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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Brussels Post, 1955-10-26, Page 6Jackie Gleason's Television Wife . . , TABLE TALKS dam Andrews. COURAGEOUS—Two-year-old Carol Frances Woodward, boih her arms amputated, solemnly plays with her toy clog in a hospital. Carol's arms were amputated after she fell beneath a moving train. The courageous girls spends endless , hours' playing with her constant companion, the toy dog. - in a bowl, Cut in butter until, crumbly. Press half the mixture into a greased V by 8" by 2" baking dish, Combine cranberry saute and oranges; spread over mixture in the dish. Top, with rest of oatmeal mixture. Bake in a moderate oven, 350 ° F., 45 minutes. Cut into squares and serve with whipped cream. Makes nine 3" squares, a * MACAROON PEACHES 4 to 6 servings Bake in moderately low oven, 325° F„ 15 to 20 minutes. 1 large can peach halves, drained let cup peach syrup 542 teaspoon almond extract 2 tablespoons brown sugar 1 cup macaroon crumbs (about 4) 3 tablespoons butter Place peach• halves, cut side up, in a shallow 9" baking dish. Cornbine peach syrup and alm- ond extract; pour over peaches. Mix brown sugar with maca- roon crumbs; spoon mixture into peach halves. Dot with but- ter, Bale as directed until crisp and hewn. (Put in oven with cheese pudding,) Serve hot with thin' cream if desired. IRREGULAR • At an alumni meeting of Pub- lic School 14, a member of the class? His family was poor as affluent, reminsced, "Do you fel- lows remember a skinny little shaver named Hughes from our clas? His family was poor as church mice, but he had an in- stinctive business sense, and we all just knew he'd make the grade. I ran into Hughes the other day. When he got out of the. Army in World 'War I, he bought himself an old push-cart and began buying and selling old bones, bottles, and rags. And what do you think Hughes is worth today?" Some guessed $100,000, some a million. "You're all wrong," chuckled the alum- nus. "Hughes isn't worth a Con- federate nickel. In fact, he never even paid for the push-cart." When Hans Stockinet' preposed to pretty Trudy May recently, she asked about his safety fac- tor before saying "Yes." Berlin's most acident-prone man and woman, they decided to get mar- ried,. But Tru0 wore only a knee-length bridki gown in case she should trip atthe altar steps! As a hospital purse, Trudy came unscathed .through three explosions in' the operating theatre, was unharmed when she drank poison, by mistake, was run over by an ambulance without being bruised --, yet broke an arm W4ert she fell"out of bed. Hans had, been rain over four times and had twice been knock- ed, out when:, walls toppled just as he was passing, But since his marriage he has proved so ac- cident-free that insurance asses- sors have clecideorto accept, him. Hoiv's your safety factor? Scien- tists say that. some people be, come .infected by accidents arid, without knowing it, are after 7 wards more liable to accidents, than others. Dr. Ron MacKeith, of Guy's Hospital, disclosed re- cently that a transport company had, transferred ita accident prone drivers to other jobs and so reduced' aceidents to one- fifth of what they„had been. Yet scientists find, too, that the accident-prone- ;also seem to develop immunity• against in- jury sand, in fact, often seem to have nine lives. Take Nicholas. Alkemade who was on TV not long ago to tell of his miraculous escapes. Dur- ing the war he.jurtiped,31/2 miles to earth from a blazing bomber without a parachute, and landed safely in a snow drift. , Standing in a factory doorway, a half-hundredweight of iron fell on him and he was only bruised. While siphoning sul- phuric acid the tube burst and he was drenched. But he had the presence of mind to neutra- lize the acid with another chemi- cal. When handling electrical ap- paratus that short-circuited, he was knocked out by shock. He ought to have been fatally elec- trocuted — but it was the one day of the week he was wear- ing rubber shoes! Nicholas has know taken a safer job ... selling accident in- surance. One man recently proved so accident-free that he couldn't get hurt even when he tried to kill himself. He took. 200 sleeping tablets, but tripped and coughed them all up. He smashed a bottle and tried to cut his wrists but failed because the cutting edge was too blunt. When he tried to drive his car off a bridge the wheels stuck in a ditch . . . and when he set fire to his house the neighbours smelt smoke in time. But the world record for im- munity is held by a