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mantic item. But they have managed to re-establish a friendly relationship in spite of what has happened, or maybe because of ft And even if Nan's closest friends don't understand, she does — and that's what counts for Troy.
Still, he's embarrassed about the incident. "This sort of thing never happened to me before, and I hope it never will again," he insists. "I'd much rather be jilted by a girl than appear to be the
one responsible for something like this."
So these are the two faces of Troy. So different, yet so inter-related that one could not be without the other. Whether one likes or dislikes him for what he is, whether one agrees or disagrees with the way he manages himself, and others, one has to admit there's nothing wishy-washy about him.
Thank heavens — Hollywood has found a man again. A real man! END
the day Dinah was almost SHOT
It happened in France, during World War II. just a few hundred yards from the enemy lines. But the biggest threat that day was not the German guns. . . .
Dinah Shore was entertaining our servicemen on an improvised stage in an open field. More than 6.000 GI's were crowded around that afternoon — sitting, squatting, lying on the grass.
Once Dinah had sung a couple of numbers she asked for requests. After she finished the fourth or fifth, a GI, tall, rugged-looking and obviously unsteady-on-his-feet. got up and shouted, "Sing Paper Doll!"
It was a man's song. Dinah knew her presentation just wouldn't be what it should be. But there was no time for explanations. "I can't sing that one." she hollered back.
The GI, weaving unsteadily, tore his .45 automatic out of his holster and released the safety. At first the other GI's. and Dinah, thought he was kidding. After a few weeks in the line, combat soldiers are apt to have peculiar ways of having fun. "Paper Doll!" he yelled again.
"I can't sing it!" Dinah called back over the heads of several hundred men.
When the drunken GI started to push his way through the crowd toward the stage, everyone quickly realized that this was no joke. They also knew better than to argue with a guy who was intoxicated and wildly swinging a loaded gun. Nobody dared touch him. . . .
When he reached the podium, he stared up at Dinah, his eyes blood-shot, his voice hoarse, his right hand still gripping the gun — which was now pointing straight at Dinah's heart.
"I ask you for the last time — are you or ain't you goin' to sing that song?"
Dinah's legs grew weak, but if she lost her composure, she didn't show it. "I guess I'll have to.'" she smiled. Then she gently took the soldier's hand and helped him on stage. She put her arm around his waist, and led him to the microphone. His right hand was still gripping bis gun.
"All right'?"' she asked quietly.
"Just sing!" he demanded.
Dinah nodded to her accompanist and began to sing — softly at first, then louder and louder till a wave of applause rose from the audience who knew she was singing to save her life.
Dinah was half-way through, when two MP's carefully sneaked up behind the GI. One got a tight grip on him and the other twisted his arm till the automatic dropped to the floor.
Dinah had tears in her eyes when she watched him walk down the podium steps between the MP's, looking more bewildered than dangerous. Then she turned back to the audience, and asked. "All right boys, what's next?"'
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