TV Radio Mirror (Jan - Jun 1957)

Close to Each Other 76 (Continued from page 39) who is in commercial art, is dark and handsome, with deep brown eyes, and wavy brown hair. Together, they make an attractive couple. Together, they have two TV receivers, six radios, two toasters, two vacuum cleaners, two rotisseries, two phonographs — and even two identical 400-day, glass-enclosed clocks. "Until we married," Melba points out, "we both had our own apartments, independent households. As we later discovered, we had been living just a block apart in the Village, though we didn't meet for years — but that's not unusual in New York." "I had a letter from a friend of mine, Ed Ross," Gil remembers. "He's a correspondent for Time in their Los Angeles bureau. Ed told me all about Melba. That she lived near by. That she was beautiful. That she was an actress. And intelligent. He suggested that I give her a ring. Then he added, in a footnote, that he didn't know Melba! Actually, she was a friend of a friend." Gil phoned Melba and asked for a date, but she turned him down. That was in spring of 1954, and Melba was busy. She's always had many friends and little time. Then, as now, her work on Search For Tomorrow required her to rise at 6:30 A.M. for an eight o'clock rehearsal — and that means early to bed. Also, she doesn't like blind dates. So it was easy for her to turn Gil down. On the other hand, Gil — a major in the Air Force Reserve — has flown and fought in two wars, so he was prepared to lay a lengthy siege. He kept calling back at two or three-week intervals. "We got to know each other fairly well over the phone," Melba explains. "And it developed that we'd both been in Europe and the Orient and we were both particularly fascinated by Japanese customs and art. So one evening — it was late August by then — he phoned early and I told him I was busy, but why didn't he drop over for a half-hour before I went out? He did — and I was still no more impressed than I had been by his phone calls. It's so odd, because I fell head over heels in love on our actual first date!" That came within a week, when Gil phoned again and asked her to a dinner party at his apartment. Melba said that she had a tentative date but would phone back. "He asked me to bring along a Japanese game he'd seen in my apartment," she recalls. "I misunderstood and thought he said that he was giving a Japanese dinner party and that intrigued me, so I accepted his invitation." There were several couples there and, as it turned out, only one extra man — Gil himself. There was no Japanese food, only American steak and salad. After dinner, there was no talk of the Orient. Instead, Gil pulled out a projector and showed pictures of damage to his cottage at East Hampton. "It was shortly after the hurricane 'Carol,'" Melba relates. "And I learned from the conversation that Gil was very much interested in boats and fishing and just living on the shore. This, too, left me cold, for I'd never cared much for the sea. But Gil did all the cooking and serving that night and pulled a real switch in refusing to let his female guests 'help' with the dishes. That was a sign of real character." It turned out to be a long evening. After the party, Gil and Melba, alone, took a long walk and talked. They stopped at one of the caffe espresso places in the Village and sipped coffee and talked. They walked back to Melba's apartment building and sat at the foot of the stairwell and talked some more. Gil learned that Melba had several Broadway plays and many TV productions to her credit. That she was a graduate of Stanford University, where she made Phi Beta Kappa. That she was born and raised in Willard, Utah, at the mouth of Red Rock Canyon. That her forbears were Mormon pioneers who had trekked over the mountains in covered wagons. That — like Melba toast and peach Melba — she was named after the famous opera singer, Nellie Melba. Melba, in turn, learned that Gil was a New Yorker. That he had studied art and designing at the Art Students' League and New York University. That he was an Air Force pilot in World War II and the Korean War. That he had earned many medals (including the Purple Heart, Distinguished Flying Cross and Air Medal) and that he had been shot down over Belgium and lived in the underground for six months. They talked of his interest in fishing and boating, cooking and photography. Melba learned that he was unattached to any other woman. Melba says, "I'd met men who were intelligent— and, certainly, lots of personal -VACATION TREAT! Color pictures ond vitol data of ten Daytime Drama stars . . . cover portrait and brand-new story of Tommy Sands . . . plus many more in July TV RADIO MIRROR at your newsstand on June 6 ity boys," says Melba. "But Gil, in addition to the other things, struck me as a person with heart." It was on a Thursday that they got together. Gil tried