Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

Record Details:

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"Do you know what living out there did to me?" she asked, then. "When I got sick — you remember that, don't you? How the studio said I was just a little tired, nervous, needed a couple of weeks in the hospital? How they didn't say that for five days of those two weeks I was blacked out, completely blacked out, sick and tired and completely blacked out? "The opposition . . . Maybe the right word is jealous y, competition— I don't know. But the first word that comes to my mind is opposition. I felt it there, in that town, Hollywood. All the time. All over ... I could never take opposition. Even as a little girl, playing a game, children opposing one another. I couldn't take it then, when I was small. I can't ever take it. Other people can. But not me." She turned away from us, towards the window. "Here it's different," she said "There's nothing to fight here. For the first time in my life I'm somewhere where there's nothing to fight. There's only beauty here. Only nature. Things change — they are not stagnant here. Things change, and in their changing there is . . . peace. The peace of a snowfall, the peace of a bird in spring, the peace of the summer sun, of an autumn leaf, that turns color and withers but does not die, not really. There's quiet here . . . but there's life here, too, nonetheless. To me, it's the most real kind of life. It's seeing things grow, and die, and then become reborn again. There's no destruction here. There's only peace. And quiet. And the most beautiful kind of strength." Shawn She rose again, suddenly, at the sound of a noise on the staircase. "And there's him, my son," she said, walking toward the doorway. "I have him all the time here. He's mine here. No maids, no nannys, no baby-sitters sitting by while I am off in the world of makebelieve. I have him, in this, my real world. And, believe me, I need nobody except my baby." Shawn, a handsome, blond-haired boy — three-and-a-half years old now — rushed into the room at this point, and over to Diane. He wore a fancy little cowboy suit. He held a small object in his hand. "Mommy," he asked, holding up the object, "What's this?" "A Brillo pad," Diane said. "That is called a Brillo pad." "And what's that?" Shawn asked. "A pad — for cleaning — that I use for cleaning the kitchen, and the bathroom." Diane said. Shawn nodded. "Oh, I see," he said. Then he asked. "And what are you, Mommy?" Diane looked down at her son for a moment. And then she knelt and took him in her arms and she hugged him, very tight. "I am a person. Shawn," she said. "And more and more and more, as I live, I hope to become a better person. . . ." A message from Diane The cabdriver removed the toothpick from his mouth as he drove away from the house. "Well," he asked, "you get what you came for?" No, we told him. "Too bad," he said, "Not even any pictures with that camera you lugged?" A few pictures, yes, a few pictures we i got, we said But they were the last pic ! tures that would ever be taken of Diane ' Varsi, we added. Because nobody was ever going to come bother her again. We : had come with a message. Now we would return with one. Leave her alone, we would say to the world outside. She is I happy. She is very happy. And what is I more important than that? The old cabdriver shrugged. "Humph," he said, "and why shouldn't she be happy here? This is a friendly place I we have here, ain't it?" As he said that, a very light snow began I to fall. And we thought of what Diane had said about her snowfalls here, of her I bird in spring, of her summer sun, her | turning leaves, of the joy these things i brought her. the new-found love she felt J for them. And we said, "Yes, it is. A very friendly place you have here " END Biography of a Beatnik Boy MIDWINTER SPECIAL! Baby's First Shoes BRONZE PLATED IN SOLID METAL Only $399 Limited time only! 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"The MGM," Papa Gubitoni said, "—the biggest studio in all Hollywood. They gave our baby a test today and before we could leave they said they want him for the Our Gang. The big, famous Our Gang comedies. He's a movie star, our Mike, our little boy. Everybody, get up from your chair and come kiss him." The others did, obediently. And as they did, Papa Gubitoni closed his eyes. "They laughed," he said, "they made faces, they whispered things behind my back, those people in Nutley, New Jers', when I told them: 'Yes, yes, it's true. I only got seventy-five dollar to my name, but I sick of this Depression and this WPA and I gonna pack my family in the car and take them to Hollywood, California, and make my Mike a movie star. Because he's got talent, my Mike. You just gotta hear him sing, a kid his age, to know that, how much talent he got!' . . . They laughed, and whispered. And, San Rocco, mio, what they would have done when they see us arrive here last month, ail dirty and with only thirty-eight dollar left out of the seventy-five, and having to move into this place, two tiny room and a lousy tiny bathroom, worse than anything even in Nutley, New Jers', hah?" He opened his eyes, quickly. "Hah? What they would have said?" he asked. The others, all standing now, nodded. "Well," Papa Gubitoni went on, "the next things they're all gonna say, I can tell you what those are gonna be. They're gonna say, 'That Gubitoni, did you hear about his kid? He's in the Our Gang, in Hollywood, the movies, honest to God!' And ten years from now they're gonna say, 'That Gubitoni, you remember? Well, his kid's still in the movies, better all the time, working all the time, making we don't know how much money by now. San Rocco mio, and how we used to laugh at the old man. And just look at him and his kid today!" He looked down at his son. "Mi jai felice, Michele," he said. 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