Modern Screen (Dec 1954 - Dec 1955)

On her Neiv York junket, Sheree North found it ivasnt always easy to . . . MEET THE PRESS S nv^«^RS !1TH VERY, It 82 ■ Sheree North won't quickly forget her trip to New York to publicize How To Be Very, Very Popular. In Sheree's words it was, "Crazy, just crazy." "I should have been warned what to expect when they asked me to wear zebra-striped pajamas when I got off the plane in New York," she said. "I refused. They insisted. I said I was a star, stamped my foot and shouted no. Luckily for me the pajamas were three sizes too small. "The third day I was taken to the middle of the ocean and 'rescued' from a life raft by the Coast Guard. I was so seasick I burned up myself and everybody else setting off flares. "An editor wanted a shot of the skyline from the thirty-fifth floor of a building with me in a bathing suit. When I recovered from my faint I was told the pictures turned out fine. "The publicity department sent me to the Barbizon School of Models to teach the girl how to walk on Fifth Avenue with a Siamese Cat on a leash ; they appointed me Queen of the Rock 'n' Roll and then sent me to a beauty contest at Coney Island, not as a judge but to pick contestants; then when I truly got sick from the heat everyone called it a cheap publicity stunt. "But, the capper came when they wanted me to pose in a theatre lobby in front of Marilyn Monroe's Seven Year Itch poster. There was a fan down low to blow my skirts up like Marilyn's. That was one picture I refused to pose for. "The next day I went to a party in Connecticut and Marilyn's friends, the Milton Greenes, were there. When I walked in they walked out. I guess a gal just can't win!" by Joe Hyams high road to happiness (Continued from page 46) love and faith, fostered both at home and in the Catholic school she attended. It was therefore a happy childhood, despite hardship. Their father had left home while the girls were little. Ann barely remembers him. Mrs. Blyth worked as a laundress, as a hair stylist, at whatever she could find. "She had beautiful, talented hands," her daughter recalls. She managed so Dorothy could take violin and piano lessons — so that Ann, who'd sung and danced joyously from babyhood, could go to the Ned Wayburn School for training. "I think she hoped something would come of it, because she felt in her bones this was work I'd enjoy. And how right she was!" Something came of it when the little girl was five. Through a friend, Mrs. Blyth heard that NBC was auditioning children for Madge Tucker's Sunday Show. "Let's go over and see if they'll listen to you sing." As Ann talks about it, the memories come clear — how she had to mount a big box to reach the mike, how she sang "Lazybones," how they stood outside anxiously awaiting the verdict, how the man appeared smiling and said, "We'd like to have you on our program." They kept her on it for seven years. Milton Cross was the announcer. Every time she hears his voice nowadays, she's back there for a moment. For ann these were sunlit years. She had her mother. She had her Aunt Cis and Uncle Pat, like second parents. Each summer the family went to their Connecticut farm, away from the hot city, where she could romp as she pleased. By the time she graduated from the grammar grades, her plans had taken serious shape. Along with the Sunday Show, she was working on Miss Tucker's Saturday program which produced little plays. She wanted to be an actress. So it seemed advisable to transfer to the Professional Children's School, where they were just as strict about your lessons but gave you time off when a job came along. There Herman Shumlin, casting for Watch On The Rhine, found the darkhaired twelve-year-old with the blue eyes. On opening night she wasn't scared a bit. Not after all the rehearsals and try-outs, when Paul Lukas and Mady Christian — whose daughter Babette she played — and everyone else had been so wonderfully kind. It was simply the most exciting night of her life. With telegrams and adorable little corsages delivered backstage, so she felt like a real actress. With the warmth of the audience flooding across the footlights, so they knew they had a hit. With a midnight supper among family and friends at a small restaurant off Broadway, and by the time supper was over, the papers were out. Ann read them and wept. She won't tell you, but the papers will, that Babette reaped a goodly share of the raves. "It meant so much for so many reasons," she explains. "It meant that for the first time in years my mother wouldn't have to work so hard." The play ran for eleven months on Broadway, and on tour for a year. Henry Koster, then with U-I, saw it in New York and again in Los Angeles. "The child," he said, "is as enchanting as I remember her. I want a test." To the Biltmore Theatre came a phone call from Mr. Koster, followed by a visit from the casting director. He told Ann she could choose her own scene for the test. At the studio a few days later, she did one of her favorites—the scene from Peg O' My Heart in which Peg leaves her father. The powers-that-be seemed pleased. But Ann, not yet fourteen, was well trained in self discipline and control. "What looks good ' to the eyes," she commented sagely, "sometimes doesn't come off at all on the screen." Refusing to set her hopes too high, she returned to work and to the paycheck envelopes that turned up in the mail regularly with her school assignments. The tour took them to San Francisco, where U-l" called them. "We're sending a contract for your signature, to take effect as soon as the play closes." How did she feel? "I guess everyone dreams about being in pictures. I was no different. I loved the stage. But children's parts, especially good ones, don't come along too often, and pictures promised at least the chance of a steady income. So Mommy and I said some prayers and signed the contract. Once it was signed, we felt everything would work out for the best." Ft was a wrench to leave Aunt Cis, Uncle -* Pat and all their friends for a wondrous place called California where they didn't know a soul. They continued to miss the family. That never changed. Bu': new friends certainly helped. There was Donald O'Connor, with whom she made her first picture, Chip Off The Old Block — Donald the pro who gave her so many tips and such moral support. The sneak preview was shown way out in Glendale. It took forever to get there by streetcar and bus. Ann sat low in her seat and pulled on a handkerchief. Mommy liked it. "She probably realized I had a lot to learn, but there for the first time i Inspired by the success of Davy Crockett, George Jessel is writing one about "Ca-rrie, Carrie Nation, who knocked all the barrooms down." The middle part goes: "She worked on all the boys, and then on their pops — who wanted to drink up a bottle of schnapps" . . . Jessel plans to make the recording himself and is optimistic. "They'll buy a million copies," he insisted. "It'll be a 59c recording, which will be made of salami." Leonard Lyons in The New York Post on the screen was her daughter. Herdaughter made little impression on any-j! one else. Nobody recognized me outside.ji Nobody asked me for an autograph." Another early friend was Al Rockett, the trusted agent who guided her career from the start. He realized that, along with her' sweetness, she had fire and spirit. In short, he believed in her as an actress and kept his eyes open for a chance to prove! it. The chance came with Mildred Pierced the Joan Crawford starrer at Warnersi "The part of the daughter is open," said Al. "She's a bad character, and one of the£ juiciest roles I've ever read. U-I will lend] you. Whether Warners would take you is another story. It stands to reason they'd, rather use someone under contract. But, I'll do my best to talk them into a test.', Mildred Pierce won her an Oscar nomination and a prominent spot on the Hollywood map. All horizons looked rosy. She started a second picture on loanout tc Warners, called, curiously enough, Dangex Signal. But Ann wasn't superstitious ther and isn't now. Any link between the title and what followed was coincidental. Some close friends had come visiting from the east. Though it was April anq' past the heavy-snow season, they decidec to go to Arrowhead for the week end. Once in the mountains, they found a plac^ called Snow Valley which showed enougl snow to promise some fun. They rente*