Radio Mirror (Nov 1936-Apr 1937)

DOES Mother know best? That is the perplexing question which Jerry Cooper, the CBS Krueger's Musical Toast baritone, must answer as he stands today at the cross-roads of his life torn between conflicting loyalties. On one hand stands his mother, sweet, softspoken — a woman with all the gracious tradition of the south in her slow mellow voice. On the other, the one great love of his life, Joan Mitchell, exotic dancer, whose dazzling beauty represents all of Broadway. Perhaps if Jerry Cooper were an ordinary young man, or his mother an ordinary woman, or Joan just a simple, pretty girl, Jerry's problem would be a lot simpler. Young men today are not often tied to their mother's apron strings — not if they have granite characters like Jerry's. Nor does a young man often stop to give heed to his mother's advice in this day of emancipated youth. But Jerry's relationship with his mother has deeper roots and ties than the normal love between son and mother, ties of sympathy and un AT THIS CRUCIAL MOMENT IN HIS LIFE MUST HE BE RESPONSIBLE FOR BREAK ING SOMEONE'S HEART? model and the glamor derstanding that go back many years — years of trouble and heartache and responsibility. Jerry was only twelve when he came home one day, his face flushed and eager with play and excitement, to find his mother sitting in dry-eyed frozen calm, her busy hands folded listlessly in her lap, her merry blue eyes blank with despair. Jerry's younger brother and sister rushed in, clamorous and indifferent in their childish self-absorption, demanding attention and food. Perhaps they were perplexed at the indifference of a mother who always anticipated their wants and met them with laughter. Perhaps on the other hand they didn't notice that it was Jerry who soberly sliced bread and butter and sprinkled it with sugar and sent them packing out to play. However, there is no doubt that Jerry knew that something was terribly wrong. Quietly he walked about the house, performing odd chores, washing up the lunch dishes which had been left unwashed in his mother's usually immaculate kitchen, silent but watching and waiting — waiting for that awful silence to break. At last it came. Mrs. Cooper noticed her little son hovering anxiously about. "Your father's gone," she said tonelessly. Jerry looked at her in perplexity. "Gone!" People who died were gone. But his father obviously wasn't dead. Slowly the realization of what had happened dawned in his young mind. He remembered and pieced together fragments of impressions — of harsh words exchanged while he lay wondering in the dark. Dimly in some boyish way he understood the anguish of his mother and in that moment he became a man. He flung his arms about his mother. "Don't worry, mom!" he sobbed, "I'll take care of you forever!" That was no idle, childish promise. Jerry quit school and went to work, continuing his education at night. His mother, who was a trained nurse, also went back to work. Side by side they worked and planned for the younger children, shared each other's hardships, trials and joys. For they did find happiness at last. Time had healed the painful memory of that unhappy day. Jerry was proud of his tall, beautiful, gallant mother and she adored her lovable, loyal son who looked so like her with his soft, wavy brown hair, his Irish blue eyes, his winsome smile. Evenings, after they had returned from their respective jobs, they would compare notes of the day, budget their meager incomes and decide whether the children could have a new suit or dress. Always Jerry and his mother went without things so that the younger ones might have everything. And then when the kids were safely asleep, Jerry would sing Jerry's afraid making which ts mother her son is a decision will bring him unhappiness.