Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

who is jane wyman? (Continued from page 61) afternoon. From two to three — if they'd been little lambs all week — the class was allowed to put on a show. Jane could sing better than most ten-year-olds. On an impulse that day she sneaked in a ukulele. "Who wants " to recite?" asked the teacher. Jane's hand went up timidly. "I can't recite but I know a song. . . ." It was a funny song. Strumming the uke, Jane gave it her all. The kids were delighted. They beat time to the rhythm, they laughed and applauded. Later, in the school yard, they gathered round her, and begged her to bring the uke back again next week. She floated home on a high pink cloud, she was in. . . . Her aim was to stay in, and that's where she started getting lost. For the sake of popularity, she covered up the sensitive Jane and her sensitive feelings. Growing into high-school age, her quick mind and tongue developed a breezy way with language that made people laugh, and she found they liked her for it. Often she didn't feel funny at all. Often a great sense of loneliness engulfed her and she wanted to talk her heart out to someone who would understand. But people were bored by such things, especially from Jane. She wasn't the type. "Are you kidding? With that nose of yours, who could take you seriously?" crying on the inside . . . Far too proud to force confidences on anyone, she forced herself instead into an artificial mold. "Jane's a clown, Jane's always good for a laugh." She liked to laugh when the mood was on her. But to keep her hard-won place among her peers, the mood had to be sustained. Jane wasn't the prettiest girl around, nor the plainest either. Plainer girls, more secure within, could afford to be themselves. She couldn't. Mirth, she decided, was all she had to offer — so come on, let's be merry, what can I do next, how silly can I act? The effects were gratifying. And if something cried inside, she could always drown it out by laughing louder. . . . Along with this ran a great yen for independence. At home she was tied to her youth — too young to grow up, too young < to go out with boys. She didn't especially ■ care to go out with boys, they sort of an, noyed her, they were the young ones. Herself, she didn't feel young at all. She * felt mature and capable. Impatient to try her wings, she quit school as soon as she could for Hollywood. Not because she thought she had any special talent or had visions of her name on the marquees. But | here she'd be free to depend on herself, I and she'd reached the sage conclusion that [ self was the only thing you could depend I on. Somehow, in Hollywood, she'd go I about building a life that was bound to be ; good because it would be her own. Besides, I she had something to prove to the world — ■ [ what, she didn't know. Besides, she could I sing and dance a little, which would help her get started. By the time she arrived, the protective [ shell was pretty well formed. It was des[ tined to thicken. Jane thought she was I grown up. Actually, no one could have | been more naive. After snagging a chorus I job at one of the studios, she went out to I buy some clothes, the first she'd ever I bought for herself. The dress featured a I red georgette top and a black satin skirt, j The big picture hat out-Dietriched MarI lene. The clip was a rhinestone horror, I with rubies yet. Then she caught sight I I of a foxtail cape in the window. To call I it a cape was overstatement. There weren't enough tails to go round, and a couple of •legs tied the thing together in front. Jane found that her next week's check would cover it. Out of the shop she pranced in full regalia and took a slow walk up Hollywood Boulevard, swishing the socalled cape from front to rear in a gracious effort to accommodate all admirers. This rig didn't express Jane. It expressed her notion of what you wore in Hollywood to produce an effect. For the same reason she dyed her hair coal-black, frizzled her bangs, coated her face with makeup and used artificial eyelashes — the kind that had to be stuck on one by one. At the end of two weeks a girl named Pokey, who danced in the line with her, took her aside. "Jane, why do you wear those jokers?" "So I can flap in the breeze like the rest of the actors. . . ." "That's fine when you're under the lights, but not in rehearsal. Look at the rest of us. See any eyelashes? And not to be mean, Jane, but while we're on the subject, d'you ever wash your face real good?" "Why, of course!" "Then do me a favor. Next time you wash it, just put a little lipstick on and that's all. If you don't like it, well, your makeup kit won't run away." Jane liked it. So did Pokey next day, who took it big. "Well, how about that!" So did the other kids. Whether tipped off by Pokey or not, they all came up, even the boys. "You look super today, Jane." Lesson No. 1 was learned for good and all. Daubing your face with paint, tricking yourself out in flashy clothes — these brought attention, but the wrong way. . . . Other lessons followed, some of them less kindly taught. They spread over many years and many experiences. For better or worse, Jane was in the movie game now, playing for keeps. She found it a challenging game, but tough. A man's game really, where you had to meet masculine minds on equal terms and fight for the chance to prove whatever it was you were trying to prove. In every encounter, Jane stood her ground. She didn't always win, but if she went down, she went down with colors flying. As an opponent, she came to be respected for honesty, courage and not knowing when she was licked. Never go soft, Wyman told herself. Going soft meant being crushed. Going soft meant reverting to childhood when everything hurt you. She was through with being hurt. If you forged your armor strong enough, no barb could pierce it. If a chink showed up, cover it quick before anyone saw it. Betty Kaplan, her dearest friend, sometimes saw these chinks. To Betty alone, Jane would reveal glimpses of the little girl who'd played chairs because they were nice to her. Otherwise, she kept this aspect hidden. Now as then, she refused to foist on people what they didn't want. Little by little, and without awareness, she thrust the serious side so far away that she all but stopped believing in it herself. short and snappy . . . She came to be identified with the parts she played — the wise customers, dipped to the ears in glitter, spraying their snappy remarks all over the place, the chicks who knew their onions and wouldn't be caught dead with a line of sentiment. You couldn't blame people for thinking this was Jane. She didn't need writers to put words in her mouth, her own stuff was as good and frequently better. In any gay group, she was the gay center. It was school all over again, it was Jane winning recognition from the crowd, it was lots of fun. If the old restlessness stirred, the vague sense of heartache that couldn't be Is a bustline like this worth fA minutes <V a day? A v0 SCIENTIFIC METHOD QUICKLY, EASILY DEVELOPS A GLAMOROUS BUSTLINE! Doctors will tell you that full, firm breasts are possible only through properly developed pectoral muscles. The Beautibrest Developher, an exclusive push-pull exerciser in beautiful chromium and plastic, together with an illustrated course of doctor-approved instructions, is based on this scientific fact and positively corrects fiat or flabby condition of the breast — the safe, natural way. No dieting, no messy creams, no massaging! Just use the Develop-her 10 minutes a day in the privacy of your own home — and soon, you too, will develop a glamorous, alluring bustline. Order yours today! The Beautibrest Develop her i sold on a MONEY B ACI GUARANTEE. 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