Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

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Anyway, I walked into the sewing room and as soon as Betty spotted me her foot went down on the treadle of the sewing machine. There wasn't a machine in that room going anywhere near as fast as Betty s. She saw to that; she wasn't going to let me down. And she seemed happily oblivious of the fact that the needle wasn't threaded. School for Betty was an open and shut case °n a Monday morning her mind would open and accept all the knowledge there was to absorb. By Monday afternoon her mind would close on it like a st^eLtrap and nothing more would get in till Tuesday. bouncing betty . . . It's a facility she's had all her life; to learn quickly and to quickly put her mind in order so that she can learn something new I suppose it contributes to what people today term her "bounce." She can always come to the surface smiling successful and unhurt. Probably the world's most confirmed tomboy she usually played such violent games I always lived in fear of broken bones But despite years of roughhouse, her only scar came when she was pushed oft a jetty and cut her face. It,Jw,as inmost as though she knew I couldn t afford doctor bills, and was determined not to be an expense. Those were lean days. I was divorced from the children s father, and worked for our living in an automobile plant in Detroit Out of necessity, the girls learned to keep house and to cook (Marion learned to sew) and it was a hard life for them. Perhaps it would have been disastrous if the three of us hadnt been blessed with a sense of humor. We could always laugh off our troubles, and what is even more important, we thrilled in anticipation when we wanted something, and we knew that if we saved long and hard enough, we'd have it I was with Betty just this last Christmas, and after breakfast I watched her children opening their gifts. They sat at the foot of a tree big enough to fit into Sequoia National Park, and you couldn't see the children for the packages around them Ive never seen such beautiful toys. Unwrapping took hours, and after a while the children's eyes began to look a little glazed. For some time I'd been thinking my own thoughts, thoughts a little on the gloomy side. Then Betty looked up at me from where she sat by the children's side. There was sadness in her face. "Mom," she said. "Mom, they're not having the fun we used to have. I'm afraid they're missing something:" I knew what she meant. Back in Detroit, I'd start working at nights on the old toys along about September. By Christmas I'd had them repaired and painted with new clothes made for the dolls. And my girls were more thrilled with the made over stuff than they would have been with one (or six) of these modern dolls that talk and cry and eat and change the status of their diapers. Even when they were in their teens and putting on a show at the Palace, I'd bring little surprises to the theater, things like jigsaw puzzles to entertain them be tween acts, and they made such a fuss youd have thought I'd brought them parts of a Cadillac to fit together. Betty and Marion seldom asked me for anything when they were little. Maybe because they knew I'd do anything in the world for them that was possible, and the minute somebody would trust me for fifty cents until next payday, I'd go into debt to satisfy their needs. I did manage a series of dancing lessons for each of them, which they considered the height of luxury. Marion finished the course knowing a great deal, Betty came out of it knowing nothing. Before the lessons were started she had perfected her own dance steps, and held on to them like grim death. Already she had entered every dance contest in the neighborhood. At that time there was a craze for some sixcyhnder step that they danced to "White Heat" and melodies of that ilk. To me it was more like an endurance contest, but dancing like this was right up Bettv's alley. Although I didn't realize it at the time, show business was leading us a chase. I never had to worry about Betty, young as she was, when she was singing and dancing in those days. She was too career-conscious to even think about bovs, and it had been the same way in school. She d been so intent on learning the lessons for the day that no impression was made on her by the occasional moon-eyed youngsters who followed her around. And the boy who swiped tin whistles and watches from Woolworth's to gain her favor finally realized that in his case, too, crime didn't pay. When Betty was fourteen, she visited friends of mine who lived in Lansing, Michigan, and it was then that show business caught up with us. Lansing had a lake, and at the lake was a band, and Betty wanted to sing with a band ever since I could remember. She was offered a job while there, and made up her own mind about taking it. It's always been that way. Betty had lined up her career from the first, and I've always kept my nose out of it. Many times, though, I've sat in on business conferences, but you couldn't open my mouth at those times with a crowbar, and my silence has paid off for Betty because it was appreciated by the men involved. Of course they never knew what I said afterward, when Betty and I were alone, but even that advice was given only HOW TIME FLIES! ■ On the set of Road To Singapore Dorothy Lamour's been all hands and needles between every scene. Dottie's just taken up knitting and admits that the object on which she's lavishing all her spare time is a man's sweater. She's even having lunch served on the set so no time will be lost on her knitting and unraveling. But to date no one has been able to find out for whom the sweater is intended. "Just a boyfriend," says Dottie. Since the Lamour boyfriends are legion, that clue was considered hopeless. — March, 1940, Modern Screen