Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1947)

Guy Madison, Seaman First Class, dropped his six-foot length off a Sunset Boulevard bus, dashed through traffic and stopped up short and breathless at the entrance to the Palladium. He had a date to meet a young lady and he was five minutes late. This young lady, maybe — but it wasn’t the girl in the bright red cbat — or the one wearing daisies for a hat. Funny, he’d thought he’d know her at once. She was short and brown-haired, with a quick smile, and he’d danced with her last week at the Canteen. He’d never seen her in a coat or hat, however, and he’d been totally unprepared for the number of short, brown -haired girls who could pass through one lobby . . . It was at this point he became conscious of the two Shore Patrols staring at him. Usually, people did stare at him — a goldbronze fellow with unbelievable shoulders, gob-cap riding high on hair the color of a ripe wheat field. Usually, too, he remained unconscious of the stares. However, no sailor stays unconscious of an S.P. very long. “Just a minute, Mac.” The two S. P.’s had planted themselves squarely in front of him. “What Navy do you belong to?” “Same one you do, I believe,” said Guy. “What’s your name?” snapped one of the patrolmen. “Guy Madison,” he answered quickly, the way he did now that he was getting used to it. “Got your liberty pass?” “My I.D. card is my pass.” “Let’s see it!” TOO late, Guy realized he was in trouble. The patrolman glanced at the card briefly. “We’re taking you in. You won’t mind the walk — it’s just around the corner.” Guy hoped the brown -haired girl wouldn’t think he hadn’t shown up. It should only take him a few minutes to explain to the desk sergeant. . . “Him and his I.D. card aren’t tellin’ the same story,” said one S.P. to the sarge. “The card says his name is Moseley.” “Well, you see, I changed my name when I signed my Selznick Studio contract. I — ” “A movie contract — now isn’t that glamorous? Only it says here, you’re under contract to the Guy with the Whiskers, for the duration.” “I am. That is — ” “Never mind the story,” said the Sarge. “I might listen to it if it wasn’t for the fact that the cellophane has been opened on your card. You aren’t the first guy who altered his I.D. card and got caught at it.” Just how and when the cellophane had broken loose from the brass brads on his identification, was something Guy didn’t know. He did know what an arrest would do to his chances for Officers’ Candidate School. The thing he’d been striving for so long — that meant more to him than any date or movie job in the world. The day Guy Madison knew that in spite of his service record, he was definitely out of the running for O.C.S. he felt like a fellow who’d swallowed a rock. On the other hand, he felt curiously clean and free of a couple of things that had been bothering him for years. This time he’d told the truth and they hadn’t believed him — but he’d had it coming. Little Red, choking down those extra slices of bread so long ago, had been paid off. He’d squared the matter of the eggs too. That’s why the star of “Honeymoon” is a Guy who’s never afraid to say what he has on his mind. Why the harder a thing is to say, the quicker he’ll say it. “Right or wrong — I’d rather take my chances on it,” he’ll. tell you. And meeting his straight gaze, you know chances are he’ll be right many times more than he’ll be wrong! The End fity the young me held back Often a married woman has no one but herself to blame if her husband starts losing interest — False modesty may have kept her from consulting her Doctor. Or perhaps she very foolishly has followed oldfashioned and wrong advice of friends. If only young wives would realize how important douching two or three times a week often is to intimate feminine cleanliness, health, charm and marriage happiness. If only they’d learn about this newer, scientific method of douching with — zonite. 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