Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

Meanwhile, bits and pieces from Inger’s past were recalled by her friends . . . When Inger and her younger brother, Ola, came to America, she was ten years old. Their father, a scholar working on his thesis at Cape Cod, couldn’t meet them and when their boat docked in New Orleans, her father wasn’t there; Inger never forgot her fear of being stranded, unwanted. She wore a tag around her neck with her name on it. She hated the tag because people pointed at it. It told everyone she was a foreigner, so she pushed it down inside her dress. She and her brother were put on the train for New York by a Salvation Army officer, and Inger was terrified of the passengers discovering she didn’t know any English. In her child’s handbag were twenty-five cards bearing the English and Swedish words to cover Ola’s and her basic needs — “Hungry,” “Water,” “Bathroom.” But Inger refused to use them for fear people would think she was “odd.” She bought a tencent American magazine, pretending to read it while she was traveling so everyone would think she was English, and she clutched on to the magazine for days, even after she got off the train. Even today, she frequently mentions this experience. In New York, Inger grew dizzy from its hugeness. “It was like a city of revolving doors,” she told friends. “I just couldn’t get used to switchblade knives and big purple skirts and thick smears of lipstick. It was so difficult adjusting to people. Anyhow, my English was broken, and I was ashamed of it. That’s why I guess I never had a close girlfriend. Besides I had so many chores to do. My stepmother was a teacher, too, so she had to leave the house early every morning with my father. The two of them would go off to school, and we had to fend for ourselves.” One day, in her early teens, Inger met a policeman at a school crossing who looked down at her and said, “You!” and he laughed. “You’re a foreigner!” “How . . . how can you tell?” Inger asked, on the verge of tears. “Look,” he pointed. “Look at your shoes. You have square toes.” Inger ran all the way home, crying hysterically. Her stepmother (her mother and father had divorced) told her there was nothing wrong with her shoes. But, from then on, Inger despised them and she walked extra blocks every day to try to wear them out. When Inger’s dad, Mr. Stensland, changed teaching positions, the family moved to Manhattan, Kansas, where Inger had to try to make new friends all over again. A step-sister, Lucy, was born, and Inger’s chores at home increased to such an extent she had to turn down a chance to play a leading role in the high school operetta. With her high-schooling behind her, Inger came back to New York with $39.50 in her purse. She was going to be an actress, but she took odd jobs as a movie usherette, garment center model, Latin Quarter chorus girl to support herself. Soon she met, married, separated from and divorced Tony Soglio. But all the time, Inger studied and hoped she would someday reach her goal of being an important actress. Hollywood discovered her, Inger was constantly on the go between California and New York. Finally, in December, Inger had, in her own words, “come back home to live again in New York.” Returning from her Hollywood success, she rented a $250 a month unfurnished apartment where she was going to “grow and have a comfortable life, maybe even learn to make blueberry soup which I loved when I was a girl in Sweden,” Inger told friends. Then she added, “I’ve never ever had a real home of my own. Now, I can afford to have it.” Her home was the four-room Gramercy Park apartment, four rooms all to herself in crowded but lonely New York, four rooms with no one to turn to in a moment of despair . . . The following week, the Detective assigned to Inger’s case at the 13th Precinct said he hadn’t been able to see Inger. The doctor refused him entry into her hospital room. “We can’t keep beating our heads against the wall,” the Detective said. “We hear she’s improving which is good news. I’ve tried to reach her doctor by phone, but I’m not able to get through to him.” Inger’s psychiatrist. Dr. Saul Heller, was reached by telephone at his East 61st Street office, but his sharp-voiced receptionist refused to put the call through to him. “Her fans are interested in knowing how she is,” she was told. The receptionist spoke so quickly her words were unintelligible. Then she clicked the telephone. Inger’s mysterious brush with death can only be unraveled by Inger. Perhaps the next few months will tell. Or perhaps . . . we will never know. Perhaps all Inger’s fans can do is to quiet their questions and to try to understand that a young girl’s heart can break ... so very easily. Perhaps all her friends can do is to fill Inger’s four rooms with new memories happier that those that propelled her so close to tragedy. Perhaps all anyone can do is to give Inger someone to turn to. Perhaps that’s all . . . and everything. The End inger's in paramount’s “the buccaneer.” TUMMY TUCKER now teams up your favorite Lewella feature, the patented® inner belt, with Power Net! Here’s double insistence on a flat tummy. Satin elastic front and back panels for extra control. Amazing light weight for comfort supreme Sizes S, M, L, XL in Girdle or Panty, $4. Bra, A, B, C cups, *2; D cup, *2.50. • FREE: “Diet Guid e”... send stamped self -addressed envelope -for 32 page purse-size reference booklet on Diet. 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