Modern Screen (Jan-Dec 1960)

ning to laugh. "Tomorrow morning, sir, first thing. . . ." She didn't "Everything started out disastrously that next morning," someone connected with the show has said. "Rehearsal had been called for 9:30. And by that time — five, ten minutes before 9:30, in fact — everyone was there. Including Fred. . . . But there was no Barrie. Not by 9:30, not by ten, not by 10:30. "Fred sat around, sulking. He wouldn't say anything. But we could tell he was eating his heart out. "Once or twice he'd walk over to a pay phone and try to call Barrie. But there was no answer. A few minutes before noon she walked into the rehearsal hall. "Where've you been?" Fred asked. "Home. I don't want to hurt you," said Barrie. "I'll be bad. I'll make you look bad. . . . And I don't want to hurt you. . . ." Fred looked at her for a moment. And then he clapped his hands together and made a short announcement to everyone there: "This girl — " he said, pointing to Barrie — "has a case of the nerves. She's asking out of the show. But I'm a rough one — and I'm not going to give her out. "Now," he said, "if everyone will leave this hall, until they're called back, Miss Chase and I will begin to rehearse. Just the two of us." The others left. And Fred and Barrie stood in the giant rehearsal hall, alone. After staring at her for a long moment, Fred walked over to a phonograph and turned it on. "Barrie," Fred said, walking back over to her, looking into her eyes again, " — will you try . . . for me?" Barrie stood rigid. "I can't," she started to say. "My feet feel heavy. Strange. I'm not — " But Fred silenced her. He took her in his arms. And they began to dance. . . . Like a kid in love The show, three months later, was a triumph. Fred won five Emmys for it — more TV awards than any single performer has ever received for a single show. But, friends say, his greatest pride was a young dancer named Barrie Chase, and how she'd come through. . . . Says Randolph Scott, one of his closest friends, referring to the down periods, "'Fred keeps saying, 'I'll never marry again. No one can replace Phyllis.' And we keep telling him, 'No one has to replace Phyllis, and no one ever will. But you can find a new dimension with someone else, and at least you can fill part of the gap in your life.' " And Barrie, meanwhile? "I have tremendous admiration for Mr. Astaire," she says to any who ask, and that is all she says, for the real words in her heart are too deep for speech. end How Much Do My Children Really Need Me? (Continued from page 33) Janet, how do you solve your problem of being a working mother? It will help me solve mine. Sincerely, Rosemary D. And this story is my answer to those letters: Dear Rosemary: I'll never forget the time I was working before the cameras and a grip came to me with a message: Please call home. Kelly is very sick. I was terrified. I wanted to be with my little girl who was not quite two then. In my imagination I saw her in pain, calling for me. At the time I was working on location in Norway, my baby in London with her nurse. Tony and I had taken Kelly to Europe with us since we were to be away five months, but we left her in London with the nurse because the weather in Norway was too harsh. Should I leave the set and fly to London? Walk out on a picture whose costs were going on at a clip of thousands of dollars a minute to rush to the side of my sick child? I had obligations to my producers, but I knew in my heart that no obligation to them could outweigh the well-being of my child. If she was very sick, I'd have to fly to London. In a phone booth in a corner of the set, I put through a call to London and got a very dear friend of mine who was living there. I asked her to look in immediately on Kelly, and tell me just what was the matter with my child. I waited, my heart in my mouth, for her return call. In about a half hour she got back to me. "Kelly is fine," she said, and my heart lifted. "She just had a slightly upset stomach. The nurse panicked. But there's nothing to worry about." She promised to stay there. If Kelly had really been very ill, I would have put her above anybody or anything. However, a working mother cannot afford to get hysterical or over-imaginative, otherwise she won't be able to use good judgment when such conflicts arise. Rosemary, you asked, "What do you do when one of your little girls suddenly becomes ill while you're at work?" It all depends upon the seriousness of the illness. When Kelly was operated on so suddenly one year, I dropped everything, canceling every business appointment I had to be with her. Fortunately, we weren't in the middle of a picture when she was stricken, but if we had been, I would have told