Screenland Plus TV-Land (Jul 1959 - May 1960)

women, no matter how amiable they are" 111 attribute that a woman can bring to a human relationship M|.s a sense of humor. We both needed this basis of operation in the midst of ny first serious romance. I was seven, and she was my second grade teacher, a glistening blonde with blue eyes and long, golden eyelashes. Do you know that I have never learned the words of "America" simply because, in the grade I was Supposed to learn it, I was so mesmerized by sight of the I teacher that I turned off my ears. When stuck, I sing, "America, America, America, America." The rhythm is wrong, but in memory's eye I can still see that second grade teacher and I forget where I am or show many years have passed since she up and married k another man. i "OUT I learned more than the perfidy of women from her. Iv-D She taught me that there is a conspiracy among women I jthat no man can hope to understand or to circumvent. I used |;ho stay after school to erase blackboards, dust erasers, empty (:wastepaper baskets, and — let's face it — to stick around the h teacher's desk as long as possible. She dug the routine. She was gentle and understanding. I She used to walk me home, and sometimes she stayed to have tea with my mother. I soon began to notice the knowing looks \ and indulgent winks that passed between them; I couldn't I have explained it in words but I had caught onto the fact that no man can hang onto his dignity when caught between two women; no matter how amiable their intention. I was in prep school, madly in love with a girl going to Abbott Academy, when I learned another lesson about women: a man can never anticipate a girl's reaction in the face of any given circumstance. Any reasonably bright guy can depend upon what a dog will do. A dog has a fairly predictable reaction pattern. Even a raccoon can be relied upon to show up every night at the same time and tip over your garbage can. But no I man with a grain of sense will ever try to predict the beV havior of a dame. The morsel in whom I was interested invited me to attend a school party as her escort. When I reported to the school and caught sight of my date, I stood there for a full minute with my chin quivering on my tie. She was enough to make a marble statue flip. Well, between the perfume she was j wearing, the way she looked at me from under lowered eyelashes, the moonlight on the terrace where we were not supposed to be, I kissed her. I thought I was getting a certain amount of cooperation — until pow! — she slapped me. End of romance. She said she never wanted to see me again. I was not to call, not to write, not to annoy her in any way. That ended the evening. I felt like a great big bully. The following night I was gnawing on a pencil, trying to compose a persuasive note of apology, when the phone rang It was Lady-Touch-Me-Not, and she inquired plaintively, "Why aren't you here? I thought we had a date for both Friday and Saturday night. I've been ready for an hour." You figure it out. She went on to try men's souls, and I went on to college. Being me, I fell in love with a girl living in New London, , Connecticut. If true love is the kind that doesn't run smoothly, all I can say is that our romance made that skirmish between Romeo and Juliet seem like an exchange of glances bei tween two strangers in a crowd leaving a football stadium. There came a day, following various misunderstandings, when Miss New London telephoned to tell me that she was STARS like Marilyn Monroe and Doris Day have helped educate Jack about women. His new movie: Columbia's "Cry For Happy." lonely and dejected, and that she yearned to see me. Her words and tone were those of love incarnate and I almost squeezed the telephone to death. She said that if I couldn't get to New London, she would hop a Boston-bound train. Voom. I said I would borrow a car and pelt south as fast as gasoline would take me. It was a noble idea, but it turned out that everybody had made plans for his wheels over that weekend. Finally I located a friend whose family had a spare car on the back lot. It was up on blocks, the motor being used to provide power for an electric saw to cut the winter firewood. We reinstated the Ford as transportation by stuffing rags in the radiator (no cap), inflating the tires, filling the tank, and shrugging off the fact that its wooden body rattled like shutters in a hurricane. I made it to New London with no casualty except an occasional pedestrian who laughed himself to death as I rolled past him. MY girl came downstairs dressed for, say, an Assembly Ball, so she didn't find my chariot amusing. Even so, she did permit me to drive her to the party, but I was still checking our coats when she disappeared among the dancing millions. Occasionally, during the evening, I caught a glimpse of her, laughing and living it up, but showing absolutely no outward sign of her previously reported longing for Lemmon. At eleven-thirty — not having danced with my girl once — I took off for Boston in low gear. It took that cukie car ten continued on page 66 33