Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1963)

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window display and squealed. ‘Oh. John! Just look at those gorgeous red roses! Is there anything in the world more perfect?’ “The very next morning. I had the florist deliver two dozen red roses to her. “She thanked me so profusely, I figured I’d send her roses on every occasion. It’s a nice feeling for a fellow to know what makes his girl happy! “After we married. I continued this lovely custom, and placed a standing order at the florist for two dozen roses to be delivered every Saturday. We were married on a Saturday, and I wanted the roses to be a sort of weekly anniversary reminder. “The roses arrived every Saturday for months, and then last month. I noticed she kept moving the roses to a table at the far end of the living room. I asked why. “She blushed and confessed. ‘I’m allergic to roses.’ “ ‘But. Darling.’ I said, ‘you wept tears of joy every time you opened a new box of roses!’ She looked so sad. I guessed the v uth — they were the tears of allergy.” Cf course, Debbie could have told him the truth about her allergy when he sent the first box of roses — and saved all that money and tears. But, then, that would have been logical, and you know what they say about women and logic. “When we were courting,” John said. “Debbie told me she was wild about movies because they were so relaxing! I agreed. so we didn’t go to parties like the other young Hollywood couples — we sneaked off to the movies. We were the most obscure romance in Hollywood. “When we got married, we still went to the movies, but I discovered something. Debbie doesn’t go for relaxation, she goes to study film techniques. Going to the movies with her now is like going to school. We even sit up half the night discussing the movie or re-enacting certain scenes. Before we married, I thought of Debbie as a doll — with red hair, green eyes, curves and skin you love to touch. Now I also see her as brainy, ambitious, serious, intense and talented.” Yes, that’s life with Debbie. Debbie the mysterious, the mercurial, the unpredictable. Debbie the child bride, the pixie wife, the wise redhead, the instant blonde! Oh, yes, Debbie has already informed John that next April she will deliver to him a bouncing baby boy. She and John have diligently sorted out hundreds of possible boy names — and have narrowed the field down to seven. But this is one time she won't take John by surprise. This time he’s playing it safe. This time he won't be the loser. You see. he knows Debbie now. All on his own lie’s gotten up a list of girl names — just in case! — Paul Denis Debbie is in Disney’s “Summer Magic.” See John in “Hud Bannon” for Paramount. Continued from page 23 and take pictures of the crowd watching him. The bus was parked behind the Manhattan Center, an auditorium on 34th Street, where he was scheduled to give a pep talk to muscular dystrophy volunteers. It was the day before their annual citywide drive for funds. Jerry put his camera aside and pointed out the window. “There's all the material any comedian needs,” he said. “They don't know how funny they look to us. and we don’t know how funny we look to them. That’s the basis of comedy.” Clearly he wanted to get off the subject of dystrophy as fast as possible. “Jerry, would you mind at least telling me why you don’t want to discuss your work with muscular dystrophy?” I asked. “Because,” he said, “it would sound like I'm blowing my own horn if I told you what I’ve been doing. And as for how I got interested — I don’t want to tell that to anyone. Which reminds me — anyone for tennis?” “It’s a very nice racket. I’m told.” an aide chimed in. “Say, what’s that fly doin’ in my soup?” said Jerry. “Looks like a breast stroke to me,” his aide replied. I made a notation on a pad I was carrying: “This man doesn't need a stage. He's always on, no matter where he may be." It was time for Jerry’s speech. He entered the Manhattan Center through the back door. If I’d hoped to learn something about his dystrophy work from his pep talk. I was disappointed. He answered questions about fund-raising, talked a little about the disease — I already knew it was a usuallyfatal degeneration of the muscles, a particular threat to children — and he clowned around a bit. Maybe it was my imagination, but as he walked off the stage after the speech. I thought he shot a triumphant glance in my direction as if to say. “Hah! Didn’t tell you a thing, did I?” Back in the bus, we beaded for our next stop, Manhattan College. As Jerry relaxed at the card table and I lounged on a sofa near him. I made notes on his elaborately stylish clothes: California-weight sport coat of blue, green and black checks with gold buttons. (Later, because I asked about it, he showed me a label inside that said: “Designed Exclusively for Jerry Lewis by Sy Devore.” Sy Devore is an expensive Hollywood tailor patronized by top stars.) Silk blue-grey slacks. Black tie. Yellow button-down shirt. (“By Nat Wise of London.” Jerry told me later.) Tiny rectangular gold wrist watch. Elastic-sided black shoes with a loop at the back. If you didn’t know this man was rich , his clothes ivould tell you. “When did you start this tour for muscular dystrophy?” I asked. “I assume that’s public knowledge?” He smiled. ‘^Yeah. guess I can tell you that. I started last August third, and I have an appointment to eat in June. No, actually we started three days ago and it’s been non-stop. We’ve slept about six hours in three days. But this is nothing unusual. My work schedule in Hollywood is about the same. 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