Photoplay (Jan-Jun 1954)

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So Terry and her crowd — almost all sports enthusiasts — do their swimming elsewhere. But the equipment for all her other sports activities is stored in every nook and cranny in the house. That includes golf clubs, tennis rackets, riding clothes, skiing equipment, surf board, goggles for underwater swimming, bowling shoes, badminton birds, ping-pong paddles — and I don’t know what else. “Mom, where are my ski socks?” or “What happened to my bowling shoes?” are frequent questions. The only thing I don’t have to worry about stumbling over is equipment for flying. But I do worry about Terry’s piloting a plane, although I’m the only member of the family who’s gone up with Terry at the controls. She thinks nothing of flying to Palm Springs for brunch and coming right back for a tennis date; flying to Tiajuana for the bullflghts or down to La Jolla to see a friend rehearse a play. I sort of wish she’d give up flying for solitaire or something safer. But it’s hardly likely. When Terry was only four years old, she’d already given me the scare of my life. I’d taken her to a doctor for a whoopingcough shot, turned to talk to the nurse and when I looked aroimd, Terry was outside the window teetering on a ledge six stories above the pavement. “Wait,” whispered the nurse. “Don’t scare her.” She tiptoed to the window and asked softly, “Honey, is there something interesting in the sky?” Terry peered up and my heart skipped a beat. Just then the nurse grabbed her. And that was only the beginning. The remarkable thing is that this madcap fireball who next tried to follow an attendant into a bear’s cage in Griffith Park Zoo, ever grew up in one piece at all. Terry doesn’t just dabble at sports — she goes at them with all-out championship gusto. That’s why she learned tennis from Dick Seixas and Greg Bautzer; skiing from Jerome Courtland and golf from pro A1 Besselink. Sunday afternoons Bob Wagner, other golf enthusiast friends and Terry meet in Griffith Park for their Pitch-andPutt Club. Terry usually keeps some clubs in her car, so when she passes a driving range and has thirty minutes to spare she can stop off for practice. She’s unusually co-operative by nature and will say “yes” to any studio demand on her free time or to her friends, when she thinks her presence at a function will be helpful. The other night, after a completely filled day she skipped dinner and drove with a group of young friends clear to Taft, a two-and-a-half-hour drive, to see Tab Hunter open in a new play. And she’ll give up anything to go off on a really important trip like the one to Korea last Christmas. Sometimes I ask her, “How can you make so many dates in a day? You’d have to be quintuplets to find time for everything you plan today?” “Mother, I’m never tired, really,” she explains. “You get tired only when you’re bored and I’m never bored. What really relaxes me is excitement and hard work. I’ll always have ' to be doing something and I’m never going to retire. I’ll be like Sophie Tucker.” Though she keeps to a full schedule between films, she rarely goes out week nights when she’s making a picture — only when the studio asks her to attend a premiere, and then she comes home early. And though she dresses in a twinkle, she’s never slapdash like some busy girls, but always neat, clean and well-turned out. Cleanliness is a« fetish with her. I remember when she was^ in school, she came home one day to an I nounce that she had a terrific crush on one ‘ of the boys. “What’s so super about him?” asked Wally, disdainfully. “He wears the cleanest blue jeans of any boy at school,” answered Terry. Always she’s been complimented for her taste in clothes. And she adores them. Nor has she outgrown the desire to put on a new dress the minute I’ve finished making it. Busy as she is, she always keeps her i clothes in perfect order. Her dresser i drawers are a model of tidiness. That is | a trait she didn’t inherit from her mother. ' But she did inherit thriftiness and a love j: of clothes. Terry was reared as a Mormon • i and gives ten per cent of her earnings to ! the church as her tithe. She’s a faithful at 1 tendant at Mormon church services and | because of her deep religious beliefs she ! doesn’t smoke, drink coffee, tea or any i stimulating liquors. Nor has this abstin J ence lessened her popularity with boys. In fact, the sheer number of her beaux created quite a problem during her teen years. It’s a phase other mothers know about. Every week there was a new boy. She’d introduce him to me, saying afterwards, “Mama, isn’t he positively the end — the most attractive man you’ve ever seen?” Serenely I’d answer, “Yes, indeed — this week, that is.” But that’s all in the past. Now her indecisiveness concerns cars, i Terry drives an old Chewy; has been talking about buying a new car. One day it’s to be a Packard convertible, next day she’s all set on a Ford, then she hears of a wonderful deal on a Cadillac. Just as she was about ready to settle on that. Bob Wagner told her the Austin-Healey, an English sports car is, in his words — “the most.” Now she’s all perplexed, and still drives the Chewy. Terry had changed little throughout the years — still is friendly with Glendale High School pals, but she dates more boys in the profession than she did formerly. As she puts it, “When I go to a premiere with a boy who isn’t in pictures, he squirms and rushes me out when photographers come around, saying, ‘Let’s duck this.’ But when I go out with someone like Bob Wagner or Rock Hudson or Hugh O’Brian, he understands that being photographed and giving autographs is part of our work.” Terry’s friends seem to me to be a wonderful group of young people — intelligent, natural, alert, outgoing, thoughtful of others. I remember one night when Terry was working late and I sat up sewing on a new formal for her. When I heard her drive up, I opened the door. Bob Wagner, in his own car, was following her home just to see that she arrived safely. He waved, gave her a warm smile and left. And his apartment is in the opposite direction. Terry has always had the ability to make good friends. Before they married — Elizabeth Taylor, Ann Blyth, Jane Powell, Jane Withers, Wanda Hendrix, Diana Lynn — were part of Terry’s group, as were such young actors as Darryl Hickman, Dick Long, Lon McCallister, Jerome Courtland, Craig Hill and Roddy McDowall. More recently, Debbie Reynolds, Susan Zanuck, Merry Anders, Donald O’Connor, Hugh O’Brian, Jay Robinson, Bob Wagner, Tab Hunter, Steve Rowland, Rock Hudson have joined the group. Music there always is, with Eddie Samuels at the piano and, when they are in town — Johnny Ray, Vic Damone, A1 Martino, or Champ Butler — to enchant the gang with their voices. And afterwards, Terry leads the way to the kitchen to whip up scrambled eggs. All in all, it’s a great life. And neither Terry’s Dad nor I show any signs of weakening! The End 94