TV Radio Mirror (Jan - Jun 1955)

70 that I began to get over mine," Dorothy laughed, "for, when Raymond wanted a girl so much — and he wanted a girl very much— I wanted one for him. And I was so afraid he'd be disappointed that, all during my pregnancy, I kept talking about 'our son,' who was to be named Mark Edward Scott— Mark for Raymond's brother, Edward for my father and brother. When we got around to discussing a name for a girl — in the event (the unlikely event) we should have a girl — we consulted one of the name books that go from Abigail to Zenobia. Starting with the A's, we kept going until we got to the D's . . . and when we came to Deborah, we said in unison, 'This is it!' But it was as 'our son' that I referred to the baby . . . until, at 12:22 P.M., October 24, 1954, our baby was born! "Those four words, 'our baby was born,' taste like sugar candy!" Dorothy laughed. "And, when she was born — the first time I saw her after she was born — will I ever forget it! At the North Shore Hospital in Manhasset, Long Island, where I had Deborah, they don't show you your baby until the day after the birth. But I woke up at 4 A.M., the morning after, thinking: If I don't see my baby, I'm going to die! When I told my nurse, 'I must see her, really I must, I can't wait,' she said that the nursing mothers are given their babies at 6 A.M., and that she would see what she could do. Two hours to wait ... I folded my hands and bided my soul in impatience," Dorothy laughed, "for that was a lo-o-o-ng two hours! But at last it was six o'clock. And at six, on the tick, I saw her for the first time . . . held her for the first time . . . and did, I suppose, what all new mothers do — examined her from head to toes. She was perfect, absolutely perfect . . . although, just for a second, her little crumply feet looked so — so crowded, I thought she had six toes on each! She didn't," Dorothy laughed. "She has just the normal set of ten, and hair so long I could have curled it, and hands just like Raymond's — and he has such beautiful hands, fine, yet strong — oh, what a feeling it is, what an impossible-to-describe feeling it is . . . your first baby, safely here, in your arms, and perfect! "No, I didn't have any fear while I was carrying her . . . except, as I've said, that something might happen to this somefhingtoo-good-to-be-true ... no fear at all. I wasn't weepy. During the whole nine months, I cried only once — I'll tell you why in a minute. I wasn't afraid of labor, not in the least. My doctor wouldn't let me suffer, I knew that, and he didn't. He also gave me a book titled Expectant Motherhood, which I heartily recommend to all E.M.'s — for, any time you have a little backache or a twinge, all you need do is turn to the book to find out you're having exactly what you're supposed to be having at that time. On the very few occasions I referred to it," Dorothy smiled, "I was always having exactly what I was supposed to be having, and when! "I loved being an expectant mother," the practically brand-new young mother said (and didn't need to say). "I enjoyed it. I enjoyed going to the doctor every month. I enjoyed buying the maternity clothes I didn't need — which surprised me — until my seventh month. I enjoyed working on the show, queasy as I often felt, until the end of my sixth month. The time I cried, the one and only time, was when, my last night on the show, Snooky Lanson, Gisele MacKenzie ... all the kids, all the stagehands . . . everyone came up to me, telling me, 'Good luck! God bless you! God take care of you!' But it was a happy crying. "At the beginning of my seventh month, I played a three-week engagement at The Thunderbird in Las Vegas as I'd contracted to do, when I sang there the summer be fore, the summer of '53. When I found out I was going to have a baby, I hadn't supposed they'd want me. But when I called Mr. Hal Brandes, the owner of The Thunderbird, to say I wouldn't be able to make it this summer — and why — Mr. Brandes said he wanted to take the chance. If, when I arrived — or at any time thereafter — I felt unable to go on, I could cancel out, he said. He was so nice and kind and understanding that Raymond and I flew out and I opened at The Thunderbird. Sang almost every song I knew," Dorothy said, "but no song had anything to do with a baby. It was suggested that I include one 'baby' song ... a lullaby, perhaps . . . but I didn't. I couldn't. It would have seemed — well, sort of commercial. "It was while I was in Las Vegas — although, fortunately, not until my last week there — that I began to show, to get pretty large. So large that, when I got back and went to the doctor for the first time in over a month, he said, 'My goodness, the baby is so big, I'm going to look for twins.' "Twins! I felt a thrill, I felt two thrills go up and down my spine! "But I didn't say anything. Not a word. I couldn't. After the doctor had X-rayed . . . and while he was developing the negatives ... I just sat there waiting, tense, •••••••••••••••••••••••••••• BUY U. S. SAVINGS BONDS AND INVEST IN YOUR FUTURE •••••••••••••••••••••••••••• trembling, and hoping. For, if anything in this world could be more wonderful than a baby it would be, I was thinking, two babies! And it could be, I suddenly realized, they could be. I myself was a twin. My twin, also a girl, died at birth. My