Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

secret son. Well, if these past twelve years of not exposing the boy makes him 'hidden,' I guess people are right. But I think by now you know and understand Doris' reasons for doing what she did. "At any rate, let's bring the record up to date. "Where is Terry, you ask. "What does he look like? "What kind of boy is he? "First, he lives with his mother and step-father (Marty Melcher), whom Doris married in 1951), in a house at 713 North Crescent Drive. A pretty, not terribly big house — off the street, so to speak. And in Beverly Hills . . . This, I think, is significant . . . Normally a star of Doris' stature lives not 'in town,' nor 'off the street,' but up in a secluded Bel-Air mansion or over in the Pacific Palisades. Doris, however, has always wanted her son to attend a public high school, as he has wanted. And it happens that the best high school in the area is in Beverly Hills. So that's where they live . . . About school, by the way, Terry's a senior now, and he graduates in June. He's a good student, not outstanding, but good. More than that, he's a very well-liked boy and (Continued from page 37) dangerously, and she lives the same way. "I'm the kind of girl who frightens people," she says frankly. "Because if I love someone I come right out and say, 'I love you.' Young men," Judi sighs, "can't understand this. They're not used to someone completely giving herself. They have to play a game. I hate games." When the games have ended for Judi's men, she's blown the whistle, sharply and firmly. Troy Donahue's game ended when he got too rough, Wendell's when he left town, Barry's when he strayed. Judi blotted them out of her mind with no regrets. "When something's over and done, I forget it," she says. But it's not always vice versa. Once in love with Judi, some people stay hooked. There's a man in New York right now, for instance, who loved Judi in Hollywood and lost. He still writes her letters, tears them up and then can't help sending them anyway. "Try as hard as I may," he penned miserably the other day, "the joker just won't come out. That girl Judi was one hell of a real, feeling girl and I certainly was in love with her!" Judi caught a brief pang when she read that. But she doesn't let sentiment stall her. She's too lusty for life and what comes up next in it. "And I never know what I'm going to do next," she admits. "All I know is I can't stand anything dull. If it's dull I do something different." She'll do . . . If Judi Meredith isn't a woman, she'll do until one comes along. Twenty-three and ripe as an August peach, Judi has the 3522-35 figure of a junior Venus, a lovely full lipped mouth, dimples and a mass of titian hair that tumbles sexily across her eyes and pert, pointed nose. But she thinks and often acts like a man. Could be that's why most men can't resist the combination. In whatever she does Judi Meredith is as direct as a bullet, straight as a string. Anyone looking for feminine tricks in Judi is just out to lunch. "I don't ever want to get to the point where I screen everything 68 I do before I do it," she scoffs. "Life's too there's strong talk among his classmates that he'll be voted Most Popular come June. Whatever the outcome, it's going to be close. "His looks? He looks a lot like his Mom— fair skin, the freckles all over the place, the sparkling blue eyes. He looks like a slightly over-aged version of The Barefoot Boy. Girls think he's cute. I think— Terry forgive me — that he's adorable. Five years from now, when he's really matured, I think he'll be downright handsome. "As for what he's like — he's normal. "He likes to laugh; he breaks up over a good joke, a medium one, even some bad ones. "He likes to eat — hamburgers, garlic salami and lemon meringue pie, these are his favorites. "He likes his mother, to put it mildly. "He likes his stepfather, respects him tremendously. "He likes to go out on dates Saturday nights with some of the girls from school — and sometimes get home a little later than Doris likes. (But boy, can he get around her!) "He likes to fiddle around in the cellar short. Maybe I'm uncompromising. But I don't expect anything of anyone that I don't expect of myself." She can be soft as a kitten or terrible as a tiger. In her career, Judi plays it just as gutsy. She had a nice co-starring contract with Hotel de Paree. for instance, but not costarring parts. A while ago she chopped it off, along with $1000 a week. "I don't like glorified walk-ons," she explained. On the other hand, last winter Judi wallowed two straight days in a freezing pond for some