all, I don’t think there are any “juvenile delinquents.” When a fellow gets into a man’s trouble, he is no longer a delinquent. He is a man, and should In his dressing room at the studio, Richard Widmark has this sign: “Speak in a low soothing tone and do not disagree with me in any manner. Please be informed that when one has reached ‘my age" noise and non-concurrence cause gastric hyper-peristalsis, hyper se- cretion of the hydrochloric acid and . . . | Become Most Unpleasant." : Sidney Skolsky in The New York Post be treated like one. I think early training up until ten, twelve years of age is what sets a boy for life. And I wasn’t going to let my sons wander in the streets and court trouble during their summer vaca- tions. You see, we lived in a tough neigh- borhood with tough gangs. Some of those boys later on even landed in jail. Our boys never had much truck with them, but unlike some of the other youngsters who wouldn’t join up, they never had any trouble either. Bill knew all the rough guys to talk to but he never had a fight with, or was picked on, by any of them. I guess he just knew how to handle them. Still, during vacations I wanted my sons to play with kids of their own moral fiber. Bill loved baseball, and all those kinds of games. He always felt caged if he hadn’t something to do and someone to do it with. His brother was too busy writing and painting. His old man was no good on that score. I just don’t be- lieve—despite all the fancy talk of child psychologists—that a father should par- ticipate in games with his son. Makes Pop look like a fool, in my opinion. Pop should cooperate to a limit. Playing games was beyond my limit. Telling my sons the facts of life wasn’t. And I told them to ’em straight . . . no shilly-shallying around or birds and bees stuff. They would have gotten the facts out on the street if I hadn’t respected their intelligence. All in all, it wasn’t too hard to keep the boys on a straight path. As I always said, a mother’s love is her great weapon, and a father’s is to keep his sons in a little spending money. The love came

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easy. Sometimes, the money was a little hard to scrape up—but we managed. Our boys were taught to understand that there were fundamental differences in the teachings of the various faiths, but none in the people of the faiths. Our neighborhood was the melting pot of Newark. Irishmen, Jews, Italians, Negroes and Poles all mingled together, and all were Bill’s friends. Many a Saturday morning he used to borrow a yamalka (skulleap) from a Jewish buddy and go down to the local synagogue to help the rabbi with his chores. If there -was a wedding going on, Bill would also volun- teer for extra duties. It wouldn’t be quite honest to say he did this strictly for the benefit of interracial relations. The wed- ding feast afterward also figured in his motivation. I’ve often speculated wheth- er some bride or groom didn’t wonder at the identity of the strange youngster who joined in the festivities, danced with all the pretty little girls, and ate more than his share of knishes and strudel. If there was anything Bill liked more than good Jewish cooking, it was good Italian cooking. There was this woman, Mrs. Tartaglia, who lived on the block, who loved Bill like he was her own son. | And Bill used to have a second sense ...PUTS YOUR BEST FACE FORWAR | which told him when she was cooking : — | Spaghetti Tartaglia. He’d pass her win- The world takes you at face value. So it’s nt VL i dow and yell loud enough to be heard on important for you to use UTOL, the mir- the third floor, “Hey—Mrs. Tartaglia!” acle antibiotic skin cream that is the fast- i She’d run to her window and answer, est known remedy for externally caused : Ree len leon ppt skin blemishes. ONLY $4100 i 2 e right up there for some o a : c “ . j spaghetti of yours,” he’d shout, and up Hides as it heals! Me Ors pam ' | he’d dash, two steps at a time. She never Here’s the ONLY antibiotic skin cream! Contact Dermatitis. zit | resented these self-invitations to dinner. UTOL, with the magic of Tyrothricin, a Between gulps, Bill would keep her in kills the skin bacteria that usually cause MONEY BACK GUARANTEE ~—Your money re- i stitches with his stories or his imitations skin blemishes. Field tests prove—UTOL fundedif UTOL does not satisfy completely! i of John Barrymore. me a] dries up common skin eruptions and clears Sold At All Drugstores Whenever I go back to Bergen Street skin in as little as 10 days! to have a beer with the boys, Mrs. Tar- ee A PRODUCT OF McKESSON & ROBBINS taglia will say, “Tell that son Bill of yours to come up and visit an old lady Foe wwe % FREE! FREE! HIGH PAYING OPPORTUNITIES whee he Eanes HOE: I will fix him ee | es Work in fabulous So. America, The Islands, i lik i _ oto of Your Favori Tica, U. S. A., or other foreign countries. spag. ett, the Way 5 S es It. Everyone i M VIE STAR Trades, Labor, Clerical, Drivers, Mechanics, En- on Bergen Street still asks about Bill, and ; 0) gineers, etc. Many. benefits, Tax-tree agarnings. i in... N 1 ket size, bi Chance to travel. Fare pai ired. Make an they all tell me how glad they are that LARGE ACTUAL PORTRAIT. Also FREE Save a fortune. Application forms. Opportuni- Beautiful Catalog. FREE! Many additional pic- tures of popular stars on cover. FREE! Tells how “one boy in the neighborhood stuck it ties for women also. | through.” Bill had a knack with older iio et HOME (ADDEESSES. “BIRTHDAYS For information Write per people. He still does. I don’t know his 15c for handling. 3 photos for 25c. Rush to NATIONAL EMPLOYMENT INFORMATIO i HOLLYWOOD FILM STAR CENTER 1020 Broad, Newark, N. J. secret. Maybe he makes us old-timers feel like kids again. There’s one story about Bill’s days on Bergen Street I aim to set right. I read somewhere that he used to filch food from the pushearts. That’s not true. There were no pushcarts on Bergen Street, and for another thing Bill always had plenty to eat—despite his king-size appetite. MOM: Whenever I think of Bill’s appe- tite, I'm reminded of his high-school days. I always prepared a generous lunch for him but about once a month he’d say, “Mom, I’m feeling extra hungry today. Will you fix a couple of extra sandwiches, and hey, how about two more apples and a bigger piece of pie?” Well, I never thought anything of it—even though when I used to ask the following day if he wanted something extra, he’d answer that the usual amount would be just fine. It wasn’t until years later—when Bill was in the Navy—that I found out the truth about his “hungry days.” A buddy of his who used to come to the house to keep me company gave away the secret. He thought I knew. It seems that Bill and two of his buddies would play hooky Box 2309, Dept. C-8, Hollywood 28, Calif. | TURN “so-so” hair glamour- bright and see how exciting life can be! With Marchand’s Golden Hair Wash, you can lighten just a shade or go dashing, dazzling blonde — ue safely, easily at home. Or add fi sunny highlights, gleam dark IF hair with bronze. Golden Hair Wash, complete in one pack- i F age, has been the favorite home hair lightener for over gf 50 years. Lightens arm and leg hair, too. Never a dull moment = At drugstores from school and spend the day at a down- when you're bright everywhere town burlesque show. Since Bill’s spend- 75c and $1.00 , ing money was limited and didn’t cover ot such extra-curricular activities as bur- ieee fae / lesque shows, he worked a deal with EA) DELI GTI GEE FLL, g Villa his friends. He’d supply the lunch (by fooling his innocent mother) and _ the other boys would split the cost of Bill’s | ticket of admission. I must admit I was

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pretty shocked to hear about it—even though several years had passed since the incident. But that story solved two mys- teries. First, about Bill’s strange appetite and the other about a note I had received from Mr. Belcher, the principal of South- side High, who asked me to come down to see him. Mr. Belcher was a kind man and his conversation with me consisted mostly about the fact that I should have a talk with Bill. “Bill is a popular boy, Mrs. Campbell,” he said, “but he’s full of mischief, and since he is so well-liked by the other students his lack of discipline - might set a bad example for the rest of the school.’ When I tried to pin him down to exactly what Bill did, he said, “For one thing, he has a disconcerting habit of playing catch with bananas while class is in session...” I started to cry and Mr. Belcher terminated the inter- view with, “Well, talk to Bill, maybe you can calm him down a little.” I cried all the way home and was still in tears when Bill ran into me on the street. “What’s the matter, Mom?” he asked. I told him about the conversation with Mr. Belcher, and how disappointed I was in him. “Please, Mom,” he implored, “don’t be upset. It’s just a prank. I promise it won’t happen again. Ill try to take school more seriously.” Well, Bill kept his promise. I never got another note and those requests for triple lunches became fewer and fewer and gradually ceased altogether. POP: Well, Bill never was what you’d call a saint. A little devil would be a more accurate description. But he never really was wild. He may have done a lot of things that could be considered wild— but all boys do things considered crazy by their elders. It’s all part of growing up. He probably would have gotten a good thrashing had I found out he played hooky to go to a burlesque show, but al- though I don’t approve of such things I can understand them. And they didn’t hurt his character either. Now take Bill’s graduation from high school, for instance. Now, I have to admit that Bill didn’t walk off with any scholastic honors the way Bob did later on—but the “honors” he did re- ceive made me just as proud of him. When he was called up to the stage to receive his diploma—just his diploma, mind you— the audience resounded with the longest and loudest burst of applause I ever heard. That’s how well-liked he was. The most popular guy in school. A few months after graduation one of the lower class- men dropped over for a visit. “I tell you, Mr. Campbell,” he said, “there’s just no fun in going to school anymore. Southside has been like a morgue since Bill graduated. Just like a morgue!” Then there were the dances. I didn’t mind scraping the barrel so Bill could en- joy himself going to the dances he loved. And, with one exception, I didn’t mind Bills going to so many. But that one ex-: ception was a lulu, and, I can honestly say, the biggest crisis in my relationship with Royalty: Two of Alfred Hitchcock's stars were married the same week: Grace Kelly married Prince Rainier, and Vera Miles married the actor who plays a Tarzan role. "I mar- ried better than Grace did,"’ Miss Miles said to her director. ‘She only married a prince. | married a king of the jungle.” Leonard Lyons in The New York Post my son. He wanted to go to a dance against his mother’s wishes. He had been out the night before and although he assured Flo he’d be home early, it was 3 a.m. before we heard his key in the door. Flo had awakened suddenly at midnight, and not hearing Bill downstairs raiding the ice- box (his usual procedure after a date), she checked his room. He wasn’t there and she couldn’t get back to sleep. All mothers are that way. She paced the floor for three hours, imagining all kinds of fatal accidents, before Bill finally sauntered in. Now, if he had said he’d be in at 3 there would have been no fuss. Bill was old enough to shift for himself. It was the “early” promise that upset her. Flo rarely punished the boys but the next day she told Bill that he was to stay in that evening. Bill had a special date to go dancing at the Ivanhoe and I think he’d have preferred to have given up a year of his life than to miss that dance. He told his mother he was going and then came to me about it. “Bill,” I said, “if your mother says no, it’s no, and that’s all there is to that.” Well, Bill got rather insistent and natu- rally his mother softened up and said, “Oh, let him go. It isn’t worth all this fuss.” By this time, I was riled up. “Ym glad your mother said that, Bill,” I told him, “because if she hadn't, Td have knocked you down before Id have let you leave this house.” “T wouldn’t have cared whether you would have knocked me down or not,” Bill replied defiantly, “I still would have gone.” Then he stormed out of the house. I was all set to go after him, but Flo calmed me down. Well, Flo and I were pretty upset by the entire episode. Neither of us could sleep that night. At 10 p.m. we heard the door open. Bill was back. Later, we heard that he was as unhappy about the flare-up as we were. He had no patience to remain at the dance and he didn’t even raid the ice-box that night. There was a cool silence at breakfast the next morning. Then all of a sudden Bill apologized, and his mother wept and all was forgiven between those two. I held out until evening. Then I said, “All right, son, let’s forget about it.” The incident was never spoken of again. MOM: Bill got a job with RCA soon after he graduated from high school and he splurged his first week’s salary on a brooch for me. I still have it and it is one of my favorite possessions. Ill never forget the night he brought it home. “Here’s a little something for you, Mom,” he said. “It’s not much, but you stick with me and you'll be wearing mink!” If I recall correctly though, Dad hit the ceiling when he saw what Bill had done. Being a thrifty man, I think he was ap- palled by the extravagance. POP: Yes, I hit the ceiling when I saw the brooch, but the way Flo tells it you would think I was some kind of Simon Legree or something. I was angry be- cause Bill didn’t tell me what he was planning to do. If he had I could have gotten the brooch for him at a 30% dis- THE CASE OF THE NERVOUS MODEL H When Audrey Hepburn agreed to model an afternoon dress Hubert de Givenchy had designed for her in Paris, the Givenchy studio was delighted. “We'll have a huge showing,” they told Audrey. “We'll have hundreds of guests, the press... it will be An Occasion!’”’ Audrey turned positively pale. “Oh, no,” she said. “Please—no people, no press, no Occasion. Just a photographer— that’s enough.” “A photographer—” they said, “why, that’s torture. Hours under the hot lights, always on your feet—misery. Now, in the showroom, before a select audience—”’ “No,” said Miss Hepburn. “Why?” “Well,” she offered, “I’m not a real model—I might do something wrong.” “You won't.” “Just think if I tripped!” “Never!” “Oh, but I might,” she said. “Please—just a photog- rapher!” So they sent her to a cameraman and ait Audrey’s request they sent not the usual battery of seamstresses to make last minute adjustments, but just one. As general assistant and nerve-calmer, they also sent one of their regular models. And for hours Audrey stood patiently while they pinned and draped, tried pose after pose before the cameras, obligingly changed her hair-do. The seamstress wilted, the model groaned, even the photographer sweated under the burning lights. When it was all over and some of the most charming high fashion shots in Paris had been taken, Audrey sighed happily. “There,” she said, “wasn’t that nicer than doing it in the showroom?” She stood up, cool as a cucumber, the tiny girl whose pictures and plays had been seen by literally millions of people. “I got goose pimples thinking about doing it any other way,” she said. “All 76 those people staring at once—they make me so nervous!”

