We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
When I saw the expression in Debbie’s eyes,
I knew she was very brave . . .
saw my mother coming down the school walk! What had happened? I darted out of the library and caught her by the arm. She turned around, didn’t say a word but just held out a powder blue envelope addressed to me. I ripped open the envelope — it was the letter. Debbie Reynolds had written to me!
I stood there in the hallway and began to read. At first it just seemed to be a bunch of words, handwritten ones. “Mommy, it’s personally handwritten,” I screamed. Then I let out a groan.
“What’s wrong?” Mother asked.
I was almost in tears. “Mommy, Debbie invited me to come to the studio Thursday, November 6th, at four o’clock — that was yesterday /”
We looked at the postmark on the envelope — it was dated November 3rd. There was only one answer, somehow the letter must have been lost. It had taken four days to travel twelve miles. We stared at each other, speechless. Then Mother put her arm around me and said not to worry. She promised to go straight home and call the studio and try to find someone to deliver a message to Debbie explaining what had happened. “I’m sure when Debbie realizes it wasn’t your fault,” she said softly, “she’ll give you another appointment.”
I went back to the library but just couldn’t concentrate. When lunch time came I couldn’t even look at food. Then in algebra class, a monitor brought a note asking me to come to the principal’s office. My heart began to beat very fast. I was told that my mother had just called to say that she’d been able to get a message through to Debbie. The person taking the message said she’d see to it that Debbie got it right away. The studio promised Mommy they’d call her back as soon as they could. It only took ten minutes. Evidently, as soon as Debbie learned what had happened, she had them call Mother back and say I could come over that afternoon at four. I couldn’t believe it! Since this was more or less a school project — I planned to use the interview in a term paper — I was allowed to go home right away. Everyone at school was darn nice — they even let me miss a test.
By the time I reached home I was in a panic. I had gone swimming in gym class that morning and my hair was still damp and straight as a board. Mother handed me some bobbies and a can of hair spray. I put my
JoZ? y
—
hair up in pin curls and rushed into my bedroom to find something to wear. I wanted so much to look nice. I chose my favorite plain cotton dress.
We were out the front door when Mother realized she didn’t know how to get to M-G-M. We went back in and called a neighbor for directions. When we told her why we wanted them, she offered to come along for the ride and show us. She was excited too.
I was so nervous by this time I couldn’t sit still in the car. And I kept leaning forward and looking in the driver’s mirror to see if I looked all right and not too flustered. All sorts of thoughts kept spinning around in my head. Would Debbie be as pretty in person? What would she say? Would she look very sad? Would I be disappointed? Would she be easy to talk to? But more than anything else I worried . . . would / know what to say? I had questions ready, but would I be calm enough to ask them?
The next thing I knew the car had stopped.
“We’re here,” Mother said. Then she ( continued )