Portuguese named Hyacinte Figueira, who has so far had 320 accidents. He estimates that he has Spent twenty-five of his forty-five years in hospital recovering from accidents. On one occasion, when his house caught fire, he was swept out of a second-floor window by the force of a fire hose and landed on the cobbles, fractur- ing his skull. His only road ac- cident was when he sat as a passenger in a stationary car and a lorry smashed into it. Amid his narrow shaves, Hya- cinte shaves himself — and has done so ever since a cat scratch- ed a barber while he was in the chair and the keen razor nearly sliced off Hyacinte's ear. THE LAST SPIKE WELL-STACKED—The pile of ce- ment block that Norton McIn- tyre is about to work on, of course. Petite Ann Davis is in the picture to emphasize that Norm is six feet, nine inches tall and billed as the nation's tallest mason. All this construc- tion effort just to let you know that Miami will soon have a new hotel on this site. Here are some recipes for luncheon dishes Of the heartier variety which have the •advan- tage of speedy preparation, I'm sure you and your folks will en- joy them thoroughly,. E A Q uT gRh l y; Z NI 4 To 6 Servings Bake in moderate oven, 350* Fs 30 min. 1 101,4-ounce can cream of mushroom soup 3/4 cup Milli 1 teaspeon prepared horse- radish cup shredded sharp Cana- dian cheese 1 cup OA pound) baked ham, cut in strips 1„'f,:, 8-ounce, package spaghetti, cooked' 2, tablespoons chopped parsley 1 3 or 4-Ounce can sliced mushrooms 1,41 cup bread stuffing 2 tablespoons bid*, melted Blend soup and 'milk until smooth, A cl,c1,. horse - redists, cheese, ham, spaghetti, parsley and musliroosna with liquid. Pour into a 1-quart casserole. Top with stuffing, mixed with butter. Bake. DEi1:l4C CHEESE 8 s iCsd4-o1'b:"c removed 1 4;1i-ounce can, deviled ham, 1/2 pound (2 cups) shredded sharp Canadian cheese 3 eggs, slightly beaten 2 cups' milk Spread each slice of bread with ham. Lay 4 slices in the bottom of a greased 8" by 8" by 2" baking dish. Sprinkle with half the cheese. Use the remain- der of the bread and cheese to make a second layer. Combine eggs and milk; pour over layers in baking dish. Let stand 15 minutes. Bake in a moderately low oven, 325° F., 1 hour. Serve immediately, while hot and puffy. Makes 4 to 6 servings. VEGETABLE MEAT SOUP 4 To 6 Servings 1 small onion, sliced 1 tablespoon butter 1 ,l-pound can meat balls 1 20-ounce can (21/2 cups) tomatoes 21/2 cups water cup cooked, canned julienne carrots 14 cup uncooked rice staaube leespoon Worcestershire 1 bay leaf 2 teaspoons salt Fry onion in butter in deep saucepan. Add meat balls with liquid; stir in rest of ingredients; Simmer, covered, 25 minutes, or until rice is tender. Serve with Parmesan Rolls, vegetable -rel- ishes and Cranberry - Orange Squares. * PARMESAN CHILI ROLLS makes 6 Bake in a hot oven, 400° FS, 5 minutes. 6 tablespoons Parmesan cheese 'IA teaspoon chili powder 3/4 cup 'mayonnaise 6 large round crusty rolls Mix cheese, chili and rnayon- naise. Make 2 crisscross gashes in tops of rolls. Spread filling generously between cuts: Bake as directed. Serve hot with soup. * * CRANBERRY-ORANGE SQUARES 1 cup .quick-cooking oats 4 tablespoonsrd grated orange in lA cup all-purpose flour 1 cup brownsugar, firmly cup butter 1 1-pound can whole cran- berry sauce cup freshorange sections, cup heavy cream, whipped and sweetened. Mix oats, rind, flour and sugar boarding Scheel. They attended different Schools, and, alone, Audrey again turned to batiks, her best friends. She read every book on the, "suggested reading list," not just the minimum re- quirements. And she, decided that she would be a newspaper woman. It was all set. She would go to college—she even passed her entrance exams for. Smith College — and then go and get a job on a newspaper somewhere. But Jayne had other ideas— and Jayne, two years older and by nature an extrovert, was Audrey's idol, "Jayne decided we would both be actresses," Audrey says. "I never even spent a day at college. It's funny how many ministers' children become ac- tors. I think I know why—from earliest childhood, we were on display. We always had visitors or went calling, and we always had to trot out our best man- ners and, in a way, perfotm. I think we got a taste of 'ap- pearing before the public, on a very small scale, while we were young. So it was unnatural for us to be afraid of acting." But she was still shy and the thought of auditioning at first scared her. Big sister Jayne got around her on that score, too, however. She suggested that Audrey auition for