Screenland (May 1943-Oct 1944)

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Easy to prove by tinting a test lock of your hair. 00c at drug or toilet counters on a money-hack guarantee. Retain your youthful charm. Get BROWNATONE today. suspended on a heavy gold chain around his neck. "I am never without it. Some people think superstition is foolish. But I am very superstitious, if you call it that, about this good luck charm. It has not only brought me luck for years, but it has actually saved my life." Leslie related that he was about to board a plane, when he felt the chain snap from his neck. He immediately cancelled his trip. The plane crashed less than two hours later. Another time he was driving in a London fog. The chain broke, and he stopped driving. In fact, he sat all night in his car until the fog lifted. When it did, he saw he had driven off the road and was within six feet of going over a cliff. "Once," he continued, "I lost it on the polo field. I had the field searched for three days until it was found. I've had luck with it. I never go without it." Intrigued, I voiced the wish for a good luck coin, too. "I'll send you one like this from England," Leslie offered. But as we left the Vendome, it was still on his mind. "I am so absent-minded," he said, "I think I'd better do it now. I know a little jewelry shop on the way home. We'll stop and get one." Leslie's little jewelry shop proved to be none other than the swank Brocks in Beverly Hills. Inside he showed the salesman his lucky charm and asked if he had anything similar. Charm bracelets were in vogue and the clerk suggested various little charm emblems. But I had no bracelet on which to fasten one. "Here is just the thing, Mr. Howard," said the salesman. "This tiny gold watch on a chain to wear around the neck. They are distinct novelties. We have only two of them." Yellow gold— Leslie's favorite. "I'll take that one," he said, picking up a handsome tiny oblong watch on a gold chain. I protested, thinking the watch would cost too much money. Perhaps fifty dollars. Besides I had a wrist-watch. But Leslie insisted in his generous way and wrote out a check for $170, plus tax for the little good luck trinket — that I have religiously worn to this day as a good luck piece. (I wonder, as do many of Leslie's friends, if Leslie's good luck charm was intact on his neck on that fateful trip from Lisbon) Leslie standing up on the seat of his open convertible, squinting at house numbers in front of my house, was the next time I saw him. He was quite near-sighted. "Oh, there you are," he said as informally as though it had been yesterday, instead of practically a year since we'd met. He had been to England and back. "I was driving over to N. B. C. for a broadcast rehearsal. Won't you come along? It's nice seeing you again. How have you been?" Then — "I see you're wearing your good luck charm. Has it brought you luck?" Leslie Ruth had accompanied her parents to Hollywood. They had just purchased the house that Hedy Lamarr owned before her marriage to Gene Markey. "It has the most wonderful pool. You must come over in the mornings and have a swim," Leslie invited. Leslie was like that. Informal, gentle, generous, without affectation, importance, or pretense. He lived simply, worked endlessly. Few knew that he composed music. That he wrote musical scores for his pictures. That he sat up half the night working. Often Mrs. Howard said he would rise at dawn — and go for long drives up the coast — some melody humming in his head — some plot, some new twist for a characterization, a play, a scene, besetting him He seldom went to parties. But he enjoyed the friendship of his fellow country men in the film colony. Norma Shearer, the Ronald Colmans. The Bill Gargans, his closest friends, named their eldest child in honor of Leslie. His little English-French secretary adored the ground he walked on. Knew him as the genius he was. At the studio, they worked on the film, "Intermezzo." On the production of future pictures. It was a great shock when a few months ago in London, she was stricken with a strep throat and died within twenty-four hours. He had grown to depend on her efficient helpfulness. Her complete absorption in his work. The last time we lunched together we were discussing whether actors and actresses who portray so many emotions are emotionally unstaple. "I don't think so," Leslie had said. "My wife's part of me. I fell in love with her when I came out of the war. She had been a nurse. We married within six days. I have never stopped loving her. Ruth is a remarkable woman. A pillar of strength and unity in our home. Our two children are our common bond, that strengthens our love — and our mutual interests in life. Everything I do I do. for her and the children. For myself, money doesn't mean much. Some times I would like to quit, you know, and take a fling at writing, travel about the world for a year or two, but I have set my family up to a certain high standard of living. I wouldn't want them to sacrifice because of some whim of mine. "Men are attracted by beautiful women, no doubt. If they are honest, they admit that." Leslie said. "But that doesn't mean that they necessarily fall in love. Too many people call some physical whim, some sudden emotion, love. When it is not love at all. As for actors and actresses, they are playing a role — all for effect. It isn't a sustained emotion." Leslie then paid tribute to the beauty of Merle Oberon, who he said was the most attractive girl on the screen, in his opinion. Leslie confided his vast production plans after the war. His own organization in the Denham studios in England was now perfected. He had several pictures in readiness. But first would come his films for the English government. War motion pictures. I was making twice monthly trips between Salt Lake City and Los Angeles. To my agreeable surprise, Leslie Howard was a fellow-passenger one morning — en route East. It was winter time and there had been two serious plane accidents on the line. "Are you afraid?" I asked, as several passengers were expressing concern. "No," Leslie smiled with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm sort of a fatalist, you know. When the time comes it will come. Death — it should be an interesting adventure." We were flying over the high Nevada terrain, endless mountain peaks. Certainly no landing place. Over the same terrain where Carole Lombard's plane was to crash. "I sometimes wonder what I would do if we crashed," Leslie mused. "I suppose it would be so sudden, we wouldn't have time to think about it." I stopped at Salt Lake airport. Leslie flew on. Letters from England brought the news of his activities with the British War Ministry. That his beloved home, "StoneMaries," had been opened for a children's shelter in the English countryside under Mrs. Howard's capable supervision. That his son Ronald was married during a furlough from his post aboard a British minesweeper. Then Leslie Ruth's marriage. Trans-Atlantic cables brought the news of Leslie's automobile injury in a London blackout. Then his jaunt to Canada with Laurence Olivier for "The Invaders." His promise that soon he would be in Hollywood. Perhaps this August for a lecture tour in America. . . And now — Leslie Howard's Missing — In Action ! For his country and all he believed to be right! 80 SCREENLAND