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THE personal and private life of Hollywood's most exciting and glamourous star, Miss Joan Crawford, has been a complete blackout as of recent date. After "Harriet Craig," Joan went right into "Goodbye, My Fancy" at Warner Bros, and her first advent into a night club in eight months, to be exact, was the other eve on the arm of Cesar Romero. Every eye in the room was fascinated watching the glamourous Joan and "Butch" dance skillfully, gracefully and enjoying it. At the same time there was a bzzzz — what's new with Crawford? How busy can one girl get — and with whom? Certainly not her long time pal Romero!
The next A.M. I telephoned Joan and she was as gracious as always.
"Would you like to take a three hour
drive with me tomorrow afternoon — you'll see the reasons why you haven't seen me in night clubs and at parties?"
Naturally, the idea fascinated me. And the next day I was knocking on the door of the Crawford manse in Brentwood, which immediately flew open — with Joan herself putting out her hand and pulling me in with a welcome kiss. No waiting — no butler or formalities, and the inside of the house was shining and lovely and at the same time glowing with warmth and comfortable livability.
"One second — ," Joan said, concluding some last minute instructions to her secretary that went something like, "set the appointment for the producers conference at four tomorrow. Ill do the marketing in the morning at seven and be back by eight for the children's break
Joan and Bob, her former campus boy friend and now the college prexy, renew their acquaintance on her return to her alma mater to be honored in "Goodbye, My Fancy." "You have to be on your toes," warns Joan.
Right: Of late, Joan's been so busy making one film after another and rearing her family of four youngsters she hasn't had much time for fun. When she finally did step out it was with her good friend Cesar Romero.
fast. Tell the cook we will have filet of beef and the baked Alaska for dinner — and Tina and I will cut and arrange the flowers. Please telephone Warners and say 111 do the two interviews Saturday. And, oh yes, that radio show transcription— ask them if they will be kind enough to set the conference at eight Saturday morning. I hope that's not too early for them — but please explain that all of my time is tied up on Sunday with the children."
"Now dear," she said, turning to me, "Come on upstairs while I tuck the babies in for their nap.'*.
In the nursery off Joan's bedroom were two trundle beds holding two respective three-year-olds with large velvety brown eyes and tossed brown curls both clamoring (Please turn to page 63)