Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1949)

We, the People (Continued jrom page 41) Kenney, and he was just nine years old when he visited us on We, the People. One winter day Dickie and thirty of his Salisbury, Connecticut, schoolmates were jam-packed into a bus, on their way to school. It was a day just like any other — the girls were giggling and whispering together over those wonderful secrets that only little girls have, and the boys were talking about skating, and trying, some of them, to horn in on the girls' conversation and at the same time making it perfectly clear that they weren't the least bit interested in girls. And they were all having a fine time as only youngsters can. Then it happened. The bus jolted, lurched, then plunged on, down the slippery, winding road — without a driver. He had fallen out of his seat, lay in a faint on the floor while the vehicle, with his charges, careened along without guidance. The laughter stopped, as if it had been turned ofE. The singing died away. A tiny silence, and then someone screamed. And then everyone screamed. Everyone, that is, but Dickie Kenney. Dickie jumped up, fought his way through the mass of children, now milling helplessly in the aisle, and got to the steering wheel just in time to give it a sharp jerk, and avoid hitting a telephone pole. But Dickie didn't know anything about the mechanics of the bus, didn't know what all those gadgets on the dashboard meant. "Then how did you stop the bus?" I asked him. He looked at me as if I ought to know better, and told me calmly, "Why, I just steered down the middle of the road. And it began to slow down. So then I steered it into a snow bank, because that was soft, and it stopped. Then Tommy Booth opened up the emergency door at the back, and we all climbed out. Nobody was hurt. One of the girls went home crying, but just because she was so scared." I suppose I like stories like Dickie's — stories about children — so much because we — my wife, Louise, and I — have three very active youngsters of our own: Steven, who's seven; Judith, ten; and Nancy, thirteen. To parents, at least to Louise and me, it's heartening to think that these kids of ours, and yours, are We, the People, to whom you and I are going to hand over the future. I'm not worried. They'll do all right, the Dickie Kenneys of the world, and all the rest of the youngsters. Maybe they'll never be in the public eye, or, like Dickie, they may have their one moment of acclaim, and then go their quiet — but important — ways, never again to do anything that will make headlines. But just the same, they'll keep the world pasted together, and show us what a good job of running it can really be. But there's still that question — what story, of all of them, on We, the People, do I remember best? The more I think about it, the more I wonder whether I can answer it. My wife would say, "Of course you can!" But then Louise thinks I can do anything. Without Louise I'm afraid I wouldn't have gotten very far — I'm one man who admits what he owes to his wife. And in my case, it's a big admission! Louise has been the power behind my throne ever since school days. We met, Louise and I, while I was ,NGEE KISS COLORS / (/ ^1 TANG TANGEE PINK QUEEN -What a pink! And what doesn't happen to the girl who wears it ! TANGEE RED MAJESTY— Brunettes — you'll love what it does for your lips. And so will HE ! TANGEE RED-RED — Reddest red imaginable. Lucky number for girls who want to be lucky in love! TANGEE MEDIUM RED— The happy-medium color -when you wanl a man to stop... Jook... and love. ^ 'dttOee/ KISSABLE TE.XTVRE f. Keeps lips soft... invitingly moist. 2. Feels just right... gives you confidence. 3. Does not smear or run at the edges. ^. Goes on so easily... so smoothly ... so quickiy. 5. A.^'^ •' lasts-and LASTS-and L-A-S-T-S ! JlipA, lie ocui't wait ta kli4. . . . i*t a tUnlU-^iUed l(we. ice4*e, Aia'i'Untf, JUDITH TRAFFORD AND JAMES BROWN APPEARING IN "YES SIR, THAT'S MY BABY" COLOR BY TECHNSICOLOR A UNIVERSAL-INTERNATIONAL F;CT[;RE 91