Radio-TV mirror (Jan-June 1954)

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CHICAGO SCHOOL OF NURSING Dept. 22, 25 East Jackson Blvd.. Chicago 4, III. Please send free booklet and 16 sample lesson pages. Na m e . City State ige Corns 106 You get super-fast relief when you use Super-Soft Dr. Scholl's Zino-pads. They stop painful shoe friction, lift pressure on ""^C. the sensitive spot . . . ease new or tight shoes . . . stop corns before they can develop . . . remove corns one of the quickest ways known to medical science. Get this fast relief today! SUPERFAST RELIEF! D^Scholls lino pads One example of her popularity was seen recently when Wanda went to the hospital to have her second baby. She had worked up until three weeks before the time came to go to the hospital. (For the first baby, she had worked until one week before.) It was quite evident, of course, that she would soon be leaving the show for a while. Paul and Sis both talked with Wandy on the show about her pregnancy, though it was treated with the utmost dignity. They discussed her latest maternity dresses, the date of expectancy, and other topics related to Wanda and the expected child. Paul even initiated a new expression for Wanda's departure for the hospital: "She's going papoosing!" The expression caught on to such an extent that, when Wandy finally did go to the maternity ward of Jewish Hospital in Cincinnati, thousands of letters and cards wishing momma and daughter good luck and congratulations were addressed to "The Papoose Department." Thousands of other viewers sent Wanda cards via the WCPO-TV studios, and the demand to find out how she and her baby were doing became so great that Paul decided to do a portion of one show from the hospital the first time the doctors would permit. Cameras, a complete remote telecasting crew from WCPO-TV, and the Paul Dixon staff were bundled over to the hospital. The show was done with hospital masks on Paul's face, on Sis Camp's, and on the faces of the cameramen who were in the room with Wandy and the baby, so as to protect four-day-old Sharon Ann. Paul was designated at the hospital as the lucky one to hold the tiny tot in his arms for the benefit of the television viewers. Wandy was beaming all over throughout the show and completely overwhelmed by the interest shown in her baby and herself by more than eight thousand letters. "Babies," says Windy Wandy, now that she's back on the afternoon show, "can be difficult. They don't understand," she kids, "that they're supposed to co-operate with my television schedule. They just don't seem to understand! I have records to learn for the pantomime numbers on the show. Generally, I do that at night in the rathskeller, where the noise won't bother the children. But," she continues, "I have to keep changing my rehearsal hours to fit the baby's needs. And Sharon Ann, my youngest, doesn't seem to realize that I'm supposed to be at work by 9:30 every weekday morning." Wanda sighs heavily as she says, "She keeps changing her schedule of feedings, and I get to work a half-hour, sometimes an hour, late. I really don't mind, though. My children will always come first." Perhaps it's this warm and human attitude, with feelings just like those of every other mother, which has endeared Wanda Lewis to thousands and thousands — on and off television, in dozens of cities — where ever the informal afternoon pantomime program, The Paul Dixon Show, is seen. You Asked For It! (Continued from page 46) themselves. Even if your day holds a problem, when you meet it with a smile, you've got a better chance of making it a happy day!" Art's an authority, for he's seen good days and bad — but he's never lost his smile. As a result, today he can say, "I'm the happiest — and luckiest — man in the Western Hemisphere. My life is full of the things I love most. I have my work, my wife, my apartment, my garden, and a dog that loves me like I was sugar-cured ham — which," he adds, "I am!" Art inherited his smile from his mother and father. His mother was a deaconess in the church and his father was the choir leader. His father put Art in the choir when he was a boy. "Reaching for high E," he says, "put a perpetual smile on my face." When Art's voice changed, it became very much like his father's. "There wasn't an eighth-of-a-note difference between us," says Art, "from the top of the scale to the bottom. I regret to say it got me in trouble once or twice." Art's church organist was blind. But the blind man had a perfect ear. He could tell the names of every member of the congregation just by listening to their voices. Yet he couldn't tell Art and his father apart. If they were walking down the street, for instance, and Art said, "Hello," the organist replied, "Hello, Brother Baker." "Yes, but which one?" Art would say. "Well, it must be the younger," the organist would reply, "because the elder would be too much of a gentleman to tease." At night, Art and his father used to sing through the hymn book from cover to cover to develop Art's voice. He led the choir at sixteen and a year later was church soloist. As a child, his mother had dedicated him to the ministry. Though Art didn't get to the seminary, he never got far away from the church. During the ten y< ars from 1920 to 1930, he did evangelistic worl with children, working with as many as 500 at a time. This work was one of the most valuable experiences of his life. It's easy to be nice to children, for they have simple desires. Art found that spreading understanding and recognition won him their affection. It was better than handing out toy trains. With 500 youngsters of all ages, there are bound to be some troublemakers. Art had his share. But he also had a trick up his sleeve to control them. After the first meeting in a new town, for instance, he spotted the wild ones. When they came around again the next day, he pulled them aside, saying, "I'm having trouble with some tough kids and I need help. I don't think you guys are man enough to handle them — but, if you want to try, you're welcome." It never failed. The toughies became the sergeants-at-arms and kept order like Congressional floor leaders. Art's big break came in 1930. At that time, his children's evangelistic work paid him $27.50 a week. Then, one day, he went I to a meeting at Wynona Lake to hear Billy Sunday, and to sing in a choir made up of choir leaders. The leader, another evangelist, heard Art's beautiful voice and said, "After this is over, I want to talk to you." Art thought he d done something wrong. But he went over, after the singing, to talk with the leader. "I want you to lead my choir and be my soloist," said the evangelist. "No 'ifs' or 'buts'. I'll pay $150 a week." Art was stunned. He had thought he was going to be bawled out for singing too loudly. When Art didn't make a reply to the offer, the evangelist added: ". . . and expenses." "Well," said Art with a smile, "money isn't everything." He had the job. Then 1931, and the depression came along. Art lost his job, but he never lost his smile. He spent part of 1932 in Santa Monica, California, putting in cement side