Radio and television mirror (Nov 1939-Apr 1940)

Where Was I Wrong? (Continued from page 15) "Fun to fly high? Humph!" grumped the Pilot. "Not when I'm feelin' low." So I held out my package of Beeman's. "Make a discovery. Try that for a flavor that's tops in fresh deliciousness." "Beeman's — say! That's no discovery. It's been the favorite with my clan for years. Just the right blend of smooth, mellow taste and cool tang. It's always fresh and so long lasting — never lets you down. Lady, the next flight's on the house but be sure you bring Beeman's." y5/Af VIGtSTION 56 Rock, I had gained some invaluable training when Francis Craig's orchestra, composed of boys working their way through Vanderbilt, played at a resort nearby. But that's the only reason I had to hope for success in the theater. Such small reason! I was almost ashamed to tell my mother, but I did. In addition to being very brave and resourceful, my mother is very wise. She didn't laugh at me. As a matter of fact, she encouraged me, although I wonder, even now, if she ever seriously thought I had a chance. Mrs. Barnum, who runs a school of drama and expression in Chicago, was even more encouraging when I stopped in to talk with her a few days later. She even arranged to let me work o at my tuition by doing odd jobs in the office of the school. How different was this schooling from the happy-go-lucky, jazz-age education I had started out to get for myself at the university. Here there was a deadly seriousness, a purposefulness that had been entirely lacking. Already, I thought, at the age of seventeen, I was beginning to build upon the ruins of that other life, a sounder, a wiser way of living. SO I planned. Was it my fault that another event was soon to occur that would wipe out all this beginning, would revolutionize my life, start my heart to pounding with a love I couldn't seem to deny? I was walking down Michigan Boulevard one afternoon with one of my best friends, Alice Carter, who seemed to know everyone and go everywhere; who every week had a new boy friend, each one more handsome and gifted. She was telling me about her "newest." "He's so handsome, Virginia, that he makes goose-pimples run up and down your spine. His eyes are a deep brown — Say, I'll tell you what. Let's go up to his office and you can see for yourself." . I didn't really want to go, but Alice insisted. And then I knew what Alice meant when she said that she felt goosepimples run up and down her spine. He did that to you when he turned his smile on and the lights glistened in deep brown eyes that were magnificently alive. Then he was speaking in a low voice. "I'm happy to know you, Miss Clark," he said. And then he was asking me all about myself. At the moment I didn't think about it, but it was as if Alice wasn't there at all — just we two. He made you feel intimately at home with him and the force of his personality jumped, like an electric spark, across the gap that separated us. I'm afraid we both quite forgot poor Alice. It wasn't until later that evening, that I thought about her. That was when I answered the phone to feel again the spell of the man. "This is Ray," he said. "I hope you still remember me because I haven't been able to think of anything else but you since this afternoon." It was then that I thought about Alice. I wondered if he had given her any reason to feel that he might care about her. Of course, with Alice it was a different fellow each week, but if he'd given her any reason . . . and then was calling me up! He was talking again. "I wondered if you wouldn't care to go for a drive and maybe dance a little?" It had been so long since I had had a date, danced — and yet — was instinct warning me, even then? How wonderful it would be to laugh again, to forget reciting lines, to banish the thought of jobs and mother working. Why then should I hesitate? I didn't for very long. "I'd love to, only I have so much work — " "You can always work, but you can't always have a good time." He was turning on all his persuasion. "And anyway, we won't stay late." But we did stay late. We went from one club to another, and Ray knew all of the headwaiters by name so they gave him the best tables, treated us like royalty. I knew how Cinderella felt, now — I, who had lived out my girlhood in the unsophisticated small town. I was learning, to the blaring brass and soft strings of night club orchestras, how the other, gorgeously gowned half lived. But the clock didn't strike twelve. When I came home from school the next night, a large box of flowers awaited me. There was a note . . . "Love, Ray." That was all. And then the phone rang. "Really, Ray, I think I'd better stay home tonight." "But you promised me. . . ." Again I gave in and each time the giving in became a little easier. He was calling me at school now, two or three times a day, and suddenly school wasn't important. Ray was all that mattered. I had been swept completely off my feet. Again I was living on top of a world that went swimmingly along on its merry course. There was only one drawback. My mother and his parents. One night, as I came in from dancing, Mother was waiting for me. VIRGINIA, there have not been many times when I've told you not to do something. But this time, I'm going to ask you to listen to me carefully and do what I ask. I want you to forget Raymond. For your own good and his too." For a moment my heart stopped. In all the seventeen years I had been growing up, I had never disobeyed my mother. I had never had to. Never had she forced me to do anything I didn't really want to do. I knew, somehow, that this was going to be different. Even if it meant standing against Mother, I couldn't obey this order. But I could try to make her understand. "Mother, we're in love! He's already asked me to marry him. You wouldn't ask me to give up the man I love?" "No, I wouldn't ask you to do that, but I don't think you love Raymond and I don't think he loves you." And then she used the argument so many parents have used . . . the argument I think hardens so many children's hearts. "You're both so young. I want you to wait awhile until you're older, until you find out if it's really love. If it is, you'll both wait." RADIO AND TELEVISION IVIIRROH