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If a girl's pretty,
that's not bad.
If she's sweet,
that's okay, too.
But where can you find
a girl who has everything?
Gentlemen, look to your left.
BY CONSUELO ANDERSON
Eight-year-old Terry loves his morn because she's a pal — always ready for a bike ride or a ballgame.
Agent Marty Melcher, whom she'll marry in February, says Doris is wholesome.
nen love Doris Day
■ One look, and that'll tell you. Two looks, if you're a wolf. Anyway, it's easy to see why men love Doris Day. If you're a brother, you want her for a sister. If you're a husband, you want her for a wife. If you're crazy, you don't want her.
Bob Hope, on whose show she's been singing these past few years, thinks she's too normal to be true. "There are some girls," Hope says, "who attract only men. They're usually the slinky siren type. There are others who attract only women. Doris attracts both. The girls like her because she's natural, pretty and friendly. The men love her because she's beautifully built, she sings like an angel, and she gives the impression that she'll remain faithful to you forever.''
Mike Curtiz, Warner director who gave Doris her first break in pictures, and who is notorious for his use of the English language, says. "Doris is saxy but in an un-saxy way. Her sax sneaks up on you."
It sneaked up on Marty Melcher and got a strangle-hold. He's going to marry her come February. The plot of their romance could make a movie. . . .
A few years ago, Doris Day married George Weidler, a saxophone player, brother of Virginia Weidler. George was 21, Doris was 23. It was her second marriage. Her first had been to Al Jordan, a musician in Jimmy Dorsey's band. When she was only 18, Doris had given birth to a boy, and' now her mother was looking after him in Cincinnati.
Doris loved George, but their marriage didn't get off to a good start. They had no place to live. The housing shortage seemed to be centered in Hollywood, so the
newlyweds bought a trailer and parked it in a celery field.
Doris didn't mind as long as George didn't. This was life, she thought, and there wasn't much dust in the trailer, and anyway things would get better.
George got a job at CBS, and Doris sang on the Sweeney and March program, and things could be worse. Only not much worse. They began to fight.
Well, one night, Doris was singing in the Little Club in New York (she'd been booked there for a month.) Picture this particular night. . . .
She's crooning a flock of love ballads in that soft, breathless style of hers, and the "spots" light up her golden hair. The audience sits enraptured while Doris sings "This Love of Mine." And her own thoughts are back in that celery field in California, back in that trailer, back with her husband George. ...
The manager comes up and hands her a letter. Doris opens it eagerly. It's from George. She reads the first few lines. She puts the letter down, unbelievingly. But the words jump up at her — "I think it best that we get a divorce." She can't believe it — this boy she loves, he doesn't love her anymore.
Back she went to California. George and Doris talked it out.
"We're still good friends," George said to her. "I don't want to be your friend," she said. "I want to be your wife."
"Our marriage can't last," he said. (Continued on page 81)