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PERIODIC PAIN
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T decided one gloomy afternoon at A tlie orphanage in Nottingham, England, that I would one day go to America and meet Doris Day.
You see, when you grow up in an orphanage you grow up making believe. You make up stories about your parents, who they are and why you’re there. That way you can be anybody.
That dreary afternoon my friend Sister Frances salvaged Photoplay from a Christmas charity package and gave it to me. From the time I opened it and saw the smile of Doris Day, I was incorrigible. I went truant to see her films, even taught “My Secret Fove” to the tots in the nursery, where 1 was a student governess.
As soon as I qualified for employment, I went to London and joined the Doris Day fan club. There I met Betty Grimes, newly arrived from Ireland. We began a savings account.
Three long years later, we were ready to fly to New York, and after months of scrimping in the East, we had our bus-fare to Los Angeles.
Once checked into the “Y,” we pored over phone directories until we saw “Mrs. Alma Day.” Could she be Doris’ mother? She was! (And dur
is yours
ing our visit I pretended she was my mother — an old orphanage knack!)
Somehow we managed to find work, and I watched for Doris everywhere.
Finally one day I was called to the telephone. “This is Doris Day Melcher. After what Mother tells me, I’d like very much to see you. Can you have tea with me at the Beverly Hills Hotel tomorrow? . . . Fine. See you!”
Radiant in a blue suit, she came toward us. “Shall we go find the patio?” she said, taking the lead and chatting away to help cover our embarrassment. For that I adored her.
In no time we were asking questions, about her life . . . Terry, Marty, their home . . . hobbies, opinions . . .
Suddenly she asked, “How would you like to see a preview of my new movie? Can you get off from work? But how are you going to get there?”
“But Doris,” I exclaimed, “we’ve already managed to come 6,000 miles to see you!” We laughed, but then I added glumly: “But who’ll believe it?”
Doris took a postcard from her handbag. “Hello from Hollywood, California,” she began to write. “I’m having tea with Joan Dawson — and it’s been such fun meeting her — ”
by JOAN DAWSON
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The tea wasn’t English, but Doris made Betty and me (left) feel right at home.