Riverboat scenes when she was burning up v/ith Asian flu. Next day she was in the hospital with pneumonia. "Judi doesn't take benzedrine — benzedrine takes Judi," cracks her stand-in chum. Nan Morris, another way of saying that not since the hey-hey days of Lana Turner and Ava Gardner has such a charged-up charmer kept Hollywood jumping alternately with jitters and joy. Judi has no intention of changing. "People tell me," she says, " 'being around you is like being around six girls.' I feel the same way. And that's the way I want to feel." Judi wanted to long before she tackled the movies, almost on a dare, when she was eighteen. Family tree In fact, Judi Meredith has been as full of beans as a Boston belle ever since she was born, October 13, 1937, although the place was Portland, Oregon. Get-up and go just naturally runs in Judi's blood: Her grandmother was a White Russian named Von Kinski, who beat the Bolsheviks to the border in the bloody Revolution of 1918. Then she married a hi-balling French-Canadian lumberman named Frank Boutin, who rambled on to Oregon and wound up the richest man in the state. Judi Meredith's real tag is Judith Claire Boutin. So she's Russian-French with some English from her mom, Janice Starr, also a streak of talent. Two concert pianists roost in the Starr family tree. After Grandpa Boutin died, there was quite a family fortune, "until," Judi sighs, "his kids got hold of it." Nonetheless, nobody played benefits for the Boutins around Portland. Judi's dad, Herbert, workshop, alone, or with Marty. "To work, in general— when he was ten or eleven, I remember, he had a paper route. The last few summers he's taken a job as office boy with the Rogers and Cowan publicity people. "To drive his car. "To ride his bike. "To sit and talk with other fellows about their futures — college, the Army, careers, girls. "To dress up once in a while, go sloppy the rest of the time. "To watch TV — westerns, newscasts. "To go to drive-ins. "To hike. "Swim. "Dance — he's pretty good. "Sing — he's pretty bad. "Read. "And so on. and so on. . . . "Doris is very proud of her boy," the friend goes on, "the way he's grown up. "And those of us who've known Doris these past twelve years . . . we're very proud of her!" end Doris stars in Please Don't Eat The Daisies, MGM. operated successfully as a businessman -investor and owned the Mobilift Corporation. Although Herb got kicked in the head playing football at Shattuck Military Academy, and was partially paralyzed from then on, he never let that stop him. "My father," says Judi adoringly, "is a rare individual — brilliant, full of life, cocky and sporty." With no false modesty whatever she adds, "I take after him." But Herbert Boutin (you pronounce that Boo-tan) had old-fashioned ideas about raising his kids. Judi lived in a big brick-and-stone house in the plush part of Portland and had everything she needed — period. The extras she worked for so she'd appreciate them. When she got out of line she got cracked down on — hard. Judi looks back and approves. "When I have my kids." she states firmly, "I'm gonna raise them by the rod!" Of course, Judi's kids may not be exactly what she was when she grew up in Oregon, namely, a fascinating tomboy — all girl in important respects — but rough, tough and hard to bluff. Her dad called her "Pixie." which about nailed it. Judi is the ham in the sandwich between two sisters: Mab (Meredith Ann, from whom Judi swiped her stage name) and Louise. "Father took one look at me," Judi reports, "and was just sick. He thought I was the ugliest little brat he ever saw. He's been telling me that for twenty-three years," she grins. "I tell him, 'Yeah, I know — but I'm making money!' " Actually, Judi was no more an eyesore back then than she is today, which is definitely not at all. Her hair was a pack of glinting ringlets and her eyes gave off the same sparks. Glands hadn't started moulding Judi's curves, but her wiry figure was cute and trim. Womanhood — and Hollywood — have necessarily altered Judi's slant on things somewhat but her attitudes were about the same then as now, too. Could be little Judi Boutin never did trust her own femininity. But certainly she harbored no doubts about her abilities to get what she wanted in straightforward, masculine style. Judi liked what boys like — action. She couldn't stand tame little girl games, like playing house and dolls. She hated dolls. She took a wicked delight in knocking off their pretty china heads whenever she ran across one. In fact, they bugged Judi to the point of phobia. At St. Mary's school one day a Judi, the Little Love Goddess