Radio-TV mirror (Jan-June 1953)

BAD BREATH IN SECONDS Clorets, with active chlorophyll*, banish odors from such causes as: ONIONS,GARLIC,SMOKING, ALCOHOL CtORETS have only one purpose . . . they make your breath "Kissing Sweet" in the quickest, pleasantest way possible. Clorets bring you the astounding benefits of true, water soluble chlorophyll . . . put into a most effective, quickacting form. It's simply amazing how fast new Clorets Candy Mints or delicious Clorets Chewing Gum purify your breath . . . banish odors even after onions, garlic, smoking or alcohol. MAKE THIS "KISS TEST". Eat onions. Take Clorets (Candy Mints or Chewing Gum). Exchange a kiss. You'll find your breath is "Kissing Sweet". , »»^ 78 ♦water soluble chlorophyll factors So I got to say, "I told you so — see, nothing's wrong." My folks never would have said anything, even if I'd had a fractured skull. I guess I wasn't big enough, and just had to show them I knew more than they. Yeah, more! Next Thursday, I came in and, talk about black eyes, I had 'em. This time my nose didn't feel bad at all . . . it was just plain numb. I thought I'd been playing against a team of centipedes that afternoon, I had so many feet in my face. Well, the same conversation took place and this time I stalled them off. "Nothing's wrong," I said, "even the coach said it would be okay." But next day my nose started to grow in two directions at once. Something had gone wrong, I felt, and it hurt enough that I didn't hear my ego cry out when I said . . . "I guess we better see the Doc. . . ." Now I'm up for a slight nose operation and I've decided to try basketball. That's what Dad did when he was my age. One of the nice things about my parents is that they never rub it in when they're right and I'm wrong, and they never try to make up my mind for me. This is true of both big and little problems (I've got little problems like nickels got buffaloes — though big problems are few and far between) . One problem I've been trying hard to solve is the choice of a career. But I think I've got it licked. I want to be in the entertainment business. And I want to be an emcee! My dad's only reaction to this is "Take your time, boy, take your time! You've plenty of years to make up your mind. . . ." But I think being an emcee would be the thing for me. Not exactly as a chip off the old block, either, because I want to be more of a variety emcee. One who sings and dances. I'm getting in shape for it now. I've joined a group (as emcee, what else?) called the Hollywood Troupers. We try to perform every week for hospitalized soldiers and the men at the near-by Army camps. It's swell experience and it also makes me feel good inside to think we are doing something for those guys who have done so much for us. Dad comes in especially handy here. He helps me with my routines and listens to my ideas. I don't know how good I really am — after all, I'm just learning — because Dad never says too much. Just enough to encourage me and give me confidence, but not enough to give me a swelled head. "No ego at sixteen, please," he says, with that great grin of his. Dad has never forgotten the shock of my first professional appearance. Neither have I! I was just a kid of ten or so when it happened. Seems Dad was scheduled to appear as emcee for a big home show in San Francisco and I went along to watch the fun. Only I arrived with Mom at the auditorium earlier than Dad. The show was all ready, and the acts were waiting in the wing. Dad didn't come and he didn't come. This is very unusual for him because he's always very prompt. ("I think I live by a stopwatch," he always says.) We finally learned there was a big traffic jam near by, and obviously Pop was held up in it. The billing on the ads (and I guess in his contract) specified that Art Linkletter was to appear. Suddenly, one of the men from the show approached me. "You're Art Linkletter, too, aren't you?" he asked. "Yes," I said — for I'm Arthur Jack, and Dad is Arthur Gordon. "Then you'll have to go on as emcee!" I didn't take to the idea (I was only ten then) and I looked to Mom for support. "It will be lots of fun for you, Jack," she said, "and you do want to help Dad, don't you?" What could a guy do in a spot like that? So I said yes. The band played a very fancy fanfare, and the announcer said, "Now we give you Art Linkletter!" When I appeared, the laughter really rocked the rafters. I thought maybe I'd forgotten my head. But everybody seemed to like the idea — and so did I. It was lots of fun. I was having a whale of a time, announcing the acts and talking right up, when I suddenly caught sight of Dad. On account of the traffic jam, he'd had to enter the auditorium from the front instead of the stage entrance. There he stood, right in front of me, with a most amazed look on his face. "You're so good," he laughed, as he climbed onto the stage, "I think I'll let you take over my radio shows." But, of course, I didn't. I was only ten — and Dad had a few years left himself! But I felt very proud when Dad thanked me and said I'd carried on in the real tradition of show business. I think that's when the acting bug really bit me. Of course, everybody around the house kids me because I want to be an emcee, but I don't think it's so very funny. My sister Dawn gives me an especially bad time and we have some real brother-andsister knock-down-drag-out battles. Mom and Pop say we're wasting our talent and ought to confine our bouts to the prize ring. But I don't mind the teasing. The only time it bothers me a little is when the gang teases me about girls. Even Dad and Mother join in on this. They act as if they thought I didn't know what girls are for. Ha! I know they're necessary. Why, we couldn't even begin to put on our camp shows without them! I don't know why it is, but some folks seem to want to rush me into middleage. They're always asking me, for instance, what I want in the way of marriage. My reply is always the same. "A girl," I say, "what else?" That usually does it. Golly, what a question to ask a guy still in high school! However, I do have some set ideas on children. I know right now that when I'm married I'm going to want at least three to five kids. I think big families are great. Maybe that's because I've got three sisters and a brother (all younger) and somehow there's an all's-right-with-theworld feeling that comes with a big family. Dad says I'm already "babybroken." That is, I can take care of kids from infancy on up. But I have to admit— I still can't pin on a diaper! One nice thing about big families is that everybody gets to go on summer vacations together, and it's always more fun when there's a big gang along. Last summer, for instance, Dad borrowed a huge limousine to take the five of us, plus our equipment, into the mountains on a camping trip. It turned out that Mom was the feature attraction on that trip. She took a pneumatic rubber rocking chair along with the excuse that she needed it after the long horseback rides. Well, that rocking chair was the talk of the Sierra Madre Mountains. Wherever we pulled into camp, the vacationers all wanted to see the woman with the rubber rocking chair that blew up. We never could figure out how the word spread so fast (it was like the Hollywood grapevine), but it did Mom spent more time showing how the chair worked— than she did using it! Point of all this is that parents can be fun! They can also be friends— and a great source of comfort when a guy's got a problem that may be too big for him. I know my mom and dad are the greatest, and boy! I wouldn't trade 'em for anything— not even a chance to emcee Art Linkletter's House Party and People Are Funny!