Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

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The first thing she did was consult Mary Wills, chief designer at the Goldwyn Studios, for a gown. "It's up to you," she told Mary. "And please, make it gorgeous. . . ." You wouldn't believe it to look at her, but Joan has a problem with her figure. She still fights "baby fat" with diet and exercise. She's even too short, by modern standards — a little under five-feet-four. "We'll give you a long line," said Mary, "so it won't cut you in two at the waist." But it was more than knowing the trick of proper line that went into the making of that "low-cut, red dress." Mary Wills is a creative artist. She thought of Joan as a flower, a young girl about to bloom, and she said that Joan reminded her of a rose. So she selected a light red taffeta and cut the skirt like enormous petals. The bodice grew into petals over — but standing away from — the shoulders. When it was finished Mary Wills asked Mrs. Samuel Goldwyn to come see Joan in it. Mrs. Goldwyn is a woman of impeccable taste. Look at the way she dresses and you'll agree. Mrs. Goldwyn was enchanted. Joan's parents were, too. As every honest teen-ager will admit, when you go to the senior prom — or the Academy Awards presentation — the dress comes first. The fellow who takes you is, really, secondary. He'll do so long as he is fun and nice. Well, Carleton Carpenter had asked Joan to go with him to the Awards. Carleton is that wonderful kid from Lost Boundaries, and The Tender Years. It was the first time either one of them had attended a presentation. And neither one had been nominated for anything. Carp said, boyishly, "This year we'll be able to enjoy the Academy Awards, but next year, why we'll be too nervous. That's how you are when you're up for an award." For a long time Joan and Carp had kidded each other about which one had his picture in the paper more often. It happened that on the afternoon of the Academy presentation Joan's hair had been put back to its original color. When she'd made Roseanna McCoy and Our Very Own her hair was lightened to a reddish gold. Now she'd let it turn black again. minor tragedies . . . As a result, when she and Carp stepped out of the car no one recognized her and over the loud-speaker came the words, "Carleton Carpenter now arriving." Carp gloated and Joan pretended to be furious. When, weeks later, the radio commentator declared that Joan had her face covered with makeup I wondered if he and I saw the same girl. At the Academy Awards presentation Joan wore lipstick and eyebrow pencil — that's all in the makeup line. And about the way she acted. I saw how she greeted people — the photographers who were recording the event, her friends in the audience. She was a charming girl, excited because she was part of her town's biggest night. The evening was not without mishap — as what senior prom or Academy Awards presentation ever is? Carp is a long, lanky kid; his toes turn in, and he has the biggest feet this side of the Mississippi. In getting out of the car he stepped on Joan's dress and the loosely-tacked petals came away from the taffeta underskirt. Joan managed to hold the dress together. She had borrowed her mother's pearls and the last words her mother had said to her when she left the house were, "If you lose my pearls, young lady, I'll never let you borrow anything of mine again." As she held up her skirt, the pearls suddenly came unfastened and there was a mad scramble to find them. When they were seated in the theater at last, Joan raised her arm to wave at her friend Ann Blyth, and the two stitches that held the shoulder petals gave way, so Joan had to complete the evening wearing her coat. When Joan and Carp got home thev were bursting with excitement. "I cried" Joan said. "Every time anybody got an Award I was so happy. If I ever get an Oscar 1 11 be crying so hard I'll never be able to get up to the platform." But the memorable evening had the edge of happmess taken off it by the snide criticism of the commentator who thought Joan s parents should be warned that her dress, her makeup and her behavior were unbecoming. she's always wrong . . . So what is a teen-ager to do? For believe me, if Joan had appeared at the Academy in a girly-girly organdie and her hair in pigtails she would have been criticized, too. Now the reason I'm going into all this m such detail is because when I sat with u°^n^as ,she listensd to that broadcast I had the beginning of what I believe is a swell idea for a monthly teen-age feature in Modern Screen. It would deal, for instance, with important problems like dating. How should a girl conduct herself on dates, how often should she go out, when should she be in"> To get a clearer picture of this I asked Joan all about her social life and I unearthed a rather startling fact that might amaze the commentator who criticized Joans behavior. There are five kids, including Joan, all somehow connected with the industry— who have gone out a lot together. One Saturday they drove to Apple Valley for lunch. On the way they talked— as always— about movies particularly about the re-release of Wizard of Oz. Joan said, "I love every one of the thirteen Oz books. When I was a little kid I read them over and over again." She got a big response. The other four had been brought up on the Oz books too, but had not read them for years It was then that the "Oz Society" was founded— a very exclusive society of five. So now once a week, the five get together in one of their homes and take turns reading aloud from those delightful children s books. Saturday night is glamour night. Then Joan goes, occasionally, to a night club. Sometimes it's a foursome with her parents and sometimes it's four or six kids. But Joan doesn't go to joints. And then there are the movies— movies movies. All the kids Joan knows are ardent movie fans. They see films both for business and pleasure — but they go to early shows because they have to get to bed early on week nights. So much for the movement of Joan'« social life. I dug deeper. I asked her for the emotional side of the picture. "I've had crushes— two or three," Joan said "what girl hasn't? And I go out with a lot of different boys and I've heard a lot of different lines." "How can you tell a line' from the real thing?" I asked. "Oh, you can tell," Joan said. "For example, a boy hurt me a lot not very long ago. He said I had a protective wall built up around me, that I didn't really care about anybody, that I was cold and only interested in other people for what