Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

dozens of hors d'oeuvres. For beverage we had either pink lemonade from the lemonade tree (you squeeze a lemon and the lemonade comes gurgling out) or orangeade from the falls. This orangeade falls has been Uncle Bernie's pet scheme for some time. It covers half of one wall. An illuminated wall painting depicts a group of industrious elves sawing oranges in half, squeezing them in a press and pouring bucketsful of juice into the orangeade pool that supplies the falls. There's a little doo-dad in the forest-green rocks beneath which you press — and the orangeade comes spouting forth. Vera-Ellen and her date, Johnny McKee, came late. The gang at once clamored for Vera to dance for her supper. An obliging gal, she did. Picking up a mammoth rag doll, Vera pirouetted gracefully about the shop. She twirled by the buffet table and in so doing picked up a sandwich. We all applauded and let her have a full-sized meal. Peter Thompson and Nancy Davis sat down in front of Santa's Workshop to eat their dinner. Nancy was brought to Hollywood by MGM to play Glenn Ford's sister in The Doctor and The Girl, and since her arrival she's had to move three times. Peter pointed to Santa's castle and suggested, "Maybe you could rent this place." Nancy wasn't interested. She thought a workshop might be a bit noisy to live in. Anyhow, she was moving to a fine new place the next day — and Peter had promised to bring over his jeep and help. "I've just had all my furniture shipped here from New York. There are so many boxes and items, I'd forgotten I even owned some of them." Pete groaned. "How many boxes did you say?" Before she could break his spirit by telling him, her attention was diverted by Uncle Bernie. He was carrying in a twofoot-long cake. Among its extensive decorations was a miniature waterfall which had a tiny angel skiing down it. There was also a truck loaded with lemon drops marooned in a winding road of chocolate icing. The sides of the cake were sprinkled with small pieces of peppermint candy, lemon drops. chocolate drops and cherry Life Savers. It was so large and beautiful that we found it hard to believe it was a real cake. But when Uncle Bernie cut it and gave us a light-as-a-feather slice, we believed. Barbara Thompson suggested Marshall have a second slice — "he has to play Santa Claus this year and we only have two pillows to stuff the suit." At this Marsh, who will be Santa for his three-year-old nephew, Stevie Long, was given a few pointers from Glenn Denning, who has appeared as the whiskered gent several times on YMCA Yuletide programs. We began reminiscing about Christmas experiences. The Don Taylors recalled the first Yuletide after their marriage. "We were in Chicago with the roadshow of Winged Victory," Don said. "We were staying at a hotel and it didn't seem too happy away from friends in a strange city." "But Don fixed that," put in Phyllis. "He went out and bought a 10-foot Christmas tree and carted it right through the lobby up to our room. What with wartime shortages, you couldn't get ornaments at that time so we sat up most of the night cutting out cardboard decorations and hanging them on the tree." This year is certainly different. The Taylors have a nice home and are busy fixing up the nursery for the expected baby. Don cornered Uncle Bernie and asked if he would give him copies of some of the storybook characters that line the walls of the store. Uncle Ber.iie said he'd be delighted. Don plans to trace them on wood and make fourfoot figures gaily skipping along the border of the nursery. Johnny McKee volunteered to help cut them out. He'd had lots of experience making toys. Besides chalking up 52 missions with the 8th Air Force, he also managed to fashion makeshift toys out of old plane parts which helped to brighten several British tots' holidays. Betty Garrett and Larry Parks also had a Christmas they'll never forget. They were 3,000 miles apart. She was on Broadway in Call Me Mister and he in Hollywood making The Jolson Story. But they still managed to give each other a Merry Christmas. Larry received from Betty a motorcycle all wrapped up in red cellophane. Larry airexpressed Betty her gift — an engagement ring. "We'd been married for two years," Larry explained, "but I had just got a raise and since she didn't have an engagement ring I splurged my salary on one." Uncle Bernie too had his Christmas memories. It wasn't many Christmases ago that he was making toys and childrens' plaques in the basement of his home in Brooklyn. They were so unique and educational and so in demand that he soon expanded into a chain of toy-manufacturing