Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1948)

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( Please Print i Name. i Address ! City State The Lady That's Known as Luci ( Continued, from page 58) Patton. Today Mr. Morgan is an associate in a public relations firm that represents Miss Ball. His wife Cleo, actually Miss Ball’s cousin but always counted a sister, has eloquent black eyes, dark hair and the facial features of her sister, and so naturally has been taken into pictures. There also is brother Fred and Miss Ball’s mother, a witty hand with language, who has had a career as a concert pianist and lately was buyer for Sterns of New York, and, of course, Desi Arnaz, Cuban troubadour, when he is not on tour with his band, chanting Spanish lays and beating the jungle drum to the tune of half a million dollars last year. When not present he is represented always by a flower display, usually yellow roses, bearing the card “Love to Luci from Desi.” This festive little group is generally augmented by friends who drop in not only from this planet but those adjacent. You wonder from the number and variety how Miss Ball ever got worked up with that morbid fear of people not liking her. “It started in childhood,” she says. “Those things always do.” SHE was born cheerful enough at the conventional age 0 in Butte, Montana, where her father was a mining engineer. For two years she gurgled happily, squawked only when jabbed irreverently in the rear by a fresh safety pin or when room service was slow. Then her father died. Exigency compelled the family to separate. Mrs. Ball took the children back to the old home near Jamestown, New York. Fred was placed with his maternal grandparents and Luci with a step-grandmother, a Swede of principles but little experience with the younger generation. Luci, a naturally affectionate child, was not allowed to play with neighbor children lest she contract a disease or a naughty word. The child spent a dour seven years. She did not laugh and she does not laugh now. “Comedians don’t laugh,” she observes, poker-faced. “I don’t know why. Perhaps they were sad children.” Seeing her sitting there in Lucey’s (no relation) restaurant was an experience. Her hair was the color of bonfires atop a hill celebrating the Fourth, her eyes the penetrant blue of search lights celebrating a premiere. Add to this: Slim aristocratic hands with cardinal nails longer than a Chinese Empress’s, legs racy, elegant, thoroughbred— but alack, they do not show at lunch hour, for she is robed from top to bottom and well beyond in black and white checked tweed, collared and cuffed in sumptuous beaver. Seeing her you say to yourself, there’s an actress as an actress should look, poised, magnetic, resplendent. In a world grown gray in monotone of uniformity where everyone, even in Hollywood, seems bent on being just like the folks next door, Miss Ball is a phenomenon as individual as aurora borealis. Miss Ball definitely is not the little girl next door. If she were, mama would make papa move. She would unless she met Luci first. In that case she would wind up Luci’s inescapable friend. By some magic, possibly that besetting aim to be liked, Miss B. takes you lock, stock and barrel on first meeting so that you collapse and roll over. Turn to Page 89 for Photoplay Fashions in Color fo/0 mtttaZed WITHOUT WATER ★ No soap • No rinsing • No drying k Removes oil, dirt, hair odors ★ Retains wave; restores sheen ★ Grand between water shampoos ★ Ideal during colds and illness 30 SHAMPOOS WITH MITT 1.00 Plus tax, At all good drug and department stores. MINIP00 DRY SHAMPOO Cosmetic Distributors, Inc., Jersey City 6, N. J. tidy at fen *4 a frowsy at four*" Her hair looks smooth when she's just combed it; but look at her later! Poor Dolly didn't know how to make a hair-do stay put . . . 'Hit iiicfiiukcJL HAIRLAC — the delicately perfumed hair lacquer Men hate "frowsy" women. 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