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count! But I was thrilled that Bill re- membered this mother in this way. Many times I said to him, “Son, this is the way it is. No matter how old you are I'll be responsible for you if you need me, and in turn, you must be responsible for your mother if she needs you. Your father you don’t have to worry about. You take care of your mother, and the old man will take care of himself.” MOM: Bill remembered me, in many ways. Take our phonograph machine, for instance. That was another gift. When Bill brought it into the house he said, “Here, Mom. I wanted you to have this so you can enjoy the music you want to listen to.” And then he went out and proceeded to buy three dozen Glenn Miller records. Since Bill’s friends were always welcome in our house, every night became “Juke Box Saturday Night” in the Campbell household. One night, I came home from work a little irritable (I had a position at Bamberger’s Department Store up until last year) and as usual Mr. Miller and his gang were blasting away about some Chattanooga somethingorother. “Goodness, Bill,” I said, “can’t you turn off that infernal racket? Tt’s driving me crazy.” Bill was crushed. “The trouble with you, Mom,” he said, “is that you just don’t appreciate good music.” Maybe I didn’t appreciate Mr. Miller at the time, but many a night in years that followed, I tuned him in by choice while pretending that Bill was in the living room listening. He wasn’t then. He was in the South Pacific. Bill was under age when he told me he wanted to join the Navy. He begged me to come in and sign for him, and requested that I say nothing to Dad. “You know how Dad will feel, Mom,” he said. “He’ll say I'm too young and tell me to wait until I'm of age. But perhaps at that time Tl have no choice, and, Mom, Ill just die if I don’t get into the Navy.” All I could think of as Bill talked on and on trying to persuade me to sign for him, was the time he was three and got his first sailor suit and said, “I’m going to be a real sailor some day.” I didn’t want to sign without consulting Mr. Campbell, but I knew if this was what Billy wanted so terribly much, I had little | choice but to back him up. My, the day he was informed he was accepted!!! He rushed down to Bam- berger’s, paid no attention to the fact that was waiting on a customer, rushed around the counter, grabbed me in his arms and shouted, “Mom, I’m in! I’m in, do you hear?” I was sure that the entire store had heard, but I was wondering what would happen when Dad _ heard. And I was flabbergasted at what he did. Dad merely shook hands with his son, said, “Congratulations,” and then laughed. “Knew what was going on all the time,” he said. “You two don’t think you can put anything over on the old man, do you?” Every time Bill came home on leave, he’d write ahead. “Get all the relatives to- gether—we’ve got to have a party.” Dur- ing one party, he was so happy and calm until he had to say goodbye. Then he kinda broke down. The first time I ever remember seeing Bill break down. I knew if he’d stayed a moment longer, I’d have broken down, too. So, I merely held up my head and said, “You better hurry, Dad’s in the car waiting.” I couldn’t understand why he was upset. Always, when he had to return to the base after a leave, he managed to be quite cheerful about it. POP: Bill didn’t tell me until we were on the highway en route to the Hudson Tubes what was bothering him. “Dad,” he said, “I didn’t want to spoil this last week for either you or Mom. But I think I better tell you now. I won’t be coming home for a while. This was my last leave. Our outfit’s pulling out for Japan within a few days. I knew it would only upset Mom if I told her before.” My son may have given some pretty fine performances on the screen, but I tell you nothing ever came up to the one he gave that week. MOM: I have an entire trunkful of things that Bill sent home while he was in the Navy: Dolls from Japan, a little music box that played “Anchors Aweigh” and dozens and dozens of letters—which I re- read often. If Billy was ever unhappy or afraid or ill during all the time he was away, he never let us know. Each letter was gay and witty and full of funny inci- dents. He even made KP sound like a high school dance! Tucked away in the corner of some of his letters was a little crazily-drawn sailor boy. And thereby hangs another tale. I wanted to make sure that Bill always had enough money while he was in the Navy, but I didn’t want his Dad to think I was spoiling him. So we had our own little conspiracy. If, at any time, he needed extra cash, he was to let me know via code, and our code was our own little sailor man! The only souvenir I don’t have of Bill’s Navy days is his uniform. His wife, Judy, confis- cated that when they were home a couple of Christmases ago, and I’ve been told she’s. made good use of it—impersonating a member of the United States Armed Forces at costume parties. The most priceless of my souvenirs is Bill’s career scrapbook. I won’t let that out of my sight for a minute. If it ever got lost, | met the pretty blonde Russian actress, Izinas Skolzeva, and asked her companion how old she is. He replied: "The age of a Soviet ac- tress is a secret—like the atom bomb." Leonard Lyons in The New York Post I think I’d die. When we leave for Cali- fornia, it goes right along on the plane with me. The question most of my friends or neighbors ask me is, “When did you first notice that Bill wanted to be an actor?” Well, that’s hard to answer. He always loved the movies and theatre and acting. My goodness, when he was three and I used to take him downtown shopping, he wouldn’t be happy unless I took him into the Avon Theatre to see Tom Mix. How Bill loved Tom Mix. (Last fall, he got the kick of his life when he learned that Mrs. Mix was a resident at the Hollywood Lanii where we were stopping.) Dad put a stop to that, however. Not that he objected to Tom Mix, but he didn’t think a three- year-old should be exposed to the kind of germs that float around in movie theatres. By the time he was six (germs not withstanding) Bill wouldn’t miss a Saturday afternoon at the movies, and in grammar school he was even the hero of his graduation play. Performing in school wasn’t enough for Bill. One summer, he joined the All State Chorus and went off to Atlantic City as a singer. But Bill didn’t limit himself to public appearances. I remember the times Bobby used to come downstairs and lead me back up to the doorway of the boys’ bedroom. “Look,” he’d giggle, “Bill’s talking to himself again.” And sure enough, there was Bill, in front of the mirror, posing and gesticulating to beat the band and mut- tering such strange phrases as “The play’s the thing wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the King.’ Bob thought it was the funniest thing he ever saw in his life. 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But we have had so many thousands of requests for the Super Star Information Chart, that we have printed up some more, which are now available for only 25c each—as long as the supply lasts. To get your Super Star Information Chart, fill out the coupon below and send it in right away. SUPER STAR INFORMATION CHART MODERN SCREEN, Dell Publications 10 West 33 Street, New York 1, New York I enclose 25c for a Super Star Information Chart. Ge0tO-0 O10 Syd Obey O10, Oe o id 60-0 ice dna Ol Diced ayi(atiots ¢) (ele al dfaste) hie \el.e halts euislieiiel\elwisi ewe © Horse, a Horse, my Kingdom for a Horse (though I'll settle for a bike, Mom)”. “Oh, Bill,” I’d say, “cut out all that acting. I’m tired.” My manner didn’t discourage him at all. “You'll be sorry you said that when I’m a big star in Hollywood.” And I’d answer, “Sure, I'll be a little old lady by then.” Then I’d do some acting of my own—imitating an old woman hob- bling around. This wasn’t meant to dampen Bill’s spirit, but frankly it was hard to take him seriously at the time. POP: We did take him seriously, how- ever, when several months after his re- turn to civilian life, he announced that he wanted to take advantage of the G.I. Bill of Rights by studying at a good dramatic school. “The ‘Bill’ will get me through school, Pop, but I’m worried about the other expenses and my not being able to contribute anything to the household while I’m learning,” he said. I answered, and I remember my exact words: “Re- member, son, what I said about my tak- ing care of you as long. as you needed me. That still goes. A little more scrap- ing won’t hurt the bottom of the barrel at all. True, I’d be happier if you told me you wanted to study law or something secure like that, but if your heart’s set on acting, well, you go ahead and see what you can do. But after you’ve been at it for awhile, I’d like to see you act. If you’re good, I'll back you all the way. If not you'll quit—okay?” Bill agreed. He enrolled at the Fagen Dramatic School and the first test came about six months later when he got the role of the drunk who commits suicide in a student production of Dinner At Eight. You never saw such a suicide scene in your life. Bill milked every moment of drama there was out of it. I thought he was taking so long to die that at one point I turned to my wife and said that if I had a gun, I’d shoot him. But I knew then that my son was good, darn good. The following summer, Bill was ac- cepted in a stock company. MOM: After summer stock, Bill re- turned to Fagen’s to complete his course. Then came graduation. Well, being his mother I thought I was prejudiced by thinking he gave a great performance in the graduation play, The Royal Family. But the comments I heard during inter- mission assured me that I wasn’t. One woman, talking to Mrs. Fagen, said, “Who is this Campbell boy? He’s the finest young actor I’ve seen in your school in ten years.” I could have: burst with pride. My lady friend, Mildred, told me to turn around and tell them I was his mother. I wanted to, but I just didn’t have the nerve. Bill did some pavement pounding— but not too much. The following sum- mer, he was hired as juvenile lead in New- port, Rhode Island Casino Theatre. He was actually starred in plays and he got paid a good salary for it, too. Then he went on tour with The Man Who Came To Dinner; landed in Los Angeles and was signed by Warners and then later on by M-G-M. And with each new role my “career scrapbook” grew and grew. But suddenly, in 1952, the “Scandal Book” stopped growing. The “Scandal Book!” I wonder what I’m going to do about that. Ill probably have to throw it away, since I don’t dare bring it to California with me. Judy might disown me or divorce Bill—or worse, if she ever saw it. Of course, there is really noth- ing scandalous about it. I call it our “Scan- dal Book” because it’s exclusively de- voted to pictures of Bill’s ex-girl friends. And in each stage of his life—he had his girl friends. All beauties, too, and such nice girls. I met most of them, and those who were too far away for me to meet— Bill sent a picture. In 1951, he sent a picture of the prettiest one of all. A picture that never took the trip from my dresser into the bock. In the spring of 1952, he phoned me and broke the news. He was engaged to be married to Judy Inmoor and the wedding was planned for my birthday—October 25. Naturally, Dad and Bob and I had to come out for the wedding. No mother ever forgets a single de- tail of the wedding of her first-born and I am no exception, even though I went around in a perpetual daze. Bill was just as dazed as I was, but that didn’t stop him from taking me around to the best shops for my wedding outfit. “I want you to be the best-dressed girl there, Mom,” he teased. “After all, you're going to be competing with movie queens.” Aside from the dress, he bought me a sixty dollar hat! I tried to talk him out of that. There’s just no sense in a sixty dollar hat! But he was deaf to my protests. And he bought me a mink collar and cuffs. “I told you, Mom,” he said, “stick with me and you'll be wearing mink. These are a ‘down payment.’ ” . As to the actual wedding itself, I wen through the gamut of a mother’s emotions. I had this terrible choked feeling as he went down to the altar. I was happy, sad, smiling, tearful and about to faint at any moment. I didn’t come down to earth until two or three weeks after we re- turned home. POP: What do I recall most of all about Bill’s wedding? Parking lots and the La Brea Tar Pits. An awful lot has been written about the father of the bride. But what about the groom’s old man? This particular one spent a week in California waiting in parking lots while Delinquency, says Frank Lovejoy, is the age when youngsters want to do what their folks are doing. Mike Connolly in The Hollywood Reporter the girls were inside stores trying on things. One day, while parked behind Ohrbachs, I decided to take a walk and see some of that famous California green- ery. There was a park by Ohrbachs, but it struck me as a kind of peculiar park. There were long, round stretecnes with no grass. Complained to Bill about it, too. “What kind of place is this California?” I said. “Don’t you think they should plant some flowers or something there? That barrenness makes the park look awful.” “Pop,” he said, “those were the famous La Brea Tar Pits.” It became his favorite story about his “tourist” folks. He even spread it about Newark when he returned home the following Christmas. I wasn’t surprised at Bill’s picking out such a beautiful bride. We Campbell men have extraordinary taste when it comes to women. Like father—like son. MOM: Bill has been after us to come to California for good for two years now. Last fall, we decided to try it out for two months, and we loved it. So, as” soon as Dad reaches retirement age at the water works later this year, we'll become native Californians. No reason to remain in New Jersey. Both of our children are out there and soon we hope there will be grandchildren. And both boys are successes—Bill as an actor, Bob as a writer. They’ve even formed the William Campbell Productions, of which their Dad will be president. Memories and memen- tos take second place when you are with the things you want to remember. But there’s one souvenir I know I won’t be leaving behind. My Christmas present from both my sons, and a fulfillment of a young boy’s promise: “Stick with me, Mom, and you'll be wearing mink.” END

