Life — October 12, 1928 — page 24: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

True Stories Tins little article is written in the missionary spirit. It has a message for you and you and you. The great radio feature has been discovered. It is the Bernarr Macfadden True Story Hour, hurled into your homes every Friday night by the Columbia Broad- casting System. Here is radio entertainment to suit everybody, from kiddies to Grandpa and back again. Have you a millionaire uncle who threatens to cut you off with a shil- ling because you fail to amuse him? Then invite him around on Friday evening to hear the True Stories. Have you a cook who wants to leave? True Stories will keep her happy. Have you sons and daughters who spend their evenings in speakeasies? True Stories will bring them back to the family fireside. And the kid- dies will just love the off-stage fire effects, when the Jezebel perishes in the flames of the road-house, leaving the wealthy architect free to marry the pure stenog- by Smith rapher whom he high-hatted just fifteen minutes before. I suspect that the actors and actresses who play in these little dramas are the very men and women who pose for the illustrations in True Story Magazine. 1 can see their dear familiar faces as they speak their lines over the radio. There is the heroine whose mother died, leaving her in ignorance of the Facts of Life. There is the bobbed-haired flapper, with her rolled stockings, who smoked and drank and petted and, blind fool that she was, called shat pleasure. And there is Bob (I call him Bob be- cause that was his name), whose letters never reached me until it was Too Late. And Mr. Van Suyter, my employer, who asked me to stay late at the office that night and under the guise of business... . And father and mother whom I didn’t dare face and so I went to Syracuse and passed myself off as a widow. And if you listen very carefully, you may catch the rustle of uny garments. It must be a great satisfaction to Mr. Macfadden, as he swings his Indian clubs and drinks his orange juice on a Friday vening, to hear the very soul of his maga- zine brought to life and so beautifully embellished with music. When Mabel, gay, reckless but so lonely at heart, in- vites the strong engineer from the West to take a swig at her flask, the orchestra chimes in with “Samson and Delilah.” And when the busy doctor finds his “Have you something real original in the way of a birthday sentiment?” Tne Iceman, Tryinc To Compete wir tue Execrric Rerricerators, Goes Moverniste| pleasure-loving wife necking with his bes! friend in the garden, you are obliged with a few bars of “Tristan and Isolde,” thaa| which nothing could be more appropriate. You needn't be afraid to give Ti Stories the run of your home. all th: little dramas are morally without a ble: ish. The old gentlemen who take girl to road-houses to entertain customers always end up with a trickle of blool staining the shirts of their dress suits Girls who smoke and drink drive off cliffs and end up in the hospital minus their legs. And girls who allow Youth to cal to Youth, without first facing a minister, end up in a pond as sure as Dreiser 1s Dreiser. But the good little girls are re warded by becoming the second wives ot slightly sour widowers who have fl haired kiddies on their hands. i So if you want to collect the wages o! sin without stirring from your own fire side, tune in on the True Stories Hour on Friday. HIS WATERLOO Lavy Visitor: What became of your prize boa constrictor? Curator: It’s a sad case, ma‘am. He tried to swallow a Saturday Evening Post. Morto for golddiggers: Find yor mark in the world—then make him. comicbooks.com