Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1950)

THEY DID IT THEMSELVES! of the village of Milford, Pike County, Pennsylvania, on a bleak afternoon in 1946. Today, the Doyle's thirteen-room mansion is the architectural showplace of Milford — a beautiful, impressively tall house whose exterior only hints at the wonders within. As a guest on a first visit, you're likely to find Len waiting to greet you outside on the front steps. You get a quick impression of tall, tall columns supporting a third-story sundeck. You are conscious of the massive stone-work walls; you're aware of the neatness of green lawn, trees and shrubs; you spy inviting terrace furniture in bright canvas. Most vivid impression of all, though, is Len himself — he's a technicolor blaze of rugged glory in his fawncolored windbreaker, his brilliant pink sports shirt and his pale lemon corduroy slacks. "We've got about half an hour until Aggie gets a few things ready," he explains. "Meanwhile, let's go down to the inn." With Len guiding the way, a few minutes drive along Highway 6 brings you to the geographical meeting place of three states — New York, New Jersey and Pennsylvania. Its name is Port Jervis and it happens also to be Len Doyle's home town since boyhood. There, built on the site of the historical Delaware River toll bridge, is the inn. You are introduced to its proprietor (and Len's good friend) Harold Dalrymple. You are shown an authentic item of Americana: the original "Rate of Tolls" hanging huge on the taproom wall. It makes fascinating reading. For example: Curricle, Chaise, or Sulky, Drawn by 1 Horse — 25c Sled, or Sleigh, drawn by 2 Horses, Mules or Oxen — 25c Score of Sheep, or Hogs — 20c and so in proportion for More or Less. Person and Push Cart — 10c Len fondly polishes the mantel which he cut and finished with his own woodworking tools. But presently another, more contemporary subject dominates the discussion as" Len brings out a sheaf of "before" photographs of his house. He shows them with a grim sort of pride for they are documentary proof of everything you've heard concerning the former haunted-house appearance of his place. And, you ask, it is really true that Len, a veteran stage and radio actor, brought about the magical transformation unaided by architect, contractor or carpenter? "I did everything except the masonry," Len declares. "Never once smashed a thumb. Never once fell off a scaffold. Never once missed a broadcast of Mr. District Attorney. But I'd like to emphasize one point. There wasn't anything magical about the transformation. It wasn't a case of playing Harrington coast-to-coast on Wednesdays and alternating that role with another character part — you know, the busy little beaver merrily whistling 'There'll Be Some Changes Made'" while rap-a-tapping away with hammer and nail. Let's face it. Many a time I said, more in sorrow than in anger, 'Len, you've bitten off more than you can chew.' A lot of sweat and heartache and old-fashioned cussin' has gone into the toil of Mr. Doyle." Glancing at his watch, Len decides it's time to return, meet Aggie and the kids, have something to eat, and then make the grand inspection. Driving along Highway 6, the radio star points off to the left. "I recently bought a lot of acreage along the Delaware here. Been toying with the idea of starting a unique summer theater. A showboat. I think it has terrific possibilities but — " But—? "Well, if I got started on it, I'd probably end up with buying an old garbage scow and rebuilding it from the waterline up. Aggie's getting kind of fed up with that sort of thing." Aggie, when you meet her at the house, strikes you as being the person least likely to be fed up with any of Len Doyle's enterprises. You get the impression she'd go to bat for him even if he decided to reconstruct Boulder Dam. It's been that way with her, you find, for nearly fifteen years. The Len-and-Aggie romance began to the strains of music in three-quarter time. The year was 1936. The place, Joyland Park Roller Rink in Port Jervis. Conspicuous in the crowd was one young swain, Len Doyle, resplendent (so he thought) in French beret, ascot scarf, sports jacket and knickers. "I was trying to look like a Hollywood director," he confesses. "Being an actor, I just had to dress different from any of the local boys. The fact that I was an unemployed actor was merely incidental. I was 'between shows' — in other words, flat broke." Broke but having a heap of fun. Typical of most roller rinks, there were the customary "exchange skates" — a little fanfare, then music to which all the skaters changed partners. To the "Moonlight Waltz," Len found himself lilting along with a most attractive young gal. She was brown-haired, cream-complexioned and an enchanting smile radiated the warmth of her personality. Len was captivated. "Looking back at that evening, I realize that Aggie was a brave girl, skating with (Continued on page 86)