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| was 2 teen-age price (Continued from page 58) night,” my sister Beverly said, “I danced round the tree with | Santa. In a couple of years you can dance with him too.” I went riding on my Christmas bike. “Santa brought it,” I told a playmate. “You don’t believe in him?!” “Of course I do. My sister danced round the tree with him last night.” But the seed of doubt had been planted and, once I discovered the truth, I cried my eyes out. Not so much because there wasn’t a Santa Claus. Rather because the family I’'d trusted so completely had lied to me. As many families lie about Santa ‘Claus. Only I was too thin-skinned to take it and too young to appreciate the kindly motive. Which is why I never passed the myth on to my son. I told him - about Saint Nicholas, I told him about the spirit of Santa, the spirit of giving. I think you can’t go far wrong in telling children the truth. I think concealment pui'ds barriers. With the best will in the world, my parents concealed their problems frem us. Or anyway, from me. If Mother talked to Beverly, I didn’t hear about it. Sometimes I feel that if they’d been franker with me, I’d have weathered the divorce more easily. | thought we were happy Through my earliest childhood, we were a happy family. Or so I thought. Mother and Dad loved us, they loved each other. We lived in a pleasant home in Beverly Hills. Mother was—and still is—a very beautiful woman—tall, blonde, milky- skinned, with the carriage of a queen. Dad was as dark as she was fair and when they’d come to school together for some event, I’d just about pop with pride in them. The only cloud in my sky was Dad’s \ being away so much. His insurance busi- ‘ness required a lot of traveling. He was my idol, and for this there were many reasons. I was intensely shy, a bundle of inhibitions, forever afraid to express my feelings, yet hungering for love. To any show of affection I re- sponded like a plant to sunlight, but I was incapable of taking the first step. I must have been fearful of rejection. Dad had the gift of laughter and of out- going warmth. He’d pull me into his lap, he’d nibble my lashes or chew my ear— which drove me nuts, but I reveled in it. Like me, Mother was more reserved, less demonstrative. Besides, somebody had to be the disciplinarian and with Dad gone half the time, that job fell to her. Raising two girls presents plenty of headaches, and the one who’s responsible sometimes finds vherself the goat. It was always Mother, not Dad, who reprimanded me—for my own good—and subconsciously I began storing up resentments. Often I must have hurt my mother. With Dad I could let my hair down, and she knew it. With her, something blocked the way. After an argu- ment, I'd gather a little bouquet and lay it en the front steps with a note: “I’m sorry I was a bad girl.” But I couldn’t go and tell her that face to face. Which, looking back, seems to me rather sad. Maybe to make up for not being with me, Dad was all tenderness and indul- gence. From the road he’d write me letters every few days, with funny little pictures— this is you, this is me—and enclosing a dollar bill. At home he’d say, “Come on, honey, let’s go to the store.” If I went ‘with Mother, she’d buy only what we needed. Dad gave me free rein—cookies, ice cream, popcorn—the works. “You're too skinny, we’ve got to fatten you up.” Naturally this enchanted me—not only the goodies, but the sense of being cherished. Perhaps even spoiled. To this day the Nancy Drew detective stories create a special atmosphere for me. I was crazy about them, and my father al- ways brought one home when he came. I remember sitting in the den by a little old heater, reading the book while it rained outside. Without being able to put it into words, I craved family unity. Nancy meant that Dad was here again. The book on my lap, the sound of the rain, the knowledge that we were a family once more made me feel so happy, so snug, so sheltered from harm—like a magic cloak around me. Because of that, I love rain and always will. The divorce My parents were divorced when I was twelve. Deep personality clashes made it impossible for them to be happy together. The breach came gradually. They tried and tried to repair it, but it widened. For a long time I was only dimly aware of what went on. Nobody laid it on the line. Nobody said, “Honey, this is what hap- pened.” I knew that Dad came home less and less often. I used to hear Mother cry- ing at night. So many times I wanted to go to her, tell her I loved her, ask her what was wrong. I couldn’t. Maybe I was afraid of finding out. Or afraid of in- vading the privacy of grown-up emotions. As for Mother, she probably thought that I was too young to be burdened with them. But the burden lay heavy on me just the same. As I realized little by little that Dad wouldn’t be living with us any more, my whole world crumbled, my safe harbor blew up at an age when I needed it most. Some children find compensation in school for what they miss at home. Not me. I wore glasses then and braces on my teeth. So did lots of other kids, but they laughed it off. Youngsters are perceptive. They torment the tormentable, and they could always count on me to cringe when they teased. I wanted friendship badly, but didn’t know how to go about showing it, so I could get it in return. As a result, I crawled deeper into my shell. There was just enough age difference be- tween my sister and me to prevent too much closeness. The divorce hadn’t shaken Beverly as it did me. For one thing, she was older—for another, more stable—a girl who knew what she wanted and where she was going. At eighteen she fell in love, married, moved to San Fran- cisco with her husband and lived happily ever after. Dad was living in San Fran- cisco too. He didn’t get down very often. Mother took an apartment for herself and me. She bought me lovely clothes. She saw to it that I took singing and dancing lessons. Having been on the stage herself, she hoped I might develop enough talent to pick up where she’d left off when she married Dad. Then, in an effort to escape her own heartache, she went on a world tour and left me with my Aunt Rose, who was also my singing teacher. Before leav- ing, she entered me in Jesse Lasky’s Gate- way To Hollywood contest. Into the sunlight—almost To my amazement, they interviewed me. By now the glasses and braces were gone. But you were supposed to be eighteen. I was fourteen, and said so. “If you'll keep mum about it,” they told me, “and if you'll stop eating so many ice cream sodas, we'll let you try out.” With all the stress I’ve laid on my lack of assurance, you may wonder how I mustered up the nerve. It didn’t take nerve. Up there on the stage I lost myself. People didn’t exist. I was alone, playing a part and confident, and so I sailed on to the semi-finals, for which Dad came down. I can still hear Jesse Lasky making the announcement. “There’s New! Clearasil Medication STARVES PIMPLES SKIN-COLORED... hides pimples while it works DOCTORS’ TESTS PROVE 9 out of 10 cases cleared up ...or definitely improved Doctors’ clinical tests prove this new-type medi- cation especially for pimples really works. In skin specialists’ tests on 202 patients, 9 out of every 10 cases were cleared up or definitely im- proved while using CLEARASIL. Amazing starving action. CLEARASIL actu- ally starves pimples because it helps remove the oils that pimples “feed” on. And CLEARASIL’s antiseptic action stops the growth of bacteria that can cause and spread pimples. Skin-colored to hide pimples and end embarrassment. Grease- less, stainless...pleasant to leave on day and night for uninterrupted medication. 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80 “Tl make sure I'll be satisfied—I always buy a BRAND that’s made a NAME for itself?” FOUR WAYS BRAND NAMES SATISFY YOU MOST I. BUY WITH TRUST! Spend confidently on known quality. Brand Names wear best, work best, taste best, are best. 2. SHOP WITH EASE! Spend efficiently on proved value. Brand Names save time “puzzling” over labels, models, prices, etc. 3. ENJOY MORE CHOICE! Spend shrewdly among widest selections. Brand Names offer the most in sizes, types, colors, flavors, etc. 4. GET THE "LATEST! Spend smartly on up-to- date products. Brand Names keep improving, modernizing, introducing new things. BRAND NAMES FOUNDATION, INC. 437 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 16, N. Y. one very proud father in the audience to- night. He’s Harold Louis. His daughter Marilyn just won the semi-finals.” Pride goes before a fall. In Des Moines I lost the finals to a blonde who sang “The Man I Love.” Jean Hersholt found me in the wings, crying like mad. He put his arm around me, gave me his handkerchief, eased my woe. “You did well, child. You made a fine showing, which is all that matters. It’s just that you’re not ready yet. Some day you will be. Some day youll be glad you lost tonight.” I wanted desperately to hang on to him. Since that couldn’t be, I hung on to his handkerchief. For his gentleness, his kindness and un- derstanding, he’ll always hold a special niche in my heart. So back to Beverly High I went, little Miss Nobody again. But more popular now, because I sang and danced in the school shows. Still, I didn’t have what’s important to every child—a family. Fam- ilies discuss things, they help you to form ideas, to make decisions, they give you roots and emotional shelter. With only Aunt Rose to account to, I felt like a little girl on my own. Sex and heartbreak Anything might have happened to me. Nothing did. By bringing me up in the Mormon faith, Mother had built better than I knew. The training stuck. Bas- ically, I was a religious girl—certainly an idealistic one and, on the subject of sex, a babe in the woods. Nobody’d ever talked to me about sex, unless you can count the time Beverly said: “Never let anyone lay a hand on you.” I didn’t know what she meant. If this seems stupid, then I was stupid, naive and ignorant. The first time I caught a glimpse of two kids necking in the back seat, my face dropped into my hands. “Oh no!” I shuddered, and asked to be taken home. I went on dating, but never twice with a boy who tried to get fresh. Then came first love, none the less glorious for being puppy-love, since at fourteen you can’t tell the difference. As a big football star, his attentions dazzled me. And as always with those I loved, I stuck him on a pedestal. He was all the fairy-tale princes rolled into one, but most- ly Sir Galahad, and I worshiped him un- abashed. When he ealled, ’d leap over furniture to grab the phone. When he said, “Tll be there in an hour,” I'd tweet, “Can’t you make it twenty minutes?” I suppose my adoration amused him and my youth made him protective. He treated me with kid gloves until, on our way to a New Year’s Eve party, my Galahad turned wolf and found himself with a bearcat on his hands, which didn’t amuse him at all. As for me, I was devastated. Within sec- onds, the knight toppled off his white charger, breaking my heart in half. At the party he sat me on a stool and took off. For a while I stayed put, trying to gather up some remnants of self-control but making a poor job of it. My only desire was to get home straight and fast, and the only way I could think of was to hunt up my escort. I found him parked with another girl. Turning blindly away, I all but collided with a boy I knew. Be- cause he liked me, because he was sweet and thoughtful, he’d noticed my plight and followed me out to the parking lot. “Come on,” he said. “I’m taking you home.” Sym- pathy was all I needed. Safe in his car, the floodgates burst. He waited for the storm to subside, then pulled into a drive- in. “You'll feel better after a cup of hot coffee.” I meet Tom That’s where fate entered, in the shape of a maroon convertible that slid in beside ~ us. Mark recognized it and an idea hit him. “Just sip your coffee, Marilyn. I want to say hello to a friend of mine.” He was back in a minute. “That’s Tom Lane. He has a little orchestra and he’s looking for a girl singer. I’d like you to meet him—” My eyes were puffy. The tear-tracks glis- tened on my face. “I can’t. I look awful.” “You look fine,” he said, and beckoned Tom over. I shrank into my corner. I don’t know | how much of me Tom could see, but I liked his smile and the way he came straight to the point. “Do you sing?” I nodded. “Well, I’m having some girls audi- tion at my house tomorrow. Can you come?” “Yes,” I gulped. “I can come.” I felt grateful to both boys. Next day I }. auditioned for Tom, got the job and began | singing with his fourteen-piece combo at various beach and country clubs. Shortly before all this happened, Mother J, came home. We lived together again. She tried to draw close to me, but by now Id grown an armor that shut her out. When she made overtures, I’d say, “Everything’s fine, Mother,” and clam up. Sometimes an emergency with the band brought me home later than usual, and I’d find her frantic. “Marilyn, where have you been?” “Oh, the manager wouldn’t pay what he promised, so the boys had to put up a fight for it—” “You might have phoned me!” Of course I might have. But I knew I Esther Williams and her husband Ben Gage went to the Copa te see their friends Tony Martin and Phil Foster. They came late and were seated in back of the room. Miss Williams asked a captain to change their table. “But why?" the cap- tain said. "You can see Tony and Phil from this table"... “I know," said Miss Williams, “but they can't see us." e Leonard Lyons in The New York Post was safe. It never entered my uncaring head that she didn’t. ' Nor did I confide much in my dad. Our visits together were so short. I used | i to spend holidays with him in San Fran- cisco. He loved: to sing, except that what came out didn’t sound too good. So he'd whistle instead, and we’d drive back and forth duetting tunes like “Daisy, Daisy” and “Good Old Summertime.” Dad still meant fun and laughter to me. I hated to spoil our gaiety with problems. While she was all for my career, Mother took a dim view of my current activities. She felt they wouldn’t get me far, she | i knew they kept me out too late and she worried over my constant companionship with Tom and his family. | fall in love with a family Tom was a nice, clean-cut, mannerly boy. But I think I fell as much in love with his family as I did with him. Their house was a house of warmth. They made no bones about showing their love for each other. | F As Tom’s girl friend, they welcomed me in | », with the same open affection. I ate it up.} 0; It was my first taste of what I'd always longed for—the refuge of family solidarity. | : I’d walk miles just to spend the afternoon } »; and have dinner with them, almost like a| homing bird. They offered sanctuary, and with that poor Mother simply couldn't} 4 compete. Not till many years later did I} 3, realize the suffering it caused her. She appealed to Dad. “You-must talk to ! 4, Marilyn, Harold. She’s only fifteen and} », she’s taking this boy too seriously. At} eighteen he’s no more than a child him-| self.” Dad gave me credit for more sense than

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I had. “It?s a normal crush. She’s in- telligent, she’ll get over it.” To further that end, Mother sent me to stay with my sister and brother-in-law, hoping I’d meet new people and forget Tom. Which gave me a chance to drama- tize the whole affair. I dashed off a hot wire. “Help. Help. I’m being held pris- oner.” This brought Tom all the way up to San Francisco. Looking real grim, he presented himself at the door. “What on earth’s the matter with you?” Beverly asked. “Marilyn says she’s a prisoner!” My sister ushered him into the living room where I sat. “Look. No manacles. No bars. Free as the breeze to take off whenever she likes.” This bit of nonsense left me with egg on my face but changed nothing radical. At home the situation remained status quo. Mother couldn’t reach me. Dad was be- yond my reach most of the time. Because I felt torn between them, I couldn’t talk to either about the other except with my guard up. From the outside I must have seemed wilful and sullen. Actually, despite my youthful heroics, I did feel like a prisoner, frustrated and hemmed in. For me there was no way to go except out. At sixteen I took it. We elope Tom and I were sitting in the car one day. “I don’t know anything about mar- riage,” I said, “but let’s run away.” “Hine. Only I’d better tell my folks.” “Yes, we'll tell your folks, but not my mother. Because she won’t let me.” Our youth notwithstanding, the Lanes were on our side. They arranged for Tom’s older sister and her fiancé to go to Reno with us. Knowing Mother was out, I went home to pack my bag. She returned be- fore I’d finished. “Where are you going?” ‘Tm going to marry Tom.” It seemed an eternity before she an- swered. