Radio-TV mirror (July-Dec 1952)

3 wonderful ways to glorify your hair -COLO s°fter t0ap Mm % and set makes i <*«%£ '?"<*%)?* *afr amoves 'to*-** COLoniHSe ^~-^> 84 Blend-in streaked, bached ffi«*« hair-enrich your ngg _te lor .14 capsules 50*. C010RT1HT I?mo*zhj£?nLy*on. Ask your beautician for Professional Applications of Nestle Colorinse, Nestle Colortint, or Nestle Lite? (prices plus tax) What Love Did for Me (Continued from page 35) she's feeling, what she's up to, what I can do. We talk about what I'm attempting, and about Betty and the latest steps of Colleen and Elissa. She is my fine friend. Her decision to become this, when I was born, is typical of her and has blessed me with a very high regard for women. She has loved me wisely, never possessively. As the result, I never have been afraid to instinctively like and trust women. A man misses so much when he doesn't. All through my growing up I was treated, basically, as an excellent friend by Mom. Perhaps her understanding of youth, which she'll always have, made this easy for her. She married at sixteen, the only one in her family who wouldn't let love wait while going on to college. She never wanted to rule my life. I was an individual who should fully realize all each year offered in opportunities. I was to figure out what was best, and had the power to do so, she always said. I've always been attracted to real beauty in women, not the artificial sort — no doubt because Mom is beautiful in every way that counts. In appearance she still looks like my older sister rather than my mother. In her gracious manners, actions, and in her heart, she is genuinely beautiful, too. I looked for the same traits in romance, and have found them in my wife Betty. Mom never asked me to do anything she didn't practice herself, and this logic appealed tremendously to me. When she met my father, he was a war hero, already completely disabled and faced with rebuilding his life somehow. He had to court and support her on his small pension. She knew this, adored him anyway. So I never have concluded women are eager to be mercenary towards men. Mom, at eighteen, when I was only running around my grandparents' big house with inexhaustible energy, courageously determined to start adding to our pension. She began to sew and embroider for extra income, working entirely at home in order to watch me. She wouldn't take an outside job until I was six. Then she sewed blouses in a factory, first taking me to school and getting off at 3:30 P.M. to pick me up and bring me home. She didn't continue, once she was sure I knew my way, but she never let me feel forsaken. Taking an interest is not merely talking about your intentions. Mom — and Pop — were intensely concerned with everything I did, but always in a helpful and never in a cramping way. I was an only child, but I never was spoiled. I had loads of young uncles and aunts and cousins and was used to sharing everything with them. I always could invite any of my school friends home. Getting along with people is an elementary lesson Mom taught me at home. Now I like my friends, want my home to be the most hospitable of places, because that was how I was brought up. I expect Colleen and Elissa to bring rafts of school friends home, for our house belongs to our daughters as much as to Betty and me. I don't think you have to force anyone to do what is right, if you love them enough. Mom expressed kindness in her every move, so I got the idea early, without any stern lectures. I was busy at school and enjoyed teen-age things healthily. Every summer I had three months at the beach. My grandparents have a big summer house at Wildwood, New Jersey, and it was crammed with the family. I have memories I'll always treasure, and more — I acquired the habit of being happy at the slightest chance. Is that a sin? Not to me. I don't see any purpose in being grim simply to make yourself miserable. Naturally, I wondered what I'd do, and again Mom left it up to me to pick my future, just as Betty now presumes I am man enough to function thoughtfully as husband and father. Mom imagined she might send me to college to become a lawyer, since I liked to argue the other side whenever anyone was dogmatic in an opinion. That did it. "Mom, I want to sing!" I said then. I was seventeen, still in school. "If you really mean this," she answered, "then I'll never mention law again. I just knew certain courses would have to be taken if you were heading for it. But, if you're going to sing, how about private lessons in Italian? After all, we have our own particular accent. You must have the purest Italian diction for opera!" So she paid for a year of private lessons for me, and this gave me the assurance in pronunciation I needed as a foundation for operatic roles. "I'm your friend," Mom always said, and proved it every day. "If anything goes wrong, come to me or your father. We want to help you. But we have faith in your intelligence, in your ability to become your own true self!" It seems only yesterday that I was standing by Mom back in our front room in Philadelphia, hearing her say that. Because my folks were this way, I want them near me now. They are more than ever my friends, for with the years they have grown as persons, have never slipped into a stodgy rut. They're interested in everything, and that makes them welcome. As soon as I completed my first film, I moved them to California. I see them at least once during the week, and every Sunday they spend the day with us. My children have the joy of affectionate grandparents, ancj this js another satisfaction to me. My marriage never disturbed my mother. She didn't want me to remain single, and calmly was certain that at the right time the right girl would come along. She and Betty hit it off from the moment they met. Betty has the same womanliness as Mom, beneath her outward charm and good humor. I can't stand cheapness in a woman — or in a man — and Betty never lazily supposes a substitute is sufficient. She quit an excellent job and married me when I hadn't a cent, and she has all the old-fashioned domestic, family virtues Mom has, plus the same excitement over modern comforts. "I'm always looking for the shortcut!" Betty vows with a contagious smile, when praised for the smoothness of our household. Discovering more effective ways to do the job was her work in a Douglas plane-building plant. I like a lot of surface commotion, and contribute to it, but underneath I want everything to run with the utmost smoothness. I can't relax, can't be spontaneous, if I'm not sure the essentials are taken care of thoroughly. Betty is as much of a genius, in this respect, as anyone I've ever encountered. I can always depend upon her to have our house ready for anything on a moment's notice. Betty has remained the sweetheart I married, and what husband can ask for more? Betty still won't go to bed with her face creamed and her hair in curlers. She has too much pride, too much sensitiveness to my fondness for her ultrafeminine sweetness. If she has any