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

'7 consider Frankie a 'nice boy and Yd like to feel that he thinks of me as a nice girl, too" WAVING good-bye to Marianne at steps of his apartment, Frankie is all smiles. As he hasn't a ear, she drives him in her T-bird. COLOGNE smells pretty good to Frankie who uses it sparingly. He is "very much the gentleman'*' on their dates, says Marianne. me that so many of the people he had met out here were "typically Hollywood," and that if he should ever decide to live here permanently, he might fall into the same trap. "As long as I stay in Philadelphia," he confessed, "I feel safe . . ."' "What do you think it is about Philadelphia that gives you this security?" I asked him. He thought about it for a minute. "Mostly, I guess, being with my parents . . ." "Should you ever decide to move to the West Coast, couldn't you visit your parents regularly?" I came back. He looked surprised. "Why — I would never consider living in Los Angeles unless they could come with me!" I pointed out that this should allay his fears. His biggest concern was that he might some day lose touch with the very group of people who made him what he is — the young fans. From his actions. I doubt he ever will. ONE EVENING he asked if I could see a movie with him. I told him I would love to go, and inquired what time I should pick him up at his hotel. This may seem like an unusual procedure, but the fact is, Frankie doesn't have a car in Hollywood. Rather than go around by cab. I pick him up in my T-bird. "About seven-thirty," he said. "It'll be dark by then . . ." I didn't know what he meant by his last remark until we were driving west on Sunset Boulevard, and then turned north on Sepulveda — toward a drive-in theatre. After watching the film for a few minutes, we heard giggles from the car next to us. Then a girl's voice insisted. "That's him . . . I'm sure it is!" "It couldn't be," another female voice came back with equal vigor. "He wouldn't come to a place like this . . ." This banter went on while Frankie and I tried to concentrate on the movie. Finally one of the girls climbed out of the other car, took a couple of steps, and leaned into ours. "Are you Frankie Avalon?" she asked, right smack in the middle of the film's most exciting scene. Frankie nodded his head. "I am." She let out a scream that could be heard all over the theatre. "It's FRANKIE . . ." she screeched. "GIRLS . . . IT'S FRANKIE AVALON ...!!!" I sank a little lower into my seat while car doors flew open all around us. For almost half an hour Frankie good-naturedly signed autographs. How different from another well-known singer who demands police protection to ward off the fans every time he steps out of his hotel. That night at the drive-in theatre showed me another side of Frankie that I have seen repeatedly on other occasions — his great concern and considerateness for people with him. During intermission, he asked if I would like a snack. I said I would, expecting a bottle of pop and maybe a bag of popcorn or peanuts. When he didn't return till about ten minutes after the picture had started again, I was convinced that he was cornered by so many more fans that he simply couldn't get back. In a way I blamed myself for not having offered to get the snacks myself. What really happened became obvious when he showed up at last, his arms loaded down with hot dogs, hamburgers, peanuts, popcorn, six different kinds of candy bars, four types of cookies, and twelve different drinks — everything from Cokes to grape juice. continued on page 71 33