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds. I don’t know how she looked, for I kept my eyes on my packing. But ker voice shook. “Honey, don’t do this, don’t! You’re only a baby. Where have I failed you? What have I done wrong?” “Nothing, Mother. I just want to get married.” I felt no response to her cry. I felt cold and impassive. I picked up my bag and left my mother to what anguish I didn’t even bother to imagine. I can imagine it now. The four of us drove to Reno, where I fibbed about my age and married Tom. We lived with the Lanes. Tom began his now successful career as an interior decorator. I modeled at May Company’s. Three months later I went from size twelve to fourteen—from fourteen to sixteen— from sixteen to fur coats. “Keep putting on weight,” they warned me, “and you'll have to quit.” I didn’t quit till pneumonia laid me low and I almost lost the baby I was carrying by then. Fer the first time Mother and Dad came together to see me. They didn’t say much, but I could read the ? heart-sickness in their eyes. After Kent was born and I’d recovered my strength, I worked as a salesgirl at Coulter’s. Then came a call from Henry Willson, the agent, who’d seen my picture on an old cover of our high school maga- zine. He offered to put me under contract —an idea Tom didn’t go for at all. My job was just a stopgap because we needed the money. Once Tom was established, I’d give it up and stay home. A potentiai movie career, he realized, would be harder to drop. I realized that too, which didn’t prevent me from wanting it. This led to arguments. In the end I signed with Henry, became Rhonda Fleming and, before too long, a seven-year contract player on David Selznick’s payroll. A love that didn't grow But it wasn’t the career that broke Tom and me up. Mother had been right. We were a couple of immature kids, with no fowndation for marriage. We’d pulled down on ourselves a load of responsibility that secretly appalled us, yet it had to be carried. At an age when we should have been carefree, we’d stuck our noses into the grindstone of life. We weren’t suffi- ciently disciplined to control our tempers, so minor flareups developed into major battles. Ours wasn’t a love that grew. Bickering destroyed it. It’s clear to me now that I didn’t even know the meaning of love. Through Tom Id been seeking something his family gave me. Not con- sciously, of course. But confusion and inexperience don’t alter the fact that, in marrying Tom, Id done him an in- justice. Marriage, however, was no light thing to either of us. For six years we tried to hold it together. During the last two years, Tom was in the service. I lived with his folks and worked at the studio. In those days, wifehood and motherhood were supposed to de-glamorize you. “Keep it dark,” they told me, “or you’re finished in the busi- ness.” I hated keeping it dark. I was proud of my baby and wanted to talk about him. Boys asked for dates and I’d have to ward them off without explaining why. I let things drift, too timid to assert myself, following orders like a mindless robot, scared of everyone as I’d been at school. This, plus the knowledge of my sorry marriage, drove me into myself again. Migraine headaches developed. I forgot how to smile. Say boo to me, and the waterworks started. I lost all contact with friends. I hardly ever saw Mother. Natu- rally, the frictions between Tom and me saddened his family. I no longer felt com- fortable with them. To avoid them, I’d sneak by the side door into my room, leaden with misery. Often the walls seemed to close in and a wild impulse would seize me to batter them down. I didn’t know that what closed me in was myself. Lord, help me! _ One evening, a week before Tom was due home, I climbed into my car, drove up on a hillside and parked. Drained of emotion, I felt empty, barren and dead. “Tf this is life,’ I thought dully, “I don’t want it any more.” The cliff looked tempt- ingly close. How easy to roll over it and be forever at peace, all my troubles done with. Trembling, I struggled against the terrible compulsion. This time I wasn’t dramatizing. This time I meant it, and the shock of realizing I meant it cleared my head a little. I didn’t want to live, but I had to live for my son. I began talking to myself, yet the talk was a prayer. Through sheer desperation, through sheer need, I turned to God. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but something’s wrong, because I don’t love anyone except my child.” For the first time I cried in agony, “Lord, help me!” And He did. I have no idea how long I sat there. All I know is this. As I prayed, the tears started streaming down my cheeks, the iciness melted and a great warmth flooded in, a great compassion for people and the suffering of people. Up there on the hill I went through a spiritual experi- ence. I achieved an insight to which Id been blinded by my absorption in self. Doors opened in my mind, showing me that I wasn’t unique or alone. Life hurts us all in one way or another. We must hurt each other as little as possible. Next day I went to my mother, crashed through the wall of misunderstanding between us and poured my heart out. 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This substance is now available in sup- pository or ointment form under the name Preparation H.* Ask for it at all drug coun- ters —money back guarantee. : For sample, send name and address to Preparation H, Box 884, Department N, New York 46, N. Y. Enclose 10¢ for handling. Offer expires September 30, 1956. Good only in Continental U. S. *Reg. U.S. Pat. Off. Paris, Tenn. fore, I said. What she’d never been able to do before, she did—took me into her arms, whispered endearment and comfort that fell like balm on a wound. When the chips were down, Mother became my solace and my greatest friend. Long ago*I could have had her friendship for the ask- ing. It was she who had felt unwanted. With Mother~-behind me, I found cour- age to make a decision. At first I hoped for a miracle. I hoped that when Tom and I met, our old feeling for each other might rise from the ashes. It didn’t. Then I prayed that we might part without ugli- ness or strife. In this—thanks to Tom and to my new-found identity—we succeeded. Our first thought was for Kent. As a child of divorce, I saw the dangers even more clearly than Tom. I tried hard to profit by the lessons of my own ordeal. Kent loves his father dearly and he loves me. I’m not going to pretend that the divorce was any bed of roses for him. But at least we could keep from filling his mind with resentments. We could tell him the story truthfully and give him plenty of time to figure it out for himself. The hard way It’s not for me to preach. Though I think I’m a little wiser for my experience, who knows all the answers? Yet I can’t help venturing the few I did learn. To children I’d say—don’t shut your parents out, take your problems to them. The fact that they belong to another generation doesn’t make them fogies. If they disagree with you, consider the possibility that they may be right and you wrong. You haven’t measured yourself against life as they have. You need all the balance and judg- ment they can provide. To parents I’d say—show your child love and understanding. Respect her as a person. Crushes are bound to develop— never forbid them. A head-on clash stirs rebellion. “We'll fix their wagon,” say the kids. Use strategy. Encourage them to see each other. Open your home to them. Let them share young laughter and good times together. The feeling between them will die or it will grow solid. Hither way you can’t lose. Above all, listen to your child. Know what goes on in her mind and imagination. I don’t care how much money you have nor how many luxuries. Without true attention, without companionship, ma- terial things add up to a big fat zero. And early sears mend slowly. Re-ad- justment is a long and grueling process. Nobody hands it to you on a satin cushion. You sweat for it. My hours on the hillside marked only the turning-point for me. There remained in me echoes of the child who feared ‘to give herself wholly, lest she be hurt. My inclination was still to hide from people. Fortified by my son, my mother, my work, I searched out these fears and, bit by painful bit, discarded them. I saw that love heals more than it hurts. Even after those you love are gone. Five years ago I went to San Francisco for a personal appearance. As always, I phoned Dad the minute I hit town. “I’ve got to ride in the parade,” I told him. “Then I'll take a nap because I didn’t get much sleep last night. And then Ill come over.” “All right, honey. But don’t be too long.” This bothered me a little. There was a strangeness in his voice. But I decided my imagination must be working overtime. At the hotel I told them to shut off the phone while I napped. During that in- terval my father died. I reached his place in a state of shock. I stared down at the cookies and candy and peanuts he’d set out—all the stuff his no longer skinny little girl had loved. I could hear his voice: “Come on, let’s go to the store. We’ve got to fatten you up.” The knife twisted, but I couldn’t ery. I could scarcely so much as talk. My face was as stiff as if lockjaw had set in. I felt that a piece of me had died with him. I know now that his spirit will always live in me. I regret nothing. While I missed the fun of being a teen-ager, I gained a son. While I learned the hard way, I came out of the darkness whole. It might have happened in reverse. But I was a fighter like my father. And my mother gave me the faith in God which saved me. For this heritage I’m ever- lastingly grateful. END Rhonda Fleming can next be seen in Odongo, a Columbia picture. inside the wildings’ mountain hideaway “Mommy!” “Mah!” (Continued from page 31) shouts Mike, Jr., aged three. echoes Chris, one-and-a-half. This time both head and shoulders un- tangle themselves and Liz sits up. “"Morning,” she says, gives one last wist- ful glance at her pillow, and then sud- denly tickles her older child. Mike, Sr. returns (shivering slightly), to add to the mayhem. For half an hour you can’t tell the room from a circus. Then Mike glances at a clock, swings his sons down from the bed. “Breakfast, kiddies.” And because in the Wilding house- hold freedom is tempered with discipline, the kids kiss their parents damply, and trot off without argument to get dressed. Oh my Papa At the breakfast table they are joined by Mike’s father, Henry Wilding. He’s been with them for a while, recuperating from an illness. If what was prescribed was peace and quiet, he may not be get- ting it entirely, which suits him fine. In many another movie star home he would get too much of it, since the guest quar- ters would no doubt be in a-wing far re- moved from the main house—even fur- ther than the children’s wing. In Liz and Mike’s home, there ain’t no such thing. The kids are right across the hall from Mom and Dad, and the guests next to them. If their guests don’t like the Wildings, they’ve got no business visit- ing, they figure. The minute breakfast is done, Henry Wilding reaches for his cane and draws himself up to his impressive stature. “Where are you going?” Liz asks. “Out,” says her father-in-law, “for a walk in the hills.” “Hills!” Mike teases. “A month ago you called them mountains!” “A month ago,” says his father’s clipped British voice, “I was not a Californian.” He bestows a kiss upon his daughter-in- law’s dark curls and stalks out. Mike sits : back and sighs contentedly. “You must admit, Liz, that it’s the |, Wilding side that has contributed a cer- | ~ tain sturdy quality to your sons.” “Your father, maybe,” Liz admits. “You look as if- you wouldn’t wear well in a |‘ strong breeze!” , Mike flexes his excellent muscles. “It is a J," good thing that I am by nature phlegmatic. } Otherwise .. .” Liz giggles. “And equally good that I am | he —shall we say—less phlegmatic?” 1. Over the bacon and eggs, the Wildings |, grin at each other. i It is true that Liz is less phlegmatic. J. On the other hand, she is obviously more },|

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sleepy. By mid-morning she is curled up on the couch, snoozing. “I have a virus,’ she tells Mike, by way of ex- cuse, “and it’s all your fault. You turned down the temperature in the swimming pool. You put it down to freezing.” “T did not,’ Mike protests. “The heater thing isn’t working right. And _ besides, the pool isn’t meant to be a hot bath.” The phone rings and Liz stretches out a languid arm to pick up the receiver. A moment later she holds it out to Mike. “For you. New York.” Her curiosity gets the better of her and she manages to stay awake, until Mike gets off. “Well?” “Tt was a producer,” he says slowly. “They might want me to play F. Scott Fitzgerald when they do The Disenchanted on Broadway next season.” “Honey! How marvelous!” “Type casting, of course,’ her husband says, straightfaced. “Ym just right for Jack Benny's the funniest straight man in the world. At a recent luncheon, he announced he's abbott of the Hollywood Friars: “That's like being the photographer for Reader's Digest." Jack mentioned that three years ago he had urged Phil Silvers to stay out of TV, say- ing it wasn't for him. When Phil won those Emmys this year, Jack wired him: “You wouldn't listen to me, would you?" Earl Wilson in The New Vork Post ” it. Dissipated, unhappily married . . . He adds, “Just think. If I do the pla all those plans we haven’t made will have to be completely discarded.” Liz sits up. “That reminds me. We have to cancel our reservations in Sweden.” “Right!” Mike agrees. He and Liz had planned a vacation for the whole family in Sweden before Mike has to report there for King’s Return. But then came Mont- gomery Clift’s terrible accident on the road down from their home, and now neither of them would dream of leaving until he was fully recovered. That terrible evening For a few minutes they sit silently, thinking about that terrible evening. It had started out so well. They’d had a buffet dinner for just close friends. The Rock Hudsons, Monty, a few others. After dinner they’d sat around on the floor of the living room, lights dimmed, talking and dreaming and watching the. flickering blue light of the pool outside. Mike had been talking Monty into joining them in Mexico City as soon as Raintree County, on which Monty and Liz were working, was finished. It was practically settled, too. Then around midnight the party broke up, and because the Wildings knew how treacherous the road down their hill was, they urged Monty to follow Kevin McCarthy’s car—Kevin had taken the drive pretty often. “Not that that’s any guaran- tee,’ Mike had said. “I’ve been over that road thousands of times, and I still just barely miss half a dozen trees every time. The road’s not banked properly.” And then they had said good night and shut the door behind Kevin and Monty —and fifteen minutes later Kevin was back, pounding on the door to tell them Monty had crashed into a pole and he couldn’t get him out of the car! Rock and Mike had rushed out of the house and down the road, and found the car smashed, and Monty bleeding and barely alive. Back at the house Liz phoned for an ambulance, and then ran down the road to sit with Monty until help came. || She was wonderful. She cried, but she made him as comfortable as she could, and then rode to the hospital with him in the ambulance. It wasn’t until she got home again, with dawn breaking over the moun- tains, that she broke down. Mike gave her a sedative and put her to sleep. Now, a week later, Mike asks, “How is he today?” “Better,” Liz says. “We can see him from two to five this afternoon.” “Good. We'll go right after lunch.” Here come the cats! ‘Out of nowhere, a furry bundle lands in Liz’s lap. Her cat. “Mention food,” Mike grins, “and every animal in the house appears. I swear the livestock think they own this place and we're just around for their amusement.” Liz has her face buried in the cat’s fur. “Trilby’s changed,” she remarks. “Haugh- tier, somehow.” “It’s ever since we had her picture painted. I told you to hold one of the dogs instead. They don’t go Hollywood on us.” “Now, honey, I told you! I kept get- ting these letters saying we hated cats because we were always being photo- graphed with the dogs. So I thought— Anyway, it’s a nice picture.” They both look up at the oil painting of Liz and Trilby that Phillipe Nover did for them. “You like it better than the one I did,” Mike accuses her. Liz shifts her glance to the smaller painting propped underneath the big one. She giggles. “I never said it didn’t look like me... sort of. Especially since you did it when I wasn’t there.” “Never mind. I know what you think of it. If we had an attic, you’d put it there.” “Look who’s talking,” Liz scoffs. “What did you do with that sketch of Michael in his diapers? There it was, traveling all over the country with all kinds of fam-- ous paintings, and you dragged it back and stuck it in the den. Yow’re the one who hides your paintings, not me.” “Not true. I merely didn’t want our son to be embarrased in later years by utter strangers having seen him in a state of undress.” “Then why don’t you paint any more? Paint Michael with his clothes on.” “No time. Why, do you realize how many pages of Tv script we shot last week in one day? Thirteen! Thirteen pages!” “So?” “So? So how many pages of Raintree County do you get done in one day?” “About one,” Liz admits. “But that’s good for a movie.” “Humph.” “And besides that, you have plenty of time for non-existent helicopter rides.” “Liz,” Mike says, slowly and sternly, “as I have explained to you, that ride was real, not imaginary. We were using the helicopter in the script and I got the pilot to fly me over here to surprise you.” “Some surprise!” “Is it my fault you took the children shopping that particular day? Is it my fault the cook wasn’t here? Is it my fault—” “No, honey, of course not. Is it my fault you dreamed the whole thing?” OF yp Criff and Mike Mike, Jr. appears in the doorway. “Criff,’ he announces, gesturing towards his little brother, who as usual is one step behind him, “says it’s time for lunch.” “Criff is a very observant young man,” says their father, shouldering him for the march to the dining room. “And how have you been this morning?” You can make this and even more every week in your spare time, by showing America’s outstanding brands of Christmas Cards. CREST- CARD will send you their famous boxes plus almost all the other na- tionally advertised lines at the same time. 