them to shoot around me. However, I did have other appointments connected with my work — some costume fittings and script conferences which are also important— and I canceled them all. When the doctor said, "We must operate on Kelly at once," there was no other thought in my mind than to be at the hospital with my child for as long as she would need me. As Tony and I prepared to take her to the hospital, she was white-faced with fear. I said to her, "Mommy will be with you all the time," so that she wouldn't be too frightened at finding herself in a strange bed when she awoke from the anesthetic. And of course, I kept my promise. I took a room at Cedars of Lebanon and was with Kelly all the time until she was discharged. A mother's instinct will tell her when her child needs her physically, and when her presence is not essential. When a child is seriously ill or facing an operation, that child needs her mother, and the mother's job must take second place. I've gone to the studio when either Kelly or Jamie has been down with a cold. But if either of them had a high temperature I wouldn't leave her until she was past the feverish stage where she might be calling for Mommy. From the studio I phone at every opportunity— and / talk to my child myself. Merely calling and asking the nurse if the children are okay isn't enough. It makes my children feel more secure to hear their mother's voice saying the warm, dear things that only a mother can say to her child. I think every working mother should remember this. Hearing her mother's voice on the phone makes the child feel that her mother isn't too far away. Probably Kelly would feel cheated if Ginny, our nurse, said to her, "Your mother called and asked if you're behaving." But when she hears my voice telling her I love her and will see her soon, then she does not feel cheated. Her own mommy has spoken to her. Rosemary, you asked if I've ever regretted being a working mother. No, Rosemary, I never have. I think it is better for my children to have a happy mother who's fulfilled than a frustrated mother who may some day want to say to her children, "Look what I gave up for you — my career, my life." Nothing could be worse than feeling you're a martyr because of your child. However, I will never put my life or my work ahead of my children. Right now, I feel I am doing more for them by continuing with my work, because in doing so I am a happy, fulfilled woman. A happy woman is a happy mother. For most women, work keeps them on their toes, and is itself stimulating. If you enjoy your work, Rosemary, or feel a sense of joy in helping make things easier for your family by working, I believe you can do it without cheating your children. Perhaps there will be times when you feel just a tiny bit cheated yourself. I missed watching Jamie, my baby, take her first steps. It was really quite a wrenching thing for me. Sounds silly, but every mother loves to be with her child when she takes that first step. I knew Jamie was getting ready for it. I'd seen her get up on one little foot, then falter and plop down. Then I saw her on her knees still trying to be firm enough to get up and walk. I knew the day she'd take her first step was just around the corner. But I had to miss it. I was working in Psycho for Alfred Hitchcock that day. When I called home, Kelly got on the phone and in a breathless voice told me all about it. I was disappointed at missing it. But it would have been shockingly inconsiderate for me to have taken the day off to witness this j sentimental event. And I also missed buying Jamie her first pair of shoes. I remember how I enjoyed going to the shoe store with Kelly two years ago, seeing her fitted for her first pair of walking shoes and watching her toddle around the store proudly. I wanted the same thrill with Jamie. Knowing that I was going to be tied up in a picture in a few weeks, I took Jamie to the store just before the picture started. The shoe salesman said. "You should wait three more weeks. She's not quite ready for shoes yet." Three weeks later I was already in production. When I left for work one morning I told the nursemaid to take Jamie to the shoe store and buy the shoes that day. I knew just what time they'd be going — after Jamie's nap. When they got home, I called from the set and ! got all the details of the little shopping expedition; hew Jamie had cooed when she saw her little feet in shoes and how she'd looked at herself so proudly in the mirror. Somehow the story warmed me and I kept imagining what it had been like, while I was working. But the things I have missed by being a working mother don't compare in importance with the things we have gained — not only materially, but through the hap