Screenland (Nov 1940-Apr 1941)

just moved in. All bought and paid for. Lock, stock and barrel. Here we are talking about matrimony ! You come along and see how I fit into the picture of domesticity. I've got a swell collection of rumba records— and we can dance and talk where it is comfortable." I didn't prove difficult to convince. "I'd make some girl a swell husband," Bob said with super-confidence after we'd left the studio in his green sports convertible. "Because I can cook," he grinned. "It hasn't been very long ago that I was cooking for a livelihood. My father and I were out of jobs so we went out demonstrating cookers — the kind where you put the roast and vegetables and even the dessert all under one lid — and in an hour you serve a complete seven course dinner. I've cooked for as many as forty people at neighborhood demonstrations. Nothing burned or even scorched, and every bite gobbled up ! "I've done lots of things. Up until about now my life's been a hard scramble, but it's been good and healthy. I was raised and educated on the wrong side of the tracks. My father and mother came out here from Massachusetts with my brother and me — both of us under two years of age. Dad was in poor health. We lived where rent was cheapest over in East Los Angeles. My kid brother and I were the only two white kids in our schoolroom in the first elementary grades. The rest were Mexicans. Dad worked in a dry goods store. Mother sold records in a music store. It was my young dream to make enough money so my mother wouldn't have to work. She worked right up until a year ago. "It was plenty tough in our neighborhood. A kid had to learn early to punctuate his words with his fists — to get any attention or respect. I went in for professional prize-fighting. Thought maybe I'd be a champ someday. "My high school teacher persuaded me to take part in a high school play. I became interested and signed' for the dramatic art course. When I drew a lead, I needed a new suit to wear badly. I'd gotten along with trousers and sweaters — but as a leading man I needed a new layout. "You can use your mitts, can't ya, kid?" one of the gym trainers had said. That was one way to get quick money. I let myself be matched with a fighter called 'Chocolate Soldier' for fifty bucks. He left me _ with two black eyes and a busted chin which took all of the fifty getting myself repaired by a doctor. "The school drama coach suggested that being a champ was being a plain chump — and there were less painful ways of earning suits. One was acting! "When I was sixteen I got a job on the cleaning crew at Santa Anita Park," Bob continued as we drove from Hollywood to Beverly Hills. "I used to see DeMille and Gary Cooper and Dorothy Lamour at the races. I never thought that in a few months I'd be in pictures with them. "I'd had a lot of acting experience in school. One day I barged up to Mr. DeMille when he was parking his car and asked him for a job. I'll never forget his words. 'So you've been doing a lot of amateur acting, young fellow! Well, that never hurt anyone. Keep right on acting.' "Mr. DeMille was kind enough to suggest that I should join a stock companv and go over to the Pasadena Community Playhouse for experience. I didn't have a car and couldn't pay the transportation back and forth — so the only thing to do was to move over there. "Seven of us boys, who were trying to become actors, bunked together in one room, sharing food and fortune. One of the boys got me into the stock company Robert Preston and his lovely bride, who's signed a film contract with Paramount, the company that has Bob under contract, too. directed by Ty Power's mother. I played Julius Caesar in Shakespeare's immortal epic" — Bob recalled, tracing his career from its inception to now, "and my voice was changing. I worried constantly that it would crack right in the middle of the death scene. It would soar up from a deep level to a high-pitched treble squawk. I almost gave up in disgust. In the most tragic scene, I shall never forget, I turned comedian and made the audience laugh with my intended solemn vows of 'Et tu, Brute.' " For two years Bob played leads, heavies, and everything they offered him at the Community Playhouse. His voice finally became his best asset. Discovery came when a lawyer of the Paramount legal staff saw Bob in a play and asked a producer to give him a screen test. DeMille saw the test, remembered the boy and put him into "Union Pacific" after three minor pictures. The critics hailed Bob as "Gable's Successor" because of his engaging grin and extreme masculinity. But when I mentioned the Gable similarity Bob said thankyou-all-the-same — but he aspires to be a character actor like Spencer Tracy. Bob suddenly swung the car off Sunset up toward the hills of fashionable Beverly. "I'm hungry," he