Screenland (Nov 1945-Oct 1946)

Love is in the balance. Which will it be— Frances Gifford, as the lady professor, or Ava Gardner, the wealthy playgirl? That's James Craig's problem, above. At left, Ava demonstrates new seductive allure in a closeup with James Craig. Above, the charming sweetness of Frances Gifford brings desired results in the film. lop-sided grin, "Weil, 2U,000 anyhow." He talked about coming home as he waited for the endless stream of papers to be processed. He had just come from his home town of Indiana, Pa., and he was grateful because the citizens of his town dispensed with the hero's welcome he didn't want. They put up a "Welcome, Jim" banner and left him to himself. Separation officers brought him papers to sign— one certifying his terminal leave. He has four months of that coming. There was a paper saying he didn't have any Government property and one relieving him from active duty. There was another Very important paper— his appointment to the Air Corps Reserve. He was sworn in as a Colonel in the reservesready to go back to duty should his country call. Incidentally, the officer who swore him into the reserves got a particular kick out of it. When Jimmy Stewart was one of MGM's brightest stars, Capt. Charles M.^ Crawford was a production man and script writer on the same lot. It was Capt. Crawford who swore him into the reserves. During the morning, Col. Stewart, like all other officers and enlisted men on their way back into civilian clothes, went to the counsellor. Assigned to help the Colonel with his problems was Capt. Daniel Ropp, who reported later that the Colonel was "pretty well posted on the procedures," and that he certainly was a "quiet, unassuming fellov*." Capt. Ropp explained to the Colonel how he should go about continuing his Government insurance— which the Colonel plan9 to do. He reminded Jimmy to be sure to report to his draft board within 10 days after his discharge. Jimmy wanted to know if he could go back to work while he was still on terminal leave and therefore still getting pay from the Army. Capt. Ropp said that would be all right as long as he wasn't working for the Government. Then there was the matter of fixing up Jimmy's separation qualification record. That's the one that tells future employers what the veteran did in the war and how it would fit into a civilian job. "Everybody wanted to know w.jat the military occupational specialty of a movie actor was," chuckled Jimmf when he got through the counselling. "I told them I didn't know." Commented Capt. Ropp earnestly: "His military experience will make him a better movie actor. He's had wide experience under difficult conditions." While Jimmy was waiting to take his lust Army physical examination, a reporter asked him if he had any postwar problems. "I don't believe in this readjustment business. 1 think everything is just the same as it was when 1 went away." He said that quite seriously but then he started to grin. "You know," he said reflectively, "I don't really feel that I need a psychologist." By this time the reporters and photographers had descended in force on their objective. Jimmy looked at them with a decided lack of enthusiasm. He wasn't being temperamental about publicity but for four and a half years he's been burying a brilliant past to live in the uncertain present of a man who not only faced death regularly himself but was responsible for the lives of scores of other men. The habit of trying to make people forget he was a movie star was still with him. With admirable calm and only a slight tenseness along the jaw line he said in answer to questions that he had no opinions about the atomic bomb, that he was in favor of a strong postwar air force, that he thought it would take "some time" before stratosphere flights would be the ordinary thing and that a question about the relative beauty of British and American girls was "the $64 question." Did he have any plans to marry? His ruddy face— a ruddiness that came from living outdoors for a long timebecame just a little redder. No,, he said firmly, he had no plans to marry. A friend confided later that Jimmy had no ideas about staying a bachelor forever, but that— believe it or not— he was painfully shy with girls. In England, paper work kept him at his desk until as late as 2 a. m. on many a night, but even so he could have gone out had he wanted to. Actually, he went out very little— usually squiring a relative of the family who lives in Britain. When his ship docked in New York, too, Air Force friends were willing to give him the run of their little black books. He didn't take them up on the offer. Jimmy, of course, wasn't volunteering that information to the boys and girls of the press. He simply hastened to get the questions away from talk about sweethearts back home, and was obviously relieved when the press departed. After lunch m the officers' club at Andrews Field. Jimmy took his physical examination and then went to the pay window. "Wouldn't you know this would be the last thing." he grinned as he tucked the oay check into his wallet. In case you had any worries about Jimmy's financial condition — which, of course, you didn't— the Army is looking after him just fine Between the time he went off active duty and the end of his terminal leave in February, he will collect $2,429.28. That includes flying pay for September, subsistence, longevity, travel pay and rental allowance. In all, it's somewhat less than what he is said to have made in a single week before he went to war. With a businesslike briefcase full of Army papers under his arm, Col. Jimmy Stewart left Andrews Field on his way to civilian life— but not before he had ridden once more around a field filled with Army planes. He had started looking forward. He was talking about owning "some kind of a little plane of my own." And he was anxious to get to work. Somebody wanted to know if he wouldn't like to do some fishing first. Veterans are always talking about going fishing before they settle down. "Oh, I've taken care of the fishing," he smiled. "Did that when I was home. No, I want to get to work. I'd like to be in a comedy. No war pictures for me." His contract with MGM had run out while he was in the Army and he talked at the separation center about free-lancing but he hadn't been back in Hollywood a day before it was reported that he was all tied up again. He's not worrying about the future. After all, a man who has led a flight of Liberators into a mess of ack-ack isn't going to go pale at a mess of movie cameras. Or, as the counsellor assigned to advise the Colonel put it, "He seems to be ready to enter civilian life in a good way"— which is the most generous verbal pat on the back an Army counsellor can give. SCREENLAND 63