Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1960)

JUSTINE AND BOB Continued from page 57 thought she looked so pretty, whirling around in a cute blue cotton dress. He told her he’d also admired her soft, blond hair and big blue eyes. A little while later, he walked over and asked her to dance. He said it had taken courage — he hadn’t been sure what she’d say. She wanted to accept — to dance with him — but her dances, that day, had already been promised to another boy, one she’d been dancing with on the show for quite a few weeks. But he didn’t give up, she remembered, smiling to herself. He’d asked her the next show . . . and the next . . and finally she said, “Yes, I’d love to.” And she found he was fun and that they danced beautifully and easily together. In fact, they danced so beautifully that viewers started noticing them and looking out each day for them. It’s funny how things happen, sometimes. It turned out they were practically neighbors — she from Philadelphia and he from nearby Wilmington. Yet they had to go miles away to New York to meet. And that’s how it all began . . . Two weeks after their first meeting on the Bandstand, Bob asked her out. They didn’t do anything special — just went to a neighborhood movie together. T'hen, as they sat there watching the picture, she felt Bob take her hand and suddenly she knew she didn’t mind — not like she did with some boys. They were together constantly after that first date. It was summer and there was no school, so every day they’d go to the studio and dance, and, after the show, stop off at their favorite drugstore for a soda. They were so happy just being together. About a month later, Bob asked her to go steady. She didn’t say yes right away, she was afraid — she’d never gone steady with a boy before. But three weeks later she agreed and, on August 3, 1957 — she’d always remember that date — Bob gave her a ring. . . . It was a warm, clear summer’s day, with just a hint of a breeze in the air, and they decided to take a walk. They were strolling along, hand in hand, laughing and joking with each other, when suddenly Bob edged Justine over toward a jewelry store window. “Look!” he said, pointing to a tray of rings. “Guess you’d like to have one of those one day?” “Oh — yes,” she sighed. “But I don’t expect I will until I’m much older.” “No?” he said, a curious smile spreading over his face as though he had a secret. And with that, he clutched her hand and pulled her into the store saying, “Go on, pick out any ring you want — any one!” She was so excited she couldn’t move or speak but was just able to move one finger enough to point to a gorgeous marcasite ring on the bottom shelf of the counter. Bob asked the assistant for the ring, and, as he carefully put it on her finger, she noticed his hand was shaking a little. And, at that moment, she quite clearly remembered wondering if they’d always be this happy. Then, when he kissed her, right in the middle of the store, the wonder turned to fright, an inexplicable, illogical fright. Her parents were very pleased about her decision to go steady. They liked Bob and welcomed him into their home, p Soon, he began to go over there almost eveiy day. He and Justine would sit around and talk or play records or even would stay with them a while. She seemed to get along so well with Bob. Then, they’d go off to the show. Sometimes, though, Bob would ask Justine to his house because his folks liked her, too, and welcomed her there. Six months later, Bob gave Justine another ring — a nicer one, he said. It was a pearl ring with a tiny diamond on either side. She was radiant with happiness by this time and told Bob, one day, “It’s becoming more and more like a wonderful dream.” The show had become something very, very special now, too. Letters poured in praising them. But then, one day, that dream ended — suddenly and without warning. That day, as soon as she opened the door for Bob, she knew something was terribly wrong. It was as though it were written all over his face; he looked so downcast. “What’s the matter, Bob?” she asked quietly, afraid of his answer. “Nothing . . . it’s nothing,” he shrugged. “Tell me,” she urged. “We’ve . . . we’ve never had any secrets from each other. I want to know.” And so he told her. “There’s an illness in the family,” he explained, shuffling one foot nervously back and forth. “I’ll have to spend all my time in Wilmington from now on ... to work ... to help out.” And, as he spoke, the only thoughts that raced through her mind were . . . there’ll be no more dancing with him on the show . . no more sodas at the drugstore afterward ... no more kids writing, “We think you’re great. Keep up the good work . . .” “You stay with the show,” Bob was saying. “You’ll find someone else to dance with. I know you will.” She didn’t answer, she just stood there, staring at him, not wanting to speak for fear she would start to cry. Finally, she