Radio and television mirror (Jan-June 1950)

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D455, ^am^™or.d8a 94 if She Had Only Known — Known that she need not be a stay-at-home and miss evenings of fun every month. Thousands of women have found in Chi-Ches-Ters Pills blessed relief from symptoms of pain, cramps and nervous tension due to the periodic function. For best results take them as directed two or three days before your time. Packed in three convenient sizes. Ask your druggist for ■„,, lmproved Chi-Ches-Ters Pills For relief from "periodic functional distress" FREE— New illustrated booklet of intimate facts every woman should know. Mailed in plain wrapper. Write today! Chichester Chemical Co., Dept.l9-S.Philadelphia 46, Pa. Imagine Mr. I! (Continued from page 60) some ten years pre-Suzie. Paul invented Mr. I. Magination originally out of necessity. As actor, writer and director of Christadora's plays he had little money for royalties and almost none for settings and props. Therefore, Mr. I. was born. When the play called for a boy to appear swimming in a pond, the scene was accomplished effectively by Mr. I. placing the boy on a pine table and letting him go through the motions. The youngsters loved it then — and they're still loving it. In fact, long before Mr. I. appeared on TV he was the central character in a record album called Billy on a Bike. Paul wrote the story, and our good friend Ray Carter did the music and Vaughn Monroe tells the story which is about Mr. I. Magination taking a little boy all around the world — on a bike of all things! But Paul's career hasn't been entirely limited to Mr. I. and his adventures — although, I must say that's played a big part in our lives. Paul started as an actor and the going was rough. Even though he was the protege of Beatrice Cameron Mansfield (widow of the great dramatic actor Richard Mansfield) it took a good many years of acting and directing in stock before he reached Broadway. Walter Hampden gave him one of his first jobs and later he played for the Theatre Guild. It wasn't until 1946 while Paul was directing his first Broadway play, "Seeds in the Wind," (with a cast of sixteen children) that Mr. I. Magination popped back into our lives. Suddenly a call came for an immediate audition of a television show for children, so Paul and Ray Carter whipped up a script with music and lyrics, drawing on material they had used for Billy on a Bike (namely, Mr. I.) — and bingo — a television show was born. Next came the long drawn-out task of auditioning the show. Paul and I even made miniature sets to show prospective buyers how the show would look. We had to use some pictures from Suzie's story books, a dreadful thing to do after teaching her that books should never, never be defaced. But she forgave us when we explained what we were making. Finally, after Paul had acted and sung his way through thirty-five auditions, Tony Miner, program director of CBS-TV, said yes to us. Mr. Miner, incidentally, had given Paul one of his first Broadway jobs some ten years before. If it hadn't been for Tubby the Tuba, the first of Paul's record albums, we never could have lived through those weeks of auditions. In order to be on tap for the auditions we had to turn down other jobs and the only income we could be sure of were the royalties on Tubby's record sales, so it was rough going for a long time. Somehow we stuck it out, thanks to Tubby. In a way, Tubby is bound up with our love story, Paul's and mine. At sixteen I had met Paul. I was a budding young actress and we met in the theater. We used to have Dutch-treat coffee-and-donut dates, and I guess I looked up to him because he was nine years older than I and seemed to be doing so many wonderfully creative things. But I was only a kid with braces on my teeth at that time, and it wasn't until the war came and he was involved with the Army and I was in volved in the Stage Door Canteen that we began to take each other seriously. Meantime, he had written the first draft of Tubby the Tuba, and had asked for a furlough to talk to George Kleinsinger about the music. "You're in the Army now," his commanding officer told him. "Forget your other jobs." Paul finally got to a colonel who said, "I don't care a continental about your career, but if you stand to lose much money by this, you can have some time off to take care of it." It was on one of those furloughs that he took me out for an evening, and we talked so late it was early morning before he could get a train to Long Island, where he was sleeping at the Carters'. Ray heard him come in and got up. "What could you two have talked about until such an hour?" he teased. "Oh, marriage," Paul told him, meaning only that we had been talking about the subject quite objectively during the evening — or so we thought! Anyhow, Ray jumped to conclusions and woke up his wife. "Paul and Ruth are going to get married," he told her. The next morning before Paul went back to camp, he called me up and proposed. "I'll send you a proper formal porposal in writing," he promised, but I didn't wait for it. I said yes then and there. We were married three months later, on his next furlough. When he went overseas I knew I was going to have Suzie, having found it out the day after he left. The news caught up with him two months later, in India, on his birthday. The first time I held our baby was on V-J Day, with confetti streaming past my window at the hospital, and Paul's picture, in uniform, on the table. Two weeks later I was signing Paul's contracts for the publication of Tubby. As if we didn't owe the little fellow enough for the overnight success of the records, Tubby even opened the way for me to get on the troop transport that brought Paul home. It was a risky venture but I wanted to surprise him with a sort of spectacular welcome! During Paul's absence I had given up the theater and taken a job on the New York Daily News, first as a copy girl and then on the radio broadcast desk. I wasn't a reporter, but I begged a press badge when I learned that my husband's boat might dock any day. After a few wild goose chases on my part, the ship finally landed in a blizzard and I was right on hand. Even with the reporter's badge pinned conspicuously on my coat, with a big safety pin just happening to cover the real owner's picture (and her description, 5' 1", brunette, for this 5' 6" blonde!), I was shunted from one officer to another until I finally impressed a major with my assignment for a story on a certain sergeant who had written a musical thing that had turned into a huge hit during his absence. "It's about a tuba," I told him, "and I think the GI's name is Tripp." When they called Sgt. Tripp over the loudspeaker, I knew I had to get out of the tiny office fast and begin to act like a reporter, so I began to talk to some GI's out in the corridor. Just as I expected, Paul came running, spied me, yelled "Hi honey," and grabbed me tight. "It's all right, fellows," he began. "She's my wife." I whispered, "I'm not me, I'm someone else," and