I believe a man's happiness depends directly on how much he permits love to mean to him. Without an open heart, a man is only partly living.I am grateful for what love has done for me because I never have wanted to be alone. I'm more certain of this every time I think of all I owe my wife, my two little daughters, and my mother. Nothing ever can replace their devotion. My greatest pleasure comes when I can do something to delight them.
Today, when I look in their eyes, I see the smiles of encouragement I want to find. I'm inspired all over again. A warm glow thrills me as I remember they never will settle for second-best where my hopes are concerned, for they actually care.
Now, Mom is the merry voice at the end of the telephone line some time each day. I wouldn't let any day pass without calling her. This isn't just a sense of duty. Every relationship deserves a deep respect, but with Mom it's more. I'm anxious to discover how she's feeling, what she's up to, what I can do. We talk about what I'm attempting, and about Betty and the latest steps of Colleen and Elissa. She is my fine friend. Her decision to become this, when I was born, is typical of her and has blessed me with a very high regard for women. She has loved me wisely, never possessively. As the result, I never have been afraid to instinctively like and trust women. A man misses so much when he doesn't.
All through my growing up I was treated, basically, as an excellent friend by Mom. Perhaps her understanding of youth, which she'll always have, made this easy for her. She married at sixteen, the only one in her family who wouldn't let love wait while going on to college. She never wanted to rule my life. I was an individual who should fully realize all each year offered in opportunities. I was to figure out what was best, and had the power to do so, she always said.
I've always been attracted to real beauty in women, not the artificial sort - no doubt because Mom is beautiful in every way that counts. In appearance she still looks like my older sister rather than my mother. In her gracious manners, actions, and in her heart, she is genuinely beautiful, too. I looked for the same traits in romance, and have found them in my wife Betty.
Mom never asked me to do anything she didn't practice herself, and this logic appealed tremendously to me. When she met my father, he was a war hero, already completely disabled and faced with rebuilding his life somehow. He had to court and support her on his small pension. She knew this, adored him anyway. So I never have concluded women are eager to be mercenary towards men.
Mom, at eighteen, when I was only running around my grandparents' big house with exhaustible energy, courageously determined to start adding to our pension. She began to sew and embroider for extra income, working entirely at home in order to watch me. She wouldn't take an outside job until I was six. Then she sewed blouses in a factory, first taking me to school and getting off at 3:30 p.m. to pick me up and bring me home. She didn't continue, once she was sure I knew my way, but she never let me feel forsaken.
Taking an interest is not merely talking about your intentions. Mom - and Pop - were intensely concerned with everything I did, but always in a helpful and never in a cramping way. I was an only child, but I never was spoiled. I had loads of young uncles and aunts and cousins and was used to sharing everything with them. I always could invite any of my school friends home. Getting along with people is an elementary lesson Mom taught me at home. Now I like my friends, want my home to be the most hospitable of places, because that was how I was brought up. I expect Colleen and Elissa to bring rafts of school friends home, for our house belongs to our daughters as much as to Betty and me.
I don't think you have to force anyone to do what is right, if you love them enough. Mom expressed kindness in her every move, so I got the idea early, with-out any stern lectures. I was busy at school and enjoyed teen-age things healthily. Every summer I had three months at the beach. My grandparents have a big summer house at Wildwood, New Jersey, and it was crammed with the family. I have memories I'll always treasure, and more - I aquired the habit of being happy at the slightest chance. Is that a sin? Not to me. I don't see any purpose in being grim simply to make yourself miserable.
Naturally, I wondered what I'd do, and again Mom left it up to me to pick my future, just as Betty now presumes I am man enough to function thoughtfully as husband and father. Mom imagined she might send me to college to become a lawyer, since I liked to argue the other side whenever anyone was dogmatic in an opinion. That did it.
"Mom, I want to sing!" I said then. I was seventeen, still in school.
"If you really mean this," she answered. "then I'll never mention law again. I just know certain courses would have to be taken if you were heading for it. But, if you're going to sing, how about private lessons in Italian? After all, we have our own particular accent. You must have the purest Italian diction for opera!"
So she paid for a year of private lessons for me, and this gave me the assurance in pronunciation I needed as a foundation for operatic roles.
"I'm your friend," Mom always said, and proved it every day. "If anything goes wrong, come to me or your father. We want to help you. But we have faith in your intelligence, in your ability to become your own true self!" It seems only yesterday that I was standing by Mom back in our front room in Philadelphia, hearing her say that. Because my folks were this way, I want them near me now. They are more than ever my friends, for with the years they have grown as persons, have never slipped into a stodgy rut. They're interested in everything, and that makes them welcome. As soon as I completed my first film, I moved them to California. I see them at least once during the week, and every Sunday they spend the day with us. My children have the joy of affectionate grandparents, and this is another satisfaction to me.
Betty - herself - still the sweetheart I married.
My marriage never disturbed my mother. She didn't want me to remain single, and calmly was certain that at the right time the right girl would come along. She and Betty hit it off from the moment they met.Betty has the same womanliness as Mom, beneath her outward charm and good humor. I can't stand cheapness in a woman - or in a man - and Betty never lazily supposes a substitute is sufficient. She quit an excellent job and married me when I hadn't a cent, and she has all the old-fashioned domestic, family virtues Mom has, plus the same excitement over modern comforts.
