Modern Screen (Feb-Dec 1958)

A burial at sea ■ Alan Ladd will be the first to tell you there's no telling what that boy of his, David, is liable to come up with. Like that very morning. Alan and Sue — Mrs. Alan Ladd — had been fast asleep when all of a sudden they'd been awakened by a noise. It was a continuing noise, coming from down the hall and there could be no question after a few minutes that it was water being flushed, over and over again. "Is that coming from David's bathroom?" Alan had asked. "I think so," Sue had answered, groggily but at the same time wondering, too. "Hope he's not sick," Alan had said. "You'd better go see." Alan got out of bed, grabbed a bathrobe and made his way down the hall. "David?" he'd called out just outside the closed bathroom door. "Yes, Daddy?" the clear ten-year-old voice had called back. Alan had opened the door. And then he'd seen David, in his pajamas, kneeling on the floor, his face all serious and kind of sad, his hand reached over to the flush, flushing away for all he was worth. Alan was relieved to see that the boy wasn't sick. But. . . . "I don't like to pry," he started to say. "Oh, that's all right, Daddy," David had said. "It's a funeral. I hope it didn't wake you up." "Funeral?" Alan asked. "The fish you and Mommy gave me," David had said. "When I woke up this morning I went to feed them and they were dead. So I'm just burying them here — " he pointed with his free hand " — and now I'm saying a prayer for them and saying good-bye. I thought they would would like to be buried in water instead of in the back yard." Alan had nodded, said, "Oh, I see," and then went back to the bedroom, very quickly and very quietly. And he thought, no telling what that boy of his is liable to come up with next. . . . Alan will soon be seen in U.A's The Man in The Net the night I almost got killed (Continued from page 49) and my mother was against it. No, not against the girl — she was a wonderful person and my mother liked her very much. But this was a couple of years ago, and Mom thought we were too young to be so serious. Her mother thought so too. "So finally I had to give in and agree not to see the girl — at least not so often. But this was very hard to do. "And one night I missed my girlfriend so much I just had to see her. We made a date for a movie. She told her mother, but I figured I'd better not tell mine. I figured I'd avoid a lot of trouble if I just said I had a rehearsal on. . . ." How it all began The evening started out pleasantly enough, this date Tommy had with the girl whose initials were M. H. He didn't want to have her name revealed in print because she may be married by now, and her husband might not believe the story any more than her mother did when Tommy tried to explain the bloodstains on her dress. . . . They had gone to a show and stopped for a hamburger and milkshake at a drivein. About ten -thirty they headed for her home. Two miles from their destination, they had to stop at a traffic light. While Tommy waited for it to turn green, a car bumped into his, from behind. They were shaken up a little but Tommy felt sure his rear bumper must have absorbed the shock and prevented any damage. He stayed in the car. The light was still red. When he looked back into the rearview mirror, however, he saw the other car pull back a few feet, and then jam right into him again. Obviously this time it was intentional! Boiling mad, Tommy threw open his car door, jumped out, and squeezed through the narrow space between his car and another one parked to the left of him, heading for whoever hit him. He'd taken less than three steps when he was hit over the head with a blunt instrument. His vision blurred for a moment as he went down. But he quickly managed to get up and fight back at his assailant — when a second fellow attacked him from the other side. Two men must have jumped out of each side of the car, simultaneously. . . . Now they fought him together. Tommy shouted for help but the driver parked next to him pushed down on the accelerator. He didn't want to get involved. M.H., ignoring the danger to herself, was out of the car now. Gripping her purse tightly she swung it with all her strength. The contents — lipstick, compact, keys and other paraphernalia — made the purse into a powerful weapon. The fellow who was hit cried out in pain and then shoved her back against the car. She kept on fighting while he pushed her back. Meanwhile Tommy took the worst beating of his life. The instant one man relaxed or turned his attentions to M.H., the other would pounce on him again. Although they were older, taller, and obviously a lot stronger, he had one advantage in his favor. When he was a boy in Chicago, his father, Benny Sands, had befriended a lot of fighters who lived in the same hotel where he and his family stayed. One of them, an ex-heavyweight contender had taken Tommy under his wing and had shown him some pretty good punches. But he'd only taught him how to fight clean. When the fight got dirty, Tommy was unprepared. Finding themselves in more trouble beating up Tommy than either of them had anticipated, the taller one pulled a knife. Tommy saw it coming at him and ducked, but not fast enough. The blade cut his face, near his mouth. Tommy got up and charged the fellow who was turning toward M.H. again. He grabbed his shoulder, tossed him around and hit him in the face. He thought he heard something break. It could have been the other man's nose. . . . Again Tommy felt another sharp pain in his shoulder. He didn't know what caused it as he turned, swinging his right fist. Tommy passes out It never reached its mark. The first man had hit him across the neck . . . Tommy went down. He doesn't remember much of what happened after that. He felt pains; he couldn't see; noises seemed faint and far away. The beating and kicking didn't stop. He was sure he was dying. . . . And then it was very quiet. He had lost consciousness. Hours seemed to have passed by before he came to again. Actually it was just a few minutes later. M. H. was leaning over him, crying hysterically, wiping blood from his face. Tommy no more knew why the fellows had suddenly left than why they had attacked him in the first place. He thought he smelled liquor on their breaths which might have explained their insensible behavior. But he was not sure. He was too weak even to lift his arms. It took all M.H.'s support to help him back into the car. "Can you drive?" he asked her hoarsely. She shook her head. "No. I can't. I'm sorry . . . Oh, Tommy, I'm so sorry. . . ." Gently she closed the door on his side, walked around the car and climbed in next to him. Tommy turned the ignition key. His arm hurt, but it wasn't broken. Blood was still gushing down his face, over his new suit, the upholstery, and clung to his hands, her hands, her dress. "What are we going to do?" M.H. asked desperately. The motor was running, but Tommy couldn't think straight. He didn't know what to do. "Maybe you'd better see a doctor," she whimpered. Tommy pulled away from the curb. A block away they saw a girl crossing the street. Tommy stopped next to her to ask for a doctor. When she got a look at his face, she let out a scream, and ran off. The next pedestrian, a man in his fifties carrying a newspaper under his arm, was more helpful. He told him how to get to the emergency hospital, a mile away. The doctor took eight stitches near his mouth and four on his head. Tommy was bruised all over, but there were no broken bones. Groggy and weak, Tommy left the emergency hospital an hour later, leaning heavily on M.H. If he thought his troubles were over, he was wrong. They had only started. . . . What her mother thought M.H.'s mother let out a shriek the minute she saw her blood-spattered daughter. For a moment Tommy thought he was going to get beaten up all over again, and at this stage he couldn't have defended himself against a five-year-old. "What did you do to my daughter?" she screeched. "You monster . . . you terrible boy ... I never wanted her to go out with you. . . ."