Radio mirror (July-Dec 1946)

Kiilph Lnrkr plovs P»|ia David ... Mfr (lull Bo Iti-niitifiil, wrilleii l>y CnrI llixliy nnil Don llofk.T. kUo 7lUor Off,.,.s one hundri-d dollars Piirli nioiilli for jour "^/r C„„ R, EcaulifJ J^cllors Have you sent in your Life Can Be Beautiful letter yet? For the letter Papa David considers best each month. RAIMO MIRROR will pay one hutjdred doUar.s. For each of the other letters received durinjs the month which we have space enough to pr.nt. RADIO MIRROR Magazine will pay fifteen dollars. Address your letters to Papa P.J'ls'^'^e"' "^^^^'O MIRROR Magazine, 205 EMt 42nd Street. New York 17, New York IF you have faith that a gooii !t/e is within the grasp of anyone who wants it, then your Life Can Be Beautiful. This does not mean that an exisience free of an.v hardships or unhappiness can be had at wUl, only that beauty dwells in unexpected places — unexpected situations, and it is up to each one of us to seek it out. As a wise poet once said, "Beauty and truth are worthy to be sought." And when troubles come, as come they do to all of us, don't give way to despair. More often than most people realize, the compensation of suiTering is that it brings us to a greater appreciation of our blessings. O beautiful in this living that passes like the foam, It is to go with sorrow, yet come with beauty home. Hardly a day passes that I don't find proof of this m my own life or the lives of my friends and neighbors. I was discussing it with the tobacconist from arotmd the corner quite recently. He is a widower, whose daughter Harriet, an unusually gifted girl who had been given every possible advantage of education, became bllno about a year ago. After much suffering and illness, a series of successful operations restored her sight. And now Harriet is glad of the experience! "AU my life I will be more thankful, more pateful for the precious gift of sight because I was once without it," she told her father. "All my life I wdl have more sympathy and more understanding for the blind because I know what it is like to be blind." I was filled with thankfuhiess when the tobacconist repealed these words— the thankfuhiess I always experience when hearing that one more person has learned the joyous secret— Li/e Can Be Beautiful. It is the same thankfuhiess I feel at the deluge of mspiring letters which you have sent to m<---letters that are a tribute to the philosophy of life which is the moving spirit of our radio program. I only wish we could print them all, but, smce that is impossible, here are he ones selected as the most fitting testimonials that Life Can Be Beautiful. This first one, from a young woman, I have chosen as the best letter sent by a reader this month, and to the writer of it goes Radio Mirror's cheek for $100.00-and graUtude from all of us lor sharmg her experience with us. ^A. 'ff/p "oo, '«*» '^/>« % "Ofyf, «j, '"Pp, '"-th "J, -^ lA/Ue ZJecLcke, Dear Papa David: When I was twenty-two months of age, I was a victim of that dreaded child disease infantile paralysis which left me with a shortened leg and a badly twisted right foot. I was unable to walk until I was almost nine years old; by that time 1 was very self-conscious about my afBiction. I hated the thought of starting to school. I shunned the other children and only watched when they played, although they asked me to join in. One day our teacher, to whom I think I owe more than anyone else, announced that our room was to put on a forty-five minute program at the high school. I could hardly believe my ears when Mrs. Thomas said that. she was giving me the leading part in the play. I begged her not to, out to no avail. One day she asked me to remain in at recess. It was then she made me tell her the reason I did not want to be in the play. Through burning tears I told her how I felt about my twisted fool. She patted my head and spoke so tenderly. ' Honey, you are going to be in our play and no one will even know you are a cripple." She left me room and soon returned with a large box. She soon had me dressed in a long hoop skirt, a black blouse and a grey wig complete with Wack rim specs. It was then I learned I was 0 play the part of a typical "old maid" school teacher. Two weeks later our play was presented with nuge success. When I left the stage Mrs. Thomas «M waiting for me. "Darling, you were won="ul," she exclaimed, and to prove she really Tad"" "' '"^'""^ *^' '^'■'" "^ ^^°°^ ^^ °"' ^''^ put me in nine forty-five minute programs. most unnoticed by me she managed to dress ^ 5 each time in the first five plays so that no fo"u T"'"* ''"°" ' ""^ " cripple. But the last "■■ played my part in very short little girl *S« 'e& ' «»»./ •^«i "/f *«/i "^/f "erf ""*A, 'se ''^V, 'Ai "■oi "*A dresses. I pleaded with her not to put me in those roles but she only smiled and said, "Honey, you have been my very best little actress and you won't let me down now, will you?" It was then and there I made up my mmd I would never let her down, and I didn't. I went on the stage as any other child and played my part. I finished school at the age of sixteen, went to the city and took a good job. In less than a year I met and married the best man in the world I think'. We have a darling baby girl and a lovely little home. If it had not been for my teacher I don't feel I would ever have the happiness I enjoy today. Mrs. T. L. R. And here are other letters, each of them a lesson in life. To the writers of each of these. Radio Mirror has mailed Hfteen-dollar chedts. J4eip ^font UUitnin Dear Papa David: For six years I let a "sorry complex" nag my life. My first memory was the day on which my teen-age husband was drowned. I felt I was hearing all the grief of the world. Later when my son was bom, my joy was over-shadowed by my feeling of utter loneliness and I cursed the fate that placed me alone to raise my child. I had plenty to look ahead to, but I preferred to look back. A year later my Dad was captured as a civilian worker on Wake, and for two years we were doubtful whether (Continued on page 56) *"'./, "'JOp l"t,n to Uh Can B. Beautiful drilr at 10 A.M., PDT, 11 A.M., MI>T, \1 COT. .od 1 P.M., EOT. or« C3S.