Modern Screen (Jul-Dec 1945)

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"But," I remember one of my colleagues saying, "he sits there behind this barrier of reserve, and you simply can't figure out what goes on in that handsome head of his." taking stock . . . The minute I saw him, I knew what she meant. With all his quietness, an imp flickered in his eyes. I knew he was sizing me up. And why not? Wasn't I doing the same to him? From the beginning, Alan stood out. Besides each name in your record book, there's a space for remarks — if you care to make them. As a rule, you don't. About the average child you have nothing to say. He has no curiosity, he absorbs what doesn't require too much effort, he goes to school because he must. Beside Alan's name, I exploded into remarks: "Good mind — original ideas — intellectual curiosity — creative imagination — sense of humor." For four years I taught him English and drama, and he was an active member of my Shakespeare Club. In all that time I never knew him to accept an opinion merely because it was voiced by authority. Always, he thought for himself. Trouble was the last thing he ever gave me. The only time he stepped out of line was in my behalf. We were studying "Hamlet," and had in the class one tough character who made it his business to create disturbances. After one such interruption, I saw Alan give a little signal to another boy. They both rose quietly, lifted the offender between them, bounced him through the door, and returned to their seats, dusting their palms off. It all happened too quickly for me to interfere. Recovering my breath, I asked: "Where's he gone?" "Out!" replied Alan. While my knowledge of Alan at the time was only through school activities, I followed those with considerable interest. He was a champion swimmer and diver, guard at the playground pool, and popular with boys and girls alike. In his junior year, they elected him president of the student body. He made A's in more than half his classes, including mine, yet there was nothing of the grind about him. Among other things, he was a notable dancer. Most of those kids danced well, but they'd clear the floor to watch Alan and his partner toss off a routine. It didn't take much, of course, to impress me, but when his contemporaries broke into loud applause, I knew I'd been seeing something pretty special. I don't believe he went with any particular girl through his high school years. He had the normal boy's interest in the opposite sex, but it seemed more general than specific. I do, however, recall one gossamer little romance, because I watched it flourish and fade in English class. When you sit up in front of forty youngsters day after day, you see a great deal they don't dream they're giving away. A turn of the head, an unconscious gesture — and the poor young innocent's secret heart lies bared. One cute little trick — let's call her Betty — blushed every time Alan got up to recite. I'd make them memorize poetry of their own choosing, and Alan's selections were always off the beaten track. One day it was Herrick: "Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today, Tomorrow will be dying . . ." As he sat down, his eyes flashed toward Betty, who turned pink as a rosebud herself, and tried not to look self-conscious. A couple of weeks later the mood had changed. He'd dug up this message from John Suckling, and the imp was very much in evidence as he delivered it: "Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days together, And am like to love three more If it prove fair weather . . ." Betty was stung, no question about it. Her lashes batted furiously, her lip quivered, and she kept her eyes fixed on the desk till the bell rang. Alan was at the door with one of his pals, and made her a mocking little bow as she passed, head high. Naturally, my curiosity was aroused, but I had to restrain it. You can't call on the same boy to recite every day. But as soon as I could decently get around to it, I had him up again, intoning: "Who'er she be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me . . ." This time his face was inscrutable, and Betty's only reaction was to stare into space. Love was dead. There was no one around to whisper that the name of the "not impossible" She would be Susie. Only they both knew for sure that it wasn't Betty! What interested me most in Alan was his acting ability. I nursed a thwarted passion for the stage myself, and took it out in coaching when I could. The regular coach at North Hollywood was Miss Marie Byrne. She gave Alan the part of Paul in "Come Out of the Kitchen" and that performance turned me into an arch-rooter for him and his career. From then on, I hadn't the smallest doubt that he could become a professional actor. It may have been my enthusiasm for his talent that prompted him to come to me one day with a problem. confessor-comforter . . . I no longer remember what the problem was — only that it loomed very large in his | life at the time, and was something he ! couldn't talk to his mother about. Which makes me think it may have had to do with whether or not he ought to leave school. That afternoon brought us closer. I believe he knew he could come to me} as a friend. My own son, Harry, was 19 at . the time — too much older than Alan forj them to be really chummy. But they met j when Alan did some work in my garden, j and liked each other — and Harry 'd sometimes take the younger boy along on hij I rounds. Nominally, he was selling cars, bui « those were the depression days, and mosi of his business consisted in taking the car; I, away from people who couldn't pay f oi them. I knew of course that the Ladds didn' have much money, but Alan was prouc as Lucifer, and I had no idea how tougl things were for them after his stepfathei fell ill. Years later I asked him: "Why when we were so close didn't you tel us? Harry and I were your friends. Wha are friends for?" He just shook his head: "I couldn't havt told anyone — " His mother had the same kind of reserve She'd come to see me at school from tim< to time — a gentle, quiet person, to whon Alan was the sun and moon and stars You had only to see them together to fee