Radio-TV mirror (July-Dec 1954)

"But you can bet she had to be talented in other ways, just taking care of all of us." The Morgans went on to Tujunga, a suburb of Los Angeles, to set up a home — though, for the next ten years, they were on the vaudeville circuits six months out of twelve, traveling in a trailer and living in hotels and motels. The children had a private tutor and, most of the time, the Morgans did well. "There was one time in Missouri that we went bust," Jaye P. recalls. "We couldn't buy a pint of gasoline." For the next four months, they turned up their backs and elbows picking strawberries for farmers. They saved enough money to go on, and everything was all right again. But, when Jaye was thirteen, her father died and the act broke up. "Dad had been very ill for a long time," she says, "but he never missed a show, not until a few days before he died. As a matter of fact, he saw our last performance from the audience." Jaye P. is not the only entertainer practically born to show business. Her boss, Robert Q., is another. And they tell you around the studios that working with a trouper like Jaye P. is a real pleasure. "You can give Jaye a schedule that keeps her on the go from nine in the morning until after midnight, and you don't hear a gripe," say her managers, "Bullets" Durgom and Ray Katz. "Jaye is a real trouper." "But I get tired," she comments. "Sometimes I feel like sleeping." She got in most of her rest between the ages of thirteen and fifteen, when she was in semi-retirement. At this time, she acquired the name of Jaye P. (she was christened Mary Margaret) . "I was class treasurer in school," she says, "and so the kids nicknamed me Jaye P." The Jaye P. seemed a very good idea when she began her career as a vocalist, for there was already a very well-known singer by the name of Marion Morgan. When Jaye, at fifteen, announced she wanted to sing with dance bands, she was encouraged by her brothers, who had given up vaudeville for music-making. In the trade, Jaye is known as a "belter." "That means I sing loud," she says. Loud, of course, isn't enough — or almost everyone would star on TV shows. What Jaye does to a song is what Ralph Kiner does to a baseball, though her stance is different. Jaye, literally, belts out a song. At a microphone, she turns half away to keep from nipping the engineer's audio needle. Her dynamic delivery, however, has always kept audiences nipping, and she began to work regularly even as a youngster. The turning point in her career came when she was eighteen and answered a call to audition with the Frank DeVol Orchestra at the Hollywood Palladium. The auditions took place before an audience and the crowd's enthusiasm for Jaye P. cinched the job. ' "Frank DeVol became one of my best friends," she says. "He was always helping me." Frank coached her. His wife helped Jaye pick clothes. Frank got Jaye a recording contract. Frank encouraged Jaye to study dancing and even paid her tuition when she went to drama school. The school was Benito Schneider's, attended also by such Hollywood celebrities as Piper Laurie, Farley Granger, Ellen Drew and Tony Curtis. R "And > that was where I met Michael M Baiano," she says. "It was practically love at first sight — for me." Mike stands about five-feet-ten. He is 7b slender and very handsome. His father is head of casting at Warner Brothers and his mother was a silent movie star, Charlotte Pierce. "I was quite handicapped in our early courtship," Jaye recalls. "You see, it wasn't Mike who was dating me, but one of his best friends." One night, however, Mike took Jaye P. home from a party as a favor to his friend. He suggested that he would "like to call her for a date. "Short of giving him written permission," Jaye says, "I thought I made it clear that I was very agreeable." Mike didn't call. Weeks later, she and Mike were assigned in drama class to work out a scene together. Mike phoned Jaye to make a date to rehearse and wound up asking her if she would like to spend the day at the beach. Jaye accepted. She found the afternoon very pleasant but, when evening came, and he suggested continuing the pleasantries with a kiss, she said no. "I'm a little miffed with you," she said. "You told me weeks ago you were going to ask me out, and you kept me waiting a long time." "I thought you were dating Johnny," he said. Logically, she asked, "Then why did you invite me out today." "I found that you weren't dating steady." So she kissed Mike. "After all, I'd been thinking about it for a long time," she says. A month later both admitted they were in love. "At least I think so," Mike said. "Other times that I've thought I was in love, I felt depressed. This time I feel good. Does that make sense?" "I'm having the same reaction," Jaye P. reported. Actually, Jaye's life had been very "unsocial," as