Radio-TV mirror (July-Dec 1954)

"Mr. Block, are you telling us that we just don't know how good we have it and that we're spoiled brats?" I didn't mean it that way and Terry knew it, but she wanted me to say so. And I knew what else she wanted to hear. "Emotional stability comes not from the lack of drafts or the lack of H-bombs. It comes from the home. From a sound home come sound youngsters." "That let's me out," says Terry. "You know my parents well enough for that." "I didn't say a perfect home. There is no such thing as a perfect home or a perfect man or woman." "But you know the way my dad and mother bicker." "You know, too, so make the best of it. Improve on them in your own relations with others. Let's face it — and face it in your teens. We strive for the ideal. We shouldn't punish our parents or ourselves if we don't attain it." "Can you buy a Caddy convertible with an ideal, Mr. Block?" I must have given Tom the kind of look I give my youngsters when I'm irritated, for Tom kind of winced and quickly went on, "Look, I believe honesty is the best policy, but sometimes I wonder if I'm not a little dopey. Look at what some of these racketeers and politicians and even businessmen get away with." "They'll get caught up with." "Always?" "Honestly, no. The law doesn't catch up with every criminal, but you can't fool your own family, and certainly you can't keep the truth from God." "So you don't think money buys happiness?" Terry asks. "That's a different question," I reply. "I think money is very important to happiness. After all, money buys food, education, children, and time. A lot of money buys luxuries like convertibles and trips abroad and fancy homes. Is there anything wrong with such luxuries? Not if you can afford them." "So you've got nothing against money?" "Not me. But that old saw, battered and corny, is still accurate: Money will not buy happiness. It won't buy respect and love. And money can never be more important than honesty, family, love, selfrespect — to mention a few things." Terry puts up her hand and says, "How about sex?" "Sure, Mr. Block," says Tom, "What would you like to know?" I enjoy Tom's flippancy. I don't think the subject of sex needs to be approached with alarm. Times have changed, and for the better. Not so long ago, there was a chaperon present on a date. Once it was a question when a girl might let an escort hold her hand. Not many years ago, they were debating whether a girl should allow herself to be kissed good night on the first, second or seventh date. Today, youth counselors and psychologists have come to the point where they say publicly that necking is healthy. Now, of course, I don't know of an accurate definition of necking, and perhaps some people somewhere may think that I am suggesting something wrong. "You're getting embarrassed," says Tom. "The question is this — how far should a boy and girl go?" "Never so far as to hurt each other emotionally or to affect their respect and affection for each other. And I don't think most boys and girls have to ask themselves that question. They know. A boy who, over the years, has seen his father treat his mother with respect and affection and consideration will take the same attitude toward his girl friends." "What about drinking?" Terry asks. "I don't drink, but some of the boys who call for dates do. Do you think I should go out with them?" "Not unless you want to be an accessory to a crime, maybe your own murder. There's a law in most states forbidding the sale of hard liquor to minors, and there is good reason for the law and I believe in observing the law. If you were my daughter, I shouldn't want you in the same car with a teenager who had been drinking. T don't like funerals." "Mr. Block, do you have anything against fan clubs?" Terry asks. "Do you think they are indicative of our being silly or light-headed?" "No, I fully approve of fan clubs. They didn't hurt your mothers or grandmothers. Of course, they didn't squeal. When they saw Valentino, they merely sighed. But I'll bet you that inwardly they were squealing." I went on to say that I think girls today have the greatest adjustment to make. The status of the female at every age level has changed so much in recent years. A teenager can go places alone. She can stay out later. She can get enough part-time work to earn money for her own pleasures. There is less family interference and questioning of her actions. "Isn't that good?" Terry asks. "It's good, but it's got its bad side, too, especially for you. I've been conducting dances for teenagers where they can meet recording stars and also have some fun. I notice — and it's quite surprising to me — that there are about three girls to every $50UO True PRIZE-WINNING STORY Story "WOMAN IN HELL" bhst mmim ma mm® 82 From the depths of a woman's tormented heart comes a story of love, of loss, of despair and of hope redeemed IN OCTOBER True Story MAGAZINE— AT NEWSSTANDS NOW boy. Not many years ago, a girl wouldn't have gone to a dance by herself." "What would you suggest, Mr. Block?" "Get some advice from your mother. She should be able to tell you how to attract a man." The way Tom absorbed every word she had to say, it didn't seem as though Terry would ever have that kind of trouble. But at the moment Terry had something more than boys on her mind. "Mr. Block, may I ask you a very important question. How do I become a singer?" "If you hadn't asked that question, I should have worried about you. I figure there must be twenty-million teen-age girls in this land — and at least nineteen million want to be singers. I think there might be room for five hundred singers, and maybe places for about twenty in the class of Kay Starr and Dinah Shore, which is the ambition of every singer. So my advice to you would be to forget about a singing career and exert your energy in some other field." "I know, Mr. Block, but how do I go about becoming a singer?" "If people who know something about it tell you that you have a good voice, then you can study voice. When you are ready, you make a recording and send it out for auditioning." "To whom do you send the record?" Now I'm going to be painfully honest. I don't know who in the music business would have enough personal interest in you alone. Talent is not enough. You must have the right contacts. Making the right contacts may be a matter of luck, but there is no mistake about the talent. And there is no mistake about the work and work and work." I turned to Tom. He seemed amused by the talk. "And what's your ambition?" "My immediate ambition is to clear up some of these misconceptions about teenagers," he says. "Now, do you think there is something evil or criminal about my generation?" "No, I really don't. You just have news value now." "You don't even think we're bad?" "I don't even think the bad ones are bad," I say. "I think most of the teenagers who get into trouble are just victims of their own exuberance. Most of the wild ones merely need their energies channeled in another direction. That's one of the reasons I've been trying to schedule a weekly 'record dance' held at the New York high schools and broadcast over ABC. You know, it would be a wonderful idea if you teenagers would organize more activities and sport events and hobby groups and social clubs for yourselves and some of the kids who are giving you a bad name." "Actually, Mr. Block, you're not very critical of us, are you?" "I can be. For example, I don't think much of your manners. I have never known of any teen-age generation that has had so much training in manners and uses it so little. I'd like to see all of you show more respect for others and be the ladies and gentlemen you know enough to be." "What else?" "That's all. I have great admiration for your generation. I think you can work most things out for yourselves. You're more alert, better educated, more responsible and mature than any of your predecessors. You're really young adults." "No advice?" "Just this. Don't worry. And don't let grownups worry you into feeling sorry for yourself. Now let's get out a record and make music."