Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1959)

I didn’t think my two weeks of quarantine would ever end. They did, though. Finally the day came when I was allowed to go back to work and back to school. Actually, since I’m her only pupil, my teacher, Mrs. Hoene, used to call every day and give me homework assignments. I woke up early that day, stuffed my feet into my furry slippers and went to the closet. It was so long since I’d gotten dressed that I couldn’t decide what to wear. I wanted to look extra pretty on my first day out. I kept wishing Mother would let me buy that black sheath I’ve been wanting, it would have made a dramatic return. But she keeps telling me I’m too young. Finally, I chose a pink shirtwaist dress, so the color would brighten up my face, which was a little pale after two weeks in bed. By the time I got down to breakfast Mother was on her second cup of coffee. “Hi, Sandy,” she said. “I’ve been thinking that maybe I’d better go to the studio with you today. After all, it is your first day up.” “Oh, no, Mother, I feel just fine. You go ahead being a walking guide to Hollywood for your friends. I’ll be all right.” “Are you sure? Maybe I’d better drive DICK CLARK Continued, from page 48 housewife in the very latest supersonic, power steered, ultra fidelity deeming brush. And then there was the time when I could never be sure my paycheck would cover the shoe leather I wore out carrying the mail around to all the offices at a radio station. That last job, now . . . boy, I really had to hustle to get that one. I was a junior at A. B. Davis High School in Mt. Vernon, New York, and I’d already decided that radio was for me. I’d played around at being a deejay on the little phonograph I had at home and now I decided to go down to New York City and get myself hired for real. I must have sat in the waiting room in every station in town — and that’s a lot of stations. In almost every case, they did give me an interview. “What experience have you had?” they’d ask. “None,” I’d answer. “That’s what I’m looking for — experience.” “That’s fine, son,” they’d say. “Come back and see us after you’ve found some.” It seemed you needed experience to get experience, which was a kind of vicious circle that left me just where I’d started. I went round on that circle for three years till somebody finally hired me. I was majoring in radio at Syracuse University when a local station nearby finally gave me that mailroom job. After a while, they let me do some announcing and soon after that, there I was — a deejay. What started me remembering all this was a gab session we had just before “Bandstand” went on the air. Gerry Granahan had just sent around his new Sunbeam record, “I’m Afraid You’ll Never Know,” and I was telling the gang about it. “Gee, Dick,” said one of the girls, a pretty little blonde with a ponytail, “remember his other record, ‘Please, No Chemise’? You know, I liked the chemise better than the Empire look, didn’t you?” “Oh, no,” moaned one of the fellows, p “Let’s not talk about clothes. Let’s talk about something important.” “Like what?” I asked. “Boys!” a girl in the last row shouted. you down there, at least,” Mother offered. “Nope. I can drive — if I remember how.” It was a beautiful day, all bright and clear and not a trace of smog. My car purred along and I felt almost giddy at seeing all those people on the streets and in their cars, after those awful days of quarantine. I felt so great I decided to do something to brighten up the doctor’s green office. I parked, ran into a florist shop and bought a bunch of blue irises for him. Then I got back into the car and headed for the studio. “Hi, there,” the gateman called out to me. “Welcome back.” I waved, drove on through and pulled up in front of the doctor’s white bungalow. I hid the flowers behind my back as I walked in, planning to surprise him. The nurse wasn’t in the waiting room, so I walked up to the door to his office and knocked. “It’s me,” I said, “Sandra Dee.” “Come right in,” he called out. The nurse was in there with him and they looked as though they were catching up on the paper work. “Hello,” I said. “I just thought I’d drop by and tell you how well I’m feeling and to thank you for being so sweet through “Love!” someone else suggested. “Some girls,” piped up one boy in the back, “never seem to have anything on their minds but boys!” “What else is there?” my blonde friend asked. “Well, now,” I suggested. “There are lots of important things to think about. There’s money, for instance.” “Man, that’s nice stuff,” a tall freckled fellow said, “if you can get it.” “I’d sure like some,” a sandy-haired, laughing-eyed girl agreed. “Where can I get it?” “Maybe the Coasters had the right idea,” I suggested, “when they made that record, ‘Get a Job.’ ” “Golly,” she said, “who’d give me a job?” “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “Well,” she said, “for one thing, I don’t have any experience in anything.” “Think again,” I suggested. “There must be lots of things you can do. For instance, do you like animals?” “Oh, I love them.” “Did you know that Tony Perkins used to earn money in New York as a dogsitter?” “Honest? Gee, I could do that.” “There are probably lots of things you could do. Why don’t you . . .” At this point, Tony Mammarella, my producer, caught my eye and I could tell he’d been trying to do it for quite a while. “Ooops, I’m sorry, gang. It’s time for me to get this show on the air. But, say, I’ve got an idea. Any of you going to be in New York Saturday morning?” A half dozen hands shot up. “Well, I’ll be in New York for my Saturday night show. I’d love to go on with this talk, if you’re interested.” “Are we ever!” said my sandy-haired friend. She’d been one of those who’d raised her hand. “Well, how about meeting me up at the Photoplay offices? I’ll bring the Cokes.” When we met on Saturday, there was an eerie quiet about the offices, Saturday being a non-working day for the rest of Photoplay’s staff. We pulled a bunch of chairs around a long rectangular walnut desk, unwrapped the Cokes and the little packages of cookies I’d also brought, and what with the rustling of paper, the scraping of chairs and then with everybody talking all at once, the office soon stopped feeling so strange. all my complaining. And I brought you these.” I whisked the flowers out from behind me. “Oh, how lovely,” he said. “Nurse, can you find Something to put them in?” He got up from behind his desk and was really beaming as he walked toward me. He shook my hand. “That was a very nice thing to do,” he said. “You are a sweet girl.” And then he patted me on my left cheek. “Ouch!” I shouted. The doctor’s smile faded as he looked at my face more closely. “Well, Sandra,” he said. “You’re a very unusual girl, one of the special people.” “Special?” I said weakly. “Very special,” he answered. “Lots of people only get mumps on one side and a great many others get them on both sides at the same time. But you, my dear, can go back to bed with the knowledge that you are very special indeed. You have gotten your mumps one mump at a time!” I went back to bed for seven more days. The End sandra’s in u-i’s “imitation of life” and Columbia’s “gidget.” watch for her in u-i’s “the wild and the innocent.” “I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day, Dick,” sandy-haired Joan began. “I guess there must be lots of jobs that even I could handle. But how do I find out where they are?” “Anybody have any ideas?” I asked. “My school has a placement office,” said blonde Pat, “and I bet yours does too.” “There are the want-ads in the newspapers,” Jack offered. “And the employment agencies,” said Chuck. “Most of them charge a fee, but there’s also the State employment offices. They’re for free and they know about lots of jobs.” “Let me tell all of you,” Carole said, “that it really pays to advertise. Tell everybody you know you want a job and you’ll be surprised what sort of jobs people have heard about.” “Another thing not to miss up on are the personnel offices of the larger companies,” Stan said. “Stan’s got a good point there,” I put in. “It’s a good idea to think first about the kind of work you want to do and are suited for and then look up all the different places that might be able to use you. For instance, if you gals have had any typing or steno at school, you ought to get a list of different business firms, banks, libraries, hospitals and so on.” Joan reached across the desk for another little pack of peanut-butter cookies. Then, as she was unwrapping them, she said, “But I don’t know how to type.” “Oh, you could still get a job in an office if you wanted one,” Carole said. “You could be a receptionist or operate a switchboard or file or clip papers or almost anything.” “No office for me,” Chuck said. “Come summer I want to be out under that sun.” “Me, too,” Pat piped. “A girl I know is going to work this summer as a fishing guide. I’d like to do something different like that.” “Gee, that sounds great,” Chuck said. “I’ve got applications in with the Y and with the department of parks. If things work out, I’ll have me a job as a recreation assistant. Imagine getting paid for playing baseball! And, Pat, they take girls, too, to teach the younger kids how to swim or dance or make all sorts of things.” “Another kind of job you can get,” Jack said, “is like the one I had last summer, waiting on tables. The great thing about