Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1952)

It's like washing your hair in softest rain water! This new gentle lotion shampoo pampers your hair . . < leaves it soft as a cloud, bright as sunshine, and so easy to care for! CAN'T DRY YOUR HAIR LIKE HARSH LIQUIDS CAN'T DULL YOUR HAIR LIKE SOAPS OR CREAMS r ( Continued from preceding page) and was planning on studying medicine, b I’m not cut out to be a doctor. That was n mother’s idea. When I quit after two years i post-graduate work, my dad said I was o enough to stop horsing around and settle dow I was ordered to report to my dad’s compan You ought to know my male parent. Now the is a real throwback to Ghengis Khan. Ta about your dictators! In addition to his royal complex, he is an alcoholic. He is powerf enough in his firm so that it doesn’t matt whether he shows at his office for weeks a time; he can do exactly as he likes. My mother feels that, since I’m not going be a doctor, I should take over the fami position in the company in the future. T1 seems to be all right in theory with Dad, b I really take a mauling every time I meet 1 with him. He insults me before fellow ei ployees, makes fun of my abilities, and te everyone that the average family always co tains some “dead wood." When I say I’m going to call the whole thi off, my mother has one of her sick spells. S wants me to stay with the company, and, to honest, I haven’t a skill to sell in the op market. I’m probably better off there th anywhere, but sometimes I think 1 11 go era if I have to spend the next twenty or thii years as my dad’s understudy. It’s a hopeless situation. Still, you’re si posed to be able to sail right through hopeh situations, so why not try this one? Emerick Dear Mr. J : The situation is not at all hopeless. T fact that you refused to become a doct( once you had decided that you lacked tl vocation, was wise and indicative of coi age. Now, just employ that same coura in making this new life decision. You should plan your future, it seei| to me, after taking a long look at yo abilities, your ambition for certain li accomplishment, and your right to emotionally adult. Why not look over your father’s co i pany as if you were a stranger, and deei whether its particular field interests y< Disregard salary, speed of advancemei prestige and all other considerations. A only whether this occupation holds a warding promise to you as an independf individual. If you decide that it does, y should start at the bottom of the empli ment ladder and learn the business, ma taining a dignified silence against yo father’s childish goading. If you decide that this particular mes of making a living is not for you, y should say so and then strike out yourself. It seems to me that you are in search your own maturity. Go ahead, be a m: I have confidence in your ability to s ceed in whatever you decide to do. j Claudette Colb Dear Miss Colbert : I am a freshman in high school. As soon school started, another freshman was very r to me. When the school gave its annual autu party to introduce the new freshmen to rest of the school, this boy took me. Well, he just acted so simple that I got ribly disgusted. The things he did were utti absurd, like walking rails, pretending to b drunk, imitating Groucho Marx, and I di know what not. There was nothing to laugh although some of the kids did laugh. AT h I not with him. It was intensely stupid. I w'ent to three or four more parties v him, but he became worse and worse. I ; couldn’t stand it, so I asked one of my friends what I should do. She said I sho tell him in person what a fool he was mak of himself, or I should write him a note | decided to say it on paper. In the note I told him exactly w hat I thou (Continued on page 14) 12