Screenland (Nov 1950-Oct 1951)

ticipated. On the date planned for the ceremony, he would be in camp. The girl, much more heartbroken over the change in plans than over the prospect of her husband being shipped away, put on quite a scene. If she couldn't have the wedding she'd planned she didn't want any at all, she said, and let everybody within hearing distance know it. For her, the show had to go on, no matter what. Fortunately, she had parents who talked some sense into her; and a smaller, more intimate ceremony was set up for the next day, without the. hoopla. Let's hope that by the time the boy gets out of the service she'll have grown up a little, mentally. {Though I suppose many a girl tvould see her point of view.) It's a question of getting out of a mental rut and readjusting yourself to unforeseen circumstances. I remember one time I'd gone to work in a department store — this was after the circus episode — and started selling vacuum cleaners. I did pretty well at it. In fact, I finally became a sort of junior executive in charge of vacuum cleaner sales, until one day it hit me — what a business to wind up in! What a rut to settle down into! It might be fine for somebody else, but it definitely wasn't my rut. "You don't have to stay in it," I told myself. So I quit. (Actually, I went into the Army very shortly afterwards, but let's not get off the subject.) Where were we? Oh, yes — readjusting yourself. Friend of mine planned an elaborate vacation for years. Every time he had a few minutes to spare and no one was watching him at the office, he'd pull the maps out of his middle drawer and start working out routes and schedules. This was going to be THE vacation of a lifetime. He'd scrimped for it and dreamed about it. He was going to take some extra time off and see everything worth seeing in the U.S.A. He'd told everybody about it — everybody who would listen to him — and he was going to send them postcards from every point of interest and show them still pictures and movies of his whole tour as soon as he returned. But he came down with virus pneumonia, and doctor and hospital bills cleaned out his savings account. What hurt him most was the idea that after all his talking to his friends, he wouldn't be able to live up to his own advance billing. Instead of realizing how they sympathized with him, he felt that they would snicker behind his back. So, he started scrimping and planning all over again — and talking about it — until his doctor took him aside and convinced him that if he were ever going to enjoy such a trip, he'd better spend his two-week vacation for that year lying in the sun doing absolutely nothing. Which he did. Had a wonderful time loafing in his own back yard, got a new lease on life and an entirely new outlook. Back in the days when the Lancasters were living in New York in a cold water flat near Second Ave. and 106th St., a neighborhood where a newcomer had to learn fast in order to survive, my Mother drilled into me the ideas of always being scrupulously honest, of being completely self-reliant and being beholden to no man. You were on your own, you made your own plans, and if they didn't quite work out, you didn't have to apologize to anybody. You just made new plans and retained your independence and self-respect. When, by accident, I stumbled into the business of acting through being asked to try out for a Broadway play, I wasn't too crushed when the show, "A Sound Of Hunting," flopped after less than a month's run. A chap named Harold Hecht, who, like myself, hadn't long been back from a stretch in the Army, sold me on the idea of teaming up with Hollywood in mind. He convinced me that we didn't want any exclusive contracts, because studios and producers have a habit of demanding of their employees that the show must go on. That's true — to meet releasing schedules, it must. But as far as we were concerned, that meant sacrificing both individuality and the spark we felt would light up any project to which we could give our unfettered attention. In other words, we wanted to be free to work out our own ideas, the latest of which is a Foreign Legion story called "Ten Tall Men," being made for Columbia. When we bought that story from James Warner Bellah, it had a Western background. Then we began figuring up the number of top budget Westerns that had been made last year. When we reached 46, we decided to make a quick switch and move the same situations to the North African desert. The show didn't have to go on the way it was originally written. As it's been changed, we think we've got a vastly more unusual and entertaining package. Now, I have no intention of going out on a limb and advising everyone who is tired of a job or a wife or a husband to start afresh and get out of the rut in a hurry. We have no facilities at Halburt Productions for answering irate letters and phone calls. The only point I'm trying to make is — don't decide, just because you've put in a lot of time and back-breaking effort on a certain job or idea, that you have to go through with it. On the other hand, don't blame me if, after you've decided that you're going to tell the boss, or the wife, or the husband where to get off, you find yourself out in the street on your neck. That's the chance you have to take. Give yourself the gor ^mm* geous red hair of history's most famous beauties with Nestle Egyptian Henna. Not a chemical dye but a 100% vegetable product that colors hair to the wonderful Henna, Auburn or Titian shades he'll adore. Nestle Egyptian Henna is a permanent coloring — touchups are necessary only on new growths. 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