Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

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It pays!/ I paid $400.00 to Mrs. Dowtyfc of Texas, forone Half Dollar* > J.D.Martinof Virginia $200.00 f for a single Copper Cent. Mr. * Manningof New York, $2,600.00 for / oneSilverDollar. Mrs.G.F. Adams.Ohio, V received $740.00 for a few old coins. I will pay big prices ( for all kinds of old coins, medals, bills and stamps. I WILL PAY $1,000.00 FOR A DIME! 1894 S. Mint; $5,000.00 for 1913 Liberty Head Nickel (not r Buffalo) and hundreds of other amazing prices for coins. Send 5c for Large Illustrated Coin Folder and further particularsIt may mean much profit to you. Write today to ““ B. MAX MEHL, Box 750J, Costa Mesa, Calif. (Oldest Rare Coin Establishment in U.S.) DEBBIE REYNOLDS Continued from page 46 this M-G-M studio here in Culver City.” She turned to Mary. “Mary,” she said, “I got a letter the other day from a girl at Monticello high school. She wrote and asked me if she could visit me here on the set of ‘The Mating Game.’ “I wrote her back and said, ‘by all means, yes.’ And she’s coming at four o’clock today. Can you take care of the arrangements?” “Certainly, Debbie,” Mary said. “Debbie,” I asked, “Do you call home every morning from your dressing room?” She smiled. “I call home all the time,” she said, “even when I know the children will be visiting me here later in the day.” “Does Eddie?” I asked. “He does. And he comes over to see the children every day while I’m here at the studio. Eddie loves both of the children very much.” “But you don’t see him?” “No.”' “Do you think there’s a chance that he will come back to you?” I asked “You’ll have to ask Eddie about that,’ she said. “That’s one thing I will not discuss Ask me anything else.” Mary returned from the telephone just then, saying, “There’s a call from the Thalian office. They want to know if you can call them later this afternoon It’s about the benefit dance.” “I will,” Debbie said. Turning to me, she said, “We’re up to our ears in work for this dance. It will help pay for the new clinic we are building on the grounds of Mt. Sinai hospital. “We have raised almost $40,000 And that’s a good start,” she said, rather proudly, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Miss Reynolds, Miss Reynolds Call on set.” “Ah,” she laughed, putting on her shoes again. “Excuse me, I’ll see you later.” “Can we watch?” I asked Miss Mayer. “Yes, but let’s give Debbie a chance to get ready.” When we arrived on the set brilliant lights were trained on the rough boards that created the illusion of a complete building. I couldn’t see any organization in the swarm of technicians, the babble and clatter. But Miss Mayer just said serenely. “We’re in luck. They’re waiting for a camera set-up.” We were almost on top of a tiny figure in a camp chair before I recognized Debbie, absorbed in the daily newspaper. At the sound of Miss Mayer’s voice, she looked up. “I’ve studied my lines,” she explained like a schoolgirl caught not working in study hall. “I know them.” And she folded the paper. I caught a glimpse of an unfortunately appropriate headline, heralding another Hollywood divorce case, though a long-expected one. “Do you mind talking, just before going into a scene?” I asked. “No,” she laughed. “Not at all.” “You’ve been in the hospital for a fiveday checkup recently? Are you sure you’re not rushing it, coming back so soon?” “I’m much better, thank you. Couldn’t wait to get back!” “Who visited you while you were in the hospital?” “Nobody,” she said firmly. “Except my mother, of course. You see, I was supposed to be resting, and the doctor thought it best not to allow any visitors. They did let me receive phone calls, though. I think everybody I’ve ever known called me or tried to call me!” she laughed. Turning serious, she continued, “But I teas there to rest. And I did. If there was ever a time and place to reconsider things, it was then and there, in St. Joseph’s. And I had so many things to think about . . .” She was silent, so I tried to draw her out. “No flashbulbs, no interviews, no headlines — you must have appreciated those five days of privacy.” “I did indeed,” Debbie said. “And when I came out, I knew that I had decided to live my life happily, no matter what may happen.” “Then you’ve decided . .?” “To be happy with what I have,” she finished the sentence for me. “And that is?” “Carrie and Todd. My chief concern is my two children. They are the new life, the thing I pin all my hopes on. Oh, I’m still eoing to work, though — ” “Miss Reynolds!” the voice called out. “Ready on the set, Debbie!” Director George Marshall, wearing the jaunty baseball cap that has long been his trademark, quietly began explaining the scene to her. A hairdresser came and fussed over her coiffure — a casual style — and for a few minutes she seemed lost in thought. When Marshall’s voice rang out “All right!” 1 saw Debbie’s head turn toward the hairdresser and her lips frame a quick “Thanks.” The hairdresser spotted Miss Mayer and came to join us while Debbie went into position for the scene. Introduced as Ann Kirk, she told me quietly, “I love to make up Debbie’s hair. It’s easy to manage and easy to change. She has a remarkably pretty face. She’s getting better looking as she matures, you know.” The familiar shout “Quiet!” cut off our conversation, and I settled in Debbie’s abandoned camp chair to watch her work. Her co-star Tony Randall stepped into the scene. Tony’s a real comedy pro, famous for his sense of timing, and he batted the saucy lines at her in his best smooth style. Debbie batted them right back, matching him all the way. “Print it!” Marshall said at the finish, while Debbie finished the last steps of her dance routine, collapsing into director Marshall’s arms, laughing. “Debbie, you’re a trouper!” the director smiled broadly. “And troupers gotta eat. Let’s break for lunch.” “Lunch!” bawled a loud stagehand’s voice, and all the fine orderliness of the take broke up into chaos again. I was ready when Debbie came toward me, but she went right past me, arms outstretched. It wasn’t a snub; I turned to see her bending over with her arms full of Carrie Frances, giving the youngster a mama-bear hug. “Going to eat you up!” she growled. Giggling, Carrie said excitedly, “Mommy danced!” “Were you there all this time, love?” Debbie turned to the smiling woman who held little Todd in her arms. “Marie, you certainly managed to keep the two of them quiet. How’s my boy?” She kissed her son, then told Miss Mayer and me, “Come along. We’ll all have lunch in my dressing room.” As we trooped off the set, past stacks of assorted props, Carrie pranced ahead, announcing, “See? New shoes!” She pointed to her sturdy, conspicuously clean sneakers. “Are they dancing shoes?” her mother asked. “Yes!” Carrie crowed, promptly putting on a demonstration, ending affectionately by hugging her mother’s leg. By the time we finished our walk far towar l the back of the Metro lot, Carrie had lost a bit of her steam, and Marie was carrying her, while Debbie took Todd.