Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

Breath-of-Spring sweetness in a nosegay printed rayon taffeta... parry perfect, with tiny bodice, will-o'-the-wisp sleeves. The three tiered skirt widens with each ruffled flounce. Black with purple, black with red, grey with yellow, brown with pink violets. Sizes 9-11-13-15. 12.95 Winner Fashion Academy Award Gold Medal 1950 72 DIVORCE— THE SHAME OF HOLLYWOOD (Continued from page 70) each other, and when we talk, you forget about eating. If you don't eat, you won't get strong. I'll wait for you in the other room. As soon as you've finished all your spinach and applesauce, I'll come back." He winked at the nurse and left. Michael hadn't uttered a peep. But out in the hallway, Ronnie heard his clear treble: "You know sump'n? I like him!" No tribute ever sounded sweeter to Reagan. The pity of it is that because two adults made a mistake, this child will have only a part-time father. But Ronnie and Jane are at least aware of their responsibility. They'll do all in their power to compensate to the children. Terry is the son of Doris Day's first marriage. He was cared for by her mother — also divorced — so that Doris could go on singing with bands. Once established in Hollywood, she brought thern both out to join her. Somewhere along the way, she'd married George Weidler. That proved another flop. The day the divorce went through, she walked into the kitchen where her mother was cooking. "Here we go again," said Doris. "You don't have a husband, I don't have a husband." Her head dropped on her arms, and she bawled like a baby for the end of something that had started in happiness. man of the family . . . On this scene Terry entered. Nothing had been said in his presence, but children seem to soak things in through their pores. He eyed his mother gravely. "Don't worry, Mom. I'll look out for you." She managed a grin. "Sure, sure, you're the man of the house." But after he'd gone, the tears started afresh. "I — I can't help it," she sobbed. "Him and his skinny shoulders, all bowed down with responsibility ..." It may seem inconsistent at this point to cite the fact that though Joan Bennett has had four daughters by three husbands, you won't meet a betteradjusted family than that composed of those daughters, Joan, and her third husband, Walter Wanger. Analyze Joan, and the inconsistency vanishes. She's done what some of the others couldn't do — learned through mistakes, weighed the comparative values of family and career, made a clear choice. Family's first. She doesn't take her work lightly, but neither does it tear her to shreds. A part's a part, it isn't a matter of life or death. Whether her name appears among the top box-office 10 or 20 or even 50, it matters not a tinker's dam to Joan. If she never saw a camera again, life would still be rich in the human relationships that mean most to her. Such an attitude in their mother is like sunlight to kids. As above noted, the problems of divorce can be overcome if you have the will. Joan had the will and found the wisdom. There's another special hazard to the children of Hollywood divorce, which your child or mine would be safe from — the hazard of publicity. The child of a certain star, who'd broken with her husband, was too young to read. Some of his playmates weren't. His mother had been trying to figure out the best way of telling him that Daddy wouldn't be back. She was seated at her dressing table one day, when a strange yapping reached her through the open windows. She listened and froze. "Yaa, yaa, your daddy's not coming home, your mother divorced him." A kind of numbness gripped her. She sat and waited, heard the approaching footsteps, saw the small figure enter, sombereyed. "You divorced my daddy, my daddy's not coming home!" He flung himself at her. "I hate you, I hate you!" One way or another, he had to find out, but this was the worst way. Gentleness would have eased the knowledge. As it was, he'd been taxed beyond his emotional strength. A sudden savage thrust had shattered his world, and who was going to put it together again? Children must be wanted. To grow up whole and sound, they must feel secure in the world of their childhood. Only parents can give them security, be the parents natural or foster. Brenda Marshall's first marriage was unhappy. Perhaps for that reason her daughter was a shy little introvert, timid with people, unsure of herself. Bill Holden loved the child for her own sake as well as his wife's. "I have to make her realize she's important to me," he thought. "Not so much that she's got a new father, but I have a new daughter." Unobtrusively he wooed her, drew her within the safekeeping of his tenderness. Virginia danced well. When work permitted, Bill made a point of taking her to and from classes. After the boys were born, he gave her if anything more attention than before. You'd never know today that Virginia was once a lost kind of little girl. Transplanted to healthy soil, she's blossomed like the rose. This is a story about children of divorce — but pardon us if we linger a moment on the other side, to mark a contrast. No two people are better aware of the proper emotional environment for youngsters than Mai and Ray Milland. Equally concerned for Danny and Victoria, they explained to their son that they'd wanted a little sister for him and it hadn't worked out, so they planned to adopt one. Mai brought Victoria home from the East to a couple of menfolk who couldn't contain their excitement. Danny insisted that she sleep in his room. Having left for a moment to attend to something, Mai came back and stopped short at the threshold, a lump catching her throat. On his bed lay Danny, chin cupped, an admiring spectator, while Ray braided the long blonde hair of their new daughter. . . . sharing the pride . . . This is the stuff of home and family. These are the moments that stay with a child and form the cherished mosaic of his background. Outer and inner stability go together. When Mai and Ray signed the final adoption papers, Danny went along. It meant taking him out of school for a week, but a week's schooling was nothing compared with the value of cutting him in on the deal, having him stand right beside them, so both children would feel through direct experience that he was adopting a sister as proudly as the parents were adopting a daughter. . . . We're not out to point any morals. Children of divorce become useful citizens. Children of happy homes wind up behind the eight-ball. It happens like that, but the odds are the other way round. We don't know the answer. All we know is what the kid said at the start. He'd rather have only one Christmas tree. The End JOIN WITH THE STARS IN THE FIGHT ON POLIO— CONTRIBUTE TO THE MARCH OF DIMES!