sing- ing parts; she knew Audrey had a lovely voice and liked singing. She'd sung in choirs and small vocal groups, writes Dick Kleiner in "Better Liv- ing." So the two sisters set out for a career on the stage. Their parents, far from the storied straight-laced ministerial pro- totypes, encouraged them. Her father even drove them to New York—by then, he was preach- ing in Sharon, Connecticut— and waited while they audition- ed then drove them home again, They got no jobs, so they de- cided they'd have to move to New York, to be closer to the scene' of action, if they Wanted to succeed. So with parental permission, they packed their bags and moved into the first of a series, of aparttrients in Manhattan. The first one was a far cry from the sumptuous, pink-and-white East Side apart- ment which Audrey now occu- pies. (Jayne recently broke up the sister act by marrying Steve. Allen.) At one point they lived in the famed Rehearsal Club, where Margaret Sullavan and Martha Scott and many other theatre greats lived while waiting for the big break. Jayne was the one with tal- ent. Everybody said so. Now that they've both arrived, their old friends from the Rehearsal Club days like to recall how they used to shake their heads about poor Jayne, saddled with that mousey kid sister. They said little Audrey had no talent —oh, she could sing, but so shy! How would she ever get any- where? . They reckoned without Jay- ne's determination — and Au- drey'e natural charm and tal- ent. Jayne read about an audi- tion for singers at the Paper Mill Playhouse, in New Jersey, This, she figured, was the place for Audrey. Audrey, as always, agreed. Jayne produced her best, going-out dress — a beautiful black creation, with long, zip- pered sleeves and a gathered waist. Audrey put it on and took the train to the theatre. It rained. Hard. Audrey didn't know whefe the taxis were, so she walked to the theatre—and got soaked. "When I got there," Audrey remembers, "there were dozens of girls waiting, I couldn't un- derstand how they had stayed so dry. But I just sat down and. The day before the 1954 Ems VeYs were awarded by the Aced, 11,)y Of Television Arts and ciences, Audrey Meadows was stopped. by Stanley Pons, assists ant director of Jackie Gleasen's show. "Oh, Audrey," he said casual- ly, "we have something for Fon." He led her to a desk, pulled open a drawer and produced a small gold statuette, It looked Almost exactly like an Oscar. "We haven't had a chance to have it engraved yet," he said. "But we all wanted you to know we think you should get an. Emmy and just in case you don't, this is our award to the gal we think is the best actress on TV," Today this gold statuette has a place of honor on a bookshelf in Audrey Meadow's bedroom. It stands close to the Emmy she received as TV's outstanding supporting actress.' There are other mementos scattered around the room—a gold cup she won in a mambo contest at El Morocco, her Sylvania award (a clock which. inciden- tally, keeps perfect time) for "most outstanding female per- formance in T V," a small mounted motto reading "Three elephants are always better than one. Jackie Gleason"— and many more. They all tes- tify to the talent and popular- ity of the tall, pretty redhead. But it wasn't always so. She is a self-confessed ex-shrinking violet. She was "painfully shy," she says, and it took many years and many people to con- vert the introverted little girl who never spoke to anyone out- side her immediate family into the popular belle-of-TV that is Audrey Meadows today. To reconstruct the Case of the Ex-Shrinking Violet, we must go first to Wuchang, China, where Audrey's father was an Episcopal missionary. Audrey, her sister Jayne and brothers were all born there, though Audrey, the youngest, remembers little of life in Wuchang. "Just the things a five-year-old would remember," she says. "I remember the dragon parade and I remember we'd go up to the mountains for the summer. I imagine that was beautiful, but all I remem- ber is that when you hit some- body with a-morning glory they got a blue stain where you hit them." When Audrey was five the family moved to Providence, Rhode Island, where her father took the pulpit of a church. Soon after they arrived, little Audrey fell through a skylight and her left leg was horribly cut. "They were almost going to amputate it at the knee," she says. "But they managed to save it. s De you see these scars?" s Aleng her shinbone are very obvious 'long marks. "They are one of the main reasons I was so shy. You know, children at that age never want to be