Screenland Plus TV-Land (Nov 1953 - May 1955)

Jane Powell and Terry Moore grace a big reception at home of Spike Jones. i Doris, of course, is that she's not putting on an act. She's not going to say what si she doesn't believe. She's not going to :t1 be party to a hokum expedition because vf of publicity expedience, and she's not going to be led around by the nose. She holds her own beautifully, but she does it without a chip on her shapely shoulai I der, with consummate charm and graciousness, and without condescension. Doris had driven over from her home in Burbank in Marty's merry Oldsmobile, a lush new green convertible job with the top down. She was wearing black cotton toreador pants, and over a black trimmed ionsf white linen sweater blouse, she'd put on itKi a white cotton poplin shirt with four ma) patch pockets, which she wore casually outside her breeches. She looked as fresh c: and bright as the morning sun in the pop; c lin shirt with its Queen Anne collar 'row framing her pretty neck, and unobtrusive ipti-t but unusual red ringed ivory buttons. )oriii'!She was the soul of uncontrived and unhere aware simplicity. Her interesting gold : loop earrings, she told me, were a gift ■•• from Marty. Iters "A special occasion?" she caught my rival question. "No. Marty just likes to do ::.e. things like that. Why wait for a special :.ei day? He thinks it's more fun just to get me something when he feels like it." rot Her mention of Marty made me conjeoMront Doris with the indictment of her behavior with the press — the petulant charge that she wouldn't talk with reporters, and that if she did she would clam up on such succulent subjects as her husband. "That's absurd," she laughed disarmn ingly. "I'm always willing to talk about Marty because I think he's wonderful. : is He's very understanding. He really is, and ruiir he's got the most marvelous sense of :jt humor." Earlier conversation already had docu5 merited this stout assertion by Doris. i From the moment she joined me, her thoughts were brightened with animated :.' references to Marty. She explained that she had been a few minutes late, as a matter of fact, because Marty had phoned her shortly before noon and asked if she could make lunch for him and two associates mapping production of Doris's forthcoming independent movie, "Yankee Doodle Girl." Doris did concede that she is reluctant to discuss for publication intimate aspects of her home life, but she does not regard this as shutting out her public. Although she was quick and firm to insist that she had, in the main, enjoyed a sympathetic press, for which she considered herself fortunate, Doris did not pretend that she was not occasionally dismayed and bewildered when she found herself the object of unwarranted and wholly imaginary broadsides. "One month they are telling you how lovely you are," she smiled ironically, "and the next month they're hitting you over the head. So you just have to have a sense of humor about your career." Doris is neither righteous nor pious about her convictions. They are genuine, however, and she doesn't tamper with them, even for the sake of publicity. You cannot objectively assess her personality without realizing that she has been endowed with the rare magic of being wholesome without being trying, sincere without being pompous, straightforward without being offensive, lovable without being icky, friendly without being phony. In other words, a dream girl who does not live in a dream world. For instance, I tossed at Doris that question about responsibility to her fans. "I don't want to sound like I'm preaching," she admonished softly. "I'm not, really. I couldn't speak for anyone else. I just know what feels right for me, and it all has a little to do with religion. I think we have only one responsibility. That's to God. If you fulfill that responsibility, you've fulfilled all responsibilities. The more you think of it, that's what it boils down to." This was by way of passionately pleading guilty to the shortcomings and inadequacies of other human beings, to vigorously disavowing any halo of infallibility with which her ardent admirers may have surrounded her. Nobody is more eager than Doris to have it spread on the record that she is not a marble goddess, that she doesn't always smile, that she doesn't always have a sunny disposition, that she suffers moods and other discomforts, that she tires like anyone else, that she feels more pleasant at some times than othei-s. She wisely sees the great danger in leading people to expect too much. "They voted me Miss Bounce of 1950!" she recalled with a sweeping gesture as she put her hand incredulously to her head. "They hung that one on me! Miss Bounce! Well, I don't bounce all the time! I may have a fast walk, but I don't bounce all day on the set. Comes two or three o'clock on the set, and I get tired." Doris refused to spare herself in producing testimony to support the engaging thesis that she is only human. And she is only human. Only on her being only human looks only divine. The facts — not the fiction — on Doris Day are in. All those in favor say, "Ah!" end COULD YOU EVER COMMIT A MERCY KILLING? Have you ever considered "murder" as the way out for a suffering loved one? Would it be morally right to take the life of a person afflicted with the agonizing pain of an incurable disease? SEE Magazine in a daring, courageous article — "I HAVE KILLED FOR MERCY" — explores the facts behind America's most misunderstood crime. Buy HAVE mlttO ro« »£KCf SEE magazine now on sale at newsstands ONLY 15c 63