Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1951)

Everybody wants to hug me! I use new M ennen Baby Magic SKIN CARE! choice of nursery colors . . . checks diaper odor . . . diaper rash Bury your nose in my warm little neck. Smell good, don't I? Smooth your hand over my chubby little body. Better than satin, isn't it? My mother treats me to Mennen Baby Magic Skin Care, after my bath and with each diaper change. Smells lovely! Feels wonderful — because it has something special in it. New, protective "Purateen"! I even caught Mom borrowing from my unbreakable Squeeze Bottle for her skin. Can you beat it! I like silky-soft Mennen Baby Powder, too! Finest, softest powder made, with that delicate rosebud scent everybody loves. Gay Mother Goose pictures on the can. Plus an exciting Built-in Rattle. Makes powder time play time. Wonderful toy, when empty. MSMM^n _ which the house abounds, or to sit cross-legged on the deep carpet before a roaring fireplace. At such times, Curt and his friends exchange hilarious anecdotes. Nearly every sportsman has some fantastic experiences, but Curt seems to attract amazing contretemps. As a matter of fact he is one of the few men ever to shoot a duck who tried to get even, but missed. Furthermore, he has pictures to prove it. Curt and a group of men friends including Curt's buddy, Fort Pearson, went duck hunting one fall when the mallards were crossing in battle formation. Just as the sun came up, a particularly fat flight zoomed over the duck blind where Fort and Curt were waiting. Curt went into action; before Fort could get his twelve gauge to his shoulder, he was clouted on the head by a four pound response to Curt's marksmanship. This casualty knocked off Fort's hat and slithered bloodily across his face to drop in feathered confusion at his feet. Another member of the hunting party, a fast operator with a camera, recorded the awful moment for posterity. This picture is often introduced around the laughing, listening circle, and it makes a great hit, especially with men who know how exasperating a duck can be when he puts his all into it. From hunting, the talk naturally turns to golf. Most of Curt's buddies are prominent tee-men, and everyone knows, of course, how proficient Curt is at the sport. His trophy case boasts two handsome gold cups won in 1940 and in 1944 at Chicago's Medinah Country Club, and a 1947 Goscar (a golfing Oscar) won at Hollywood's Lakeside Country Club. Good as Curt is, he has had his frantic moments with club and sphere, and he tells about them with gusto. On the occasion of Curt's first entering tournament play, Edythe decided to follow him around the course along with the rest of a huge gallery. Curt's knees were calling a hoedown as he made his drive from the first tee. The ball popped straight into the air for maybe half a mile, then fell into a clump of bushes. Edythe, like the Arabs, silently stole away. From that day to this she has never watched Curt in tournament play. On another occasion Curt arrived early for a foursome match and was idly swinging his driver back and forth over the top of a ball lying in the grass as he waited. Suddenly he glanced down and noted, with shock, that the ball was gone. A split second later one of the locker room windows in the club house sprang a hole about the size of a speeding golf ball. There are some days when a man can't make a dime. Like every contentedly married couple, Curt and Edythe have a series of family fables which they share with their friends when the hours are small and the fire burns low. By now, most of their intimates know the story of their romance. Curt was born in Midland, Texas, one of the seven sons (the family also had one daughter) of Henry Austin Massey, champion old-time fiddler and expert square dance caller. When Curt was small the family moved to a ranch near Roswell, New Mexico, where Curt learned ranching and music. By the time he was eighteen, he was that rare item celebrated in song and story, a one-man band. Fate began to turn the pages when Curt's family {Continued on page 83)