companies on Long Island. Then he came to California to retire. "But once a toyman, always a toyman," says Uncle Bernie — and soon he had opened up the Toy Menagerie. That was ' two years ago, and it's been going strong ever since. Everyone seemed to finish eating at the , same time. We decided on an after-dinner concert. Each picked out some kind of a toy instrument, which we were assured would really play — and started on a , different tune. Mel Torme was at the miniature piano. Candy and Nancy on the xylophone. Larry beating the drums, Betty squeezing the accordion, Marsh on the clarinet, Barbara thumping a ukulele, Reba on the slide trombone and Peter. Bonnie and Glenr playing — well, they're still hunting for the names of their instruments. Glenn just blew into his nameless object, turned a handle, and it played, "I'm Popeye the Sailor Man" — which sounded great, since the rest of us had by this time gotten together on "Home Sweet Home." With all this mad melody going on. Larry Parks seemed too content. "Must be tone deaf," suggested Peter Thompson. We finally learned that the helmet Larry was wearing was just another two-purpose toy: It contained a built-in radio, and Larry was listening intently to the: prize fights. Uncle Bernie suggested a little "real'' music for a change. He slipped a carol onto one of the miniature phonographs/1 And as the small, clear strains of "Silent Night" filled the toyshop, it was a stilled; and lovely place — a place waiting for Christmas. The End IS BETTE DAVIS AERAID OF LOVE? (Continued jrom page 20) had achieved what appeared to be a pinnacle of happiness. This was her marriage to Arthur Farnsworth, an aeronautical engineer who seemed a perfect mate. He was handsome, considerate, strong enough to control her flashing moods, tender enough to make her a blissfully contented young wife. In August 1943, barely two-and-a-half years after the wedding, Farnsworth was stricken suddenly while walking on Hollywood Boulevard. Three days later, he died. It was discovered that in an earlier fall he had suffered a skull fracture. For a time Bette blamed herself for not having realized he had been so dangerously hurt. Undoubtedly, this tragedy deepened her haunting fear of relaxing herself in happiness— "something might happen. . . ." Actually, Bette Davis has been afraid since she first came to Hollywood. Striving to remain worthy of the critical opinion that brought her the title "Queen Bess," she has worked more strenuously on each succeeding picture. Scornful of failure, she has driven herself to that point of exhaustion which makes normal living with people — especially husbands — nearly an 86 impossibility. Once, when told that she must take things easy, she retorted, "I've never relaxed in my life. And I guess I'll never learn to." At the time of the announcement that she was seeking a divorce from Sherry, Bette said that his violent fits of temper, during which he sometimes would break up furniture, had caused her to fear that if she remained with him she, and perh?ps their baby daughter, Barbara, might suffer bodily harm. Sherry admitted his violent tendencies, but said, "It's just a matter of controlling my awful temper. We can patch this thing up if we can see each other again and talk it over." He then announced that he was going to consult a psychiatrist to see if something could be done toward helping his disposition. Whatever temper Sherry has. it could hardly exceed in fireworks the explosive temperament of Bette, who has alternately shocked, amazed and delighted her friends in Hollywood for years with her beautifully-timed outbursts. When she is angry, she chooses the most important man in any conference and verbally lashes him unmercifully. But, until recently, she had never done battle except with those who could afford to fight back, never did anyone hear of Bette becoming sarcastic or un-' reasonable with the average run of studio'' workers. Yet, as a master of illusion in her pro-r) fession, Bette has never kidded herself. J She once told a writer, "I have one of the homeliest facss that I've ever seen. . . . I loathe my mouth. It resembles, of all things, a small rosebud. It is ineffectual meaningless, skimpy." And another time she said, "My neck is long, like an ostrich's. ... If I could only look in the mirror one fine day and find something else reflected there!" She might never have become worldfamous if it hadn't been for her fear ol being considered by others the way she The complete screen story of Bette Davis' latest film. Beyond the Forest, is one of the many dramatic features you'll enjoy in the January issue of Dell's Screen Stories magazine.