"I'm always looking for the shortcut!" Betty vows with a contagious smile, when praised for the smoothness of our household. Discovering more effective ways to do the job was her work in a Douglas plane building plant. I like a lot of surface commotion, and contribute to it, but underneath I want everything to run with the utmost smoothness. I can't relax, can't be spontaneous, if I'm not sure the essentials are taken care of thoroughly. Betty is as much of a genius, in this respect, as anyone I've ever encountered. I can always depend upon her to have our house ready for anything on a moment's notice.
Betty has remained the sweetheart I married, and what husband can ask for more? Betty still won't go to bed with her face creamed and her hair in curlers. She has too much pride, too much sensitiveness to my fondness for her ultra-feminine sweetness. If she has any beauty tricks, I don't know them. She has an amazing knowledge of diet, has always been exceptionally active, so I don't think she has to resort to elaborate rigmaroles. She sets her own hair when I'm not around.
Betty has never pushed me aside for other duties. A husband comes first with her. Whenever I have to travel, it never occurs to us to be seperated. Much as we like the feeling of a permanent residence, our home isn't just a material thing for us; it's the spirit that counts, and what we put into wherever we are each new day will make our surroundings cheerful or sad. I know we will travel whenever I've enough free time. Betty and I have seen most of the United States, a bit of Canada, and we've been to Hawaii. We dream of Europe and South America and India.
So far, there's been no chance to go because I've been under long-term movie and radio contracts that have kept me in Beverly Hills. I've planned for years to study opera in Italy before signing at the Metropolitan. I was offered that break seven years ago, when I knew ten operatic roles. But I don't think of the Met as a try-out; I want to be unquestionably ready to live up to all its traditions, and I feel this means more study for me first.
We want to buy a house in Beverly Hills, but we continue to live in a rented one until we can get what we wish. Last spring we located a dream place. We drove by it every night after we heard it was for sale. We figured out the changes we'd make. At the last minute, the terms seemed too steep. Betty has the same common-sense attitude towards money I have. It's meant for happiness. Still solidity is more important than any debts. We have no passion for keeping up with the Hollywood Joneses. Now we're considering buying a lot and building. Betty has a couple of scrapbooks bulging with the "super" ideas we've spotted in magazines.
How can a husband begin to list all that the love of his wife means for him? Betty's tenderness is my haven when I'm upset. She is not only sympathetic, gently understanding and right there at my sde, but her optimistic outlook arouses mine. After all, nothing is blurred as long as we have each other. I'm glad Betty has confirmed my belief that love doesn't need an artificial outside whirl to keep it going.
Love means excitement, and we have plenty from the minute we wake up.
We all try to make the most casual thing an occasion, and it's astonishing how much zest this can put into living. We hate to complain, because the Lanzas are too fascinated with the possibilities to linger over temporary disappointments.
We're incessant readers, Betty and I. The best books, the latest editions of our favorite newspapers and magazines - we can't resist them! Then we have to discuss what we have learned. Love means this outpouring, never a walled-off, cold self-centeredness. The more interests each of us has, and shares, the fuller our lives.
Some day, I am determined to buy a ranch where I can breed horses. When I was a boy I cut out pictures of horses and collected a big boxful. My mother still has them. I've read every journal on horses for years. Colleen hadn't been three for a month before she was riding as I wished I had at that age. We bought Sugarpie - the pony Betty Hutton's little girls had - for Colleen, and her pride and skill atop him is a sight that thrills me. I've taught her to swim, too.
I have a strong feeling about fatherhood, as you might have suspected. I think children rate the best that can be obtained for them, and that parents must always be close - emotionally and literally. A sense of security starts at home, not at school or in hit-or-miss experiences. A father should not be too busy, or too tired, to lead and advise his children. I want my girls to get along well with men because they'll always be able to recall getting along great with me. I never will put my foot down arbitrarily, and I began explaining even when I was sure they couldn't yet grasp my meaning. They could detect my intention. I feel a parent must be as polite to a child as he wants the child to be to him. The parent must make the correct moves first.
Like their mother - and like my own Mom - my little girls, Elissa and Colleen,
have already taught me more than I could ever teach them.
They're pictured visiting me on the set at MGM.
So I am far more thoughtful, thanks to my daughters. I saw that exploding in their presence would alarm them, so I stopped it. On Colleen's first day at nursery school this year, she painted her first picture there, along with the other youngsters of three. When she and Betty ran into the house, after Betty went after her, I was genuinely as excited as Colleen and her mother - and showed it. We framed her first painting and put it over the living-room mantel that night!My children don't run me and I don't run them. I know they need continual reassurance, that I just make my love and appreciation of their efforts very evident to them. In return, they can become a part of a loving family, earn their individual niche. I will always listen to them, always care.
This December we're welcoming our third. A son would be sensational. A third daughter would be the challenge this father will find exactly to his liking. True love, I know, has no limitations.
