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ON JUNE NINTH Eddie and I will be married twenty-five years.
Yet, as I think back, it doesn't seem that long. The present panorama . . . our house in Beverly Hills, its white-tiled pool, these purple-gray Hollywood hills, my sun-tanned Eddie, our five daughters and even a couple of sons-inlaw . . . they do a complete fade-out.
Instead, I see a dingy gymnasium in a New York public school. A basketball game is in progress. And I ask about the eager skinny boy, a regular human dynamo, who is running in and out of the place, appearing everywhere at once, upsetting the players' routine, making us laugh.
No one knows his name. They can only tell me, "He is Annie Cantor's cousin."
Somebody else calls him, "Ruby Goldberg's fella." I don't like this. For, right from the start, I have a crush on him myself.
JUNE, 1939
What other wife ever waited so long for the chance to talk back!
BY IDA CANTOR
Eddie awakened my maternal instincts. He was so very thin. He wore other people's clothes, castoffs that were much too big and only succeeded in making him appear even more under-nourished than he actually was.
His parents were dead. He lived with his grandmother. I think it was not having a home of his own that gave him his tremendous love of family life, an odd quality to find in an actor.
And his is an all absorbing love. Through the years, no matter where acting has carried Eddie, he insisted that we (the girls and I) join him, whenever possible. Painstakingly, we have built and furnished homes and apartments all over America, in Mount Vernon, in Great Neck, in New York City and California, only to give each one up, take a cheerful loss and travel on to the next engagement. As Eddie says, our children may be duds in arithmetic, but there's scant excuse for them not to know geography!
During those basketball days there were no managers offering Eddie contracts. He was just a boy, a little on the nervy side, wanting badly to be an actor.
At that (Continued on page 73)
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