Modern Screen (Dec 1954 - Dec 1955)

unlucky at love "TWENTYFIVE WORDS OR LESS..." by Van Heflin ■I sh ■ I'm a born contestant. Whenever I see a contest that starts off "I like movies because . . ." and the contestant has to tear the top off a neighbor and send it in, along with twenty-five words, I always want to enter. Unfortunately, I'm a cinch to be disqualified since I make my living acting in movies. The judges figure that's reason enough for anyone to like them. But that's not why. I spent a great deal of my childhood being an avid fan of serials. Every single Saturday I went to our local cinema palace and watched the adventures of Scotty And The Scouts and other such educational films. This single-minded devotion made me a movie expert who was absolutely nonpareil on our block. Of course, the other kids were experts, too, but I was better. Now I've got thirty-six movies behind me and number thirty-seven, Patterns, is about to be released. But my movie memories aren't about pictures I've been in. No, mine concern other voices, other plots. The best part of a serial was that you could see the spine-chilling end of last week's episode over again to refresh our little minds. No one ever bothered to tell producers of serials that kids sat in movies until their mothers dragged them out. There was less chance of my forgetting what had, happened the week before than there was of having the hero really run over by the Cannonball Express. Just to be sure, I committed every word to memory. That way, seeing the ends over wasn't a refresher, it was a pleasure. El Brendel was my favorite serial comic. He said things like "Ay bane hongry, Ay eat with yew?" And I can remember one vivid scene from Scotty And The Scouts when an old bi-plane was taking off and Scotty's kidnaped dog was aboard. Scotty, always prepared, raced across the field and leaped onto the tail of the plane. That week I almost went crazy trying to figure what would come of it all. On Saturday I got seven cents together (a little ingenuity and two deposit bottles) and raced to the Drury Lane to see what had happened. Well, you just don't fool with Scotty. He grabbed the tail and was steering the plane and the kidnapers didn't dare shoot him. So, when they ran out of gas, they landed and gave him his dog back. I can't remember how he got home from there but he had tail-steering down pat and probably fooled the dog with the same trick. I'm sorry serials aren't what they used to be. Tim Tyler's Luck and Atlantis, The Lost Continent are no longer seen on the silver screens. Instead they give you Van Heflin playing a vice president and kissing the girl. I'm sorry for all the kids but my children gotta eat, too. (Continued from page 48) Leslie had always glowed and at first marriage increased her aura of happiness. "To be | married," she told reporters ecstatically after her honeymoon, "is the most won \ derful thing for a girl! "My career? What is my career compared to marriage? Geordie is now the ! most important thing in my life. He will | be the father of my children. Oh, we want so many, eight, ten, twelve. Remember I am French, and French women like large families. "Why, if Geordie asked it, I would give up my career. If he says, 'We go to Minnesota,' then we go to Minnesota. Geordie is my husband. I follow his direction." But Geordie's direction led up a blind alley, and Leslie walked straight into tragedy. When misery came, she was un j prepared to meet it. Nothing in her past had taught her what to do when her dreams disappeared, and when she and Geordie lost touch, she was lost, utterly bewildered. So when she and Geordie knew they were through, decided to separate, see other people, Leslie did the only thing she could. She fled. She went home to the only two things she still loved and trusted — France and her career. She re-joined | Roland Petit's Ballets de Paris. Perhaps ' it was just a simple matter of being on the | rebound. Perhaps it was because, the world of domesticity having let her down, she j deliberately chose the least domestic man around. Perhaps it was because life just wasn't complete without a love. Whatever the reason, last year Leslie fell very much in love with Roland Petit. C he had known him for years. It was he & who had given her a start when she was fifteen, a Paris kid who wanted to dance more than anything else in the world. Now he gave her stardom as a ballerina, choreographing a ballet just for her. It was called The Beautiful Widow, and with her hair plastered dramatically about her forehead, Leslie danced it all over the world. She and Petit, who traveled with the show, were together much of the time. Leslie began to smile again. She dated other men, made the columns often, but only with Roland did she look happy, animated. "I want to lead the intense, artistic life," she wrote Geordie, believing it. "I don't know what that is," Geordie said, and filed for divorce. He charged mental cruelty and Leslie did not contest the action. Columnists reported that the divorce did not seem to affect her appetite, nor her excitement over being nominated for an Oscar for Lili. When she failed to win it, when Geordie blamed her for the failure of their marriage, Leslie had someone to turn to. But he was the wrong man. Right from the beginning, her friends knew it was no good. "Yes, Leslie fell in love with Roland," one of them said then. "She admires and respects and maybe hero-worships him. They were together in London, North Africa, New York, Washington, Monte Carlo. But the rub is that Roland Petit is in love with another dancer, Jeanmaire." The friend was right. Only weeks later, Roland Petit married Jeanmaire, and Leslie had lost again. Very few people go through two such experiences and come out sparkling. Leslie couldn't. More and more she withdrew into herself. She, who had always told everyone who would listen of her joys and loves, suddenly refused all interviews, was never available to the press. When her contract called her back to Hollywood, she went with the greatest reluctance. Hollywood