Movie Classic (Sep 1936-Feb 1937)

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Get Blue-Jay today. 25c for a package of 6 at all druggists. g£j BLUE -JAY Bauer & Black Scientific CORN PLASTER ~ — _ 1. — 1— *A plug of dead cells root-like in form and position. If left may serve as focal point for renewed development. 64 Fate — Fame and Robert Taylor [Continued from page 49] and did a lot of thinking about them. No teacher in high school ever particularly encouraged him about his acting. We never thought much about his dramatic ability ; neither did he. To us, it was only one of several talents that he showed. He was always a student ; yet he never had to work to get good grades. In his Freshman year in high school, he was elected to a national honorary society. And he graduated at the top of his class, or next to the top. (If I remember correctly, there was one girl ahead of him.) He was never afraid of work. Every summer, he would find a job. When he was fourteen or fifteen, he worked on a farm, shocking wheat. When he was sixteen, he found a job painting cars, and his fingers swelled from lead poisoning. He wanted to keep on with it, in the afternoons after school started again, but we would not let him. The summer after he graduated from high school, he had a very good position in a bank as a teller, and then would mow lawns after banking hours. Robert did not have to work; he just wanted to — and we encouraged him. We felt that a busy boy would make a better man than an idle, restless boy would. He did not work straight through the summer ; he would always stop near the end and join his father and me on our vacations. Three successive summers, we had a cottage at Lake Okaboja in Iowa. It was at the Casino there that he learned to dance, when he was sixteen. When he got back to Beatrice that autumn, his father gave him a car. It may seem unusual for parents to entrust a young boy, still in high school, with a car of his own. But we told him that he was such a good boy, and so trustworthy, that we knew we could trust him with this. It was his property and his responsibility. It sounds amusing now, to recall what his father told him : "I've given you a nice car, but one thing I must demand. Never go over thirty-five in it." Bob promised, and we let him drive to Lincoln, forty-two miles away, to take his 'cello lessons. And the next year, after he entered Doane College at Crete, Nebraska — 32 miles from Beatrice — he would drive home two or three times a week. EVEN when he entered college, he did not know what he wanted to become. The main reason why he went to Doane was that Professor Gray, his 'cello teacher, taught there. He still kept on with the interests he had developed in high school. He broadcasted for a long time over Station KMMJ at Clay Center, Nebraska, playing and singing with a group that called themselves "The Harmony Boys" — sponsored first by a harvester company, then by a spray company. He played all over the state with a trio composed of Professor Wolf of the college, a boy named Taylor (the clean's son), and a boy named Adams. He kept on entering oratory contests. In his Freshman year, too, he was the leading man in a campus play, Helena's Boys. It used to break Professor Gray's heart, his fooling with dramatics. He thought we all were crazy, to let him do it. He said that Bob could become a great concert 'cellist. But we did not want him to gamble his whole future on just the 'cello; we wanted music to be something that would give him personal pleasure, relaxation. It hurts me now that he seldom plays. One teacher in college, Miss Ingles, took Movie Classic for October, 1936 a great interest in his oratory. She thought that eventually he might become a lawyer, a public speaker. And as I look back now, his practice in oratory gave him the good voice he has today — for he never has had any voice training. (I still am urging him to take singing lessons.) Also, appearing before critical audiences in oratory contests helped him to develop poise. The most memorable contest, to me, was one held in Doane — the biggest one ever held in that section of the country. I wanted him to enter ; so did Miss Ingles ; and I was sure that he could win. But he held back. "Mother, I can't win that," he told me. "Why, there are three ordained ministers entered in it — and every one of them knew how to win an audience before I was born." At that particular time, he was begging for a fur coat. Not that he needed one; but he wanted one badly. "I'll tell you what I'll do," I said. "If you enter the contest and win, I'll get you the fur coat." I looked over at his father. "You'll stand by me, won't you, Dad?" I asked. He nodded. So Bob decided to enter. And he worked hard over his oration. Finally, the night of the big contest arrived. He made both his father and me stay home ; he never wanted us there when he was in a contest ; we made him "nervous." About ten o'clock the 'phone rang. It was Bob. "Well, Mom," he told me, "you'd better get to Lincoln and get that coat!" He has told me often that he is glad that we were that way — that we taught him to Mary, Mary, quite contrary — where does her fancy go? Hollywood's been asking that about Mary Brian for years and still is no nearer an answer, although she's being seen everywhere these days with Cary Grant