Screenland (July–Dec 1947)

Crosby's Continued You know that oft repeated, singing radio commercial advertising a certain wine? Well, it was to this scintillating tune that the merry pair cavorted between takes. A mad, mad set, indeed. During our interview, I noticed Dorothy Lamour, at a nearby table, and remarked about her beauty. "Yes, Bing thinks so much of her," Wanda assured me. " 'She's everybody's friend,' he always says." You see, as far as Miss H. is concerned, it's Bing, Bing, Bing. And I don't doubt that he reciprocates, for she is fascinating. Just before Wanda Hendrix walked into the publicity offices of Paramount Pictures, I'd been looking over the stills from "Welcome Stranger." There were different scenes showing a delicate snubnosed, freckled-faced child who appeared equally "ragamuffinish" in each. Y'ou'd have sworn that the girl couldn't be a day over twelve, but her studio biography informed one that Wanda was seventeen. Usually years are subtracted — not added. Something was amiss somewhere. Then Miss Hendrix arrived. The surprise proved worth one of those obvious, double-takes. Her physical appearance is not unlike Jeanne Crain's, yet in conversation she's far more animated; and her personality is less reticent. For our luncheon engagement she wore her brown hair in loose, shoulder-length style. Off screen the merest trace of cosmetics enhances a white skin, but fails to cover the scattering of cute freckles; while her green eyes impressed me especially. "Why, I'd never have known you from movies," I exclaimed. "That's to be expected," Miss H. sighed. "No one does. If this casting continues, autograph seekers won't trouble me." And it is amazing, the marked difference between her reel and real self. Here we have an amusing switch. Most glamor gals turn to character parts only after their youthful glories desert them. With Wanda it's the other way around. At a lovely seventeen she's portrayed a dirty, Cockney urchin of fourteen years — in the Boyer-Bacall "Confidential Agent"' — and the drunkard's daughter in "Welcome Stranger," which called for an underprivileged kid of thirteen summers. "I'm typed," Miss Hendrix decided as we sauntered toward the commissary. "But that's all right as long as the role's good. Though naturally, I'd enjoy being my age for some assignments." That quote brings to mind two things, her all-consuming passion for acting, and the undisputable fact that allowed to create characters her own age, she'd be charming. For disclaiming wide opinion, all teen groups aren't sloppily attired, screaming, swooning females. Considering her youth, Wanda possesses a pleasant poise sans any sophisticated pretense. When I queried her regarding dates, for example, she didn't elaborate on fictitious experiences for the benefit of impressing. 98 Candidate from page 50 "Dating doesn't hold an important place now. I'm only reaching the age when I don't feel out of place in night clubs," Miss H. explained. "I've been to a few escorted by friends like Farley Granger and Roddy McDowall, but not frequently — and the fellows are just friends. It's the same old story: I'm in love with my career." By the time this much chatter had passed, we were seated in the Paramount eatery. During lunch — Wanda entertained. She has the most intense, alive approach of anyone I've met in many a moon. When telling you something she leans slightly forward, and each incident is illustrated by appropriate gestures. The truth is that the gal's an extrovert, a born actress. She readily admits same, however, and it isn't showiness. There's no conscious desire to hog the spotlight. The girl simply loves to emulate various voices and emotions. As Miss H. told me of her life, I was practically transported to Dixie County, Florida, where it began. It was in this sun-kissed land that Wanda made her earthly debut on November 3, 1928. Miss Hendrix' father, who boasts the elegant moniker of Mack Sylvester, was deputized quarter-boss at a logging camp situated near Jacksonville. And her birthplace — a logger's, white cypress cottage. Wanda's parents named her after the county, Dixie Wanda Hendrix, but the Dixie has long since vanished. When at the tender age of four, her family moved into Jacksonville. Here Miss H. not only graduated from the Tenth and Market street grammar school but also completed educational pursuits at Kirby Smith Junior High. "It was then I became engrossed in dramatics," Wanda recalled. "I'm an only child, and no one on either side of our family was theatrical. So my mother and dad weren't very cooperative at first. But ever since I'd been old enough to realize what it meant, I knew acting would be my entire life." Still I imagine Mr. and Mrs. Hendrix were aware of their offspring's "calling." Surely she suffered no lack of rooters. The whole community applauded her ability in such little theater productions as "Personal Appearance," "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs," plus "Junior Miss." In these she enacted youngsters, which was O.K. then, being all of fourteen. Luckily the woman director of said presentations knew a Warner talent scout. When the busy gentleman toured eastward, this wise lady asked him to come take a look-see at her special prodigy. And being a practised observer, he came; he saw; he signed. That was a happy moment for the Hendrix clan. (Mother and dad now fully converted to histrionics.) The contract-offering-wire arrived on Mrs. Hendrix' fortieth birthday. Wanda hid the telegram in her parents' gift box, but finally tore it open herself due to uncontrollable enthusiasm. They immediately Screen land moved en masse to San Fernando Valley — even their dog. And when his child took to "movin' pitchurs," Mr. Hendrix became an employee of the Lockheed Aircraft Company. Wanda is a straightforward individual who makes friends quickly with everyone. She'd met and made many at Warners. When the time came to leave, there was a lost feeling marring her departure. Yet studio change meant furtherance of career, so that was that. Then, too, she hoped the powers that be at Paramount might recognize her as an attractive deb rather than a horribly adolescent brat. Things went from bad to worse at first, though; she wasn't even cast in any sort of role. But intriguing data began floating around: The Crosby-Fitzgerald film was in need of a thirteen-year-old moppet. You've guessed it. Love of acting overpowered her thoughts on emerging as an alluring siren — or at least her natural self — and Wanda waged a fighting campaign for the part. With alacrity she accosted the amazed producer. "Sorry, you're too old and good-looking," was the brief, brisk decision. Now she was too aged for a child, where prior to this she'd been too juvenile for love life! "But I can make myself into the girl," Miss Hendrix promised — in fact, begged. "No!" Less stubborn souls would have retired to their knitting, but such open challenge spelled glittering bait for the purposeful Wanda. She retreated, temporarily, to the nearest powder room. A careless coiffure was cramped into stingy braids. The light dusting of powder came off to allow freckles to frolic in their spotted glee. Looting the wardrobe department furnished an awful outfit, finished with studied finesse by shoes three size too large. Clump, clump, clump down the long, carpeted hall back to the executive's headquarters. A firm, loud knock on the heavily paneled door. "Come in," issued out of deep depths from the inner sanctum. And she did. Miss H. entered as the exact replica of that pitiful, painfully young child — the drunkard's kid. Her expressive eyes were hurt and shy. The softly moulded mouth was drawn down in despair. A tiny figure of dejection. It took that stunned, but discerning, man a moment to grasp the point. Then he murmured, "You win." Thus Wanda Hendrix became a bedraggled baby once more. But sufficient compensation for this sacrifice — participation in a Bing Crosby enterprise. And speaking of "der Bingle," he's Wanda's favorite rave. When asked about Frankie and Van, almost universal heroes for her generation, she replied thoughtfully: "Van Johnson has a wonderful personality, and Frank Sinatra a soothing voice — but — I like Bing." And you can't blame her. He's perfect to work with. The first day she spent on his set might have been understandably tense. Besides beginning cinematically for Paramount, being coupled with the famed Groaner could easily have caused nervous collapse, but for Bing's nonchalant greeting: "Yah! Pigtails an' freckles. Aren't you a funny-lookin' sight!" PRINTED IN THE U S A BY THE CUNEO PRESS, INC.