Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1951)

• playing volley ball with Terry. Doris, ho’s always been sports minded, will play jlley until everybody else drops. For Sunday night suppers, we usually nd out and get hamburgers, French ies and thick milk shakes, set up the ble in the den and watch television. When it comes to television, Doris, as arty teases, “has all the normal recepm of America’s most gullible houseife.” She loves all audience participa3n shows. She also loves the bubble un, giant pretzels and chocolate ice cream jrry provides for refreshments. Yes, Hollywood, I’m afraid, has wrought > sophisticated changes in my daughter in her demeanor. Unless she’s very tired, ie hits the door with the same buoyancy seven p.m. now, as she did coming in om school back in Cincinnati. She’s like i injection of vitamins, fairly picking up e whole house when she comes home. Marty’s eagerness to catch up is equally >parent, his relationship with Terry a y to see. “Mart’s my manager, too,” erry is always quick to tell everyone. A ;ry enterprising young man, he’s periodiilly involved in any number of business ejects, from selling fruit from the tree the backyard to setting up a shoeshine >oth out on the front lawn. His life’s nbition is to be a cop “or I might be a iiauffeur for Marty. I don’t just know. |n still a little young,” he concedes. fARNER Brothers were considering Terry i for the role of Doris’s pestering kid •other in “On Moonlight Bay,” and Terry, ter consulting Marty, was all for it. In jet, he borrowed his mother’s script and id Marty rehearsing with him. But Doris icided she didn’t want him in pictures, iat he’s too young. Furthermore, she Jould have been a nervous wreck wor'ing about Terry’s performance and. •uldn’t have even thought of her own. At present Terry’s engrossed in taking ano lessons so he can accompany his other. “Looks like it won’t be long now,” ? announced, after his sixth. Marty prodes the vocal relief. He loves to sing and n’t at all discouraged by Doris’s opinion fliat he has “the funniest-sounding voice /e ever heard — and I’ve heard some ighty funny voices too.” Dinnertime, I think, when my brood 1 gather in relating news of their various itivities, is our happiest hour, usually pped off by Terry delivering an after nner speech. When we’re almost through iting, Terry will suddenly rise to his feet id come out stirringly with something ke, “Stephen O’Sullivan is not a very nice iy!” We all look at each other, and >mebody asks, “And who is Stephen ’Sullivan?” But Terry is already into is theme. “The more I think of it, iother, I should tell what I know about iw he bullies everyone. He’s always eking on little kids, then I have to go in id break it up.” Then, man-to-man, “You 'flow, Mart, I’m getting tired of it too!” i hen, having gotten it all off his chest, 1 erry adjourns to the den, leaving us still tting there unenlightened as to whom or hat he’s been talking about. The other evening I noticed Marty atching Doris and Terry laughing toother. With a husky note in his voice he lid, “I married a beautiful package.” hen in the direction of Terry, “I could ave had a son his age. And now, Nana, od has given him to me.” I couldn’t help feeling Marty was speak|ig for both of us. For he was echoing my wn sentiments. God has been good to pil of us; He’s given me another wonderful >n. And everything has happened for the est of bests for Doris. I couldn’t have rdered a more wonderful life for her. The End 77