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GOD SENT A FRIEND @ When Cleo Moore was a sixteen-year- old girl she had an experience that changed her life. “T had with me in Hollywood my younger sister, Marilea, then about eleven years old,” she recalls. “I was just getting started in the movies, when Mari- lea became very ill. “T took her to the doctor, and he said she had a tumor. “We arranged for the operation, and I had to go to the studio, where I was working in a Gary Cooper movie. I kept thinking what the doctor had said: “Marilea had a 2% chance to survive.’ “T started to become hysterical, and ‘Cooper noticed it. He came over and asked me what was wrong. I told him that my sister was, practically at that very moment, on the operating table. “Cooper said, ‘I’m going to go right into my dressing room and I’m going to pray for your little sister.’ “T listened to him, but I didn’t really believe him. I was so distressed, I had lost faith in God, and in prayer. “But I could hear Cooper add, ‘And have faith, because you will see—she’s going to be all right!’ “T still didn’t believe him, down deep. “Then he said, ‘Now I want you to believe it!’ “He disappeared into his dressing room, and I felt a bit better, although I could not stop crying. “Then a phone call came through from the hospital, and the doctor was saying, ‘The operation is over. We removed a ten-pound tumor—but she'll be okay!’ “T felt so relieved! When Cooper ap- peared back on the set, I hurried over and told him the good news. He smiled, and said, ‘See? Didn’t I tell you? But you must have faith!’ “Later I was told that Marilea had gone into shock and was kept in an air- lock, and the operation took three hours! Yet, it was completely successful. It was indeed a miracle! “Today, Marilea is a beautiful girl, a living reminder to me that I should never lose faith, never stop praying. I know now that when I lost faith in my own prayers, God sent a friend to stand in for me!” “Dood,” says Criff—er, Chris. Which is probably a slight exaggeration, since he has a lovable disposition, but an explosive temper which is liable to blow up without warning—and disappear just as quickly. (“He’s a throwback to some fiery ancestor of ours,” Mike says.) “Michael,” Liz says, “throw your gum away, dear.” Mike, Jr., a gentleman of the first water, does so, albeit reluctantly. “You'll never get him to stop chewing,” Mike, Sr. remarks. “If those horrified looks in England couldn’t do it, nothing will.” “Wasn't that something?” Liz agrees. “And the way they talked about his hair- cut—just because it’s a butch. I think it’s cute, and it doesn’t fall in his eyes.” “Practical, yes,’ Mike says. “Respect- able—no. At least not in England.” They sit down to lunch. As Liz picks up her soup spoon, a soft sound is heard from somewhere in the house. It doesn’t sound like a doorbell, but it is. “Oh, dear,” says Liz. “See who it is, would you?” A minute later, having “seen” in some mysterious way the Wildings refuse to reveal, Mike is back. “I don’t know who it is, but he’s carrying a pad and pencil. Are you supposed to have an interview?” how to be different together (Continued from page 45) three quarters of an hour buying lamps, and she trudges home three hours late with a frightfully expensive silver horse. She makes a lunch date with Lita Calhoun to break up a dull day of housekeeping—and Lita tells her about a wonderful sale on bedspreads. By dinnertime, Sheila’s finally home with a bedspread—which would be bad enough for the schedule, but is even worse for the bedroom. Because when that particular incident happened, the bedroom wasn’t even begun and the bed not yet bought. She ended up having to plan the whole room around the turquoise quilted spread. The happy hunting ground Guy first saw his particular parcel of land in the Hollywood Outpost Estates before the roads were completed and long before many of the houses were built. He liked it for its unlimited view. He liked the uncultivated hills that even today are full of jack rabbits, coyotes, and an occasional deer. Years before he had any thought of building a home, Guy bought the land. Then he all but forgot about it. Every six months or so he’d pick up Rory Cal- houn or Howard Hill, the famous archer, and they would tramp over the property with bows and arrows to test their marks- manship on the rabbits. Once he even went so far as to drive an architect friend, Ken Swift, up to see the land. Ken was so enthusiastic that he begged Guy to let him draw up some rough sketches for a bachelor retreat. “Think about it for a few days and then write down the sort of things you want in a home,” suggested Ken. “I can tell you right now,” Guy re- plied. Not that this was an impulse. The idea of a house where he could escape from the glamour of Hollywood and the pressures of show business had been per- colating in the back of his mind for a long time. “I'd like one big room that takes up practically the whole house. It’d be the living room, dining room, den, bar and everything else combined. I’d want it to be big and comfortable, with a fireplace, a high-beamed ceiling and lots of wood and stone. Id also like it to merge with the outside. You know, glass doors. “No. Are you?” “Nope.” “It must be that man who’s been calling ever since we stopped work on Raintree. I keep telling him we spend our spare time with Monty, but he doesn’t believe me. I think he regards the shut-down as his own personal blessing. Well, let him in; I'll make an appointment with him.” Off in a corner, Mike presses a button. Mysteriously, the Wildings’ front door, which has no doorknob and no keyhole, slides open. The reporter walks in. “Say —how do you people get in when there isn’t anyone at home?” “Our secret.” He has a cup of coffee, gets his ap- pointment, and leaves. “Come on,” says Liz to her husband. “We'll have to eat in a hurry if we want to be at the hospital at two.” And that’s the way a day goes in the life of Liz and Mike. Not much in the line of scandal, you might say, not enough to start even the smallest legitimate rumor. Rather, the sort of life you might expect from two people who love each other and are raising a family very nicely, thank you. The sort of life two can lead in a mountain hideaway or a city apart- ment or anywhere else in the world. It’s a pretty good life. END “T’d like the kitchen to be woody like the rest of the house and I want it in the center of things, not stuck off at one end. I guess I’d need a bedroom and bath but Td leave that up to you, Ken. But don’t forget to put in a workshop for my tools and sports equipment and riding gear.” Having unburdened himself of his dream castle, Guy drove Ken Swift to his office and never thought seriously of building a house again until he met Sheila Connolly. The indoor/outdoor type He and Sheila were introduced the opening night of the 1954 Los Angeles Sportsman’s Show, which was somewhat deceptive. Guy got the idea—not unnat- urally that Sheila was sports-minded. After all, there she was, posing with the motorboats while he was demonstrating fly-casting. By the time he found out that it was all a hideous mistake and that he had fallen in love with a specimen of the indoor type, Sheila had learned to shoot and was making like a campfire girl. Parts of the outdoor life came to her fairly naturally. She already liked animals, for instance, having spent her youth on a stock farm in Ireland. And she was not only willing but anxious to learn to hunt and fish if that was the way to bag Guy. Guy appreciated that. But when mar- riage crept into his careful mind, he jf” realized that compromises were going to tis have to be made on both sides. After all, he couldn’t expect Sheila to spend her life in a tent or a canoe. On the other hand, he would be miserable if she wanted a city apartment with the neighbors ten feet away. On one of their archery dates Guy took her up into the Hollywood Outpost sup- | posedly to shoot, but really to see her |}, reaction to his land. Because there was no | driveway or road leading up his hill, they hiked up the side of the mountain. “IT remember thinking it was a lot of trouble to go to find a safe place for | shooting,’ Sheila recalls, “but I kept my | thoughts to myself. When we reached the | top and I'd gotten my wind back I lost it again—the view was so breathtaking. “Guy was so shy and almost apologetic about the property. Didn’t I think it was }™ too far from people? too rustic? too steep? J too windy? I just said it was like having Fa one foot in heaven. That gave him a rough }," idea of how I felt about his acreage.” Guy |

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/ ———————————————————————————— Anne Francis recently moved into a new apartment and took along her eight-cubic-foot refrigerator, only fo find the space accommodates a six-cubic-foot refrigerator. Now Anne has the refrigerator in the garage, which means that her car must be left in the street; trunks which she hoped to keep in the garage are in her back porch, thus making it necessary to put the washing machine where she hoped the tool shed would be, and in or- der to make room for the tools she had to give away the clothes dry- er, and just when everything was under control the hot water heater burst! Sidney Skolsky in The New York Post liked the idea fine. And so they were married. They took an apartment—Sheila’s idea—that was located in a distinctly suburban setting—Guy’s notion—with the understanding that it was temporary. But nothing was said about Guy’s lovely land until Sheila came home one evening with the news that they were shortly going to become parents. “Now about our house .. .” said Guy, as though the subject had just been men- tioned a few minutes earlier. (In reality, nearly a year had passed.) “Ken Swift has sketched out some rough plans that we should see so we can make any necessary changes. We want the place ready before the baby is born.” And that’s how the house with the double life was born. Ken came over, bearing Guy’s plans, and the three of them put their heads to- gether over the blue prints. Everyone approved of Guy’s big living room. But Sheila fastened on the area marked “workshop” like a terrier with a bone. “How darling! Just right for the nursery!” “Honey!” Guy exclaimed, horrified. “Why that’s the room I need most. You can’t do that—can she, Ken?” Ken stepped in neatly. “Look,” he said, “there’s a big space over here on the side. Cut down your garden area this much”— he pointed—“and you can build a nursery right onto the house. Much nicer.” “Perfect,” Sheila said happily. “You’re “so right—much nicer .. .” Guy wiped his brow. “... and we can use the workshop part,” Sheila finished, “for the maid’s room!” Ken left with his head spinning. Guy wanted strictly modern, Sheila went for the softer lines of a ranch house. Guy wanted a place he could tramp around in with his hunting boots on and his dogs by his side (“and his horse, too,” Sheila teased). Sheila was entranced with the idea of wall-to-wall carpeting, deep and thick, and definitely not for hob-nails to (tread upon. But by the next evening, when Ken came back with his briefcase stuffed full ‘of compromises, he found the Madisons ‘had worked out a few of their own, and all was in accord. By the time the baby arrived, Guy and Sheila were in their new home—and each of them had exactly what each of them wanted. ‘The amazing house The approach to Guy’s private out- |jpost is up a steep driveway that levels off )Suddenly and turns into a giant auto ‘court. There is room for twelve or fifteen lears to park here. On week ends in the summer it gets pretty well filled by Guy’s brother, who comes ‘to swim, and by the Calhouns, Andy Devine, and other friends, who come to eat Guy’s great barbecue suppers. During the week Sheila has the comfort of knowing that the sur- rounding hills are well populated with nice people, while Guy luxuriates in not having the neighbors breathing down his neck. The front entrance to the house has a slate-covered floor that starts outside the door and continues inside through the front hall and on down to their dressing room. “What a smart idea,” boasts Sheila —hbut she gives Ken all the credit. “It means that Guy can come in the house in his boots and hunting clothes and walk right to his closet without soiling a single carpet. Sure the slate gets muddy, but nothing can hurt it. Not even a horse.” The kitchen is another department where Ken batted his brains to come up with a split-personality. Guy wanted a large kitchen where he could prepare the meat while Sheila tossed a salad. Sheila was interested in compactness and step- saving. And both wanted to feel that while they were cooking, they were still in the living room. Ken finally designed a pretty yellow and natural wood room that hardly looks like a kitchen at all. The necessary laundry equipment is hidden behind shutters. A new electric refrigerator is built in above the counter like a cabinet. And the barbecue and stove are just across a serving counter from the living room. This serving counter or snack bar has turned out to be one of the most used features in the whole house. Every morn- ing Guy and Sheila sit on bar stools and eat breakfast off the counter while baby Bridget faces them inside the kitchen in her high chair. If she spills her porridge there’s no harm done to the kitchen linoleum, and she’s having the fun of being with her parents. They also use the wide counter for between meal snacks and as a bar. When they have the gang up for a buffet supper they put the food on the counter. Until the cook has washed the dishes and cleaned up the kitchen, Sheila can hide the mess by closing a series of louvred doors above the counter. The big room is the living room—with a dining area at one end and a large stone fireplace at the other. This is still strictly Guy’s room. He was so anxious to have everything perfect that he went to the lumber yard with the contractor and selected all the chestnut paneling. Next he stood over the carpenters and made sure they put it together properly. He designed the gun rack and _ television cabinet on opposite sides of the fireplace. Sheila takes over But the bedroom wing is all Sheila’s doing. “By the time we got to the final touches like selecting doorknobs and wall- paper,” says Sheila, “I’d made so many decisions that I couldn’t face another blue- print. I simply told Ken to paint the nurs- ery yellow and to use the same ‘wormy’ chestnut wood, the same grasscloth wall- paper and the same white doorknobs in our bedroom that we’d used in the rest of the house. ‘Just make it match that bed- spread, I said. I was the most surprised wife in town to see it turn out beautifully. It’s like a smaller living room with its own fireplace, a Tv set and soft chairs.” Sheila also selected the furnishings throughout the house with her usual helter-skelter air. “My decorator friends tell me I did everything backwards,” says she with a shrug. “I bought draperies first when I should have chosen the carpets. I used wallpaper where they would have used paint and vice-versa, but I don’t care. I wanted it to be our house and it is. The furniture may not be smart but it’s sturdy. The colors are restful like our hills. Guy likes it and that’s enough for me.” Which is an attitude that practically guarantees a happy life for two opposites in one house. END Motners Frienp The soothing, refreshing skin con- ditioner that pene- trates and brings relief to numbing, tingling muscles in back and legs... ends the dis- GED comfort of PARENTS/ tight, dry Sf skin. At Drug Stores Everywhere. THE S.S.S. COMPANY, ATLANTA, GA. 