Radio television mirror (July-Dec 1951)

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Only one man in the early days of her trial understood that it was not obstinacy but self-protection. Better than any psychiatrist, Joe Roberts perceived that Meta couldn't afford to remember. She was afraid she might lose her desperate fight for sanity, for balance . . . Joe Roberts, reporter, saw this almost too clearly. It was the kind of understanding that could do him no good in his primary goal — to get her story. But gradually he gave in, acknowledging to himself that Meta Bauer White was no longer a story, but a woman ... a woman. Meta could talk a little to Joe. He, too, had children, and he had been through some kind of purgatory himself. She tried; and she talked. Somehow, because it was Joe, she even knew just where to start. The night it had happened, Meta and Ted had been sitting in the library of their home, reading. The Whites at home, she was thinking; like a picture in House Beautiful. The caption would never, never say that the Whites were not really at home with one another. They were at odds about everything under the sun. That the only thing that kept them in the same room — the same life — was Chuckie. As if his name in her mind had been a signal, they heard it — the shout followed instantly by the sickening thud that resounded through the house. "Chuckie!" Meta screamed, and was running up the stairs before the echo had faded, dimly conscious of the pounding of Ted's feet right behind her. Through Chuckie's bedroom and into the bathroom — and there, horribly still, at the bottom of the dry tub, Chuckie lay. Silent; motionless. Meta thought she screamed again, but it was on an indrawn breath that she said, "Oh — God!" Ted's hand was already on Chuckie's forehead, on his wrist. With the other he held her off. "He's all right; just stunned. Look out, I'm going to lift him." "Just stunned! Give him to me!" But Ted pushed her easily aside and carried Chuckie to his bed. Meta's own breath stopped as she bent over the slight little figure; but in a matter of seconds the eyelids fluttered and opened. Chuckie — blessedly — was all right again. ^Where's Dad?" "Here, son," Ted said from the other side of the bed. He put a hand on Chuckie's shoulder, and even at that moment Meta couldn't help thinking, "Another man would bend down and kiss him. Not Ted — Ted has to be man-to-man. As though Chuckie were twenty-six instead of six." Her own lips trembled as she pressed them against Chuckie's cheek. He stirred, too polite to push her away. "I'm all right," he said. "What happened?— Oh, I fell?" He sat up and looked anxiously at Ted. "Dad— I didn't cry." "Of course not. You only conked yourself a bit. Nothing to get — " he glanced at Meta with cool irony — "hysterical about." "You think not?" Meta accepted the look as a challenge and hit back sharply. "It was quite a thud. I believe even you ran instead of walking. And Chuckie was unconscious for a few seconds — even you saw that. Call it hysterical if you like, but I'm going to call Dr. Boling." "Meta, really." Ted's mouth curved in distaste. "Must you go running to that man at the slightest excuse? I tell you Chuckie's perfectly all right — " Meta started to say, "Let's not do this in front of Chuckie, please," but bit it back in time, remembering that after all she had snapped first at Ted. Without further words she went out to the hall extension and called Ross Boling. Ross seemed to agree with Ted. He asked quick questions — if Chuckie seemed all right, alert, not in pain. "There's always an off chance of concussion, but it doesn't sound like it. I'll come if you insist, but I'm certain it's not called for." Reluctantly Meta hung up. From Chuckie's bedroom came his thin, precise voice, childish but still so much like Ted's ... he did sound perfectly normal, talking away about the paint set she had bought him that day. She smothered a faint regret that Ross hadn't thought it advisable to come out, in a sense putting himself on Ted's side against her, though he couldn't know that . . . When she went back into the bedroom Chuckie showed her how neatly he had done up his pajamas. "All by myself, Mother, see — I told you last night I 'These are Real Problems of real people!" The radio program "My True Story" presents in dramatic form — direct from the files of True Story Magazine — the actual, true-to-life problems of real people. Thousands have found solutions to their own problems of love, fear, hope, jealousy and many others by listening to "My True Story". TUNE IN "MY TRUE STORY" American Broadcasting Stations'