Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1950)

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C • Bush Building, Suite i 90 f New York .8, N. Y. AFamousHollywood Star in Colors with each order. j 89 MadeOver Mindy (Continued from page 33) year," seventeen-year-old Mindy told me, "I've got to give up singing." I might have thought she was joking if it hadn't, been for her looks. In show business, beginners as well as stars usually gild the lily and sometimes add a few petals of their own where nature is remiss. Nature had given Mindy as much beauty as woman has a right to. But Mindy looked as if she had chosen her clothes while playing blindman's buff. "You've got charm and a wonderful voice," I advised her cautiously, "but, well, you don't dress properly." "How should I dress?" That was a sensible question but she stumped me. After all, like most men, I always had my opinion of when a woman looked right or wrong, but I realized that training in aeronautics and the music business had hardly prepared me for grooming a young woman. The only thing I'm sure of," I told her, "is that a band-leader, for example, would not want a vocalist who looks like a fugitive from high school. Beyond that we must get advice." So friends of mine looked at Mindy. And their counsel boiled down to this: "Dye your hair blonde . . . use heavy make-up . . . dress in low-cut gowns." "Eddie, what do you think?" Mindy asked. I was confused. I valued their opinions but couldn't agree with them. "I like you the way you are," I told ■her frankly. "Let's see if we can find some clothes that match your personality." So I accompanied Mindy on shopping excursions and, believe me, it was quite a strain. I was never able to acquire the suavity of movie characters who accompany women to a dress salon. I was strictly awkward and embarrassed. I should have known then that to go through this for any girl, I must have been in love. Mindy must have known, too, but we never talked about it. Actually, there didn't seem to be any "falling" in love — it was as if it had been there all the time! But to get back to gowns. "I'm not much help," Mindy said. "You aren't," I agreed. I discovered that Mindy was one of those rare women who could walk by the most fashionable dress shop in New York and never glance at the window. "I'm thinking of more important things," she explained. "Like baseball." That, she said, with a grin, was true. Strangely enough, my trying to convert Mindy from a girl who dressed and acted like a tomboy was quite similar to the problem that had been confronting her mother. The Carson children consisted theoretically of two boys and a girl. But Mindy was a girl by fact, not by choice. In their Bronx neighborhood, she was recognized as a hot infielder with a batting average as good as her male playmates. Her family doctor has recorded two black eyes, several loose teeth and a split head that Mindy suffered in rhubarbs. You can realize the work that had to be done in making her into the girl critics now describe as "so feminine and graceful." And you can appreciate that her mother didn't know whether Mindy would grow into a lady or the Yankee ball club's first woman shortstop. But the Carsons let Mindy make her own decision except on one point: her becoming a singer. And every two months on the dot she reopened the subject with her parents and each time they said no. But it was more than mere nagging with Mindy. She has a great deal of independence. She proved that in high school when she took an after-school stenographical job with a candy company. "Why did you do that?" I once asked her. "Well, I needed more spending money," she explained. "I didn't want to ask Dad for a bigger allowance." By the time she graduated, she advanced to assistant-sales-manager in the candy company — quite a lot of responsibility for a seventeen-year-old — and earned herself a winter vacation at her aunt's Florida home. Her singing ambition got another lift in Miami. A night club owner heard her voice in a community sing and offered her a job at one hundred twenty-five dollars a week. She turned it down — but came back north with a new argument for her parents. The first night home she spoke eloquently, as only a teen-ager can. She spoke rapidly, not allowing them to get a word in edgewise. Then she sat back breathless, waiting for the usual objections, and preparing her rebuttal. Instead of arguing, her father asked, "Do you think you could get this idea of singing out of your system in a year?" "Yes," she said. "Then go ahead." I met Mindy only a month after her parents consented. In those few weeks, she had learned that a dozen important people may like your voice but nothing comes of it. But her luck changed after she recorded "Rumors are Flying." I played the disc for Harry Cool, who was taking his band into the Glen Island Casino. "By the way, I haven't got a vocalist yet," he said. "Do you have anyone in mind?" He shook his head and, as an afterthought, said, "I like the girl on this record. Who is she?" "You can meet her right now," I told him. "She's out in the reception room." I kept my fingers crossed, for to a bandleader the appearance of a vocalist is almost as important as her voice. Mindy came in wearing a simple, tailored suit she had just bought. To me, she still looked a little awkward on high heels. But Harry took his time talking to her and watching her. "She'll do," he said and hired her for the duration of his engagement. Mindy and I knew that we were headed in the right direction. And it was then that I, too, made a decision. I had returned from the army to my father's publishing business. When Mindy came along, I decided to try my hand at being a manager. Naturally, she was my first client. "We're starting out together," she said. In a subtle way, she became an important part of my personal life. I realize now that someone should have written a song, "You'd be so Nice to Adjust to." It would have applied to Mindy, although our meetings always appeared to be for business reasons — engagements, or auditions that I was