Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

about your husband being found." The radio theater was crowded and breathlessly silent. We had hardly stepped out on the stage, before the orchestra struck up the program theme, at a signal from the control booth. Then Mr. Bradley was introducing me, his voice rich with admiration and tribute. The audience burst into wild applause, people getting to their feet, shouting, even whistling. I stood there, trembling inwardly with shame. I BEGAN reading what Mr. Bradley had written for me to say. There was another burst of cheering, when I told them that Jimmy was alive. I tried to go back to Mr. Bradley's script, but I couldn't. He'd written fine words for me to say, glowing words, but they weren't enough. The script dropped from my hands. "No," I said. "This isn't right. Mr. Bradley called me a heroine — a woman of courage. That's not true. I'm not a heroine. I haven't even been much of a woman. Any woman worthy of the name wouldn't have done what I've done. When my husband needed me the most, I deserted him. Oh, even long before that I had let him down, because I didn't understand that our marriage, our love, was partly my responsibility, too. I had very vague, romantic ideas about love and marriage. I didn't realize, until it was too late, that love — like everything else, like a career, a home, like democracy itself — and these things are all tied up with love, too — I didn't realize that love had to be kept alive and fed and cherished constantly, even fought for, if need be. Please, believe me, I'm not saying all this to get sympathy for myself. I don't deserve it." And I told them everything, from the beginning. As the words poured out of me, I felt as though a pall were being lifted from my soul. "Now you know," I said, finally, "how truly great a hero my husband was, to have fought so bravely, when he had nothing left to fight for." Mr. Bradley and Nell led me from the stage. I didn't really need their help. I felt strong and sure of myself, for the first time in a long while. A late news bulletin brought us word that the freighter bearing Jimmy would arrive in San Francisco in three days, if the weather and the Japanese subs held off. I left New York that same night. This was some months ago. Jimmy is almost well, now. He can hardly wait to get back into the Service. But, this time, when he goes it will be different. These last months, while he's been convalescing, we've gone over it all dozens of times. Jimmy understands, now, what happened to me, where I went off the track. And I know what happened to Jimmy, what he believed. Jimmy knew I was unhappy, but he put it down to my having a hard time adjusting myself to growing up. It was a painful time for him, but he didn't think he should help me. He loved me all along and he trusted me. He thought all my running around was just childishness and that I'd get over it in time. Well, I did get over it, but not before I had almost lost the dearest thing in the world. I hope there aren't many women in the world like me, women who make the kind of mistakes I did. In these times, there's no room for such mistakes. JULY, 1942 If at first. If you have a dainty hanky And it's soiled and stained and gray — And you wash your little hanky in the or-di-nary way. . ; you don't succeed . . . If you soak it and you rinse it, and you give it quite a rub — Yet that ghostly shadow tints it when you lift it from the tub . . . try Fels-Naptha Soap! Don't be peevish, cross or cranky — Just remember, there is Hope! For you'll have a clean white hanky if you use Fels-Naptha Soap. 49