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RADIO STARS
(Above, left) Lcmny with Annette Hanshaw in their Maxwell House Showboat costumes. (Above, right) As he looks when singing at the microphone.
TOO MANY SWEETHEARTS
That's Lanny Ross' trouble. But it's not his fault, as you'll see
B y O W H
LANNY ROSS is a man's man. No doubt about it. At Yale, he was a track star and a champion. Earned his own way. Took many a stiff jolt in the teeth, but kept right on plugging. Maybe that's why he is such a lady's man, too.
You've got to be a man's man to be a real lady's man, don't you think? Not the kind of lady's man that kisses your hand or blows down your neck, but the kind that takes you places, any place, and you wouldn't feel safer with the U. S. Marines.
Ladies like Lanny. They write to him, and Lanny, appreciating the sincerity of their letters, usually answers.
Sometimes he meets them face to face. And that is the more embarrassing. Maybe it is because hope springs eternal in the feminine breast, or something, but those correspondence friends almost invariably elect themselves his sweetheart. And assume a sweetheart's privileges. Which just distresses Lanny to death ... he doesn't like to be kissed in public.
Exactly that happened one night recently when he went to the theatre with a girl he had known for years. In the lobby, a slim slip of a maiden flung herself af the
28
LIVE I T E
tall Maxwell House tenor. Her arms encircled his neck and she kissed him violently. Imagine Lanny 's feelings, if you can. And the feelings of the girl who was Lanny's companion. It was just lovely for her. Another time, Lanny Ross was traveling on a railroad train. The run was lengthy and there were no stops. A half-hour out of New York a prim, brown-eyed woman looked up from the magazine that she was reading across the aisle and caught his eye. Suddenly leaning forward, she whispered:
"I know you. You're Lanny Ross." "How do you do," said Lanny.
The little woman crossed the aisle and took the seat beside him. Her eyes were wide with adoration. "I always listen to you," she said. "You don't know me, but I'm Anna Fenstjen."
"Anna ?" said Lanny.
"You've written me such wonderful letters," said Miss Fenstjen. "I've just lived for your letters." "Um-m-mmm," said Lanny.
The lady swiftly recrossed the aisle, opened her suitcase, and brought out a shoe (Continued on page 50)