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Show S; ! BROADWAY AND MAIN STREET Real Roses in the Cheeks -You Call That a Handicap? I : 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 culti- onnlp who think it's smart to chase a fox. VatiButPa HWeoSr . the road from us live a couple I cultivate as often , they'll have me. Their names are Fred and Jane Newell. I met them I through Eleanor two years ago. and I'll never forget the first night we ! had dinner at their house. i Jane answered the doorbell. She 1 was pretty aU over, and I liked her right away. "Excuse the peasant skirt," she said. "I have a baby ! I penciled in for the fall." 1 Fred was in the living room -,v J listening to the radio., He had the I ! V - . , I 1 ' V I tweedy look 01 me good guy in the women's magazine I stories. We talked ! for a couple of minutes before I ! realized he was blind. He told me he was a writer, and answered my unspoken question Jane smiled. "I don't knout. I guess we've been pretty lucky." "Lucky!" I said, and then stopped, embarrassed. "It's all right," said Jane. "Of course, it would be nicer ij Fred could see, but neither of us thinks thafs 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 I softly. "Look at it this way. I'm I Billy Rose by explaining he i dictated his stuff to his wife. .! It was a fine dinner and a fine j; evening. Jane; carried her child as H if baby-having were some kind of I party. Around eleven o'clock, Fred ij said to Jane, "Maybe the Roses j would like ice cream." J ! "Maybe they would," said Jane, j "but we haven't any. I'll drive I down to the village and get some." j "I'll go with you," I said, "just j :i to make sure you don't forget j ! chocolate." I ! t ON THE WAY to the Ice-cream j S parlor I said, "Tell me something. I j What makes you kids act as if you j j had a gold mine in the cellar?" he kissed goodbye at Perm station in '42. For the guy I'm crazy about, I'll be 23 the re6t 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 |