blurted out, “No! I won’t stay with the show. I’ll stay at home, too.” And so, in October of ’58, Justine Correlli and Bob Clayton disappeared from the television screen. Kids turned on their TV sets and waited — “Maybe they’re on vacation?” they thought — and waited some more. No Justine. No Bob. Where did they go? What were they doing now? Bob was in Wilmington selling shoes. Justine got a job in Philly selling souvenirs. But what mattered most was that, this way, they had time for each other . . . they could still be together. Sometimes they’d go to a neighborhood drugstore, put a dime in the juke box, and pretend they were back in New York with the Bandstand, dancing with the show, pretending that those who watched them, still loved them. Then they’d open their eyes and realize it was just a dream — a bad dream. But then the bad dream ended as abruptly as the good one had. The sickness in Bob’s family became a thing of the past and, strangely enough, right around the same time they both received telephone calls which astounded them. Someone wanted them to make a record together — seemed the people who watched the show hadn’t forgotten them, they were clamoring for them to return. They could hardly believe their ears. But it was true. That “someone” was Silvio Scerbo of Fransil Records and he had a song for them — “Drive-in Movie.” After practicing together like mad, they finally cut the disc. “It isn’t awfully good,” Justine remembered saying, when she first heard it. “Don’t worry,” Bob reassured her. “After all, it’s only our first. We have to start somewhere.” But the kids who’d been waiting for it, thought it was great. So great that almost I as soon as it came out, agents and pro 3 ducers were hurrying to book tours for ; them, to have them appear at proms and | benefits. So they began dancing together again . . . this time to their very own record. Justine’s mother always went along as chaperone, following them to Ohio, New York, Pennsylvania, New Jersey and Delaware. Life was like a fairy-tale. They had so much fun on the tours. Justine never forgot the time when her shoe fell off right in the middle of a dance and she had to dance in her stocking feet — right in front of hundreds of people. Yes, a lot of funny things happened to them . . . but they shared the fun — together. Then came the terrible night when they were appearing at a heart fund benefit. Out of nowhere, a rumor started. An ugly rumor. Just a few minutes before the performance was due to start, an elderly stranger walked up to Justine and said, “Why, you’re only a kid! How come your folks let you run around the country with that guy? Don’t you know what everyone’s saying about you?” Justine stood there, not knowing what to say, choking back a lump which seemed to be welling up in her throat. Then, suddenly, not waiting to hear any more, she ran backstage to her dressing room, f threw herself on the couch, crying. Then she felt an arm close around her and a soothing hand stroke her hair. “What’s the matter, honey?” a voice said. And she looked up and saw that her mother had sat down next to her. “A man ... a man said I was . . .” she began and blurted out the whole story. Her mother kissed her gently and told her quietly, “If you know and I know that you’ve done nothing wrong, then that’s all that matters. The rumor will die down in time.” “No it won’t ... no it won’t,” she sobbed, and reached out for her mascot, a little bride -doll she always carried with her, and hugged it close to her. She tried not to let Bob see that anything was wrong, when she went on stage a few minutes later. But she could tell by the way he kept glancing at her that he sensed something. After the show, he came around to her dressing room. He found her sitting on i a stool, hugging her doll, looking quite forlorn. He ran over to her and lifted her up from the stool, into his arms. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Tell me, Justine, tell me what happened.” And she told him. “Maybe we can get married. That will stop it,” he suggested. She looked up at him and her eyes were sparkling. “Yes, Bob. Yes . . .” Then, as they stood there, clinging to each other, the door opened and her mother walked in. “We’re . . . we’re going to get married,” Justine cried out. But her mother didn’t smile. In fact she looked very solemn and serious. “Come over here, both of you,” she said quietly. “I want to tell you something.” And, as they stood beside her, she said, “That’s wonderful. That’s really wonderful, but it’s no solution, because you’re too young — both of you. I like you, Bob, you know that . . . but wait a little longer, just go on dancing as you have been doing, and I know the rumor will die. And then, maybe one day you can get married.” “No.” cried Justine, and tears began to run down her cheeks. “I can’t keep touring with people thinking things like that. It’s just not right. Please, Mama — take me