Modern Screen (Dec 1934 - Nov 1935)

MODERN SCREEN "You May Be Going Blind!" {Continued from page 34) THESE early spring days, with the tang of winter still in the air — how inviting they are — but how hard on the complexion! Dried by exhilarating but cutting winds — with sticky, sooty dust getting into the pores and clinging to the roughened surface, your skin tends to become grimy and "muddy looking" and irritations develop. To combat this ravaging effect, particular care is necessary, and skin specialists say that cleansing with a pure, mild soap, at least once a day, is indispensable. When you use Resinol Soap, you can be sure of thorough, safe cleansing, because it is a soap that is kind to every type of skin. Its pure, lightly medicated lather is so creamy, so soft, and leaves your skin so refreshed. Now, the wind-roughened, irritated skin surface is ready for soothing Resinol Ointment. Its special medication is just what nature needs to help heal the sore, rough, reddened spots. It acts so quickly, too. Just spread it on lightly but freely and you will be amazed to see how soon the surface blemishes and discomfort disappear. Your druggist sells Resinol Ointment and Soap. Why not start this treatment today — before these smiling, but rough spring days can seriously mar your complexion? For free trial size package, Ointment and Soap 78 He said it so quietly, so simply and without dramatization that I begged him to tell me about it. He didn't want to say any more, and most of all he didn't want me to pass it on to you. But when I assured him that I would stress the fact that he was not trying to rouse your sympathies, he consented to its repetition. And I want you to know about it because I think it is an inspiration to all those who have struggled to overcome some handicap. In college John wanted to be an artist. He was tremendously impressed by what he saw and it seemed to him that if he could interpret his impressions on canvas his soul would be completely satisfied. John, with sketch book and pencil, was a familiar figure on the campus, and those who saw the results of his work knew that talent guided his hand. John is an intense person. I think you realize that when you watch his fine, sincere performance in "The Little Minister." And being intense, he worked too hard. It didn't happen suddenly and dramatically, as things like that happen in stories. For several weeks John noticed that after he had drawn a line it looked fuzzy. At first he thought the fault was in his hand and he tried to make the lines sharper. But then he noticed that the faces of the people he saw on the street were blurred. He thought that he needed glasses, so he made an appointment with an oculist. The doctor examined his eyes and sent him to another specialist. It was the second man who told him what the first had feared. YOU must wear glasses, of course," the doctor said. 'Also, you must give your eyes a complete rest. Use them only when it is absolutely necessary. I don't want to frighten you unduly. But I do want to impress upon you how important complete rest and relaxation are. I think you may be going blind." I wonder if, for a moment, you can put yourself in John Beal's place. Imagine what torments would grip the heart of any boy or girl just on the threshold of life and a career who was told that he was going blind. Does the very thought clutch your soul with terror? Then add to this the fact that John was hoping to be a serious artist and that his sole ambition was to interpret on paper the things that he saw. And now he was told that there was a great possibility that he would not be able to see. I'm sure I don't know how he managed to leave the doctor's office. I don't know what dark thoughts possessed his mind. He wouldn't talk about that part of it. He had bargained to give me the facts. The answer, of course, is that his emotions at that time were too deep to be brought to light by conversation. It would have hurt him too much to recall them with words. How did he face it? I'll tell you, even if he won't. Courage was the watchword. This thing was given to him to bear and he must go through it as best he could. First of all he was in college. It was necessary to him, he knew, to finish his education if he must plan for a sightless future. He hired a man to read to him. He paid him fifty cents an hour to read text books. He told no one what the doctor had said, but merely tossed it off with, "I've strained my eyes. Drawing too much, you know. I must give them a complete rest." With his drawing denied him he knew that he must do something else to fill his life, and that's when he turned to college theatricals. That's when he laid the foundation for the career which has just been climaxed so brilliantly in "The Little Minister." But his sketch books and pencils were piled on a corner of his desk and he could not return to them. AND then a miracle began to happen. Again it happened slowly. For months he had not used his eyes at all. He had absolutely obeyed the doctor and then he began to notice as he walked along the street that the faces he saw were sharper. The blur seemed to be lifting. It came so slowly that he could not believe his tired eyes at first. He thought: "This is only the wish to see that makes me see better. This isn't real. I simply imagine it." But even as he thought this he found that objects were much clearer. He went to the doctor again. "Thank God, my fears have not been realized," the doctor told him. "The rest has done the trick. Take it easy for a little while longer. You can't make painting your career, of course, but you can certainly sketch again. You will not lose your sight." I do not need to describe the waves of relief which swept over him. I'm sure there is something in your own life comparable to it. It cost him something, of course, to give up the thought of being a truly great artist, but in the meantime he had became so interested in dramatics that he felt he could find happiness on the stage. And the important thing — the thrilling, exciting truth was that he was not going blind ! You know his life from then on. You know how he came to New York against his father's wishes— his father wanted him to be a business man — and hounded the Broadway producers until they gave him roles in their plays. You know how he worked at the Hedgerow Theatre — Ann Harding's beloved workshop — with Jasper Deeter. And then, when fame had touched him on Broadway, you know how he came to Hollywood and the movies. You also know that a little less than a year ago he married Helen Craig, an actress and a charming girl, and is now one of the happiest actors in the picture colony. He might have been able to put those dark months when he thought he was going blind completely out of his mind, had it not been for an anti-climax which occurred while he was making "The Little Minister." He was doing the fight scene, standing in the midst of the extras who were hurling spears. Suddenly he felt a sharp jab of pain in his temple. There was before his eyes a terrific great white light. It was as if all the world were nothing but brilliant whiteness. He could see nothing but that white, white light. And in that moment, before he fell to the ground, all of the torments of those months in college came back to him. He thought : "It's got me this time. It was planned for me and I couldn't escape." The next thing he knew the white light was gone and there was nothing but darkness. He felt his head. His eyes were bandaged. Quietly he asked the question, "Will I ever be able to draw again?" Someone laughed. "Certainly. You're (Continued on page SO)