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a shy girl discovers love (Continued from page 39) tomb instead of the Folies Bergeére, he had the tact not to say so. And of course she could tell him how wonderful he was in the play—but she couldn’t rhapsodize like Pier, or discuss the technical problems of the show, or laugh the way Pier could, so lightly and joyously and easily, at his wit. So when Jean-Pierre turned his attention back to her bubbling, beautiful sister, that was to be expected. All men loved Pier. Why not? So sweet and pretty and good. She did seem, Marisa reflected, watching, just a little young for Jean-Pierre Aumont, who had lived so much—but then, maybe Pier was just what he needed to take the sor- row out of his eyes. So you could have knocked her over with a feather when Jean-Pierre phoned the next day and asked if she, Marisa Pierangeli, would have dinner with him. The first date That was how the miracle began. Very quietly at first, so that no one, especially Marisa, could have told what was hap- pening. Why, she couldn’t even tell what happened on her date. She got home at a respectable hour and let herself in with the brand-new key that had been given to her on her twenty-first birthday, and she found Pier and Mama sitting up wait- ing for her. The minute she shut the door they descended on her like a pair of vultures. “Well?” “Well what?” “Where did you go?” Marisa thought. “Oh. To dinner. A very nice place. . .” “Ves?” “And then for a walk... .” Pier was dancing with impatience. “Tell us what happened. Tell us all about it!” Marisa sighed. “Well, we had a shrimp cocktail and then soup and then .. .” “Not that, you idiot! What did you do? What did you talk about?” Marisa paused. “I don’t exactly know,” she said slowly. The dark lashes lowered while she concentrated. “Oh, yes!” she said. “We talked about Mozart!” “Oh, Marisa, for heaven’s sake .. . But Marisa was half way out of the room, on her way to bed. At the door she turned to look back. “Good night,’ she said. “I had a simply wonderful time .. .” And that was all anyone got out of her, that time or the next or the next. For they saw each other three times in that brief week before they said goodbye and Marisa packed her bags to follow Pier home to Hollywood. When they parted they made no plans to write to each other. Their goodbyes were a little sad, but not heartbreaking. They had had fun together, but that was all. Neither of them knew that the miracle was begun. But Marisa, from that first date on, walked with a firmer step. She, the ugly duckling, had been chosen over Pier for the attentions of a man any girl would give her eyeteeth to date. And she hadn’t had to act a part, she hadn’t been one bit phony. She’d been Marisa, that was all, and he liked it. They’d talked about authors and music and painting and all the things she loved best—and he had known about them from ’way back. He had told her about his daughter—such a beautiful little girl in his photos—and she had seen the tenderness and the concern in his eyes, and she knew he was really interested in what she had to say about her young sis- ter Patriza, who was almost the same age as Jean-Pierre’s Tina. And when they talked about her, Marisa, he had listened gravely to the interrupted dream her life Lhd 86 story was, and he had told her that it wasn’t over—that she could have a differ- ent dream and make it come true. She could make her own place in this new world in which she had to live, he’d said. Of course it would take work. She'd have to improve her English and over- come her fear of competing with Pier. She’d have to go out and go after the things she wanted, but it could be done. His words echoed and re-echoed in her head. On the way back to America, Marisa made up her mind. She would talk to that man who wanted to give her a screen test. She would stop sulking about what she could not change and make something good out of what had to be. And she could do it now, though she could not have before, because a boyish-looking man with sad eyes had shown her that she didn’t have to be Pier, or anyone else, to be somebody. She would be Marisa, whom Jean-Pierre Aumont had _ liked. She could do anything. And for Jean-Pierre, the miracle was this: he knew he could love again. It had been years since Maria Montez’ death, but he had never ceased to mourn. At the beginning it was almost more than he could bear. His child, Maria Christina, alone kept him from utter despair. Later he was able to go back to his work, and find forgetfulness for a while in that. But his heart was closed to all but his daugh- ter. When he needed a date, he made one with a friend, or with a starlet who would Performers all vie for attendance records, for it's a measure of their popularity and helps boost their fees. Joni James sang at Asbury Park's Convention Hall Saturday night. She played to standees. "Did | break the attendance record here?" she asked the manager .. . “It depends on how you look at it," the manager told her. "The three Maguire Sisters played here. You. Joni, had two more people in the audience—but they had two more on stage." Leonard Lyons in The New York Post be happy to be photographed with him— and that was the end. But Marisa was different. Marisa he had called because he wanted to see her. He had found no need to take her where they would be entertained—he merely wanted to talk to her. He found pleasure in her company, and when he made her laugh—that deep laugh coming from a depth of joy no one had ever really seen in her—his heart responded with equal joy. He saw so much in her—secrets be- hind the dark eyes, talent in her quick perceptions, and that hidden well of hap- piness covered presently by her discontent. When Marisa left, Jean-Pierre realized that he had awakened once more to life. Then he met Grace Kelly. People said three years later when Jean- Pierre married Marisa that she reminded him of Grace. But the truth is this: Grace reminded him of Marisa. Grace, too, was cool and poised in a silence that might be haughtiness but was more likely shyness. She, too, would ex- plode from time to time with a sudden, unexpected glee, almost like a little girl. Only this time it was Grace instead of Marisa; this time he was ready for love. But that is why, when the idyll with Grace was over for Jean-Pierre and he came to Hollywood again, he and Marisa were ready for each other. "We meet again.. ." Marisa by then was a star. She had done what he had told her to do, and it had succeeded—just as he had said. She was, \ professionally, out from under Pier’s shadow—she had made her place in the sun. Now she needed only her sort of people. This time when the phone rang and Jean-Pierre asked for her, she had no terrors. Just joy. She had read about his romance with Grace, and frankly, she had been—how can it be said—just a little pleased that it came to nothing. That she had been indirectly responsible for it, she had no idea. But now it was over, and now Jean-Pierre was in Hollywood, and he wanted her to come to dinner. And to bring Mama and Pier if she liked, and any- one else. There began to grow in Marisa’s eyes the glow of happiness and love. Because right from that first evening at Jean-Pierre’s home, they both knew. And the next night when he took Marisa to a premiere. And the night after, when he phoned, and the night after that when they saw each other again and felt that they had been parted for years! On the fourth date, Jean-Pierre pro- posed. Well, it wasn’t a real proposal— because even though both of them knew that they would be in love and be married, it was still so very soon. So he made a joke out of it. “When we’re married .. .” he would tell Marisa, and go on to elab- orate the marvelous things they would do. And Marisa would agree, “Of course, when we have our third child . . .” and continue the jest that wasn’t a jest at all. When a month was up, they stopped joking. “Would you marry me, Marisa,” said Jean-Pierre across the dinner table, very seriously. Marisa laughed with the new laughter that came to her so easily now. “I’d love to,” she said, watching the sadness leave Jean-Pierre’s eyes forever. "So soon?" And so they went home to tell Mama about it. Mama was a little nervous. She liked Jean-Pierre just fine. She liked the new light in Marisa’s eyes even better. But—“So soon?” said Mama. “You hardly know each other. Better to wait.” “Wait for what?” said Marisa. “We know each other quite well. We are in love. We want to marry.” “Good,” said Mama, “marry. But not yet. Wait just a little bit. Don’t tell people so fast.” She smiled at her son-in-law-to- be, who is forty-three years old. “I know you are not irresponsible children, but. . .” ’ “We will wait a little,’ said Jean-Pierre. “Because there is someone else I must tell. And in the meantime, we kids will say we are going steady.” And so they did. “Maria—this is Marisa" The next day Jean-Pierre flew to New York, to his daughter. When he had come to America earlier in the year he had brought her with him. Partly be- cause she was forgetting the English she had spoken with her Mama, partly to_ visit her grandparents in New York, but mostly because wherever he was, he needed her with him. A beautiful little girl, ten years old, who watched over him like a mother and adored him like a petted child. A child so bright that though she had lost some of her English she went right into her own grade in a New York school, and got high marks from the beginning. Jean-Pierre arrived in New York to be greeted with hugs and ecstasy. “Tm taking you out of school for a few days,” he told her. “I want you to come to California and meet somebody.” In California she met Marisa. Maria Christina, not knowing yet about the mar- riage, was totally at ease. Marisa was ex- cited, but not nervous. Just as she had known “from forever” that she would love Jean-Pierre, she knew she would love his Tina. From the first moment, they were friends. They even looked alike a little,

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both so beautiful and dark. And Marisa was far from a stranger to children—had it not been she who stayed home with Pa- triza through those years—how far away they seemed now—when she had been the ugly duckling? That night, Jean-Pierre told Tina that he wanted to marry Marisa. And because the fates had decreed that nothing should spoil their perfect miracle, Tina flew into his arms, mingling French and English. “Qh—Papa—je suis—so glad!” The next day she dashed into Marisa’s arms with promises to learn Italian as well. And then, back in New York, Dorothy Kilgallen announced in her column that Marisa Pavan and Jean-Pierre Aumont were engaged to be married. No one knew where she got her information—no one outside of the family was supposed to know anything at all. But while any other Hollywood couple would have wept over the loss of their privacy, to Jean-Pierre and Marisa it was a blessing in no disguise at all. “Now,” said Jean-Pierre reasonably to Mama Pierangeli, “what should we wait for? Tina knows, you know, and now the whole world knows. Besides, I just happen to have the engagement ring with me, and why shouldn’t Marisa wear it? And besides that—I would like to have Tina at my wedding, and I cannot take her out of school again, now can I?” It was that last that did it. Mama Pier- angeli had not brought up three children to pull them out of classes for little things like weddings every day. As long as Tina was here—well, the wedding might just as well take place. And everybody cried... They went to Santa Barbara for it. Marisa wore a white shantung suit and the bridegroom wore blue. Irving Thaw of MGM, a close mutual friend, was the best man, and Pier carried her bouquet as matron of honor. It was the weepiest wed- ding anyone had ever seen—except that no one could see anything for the tears. Mama cried, sentimental Pier sniffled, Marisa wept buckets, and the judge him- self came close to breaking down. Only Patriza and Tina stayed dry-eyed, dis- gusted with all this inappropriate non- sense on the part of the grownups. “Aren’t you happy?” they demanded. “What are you crying for? Nobody died .. .” The next day the honeymoon began. They took off for Hawaii and in the ladies’ room at the San Francisco airport, Marisa lost her engagement ring. She had taken it off to wash her hands, and just forgot about it. “I’m not used to wearing any- thing on my right hand,” she explained miserably to Jean-Pierre while the plane waited for the searchers to come back ten minutes later, “and I have to wear it there now that I have the wedding ring on my left.” The search was unsuccessful; the plane left an hour late, with the Aumonts, but minus the ring. “It was so beautiful,” Marisa mourned. “Shaped like a rose, so pretty ... and to think you designed it and I lost it. , .” Two weeks later the person who had found the ring read about it in the paper and sent word to the Aumonts. They picked it up on the last leg of the honey- moon flight back home. “You must have been inconsolable,” the reporters said to Marisa as she slipped it on her finger. She gazed at them, astonished. “Oh, no,” she said. “Jean-Pierre made me forget all about it. You see how wonderful he is . . .?” And that is the way it is for them now. Everything that would have been a dis- aster for others was a blessing to them. Everything that made them wrong for other people made them right for them- selves. Everything that is good and golden has come to them and made its change in their lives. The laughter that pours from them, the happiness that fills the air around them, are things of beauty. The joy of Jean-Pierre, who has found a second happiness to match his first. The ' radiance of Marisa Pavan, who, when she walks into a room, makes the other girls fade quietly into the wallpaper. And that is the way it should be, for two people who were picked to have a miracle done to them. END she ran the other way (Continued from page 57) start trembling, _as girls have been known to do when the handsome Bautzer speaks to them or even looks in their direction. She remained poised and cool as a cucumber. 2 No one would have believed it, but try as he might, he couldn’t pry Dana’s phone number out of her. “Please, just let me phone you once,” he begged, after the first turndown. “Well, all right, but not i ” she replied. “Maybe some other Greg: “Then let me have your number.” Dana: “I really am terribly sorry, Mr. Bautzer, but I don’t give my phone num- ber out to just anybody who asks for it.” Greg: “But I’m not just anybody!” Dana: “Excuse me. Of course. I forgot. You’re the famous Greg Bautzer and you're good-looking and charming and one of the cleverest men in Hollywood, if not the world. No, Mr. Bautzer, I’m afraid it can’t add up to anything good for Dana Wynter. I’m truly sorry.” Cool as all this palaver sounds, Dana’s heart kept pounding through it all. Greg was completely flabbergasted. This had never happened before. Always it had been a cinch for him to get a phone number. Cinch isn’t even the word for it. Many a time he didn’t even have to ask. Many’s the number hastily scribbled on a piece of paper or on a matchbox cover and slipped into his fingers at a premiére, a party or a night club. Or anywhere else. It wasn’t a pose with the twenty-four- year-old Dana. She had, and has, deep- seated religious scruples and morals. Educated in a convent, she has never for- gotten the teachings of the nuns. Dana Wynter has the courage of her convictions. Greg keeps pitching How did he finally get her number? He asked around and learned that her agent is Al Rocket of the Famous Artists Agency, who is also Ann Blyth’s agent. But Al wouldn’t give him Dana’s phone number either. Greg kept pitching. Finally he got it—and the story is he bribed a secretary in the agency to get it for him! He got her on the phone. Recalling it, Dana says: “I guess I gave him a rough time at first. He was so handsome and clever and spoiled by all the girls I’m afraid I was very naughty with him. I told him he was spoiled. It just goes to show you how wrong you can be about people. I’ve since found him to be the most lovable, least spoiled person Ive ever known. Spoiled can mean self-centered too, you know. Greg is anything but that. He is always thinking of other people, al- ways attentive. It’s not put on. That’s one reason he’s so successful. His sincerity comes through in everything he does.” But she didn’t know that then, and she didn’t want any romances with men- about-town. So Dana kept changing her phone number. Greg kept bribing secre- taries. Dana kept giving excuses for not No need to miss good times because of functional menstrual distress—when you can get such wonder- ful quick and lasting relief from pain, cramps, nervous ten- sion and headache with Chi-Ches-Ters. There’s nothing like then ink doctors’ tests 9 out of 10 women got wonderful re- lief beyond expectations. Try this fast-acting pre- scription-like formula. Your money back if not satisfied. Purse Pak 50¢. 