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C OPPORTUNITIES FOR YOU
For rates, I write COMBINED CLASSIFIED V 529 W. Madison, Chicago 6
OF INTEREST TO WOMEN (CW-Morcli '59) FREE WEDDING CATALOG! Everything for the Wedding, Reception I Invitations, Gifts for bridal party. Table decorations. Trousseau items. Unusual, exciting personalized items. Write: Elaine Creations, Box 824, Dept. E307, Chicago 42. BEAUTY DEMONSTRATORS— TO $5.00 hour demonstratinq Famous Hollywood Cosmetics, your neighborhood. For free samples, details, write Studio Girl, Dept. 1993C Glendale, California.
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Christopher, Brookl yn 12, N.Y.
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■ f i ■
lomy,
Will You Be My Valentine?
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Indiana.
HOMEWORKERS: SEW BABYWEAR for stores. Machine u n necessary. Clara, Box 44637-C, Los Angeles 44, California. M A KE MONEY CLIPPING Newspaper Items For Pu blishers! Newscraft CW-983-E. Main, Columbus 5, Ohio. MAKE $25 to $35 weekly mailing envelopes. Our instructions
reveal how. Glenway, Box 6568, Cleveland 1, Ohio.
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craft. Box 62085-C, Los Angeles 62, California.
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Miniature Nurseries, Dept. MH, Gardena, California.
HOMEWORKERS WANTED PAINTING Novelties. No Selling Experience unnecessary. Noveltex Industries, 20-X
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pcpi$60 WEEKLY Preparing Mailing Sparetime, 1815
M evers, Lombard, III. _
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AGENTS & HELP WANTED TEAR OUT THIS Ad, and mail with name, address for big box of home needs and cosmetics for Free Trial, to test in your home Tell your friends, make money. Rush name.
Blair, Dept. 119CD, Lynchburg, Va.
FASHION DEMONSTRATORS— $20-$40 profit evenings. No delivering or collecting. Beeline Style Shows are Party Plan sensationl Samples furnished Free. Beeline Fashions
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60%" PROFIT COSMETICS $25 day up. Hire others. Samples, details Studio Girl-Hollywood, Glendale, Calif., Dept. 1993H.
EDUCATIONAL OPPORTUNITIES
ATTEND BUSINESS SCHOOL At Home! Save time and expense of attending classes. Prepare for secretarial career in tvoing. shorthand, business procedures, bookkeeping. Write for catalog. Wayne School, 2525Sheffield, DeskSJ-1 , Chicago 1 4. COMPLETE HIGH SCHOOL at home in spare time with 62 vear-old school; texts furnished; diploma; no classes; booklet free. Write American School, Dept. X397, Drexel at 58th,
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Chicago 14. .
MUSIC & MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS POEMS WANTED FOR New Songs and Recording. Immediate Consideration. Send Poems Songcrafters, Box 6145,
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U. S. SAVINGS BONDS ARE
DEFENSE BONDS
(Continued from page 31)
story of the Valentines I have known.
My first Valentine — maybe "crush" is a better word — was Liz Taylor. I first saw her in National Velvet and my head started spinning. I was nine or ten years old, and she made such an impact on me I wrote her a fan letter every week. She sent me a big beautiful glossy picture of herself (I still have it) with a personal autograph: For Tommy, Fondly, Elizabeth Taylor. And I went right out and bought a silver frame for it from our Greenwood, Louisiana, dime store. I kept her framed photograph on the ivory mantelpiece in our living room back home, and I remember, after school, I'd go home for a snack, take a long look at her dark hair, her rosepetal complexion and those innocent blue-violet eyes, and I'd go dizzy.
My mom used to say, "Why don't you take the picture upstairs to your room?"
But I'd tell her, "No. I like it here. The living room's the nicest room in our house, and this is where she belongs — with the best!"
