Radio and television mirror (July-Dec 1942)

ment of bleak regret and despair, sitting and staring at the blank wall behind the telephone. Then I shrugged my shoulders. There'd be another chance. Meanwhile, I was in love, and happy with the man I loved. That was the really important thing. THE next three years weren't easy. Not that we expected them to be. But every young couple has a right to take some things for granted — things like three meals a day, a movie once in a while, a party on occasional Saturday nights, a pleasant "good morning" from the landlord — things like that. We had precious few of those things. We never seemed to be able to get our noses above the weekly bills. We owed everybody for something. And yet we worked hard. Paul was forever pecking at his typewriter, and while I didn't always approve of the things he wrote, at least he wrote instead of going to ball games or sleeping in the afternoons or shooting dice with the boys. And Joe Blaney dug up small parts for me here and there — mostly in plays which opened and closed practically at the same time, but at least they were jobs and they helped pay the grocery bill. I wouldn't have minded so much, I guess, if I hadn't been worried about what was happening to Paul. Lately, he had been very morose and inclined to get into political arguments. He'd say things like, "What's so hot about Democracy, anyway? What good has it done us?" And I'd say, "Well, it's better to be "To My Wife" Continued from page 16 free than to live under some of those European systems." Then he'd say, "Free, huh? Yeah, free to starve." I'd usually change the subject then, and talk about the Dodgers or what Dick Tracy was doing or what we were going to have for supper. I didn't understand about politics, and I never have very much, but I did have some solid beliefs about this country, and nothing could shake them. I knew that "of the people, by the people, and for the people" was the most beautiful phrase ever written. I knew that our forefathers had fashioned this country out of hard work and prayer and selflessness. I knew that America was the only country left in the world where people could hope to fashion their lives in a free, reasonable, self-respecting way. 1KNEW all these things and yet I couldn't combat Paul's growing feeling of resentment against a world that kept him poor and subservient. I didn't have the words. I felt that if we could just wait and last things out, everything would be all right. But he had picked up phrases somewhere that I didn't have answers for. Things like "machine age," "dominant races," "economic pressure," "world balance of power," "survival of the fittest." Things I had only seen in newspaper print — nothing that I had experienced or could have an honest opinion about. He began writing long letters to the editors of various papers in New York. I think it was mostly because there, at least, he could have that supn writers' pleasure of seeing his word in print. But then it frightened me, because more and more his opinions seemed to be colored by all the crackpot organizations that were springing up then— America First, The SUvei Shirts, various Isolationist movements of one kind or another. I know he didn't mean all the things he wrote. It was just that he was striking out blindly at anything that seemed to stand in his way, and these organizations and catchwords were handy weapons. I tried to talk to him about it once. "Paul," I asked, "why do you bother with all this hating? Why don't you write about nice things?" "Moonlight and roses? Cinderella and fairy godmothers? Grow up, Olivia. That's stuff for little children and weak-minded escapists. We have to get rid of the weaklings. This is an age for the strong." "But, Paul," I argued, "there still are nice things in the world. There's beauty and love and kindness. Surely you can't ignore them." He kissed the tip of my nose and pinched my cheek. "You are beauty and love and kindness, but there isn't anybody else like you in the world. Now run along like a good girl, and let me finish this article." I ran along, like a good girl, but that night as we sat over our tasteless supper of warmed-over hamburgers and weak coffee with canned milk — it had been a long time since we could SURE YOU INHALE -SO PLAY SAFE with your throat! You can't avoid some inhaling— but you can avoid worry about throat irritation, even when you do inhale. Doctors who compared the leading favorite cigarettes report that: SMOKE OF THE FOUR OTHER LEADING POPULAR BRANDS AVERAGED WORE THAN THREE TIMES AS IRRITATING — AND THEIR IRRITATION LASTED MORE THAN FIVE TIMES AS LONG-AS THE STRIKINGLY CONTRASTED PHILIP MORRIS! When you smoke Philip Morris, you enjoy finer tobaccos — plus this exclu sive proved protection! CALL FOR PHILIP MOR &?nry IS 4M£RiCAs jamar c/cju&rrr OCTOBER, 1942 79