Modern Screen (Dec 1938 - Nov 1939 (assorted issues))

MODERN SCREEN REVIVAL FOR EYES • It's a romantic year for hats, hair and eyes! So curl your lashes demurely, for that sweet old-fashioned effect. Kurlash requires only a few seconds, is effective for hours ... an easy, mechanical beauty-routine. And it's yours for only $1. With your Kurlash, use its companion piece, Kurlene — a scientific cream that keeps lashes silk-soft, easier to curl. (Adds a dewy lustre to eyelids too!) Try Kurlash and Kurlene together ■ — your twin eye-beauty aids! FREE— your Eye Make-Up Chart! Write Jane Heath, Dept. D-l. Give color of hair and eyes. KURLASH THE KURLASH COMPANY, INC. Rochester, N. Y. Canada, Toronto, 3 The Only Complete Eye-Beauty Line Copyright 1939, The Kurlash Co., Inc. "What Has the Southern Gal Got?" See March MODERN SCREEN MADE SOFT AND SMOOTH "I hated winter. The first cold snap meant an ugly, chapped skin. I tried all kinds of lotions and creams. One day I used Frostilla on my hands. That was 3 years ago. I haven't had dried out skin since. Frostilla, I found, is also an excellent powder base." Use Frostilla yourself every time you've had your hands in water. Made with costlier ingredients, you can feel the difference. It's fragrance is exquisite. 35c, 50c, $1.00 sizes in U. S. and Canada. Travel size in better 10c stores. TANKS TENTH AVENOO {Continued from page 35) that "On The Avenue," "Alexander's," "Chicago" and now "Tail Spin" have given her a little more confidence in her own dramatic ability. But each time she makes a new picture she has to prove it to herself all over again. I asked Alice how come. She said, "I think everything we are dates back to our childhoods. I think that I could sort of knit my childhood into my life now, purl three, knit four, you know, and you would see how it all blends into one pattern. _ "I wish that I had been born on Third Avenue," laughed Alice, "because 'Tanks Toid Avenoo' would make a swell title for a song or story. I'll have to say 'T'anks Tenth Avenoo' and 'Tanks 55th Street off Broadway,' where I was born, and thanks to all the other streets and neighborhoods of New York where we lived when I was a kid. We lived on so many streets, you know. We were always moving. It must have been the gypsy in us. "Later, when I reached the ripe old age of fourteen and went on the stage, we had to move — to escape the truant officers who grew aged and infirm, trying to track Alice Leppert down. The fact that Bill Newsome, my first dancing teacher, and I changed my name to Faye, threw dust in their eyes. They never did catch up with me. Result: I graduated from grade school but high school never got me. And that moving business is part of my pattern now. It's the reason why Tony and I have never bought or built a home of our own. I'm afraid I'd get tired of it six months later and want to move on. "Even the name of Faye is t'anks to Broadway," said Alice. "I took the name because I saw Frank Faye's name in electrics over the Palace Theatre. I thought 'Faye' looked so pretty in lights. Any name that made the Palace, boy, I thought that should be good luck ! "It's definitely thanks to the sidewalks of New York that I have anything now. It's because I saw so many things that I wanted — like the chance to sing, a mink coat — oh, what a yen I had for a mink coat ! — perfumes, grand clothes, a tall, dark handsome husband. Sure, I've got them because I wanted them. You've got to want before you can get. That's why millionaires' sons so seldom amount to anything. They never wanted for anything. That's the poorest kind of poverty, I think, not having anything to want. I CAN trace back to Tenth Avenue and similar neighborhoods every single thing I have. Like my perfume collection — I'm a rabid collector of perfumes. Why? Because when I was a kid my girl friends and I thought it was pretty swell to have a bottle of perfume on our bureau. If we had two bottles of perfume, that was riches, that was elegance, like actresses and the ladies in the Sunday supplements. "In those days we'd go to the five-andten and buy a little thumb-nail size bottle of perfume. Many a time, after the perfume was gone, I'd fill my bottle with water and pretend it was perfume. Then Mama and I'd take walks on Fifth Avenue. We'd look in swanky shop windows and see big, expensive bottles of perfume and I'd say to myself, 'Someday I'll buy bottles of perfume like that — a dozen of them!' Well, I have them — dozens of them. "I'm convinced," said Alice, her soft lips twisting in that characteristic smile of hers, half ironic, half compassionate, "I'm convinced that childhood wishes are the ones we try hardest to gratify when we grow up. And so, the more we had to wish for, the harder we try. It's when we fail to make our childhood wishes come true that we're unhappy. "I know that I became an actress instead I of the school-teacher I first thought I j wanted to be because Mama and I walked j on Broadway so often and I saw the names of Marilyn Miller and Irene Bordoni and ! others in electric lights. It all seemed to me j so much more bright and beautiful than any j other world that I determined to see my name in lights one of these days. WHEN Mama and I passed the back of a theatre I always walked up the alley to the stage door, turned around and minced down the alley again, pretending ! that I was an actress just leaving after a j matinee. Sometimes I'd stop at six or [ seven stage doors in the course of one afternoon. Now and then I'd catch a j glimpse of an actress leaving the theatre, j stepping into her limousine, wrapped in j rich furs. I'd say to Mama, 'What kind of ; fur is that?' She would tell me, 'Mink.' I'd walk on in a trance dreaming of myself \ at a stage door, wrapped in mink. "Now and then I'd see an actor come out of a theatre. It seemed they were always tall, dark and handsome. I'd think to j myself, someday my prince will come — j and he'll look just like that. Well?" Alice looked at me and laughed. The framed portrait of Tony Martin looked at me and laughed, too. "Well, see how the pattern is working out? If I hadn't talked like that to myself then, I wouldn't have these things. I believe in wish-fulfillment — if you wish hard enough. I wished until I nearly burst. And when such hard wishing comes true, you get a terrific kick out of it, too. That's the trouble, if any. It's so hard to believe that the wishes have come true. They still have a sort of dream quality, you know. "Why, when I bought my first mink coat I nearly ran a temperature, I was that excited ! I get a kick out of owning nice cars, too. And I have more clothes than you could count in a week. Just because of that one 'Sunday dress' of my childhood. I'm not extravagant, really. My brother Bill, who is my business manager, will tell you that I never cause him any worry. I have twenty-five dollars a week, spending money, and I never ask for more. "But when a picture is finished I usually go on a splurge, buy a lot of slacks and sweaters and go to Palm Springs for a couple of weeks.. All of which can be traced back to Tenth Avenue, too — to the days of that one 'best dress,' that one 'Sunday pair of shoes,' to the memory of how folks there always. went> on a little spree when a job was done or it was payday. They bought a new dress or went to Coney Island for the day. "Tony and I have leased Oscar Hammerstein's house here in Beverly Hills. It's a gorgeous place and I love it. But I'll bet a psychologist, poking around in my subconscious mind, would find that I specially wanted that house because it belongs to Oscar Hammerstein. When I was a kid, walking up Broadway, looking up at Hammerstein's Theatre, did I ever expect to be living in a house owned by Oscar Hammerstein? I did not! See what I mean? "It's like this problem of having to work so hard to do something I don't honestly feel on the screen. That's 't'anks Tenth Avenoo,' too, if it's anything to be thankful for. Because, on the sidewalks of I FROSTILLA'^ 90