Modern Screen (Dec 1947 - Nov 1948)

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Name Address Student body at our school, St. Mary's Academy. Yet, once she was president, the shyness took hold again and she found it painfully embarrassing to get up and run meetings and make talks. But when she got the lead in the school play, all shyness dropped from her at once! Playing another character was different; it was like imagining yourself the heroine of the book you were reading, she said, and that was something she had been doing for years — an answer that may make sense to you and you, but sends me thumbing through my psychology books. Perhaps, if I had known a tiny bit of psychology when I was six, I might have guessed that Jeanne wanted to be an actress even before she was aware of the desire herself. At six I broke both my arms after a fall while roller-skating. Naturally, with both arms in casts, I was one of the most handicapped little girls in the world; people had to do things for me constantly. Once in a while, out of sheer boredom, I would try to get things for myself, picking them up in my teeth, and even trying to use my toes as hands. Time and again Jeanne would do the same. I thought she was just mimicking me but she explained, "I want to know how you feel when you can't use your hands." She was unconsciously learning to "live the part you play." curtains! . . . Shortly after this (after my bones had knitted), Jeanne and I were climbing a fence one afternoon when the whole world started to go to pieces. The fence started to shake in the strangest way. Mother called us in and right after that the whole family ran over to our grandmother's next door. I heard everyone talk about "the earthquake" but couldn't understand why we all had to go to grandmother's. Jeanne told me — feeling, no doubt, that it was time for a good curtain line. She whispered dramatically into my ear, "It's so we can all die together!" But we lived; we lived so that the following Easter I could catch scarlet fever and make Jeanne so envious of my spotted "makeup" that she wasn't satisfied until she caught it as well. Then we both lay in our beds waiting for the Easter Bunny to show up — so we could give it to him too! One of the periods in Jeanne's life that is going to puzzle me when I really get down to analyzing her (if ever!) concerns her graduation from St. Mary's. Her mark was the highest in the history of the school and easily won her a scholarship at the high-school division of the Academy. Naturally we were all delighted, but Jeanne had found something about it that she didn't like. She thought her excellent scholastic record was hurting her socially with the other girls. She thought they were looking on her as a kind of oddity. But she wasn't sure. I volunteered to find out and I cautiously quizzed one of the girls in Jeanne's class — not disclosing that Jeanne wanted to know. The girl flared up immediately. "Of course not!" she said. "That's like saying we would like to have just dopes for friends." But Jeanne was still doubtful and decided to experiment. She deliberately tried for lower grades. However, instead of making more friends, this seemed to make the ones she had delight in kidding her, telling her she wasn't as smart as she thought she was. Jeanne quit the experiment, deciding that people have to be what they are. What I didn't understand — and still don't — is why she went to this trouble at all, since she never seemed to care about being a social butterfly. I was the gay one when we went to parties; Jeanne would sit quietly while I mingled and made friends. I worked at it; she didn't. I was careful about my social obligations. Any boy who came to visit me at our home, or to take me out, found me dressed and ready, bright and entertaining. Any boy who called on Jeanne found . . . me again, again striving to be bright and entertaining, so he wouldn't get peeved because Jeanne was not ready yet! Sometimes it seemed to me the boy was getting restless and I would run back to our room and warn Jeanne about her caller becoming annoyed at her tardiness. "Oh, he won't be mad at me," she would say. "You'll see." I would warn her that she was wrong and hurry back to her fuming young man, who by this time might be stalking around the living room irritably. Then, finally, Jeanne would enter. I would look at the boy nervously and then at Jeanne, wondering how she would handle the situation. It was simple. She just walked in, his eyes would fall on her, and all the grouchiness would disappear to be replaced by one of those big, goofy smiles . . . something like the kind you see on the face of Pluto, the Walt Disney dog, when he melts into bashfulness. Now, incidents like this should help me classify Jeanne as far as her romantic pattern is concerned. But no. There was that time when she saw a tall, Gregory Peck type of boy seated not far from her at a football game. Gone was her reserve! She practically smiled him out of his seat and into the one next to her . . . even though that one was already occupied and it took a near fight to get the fellow in it to move! It should be clear by this time that fitting Jeanne into a personality niche is no easy task. The other day when I was visiting Jeanne I decided that analyzing my sister was too complicated — I would give her 16month-old baby, Paul Brinkman, Jr., an aptitude test instead. I had brought along some Binet test blocks; one was square, one round and the third diamond-shaped. We gave Baby Paul the round one and on the floor in front of him we placed a board containing holes cut to the three shapes. Then we gathered around to see which hole he would put the round block in. He held the block for a while and seemed to be concentrating hard. We held our breath so as not to disturb the deep mental processes that were going on within him. Then he made a move. He lifted the block and put it into his mouth! Jeanne looked at me anxiously. "What does that mean?" she asked. "Don't know, exactly," I replied. "It's hard to analyze — but it's absolutely normal." Which also sums up my sister Jeanne. The End modern screen brings you Harry's girl — betty grable on the december caver, on sale november 9