Radio Mirror: The Magazine of Radio Romances (Jan-June 1943)

Jackie pick up the pieces." Then the storm broke. Not the storm I expected. Not the storm any of us expected. Suddenly there was a voice in the studio. It came from the control room and the sound man was saying, "Listen, everybody. Listen to this!" And then a news broadcast was pouring into the room: ". . . Taken completely by surprise. The attack came without warning and the extent of the damage may not be known for days. Yes, the Japanese have bombed Pearl Harbor while their envoys were still negotiating in Washington. Within a few hours it is expected that America will be in the war which is now without any question a global war . . ." Doesn't it seem like years ago? It does to me. Yet the events of that afternoon are as vivid in my mind as if they happened yesterday. I remember so clearly the white, drawn, incredulous look on people's faces, not quite believing, not understanding, using phrases like, "National suicide! We'll crucify them. They must know they're licked from the start . . ." The show went on, as so many shows did that day, with frequent interruptions to bring the American public the few morsels of unsatisfactory news that were available to them. IT was a good show. Tom didn't break up as he had the first time — in fact, he did a fine job of singing and I felt proud of him. As I listened to him and watched his sweet, natural face strained in his effort to put the song over into the microphone, I thought, "If there's going to be time for him to have me with him I'll not let anything stand in the way — before he goes off somewhere to fight." I suppose numberless women who read this had feelings like mine that day — a sort of return to essentials, when you thought things like: whom do you love and who loves you and will this thing stand in the way? Of course it will, we women were thinking that day, it's bound to in the cases of so many of us, but we were thinking, too: He's all that matters to me and I'll fight for every minute that we can be together, no matter what it costs me. That's what I was thinking about Tom. I was thinking too that I had courage I'd never known was in me. I had courage to face what I knew lay before me — with Dean — and I knew that I would never again be weak with him. But, like so many fine resolutions, everything didn't turn out quite that smoothly. After the broadcast, Dean said goodbye to me quickly — and suddenly he was gone. I called him at his hotel later, but he'd checked out. As for Tom, there was a telegram for him. His leave was cancelled He was to return to camp at once. I took Tom to the train. A great surge of emotion welled up in me as I stood again on the same ramp where only a few weeks ago I'd met the simple, awkward soldier boy who in the meanwhile had somehow grown up and become a man. It was such an odd sensation to remember that on that very day Dean Hunter had appeared on the ramp with his retinue. .How different my estimate of those two men now, and what a sequence of events and changing tides of human emotion had come to pass april, 1943 White OearThraugh! Pale sunlight, sifted through sheer white curtains . . . filling your home with powdered gold . . . banishing winter's warmed-up mustiness . . . Springtime! . . . Curtain time . . . and more than ever, Fels-Naptha time. Because these fine fabrics must be washed gently — yet so thoroughly they're white clear through. Trust Fels-Naptha's gentle naptha and golden soap for this. Rich, active suds literally soak the dirt away. Make rubbing just a gesture. You need plenty of Fels-Naptha Soap right now. Because it puts an extra sparkle in Spring House Cleaning. And because this fine, all-purpose soap is now on the list marked, 'Mustn't Waste'. M $' W 59