Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

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Sometimes it happens when a military band plays "The Star-Spangled Banner"; or when you see a particularly moving scene in a play; or when a spectacularly beautiful sunset catches you in a nostalgic mood. You feel as though you could cry or burst for joy. A S I looked at myself in my dressingtable mirror, my thoughts flashed back to that momentous day when, tortured by doubt and fear, I walked into Dr. Robert Franklyn's office. I wanted to run. Every instinct rebelled against the coming ordeal. I was about to undergo plastic surgery. It had taken years of unhappiness and frustration to bring me to the point where I finally decided to have my nose remodeled. Since I was born in Hollywood, and my father's business connections were mostly with movie people, I unhesitatingly made up my mind at the ripe old age of six that I would be nothing but a motion picture actress. My nose was to be a great stumbling-block. The exaggerated flare of the nostrils, the prominence of the bone on the right side, which made my eyes seem close-set— these were definitely not photogenic. At six a nose is important because you breathe through it. Beauty is an adult idea. Whenever we played in the back yard, dressed to our baby teeth in borrowed finery, I got the biggest part, announcing solemnly, "I must be the star because I'm going to be an actress." It wasn't until I entered Fairfax High School that the full impact of my facia] imperfection hit me. To begin with, I was now a contender in the game ' of dating." From the moment you reach high school age, life becomes one gigantic 'popularity contest." Being "different" is fatal. The important thing is to be like everyone else; as much like the most popular boy or girl in the school as possible. Careful attention is paid to wearing your k!r,,llke the other girls do; getting your saddle shoes just as dirty; achieving the same degree of sloppiness with your overlarge sweaters. As far as my scholastic standing was concerned I had nothing to worry about Not that I was a genius, but learning came easily to me and my grades were well above average. the only time I completely forgot the handicap of my nose was when I was doing a part. True, I was never given the romantic leads. The prettier girls got those. But, somehow, I didn't mind too much. I was an artist. I told myself an artist practicing my trade. I was learning, and that was all that was important Then I suffered a defeat that destroyed all the self-confidence I had managed to build up. Suddenly and cruelly I was plunged into a despair that only a 17year-old can experience. 'The Drama Club was putting on a play A for the weekly morning assembly. I had been given the lead. A character part, yes, but the largest part in the play I was ecstatic. And to add to my elation as I stood m the wings waiting for my cue, the captain of the football team approached me and asked me to go to the senior dance that evening. If ever there was a girl walking on air, I was that girl I went through the day in a dream. My last class was gym, and I hummed to myself as I changed into my shorts and middy. Suddenly through the thin partition of the locker dressing-room I heard voices. I stood transfixed with horror as their words struck me like a slap in the face: , First Girl: "Sure, Bob asked me to go but I had a fight with him and turned nim down. ' do you want a star to visit your home? see page 8! Tt was in my social activities that disappointments first began to crop up My acute awareness of the fact that my nose kept me from being as "pretty" as the other girls made it impossible for me to fully enjoy dances and parties. I dressed carefully; worked as skillfully as I could with what makeup a high-school girl is allowed, and yet I was never satisfied with the results. Alone in my bedroom I would survey myself and decide I looked all right. But when I finally arrived at the party the inevitable comparison of myself with the rest of the girls invariably ruined the evening for me. My hair was just as pretty. My dress was smart and becoming. I danced as well. And yet without being unduly facetious, I can truthfully say I always lost by a nose. The driving force in my life was of course, my ambition for an acting career I was very active in the drama club, and Second Girl: "Who's he taking9" First Girl: "Well, who could he get at the last minute except the kid with the nose . . . you know . . . Helene." This amused the other girl and she giggled I felt sick to my stomach. The only thing I could think of was to get awayfast. I threw on my clothes with desperate haste, the tears running down my face. . . . at the last minute ... the kid with the nose." The kid who was not wanted. The kid who couldn't get a date. My thoughts were wild and unreasonable. I stumbled home. How I got there I dont know to this day. All I remember is that Mother met me in the hall She could see I was distraught, but when she asked the reason, I withdrew into the shell that was to encase me for months, even years to come. "Nothing" I replied stiffly, summoning all the self-control I possessed. "I'm just a little tired. Have a headache." As I started up the stairs I paused, and turning said: "Mother, I have a date with Bob Smith tonight. Would you call him please, and explain that I don't feel well enough to make it?" And before she could question me further I ran on up to my room where I threw myself sobbing on the bed. I must have cried for hours, and when I finally stopped I made up my mind that no one would ever hurt me that way again. From then on I lived in a coccoon of misery. Because I was so afraid of ridicule, I rejected friendship, and took refuge in being aloof. Vou may wonder why I didn't resort to -■ plastic surgery then. I thought of it Believe me, I thought of it. But with the perversity of youth, it seemed to me foolish vanity. I didn't want people to think that I was concerned with physical beauty alone. I (Continued on page 86)