Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1950)

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She Got 4400" for a Half Dollar UftinU pay CASH for .OLD COINS , BILIS W STAMPS 100 POST YOURSELF! It pays! , 1 1 paid $400.00 to Mr9. Dowtyl 1 ofTexas, foroneHalf Dollar: . I J.D,Martinof Virginia$200.00 , "for a single Copper Cent. Mr. Manningof New York, $2,600.00 for/ oneSilverDollar. Mrs. G.F.Adams, Ohio, ' received $740.00forafewold coins. I will pay big prices /4"pj"p% for all kinds of old coins, medals, bills and stamps. \)ij I WILL PAY $100.00 FOR A DIME! Tgff 1894 S. Mint ; J60.00 for 1913 Liberty Head Nickel (not Buffalo) W\3) and hundrede of other amazinjr prices lor coins. Send 4c for \«$tf| Large Illustrated Coin Folder and further particulars. It may SjTH^tl mean much profit to yoa. Write today to y^UK^II B. MAX MEHL 357 Mehl Bldg., FORT WORTH, TEXAS (Largest Rare Coin Establishment in U. S.) Love Marie, Love Mr. Hobbs (Continued from page 33) her good reason, cannot find it in their hearts to agree. The whole thing started when Hobbs, with Marie in tow, arrived at the Los Angeles airport to take off on the first leg of the trip. Marie had reservations for New York. She got to the airport in plenty of time, her baggage in order. With her new mink coat over one arm and Hobbs, splendid in his new chartreuse collar, 'over the other, she presented herself at the gate to the field. "Oh," said the stewardess, spotting Hobbs. "Oh, dear!" And she scurried away to consult with the flight officer. That worthy appeared in person moments later to announce, "No dogs." "117 ell, then," said Marie sensibly, "I II just won't go." The first of the twelve young men, one Floyd Simonton, was frantic. Marie had to go. Arrangements were made for five, count them, appearances in New York tomorrow. Think of her public. Think of the picture. Think of him! Meanwhile a harried voice on the loudspeaker system kept pleading with Passenger Marie Wilson to board the ready-to-go plane. "Please!" Marie didn't budge. Simonton pleaded. Think of the studio, think of the theater in New York with that big, bare stage tomorrow. Think — just one little thought — of his job. Then Marie weakened a little. She likes press agents almost as well as she likes dogs. "I swear," Simonton said, "I'll get Hobbs to New York in twenty-four hours." At last, tears streaking her mascara, Marie boarded the plane and was off. Simonton alerted Hal Wallis men all along the route to advise Marie of progress, and then went home and collapsed. From Dallas: "Hobbs arrived okay." From Memphis: "Hobbs safe and well." From the New York Terminal: "Hobbs fit as a fiddle." And on the heels of the last, Hobbs himself, delivered with much ceremony to Marie's hotel suite at the St. Regis. The second lap of the junket went off beautifully. Ensconced in her suite at the Baker Hotel in Dallas, Marie took Hobbs out of the box, and was in the midst of tying a fresh ribbon on his redgold topknot when the house detective knocked. "No dogs," he said. "But," protested Jerry Pickman, the one of the twelve young men who was on duty at the moment, "this is Marie Wilson. This is her dog." "I don't care if it's Queen Victoria's. We don't allow no dogs in this hotel." Stony-faced, Marie began to pack her bags. "Give us," Pickman pleaded, "twenty minutes to work this out." The detective took up his station outside the door, beamed with satisfaction when, well under the allotted time, Pickman appeared with Hobbs' box and went down in the elevator. Inside her room. Marie was triumphant. The hotel's phone books had been left in Hobbs' box. Hobbs was sound asleep on a hotel pillow in the bathtub. Next crisis: in New York again, near the end of the tour. This time a suite was reserved for Marie, and for her husband, Allan, who had joined her, at the Waldorf. Allan registered while Marie stood off a little, with Mr. Hobbs curled over her arm Bright and early at five the next morning they were up, and put in a wearying day. Marie stood up under it very well, but Hobbs, by evening, was drooping. And Allan, who has a vestige of malarial fever picked up during his war service, had begun to look damp and white. "You go along to the hotel with Hobbs," Marie advised solicitously. "I'll be over right after the last show." When she came offstage for the final time that night, there was a call waiting. Allan, sweating with fever in a phone booth on the lobby floor of the Waldorf, reporting: "They won't let me go up. The Waldorf doesn't allow dogs." "Nonsense," said Marie. "I carried him right past the desk last night!" "They thought," Allan explained, "that he was a fur piece." Marie telephoned the Waldorf, spoke sternly to the manager. "My husband has a temperature of 103," she said, "and my dog is very tired." The manager was very sorry. Allan, of course, could go up. But no dogs. "Then pack my bags," Marie said, and told Allan she'd meet him at the St. Regis. Max Youngstein, today's segment of the twelve young men, wasn't exactly happy, either. He fell heir to the midnight job of moving one angry star, one sick husband, and one highly indignant Yorkshire terrier, to say nothing of twelve pieces of luggage, to the friendlier side of town. Hobbs, as is entirely self-evident, is an old hand at throwing monkey wrenches into the machinery. But, says Marie, he's more than worth it. More than. You see, besides his roles as friend and companion and entertainer, Hobbs has, in his day, played a much more important one. Cupid. Legally, Hobbs is Allan's dog, having made his entrance into the family in Allan's Christmas stocking in 1947. Hobbs' cup of happiness overflows when Allan and Marie are together, and when they're happy, as they are now. It wasn't always thus. Last year, Allan and Marie separated, and Marie filed suit for divorce. It would never have happened, they'll tell you now, if Marie hadn't been so tired. She was doing ten performances a week in "Blackouts" a stage show, doing her broadcast, and the accompanying rehearsals for it, each week, and managing to keep a six a. m. to six p. m. schedule at Paramount where "My Friend Irma" was making the transition from radio to movies. Allan, to make things worse, was out of a job for the moment. And, as he explains it, when you haven't anything to do you sit around and think about it and get discouraged. After considerable sitting around thinking and worrying, Allan one night went out for a walk. Absorbed in his | gloom, he crossed a street against a red light and was promptly arrested — there was an antijay walking campaign in full swing at the moment. Ordinarily, Marie would have thought the whole thing very funny, would have had plenty to say about getting arrested for something worth while if you're going to do it at all. But Allan had gone out, on impulse, with