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88 Southern Rhodesia, Africa. going out with him: She was busy study- ing scripts, she was making a movie, she was doing a wardrobe test. She remem- bers one excuse vividly and also his reac- tion to it. She told him over the phone, “IT can’t go out with you, Mr. Bautzer— you're too glamorous!” And she remem- bers how he laughed about it. “That’s something about Greg that few people know,” she says. “Everything is always light and gay with him. He can always see the light side, even when the joke is on himself.” But in November of last year, four months after their first meeting, the dev- astatingly lovely, brown-eyed, high-cheek- boned, patrician Miss Wynter—who also happens to be a warm and wonderful human being under that regal five-feet- six appearance—finally broke down and went out on her first date with Greg. They went to a premiere and to dinner. Rom- anoft’s, of course. Actually, Dana loves nothing better than American hamburgers and ice cream. But she went along with Greg’s glamour routine. And she had fun. She found that they had a lot to talk about and a lot of things to do together. She learned that he, like she, prefers simple clothes. She learned that he could discuss everything from the Central Afri- can Federation to interior decorating. She’s interested in law and medicine; so is he. They both love dancing and tennis. They love practical jokes and modern art, movies and the theatre, books and travel, antiques and watermelon, New York in June and huge Christmas trees, reading poetry, fiction, biography, history, plays, Sibelius and Bach and chocolate sodas. Beloved Greg Many women have loved Gregson Bautzer, glamour boy and hard-working attorney, playboy and intellectual. And, a good many years ago, he was married to Marion Janss, a Pasadena socialite. The marriage didn’t work out, but when it was over Greg was eager to try again. He met Buff Cobb, fell in love with her, and they were married. That marriage was as brief as his first. Badly disillusioned, Greg felt he never dared to marry again. But he was too romantic to give up love. Besides Lana and Joan, he went with Dorothy Lamour, Ginger Rogers, Jane Wyman, Mari Blanchard. All his dates made headlines, and when he seemed to be settling down, the papers were full of marriage rumors—and other rumors, too. But the truth is this: the girls admired and/or loved him not just because of what the papers called his “flashing, always- tanned good looks,” or because of what they went on to describe as his “caveman tactics!” Good-looking he was and is, but that is not the Bautzer secret. And a cave- man he is definitely not. Athletic, yes. But what the women loved best about Greg was his tenderness and attentiveness. That’s what Dana found in him, too— much to her surprise. Once she saw it, she fell hard and fast—again to her surprise. And to Greg’s relief. After all, it had taken him four solid months to get the first date! How long, he wondered, would it take to marry her? For obviously, this was no publicity-mad starlet. Also no girl who would marry “for fun” and forget about it if things should ever get 1 ough. This time Greg was sure of his feelings. He was ready to get married. And to his astonishment, six months from their first date—Dana said yes. And if anything, the tenderness and thoughtfulness Greg had shown before, increased. For example— The nine-day wonder Dana, an only child, flew back to see her parents last May, in Marandellas, They have lived in Africa since 1949, when Dr. Wyn- ter was called there from London to per- form a special operation and fell in love with the country. So it was that Dana, who had left Mar- andellas a few years ago to attend Rhodes University, had to go back to get the blessing of her parents on her marriage to Greg. Dana felt she must tell her parents about him and get their consent. Greg was supposed to accompany her. Reservations had been made, everything was set. But a tremendously important lawsuit involving a company on whose board of directors he sits demanded he divide his time for at least a month be- tween Hollywood, San Francisco and New York. So he was tied down. Immediately the usual Hollywood scuttlebutt started: Dana had to fly home alone because Greg was backing out on her, Dana was forcing Greg’s hand. All ridiculous gossip. Dana was gone only nine days, dread- fully lonely days for both herself and Greg, and yet exciting days too. Greg kept in constant touch with her during all of her journey, going and coming. He phoned her at every stop—in New York, Paris, Rome, Capetown, Johannesburg. He was in continuous touch with her air- line and knew exactly when she landed at and took off from every airport along the route, He had her paged everywhere. Sometimes the long-distance operators “None of my marriages has been tranquil," says Zsa Zsa Gabor. “A woman puts her entire beauty and youth into marriage, and what does a man do? He uses all his charm all day long at work and in the evening he is tired. This is very dull." Sidney Skolsky in The New York Post had to keep the wire open as long as an hour, and never less than fifteen minutes. On top of that, he had huge bouquets of flowers waiting wherever she landed. He even had flowers scattered all over Europe in places that her planes never touched due to last minute changes in her itinerary, all brought on by her haste to get to Africa and then back to Hollywood! Greg also spoke to her on the phone every day during her stay at her parents’ estate. The phone service is somewhat primitive. But Greg always managed to get through to Dana. He also sent her cables every day. Not just short messages—three or four pages. Again, on her return trip, Greg spread a carpet of flowers from South Africa all the way back to Hollywood. When she made an early-morning landing in New York a limousine loaded with flowers was waiting. The topper came when he met her at International Airport in Los Angeles with Harry the Toff (“Toff” is Cockney for a Beau Brummell-type sharpie), the York- shire terrier he-had given her. Plus an- other limousine. Plus more flowers. Plus a three-piece orchestra that played her favorite song (and Greg’s), “I’ve Grown Accustomed To Her Face,” from their favorite musical comedy, My Fair Lady. Many a man could take courting lessons from Greg Bautzer. Harry is again a case in point. No secretary goes out and picks a gift marked “From Greg Bautzer.” Greg picks them himself. And each gift carries a special meaning. One day, during the shooting of The View From Pompey’s Head, a basket of yellow flowers arrived on the set for Dana. The basket was lined with a special material that Yorkshire terriers like to sleep on. Dana now carries Harry in the basket. Harry also sleeps in it. That’s romantic and thoughtful. “| told them about Greg” While visiting her parents, Dana had a reception thrown for her by the Rhodesian branch of England’s Women’s Volunteer Services in Salisbury. As Dana tells it: “I thought it was going to be one of those tea-and -crumpets - and - meet - the - ladies sort of thing that my mother had trumped up; instead, the ladies put me up | on a platform and made me talk about Hollywood. They also asked me about Greg. They had heard and read a good deal about this fabulous man. And here one of their neighbors’ daughters was go- ing to marry him! “‘T told them I had come to get my parents’ blessing and that Greg had wanted to accompany me but couldn't. They knew all about it. They laughed! Apparently one of the phone operators in Salisbury had spread the word about the long-distance calls. “They asked, ‘What’s he like?’ I replied, ‘He is the most handsome, most brilliant man in the whole world and I love him.” A wife should take care of him Dana doesn’t believe that marriage- plus-a-career can work out for a woman. “J think that when a man _ marries he has the right to expect his wife to be there to take care of him when he comes home at night. The career girl— that is, the one who holds onto her career after she’s married—tends not to be par- ticularly talented in that direction. That’s why so many of those marriages fail. I have discovered that a career is not enough. A woman must be married and have a home to be happy. I haven’t found complete happiness in my career. I am sure I will find it with Greg.” Dana wants children, and so does Greg: a girl first, then a boy, “because Greg likes girl children—he thinks they’re cute!” Dana and Greg want a house high on a hill with a view, a swimming pool and a tennis court. Greg plays a great game of tennis. So does Dana. Says Dana of Greg, who is considerably older than his bride: “T think Greg is a great deal like my great-grandfather, who died at the age of ninety-two. He went swimming in the Thames every day, winter or summer, all year long. He also played tennis. Yes, Greg is very much like that.” Hollywood's loss That’s the kind of man Dana has. And what has Greg got? Greg has got himself a girl with great, distinguished, good looks— not just ordinary good looks but the warm, luminous beauty usually associated with Latins, although, as pointed out, she is strictly English. She combines poise with a fine sense of humor and charm with lively intelligence. She is well educated and has good taste in clothes. She pos- sesses an outflowing quality that draws you to her the minute you meet her. It stems from her tremendous interest in other people. She has her eyes open at all times, looking head-on at all the life going on around her. Dana is a lucky girl and she knows it. Most American women have become so self-sufficient, they don’t expect the sort of attentions Greg Bautzer is capable of lavishing on the one he loves. Dana, how- ever, finds his romantic considerations most delightful. And Greg? He is the luckiest guy in the world. He could have looked the world over and never found anyone who could have filled the bill as well as Dana. Holly- wood has lost a lovely star; Greg Bautzer has gained a lovely wife. END Dana Wynter is in D-Day, The Sixth Of June, a 20th-Fox film.

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why jack lemmon left his wife (Continued from page 33) been there more than a few moments before she practically echoed Jack’s remark word for word, “Our marriage just wasn’t good. We tried.” It was almost as though they had coached one another. We talked for a little while about all the rumors that had cropped up since their parting. And then, suddenly, out of the blue— Cynthia burst into tears! “T don’t want you to think I asked yeu here to give you a third degree,” I told her. She looked so young, so distressed, so lonely and I felt very sorry for her. “Oh, it isn’t that!” she said, speaking quickly. “There are just so many things I would like for you to understand. The most untrue gossip about us is the whis- per that there is some other woman in- volved. One of the columnists said that Jack was again seeing Melissa Weston.” Naturally, I had also heard the talk that Jack could not forget the very social and pretty Melissa, whom he had met through the Gary Coopers. “Jack met Miss Weston when we were separated before,’ Cynthia, now again in full possession of herself, went on. “Yes, this is the second time we have separated. But he never saw her except with a group of friends and it was just as ridicu- lous the first time it was printed that they were romantic about each other as it is now. “As for those snide rumors that he became interested in June Allyson while they were making It Happened One WNight—they are not worth dignifying with a denial. This is the most far-fetched gossip of all. Both June and Dick Powell, who was the director on the picture Jack and June made together, for heaven’s sake, are close friends of ours.” I laughed. “All right, Cynthia. I be- lieve you. But it’s hard for me to believe either of you when you say there’s no hope for your marriage. Tell me—where is Jack right this minute?” “He’s home—baby sitting with little two-year-old Cris while I’m here talk- ing to you,” she said, and for the first time she laughed. “And, when Jack called me on the tele- phone to tell me that you two were sep- arating he admitted that he was home with the flu and that you were taking care of him. Really, if this isn’t the craziest, I’ve never heard it!” Children of divorce Now—as they say in the movie scripts —let’s flash back to Jack and what he told me the day we had our long talk. You remember he, too, had said, “Our Marriage isn’t good’—and he went on, “I didn’t feel our baby should be brought up in a home where there was bound to be tension, quarreling and unhappiness.” “Then you had been quarreling?” I asked. “No, we didn’t quarrel,” was the para- doxical reply young Lemmon gave me. “But we both knew we were headed for unhappiness. We both have such dread of inflicting unhappiness on the little human being we love the most, our baby. “Cynthia and I are both children of. unhappy marriages. My parents didn’t separate until I was eighteen. That’s even harder than if I’d been younger. For many years I knew how unhappy they were together, holding on to something no longer lovely just for my sake.” It is not hard to find out that Jack has |enormous admiration for his father, who f | is the head of The Doughnut Company, a concern that makes mixes for baking. “My father started in a small way,” Jack went on, obviously eager to talk about the senior Lemmon. “His business grew to be a tremendous success. He had hoped that I would come into the firm, but when I was at college I used to appear in the amateur plays and I knew I wanted to become an actor. My father never objected.” I thought to myself—I don’t believe either your father or mother have ever objected to anything you wanted to do. When he up and decided, “He runs faster who runs alone,’ and decided to say au revoir to his wife and child, the parents probably said, “God bless you,” and let him do as he pleased. Jack’s father was in Europe at the time of the separation from Cynthia, and so Jack moved into the elder Lemmon’s apartment—that is, when he didn’t have the flu and went home to his wife. “Do you feel that you and Cynthia are incompatible?” I went on, scouting other fields in this puzzling parting. “Not at all,” was his surprising reply— if anything he could say could really sur- prise me at this point. “Cynthia and I like the same things—we like the theatre and movies, and we also have many friends outside our careers. One is a painter, one a writer. Our closest friends are the Richard Quines—he was my direc- tor on My Sister Eileen, you know. June and Stu Erwin are other good companions.” What do your friends think? I asked, “What about Jimmy Cagney?” I had seen Jack and Jimmy and Mrs. Cagney and the Ralph Bellamys all hav- ing dinner together the night after Jack told me that he and Cynthia were parting. “T never knew Jimmy until we made Mister Roberts,’ Jack answered. “We be- came very close friends during the making of the picture. I have great admiration for him as an actor and a person.” “But, what does he think of this separa- tion?” I asked, knowing that Jimmy has been happily married for years and years and couldn’t help but think the parting of the young Lemmons strange indeed. “We never discussed it,” Jack replied. “Cynthia and I sent notes to our families and our friends about our decision—and then I called you up.” “Perhaps you should talk about it to your friends,” I persisted, “and you and Cynthia should talk about it. There’s got to be some reason.” I took another shot in the dark. “Did you object to Cynthia’s making several Tv shows and continuing with her own career? Two careers under one roof have upset more than one happy Hollywood home, you know.” Jack shook his head. “That’s silly. She is talented and should have a career if she wants it.” I tried one more angle with this young man who sounded more and more as if he was talking about his best friend and not the wife he is leaving—or rather, has left. “Do you think that Hollywood came between you? The glamor of big success, your winning the coveted Oscar, all the heavy attention you are getting?” was my question. | Jack said, “As I told you before, my family is prosperous. I had it good as a kid and a young man. It isn’t as though I had fallen into good living after I came to Hollywood. I can tell you in all truth- fulness that nobody is as happy over my success as Cynthia—and nobody gives me better advice on my acting.” . So I gave up on that angle. Here is this boy, John Lemmon III, who has never been denied anything and success liter- ally has been laid at his feet. 