Next, I fell in love — crazy kiddish puopy love — with a teacher I had in the fifth grade at Greenwood Grammar, the white wooden country schoolhouse near where I lived. No, the teacher didn't give me all A's. Nor was she as beautiful as Liz. She was short, darkhaired, and with a dimple in her left cheek when she smiled. But she was understanding. She gave me confidence. This was when I realized how important girls — or women — are to fellows, how they help us. Lots of mornings my teacher'd ask me to have lunch with her, and she'd give me one of her peanutbutter-and-jelly sandwiches, and we'd talk about my ambitions and what I wanted to be when I grew up. I already owned a guitar then. My mother gave me one for my birthday when I was nine years old. I used to tell my teacher during lunchtime how much I loved singing. And she'd constantly remind me how important it was to practice in order to be a professional.
She gave me courage
I'll never forget one winter's day when she came to me after school and said, "Tommy, I've got a surprise for you."
She told me she'd arranged for me to sing at the Christmas school assembly. I know I should have shouted with happiness. But I didn't. I was scared. Oh, I had sung a couple of times on the radio, but when you sing into a microphone in a studio room it's different. There aren't very many people around — just a few technicians, that's all. But singing in front of a big school audience — ? Don't get me wrong. I wanted to sing at the assembly. It's just that I was afraid I wouldn't be good.
She helped me plan the program of what I should sing. And every day after school she listened to me practicing. She'd give me suggestions, ideas about the way I should sing the songs. When Christmas week came and the day of the big assembly arrived, butterflies were playing tag in my stomach and I wanted to back out at the last minute. But she said, "Tommy, you'll never be a singer if you don't learn to control your stage fright now."
Finally, when the hour of the assembly came and I waited backstage while all the kids marched into the auditorium, I began to get excited. When the principal of the school announced me and I walked on stage with my guitar and began singing, somehow I forgot everything — the
awful stage fright and fluttery butterflies.
I sang a couple of Christmas carols and some folk songs, and when I finished there was dead silence in the school auditorium. I went limp. I started to walk offstage, and then, suddenly, out of the silence, a roar of applause began thundering, breaking the stillness. The kids clapped and clapped, yelling "More, more!" This was the first time in my life I'd ever taken a public bow. I didn't know what I should do, so I ran offstage, happy but bewildered and almost on the verge of tears.
A guy never forgets
But there she was, my teacher, waiting in the grey-curtained wings. I reached out and hugged her. I couldn't help it. Without her I would never have done it. She boosted my spirits. She had an interest in seeing me develop. She believed in me — and a guy never forgets this.
For the rest of that school year I hung around her like a puppy dog. On the last day of school when we had parties in all the classrooms, I kissed her on the cheek and I cried. We were moving to Chicago. I told her the news and she smiled and told me the biggest lesson all of us had to learn was to get along by ourselves in this world wherever we went. We need people to help us, yes, but whether I was in Chicago or Greenwood didn't matter. What mattered, she said, was that Tommy Sands believed in Tommy Sands enough to stand up for Tommy Sands. I've never forgotten what she told me. This is why I've been able to travel so much, to make hundreds of personal appearances with disc jockeys every year and still stay in a good humor. I always remember her words.
Then the real love trouble started. Until that time, love was a spiral of spunglass, reflecting the gold of the sun and the silver of the moon. Well, we moved to Chicago, then to the oilman's world of Houston, Texas, where my mother got a job as a salesclerk in Foley's Department Store. I started junior high and flipped for the daughter of an oil millionaire.
She was pretty. She was a blonde with deep blue eyes, the kind that seem to look right through you. I don't know why she liked me. I was poor and hung around with the rough guys, the fellows who loafed in the poolroom parlors where we smoked cigarettes or played cards or just stood outside the pool hall, checking all the gals who'd pass by.
I liked her because she was different. Her first initial is S. I'm embarrassed to give you her real name — it wouldn't be fair to her; so let's call her Sandy. Sandy flirted with me at school. But even though I hung around with the rough guys, I was shy. I didn't have the nerve to go up to her and introduce myself. So I asked a buddy of mine, a halfback on the school's football team, to fix me up with a date.
Funny thing is he told me she asked him the same thing.
She made up my mind
We met, and I took Sandy out for Cokes, and we sat in the drug store twisting soda straws and talking about silly things like the biggest bubbles we ever blew with bubble gum. She told me her father bought her a brand new record player, a fancy hi-fi set, for her birthday, and why didn't I come over some night to listen to it?
One October night I went over to her