Radio mirror (July-Dec 1947)

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Give measurements asked for in coupon below. pnpr "Magic" Plastic Laces. For rnCC your extra attded comfort you get a pair of Plastic laces that stretch gently as needed. Try them In SLIM-MODE instead of regular laces. See which you prefer. SEND NO MONEY YOU TRY IT BEFORE YOU BUY IT! R M 76 RONNIE SALES. Inc.. Dept. RM-12 13 Astor Place. New York 3. N. Y. Send me for 10 days' FREE TRIAL a SLIM-MODE. I will pay postman $3.98 (plus postage) (sizes 38 and over $4.98) with the understanding that this payment is only my evidence of good faith and is not to be considered a final purchase unless I decide to keep the garment. In 10 days I will either return SLIM-MODE to you and you will return my money; or othervvise my payment will be a full and final purchase price. My waist measure is Hips are My height is Name Address City & Zone State C Save Money. We pay postage if you enclose payment now. Same FREE TRIAL and refund privilege. That's What Luck Is (Continued from page 49) Edwards and Morton Downey, had judged me, Mindy Carson, worthy to join that great galaxy. The great Paul Whiteman had signed me as regular featured singer with his world-renowned orchestra! It vfill help you to understand my wonderment when I explain that less than twelve months before "Pops" engaged me I had never sung professionally. That's an understatement. Less than twelve months earlier I had never set foot on any bandstand. I had never been within shouting distance of a radio microphone. In fact, the only public singing I'd ever done was with the James Monroe High School glee club in New York — and only in the chorus, at that. Any solo work I felt the urge to do was strictly amateur, usually confined to warbling in the shower or while helping Mother with the dinner dishes. BACK in that glee club period my audience would be Mother, Dad and baby brother Wayne or possibly a few hundred students come to hear our choral renditions in the James Monroe auditorium. Recently, I couldn't help contrasting that small audience with another one before which I sang — the 28,000 people who packed Hollywood Bowl on July 12th to hear Paul Whiteman's concert under the stars. As for my invisible listeners, every Wednesday night they can be reckoned in the millions. Can you appreciate my occasional wonderment? Singing has always been my happiest means of self-expression. Mother and Dad swear that when I was no more than three years old I could be heard lilting all the lyrics of "Tip Toe Through the Tulips." Oddly enough, it was not my singing but my terpsichorean talent that Mother encouraged. She enrolled me at one of the best dancing schools in the Bronx where I trained rigorously in tap, ballet and acrobatic routines. What promise I showed is manifest in the half-dozen loving cups that adorn my bedroom dressing table. Somehow, my interest in dancing shrank to the vanishing point after I had an appendectomy at the age of twelve. Maybe it's just as well. Maybe there was a kind of prophecy inscribed on the last of those loving cups. Engraved on that trophy (remember, it was awarded for dancing) was the single word — Fame. I'm nineteen years old now. It isn't for me to say that I've achieved fame. But without any hesitation I do say that I've realized the absolute fulfillment of my one burning ambition: a singing career. I've lived with that ambition all through my teen-age years. That I've realized it so quickly and on such a grand scale is what fills me with a sense of wonder. If this suggests that all I did during those years was mope around and dream about a singing career, let me hasten to correct any such impression. I'm not the moping type. True, I frequently would glue an envious, and often critical, ear to the loudspeaker at home and I would often voice my belief (within the family circle) that Mindy Carson could do as well as many singers featured on various programs. Assertions like that gained me nothing but tolerant smiles from Mother and Dad. Even so, I didn't brood about it. I was still too young to feel thwarted — and besides, there was so much in life to feel good about, look forward to. My school years were stimulating and constructive. I was right in the thick of athletics, playing short-stop on the girl's nine and forward on our basketball team. During one season I led the cheering squad — and that's when my acrobatic training proved most helpful. All these doings won me membership in the "200" Club at James Monroe High. Then, quite as if there weren't enough athletics on the agenda, I kept myself busy after school hours. Public School 77, boasting a recreation hall with some mighty good ping pong tables, is only a few minutes' walk from my house. A sort of perpetual tournament was always under way and in it I held the ping pong championship for four consecutive years. I'd been taking an academic course and found subjects like science and economics especially fascinating. But my outlook was not a purely academic one. Mother and Dad had only moderate means and I planned to make myself Assistant Breadwinner. This called for training of a more practical sort and so I swapped a couple of the aesthetic subjects for plain, workaday ones like typing and shorthand. It proved to be a good swap. Also, during my senior year I cut down on most of the physical culture and channeled those energies toward finding a part-time job. Energy plus a whopping fib (during the interview I added four years to the sixteen that were rightfully mine) won me a job with Rosemarie de Paris Candies. I had become a business girl! IFTER my graduation I continued with fl Rosemarie de Paris on a full time basis and ultimately became assistant sales manager in the firm's wholesale department. Such progress prompted unqualified praise from Mother and Dad at home but in my boss's mind there were occasional moments of doubt. He found no fault with my work but every so often he did find it necessary to reprimand me for one bad, efficiency-destroying, demoralizing-tothe-staff habit — the tendency to burst suddenly into song. Whenever I did this the office decorum would be devastated. Clerks and typists would be startled silly and sundry executives would be amazed, amused or incensed. Believe me, my vocal outbursts were never premeditated. This impromptu singing has always been a habit with me — a sort of unconscious release of my naturally happy temperament. In January 1946, after the strenuous and enervating Christmas rush, I took a short vacation — one week of glorious Florida sunshine at my aunt's home in Miami Beach. Maybe it was there that Dame Fortune, Lady Luck, Fate or whatever her name is, began to weave a bright new pattern for my way of life. Anyway, insofar as my singing was concerned, it was during this fateful week that I decided to accentuate the positive instead of the wishful-thinking. Along with some of her friends, Aunt Eva took me to a small night club — ^just a pleasant, unpretentious little nabe nitery with music and "atmosphere." In between dances a trio of troubadours would stroll among the tables serenading the customers. When our table was thus honored I somehow let the music's mood capture me and I began to sing,