Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1943)

^iN^ SQY^ (feS-* fajflOuS powe^ Beauty It Was thAess q«' ntol'txing „forge( We-o,,e°. ...jaerwu' ellme j consi' wen ten-.. e$ser *H" ,rl O < wy 9>^oor at all 5 and 10c stores AND ITS FRAGRANCE LASTS! QUICK RELIEF FOR SUMMER TEETHING lFtfPERIENCED Mothers know -'-^ that summer teething must not he trifled with — that summer upsets due to teething may seriously interfere with Baby's progress. Relieve your Bahy's teething pains this summer hy ruhhing on Dr. Hand"* Teething Lotion — the aetual preseription of a famous Bahy specialist. It is effective and economical, and has heen used and recommended hy millions of Mothers. ^ our druggist has it. DR. HAND'S TEETHING LOTION Just rub it on fhe gums Gravely, the girl replied, "Let it be the will of Heaven that all goes well with our friend." They stared down in the direction of the Japanese Army. Jones was talking very fast, very earnestly, imbued with Carolyn's spirit: "And the pattern of our life is freedom. It's in our blood — giving us the kind of courage that you and your sort have never dreamed of. And in the end, it's this pattern of freedom that's going to make you guys wish you'd never been born." Jones straightened up, looked at his watch. "That's all, brother!" he finished. He took a deep drag of his cigarette and flipped it straight into the astounded General's face. The General's aide ripped a gun out of his holster, pointed it directly at Jones and fired. At that moment, with a roar that shook the ground, the dynamite high up on the ravine exploded. Momentarily stunned by the appalling force of the detonation, the General and his aides looked up — just as the entire side of the ravine, with a terrifying, prolonged roar, fell over on them in a titanic avalanche, obliterating and destroying everything and everyone in the vicinity. The thunder of the explosion echoed and re-echoed in the mountains and the gorges like summer thunder. Lin Cho, the girls and Carolyn were staring off in the direction of the cataclysm. Carolyn was stunned and dazed by the shock. Abruptly she started running toward the blocked ravine. Then she encountered Johnny coming from the other direction. His face was white and strained. He grabbed Carolyn. "No, no . . ." he said, hoarsely, "there's nothin' you can do. . . ." For the first time Carolyn saw his face, saw that there were tears in his eyes. The full impact of his meaning sank in. Suddenly she leaned forward, lay her forehead against him. She started sobbing quietly, brokenly. . . . /""AROLYN, somehow, was driving the ^ truck. The tears had stopped, leaving in their place eyes that were heavy with grief and pain. Deep inside her a voice kept trying to persuade her that this was only some hideous nightmare, that she would soon awaken to find Jones beside her, the war and its horror a figment of feverish imagination. Then the truth flooded back into her consciousness. She caught her breath in a sob. From a distance, softly at first, then louder and louder, came the sound of men's voices. And as they grew nearer, Carolyn realized they were singing— their voices firm with resolution — the marching song of the Chinese guerrillas. Lin Cho looked at her compassionately, put his hand on her shoulder. "The voice of China," he whispered gravely. As the song penetrated further and further into Carolyn's tortured mind, she thought: "Is it possible truly to lose oneself and one's personal emotions in a cause?" Here was the truth she had taught Jones — the truth which he had proven with his life. She must not mock with grief the grandeur of his dying! She lifted her chin with new resolution and touched Lin Cho's hand with gratitude for his understanding. Then, looking straight ahead into the future, they joined their voices in the chorus of marching men: "Dig ditches, build the roads! Blood and sweat we'd gladly give. . . ." The End Life of an Autograph Hound 96 (Continued from page 41) was the slightest bit chi-chi. She had a remarkable gift for mimicry and Paramount had engaged her to be a "second Shirley Temple," at which she was a dismal flop. Virginia will never be a second anything. One day, several months after our first meeting, Virginia and Mrs. Weidler and I were lunching in the commissary. Virginia was working and wore a pale blue Romeo doublet and hose and a plumed tarn. She looked quite pretty in her make-up, and a little taller, I thought. "Oh dear," I said, "I'm afraid you're growing." "That's the trouble with us juveniles," she said with a twinkle in her dark eyes, "you never can depend on us." "Families will grow up," said Mrs. Weidler. "My Sylvia is married and has a baby." THERE is another sister, Renee, whose sweet disposition Virginia said she wished she had, and three brothers who had organized a band and played in it — clarinet, trumpet and saxophone respectively. Virginia obviously adored them and it was a special treat to be allowed to go to the dance hall where they played. These older brothers are Virginia's severest critics and she has always been far more concerned with their opinions of her work than with those of her directors or the press. At one time, when she was beginning to be recognized by fans, they refused to be seen with her on the main boulevards, as it embarrassed them to have her asked for her autograph. Virginia was born in Eagle Rock, near Pasadena. A few years later the family bought a ranch in San Fernando Valley. It was there that Virginia learned to skate, to play football and baseball, and the rudiments of tomboyism. She had surprisingly few mishaps for a girl brought up in the rough. The first time she tried out an English saddle, however, she was thrown. No international complications resulted therefrom. When «the family moved to the beach the kids all pooled their savings and hired some old machinery to have a swimming pool dug in the back yard. That has been the Weidler family's only concession to local custom. For the most part, they live their lives as they would in any other community. Mama, however, has some European ideas on how young ladies should be brought up. Virginia wields a mean dish towel when necessity demands and she doesn't talk out of turn. They now live in a charming but unpretentious house in Westwood and the menagerie has been reduced to three dogs, Rex, a great Dane; Mousse, an Irish setter, and Butch, the Mutt Who Came to Dinner. Virginia and her mother give all the time they can spare to war work. They spend many evenings at home writing to the two boys who have now enlisted. The family has always been, and still is, a close one. BEFORE going to press. I wrote Virginia to find out what she is doing and received an answer almost by return mail. I shall let her letter speak for itself: "Dear Miss Day: "I don't know how to start this letter except to say thank you for doing a story about me, and I'll try to answer your questions. I'm in 11A in school and take music appreciation, civics, English and pnysiology and public speaking. I hate public