Modern Screen (Dec 1948 - Oct 1949)

Tobacco Mouth Why take it with you? New tooth paste with Lusterfoam attacks tobacco stain and off-color breath. Don't kid yourself about "tobacco mouth" — it's as real as the stain on a chain smoker's fingers! But your tongue can tell! (You can "taste" an odor.) And your dentist knows when he cleans your teeth. And your friends might notice . . . you know. But they won't point the finger at you (after you've left the room of course) if you're a regular user of Listerine Tooth Paste. Here's why — It contains Lusterfoam — a special ingredient that actually foams cleaning and polishing agents over your teeth . . . into the crevices — removes fresh stain before it gets a chance to "set" . . . whisks away that odormaking tobacco debris! See for yourself how Listerine Tooth Paste with Lusterfoam freshens your mouth and your breath! Get a tube and make sure that wherever you go — you won't take "tobacco ffj®mouth" with you! Tobacco Mouth ...give U *j « brush-oft with 82 far and wide overnight — and what Doris didn't know about the band business she got very busy learning. She stayed with Les Brown three years — although there was time out for a marriage that didn't take. At 25, Doris is already a two-time loser at marriage. She was 18 when she married Al Jorden, who played with Jimmy Dorsey. She moved right back home to Cincinnati the minute her boy, Terry, was born. Although she was well on her way to being the top-paid girl vocalist in band business, Doris stopped singing to raise a family. It was only when she couldn't make a go of it with Al Jorden that Doris took up her career ambitions where she'd left off. By then, Terry was pretty hard to tear away from, but he had to be supported, too. His grandmother took over the care and feeding, and back went Doris Day to Les Brown's band. On swings around the country to the top dance spots, Day went, of course, to the famous Palladium in Hollywood. Every time she got within earshot of a movie studio, Doris got offers to make pictures. But they were never big enough to lure her away from band work. Besides, she tumbled hard for another musician. In 1946, she married George Weidler (he's Virginia Weidler's brother), who played the sax in Stan Kenton's band. They'd separated a year after they'd said "I do," without having had much chance to set up the home Doris had dreamed about since she left her old one in Cincinnati. In fact, everything seemed to gang up on the newlywed Weidlers. They tried to settle in Hollywood — but at that point there was barely room for an extra termite in Hollywood's crowded housing set-up. "We bounced around like golf balls at motels on a 'Four Days and Out' booking," recalls Doris. "A new home twice a week was two too many." They wound up buying a trailer and parking it out by the bean patches on Sepulveda Boulevard. Then George's band job pulled him out of town. Doris got so depressed sitting around the trailer park alone that she went back to work at the Little Club in New York. The hit she made at that exclusive supper club eventually proved to be the pass for Doris Day, movie star. But it also proved to be a passout for Mrs. Weidler. Song writers Julie Styne and Sammy Kahn heard Doris sing there and told Mike Curtiz at the psychological moment how good she was. But George Weidler was someplace else all the time — and when she got back west, the spark was dead. She was granted a divorce in Los Angeles last May 31st on grounds of desertion. But by now, Doris has some everyday homelife and happiness to back up her sudden success, even though it's single blessedness at this writing. When she started clicking and her spot on the payroll looked permanent at Warners, Doris started hunting a house. She searched for a whole year without any luck. Then one day, taking a ride in the San Fernando Valley, she spotted one of those "Open House" signs in Hidden Village, walked in, loved it. and had her down-payment check ready that night. Today there are cozy French provincial pieces spread around, rugs, draperies, color and warmth in the house. Outside, bulbs are shooting up flowers and there's a new lawn for Terry and the two pups to rip to pieces, with Doris' energetic help when she has a free day. Which seems to be rarely. But pressed though she is, Doris Day wouldn't have a single thing different — except maybe a California ranch swarming with dogs, horses, chickens and ducks to give Terry and herself more room to romp and play cowboy. She's promised him that paradise someday and he hasn't forgotten. Also, Terry's still plugging for what he considers real success and eminence for his mom. Out on a recent Bob Hope city-tocity radio tour, Doris got lonesome and blue for her boy one night, and called home, hoping to hear him wail, "Oh, Dodo — I miss you so," or something equally sweet and tender. Demanded Terry, "Hey, Mom, when are you going to make a picture with Roy Rogers, anyway, and get famous?" Doris Day is counting her blessings night and day, glad she's alive, doing what she's doing and living where she is. "Let the smarties knock Hollywood all they want," she says right out loud. "I've been all over, from Memphis to Saint Joe, and points east and west, and Hollywood's Shangri-La to me." Which points up the eager accent on youth that Doris Day lives and works by. Shangri-La was the place where you didn't grow old, wasn't it? The End MODERN SCREEN 'Okov drop the scene where Dogwood gives the neighbor's cot □ both!'