Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1960)

p HERE’S PRACTICAL HELP FOR Young Mothers Here at last is a wonderful, wonderful book for parents — and expectant parents. It is an exceptionally helpful book because it tells you exactly what to do in a given situation — and when to do it. Between the covers of this book is the latest information on infant and child care. Written entirely by three experienced doctors, this hook answers clearly and intimately the questions asked most often by mothers. It is not designed to take the place of your baby’s doctor, but it will give you the helpful information that you will need before you call him. ONLY $1.00 MAIL THIS COUPON NOW | Bartholomew House, Inc., Dept. WG-360 | 205 East 42 St., New York 17. N. Y. Send me a copy of INFANT AND CHILD I I CARE. I enclose □ 11 paperbound □ $2.95 | | hardbound. I NAME (please print) ADDRESS CITY STATE I L J PARTIAL LIST OF CONTENTS Accident Prevention Allergies Bed-wetting Common Cold Coughing Discipline Ears Eating Habits Fevers Mumps Premature Babies Polio Sex Education Sleep Teetn Temper Tantrums Thumbsucking Toilet-training You will refer to this book over and over again. It will save you time and worry. Get your copy — right now. FABIAN Continued, from page 32 liked to dress like this on days when he didn’t have anywhere special to go. He hurried downstairs into the kitchen, but no one was there. A note was tacked on the refrigerator from his mom: “Have gone downtown with Bobby, Tommy and Dad to do last-minute shopping. Won’t be back ’til late this afternoon. Make yourself breakfast. Also, D.D. and Foggy called. Meet them at the club at two.” For a second he felt as he had when he first woke up — as if something was wrong. His mother always told him the night before if she was going to be out all day. But he shrugged it off — probably she had just forgotten about it. He tried putting the uneasy feeling out of his mind as he made himself a full breakfast of orange juice, cereal with bananas, eggs and bacon, toast and marmalade and a glass of milk. Then he remembered. Of course he felt uneasy. Today was Friday the thirteenth and somehow for him that date had always lived up to its reputation. Thinking, for a moment, what he had planned to do that day, he chuckled. Gee, he thought. This one’s going to take the prize. Not one pleasant thing in view. So he fiddled about the house for a while, putting off his first appointment which was at the local high school. He emptied the garbage out the back, although it hardly needed emptying, he washed his father’s car, although it didn’t really need washing, then he went into the house again and watched TV for a while even though the program was dull. Then, looking at his watch, he decided he’d just have to start out for the school — South Philadelphia High. As soon as he stepped inside the door of the high school he wanted to walk right out again. But he didn’t. Classes were changing and he went over to a bunch of his friends. Before he could quite realize what was happening, they were firing questions at him and he was answering them as fast as possible. “ ... Yes, this is my last day here . . . We move tomorrow . . . New Jersey . . . Haddonfield, New Jersey . . . Oh, it’s a bigger house than we have now and a much nicer one . . . Nothing fancy though, just more room inside . . . and outside . . . No, there’s no special section for me, I’ll have my own room, that’s all.” “What’ll you do about school, Fabe?” asked his friend Paul, coming over to the group. “I’m gonna do my best to graduate with you — with my class — in 1961. Until then, while I’m in Hollywood, I’ll be attending the studio school but otherwise Miss Schwartz will tutor me in algebra and chemistry and Dr. Stigall will help me with English and history. I’ll be getting the same assignments you do. And if I’m lucky . . .” The warning bell for the next class broke up the crowd. Paul grabbed Fabian’s arm and said, “Come on to class with me — for the last time.” “Aw, I’d feel funny,” Fabian said, but he allowed himself to be pulled along. He didn’t know how to tell his friends what he was feeling, but this was his last day. Tomorrow he was moving, leaving this town, this school, these friends. He had to say goodbye. They entered a door at the back of the room, and Fabian saw that his old desk was empty. He slid into the seat. Students waved to him, others smiled his way, and a fellow in the next seat bent toward him to talk. Then the teacher, a young woman, entered the room and the room became quiet. Fabian heard her begin to discuss the next day’s assignment, but that’s about all he saw and heard, because, as he traced his fingers over the familiar desk top and moved his long legs under the desk until they found their usual, most comfortable position, his thoughts began to wander. He didn’t want to leave his friends and all the things he’d grown up with. Suddenly New Jersey seemed a million miles away to him, a strange, unknown planet. Would he be able to find friends there — good friends like Paul and D.D. and Foggy? Or would he be an outsider, not one of the gang because he hadn’t grown up there or gone to school there — or even planned to go to school there. He felt empty and a little scared. At the end of the lesson, he slipped quietly out of the door into the hall. Paul followed right after him. “Mind if I tag along?” his friend asked. “Besides, with all that mob in the hall, just before class, I just didn’t have a chance to really say goodbye.” “Sure,” said Fabian, “although I have no idea where I’m going.” He knew where he wanted to go though. Home. Where he wouldn’t have to tell anybody goodbye. Home. Where he wouldn’t feel confused and he’d be alone. But there were people he just had to say goodbye to. So he and Paul walked slowly through the halls, now and then stopping to chat to some of his teachers and some more of his schoolmates; to the principal, Mr. Rossi, who had presented him with a surprise loving cup, back in June, when he’d put on a benefit performance for the summer football training camp and helped raise $4,000; to Miss Schwartz, his algebra teacher, who’d got mad at him when he’d played hookey, just once, but who’d laughed and forgiven him a month later — he’d be seeing her again, of course, ’cause she was one of his tutors; to Mr. Pitt and Mr. Siani, the football coach and the head of the gym (it was Mr. Pitt who had given him the greatest thrill of his life, that day of the benefit back in June, by awarding him a varsity football letter — a big, felt “S” — and telling everybody that he would have won it on the football field if he hadn’t been so busy singing around the country; and to a lot of the fellows and girls he’d gotten to know during his years at South Philly High. There were other people he should see — his homeroom teacher from last term, the janitor he always kidded with, and lots more — but suddenly he couldn’t bear to say another goodbye. “Let’s get out of here,” he said, turning to Paul, and they headed for an Exit door. “How about lunch?” Paul asked. “I’m starved. The school cafeteria?” “Not the cafeteria,” Fabian shrugged. “Let’s go to Joe Slick’s since it’s my last day.” Joe Slick’s was a soda fountain just across the street. They squeezed into a booth and Paul ordered a double burger with French fries, a strawberry malt and some pie and ice cream. Fabian read and reread the menu, then ordered just a black and white soda — his favorite. “Is that all?” asked Paul. “Must be something the matter if you can’t eat.” “I ate a late breakfast,” Fabian replied and let it go at that. He sipped his soda slowly, but somehow couldn’t finish it. He stood up suddenly. “I gotta run,” he said. “I promised to meet Foggy and D.D. at the club at two.” He leaned over and wrote his new address on a napkin. “Come and see me,” he said. “Soon.” 82