different. And I was, because of my leg. If We -went -to the beach in t he summer, I had to smear salve all over it and cover it with a long white stocking. Well, you know what the other kids did about that. They'd come up to me and say, 'What did ysu do to your leg? I never went to the beach." For years the fear of being teased about her scars hounded her. As she ,kiew older, she developed a habit .of sitting on that leg But -when her, other forms of shyness vanished, that did too. Now she isn't a bit self-conscious of that imperfec- tion. She and Jayne, in common with many ministers' children, got clerical scholarships to pan for her,. -but she didn't mind; she loves her part, her show, her boss, her fellow actors. She says that working with Jackie is "like sitting on the edge .of a volcano, knowing it's going to go off btit just 'sitting there, fascinated," Things are a little easier now that the show is filmed. For the first time since she joined Gleason, she doesn't have to dread fran- tic last-minute rehearsing. For the first time, she has a little time to herself. She has many good uses for the time, too. One of her bro- thers has just moved into a new home in suburban Westchester and Audrey is having fun help- ing him furnish it and get, set- tled. The Meadows family is a very close one. Both her. West- chester brother and her Cali- fornia brother are lawyers, which, as Audrey says, is ideal for legal services in both New York and Hollywood. She is still very friendly with Jayne, too. She now has a very busy so- cial life. She has been called "TV's Most Eligible Bachelor Girl," which is pretty nearly .true. Her date book rarely has ,a blank page — except for the evenings she must devote to her career. She dates some of the most popular squires in New York, Actually, Audrey doesn't par- ticularly like night - clubbing. Nowadays she seldom goes, un- less it is to see a performer she admires. She prefers driv- ing in the country, a good din- ner, good conversation, the theater. The demands of her career are very strenuous. She is help- ed along by a large supply of nervous energy. She is a mem- ber of the clique—which also includes sister Jayne and bro- ther-in-law Steve Allen — that constantly is called on for guest shots on panels. She also ap- pears on one, "The Name's The Same," regularly. And there are also the interviews, the hairdressing appointments, the costume fitting and all the other necessary evils that • go with being a female TV, star. Last spring, too, she and Jayne began a secondary career — re- cording—which takes up time in a different sort of way. She must plug each record through guest appearances with disc jockeys in cities' around the country and she must be on the lookout for new songs. She tries them out on the tiny white piano in her living room. Near it is a chair reserved for two tremendous dolls. This apartment, tastefully furnished in modern blended with a Chinese motif, is her refuge. The living room is neat and prder'ly, like e page from a de- corating magatine. But the' bed- room, with its books, awards, a huge TV set and a desk, is where she spends Most of her time. It's a comfortable room, and she likes comfort. Here she loves 'to read—and think, about the stories she wants to write some day.• The old journalism bug is still in- side her and she says, "In my Old age, I think I'll write a few stories, I Want to Set down." But that'll be a long time coming. Both old age and spare time are remote .for Audrey MeadoWS, Arid so; thankfully, is shyriest. It was in Utah that the last spike was driven in America's first railroad to the Pacific — at Promontory on May 10. 1869 — but history books have spared us some of the less glain- oroiss details. In the first place, 4 the Union Pacific Special from the East was held up by floods and arrived three days late.. Chinese laborers on the Central Pacific and the Irishmen who hb.ct, laid the tracks for the U.P, amused themselves in the in- terini by taking pot shots at one another.: There were sorrie forty including bile inno- cent bystander from San Fran- cisco. In the second place, the ceremonies dragged on too long; the crowd shivered in an icy wirid, and drifted away before the clirilek. In the third place, goeyrnor Leland Stanfotd of California, chosen to dritie in the last golden spike (it was re- moved immediately), lifted' his head' on the badkaWirig, missed 'the spike entitelYi and felt on his face in the nisi& An alert telegrapher ,floWeVer, simulated the biCiW' With his key;'and Waiting ihtiltitutde, fin, both bOaStas (including Wall Street) Cheered the completion of the fl rst transcontinental ,,failroad /stlekilY for s‘Gdsteliter Stanford television vigiS still eighty years' away. FORTIFIED Witk iii0U-,,Veterinarian James A. Mufflye right's Uada his electromagnetic invent on to p osp...ct cot' sciTlis iron this bossy' swailowed during her tat'adlti'q on the Dale Spangler farm. Using d' throat,arid,sforricitli tubef alsci of his iriVentions be, NtUffly fertioVed the tiardsVare with aid of - a toodoottiod tlt.,vrtco, bweiet tporioleri lent, SW,da delighted' with the. rgUedeaSfUl "StedpS dtiSsei DOWN SOUTH A native of the Ozarks Was asked by a revenue agent, "Seen" Your grandpappy lately?" The. native' pointed, with his corn- ebb pipe to an indistinct abject ' it the far end Of fits toniate patch and ittiCt ,"See that'figger Over that TVS' either' a tile ittiitti or gratidoati.- jpje„ y6tif OYeS Om it. If it trioveas it's a tree''stump," waited my turn. When it came,. I gave my music to the conduc- tor. I had my best songs on top, but he was very gruff and flipped through them until he came to one called 'Intermezzo' which was difficult and not a good audition number at all." She sang it" in that dripping black dress, with her hair de waved by the downpour and her makeup streaked. The con- ductor turned to her when she finished and said, "Go outside and up the back stairs to the office and tell the girl. I said to give you a contract." She was hired at $35 a week. It was her first acting job. The next day she was raised to $45 and she was sure she was a big star already. Yeats later she asked the conductor, Al Evans, why .he hired her. "I'll tell you why if you tell me whose dress that was you were .wearing," he answered. She told him it was her sister's. "1 knew it wasn't yours," he said. "That was one of the rea- sons I hired you. I saw you come in, looking like a drown- ed rat, and I figured if you could sing at all I'd hire you. I could have hired any ones of those other girls, but you look- ed so pitiful, so wet, and I figured you were either too poor to afford a taxi or too dumb to know .where' they were, or both. And I watched your face while I flipped through your music, and you didn't change a muscle. So I figured I'd give you a break." , Her deadpan expression—the same . one left over from her childhood shyneas—was altered abruptly dusting her four-month run at the Playhouse. The dance director—she says he was as mean as a man can be — stopped her one day on the train to the city. "Don't you ever change your expression?" he asked. "You always look blank and stupid and cold." And he walked away. She was hurt by his remark, but thought about it. And she realized that maybe he had something there, So for the run she practiced different ex- pressions while she was singing in the chorus. She would smile and frown and look startled and look shocked while sing- ing her number. She figures now she must have -looked pret- ty silly, but it was good for her career. The last vestiges of her shy- ness vanished completely with her first job. After all, she was a $45-a-week star, and who ever heard of a shy star? She wasn't what you'd call a life of the party, but, she talked to pee/pie, which was progress. Her good looks,- natural comedy sense and broad cultural background made her easy to talk to, and it wasn't long before the shrinking violet had become the outgoing rose. Instead of dreading auditions she began to like them. 'She'd audition for parts that Weten't exactly suited to her, boldly proclaiming, "I can do She won many of them, and she succeeded in them, too. For the High-Button Shoes audition, she lied that she 'could Whistle through her teeth, then went home and practiced until She .could do it. For Top Banaria, Phil ,Silvers said he wanted a "lade-de Voidc arid Audrey insisted' she could "la-de-da" although .she didn't iltneW what it was. It bathed out that her idea. of a le-de-cle iioiee was just what Silvers wanted. For her first big TV, spo t, comedians bob. Arid Ray asked,if she could PlaY a barnnd a she fibbed yet and crossed her fingers until they, dui nitt the harp taaying. Gradually,, Audrey' worked her way tip the She* btisineg gilded ladder., And When Jackie Gleason hired her, alit Wile ready, it WM back to the dee& lASt StRAW DOESN't SHow—L shown reloading till this hay On truck, thought he had found the last 'WOW ' bike the mess, Caused by one broken bole, Wag' cleared , front' ilhis street •.11 Wet wrong. After`teldading's Wilson #dUrid that his truck h ad' a flat tire, and had to unload again. ,rer.V;u