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The Seaforth News, 1955-10-27, Page 2Jackie Gleason's Television Wife .... The day before the 1954 Ern - rays were awarded by the Acad- emy of Television Arts and Sciences, Audrey Meadows was stosfped by Stanley Foss, assist- ant director of Jackie Gleason's show, "Oh, Audrey," he said casual- ly, "we have something for you." 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 en 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 ane. Jackie Gleason"— and many more. They al] 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 t0 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 eut. "They were almost going to amputate it at the knee," she says, "But they managed to save it, Do you see these scars: Along 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 sive went to the beach in the 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 you do to your leg? 1 never 'went to the beach." For years the fear of being teased about her scars hounded her. As she grew 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 boarding school. They attended different schools, . and, alone, Audrey again turned to books, 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 chilchood, 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, perform. 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 apartments 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 se. 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 where the taxis were, so she walked to the theatre -and got soaked. "When I got there," Audrey remembers, "there were dozens of girls wailing. 1 couldn't un- derstand how they had stayed so dry. But I just sat down and EAST STRAW DOESN'T SHOW—L D. Wilson, shown reloading all this hay on his truck, thought he had found the last straw once the mess, caused by one broken bale, was cleared from this street, He was wrong. After reloading, Wilson found '-.Ick had a flat tire, and he had to unload again, COURAGEOUS—Two-year-old Carol Frances Woodward, both her arms amputated, solemnly plays with her toy dog 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, 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. "r 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 one 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 shyness—was altered abruptly during 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 11e 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 cons letely with her first job. After all, she was a S45 -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 people, 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 weren't exactly suited to her, boldly proclaiming, "I can do it" 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 Banana, Phil Silvers said he wanted a "la -de -da" voice and Audrey insisted she could "la -de -da" although she didn't know what it was. It turned out that her idea of a la -de -da voice was just what Silvers wanted. For her first big TV spot, comedians Bob and Ray asked if she could play a harp and she fibbed yes and crossed her fingers until they cut out the harp playing. Gradually, Audrey worked her way up the show business gilded ladder. And when Jackie Gleason hired her, she was ready. It was back to the dead- 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 but 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 orderly, like a page from a de- corating magazine. 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 1'11 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. And so, thankfully, is shyness, DOWN SOUTH A native of the Ozarks was asked by a revenue agent, "Seen your grandpappy lately?" The native pointed with his corn- cob pipe to an indistinct object at the far dnd of his tomato patch and said; "See that 8gger over thar:_ It's either a tree stump or gran+tnap- py. Keep vol- en, nn it. If it moves, it's -a tsee s.un,p," TA LL TAtKS eJav Andrews. 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, IIAM '1`ETRAZZINI 4 To 6 Servings Bake in moderate oven, 350° F, 30 min, 1 1034 -ounce can cream of mushroom soup 3/4 cup milk 1 teaspoon prepared horse- radish cup shredded sharp Cana- dian cheese 1 cup (34 pound) baked ham, cut in strips �. 8 -ounce package spaghetti, cooked 2 tablespoons chopped parsley 1 3 or 4 -ounce San sliced mushrooms 7i cup bread stuffing 2 tablespoons butter, melted Blend soup and milk until smooth. A d d horse - radish, cheese, ham, . spaghetti, parsley and mushrooms with liquid. Pour into a 1 -quart casserole. Top with Stuffing mixed with butter. Bake. p * DEVILED CHEESE PUDDING 8 slices day-old bread, crusts removed 1 414 -ounce can deviled ham 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 1 -pound can meat balls 1 20 -ounce can (21/2 cups) tomatoes 2? 2 cups water ?'2 cup cooked, canned julienne carrots 34 cup uncooked rice tablespoon Worcestershire sauce 1 bay leaf 2 teaspoons salt Pry 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. * 5 * PARMESAN CHILI ROLLS makes 6 Bake in a hot oven, 400° F,, 5 minutes. 6 tablespoons Parmesan cheese 14 teaspoon chili powder / cup mayonnaise 6 Large round crusty roils Mix cheese, chili and mayon- naise. Make 2 crisscross gashes in tops of rolls. Spread filling generously between cuts. Bake as directed. Serve hot with soup, a * :m . CRANBERRY -ORANGE SQUARES 1 cup quick -cooking oats 1 tablespoons grated orange rind cup all-purpose flour 1 cup brown sugar, firmly packed 1:2cup butter 1 1 -pound can whole cran- berry sauce / cup fresh orange sections, diced eup heavy cream,' whipped and sweetened Mix oats, rind, flour and sugar in a bowl, Cut in butter until crumbly. Press half the mixture into a greased 8" by 8" by 2" baking dish. Combine cranberry sauce 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. x 4 s MACAROON PEACHES 4 to 6 servings Bake in moderately low oven, 325° F„ 15 to 20 minutes. 1 large can peach halves, drained Vs cup peach syrup 3/2 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. Combine peach syrup and alm- ond extract; pour over peaches. Mix brown sugar with maca- roon crumbs; spoor mixture into peach halves. Dot with but- ter. Bake as directed until crisp and brown. (Put in oven with cheese pudding.) Serve hot with thincream if desired. IRREGULAR At an alumni meeting of Pub- lic Schgol 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? Ria 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," 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. MILK'S FORTIFIED WITH IRON—Veterinarian James A. Muffly, right, uses his electromagnetic invention to "prospect" for scrap iron this oiling bossy swallowed during her foraging on the Dale Spangler farm, Using a throat -and -stomach tube, also of his invention, Dr. Muffly removed the hardware with aid of a magnetized device. Owner Spangler, left, was delighted with the successful "scrap drive."