to make a date for the next evening, but Melba was busy. On Saturday, she had a yachting date for the weekend, and Gil took her to the train station. He wanted to ride along with her out to Long Island, where she was to meet friends, but she wouldn't let him. "That was 'The Long Weekend,' " says Gil. "Melba told me she would be home as early as possible Sunday, so I began phoning early Sunday morning. Her answering service kept reporting that she was still out of town. I called every halfhour, and it was sometime in late afternoon they told me that she was back. Well, I didn't even call Melba. I was with some friends, but I just said, 'Goodbye,' and began running! I ran all the way to her building and up four flights of stairs to her apartment." "He came in wet and breathless," Melba recalls. "It was love, and so quick. It had been the same for me. I had spent most of the weekend explaining to my hosts that I had to be back in Manhattan early, and I got them to drop me near a railroad stop so I could get home." From that Sunday on, Melba and Gil were going as steady as Niagara Falls. Gil says, "It meant a different kind of life for me. Most of my dates were the kind who steered me into El Morocco or Sardi's or other popular Manhattan places. But Melba prefers picnics. She lilies to fix up a basket and get into the car and drive into the country. Melba's got a built-in 'divining rod' for locating picnic spots. We can be driving along a busy highway and she'll say, 'Let's turn off here.' We do, and it may look like nothing, but we keep going a few more minutes and — sure enough — there's a glade and brook." Melba likes picnics the year around. From March through November, she keeps going, making a fire to keep warm when necessary. If the weather is biting cold, she'll settle for eating in the car. Evenings in the city were usually spent at the theater. "That's about the time my office began to catch on," Gil says. "I'd order theater tickets, and they'd always ask whether it was a personal or business expense. It was almost always personal, and they began to get that knowing look. Of course, we were always late for the theater. We'd get started at dinner early enough, but get to talking and forget the time." The picnics and theater were a matter of catering to Melba's interests. Melba returned the favor by sharpening pencils for Gil when he worked evenings. And she posed for a portrait, on which Gil did over the lios fourteen times. "I just couldn't catch her mouth," he says. "Maybe that's because we were talking so much," Melba notes. "We talked continuously for two years. The day we married, I lost my voice." The decision to marry was brought on by circumstances similar to the day they had realized they were in love. In late August of last year, Melba accepted a weekend invitation to a friend's home in Connecticut. "We had thought and talked about marriage," Gil recalls, "but never got to the point of actually making the crucial commitment. But, when Melba went out of town, I began to feel desperate. And, when Sunday morning came, I began to phone frequently to find out if she had returned." It was raining and he was in his apartment a block away. When Melba returned, he came running over and up the steps, arriving winded and soaked again. "I said something like, 'That's enough of this. Let's get right out of here and get married this minute.' " Melba shared his sentiments, but they allowed a few days for preparation. "We decided to elopd," Melba says, "and, by that, I mean elope from the big ceremony and customs. I've never held with the expense and big show of weddings. It is our philosophy that marriage should be for just two people. Gil himself said, when we talked about the wedding, 'I feel that I could just hold your hand and say, "I marry you." and that would be it.' Well, we didn't get that off-beat. I sat down and wrote Mother in California, and Gil wrote his mother in Rome. And, the following weekend, we rode off quietly, teUing none of our friends, and got married." Melba came out of her building that Saturday morning wearing a beige chiffon wool dress and carrying a bouquet of flowers. Gil wore a brown suit. They drove out of Manhattan and into Long Island, stopping long enough in one of the suburbs to say, "I do." They went on to East Hamnton to spend a two-day honeymoon at Gil's cottage. Halfway to the cottage, Melba suddenly stopped talking. She had lost her voice. Gil was running between the cottage and drug store most of that evening, hoping to find a medicine that would help Melba's throat. Nothing helped until the following afternoon, when Gil proposed a picnic — and her voice, miraculously, came back. "Talk about looking glamorous on your honeymoon!" Melba laughs. "We took Gil's boat to a tiny island for our picnic. Well, I was huddled up, worrying about a sunburn and getting a chill. So I was li