Modern Screen (Dec 1949 - Nov 1950)

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The only time Betty weakened enough to make a record with Harry's band she called herself Ruth Haag (Ruth's her middle name, and Haag's Harry's) and warbled "I Can't Begin To Tell You." It was a big hit, the truth leaked out and she's been refusing to cut another ever since. She isn't trying to make enemies, and laziness was never one of her faults. But she knows there are only so many hours in a day. She knows that she can't spread herself around so thin without making her babies and her husband pay the price in happiness. As it is, one of Betty's biggest fears is that her kids won't have enough of her love poured into them. home girl at heart . . . After every movie job, Betty bundles up her babies and sets out on a whirlwind shopping tour which sometimes lasts for days. Reason: they always outgrow their clothes during her long studio stretch— and Mrs. James insists that she pick out every stitch both Vicki and Jessie wear. She buys two of everything, size 8 and size 3, because she dresses her girls alike. Since becoming a mother, Betty has always written out complete instructions for their days. A year or so ago she started reading up on vitamins and family feeding, and decided she'd better do the grocery shopping too. That lasted longer than anyone had a right to expect, and only recently has she given it up as a steady chore. Even now, though, when she's not working she drops in and loads up. She knows her shopping bag onions too, which is a definite improvement. Betty's favorite honeymoon story is about the ,time she tried to cook Harry a dinner. She bought a roast of beef, opened her cook book and read, "first, wash the meat." Betty scrubbed it with soap and water, then popped it into the oven. She knew Harry liked his beef rare so that's how she cooked it. The "beef" turned out to be veal. She didn't know the difference then. How the veal roast tasted— rare and sudsy —is something she doesn't like to recall. But if her training had been on the domestic side she's sure she would have been good, because she likes domestic Life. Betty's love and attention to her family is personalized in spite of her busy life. Last Christmas she had started My Blue Heaven, and was dancing every day. But she insisted on doing all the family Christmas shopping herself at night. "Nobody else is going to pick out my kids' bikes," she explained. Betty likes her daughters to run in and wake her in the morning. And when she's not working she chauffeurs Vicki to and from Miss Buckley's school. On the annual trek south to Del Mar for the racing season (Betty's picture arrangement guarantees her holiday months then) Vicki and Jessie go along, too, to live in the seashore cottage and play on the beach, while Betty and Harry railbird every race at Bing Crosby's nearby track. Sometimes the kids even make it to the race track, but usually their share of the family hobby is out at the Calabasas ranch where Vicki has her own pony now, and both girls claim every new colt. Betty and Harry's horse hobby has grown from two pinto saddle mounts, Bill and Mae, to a ranch, a racing string and the almost exclusive extra interest in their lives. They bought the ranch to keep the horses, they bought more horses to populate the ranch— that's the way it's grown. Today Harry and Betty own thirtyfour hay burners — twenty -eight at the ranch and six at whatever California racetrack is open. They've given each other brood mares for anniversary gifts these past seven years. This spring all seven had blessed events and Betty and Harry were on hand for each even though some of the colts arrived in the dark. After crawling out of the covers at six steadily for five months, the day after Betty finished My Blue Heaven, she got up at five o'clock to drive with Harry down to Hollywood Park and watch their racers work out in the dawn. They were shipping off that day to the Golden Gate track in San Francisco and she just had to tell them goodbye. But the James family's horse-craze and all that goes with it exists neither to swell their bankroll nor to land them in Hollywood's swank horsey set. It exists because at the ranch they're a full family with everybody present every weekend. There, Betty is exactly what she wants to be away from the set. She's the nurse for Vicki and Jessie the cook — even though it's just grilling steaks or hamburgers— and the lady ranch boss in the corral. There aren't any guests, besides an occasional horse trainer or jockey, so nothing of Hollywood has a chance to intrude. By the time Betty and her gang roll back to Beverly Sunday night, tired but refreshed, she's ready to tackle her picture Monday morning with everything she has. The prescription works so well that Harry and Betty once dreamt of living their happy ranch life seven days a week. With that in mind they bought an even larger ranch across the road with two houses on it which they planned to remodel and enlarge into their hacienda. But they realized when they thought it over more seriously, that 20 miles each way is too far for those two careers which tug insistently at both, and besides Vicki and Jessie have the school problem coming up. So the first ranch is up for sale and the Jameses settled for a permanent Beverly Hills home just twenty minutes from Fox Hills. Right now Betty's having the thrill of her life fixing it up. It's the first time since her marriage that she's had that kind of fun. her kind of vacation . . . In all her seven years of married life Betty has never had her own furniture until now. The Jameses have lived in two rented houses and one they owned, but Harry bought that' one completely furnished. They sold it when, as Betty says, "we ran out of rooms." This time she's starting from scratch, without even a scatter rug to build from. Every day of her "vacation" she's been on the job, and alone, because Harry's on tour. By now the house is painted— white on the outside, with dark green trim, and a dozen different Grable-mixed colors on the inside. Betty's personally wrestled with every decoration problem, from the bright chintz draperies to the six boarded up fireplaces she opened. She's found a place for Harry's collection of baseballs and the eleven crates of classic jazz records they've had in storage too long. She's furnished every room with the English country furniture she had made, and annihilated three bees' nests up under the eaves. She's knocked herself out on an extensive labor of love hoping to have it all in apple pie order for that seventh wedding anniversary July 5, which she also hopes