mother's sister had twins. Twins 'run in families.' They run, I thought, my heart beating a fast tattoo, in mine. "Then the doctor told me: T can find only one. But,' he added, as my face fell, 'a very nice one and, guessing by the size, a boy!' "After I got back from Las Vegas, I didn't work any more. Stayed home. Loved that, too. Loved that best of all. If Raymond and I didn't work together, I wouldn't want to work at all. I'm afraid," Dorothy smiled her bright, endearing smile, "I'm not exactly a dedicated career girl. Not rabidly ambitious — for anything, that is, except home and happiness. I love staying home. So I had a really blissful two months. I read. Took naps. And walks. Friends came out to see us. And we moved . . . had to move from the old house in Babylon, with its feet in the Great South Bay. It had been built by a sea captain and we— being nautical-minded — loved it so much. But it was a fun house. For Raymond and me, it was a perfect house. Under its roof, Raymond had his model shop for the development work he does in electronics, his dark room for the work he does in photography, his woodworking shop. Upstairs, he had his ham radio set (which took up half of the huge room) and the musical 'Memory Machine' he has invented. But with its three ship's cabins for bedrooms — and they were indeed ship's cabins, measuring some 12 x 14 each — and all the baths downstairs — it was not a house for a baby. "We were lucky, though, to be able to rent this very pretty house in Brightwaters, all sunny and chintzy and newbaby looking as it is . . . especially lucky, since we can look out the windows and see the masts and spars of ships riding at anchor on the inlet of the Bay. In the meantime, we're looking for a house to buy and think we've found one. A big white house — also on the water — big enough for Raymond to have his model shop and all his equipment, big enough for the baby . . . and for, we hope, more babies. . . . "During the two months I spent at home, I missed being with Raymond on the show, I missed the kids on the show. But I got a kick out of watching the show, I really did! Only I'd like to see more of Raymond on the screen, I really would! "No, I didn't sew. Or, since you ask," Dorothy made a cute and funny face, "knit 'tiny garments.' I wouldn't even attempt to take needle, of any kind, in hand! I knitted a scarf once — most horrible thing you ever saw! I didn't shop for a layette, either. Partly because of my superstitious fear about making plans . . . partly because I wanted my mom to buy the basic things — shirts, nighties and so on — for her first grandchild (I knew she'd get a kick out of that!) . . . but also — a very big also — because the kids on the show gave me a surprise shower, which showered Debbie with a layette such as only a little princess could hope to have! "They were really clever about it, too. They fooled me by telling me a disc jockey wanted to interview me. How about doing the interview at Ruth Lawrence's apartment in town — Ruth is one of the dancers on the show — which would make it easy and convenient for me? When I arrived at Ruth's apartment, all unsuspecting, there they all were, yelling 'Surprise!' And such surprises, plural! Beautiful baby blankets from the Snooky Lansons. A wonderful little lamp, blankets and a great big floppy rag doll, with the silliest face in the world, from Gisele. Lovely little dresses, whole complete outfits, too, pillows, toys, silver . . . including the most beautiful silver 'starter set' from Sweden — knife, fork and spoon — which the stagehands on the show got together and sent me. That touched me more than anything. So many things, and still they're coming, and from all over the country, many of them from fans who must feel, as I do, that we're friends. "One of Debbie's latest gifts," said Debbie's mom, looking awed, "is a sterling silver toothbrush. 'This,' I said, when I unwrapped it, 'is The End!' "Viewing the silver toothbrush, Raymond said, 'She's got so much, and is going to get so much, that what we must learn to do is — give her love freely, without stint or question, but none of the material things, later on, without her earning them.' "Raymond is very wise," said Raymond Scott's double-threat singing star and wife, "in everything he does, everything he says. Talking one night, before the baby was born, about what he (or, just possibly, she!) would be when grown up, Raymond said, 'We're not even going to look for talent, because — if talent is around — you can't help but see it.' "So you can't," Dorothy said, "and we're not going to look for it, or for anything except her health and happiness and the normal, little-girl life we want her to lead. We're not going to spoil her, either. It is going to be terribly hard," said Dorothy, fetching a deep-down sigh, "not to . . . but, although I'm not as wise as Raymond, I'm wise enough to know that a spoiled child is not an attractive child. "To repeat myself, so wise is Raymond, so controlled and such a precisionist . . . but what became of Raymond's wisdom, control and precision, where did it go," Dorothy laughed aloud, "in the early hours of the morning of October 24? Out the window, or wherever! I can only tell you that, in those hours, Raymond — who isn't like any other man — became every husband whose wife is about to have her