Screenland ((Jan–Jun 1947))

to South America and do a musical together. Just in case, I shopped for it. Bought very dressy cocktail dresses in my favorite colors, cerise and aqua; formals made of moonlight sequins — the shiny stuff I love. Accessories. Fantastic shoes. Hats only a leprechaun should wear. No jewelry. I never buy jewelry for myself, never — reserve that dubious pleasure for my husband. Nor have I ever, or ever will, buy myself a mink coat. That* too, is one of the prerogatives of, poor thing, a husband — and there is one coming up, Desi says so, at any moment now. "One thing I like about Croz." said Ronnie recently, "is that he's a fighter. One of the kids in the bus asked him why he was_riding with us when he could be ridmg 'm a great big car behind a chauffeur. This smart kid said to Croz, 'Why does a rich kid like you bother with riding in a bus with kids that aren't rich?' Then Croz just walked over to this kid and took him by the hair of his head and said, 'What did you mean by that?' Then this kid said, 'Nothing. I was only joking.' Boy, that Croz is really something." In this way, Perry was acquainted with the resourcefulness and depth of conviction held by the Crosbys. Hence, when Ronnie brought home a further account of Life with Father's Sons, Perry was eager to listen. "Today," said Ronnie, "Gary Crosby — he's the oldest — came up to me grinning and said, 'Who's the number one singer of the country?' Well, Daddy. I know who the best singer in the whole world is — but after all, there are four Crosbys and there was only one me, so I said 'Bing.' Gary laughed and walked away after patting my shoulder and Croz— that's Linny — rode home on the bus with me t« light." Vigorous as fans have become, it is likely that if Perry's millions of admirers had been with Ronnie in this emergency, Back in Hollywood, I may make a remake of the great French picture, "Illusion," under the direction of Anatol Litvak. And I may not. As a writer of doggerel turns out a dark sonnet or two I may, now and again, go grim in a film. But for the most part comedy, comedy you can sink your teeth in as you laugh, is for me, my cup of tea, my forte and my future. In other, and much fewer words than I have used, those three words, "I'm ready, Eddie!" will go on echoing for as long as Lucille Ball shall live and love and laugh. fa and if all of Bing's partisans had been lined up behind his offspring, the resulting belligerence would have ended in a draw. Perry Como has emerged as one of the current idols, and occupies a musical throne on the same dais with those of the old Groaner and Frank Sinatra. Perry was born number seven child in a family of thirteen, and became — when he was still in grammar school — an apprentice barber. There were times when he was somewhat wistful over the sight of his schoolmates trooping past the barber shop windows, on their way home from football practice or some other school activity, but in general he enjoyed himself very much. He liked to sing, and the barber shop was a fine place to exercise this hobby. Frequently he brought his guitar along, and, after he had lathered the fur-bearing faces and turned the clouded chins over to a barber, he would have a few minutes in which to render a ballad. By the time he was fifteen, Perry owned his own shop and was much in demand in the evenings to sing at organization benefits and parties. At seventeen he decided that a certain sameness in clients, their problems and their voices, modified the excitement of the barbering profession, so he sold out. His first professional job was singing at a resort near Pittsburgh, where he and Roselle Belline were married. Perry and Roselle had known one another since childhood, and their families had been great friends. Perry used to help Roselle mind her younger brothers and sisters, and she would occasionally render the same aid. Not until Perry went up to the lake to spend the summer had he and Roselle ever been separated for more than a day or so at a time. Being parted was more than either of them could endure. When Roselle and a girl friend came up to the resort for a weekend, Roselle and Perry had a long talk. "I don't even have enough money to buy you a ring," he said. That didn't worry Roselle. "We'll use your signet ring," she said. "I've got the dollar-fifty for the -.license," Perry consoled. Then he remembered the family. "How do you think they'll take it?" "They won't like the idea of our being married by a justice of the peace, but we can be married by a priest later," said the resourceful Roselle. So they were married and hurried to Canonsburg to break the news. When they walked, dry-throated, into the Como living room, Papa Pietro gave them a searching look, then exchanged glances with Mama. "Don't say it," she ordered. "I can see it in your faces." And she brought out cakes and wine. It was the same with Roselle's parents. Her mother looked at the rapt faces and said, "You don't have to say a thing. Your eyes talk." That fall, Perry joined Freddie Carlone 's band as a vocalist, and one of their engagements took them to a Pittsburgh theater. Perry's father had never heard him sing professionally; he knew only that Perry did not have what is considered among musical Italians a magnificent voice.. As Perry puts it, "No Italian thinks that a person has a fine voice unless he can stand twenty feet from a stone wall and sing it down." So it was a nervous Perry who approached the microphone (he could almost hear his father muttering, "Now whatever is that silly instrument?") , and ventured his voice in song. The audience went wild as usual and called for several encores. All of which was fine, but Perry's critical sense reached out into the throng for the approval of just one man. On the way home, Perry turned to his father in the car, and said eagerly, "Well, what did you think of it?" Papa Pietro extended one great, rough hand to rest it on Perry's arm. In a voice that was low because he could not entirely trust it, Papa Como said, "Brava, brava." "Brava" is a word with a meaning all its own. It has not the connotation of "Bravo," which is equivalent to our "Hooray!" Rather it means "wonderful, really wonderful." This was praise far beyond Perry's most elevated dreams. This was praise from the person Perry most wanted to please. No award he will ever win will quite equal in joyful triumph the happiness he had from his father's approval. It was while Perry was singing with Freddie Carlone that Ted Weems caught one of his performances. The next day, Ted sent his business manager around to Ronnie helps Papa Como play his game of solitaire, With a sharp lookout for one of those quicker-than-the-eye-can-see tricks. As for Perry's fan's they'll see him next in "If I'm Lucky." Brava, Como! Continued from page 29 ScREENLAND 69