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“Oh, no, we Then suddenly they decide, It doesn’t want to live our own lives.” make sense. To say that Cynthia hasn’t been a big help to Jack wouldn’t be telling the truth, and he is quick to give her great credit. She is pretty, she is charming, she is young—and everyone who meets her likes her. Everyone likes Jack, too. He has a great sense of humor, he speaks well and he is a nice boy. Why all this sudden urge to throw off the shackles and go it alone? “T honestly don’t think our marriage has any chance of being a happy one,” he repeated doggedly—and there we were, right back where we started from. Chris will be happier! Several days later, I repeated to Cyn- thia what I had failed to get out of Jack, “What really brought this about?” I was quite surprised to find out, as we talked, that she too put great emphasis on the unhappy lives together of her parents, just as Jack had. “Both Jack and I were brought up in homes where there was no love,” she told me some time after she had had her little crying spell. “My mother died when I was about seventeen—but she and my father didn’t speak half the time. It was pretty miserable for me. “T figure if Jack and I are headed for that kind of marriage it is better to sep- ‘arate while Chris is little. Then, if I marry again and Jack marries again, we can share him in happy homes.” This seemed curious reasoning. I said, “Broken marriages are said to be the cause of so many unhappy children.” “T don’t believe it,” Cynthia protested, “Chris could grow up seeing me happy and Jack happy—even if we aren’t under the same roof. I’m young, and I hope to make a good marriage.” I threw up my hands. “I give up,” I con- ceded, “here you aren’t even divorced and you're talking of future good marriages. Are you so fully convinced that there isn’t a chance of reconciliation? After all, you and Jack have survived six years of marriage on what I am beginning to be- lieve must have been on the friendliest terms I have ever heard!” Cynthia smiled, “I’m sure it must be puzzling to an outsider. But you see, Jack and I don’t believe in fooling ourselves. You know I come from Pontiac, not far from your home town of Dixon, Ill. We mid-westerners at least try to be forth- right and honest with ourselves. Isn’t that so? “Don’t forget that Jack and I married quite young—perhaps drawn together in the beginning by our mutually unhappy childhoods. We were both struggling for a foothold and we made so many Tv shows—which is where we got our start —that we had never had time to really know each other. We just worked, worked, worked. “Then Hollywood came along—and I’m sure I don’t have to repeat that story to you. Success was not long in coming to Jack—and with success came leisure, be- tween pictures, at least. “In six years we had matured—and do you know what we found? That we were the best friends in the world. But we were not happy as man and wife.” Now we were getting someplace, if you ask me—and I hope you do. I have had much time to think about the young Lemmons since my talks with them. If they only knew I sincerely believe that they have reached that point that comes in all marriages when the romantic glow of boy- and-girl love has grown into something really more wonderful—if they would only realize it. I’m talking about the companionship and yes, good friendship that is the real basis of a lasting marriage. It can’t all be moonlight and thrills—like it is in movie | scripts. Real people don’t live like that. | are going | The Lemmons, I believe, through this transition. If they can just be careful—if they will just be smart and stop and think about what they may be losing, I think there is a big chance for them to get together again. Perhaps it won’t has already left for Trinidad, where he will make Fire Down Below with Rita Hay- worth. The picture will be several months shooting. I think he was glad to go—at this time. I also think that Cynthia is relieved at this reprieve of a couple of continents and the Atlantic Ocean between them. This chance to be apart and maybe discover just what they do mean to one another may be just the thing they need. I certainly hope so, for I like them both very much. As Cynthia said before she left my house, “Jack and I are still such good friends that we went to the same party a few nights ago. Not together, you un- derstand,” she put in hurriedly, “but we had both been invited and we didn’t want to embarrass our host and hostesses by making them choose sides by inviting one or the other of us. We want to keep it that way. When Jack comes back—we will see each other.” I certainly hope so, Cynthia. I hope you will see each other as you really are —two young people who have too much between you, too many of the good things of life, ever to lose them—apart. END elvis presley (Continued from page 41) hard to believe sometimes. “Man,” he tells you, “I sure hope it keeps up.” So do his parents, Vernon and Gladys Presley, who have been able to retire in a $35,000 home in East Memphis which he purchased for them. But most fervently of all, so do the increasing tens of thousands of girls who crowd the theatres, armories and arenas when Elvis comes to serenade them. In San Antonio, Texas, they formed a human pyramid trying to reach the high window of his dressing room backstage. In Washington, D.C., those who couldn’t get close enough for an autograph when he sang on the S.S. Mt. Vernon, anchored in the Potomac, had to be led from the boat in tears. And when he played the ballpark in Jacksonville, Florida, kids who did reach him nearly ripped him bare. What Elvis is like The young Southerner who is causing this furore is only twenty-one years old now, and of mixed Scotch, Irish and Italian blood. He doesn’t drink or smoke. He has never gambled. But he is tall, a full six feet, with eyes set deep and dark in his head, and features strongly, almost in- solently, masculine. His singing style is unlike that of the great crooners or sobbers who have come before him. Elvis just lets go—but with tempo. Some critics call it rock-and-roll. Others say it’s hill- billy. And perhaps the most accurate compare it with tribal chanting. Certainly there is a lot of sex in his voice. Elvis doesn’t soothe his fans—he sends them. When he gets to rolling with “I Got A 90 Woman,” “Long Tall Sally” or “Blue Suede Shoes,” the quivering and fainting begins. The navy shore patrol had to be called out to quiet his audience when he sang in San Diego recently. At that Ft. Worth concert forty girls had driven over in a chartered bus from Dallas to see him, and two of them exhibited scars on their arms where they had tried to carve his name into the skin with pen-knives. Told of this after the show, Elvis, wearing a lavender sports coat, black dress pants and a pink mandarin-styled sports shirt, shook his head in perplexity. “I don’t get it,” he said. But he would rather be puzzled than have it stop, because if things are fat for him now. his early years, which began on January 8, 1935, in the small town of Tupelo, Mississippi, were on the thin side. “We were never wealthy, but never what you call real hungry,” he says. « A twin, whose brother died soon after birth, and thereafter an only child, Elvis was brought up over-protected, in his opinion. “I couldn’t go out with the other boys, go swimming, or even play away from the house until I was fifteen,” he Most men get into show business in unique ways, but never before via a toothache. The story in- volves the film version of John Steinbeck's The Pearl, which was filmed in Mexico. The distributor, Emilio Fernandez, came to N. Y. to make a deal. He suffered a tooth- ache and went to a dentist in the Paramount Building, Dr. Arthur Ep- stein. During the drilling Fernan- dez recited his mission. Result: Dr. Epstein bought the American rights. Leonard Lyons in The New York Post remembers. What is significant about this is that on his twelfth birthday, when Elvis wanted a bicycle, his mother bought him a guitar instead. ; Elvis played it. He wasn’t very good, sounding mostly like someone beating on a bucket lid, as he expressed it. But it got him to singing more than usual, which pleased his folks. They recalled that, at the age of four, he could sing louder than any- one else in the choir. To this loudness he began to add a quality of tone which lent itself to folk songs and won him fifth prize in a Mississippi State Fair singing contest. There was always a girl Elvis never did study music, but Be kept up his guitar playing (“I just know a major chord or two,” he says) and at- tended the L.C. Humes Jr. High—High School in Memphis for six years, during which time he found there was always a girl he couldn’t keep his eye off. “First thing you know, when I was sixteen and a sophomore, I fell in love with a girl who was nineteen and a senior,” he recalls. “She was taller than I was, and heavier too. But I thought her | the most beautiful girl in the world.” When that girl confirmed what other ones he had previously gone with had told him, that they thought he could sing, he | decided to have a recording of his voice made for himself some day. He went to work after graduating from high school (with average marks) for a precision tool company, moved on to a furniture company where he ran a table | shaping machine, and wound up deliver- | Crown Electrical | ing material for the Company in Memphis. In the meantime he had saved enough money to have the | Memphis Recording Company, managed by | be immediately. Jack |

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a Sam Phillips, cut a record as he sang “I Don’t Care If The Moon Don’t Shine,” and “Blue Moon Of Kentucky,” to his own guitar accompaniment. Phillips, who also issued records under the Sun Record Com- pany label, decided Elvis’ voice ought to be heard around the country. Actually only a few hundred records were initially distributed, all within a 300 mile radius of Memphis, but the response was so definite that on the strength of it Phillips signed Elvis to an exclusive con- tract. Lovers of his records began calling for Elvis to make personal appearances, and he decided to try his luck playing the smaller towns through the south and the eastern part of Texas. The first time that Col. Parker, the hill-billy impresario, saw him was in November of 1954, but Parker was busy then managing a tour for the famous Eddy Arnold. A few months later Parker was in Texarkana, Texas, when he happened to hear that a young singer play- ing Boston, Texas, had pulled more fans in to see him than the town had people. Parker investigated, and this time he signed Elvis to a contract. The panic is on Through subsequent months, and in the course of two tours, Elvis, supported by a three-piece “combo,” played a hundred dates, from Washington, D.C. on the north, down to Florida towns on the south, and as far west as Colorado. And without fail he got riotous welcomes. Then, in January of this year, Elvis went national—and the real panic was on. He made an appearance on the Dorsey Brothers’ television show, a network telecast, and was such a hit that he was brought back a half dozen more times. The first time the Dorseys presented Elvis the girls in the studio audience were shocked into silence. But at his next ap- pearance they were ready for him and swooned and fainted all over the place. By now Hollywood was talking about a screen test. Elvis agreed to come west and make one for producer Hal Wallis. “How much acting experience have you ever had?” he was asked. “Never read a line in my life,’ he replied frankly. But the job Elvis did won him a seven year contract with Wallis, binding him to make one picture a year for the pro- ducer during this period. By the time he has made two of these films it is expected by the studio that he will be as effective as the late Jimmy Dean was. This is studio talk, not Elvis’. All he knows is that he enjoyed the day of the test as much as any day in his life, and that when he saw himself on the screen he thought he looked like his parents. Show business people are usually puz- zled the first time they see him. As he |, comes lumbering out from the parted cur- tain when he is announced, his guitar. ‘hanging low and somehow more like a gun holster rather than a musical instru- ment, they ask, “What’s the matter with him?” But when he galvanizes into action, they snap rigid in their seats. It's not just looks It’s not just Elvis’ looks that are pro- -vocative—though his 180 pounds of blue- eyed, dark-brown haired masculinity pro- voke a great deal. It’s also what he says. Walking out on the stage of the huge Shrine Mosque in Richmond, Virginia, last year, he announced, as he was sup- posed to do, that his first number would be, “I Was The One.” But then, as was not according to script, he added, “I usually have a quartet to sing along with me on this one. If anyone wants to come up and help me, they’re welcome.” The next moment there were 300 girls climbing onto the stage, the stage man- ager was lowering the asbestos curtain to cut them off from the audience so that no more youngsters could crowd up, and an emergency police call had been put in. Elvis hadn’t meant to start anything. It’s just that he hates to meet folks (and that’s what he considers his audiences) without being friendly and making a little con- versation. The same instinct on his part got things off on a wrong footing in Las Vegas at the New Frontier Hotel. It was decided that a special matinee performance would be staged for young people, who would be charged a dollar apiece to drink Coca-Colas and listen to Elvis—with all the proceeds going towards a $35,000 fund being raised for a night baseball park for the youngsters. Elvis was to sing without fee. The hotel agreed to provide its ornate banquet room and the refreshments without cost. All went well until Elvis made his en- trance and looked over his audience of 700—mostly girls his age or under. “Tm sure glad to see you all,” he began, “because ordinarily the hotel doesn’t allow anyone in here under eighteen unless they bring their own whiskey.” That did it. There were peals of laughter and the kids threw themselves into listen- ing to Elvis as strongly as he threw him- self into his singing. He did fifteen num- bers and then the fun really started. After he went off stage the girls started hunting for him—through all the halls, banging on room doors and calling to him. It was eve- ning before they were finally all hunted up and sent home. More boy than man All his appearances, including Tv, are going to bring in more money for Elvis per week than most lads his age make in a year. But he is all set with his plans on how to handle his income. “I am going to save a lot and spend a lot.” Actually, he is more boy than man when it comes to extravagance. Except for the home he bought his folks, and his cars, two of which he uses for traveling, his spending is minor. For recreation he likes to hunt up an amusement park and play the games of chance along the midway, throwing baseballs at a pyramid of bottles or toss- ing darts at balloons. One day he came home with twenty-four kewpie dolls he had won at a carnival. From time to time he will get gadget-minded. One day he turned up for the beginning of a tour carrying a portable movie projector and a can of 16 millimeter film, including an old Abbot and Costello movie. “Tt’s for when I want to relax when I go to bed at night,” he explained. “I’ll shoot the picture on the ceiling and lay there and look at it.” But for real relaxation Elvis admits he likes girls—or rather a girl. If he can get a chance to go to a dance with one where he won’t be recognized, and if he can get onto the floor with her and close his eyes to dream around slowly—that’s the kind of dancer he is, by the way—he is happy. He doesn’t want to get more serious than this now because he knows his future still lies in traveling and moving quickly to take advantage of opportunities. That future, as he sees it, should eventually mean acting, and just acting. He is per- fectly willing to put away the guitar for good, and even get away from singing, for a career in the movies. And that’s the way things look ahead for Elvis Presley—except for one thing. His own parents married very young and he admits that the marrying urge can strike him too. “Most any time, I suppose,” he says. END OPPORTUNITY MART HELP WANTED—MALE-FEMALE $25 A DAY EASY WITH 60% PROFIT! Friends and neighbors will thank you for demonstrating new beauty tips and most glamorous ways to use famous Studio Girl Hollywood Cosmetics. 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