Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

what he eats or wears, and certainly not about whether or not I can trust him. I don't think either of us has a jealous thought. But I worry because, like any wife worthy of the name, I feel that I have a certain special job to fulfill in my husband's life. With John, it's a job of morale boosting. An idealist, he is up in the clouds one moment, down in the dumps the next. He's a perfectionist in his work and impatient of any flaws in his own performance. He thrives on big dreams, great plans — plans for picturemaking and dreams of the day when we can see faraway places together. . . . Well, it's my job to keep him up there on that cloud. When hundreds of miles separate us, I can't do that. We have been very fortunate in avoiding the tragic and poisonous "rumors" that play havoc with so many career marriages. Only once has one of these stories, usually manufactured from whole cloth cn a dull Hollywood news day, touched us. That happened when John was in Gallup. I picked up a newspaper one morning to be startled and shocked by an item telling how John and I had agreed that we would both have dates with other people while our picture commitments kept us apart for such long intervals. I was furious, because it was absolutely without foundation. We had never discussed such a thing. That night I called John and read him the "news." Man-like, he laughed at my sputtering anger. "What'll I do?" I wailed. "Do? Why, I'd just forget about it," he counselled wisely. "And if anyone wants to know who the other man in your life is, just say, 'Hodiak — John Hodiak — H-od-i-a-k.' As for my love affairs on location— honey, the way I look under three layers of New Mexico dust and a stubble of genuine Western whiskers, I couldn't get a date with Li'l Abner's grandma!" Bearded and dusty or spruced-up and handsome, John is . . . well, have you ever heard of a picture called You're My Everything? The End MY PRAYER WAS ANSWERED (Continued from page 37) signals. The rushing motorists must have thought, "He's another hitchhiker trying to get a free ride." They whizzed by, too fast to see me lying off to the side, bleeding profusely, my face badly gashed. Finally a car did stop. The driver got out and came with Carey to where I lay. "Good Lord!" he said. "He's as good as dead. Look at the way he's bleeding! I won't have a corpse in my car!" Nothing Carey said would change his mind. He drove away. Carey kept trying to flag down another car. Then a truck stopped. The driver took me about a mile down the road, to a service station. At the back of the station was a cot. Carey put me down on it as gently as possible and made for the telephone to call an ambulance. In those days, it was difficult to get an ambulance in a hurry. I lay on that cot for two hours, in almost unbearable agony, bleeding, sweating — and scared. Death has never seemed too frightening to me — I've been close to it many times. But I admit, without apology, to a dread of disfiguration. To be disfigured is an actor's nightmare. One of the most frightening things in any man's life is the prospect of having to start a career over again, when he hasn't qualified himself for anything else. I've seen that fear many times among servicemen for whom death held no terror. The fear of being crippled to such an extent that they wouldn't be able to go on with their work after the war, lived with them. They didn't know what they would or could do with their lives if they couldn't go back to the work they knew. With my whole heart I prayed it would not be impossible for me to make my living again as an actor. I had visions of myself with a grotesquely shattered face — visions that made me desperate. And yet, as I prayed, those visions seemed to fade away. As I prayed, I began to feel a great spiritual relief, even though I continued to have great physical pain. The ambulance took me to the hospital in Bishop. There I was given an anesthetic, X-ray photographs were taken, and the doctor removed, with a stiff brush, the dirt and gravel embedded deeply in the whole right side of my face — which was one big swollen mass of raw meat. I would wear bandages for a long time, the doctor broken. Both ankles were broken and I would be off my feet for several weeks. "What about my face?" I asked. "Will — will I be disfigured?" He shrugged. "It's not as bad as it could be," he said and left the room. I lay in bed, my face covered with bandages, wondering exactly what he meant. Eventually my brother arrived. He had driven from Tahoe, and now he took me to our family physician in Reno, Dr. Frank Muller, an old family friend. I knew that if I wished, Dr. Muller would be blunt and to the point with me. "Frank," I begged, "tell me: Will I be scarred for life?" "Well," he said, "you'll have a few marks, I guess." I turned away from the sympathy in his understanding eyes. My prayers started again. For weeks, until the bandages came off, I orayed constantly. By placing myself in the hands of God, I came to the end of my fear. The day the bandages finally came off, a feeling of great confidence flowed over me. Dr. Frank Muller's smile as he looked at me confirmed that confidence. He handed me a mirror. The marks were almost imperceptible — in time would be entirely gone. My prayer was answered. There may be some who will say that this was just a matter of luck, that my prayers made no difference. That I cannot accept. I must admit that when I lay with my face in bandages, I didn't know for sure how my prayer would be answered. Say what you will about faith, one cannot know what God's will is. But I hoped that in my case the will of God would be that I would emerge unscarred. And I asked for strength to bear it if that was not to be. Prayer is power — the greatest power in the world. It affects not only outward events, but puts strength deep into the heart and soul of the man who prays. There was a time when the scientists thought that man could discover everything and solve all his problems through his own reasoning processes. Now most of the scientists realize that there are spiritual truths which science has never touched — but which are the only valid explanation of things that go beyond science and reason. One of these truths is the power of prayer. Only fools today deny it. YODORA the deodorant that works 2 WAYS stops perspiration odor Wonderful Yodora does not merely mask, but stops perspiration odor. Effective for full 24-hour protection. softens and beautifies underarm skin Made with a face cream base, Yodora keeps armpits fresh and lovely-looking as the skin of neck and shoulders. Tubes or jars 10e! 30? 60i Kind to skin, chemically safe for clothes, it's the perfect cream deodorant . . . You'll adore Yodora ! *f o «| .0~ McKESSON & ROB BINS