Radio mirror (Jan-June 1946)

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Money back If it doesn't please you. Name Address Post Office State MAIL WITH 25e TO KAY DAUMIT Lu£tVe Cueme Dept. MF-5 540 No. Michigan Ave., Chicago (11) The program itself went by in a happy haze. I felt comfortably, completely at home up there in the blazing lights. I laughed at the silly jokes Johnny Olsen exchanged with the talkative old lady; I listened, fascinated, to the question-and-answer part of the program, during which he asked questions of six men and women he'd picked from the audience; and I stared, completely awed, at the presents he gave lavishly to everyone on the stage — gold wrist-watches, luncheon cloth sets, gold pen-and-pencil sets, and anything else you can think of. When my turn came to sing, I walked easily up to the mike and sang "Smiles" again — just exactly the way I'd sung it for the pre-show contest. And then, while I gasped in pleasure, Johnny Olsen was handing me presents "with the compliments of Ladies, Be Seated" — a ten dollar bill, a year's supply of Aunt Jemima pancake flour, and a complete outfit of clothes, from head to foot, from a famous New York department store! I held on to the slip of paper which represented shoes, stockings, dress, hat, gloves and bag as if it were magical — which indeed it did seem! And also to the ten dollar bill, and the gigantic box of pancake flour. And when the program was over, I thanked Olsen and went back to my seat in the audience with complete happiness. I felt like an entirely different person from the miserably saddened Jane Allen who'd come to the show only an hour before — I felt like somebody newly, and tremendously happily, reborn. Most of the audience was already pushing out the door by the time I reached my seat, but the red-headed man was waiting. "Congratulations, Miss Allen, on a truly lovely voice," he said warmly. Then he added, "I'm in the advertising business, and I know enough about radio to know that there's no reason why you can't come through as a radio singer. All you need is to be discovered." And then I heard myself saying something again that I had no intention of saying — this man seemed to have a peculiar ability to force unplanned words from me. I said, "You did it for me. You were right when you said I walked in here a complete mass of self pity. I really think you've changed my whole outlook on life, and I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart." He said, "Well, I hated to be so rude, but you were pretty far gone in hysteria. You needed a jolt of some kind." Then his thin face, that went so well on that enormously tall angular body, lit up with a smile — and I found myself wondering how I NO ONE-YEAR S&(foctcfete<ut4. . . Because of restrictions on paper and the unprecedented demand for RADIO MIRROR, the Magazine of Radio Romances, we cannot possibly print enough copies to supply all who want subscriptions for RADIO MIRROR, New and renewal subscriptions may be deferred as much as two months until places on our subscription list are available. Therefore, to limit subscriptions to the number that can be supplied each month, RADIO MIRROR is reluctantly forced to refuse both new and renewal one-year subscriptions. However, we are accepting, subject to delay in servicing, two-year subscriptions at $3.60 and three-year subscriptions at $5.40. These prices apply to U. S. and U. S. Possessions and Territories, Canada and Newfoundland. For subscription prices to all other countries see information at foot of page 3. We will continue to accept one-year subscriptions for the members of the armed forces. had ever thought the man homely. On the contrary, he was arrestingly attractive in a clean-cut, masculine sort of way. No pretty-boy, not by the wildest dreams — no Russell, I found my brain telling me! Slyly, before I could stifle the thought, it came. Perhaps better than Russell. I said quickly, to cover up all these thoughts which might be apparent on my face, "I can certainly use my prize of the complete outfit of clothes — but how'll I ever use up a year's supply of pancake flour in a hotel room?" "You'll find a way," he said. Then, suddenly, his confident expression faded. As embarrassed as a small boy, he said, "Miss Allen, could we go out to dinner tonight? My name's Joe Brownell — I can give you lots of solid, sober references! Please . . . ?" And I found my face getting red too! I said, "Why, I'd love to. I'm at the Barbizon for Women. Say, seven?" He smiled at me and said, "I'll pick you up at seven." Then he touched his hat and walked away. And I stood like a schoolgirl looking after his tall figure, until it had melted into the crowds. And then I almost flew back to my hotel, picked up a message at the desk that my mother had been calling me from Toledo, and ran into the elevator. On the sixth floor, I flew down the hall and knocked wildly on Mrs. Murphy's door. When she opened it, I swung her off the floor in a dizzy hug, and I kept shouting everything at her, all mixed up. "I met the right man — I don't know anything about him, but he's the right man — Russell was the wrong one — and I got my confidence in my voice back — and a year's supply of pancake flour — and a new outfit — !" I was shouting. And she was shouting back that she had heard me, that I was wonderful, that she knew everything was going to work out for me. I knew it was too, as surely as if I could see into the future. I knew that somehow, if my singing could move that radio audience, it would move New York into giving me the chance I needed. And I knew that Joseph Brownwell was a part of whatever was in store for me . . . "And you'll be matron of honor!" I told the bewildered Mrs. Murphy. "Because you made me go to the radio show that has changed my whole life — and more than | that, has changed ] me from a stub j born dreamer into | — I don't quite know what, but it's something better!" I was so sure of all this that there I wasn't any stop | ping me. Sure of myself, too. And perhaps that was the greatest gift of alL j