Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

IF youre STOUT Free style book painful that is. Well, all the time she had it we never heard her holler once. We used to have to take her for treatments, and carry her from the house to the car. I used to help carry her. I used to see the expression of pain on her face. But never once did I ever hear her moan or say anything about her pain. "Anyway, after she died, I didn't care if I ever sang or played the guitar again. "But then, one day, I had a talk with a relative of ours, someone who saw what was goin' on with me. "And he said, 'No sense givin' up your music, Billy. First of all, you won't be cheatin' nobody but yourself. And second, your ma — if she was here to tell you — she'd tell you that she didn't like this nohow, you givin' up what's always been the most important thing to you.' "And so, after a while, I picked up my guitar again and I re-started my singin'. "And all the ambition for music that had been in me came back to me again. . . . "It was at about this time that I met you, May. "I was sixteen years old the first time I saw you, over at the recreation center in Greensboro, remember, May? I had just been in the pool for a swim and you were walkin' around near the pool, and let me tell you, you were the prettiest li'l girl I had ever, ever seen. "Now, I'd never been known to be a bold type when it came to girls. But when I saw you that first time, I just slid myself up out of that pool and I went up to you and introduced myself and asked you the first thing that came to my mind — if I could buy you a soda. "You were very shy then, as you still are today, and it took a lot of talkin' on my part to convince you that this was all on the up-and-up. "But I did it, someways. "And we had our soda. "And we started goin' out together. "And, after a while, we realized that we were in love, and so we decided to get married. "The date of our marriage was June 22, 1957. We were both seventeen years old. We eloped to South Carolina for the marriage— with our parents' consent, but with nobody else knowing about it — because there were too many people, we knew, who would have criticized us and told us we were too young, too immature. "But we didn't really care what anybody was sayin'. We just knew we loved each other. And we figured that, even if we were a little on the young side, it was a good thing for two people in love to grow up with each other. "From the day we were married, May, you stuck with me in my ambition to become a singer. "You never minded when I sat myself in a corner and practiced. When I came home late, way after suppertime, from an audition someplace . . . You didn't even mind when I gave up my job at Lorillard so I could study and be able to audition even more. "And May, you know, the dreams started coming true last New Year's Eve, when I sang for the first time at Mr. Fred Koury's Plantation Club in Greensboro. "After that one show, Mr. Koury hired me and became my manager. "Through him, the big record people from New York City came down to hear me. And, finally, one day not too long ago the Columbia people signed me up to cut my first record — Don't Destroy Me — and to go on tour. "May, it was one of the happiest moments of my whole life. . . ." Except, he thought as he lay here now, on the narrow bed in the darkened hotel room, this night, a week after the tour had begun — except that he was alone, and May SAVE MONEY on the latest style dresses, coats, Sizes 38 to 60, proportioned by experts to. fit your full figure gracefully. All at low prices. Mail coupon for Free 110-page Style Book. Uailt 'NDIANAPOUS 7, •J INDIANA LANE BRYANT, lirpartment 15 Indianapolis 7, Indiana Pleat-e rush VKKI-; style Book lor Stout Women. was not with him. Was it right . . . this way? Crash wondered. Was it fair to the girl who loved him, and whom he loved — to make her wait behind while he went off and made his bid for success? Was it worth the maybe of that house they'd talked about, of that money in the bank, of that honeymoon they'd never had — if May, his wife, couldn't be with him, here, now, right now? "No," he thought aloud. "And tomorrow , first thing, I'm goin' to phone and say I'm comin' back . . . back home." The knock on the door awakened Crash. He got out of bed, groggily, and opened the door. "Good morning, Mr. Craddock," said a bellhop, standing there. "Letter for you." Crash could see immediately, from the handwriting on the envelope, that it was from May. . . . It was the first letter Crash had gotten from May since he'd left home the week before. And it was a long letter. She wrote how she had been visiting relatives most nights — both his and hers; and she told about which nephew and niece had just gotten over a cold, which ones were just getting one . . . who had said what, done what. And then, towards the end of the letter, she wrote this: I miss you. as you must know. And I am lonely for you. As I know you must be for me. But, as I have figured it since that night last week when you left, this being separated is a sacrifice we have both got to make in order that all the years we've got ahead of us can possibly be even happier than the two happy years we have had already. It is easier for me to make this sacrifice than it is for you. I am here, in our home, with all our memories around me, so close. You, on the other hand, are far away. It must be very difficult for you. There are times you must want to give it all up and come home, I know. But, darling, when those times come — just remember this: We miss each other, yes — but I know that it takes a lot of time and a lot of courage to try to get where you've always wanted to go. And the fact that you've always tried and that you're, trying so hard now, makes me the proudest wife in the whole world. . . ." Crash read this portion of May's letter, over and over again. Till the phone beside him rang, and he picked up the receiver. It was his press-agent, calling from a room down the hall. "Ready for some breakfast? . . . Gotta eat and then get ready to make that plane for Chicago ... Be ready soon?" Crash looked down at May's letter now. Then he smiled, and nodded. "I'll be with you in twenty minutes," he said. . . . end