Radio television mirror (July-Dec 1951)

SCOOP! the whole story of Why Nancy Sinatra Gave Frankie His Freedom by Hedda Hopper Hollywood was dumbfounded! Nancy's lawyer was stunned! The public remained aghast! But Hedda, close to the heartbreaking facts and a gal that has the "inside track" on just about everything that happens or will happen in Hollywood, knows the COMPLETE STORY. What are the REAL facts that led to Nancy's change of heart? Read Hedda's exclusive for some startling and neverbefore-revealed truths. PLUS many, many more stories of your favorite Hollywood stars all in NOVEMBER . . . R M 78 NOW ON SALE AT NEWSSTANDS fund which, because of its size, is divided among several children's hospitals in Ohio, Indiana and New York. In 1949, it amounted to $28,943.29 and in 1950 it swelled to $56,664.21. In addition, there's a running fund to buy television sets for sick youngsters and shut-ins. By July, this year's expenditure had reached $12,000 and when Ruth announced that the treasury was empty, more money promptly rolled in. Proud as her listeners and viewers are of her achievements, they are most deeply touched by her references to Herman, her husband, and Candy, her daughter. Some friends, knowing Ruth, maintain that if, when she finally fell in love and married, the man hadn't been called Herman, she would have invented that name or one of equally homespun quality. It happens, however, that his straight name actually is Herman A. Newman. He's a Unitarian minister who exchanged his pulpit for a classroom podium at the University of Cincinnati where he teaches speech and language hygiene. (You don't call it English any more, he advises.) In wit, wisdom, and intelligence he's more than a match for his famed wife, and altogether, Herman is quite a guy. Their courtship, too, was something, Ruth will tell you. She had always been a little wary of for-real romance, she explains. Although she'd never been burningly ambitious for a career, she was adverse to getting tied down. She says, "Perhaps it was because I always worked in such a turmoil at the station. By the time I reached home, I just wanted to forget it all. Living with my parents, and later in my own apartment, I liked to putter around — cook or read or write a little music. I've always had to have thinking time all to myself. "And then, too, I suppose the kids at the station spoiled me. When I did want to go out, there was usually some nice lad available to take me places. I somehow got the idea that so long as I went with someone I liked but was not worldshakingly attracted to, I was safe from entanglements." It was just such a nice someone — a musician— who took her to a Lily Pons concert at historic Cincinnati Music Hall. Since he was in the orchestra, Ruth sat alone and at intermission the young man seated ahead of her turned around and asked politely, "Would you like to walk out to the lobby with my mother and me?" At Ruth's startled look, he reminded her that they had attended the University of Cincinnati together, that he was Herman Newman, and he had just recently returned from doing graduate work at the University of Chicago. Herman, in speaking of that evening, adds that although Ruth had forgotten him, his own memory was fresh. Nearly ten years earlier, while standing at a street intersection with his father, he had seen Ruth drive by and had remarked there was the girl he would like to marry. He'd never quite got her out of his mind. Herman asked to see Ruth again, and she agreed to the date. But by the next morning she was skittish. Herman, she realized did not fill her requirement that a man be nice but not world-shaking. Herman definitely was disturbing. She ,e telephoned him that night to call the who thing off. Herman objected. "If you break this date," he warned, "I'll not have the nerv to call you again." Ruth says, "I guess I sort of melted, remember thinking, 'Oh heavens, this is it.' and not knowing whether to be glad or frightened." When they chose October 3, 1942, as their wedding day, Ruth told her audience, "I'm going to get married. Now much as I love all of you, this day belongs to me. So please, please, everybody leave me alone." Understanding, her friends respected her wishes. They respect, too, her need for a private life and undisturbed time with her family. Seldom does even the most fanatic fan attempt to search out the Newman's white brick farmhouse. They recognize that here is the source of the strength which enables her both to work her daily schedule of two hour-long simulcasts and campaign for good causes besides. They sense, too, that Ruth's and Herman's sincere devotion is the sort which makes them prefer the company of each other to that of even their very best friends. Herman and Ruth find their greatest joy in their daughter Candy, a fragile blonde sprite who looks as though she had stepped out of the illustrations of one of the better children's books, and who behaves with the gravely gracious manner of a fairy princess. After Candy's arrival, Ruth stayed home seven weeks, stating flatly that her public life was over — that she never again would set foot outside her own home. But she grew restless. An executive at WLW persuaded her that she'd worked for so long she couldn't just quit cold, she'd have to taper off. Back she went. Ruth's success has also been responsible for network acceptance of one of her cherished projects. She contends that New York, Chicago and Hollywood should not have a monopoly in producing television shows. Ruth, being Ruth, she elected to do something about it, so for the past three years every memo she has sent to NBC headquarters has carried the postscript, "We could feed this show to the net." Repetition, fortified by a few other factors, paid off. During the past summer, WLW-TV's Strawhat Matinee was network replacement for Kate Smith; Midwest Hayride went into the coveted Saturday night spot, and finally Ruth's own Fifty Club was put on the regular fall network schedule. Opposite it, another network is booking a show which carries a $40,000 a week budget. Ruth said, "That scared me at first. I wondered if anyone would bother to tune us in. If we ever had much over five dollars to spend we wouldn't know what to do with it. But I suppose we'll hold our own. Some people will like us. They always do." It's a safe prediction, for Ruth Lyons has always possessed something much more important than just money. Ruth Lyons has the greatest asset of all — a deep interest in the welfare of others. As she herself says, "There's no substitute for people."