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■ Pat Ryan was seventeen, the daughter of a Nevada miner, when she went to Hollywood. She was full of hope and dreams. She stayed for a month. It was a disillusioning experience. She got one job, as a walk-on in a picture called Becky Sharp. She got twenty-five dollars for the job. But after that, there were no more jobs to be had. And one day, after a lifetime of dreaming, she decided to give up her "career" and become what she knew both her parents had always really wanted her to become. She would be a teacher.
She worked her way through college, as a librarian, a countergirl, a bookkeeper, a typist, an X-ray technician. And when, finally, she graduated, she got a job as commercial subjects teacher in the California town of Whittier, just outside Los Angeles. She became, quickly, this thin and pretty blonde, one of the most popular teachers at the school, and one of the most popular young ladies in town.
She dated lots, those who knew her recall. It seemed for sure at one time that she would marry a certain very good-looking merchant in town.
But then she met the young lawyer, and then her heart began to shift affections.
Not rapidly; not at all rapidly. Local gossip has it that while the lawyer was head over heels in love with Pat, she herself played it slowly,
the love story of PAT and DICK ¥
coyly, even teasingly at first.
"There's a story," she said recently, "that my husband, before we were married, would drive me to dates with other young men in Los Angeles and then would wait around to drive me home . . . That's true," she laughed, "but I think it's awful mean to report it."
One night, however, after about six months of indecisive going-together, Pat's pet collie died suddenly and when the young lawyer phoned to ask if he might take her out, she wept into the phone: "No, no, I don't want to see anybody ever again!" (Continued on page 61)