Radio Digest (Nov 1929-Apr 1930)

IS ERTRUD By S a lis bu ry Marriage Proved a Mirage So She Figured Out Her Own Course For True Love — And Brother Harry Paid the Bills GOD gave me brains and a natural love of culture and refinement — and on my father's side, an Uncle Harry for whom I was named. We hadn't heard from Uncle Harry for years; and then, suddenly, a letter came from Australia saying he'd died and left me a million dollars. It was a shock to me, of course — but a pleasant one. And right then and there I made up my mind to two things — ■ to live on my income, and to make a lady out of my sister Gertrude. Which was some job if you knew Gert. A sweet child, 3'ou understand, and all that, but a wild Indian if there ever was one. Gert and I were living at the time in a little town called Spring Lake in the San Bernardino mountains. Mother was living, too — but with her fourth husband in Salt Lake City. So the first thing I did, after making arrangements with the Spring Lake bank, was to stake the organist at the Gem theater to a divorce. What Gert wanted with the baldheaded little bozo was beyond me. But music is a refining influence, and with a Radio and Victor in the home (that was his silly name, Victor, though he looked like defeat from the feet up) . . . Anyway, with Victor Wiggins and a swell flat in Hollywood,. I thought maybe Gert would turn over a few new leaves and' get refined. So I gave her my blessing and a bank roll, then bought a ticket on one of those 'round-the-world cruises with the idea of getting a little culture myself. Not that I wouldn't have preferred seeing my own country first. But how can one, safely, when it's so full of bad gin? It was a swell trip at that. And if I didn't corral all the culture in the world, by the time I got back I could at least tell the difference between a Nautch girl and a narghile — even if I had a cold. You may be sure I sent Gert a picture postcard from every port and a lot of other junk besides. And it was on her account that I only spent four months in Paris. For I'd been almost a father and a mother to that girl, and being full of ideals and hopes for her, I made it a point to be home for her wedding. (It takes a year to get a divorce in California.) And say, it was as pretty a wedding as you'd wish to see; Gert and Victor . . . and the baby . . . I was real proud of Gert. If she hadn't had bobbed hair and been a whole lot younger, she'd have looked like one of those madonnas an Italian guide showed me. Of course Victor still looked like Ignatz, the mouse, and why, after a whole year, it was a wedding instead of a funeral was beyond me. The baby, though, was a knockout. "A great kid," I said, "and he does you both credit. Only where in the world did he get his red hair?" "Sssh!" said Gert. "That's the only thing Victor is sensitive about. We've named him after you, Harry. Because where would we be today if ycu hadn't been named after your uncle?" You can see for yourself Gert had changed: common sense, a good wife, a splendid mother ... We had a nice brother and sister talk while Victor was. changing the baby. "On the level, how's everything?" I asked. "Grand," said Gert. "Still strong for Victor?" "Yep." "Is he working?" "No." "Has he worked since you came to Hollywood?" "No." "Why not?" "He's never seemed to get 'round to it," said Gert. "I used to raise Cain with him about it, but every time I did he'd put on his hat and say he was going back to his wife." "Well, he can't run that bluff on you now. He's your lawful wedded washout now, and if he ever does go back to his first wife you can put him in jail." "Can I really? Oh, Harry! You're such a comfort to me," she said.