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TV’s s Mickey Rooney A recent honored guest at one of the sand-blown watering places in Las Vegas, a prosperous suburb in the Great American Desert, was a husky little bantam clad in dirty white ducks, a T-shirt and a once-white sombrero. He bounced about the premises, a rather incongruous pic¬ ture among the flashily garbed visi¬ tors to the luxurious spa — the plush Flamingo Hotel — with the air of a happy salesman who had just closed one deal and was starting another. His name was Mickey Rooney. Mickey’s presence was designed to bring in the customers, which it did. For three weeks he and his troupe put on two shows a night, seven nights Never a dull moment: on The Mickey Rooney Show, anything can happen. a week. The troupe was no great shakes, but Mickey had ’em rolling in the aisles with an act he dreamed up with his partner, Joey Forman, and which he rehearsed while shoot¬ ing three TV film shows in six days when he wasn’t busy working out pre-production problems for his next feature picture, which started shoot¬ ing the day after he returned to Hol¬ lywood from Las Vegas. Three weeks later, the picture completed, he went back to making more TV films. Mickey, now going on 34, graying at the temples, fattening a bit about the belt region and still constitution¬ ally incapable of standing, sitting or lying in one position for more than 15 seconds, is perhaps the closest thing to a human dynamo since the days of fighter Henry Armstrong. Time was when the dynamo was largely acti¬ vated by a chip on the shoulder the size of a small barn door. Lying (sitting, squatting, standing, kneeling, sprawling) on the man¬ made grass surrounding an elaborate swimming hole, Mickey frisked around the perimeter of his career with the restless air of a fighter trying to go the full 15 rounds in the first three minutes. “I’ve been in show business 32 years, thank heavens,” he said. “I love it. I’m the greatest booster there is for the movies and TV. We go to all the pictures and we watch all the shows. People today are too darned hypercritical. They figure every show has to be great, and if it isn’t, it’s lousy. Me, I love everybody. I wish Elaine had been the first girl in my life, things would have been a lot different. Alimony is like giving oats to a dead horse.” Elaine is Elaine Mahnken Rooney, an exceptionally pretty redhead from Compton, Cal., with a scrubbed, home-