she puts it. A band vocalist, she worked six out of seven nights a week and collapsed on the seventh. The work, of course, was in addition to her dance and drama classes. She didn't do one-tenth the dating the average schoolgirl does. The few so-called romances preceding Mike were short-lived. "Most of the time, I didn't think Mike and I would work out, either," she says. "We had a million arguments, a million." With love came a rash of jealousy. If Mike happened to sit beside another girl in class, Jaye P. felt her hair stand on end. When Jaye P. chatted with another man, Mike suffered with the same scalp disorder. "The worst spat lasted four days," she says. "I didn't go out of the house all that time." On the fourth day, Jaye P. called Mike to give him a chance to apologize. Mike indignantly answered the phone saying, "I hope you're sorry." So they both blew their tops again. That evening, Mike showed up with an armful of roses and everything was nice again — for about twenty-four hours. When Mike proposed, it was without the benefit of moonlight or the murmur of ocean surf or soft lights. They were at a party and suffering through another fight. "This is the end," Jaye said, near tears. "The very end." "I want you to marry me," Mike said. "How can you say that?" she demanded. "It's like this," Mike told her. "I figure if we get married, we'll see enough of each other and get tired of fighting." So they had a quiet engagement. Mike told his family and Jaye P. told hers. In the meantime, Mike was getting parts in movies and Jaye began resisting efforts of her managers to get her East. Then her recording, "Life Is Just a Bowl of Cherries," began to sell well and, last summer, she was talked into a trip to New York to promote the record. She stayed only a week and whizzed back to Mike. Then Harry James asked her to join his band as vocalist for a two-month tour. She turned that down. Last fall, her managers told Jaye that she would have to come to New York. There were few live TV shows originating from Hollywood, and they felt TV was the right medium for her. Besides, they had some night-club bookings lined up for her, a chance to appear on The Jackie Gleason Show, and they wanted her to audition for the new show Robert Q. Lewis was putting together. Jaye P. tore herself away. Her first week in Manhattan, she auditioned for Robert Q. "I sang a belter and then a ballad and talked to Bob and then he asked me why I wanted the job." Her answer probably made her namesake, old J.P., smile in the Great Beyond. Jaye P. said frankly, "I need the money." She got the job. It was cinched in the same way she had won the Palladium audition. Robert Q. asked her to sing an "up" number and she did "I've Got the Sun in the Morning." When she finished, all of the stagehands and camera men spontaneously applauded her. "But those first six months in New York without Mike were murder," she recalls. "You can't have a real good fight on a phone. You miss the fun of kissing and making up." This past April, she flew home and married Mike. She wore a simple suit and had a quiet wedding at the Westwood Presbyterian Church, with only their families and close friends in attendance. Mike and Jaye were married on a Wednesday, had the briefest of honeymoons in Palm Springs, then— the following Sunday — flew back East to set up housekeeping in New York City. The apartment was completely furnished, and about the only thing they brought in, besides their clothes, was Mike's collection of jazz records. Jaye herself collects nothing, but keeps everything. "I can't throw anything away," she says. "I hang onto clothes until they fall apart. I have the world's largest assortment of lone earrings and gloves." Because she is at work so much of the day, Jaye has help with the cleaning, but she is resolved to take on all other domestic chores herself, including cooking. As a careerist from the age of three, she didn't get too much training at the range. "I can make fried chicken, good coffee and excellent toast," she says. Mike has been tolerant and tactful when the peas show up belatedly with the dessert. And he has proven a prince of husbands by turning up unexpectedly with a delicious breakfast. "It hasn't been too bad. We're both rather meticulous and like things neat and clean, so the apartment is usually in good order." And, now that Mike is with her, Jaye P. finds she is enjoying New York. She doesn't feel so shy at parties with Mike along. And now she really has someone to dress up for. "Some day I'd like to live back in California," she says. "I'd like to have at least three children, too — all boys." The way things have been going for Jaye P. Morgan these days, she'll probably get her wish. She's collected big dividends, in Mike and the Robert Q. Lewis shows. The little ones are next, on her preferred list!