Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

Read it — Listen to it— Enjoy it — MODERN ROMANCES A great magazine NOW A great radio program broadcast daily over the ABC Network Everywhere people are talking about this new kind of radio program, talking about the human interest in the stories and the frankness with which they are enacted. Like MODERN ROMANCES magazine, on which it is based, each program is about real people in dramatic situations you yourself may face. Listen to MODERN ROMANCES today and we guarantee you'll listen every day. ! 1 ' ' ! ! Tune in "Modern Romances" I Every weekday Men. thru Fri. on the I American Broadcasting Co. ABC NETWORK see your newspaper for local time me. I tried to stay calm, but I couldn't. June didn't help, either. Her driving was terrible. She did things to her Ford convertible that were simply out of this world. She drives like a demon, and if they ever hold a speed classic in Indianapolis for women, I'm sure she'll win it hands down! At MGM, we strode directly into the office of producer Joe Pasternak — at least, the outer office, anyway. June was escorted into Mr. Pasternak's inner sanctum, and I waited in the reception room. Within two minutes, Mr. Pasternak came out and asked me to join them inside. I was nattered no end. The producer then began to tell June the story of her next picture. I sat on a long, low, leather couch, lost temporarily in the massiveness of all this luxury, while he flailed his hands, described all sorts of characters, explained bits of dialogue and, in general, carried on the way producers are supposed to carry on. I tried to listen attentively, but I couldn't understand what Mr. Pasternak was talking about. He has, or at least had at that time, a thick German accent that couldn't be swept away by a tractor. After narrating the story, Mr. Pasternak turned to me and asked a few questions. I couldn't understand him, but I didn't want to appear too stupid, so I just nodded yes, and smiled my most toothy smile. I was sure I was doing the correct thing, playing the sweet, agreeable young girl. embarrassing moment . . . En route to June's apartment, however, June burst forth with a typical gusty, lusty roll of Allyson laughter. I couldn't see what was so funny. "Gwen," she asked, "did you find it difficult to understand Mr. Pasternak?" "Frankly," I admitted, "I did. Why?" June laughed some more. "Because," she explained, "when he asked you if you thought the story was very bad, you smiled and said, 'Yes.' " I went home that day so embarrassed that I felt I could never face June again, let alone preside over her fan club. But the next day, she called me and said, "Gwen, I just wanted you to know that I had a lot of fun with you yesterday, and I just know you're going to be the best fan club president an actress ever had. You go ahead with all your plans and I'll cooperate as much as possible. In fact, you be sure and come up to my place some day this week." I did, of course — and between us we made an arrangement whereby June personally signed all the membership cards and club photographs. We used to spend one night a week together while she signed and I blotted. On these nights, formality was forgotten. We just lay sprawled on the floor, wearing blue jeans and sloppy sweaters and comfortable loafers, and after the work was done, we'd talk or listen to records or just watch the fire. June loves a fire, and even on the warmest nights, she'd start one going in the fireplace. And it's not because she's coldnatured, either! As I look back on those many niehts I spent with June, they seem so wonderful, and I remember with what strict and rapt attention I would listen to her every word and hang on to her every sentence. I got to know her ways and habits and moods, and I learned that it was best never to ask her any personal questions — especially about her love life. But like all girls, she betraved the state of her heart in a dozen different little ways. I remember one night when she seemed particularly moody and she looked as if she had been crying. I didn't have to be a Sherlock Holmes to figure out that June and Dick Powell (with whom she was going at the time) had had a spat. Sure enough, the story came out. In her characteristically frank manner, June had said to Dick, after seeing him regularly for five months, "What are your intentions?" Dick had replied with a smile, "Why? Have you had a couple of other offers?" And June had said, "Yes, ' I have." Well, Dick went on to explain that his divorce from Joan Blondell wouldn't be final for months. And after two marriages, he thought he'd better go slow about a third. He had two children to look after and a lot of other responsibilities. The upshot of the whole thing was that June had said, "Please take me home." The Allyson-Powell romance was apparently over that night, and June showed it. But a week later when I dropped by, June was all smiles and sparkle. Dick had thought the whole thing over and had raced to June's place 24 hours alter their "falling out" and had taken her in his arms and said, "I love you, June. I love you." June had started to smile and cry, all at the same time, and mumbled into his chest, "Oh! I love you, too, Tommy. I love you so much." (Tommy was June's favorite name for Dick.) Then Dick had proposed marriage, and June had accepted, saying, "I'll make you the most perfect wife in the world, honestly I will, darling. We'll share everything, our work, our play. It'll be heaven. , I know it will." June and Dick were married in August. 1945. But the marriage didn't alter the relationship between June and me. The fan club by this time was going great guns, and so was June's career. Despite the fact that she was only five years older 1 than I, she seemed to take an almost materna] interest in me. She began to teach me many things. ' For example, the first meal I ever had served by a maid, was with June. She noticed my little blunders. When the maid came around to me and paused at my1 right, I started to reach up and take my; serving. Just as I did, the girl moved to J the correct side, and I blushed with em-i barrassment. June said nothing at the! time. We finished the meal, laughing and; joking as usual, but after dinner, we set< tied down to a lengthy discussion of Emily Post and proper etiquette. little white lie . . . It wasn't that I didn't have good man j ners. At least, I hope I did! But June i understood that my family and friends lived under circumstances far different from hers. Her method was never to| reprimand, but always to explain. The 't only time she reprimanded me about anything was when she found out that 1 had lied to her about my age. I had made myself out to be one year older than 1 actually was. When June learned the; truth, she got angry — the only time \ ever saw her genuinely angry — and she let me have some verbal punishment. ] deserved it. All other times, however, she was gentle and kind and understanding. Foi example, there was a period in our earh acquaintance when I would get flusterec upon meeting her friends. The first time I was introduced to Peter Lawford, ] mumbled a faint "How-do-you-do." ^ was the same way with Gloria DeHaver and Frank Sinatra and Gene Kelly. ' You must never be frightened of these people," June explained. "When you're introduced, open your mouth and speai distinctly, and when you shake hands wit! anyone, make sure that your handciasv is firm " 1