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Show BROADWAY AND MAIN STREET Real Roses in the Cheeks -You Call That a Handicap? By BILLY ROSE When Eleanor and I first moved up to Mt. Kisco, some of our neighbors dropped by to pay their respects, but I didn't encourage these visits. The landed gentry of Westchester are nice enough folk, but they don't talk my lingo. Besides, I see no point in cultivating culti-vating people who think it's smart to chase a fox. But a little down the road from us live a couple I cultivate as often as they'll have me. Their names are Fred and Jane Newell. I met them through Eleanor two years ago, and I'll never forget the first night we had dinner at their house. Jane answered the doorbell. She was pretty all over, and I liked her right away. "Excuse the peasant skirt," she said. "I have a baby penciled in for the fall." Fred was in the living room listening to the radio. He had the tweedy look of the "VU. good guy in the women's magazine l stories. We talked ym, h - for a couple of I? ', minutes before I 1" realized he was f c t blind- He told me I " r I he was a writer, I "l! il anc answered my f """ unspoken question Billy Rose by explaining he dictated his stuff to his wife. It was a fine dinner and a fine evening. Jane carried her child as If baby-having were some kind of party. Around eleven o'clock, Fred said to Jane, "Maybe the Roses would like ice cream." "Maybe they would," said Jane, "but we haven't any. I'll drive down to the village and get some." "I'll go with you," I said, "just to make sure you don't forget chocolate." ON THE WAY to the Ice-cream parlor I said, "Tell me something. What makes you kids act as if you had a gold mine in the cellar?" Jane smiled. "I don't know. 1 guess we've been pretty lucky." "Lucky!" I said, and then stopped, embarrassed. "Ifs all right," said Jane. "Of course, it would be nicer if Fred could see, but neither of us thinks that's very important" "How'd it happen?" "War stuff," said Jane. "Fragments "Frag-ments of a land mine on Okinawa. We weren't married then. Fred was moved to a hospital in San Francisco. Fran-cisco. The first letters he sent me weren't in his own handwriting. He explained that he was dictating to a nurse because he'd been wounded in the right hand. "At the time, he still had some hope that a special operation might restore his sight. He didn't want to tell me about his eyes until he knew for sure. "WELL, THE OPERATION was a complete miss-out. When Fred knew he'd never see again, the darn fool wrote me that I was free to marry anybody I liked. Of course, I hopped a plane to San Francisco and got my fella." "Atta girl," I said. "Now tell me to shut my face if I'm out of line, but doesn't it ever bother you I mean, making this sacrifice?" "Sacrifice, my foot," said Jane softly. "Look at it this way. I'm he kissed goodbye at Perm station In '42. For the guy I'm crazy about, I'll be 23 the rest of my life. Is that bad?" "No," I said. "That Isn't bad at all." two years away from 30. In 10 years, I'll be two away from 40. When Fred went off to war, I was 23. Real roses in cheeks. Probably the best I ever looked in my life. "From here in, no matter what happens to me wrinkles, dry skin, gray hairs, babies Fred will always al-ways see me as the fresh-faced kid |