Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1951)

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Special Sales Plan for Clubs, Churches and Organiiations Your customers will enjoy selecting their items from our colorful catalogue. JANES ART STUDIOS, Inc. Babylon 85, New York Yes I want to make easy money. Please rush FREE Display Book and Catalogue with Two Sample Christmas Box Assortments on Approval today. Name Address P City State 80 No Sad Songs for Judy (Continued from page 35) Judy grow up while I was doing likewise. It had been Judy and her first husband Dave Rose who had encouraged me to forget vaudeville and write songs. Dave had introduced my first song just before I had become another G.I. Joe. It was not until after I discarded khaki that I had started writing songs for the movies. Judy and I met at lunch to discuss our European trek. We were both nervous over seeing each other for the first time in so many years, wondered if we’d hit it off. But after the first five minutes we were yakking it up all over the place. When it broke in the papers that I was to accompany Judy, my phone rang continually. Friends of hers calling to instruct me how to “handle” her — friends of mine, skeptical that I should take a chance with Garland, fearing she might not hold up or blow up the whole thing. Before we knew it, the night before our departure was upon us and Ruth Waterbury, whose name should be familiar to all you readers, gave us a party. Here we nervously tried out our act before an audience of friends and such tough critics as Louella Parsons, Cobina Wright, Maggie Whiting, Jack Smith, Gertrude Neisen, Burt Lancaster and so on. They all seemed to like what they heard and this encouraged Judy. Then came the day we sailed. Judy called me that morning with cracks that the gloomy weather seemed more suitable for a murder than a bon voyage. The first big laugh of the sailing came almost at once when Judy entered her stateroom and, in sweeping through the door to her bedroom, tripped over a ledge and fell flat on her face — as a beginning to her publicized “falling-down” journey. Reporters who boarded the ship at Plymouth seemed shocked at the weight Judy had gained. Undoubtedly they had expected to see a frail, ailing individual. Judy has put on poundage, but for the first time in years she has regained her health. And isn’t that of utmost importance? When Judy read the reporters’ comments the next day, she remarked, “From what I’ve read, I feel like the fat lady from Barnum & Bailey’s—” and roared with laughter. As our tender moved from the ship, it seemed as if the crew and entire passenger list remaining aboard were on deck or hanging out of portholes to wave Judy farewell. Ships in the harbor flashed signals, spelling out her name. The lie gave a long special blast on the horn, which we were told was for Judy. She turned to me, saying, “Golly, can you believe all this? I can’t.” Which brings me back to my first paragraph— opening night at the Palladium. When stand-by call came, Judy and I walked arm in arm to the wings of the stage. Laughing, she said it felt as if we were walking “the last mile.” And it did. We gave each other a kiss for luck and agreed if anything out of the ordinary happened, such as her forgetting a lyric or my hitting a clinker, we’d simply laugh it up and have fun. At that moment, the orchestra broke into the entrance music and I rushed on stage. Judy looked at me from the wings, terrified — and with a feeble “Oh, no.” Then she walked on stage and it seemed as though the walls would come in with the applause. Her performance went smoothly until she finished the fourth number. At this time, we were both supposed to exit. Suddenly the audience fell silent and looking toward the mike, I saw no Judy. However, right behind it, there was our girl — sitting flat on her you-know-what, stage center. I let out a howl as did she, walked overto her and helped her to her feet. The audience started yelling and laughing with us, with which Judy threw her arms around me, gave me a big smack. It wasn’t until Judy started to sing her final number, “Over the Rainbow, that I really realized what had happened. We were on at the Palladium. A baby spot was on Judy — and she’d done it. They started to roar before she’d even sung the last lyric — and as the curtains folded in on the final words: “Why, oh why, can t I? it was bedlam. We were a bit bewildered by some of the newspaper reviews. They lauded Judy’s performance, yet they commented on her weight, her gown, her vocal volume and, naturally, all mentioned her fall. But we knew, above all, she’d been a hit. By noon that day, her four weeks’ engagement was sold out. In summing up, I’d like to quote a remark Ju.dy made as the curtains fell on the Palladium’s final show. The audience’s response had warmed her heart, and just before she had made her final curtain call she had grabbed my hand. “Not bad for a kid from Lancaster, California, hmm?” I say now, not bad for anyone, Judy, who is willing to knock herself out to please others, as you have done. The papers called this your comeback. I object. I don’t think you’ve ever been away. The End