Screenland (Nov 1937-Apr 1938)

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Retain energy and health. Nourishing concentrated product. One Dollar, postpaid. Berosol Laboratories. Lindenhurst, New York. BEST GRAY HAIR REMEDY IS MADE WHY let prematurely gray hair make you look far older than your years? Now, with a better remedy, mixed and applied in the privacy of your own home, costing only a few cents, any man or woman can get rid of this social and business handicap. Simply get from your druggist one-fourth ounce of glycerin, one ounce of bay rum. and a box of Barbo Compound. Mix these in one-half pint of water, or your druggist will mix it for you. This colorless liquid will impart a natural-like color to faded, gray hair. This color will not wash out, does not affect permanents or waves, will not color the scalp, and adds to the beauty, luster, softness and youth of your hair. If you want to look ten years younger in ten days start with Barbo today. Joan, Dick & Co. Continued from page 31 He was waiting patiently for his mother's return. "Oh, yes, the baby," said Joan guiltily. "Why, I just wrote God a little note and said please send us a little boy or a little girl." "Huh," said Normie. "That's the way you talk to Santa Claus." And realizing the value of a good exit line, lie made it. Fortunately for Joan she didn't have so much trouble explaining the facts of life to Mr. Powell Senior. But don't think it was done in one of those beautiful and tender love scenes which you have seen Miss Blondell and Mr. Powell do so many times on the screen. He didn't come upon her one day knitting little booties, and she didn't whisper whimsically in his ear. It came about thus. Dick was in a late afternoon rage. Everything had gone wrong at the studio that day, and the broadcast rehearsal had been lousy, and not only was he on a diet but it was about time for another "recession" to set in, and Mr. Powell was just about ready to eat nails. He was grouching about this and that over the phone to his agent while Joan serenely looked on. When he had hung up the receiver with a bang Mrs. Powell merely gave him a prop smile and icily remarked, "It is indeed a pity that there has to be another one like you around the house." And that, dear fans, is how the Powells do it without benefit of camera. Of course right now what fatherhood means to Dick Powell is a new house, and planning a new house always makes Dickhappy. There doesn't seem to be a room they can use for the nursery in the home they have now. Dick wants to sell the house and build a "small" place in the hills — that is, he wants to do that on Mondays. "Dear," says Joan, "if you are going to build you must start soon or our baby will be born in a tent." But on Tuesdays, he has decided on a ranch, with a few horses and cattle, out in the Valley near the Stanwycks and the Taylors. "It's a beautiful knoll," says Dick dreamily, "and only twenty minutes from the studio." "It's a bump on the earth," says Joan who doesn't care for this back-to-the-earth movement, "and it's an hour from the studio." By Wednesdays Dick has decided to build an extra wing for the nursery on the house that they have now, and then while the workmen are there to have them knock down all the walls downstairs as he has always had a theory that one big room would be most effective. "But darling," says Joan, "you must get me a house with a wall around it and a gate or I won't have any fans left soon. I lost seven more of them today. I was late for the studio and was running like a mad woman to my car in the driveway when I tripped over a whole family from Iowa, parked right there on our lawn. I smiled, but they wanted to take pictures of me, and I was an hour late and had on old slacks so I said, 'Please don't,' and I think they got awfully furious. I can't afford to lose many more fans. You must get me a house with some privacy." So on Thursday Dick looked at beach houses. On Friday, the "recession" set in again so the Powells didn't look at anything. Joan checked over the laundry bill, and Dick got a pencil and paper and figured out how much it cost for them to live a week. "We'll be in the poor house before we're forty," said Dick wearily. "Our poor children: We must begin to save so that they can have a college education. I think I'll cancel my order for my new shirts. Of course the ones that I am wearing now will soon be frayed around the edges. But I must, I am obliged, think of my children." "The price of meat has gone up," said Joan sadly. "I just talked to the butcher. I ordered hamburger for tonight." "Ah, my little bride," said Dick. "You should not have to worry with the sordid details of living. You should read books, you should look at pretty pictures, and you should listen to lovely music. I read sonic place—" "Yes," said Joan, "I read that chapter too." The next day when Joan came home from the studio Dick threw his arms about her and led her lovingly into the living room. On the wall was hanging the most beautiful landscape painting she had ever seen. "It's a Corot," said Dick proudly. "Isn't it beautiful?" "Oh, Dick, it is," said Joan, "but Corots are terribly expensive. You must have paid fifteen or twenty thousand dollars for it." "Yes," said Dick, "but I want you to look at pretty pictures.'" Beauty with the Blues Continued from page 51 ture, as something purely accidental and not worth mentioning. "Sure, I guess I was a good enough model, but I've always wanted to be a singer, with a good dance band. That's what's really fun." Aha, 1 thought, so dawn is beginning to break. And break it did ! During the remainder of the afternoon I listened to a story which, after taking my notes home and analyzing them, turned out to be so old — so very, very old that it's brand new ! Especially for Hollywood. I'll pass it along to you and then you will understand why Dorothy Lamour almost had to be hogtied and threatened with mayhem before she consented to a film career. Along about 1933 Dorothy, as she has already mentioned, was a model in a large Chicago department store. All her friends and her boss and everybody said that she'd go far as a model. But she was unhappy, even as you and I. She yenned to be a singer. And that was another thing. When Dorothy sang for her friends at private parties and the like everybody readily agreed that she had a remarkably beautiful voice, but then, you know — why quit a good job — why take a chance and that sort of chatter was about all the encouragement she ever got. At least, until one night when she and a party of friends went dancing at the Morrison Hotel. Now, at the Morrison they have a Feature Xight — that is, if you're present and happen to have any talent at all you're almost sure to be called upon to do a number — any kind of a number, whatever you do best. Well, what happened was that somebody in Dorothy's party tipped off Herbie Kay, the orchestra leader, that there was a girl present who had a "simply terrific voice." Naturally, with Dot practically busting to sing, the band leader didn't have to plead very hard to get her to sing a number with the orchestra. And, my breathless public, that night history was made ! Herbie Kay, without even laying down his baton, promptly hired her as "featured soloist with his great dance aggregation and the next day Dorothy calmly walked into Marshall Field's and quit. Now, right about at this point is where the plot thickens, noticeably. For a whole year Dorothy sang with the band in and around Chicago — rehearsed and worked and rehearsed some more and in general was having the most fun she'd had in all SS SCREENLAND