Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1951)

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“That’s fine,” said Farley, picking up the phone. “I’ll stay home.” Most of his friends are older than he is — professional writers and musicians whose intelligence he respects. Like many people who’ve missed college, he exaggerates its importance. The fact that he’s educated himself more thoroughly than lots of B.A.s doesn’t register with Farley. There’s so much more to learn. He learns by listening though he’s now realizing that his opinions also bear some weight. They gather often at the home of Saul Chaplin, the musician. Both Chaplin and his wife play, and everyone sings. Everyone, that is, but Farley, who’s restrained by force if necessary, and sits around looking wistful. They suspect him of singing under his breath, but a dirty look throws him. If they’re feeling indulgent, .(key’ll let him take one note alone in 'Porgy and Bess.” That’s his big solo. His warmest admirers (including his mother) will tell you that Farley sings like a frog. Shelley considers this harsh. “He’s just off key all the time,” she explains reasonably. To Farley, who loves music only second to acting, his vocal defects loom as a lesser tragedy. He’s a frustrated song-and-dance man. “Someday,” he threatens, “I’ll ootz my way into a musical.” Partly because of the roles he’s played, you think of him as intensely seriousminded. He can be as wacky as the next one, with an offbeat humor that he turns against himself. When there’s nonsense afoot, he’s semi-the-life-of-the-party. Does hilarious takeoffs on Granger, the man of doom. Or grabs Shelley, and they shove each other around in some nutty improvisation of the modern dance. As a ballroom dancer, he’s been called a diamond in the rough. “Very rough,” he stresses. What he lacks in skill, he makes up in exuberance. A friend considered the matter and put it this way. “He doesn’t look the way he thinks, but try to keep him off the floor!” Even Shelley will go no further than to say, “He’s brave.” TO his friends, he’s loyal almost to a fault and hotly defends the absent against criticism. Knifing infuriates him. Once he said to Shelley: “Don’t sit around with people who dish. What they do to others, they’ll do to you.” By the same token, he finds it hard to forgive a friend who lets him down, being young enough for the deep hurts of disillusion. He’s readier than not to like people. If he does, he’ll go all out for you. If he doesn’t, you’ll know it by his formal civility. Loathing all forms of affectation, it was Shelley’s inability to be anything but her honest self that first drew him toward her. When he feels strongly, it’s hard to budge him. But he’s not bullheaded. Convince him that he’s wrong, and he’s ready to admit it. Far from being a moody youth, he’s exceptionally sunny and goodhumored. On those rare occasions when he lets fly, it’s in privacy with a friend or two and over something important. Trifles don’t ruffle him. On occasion he’s thoughtless, but the price he pays isn’t worth it. Working late one night, he forgot a dinner date. Clean forgot it and never even phoned. For weeks thereafter he practically wore a hair shirt. Some of his friends, including Shelley, share his passion for paintings. In the pre-Granger days, Shelley bought such pictures as she could afford. “But who,” she demands, “can keep up with that guy? Not me.” And not most of his art-loving chums, who crawl out of the galleries deadbeat while Farley keeps prowling. He buys books on art and, oddly enough, understands them. He buys postcard reproductions and, oddly enough, studies them. He buys good prints of great pictures and New... Cream Deodorant Keeps Underarms Dry and Odorless Here’s why more men and women use Arrid than any other deodorant. 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