Screenland Plus TV-Land (Jul 1959 - May 1960)

My Husband, Roger Smith" continued from page 18 reality so far as I'm concerned. He thinks people who marry ought to feel free to tell each other everything. Their thoughts, their actions, their dreams — yes, and their nightmares, too. And I agree with that. If you can't trust your mate with your secrets, how can you trust him — or her — with your life? We've both changed an awful lot since our marriage, but by no means because we've tried to "reform" each other. I think the changes in us are just the spontaneous ones natural to two people in love who want to adapt themselves to each other — each finding the greatest happiness in bringing happiness to the other. Since our marriage began, there is only one change I consciously set out to make in Roger. I've tried to make him tidier about a funny habit he had. He used to take off his shoes and put them on the coffee table when we watched television at night. Then he'd leave them there on the table all the next day or longer until somebody — meaning me, mostly — put them away in the closet. Roger's big reform came without a word of argument when I staged a onewoman revolution. For a whole week I just quit putting the shoes away, and let them collect, pair after pair on the coffee table. I don't know if it was on account of the ridiculous lineup of footgear decorating our living room or the fact that Roger was running out of shoes in the bedroom, but suddenly he caught on, and quit the one habit he had that used to bother me. Roger is such a sweet, thoughtful person in every way — big and little. For instance, once when I was dreaming out loud he heard me say that some day I'd like to have a white fox six feet long. Back in May, on the 25th to be exact, he gave me a birthday surprise of a sixfoot white fox stole! BUT furs aren't necessarily the only happy surprises he's given me. It may sound like a small thing to outsiders, but to me it's very important when Roger brings home a bunch of violets because he knows that I have a very special love for them. Hardly anyone ever guesses Roger to be a person to get a kick out of gardening, but he has the greenest thumb I've ever seen. A few months ago he bought some type of rare tropical shade plant. The nursery man gave him all kinds of elaborate instructions on how to keep this fragile specimen alive. Roger came home, threw it in the ground — where it gets full sun — and it's growing beautifully. Except whenever I go out and look at it. Then that plant purposely wilts till I go back in the house, where I belong. Ro ger didn't become particularly interested in gardening till after he started "77 Sunset Strip." Now he finds it's a 58 way to take his mind off his work, at least during weekends, which he also gives over partially to doing interviews, taking care of fan mail, signing autographs and answering letters. This after a five-day week of working eleven hours a day! Get him out of the garden, and Roger likes skin diving, just plain diving, and swimming. Reading, too. We often read together, but separately, if you know what I mean. To each his own — book, magazine or paper. Every once in a while, however, one of us breaks in on the other, saying. "Just listen to this." The' interrupted reader always listens politely, and almost always is disappointed in the little gem that was intended as a treat. Take them out of context, Roger explains, and some of the funniest incidents won't get a laugh, or the saddest story situations a sob. Almost any kind of music is Roger's favorite kind, but he has a special feeling for the guitar, which is his instrument. That's what he plays in his album, "Beach Romance," while he sings what he calls his "beach songs" of various countries, in their original languages — Spanish Haitian, Hawaiian, plus the assorted English of Calypso and American lyrics. COME morning, and Roger wakes up slowly. I guess that's the only thing he is slow about. He's even quick about noticing women's clothes — if I'm in them. I know he has no liking for fussy things and prefers sports clothes for me. But he doesn't make a big thing of talking about what I ought to wear. Instead, he's pretty apt to limit his remarks about what I have on to something in the nature of, "I like the other one best." The look that goes with the comment is what counts. Roger is a helpful husband — and I hope I'm a helpful wife — in learning lines and working on roles. We're so critical and honest with each other that sometimes it hurts. But we get over the hurt, and what remains from the incident is a better performance. While I was making "The Crimson Kimono," Roger was cuing me in my lines for a love scene one evening when all of a sudden he stopped me and said, "There's not enough buildup to this scene. Nobody's going to believe that you and Glen Corbett are really in love." We gave it a pro and con going over for a while and it didn't take me long to accept Roger's opinion. Next day at the studio I told Sammy Fuller, who directed "The Crimson Kimono," what Roger had said. He agreed completely and when Glen and I finally did the scene for the picture it was widi the added buildup that my husband had suggested. Roger is wonderful about helping to discipline the babies. But he leaves the broken-record no-no, mustn't-touch and similar routines all up to me, keeping ROGER goes for almost any kind of r but he prefers the guitar as an instrai himself for special occasion discip'i r This is just as well because h pushover for Tracey's tricks. She's oi] [i little over two but is expert at han Daddy. Jordan, who was born a year doesn't play the angles — yet. Where Roger scores in keeping the in line is with his voice. He open those deep tones and believe me he attention, though not necessarily planned results. Jordan is still too young to notice things, but Tracey is very anti-Day Saving Time. Last summer when her time (it was about seven o'clock) r . around and the sun was still shining side, she didn't like it a bit. One night she was more rebellious usual when I put her to bed with shades drawn (ever-hopeful me!) ag the bright sun. I tucked her in and toed out of the room. Half a minute later she called me I I kissed her goodnight again and tip out for the second time. Another 30 onds and she was vocalizing some i at the injustice of it all. This went on u Roger decided it was time for the hea the family to take over. He walked into her room with a 1 step and boomed a deep, forbidc i "Tracey!" at her. She was startled silence for a second. Then, being a girl, even at the ag two she probably knows instinctively men are patsys for a wistful smile acc panied by a look of helpless feminine I peal. She turned on the whole works, 1 out her little arms trustingly and plea< i "Daddee, uppee!" So Daddy the Disciplinarian scoo i her up in his arms and let her join grownups. That ended the day's discip !( for Tracey. And that's my husband. Or part of j anyway. How can I possibly sum Roger except by simply saying — I just love 1 — that's all. '