said with a side glance from the wheel. "How about you? Or are you one of those' dieting girls ? Girls who can't eat this and can't eat that drive a fellow crazy ! One thing about Kay, she eats anything." "But what about the people who have to diet for pictures ?" I introduced. "Anyone who lives sensibly won't need to," Bob replied. "I'd hate to think I had to lose eight or ten pounds. I've seen some of the fellows in the gym having their flesh pounded red and their jowls taped for the camera. If they'd get in the ring once in a while like I do with Ray Milland and my kid brother, they wouldn't need to." Bob turned the car up the drive of a pretty Spanish California house with a sweep of lawn and an enclosed front patio. We stepped on the porch arched in old California mission style. A massive carved oak door swung open and there was Bob's mother, Mrs. Meservey, a plumpish little woman with a young face, who welcomed us. After taking my coat, Bob showed me through the house. There's a lovely entrance hall with a floor of colored tile, with steps leading down to the living room with its high beamed ceiling and huge fireplace and large comfortable chairs and divan. There's a balcony with an iron grill on the stairway — sort of "Romeo and Juliet-ish" as Bob calls it. On a small table in state is a small wooden figure — Bob's good luck piece, sent him by an admirer on the day he signed his Paramount contract. There was the study with the radio and book shelves and Bob's collection of miniature horses of china and ivory. Then a dressing room — a powder room for lady guests and French doors that swing out into a garden. We passed through the dining room done in oak and wine tones of red — with a huge bowl of chrysanthemums on the table — and through the service pantry into the kitchen. There we raided the refrigerator for milk and sandwiches. _"You_ know I like to go out to the bright lights once a week — but I like home, too," Bob said. "I like comfortable clothes and lounging about. Incidentally, I loathe neckties. Never wear 'em unless I have to. The guy who invented them should be hanged by one of 'em ! "If and when I get married I expect to spend lots of time in this house," he mused. "One thing — my wife must be active and not spend two-thirds of her time sleeping, like some wives do — at least so their husbands say." "That means you'll expect Mrs. Bob Preston to arise with you for breakfast — a fast-disappearing American custom," I ventured. "She'll get up with me for breakfast or else!" said Bob with a threatening grin. "I eat a whale of a breakfast, fruit juice, two or three glasses of it, and eggs and bacon and sausages and toast and jelly. "This may sound old-fashioned, but I admire domesticity and virtue in a girl. I can honestly say I have seen very few glamor gfrls in pictures that I could go for. Maybe two at the very most. They're too busy and self-centered on making a success of themselves to have time for a fellow." "I seem to remember your headline romance with Alice Faye," I remarked. "That was publicity," he replied. "Alice and I shared a couple of sandwiches together after a radio show— and the columnists were hailing us as a hot romance." Perhaps because he was lonesome or to make an occasion of the day, Bob suggested that we dress and go stepping forth to Ciro's for a bit of dancing. Arriving there we found it was Monday night and no dancing, so we returned to his house and did our rumba-ing to the phonograph with Bob's mother as audience. Discussing boys and girls and dates, Bob told about being invited to escort the campus queen of Northwestern University to the College Prom Ball when he was on his personal appearance tour in Chicago recently. When the papers published the news the frat boys were plenty disgruntled. Why should a phony movie hero steal their show? One said within hearing of a press reporter, "If he comes around here to grab off my girl I'll knock off his block." The story was published and Bob was in a pretty spot. What did he do but forge over to the campus and call at the very fraternity house, asking to meet his wouldbe opponent. Bob's no coward and not afraid to use his fists. The fraternity men discovered they liked him. The disgruntled suitor, who after all had given his frat pin to the campus queen, decided to be as good a sport as Bob had proven himself to be. An armistice was effected. Bob called up Mary Brian, who was appearing at a local theater, and invited her to join them — making a foursome. Which made Mr. John College and Miss Betty Coed very happy. The name of Kay Craig interspersed his conversation. Plainly she was in his thoughts. She has red hair, green eyes, is five-feet-five and just the right kind of a girl for him. He said he'd marry when he could convince her. The next night he did ! 86