We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
Their story began in a college classroom when a shy, shabby boy looked at a pert coed. The rest is Heston family history
BY RUTH WATERBURY
• That afternoon in the spring of 1941 love was at work. The class studying “Fimdamental Theatre” at Northwestern University were the brains group, the college highbrows.
In the class was a broad-shouldered, shy and shabby boy named Charlton Heston. A scholarship student, he was running an elevator at nights to keep himself eating. In between classes and the night shift he did all manner of odd jobs. He got little sleep, of course, but that was all right; he was determined to become great in the theatre. That was why he was working so hard, and he was annoyed with himself for not keeping his mind constantly on his objective. For as the spring days wafted one past another, he found himself increasingly aware of a coed named Lydia Clarke.
He had taken the habit of sitting behind Lydia in class so that, without seeming to, he could watch her — her pert, dark curls, her huge, dark eyes, her neat rounded figure. He wasn’t the only guy in class aware of her; this he jealously noted. But Lydia Clarke was obviously an intellectual artiste. To ask such a girl to shoot the breeze at the college malt shop was virtual sacrilege.
And then, this particular bahny day of that spring of 1941, it happened. Lydia Clarke, as the lecture ended, turned in Charlton’s direction. She addressed him.
“I wonder if I could ask your advice, Mr. Heston?”
What a dream question from any girl to any fellow! In one bound Chuck was on his big feet, standing close to Miss Clarke. Because of his height, she had to turn her face up to his. Seen this closely, it was an even (Continued on page 99)
The Hestons at entrance to their Hollywood apartment
.1