Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1948)

. but peace was not the goal of the man who called himself Ray Brandon ON graduation night Cantwell High, in one of the nicest sections of Los Angeles, had two guests from the melting-pot community of Selby Flats. One, Dr. Charles Matthews, pastor of the Church of the Good Samaritan in Selby Flats, was known to all the audience. He sat next to the principal in the center of the front row of seats on the stage. He was the speaker of the evening. The other stood at the very back of the room, in the deepest shadow of the balcony, so that even if anyone in the audience chanced to turn his head, he could not be seen. His name was Ray Brandon; he was only about three weeks old. But he knew about life, its twists and turnings, its way of trying to trap a man who wanted no part of it. Only three weeks ago, the day before the warden of the state prison had turned the key that permitted Roger Barton to go free and to change his name, Dr. Matthews had spoken at the prison. It had been a moving speech, so moving that the brand-new Ray Brandon had had a crazy, irresistible impulse. His first act as a free man had been to go to see Dr. Matthews and to tell him just what he thought of his high-sounding phrases about the brotherhood of man. Then he'd got a job as a stock clerk — pretty good for a man who had a college degree in business administration and who knew as much law as many practising lawyers — and had ironically given Dr. Matthews' name as a reference. Then he had had a visit from a woman named Julie Collins, who had once been Julie Barton. Julie was here tonight, too, with her husband, Frank Collins. She was here to listen proudly while her son, young Roger Barton, delivered the valedictory address for the graduating class of Cantwell High. Oh, yes, life was cunning; it was already trying to claim Ray Brandon. Dr. Matthews had forgiven him his imprecations and had given him a good recommendation for his job. Julie was married to another man; she had borne him two children, but her eyes had told Ray Brandon that she loved him. Her lips had said, "I hope we can be friends. HP? 6r 'Kttv "~Z:"V: 1 1 ' y ^r^ ~^-£i -^fciC"*1^ Wi vWS&^zmm^M'^i ^r^fllv ■'■ :"■":■: B 995SP^ |r ^ Bfc ^B v m •"'■••.v ■'.-,' '^ijjjfe : ' ' > ja '■ '99k. ' PfiM i£ 1 *-■ 1 wk IM 7isM fj&m ' n W":,mk ^V* nKfl w' A Jm .\:/;. Charlotte looked up at Ray, her face raining tears as frank as a child's. He couldn't stop himself ... he put his arms around her. But young Roger has grown up believing that you were dead, as you wished. I hope you realize the impossibility of — of projecting yourself into his life in any way." But her eyes had told him that she loved him. Well, she needn't worry. He'd told her he'd forgotten the boy completely. She'd married Frank to give young Roger a good home, a good life, and it was all right with him. He'd told Julie so, told her that a father's feelings weren't nearly as strong as a mother's. And they weren't, were they? He was here tonight only out of — curiosity. To see what sort of man the little boy he'd known had become. Julie needn't worry about his having anything to do with young Roger. Dr. Matthews could preach to someone else about the brotherhood of man and forgiving and forgetting and making a fresh start. Ray Brandon wanted nothing life had to offer. He was existing for just one purpose. When it was accomplished, he wouldn't care what happened. Dr. Matthews was speaking — praying. "Almighty God, may Your guiding light shine down upon these young folks who hold destiny in their hands. May it direct them down paths of understanding, tolerance, and brotherly love. May it help them to build a world of unselfishness and faith, a world that will be a promise of Your heavenly kingdom. Amen . . ." He lifted his head, addressed the audience directly. "It gives me great pleasure now to present to you the valedictorian of the Cantwell High School graduating class ... Roger Collins." Collins — so he was using his stepfather's name. Not that it mattered, of course. Ray braced himself. The boy was getting up, coming forward on the stage — and the face that looked out across the footlights was Ray's own face as it had been fifteen-odd years ago. "Principal Clark, teachers, paren's and friends . . . first of all we want ' express our deep gratitude to everyone who has made this evening a reality for us. Our parents — our mothers and dads — without you, this couldn't have been possible. Day after day at home you taught us things we could never learn in school. You were always there to encourage us — " Ray took it, every agonizing line of it. He stayed through the salutatorian's address, and the handing out of the diplomas, his hungry eyes never leaving the boy's face. He didn't dare wait to see Roger join the march off the stage; the audience would break up then, and he couldn't risk Julie's turning around, possibly seeing him. He had a little trouble with the doors — or maybe the trouble was with his eyes, which were somehow, suddenly blurred— and then he was outside, headed for the bus line and Mrs. Olson's boarding house in Selby Flats. A man and a woman sat on the boarding house porch; the man faded quickly inside as Ray came up. "Poor Eddie," Ray grinned. "Lives R in hopes, doesn't he?" Charlotte Wilson tilted her face to M look up at him. It was a pretty face, but with tired lines that were too old 63