Radio mirror (July-Dec 1943)

RUTH: "But, Mother, nearly all the girls in my dorm are using Tampax now. It's not considered new any more; it's just a regular thing." mother: "Well, I'll admit it has a lot of advantages, especially the quick changing, now that restrooms are so crowded . . . You say a doctor invented it?" RUTH: "Yes, and it has been adopted by millions of women all over the world — in Asia, Australia, Africa, Europe and the Americas. I'm really enthusiastic, you see!" mother: "I give in! If it can cure a sensitive girl like you of self-consciousness and make you light-hearted at that time of the month, I'm for Tampax!" Tampax is a form of monthly sanitary protection based on the principle of internal absorption, long known to doctors and now available for women generally. Made of pure, long-fiber surgical cotton, firmly stitched and exceedingly absorbent. It comes compressed to small size in dainty applicators. No belts, pins or pads. No odor. No bulging or chafing. Wearer cannot feel it. Hands need not touch it. Easy disposal. Three absorbencies: Regular, Super, Junior. Sold at drug stores, notion counters. Introductory box, 20£. Economy package of 40 lasts 4 months, average. Don't wait for next month. Start Tampax now! Accepted for Advertising by the Journal of the American Medical Association. # Guaranteed by 64 TAMPAX INCORPORATED MWG-113-D Palmer, Mass. Please send me in plain wrapper a trial package of Tainpax. I enclose lot (stamps or silver) to cover cost of mailing. Size is checked below. ( ) REGULAR ( ) SUPER ( ) JUNIOR Nam e. . AddressCity -State Continued from page 62 Walking from the Change House to my department the next morning, I was more scared than I had been the first day. Something was going to happen. Something bad. When I got to my place, it did. Jim was standing there. He said, "I was waiting for you." He said, "I'm recommending you for my job. You're so good now that I figure I can get away to enlist." "Enlist?" I couldn't do anything but echo him in that sick, still way. "Yep. Ground crew. I don't know when I'll be going, but we'd better get you trained." We were together all that day and the next. We had to be, while I learned my job, but it wasn't any fun. Yet there wasn't a thing I could do about it. And what on earth did I want to do? It was perfectly simple: everybody had to say goodbye these days to friends going off to war. That was all he had been to me — a friend. But the factory was a different place after he left. The new orders were swamping us. The management kept calling for more speed. We couldn't possibly produce enough to meet the deadline on the schedule. "Paul, shouldn't you let some of the orders go to a bigger company?" I asked him one day. "That's my worry, baby," he said. "Yours begin and end with fuze assembly, and I mean just that." His eyes narrowed. "Look, honey. I have enough of these headaches at the plant. Let's leave them there, okay?" "I'm sorry," I told him dubiously. One night in November, thinking of the concert I was going to hear, I forgot and left my badge on my discarded work jumper. The guard at the gate would not let me out without it, though he knew me perfectly. I ran back, fuming at my carelessness, afraid I'd be late. Passing the storeroom, which was connected by a covered passageway to our department, I saw a light and heard the scraping sound of a heavy box being shoved across the floor. I looked in the door and saw Gus Steichen, a grumpy old man who had spent his life working as gardener on the Starrett estate and had lately been given a job as porter at the plant. He was on his knees in the right-hand near corner of the store-room, unpacking one of the boxes that had been stamped with the Government's symbol of approval. "What are you doing?" I asked him. He shrugged. "Boss's orders." There was no use questioning him. T would ask Paul. But we were late, and Paul, had to drive fast. He wasn't in good humor. After half an hour of music, my small problem was lost in the wonder of the soaring strings and I didn't think of it again, till weeks later. It was nearly Christmas and I guess I was purposely walking slowly past the Marion house, maybe peering in, trying to see if they had a Christmas tree, trying to guess whether Jim would be coming home for Christmas. I heard the sound of "Holy Night" being played softly on the violin, and I stopped, my throat suddenly tight with tears. At that moment the door opened and Cal exploded out of the house, barely missing me. "Excuse me — Oh, Sally!" He grabbed me by the arm. "Look, Mom wants you!" I hesitated. Paul was waiting for me in the bar of the Ocean View House. "Come on in," Cal urged. "It's something Jim wrote — " Mom gave me a sweet smile, but I saw the worry lines around her eyes. She gave Cal a little push. "Get along son, and be sure to get home soon's the library closes." She shut the door on his inquisitive face. "Did Jim — -send a message to me?" I asked, suddenly breathless. "No. Or rather, he did. I mean, he didn't say so, but I know — " She went to the old secretary desk in the corner and fumbled in a cubbyhole. "Maybe I'm getting a case of war nerves," she said with an apologetic smile. "But when things like this are going on, I can't help thinking it might be my boy next, and I have to do something— " My heart stopped. What danger was threatening Jim? She brought back the letter, which looked soft and worn from handling. She handed it to me and pointed. ". . . It's not that I can't take such sights. I expect to see plenty of guys get theirs before I'm through. Dave's number just came Continued on page 66 Johnny Gart puts his French poodle, "Brandy," to work at the CBS studio during a rehearsal for his show, The Johnny Gart Trio, daily at 3:30 P. M.