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For Tish, visiting her mother on the set, Ann Sothern’s stay in a hospital turned into a lovely Easter surprise
WHEN I returned to California recently, after an absence of months, I had a list of people I wanted to see and places where I wanted to go. My interest had been piqued by young stars like Farley Granger and Ruth Roman. I understood the new Alan Ladd house in Bel Air was divine. I had real curiosity about the new wolf pack, so devastating according to rumor that the gentlemen who comprise it need no call to attract attention. And I had been told, over and over, that I must not, above all, miss Mocambo with its Firehouse Five Plus Two and its Monday night Charleston contests.
Once again, however — even though the friends who had interested me in all these things are excellent reporters — I found myself most interested in and most excited by Hollywood’s bachelor mothers: Betty Hutton, Joan Fontaine, Eve Arden, Jane Wyman, Doris Day, Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Hedy Lamarr, Ann Sothern and skumpty-umpty others.
The way these girls, like millions of other working women everywhere, handle complex careers, run gracious homes, pay their own bills and raise healthy, happy children is, I think, wonderful to see.
Take, for example, Betty Hutton. Betty goes to lengths to give her children the sense of security that children of divorce too often lack. Lindsay and Candace, too young to understand such things, never have ( Continued on page 107)
Betty Hutton has planned it so that Daddy is still in the picture for Candy and Lindsay
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