The Waterbury Democrat., 1936-11-24

over on Leave
 enworth street, J.w. WttsPatSick from whom no one's thoughts can be hidden, who penetrate with equal ease tho ilieditations of pope and president, and who even have the power to read sonae- thing which has no actual exist- ence. Therefore, these mind readings of mine are simply guesses about the reasons which various people might have for thanks giving when Thursday morning dawiis.
 Mary Piclkford
 T am thankful because have ct last landed man who under stands me, my art, and my efs forts to make the face of tho whole, wide world shine with happiness. ! have always want- cd to have Q saxophone player around the house and my heart tells me that in Buddy Rogers the feeling of soul Illustration which has been the silent horror of my life has been banished for. ever and c day. This mad crav- ing for music Is something my public has never understood. But I have always had it. That B why I married my first husband who was one of the Moore boys. I cannot recall at the moment whether it was Owen or Tom. Anyway he was Irish and felt that e harp in the living room would ease the hunger in my breast for harmony. But l was 50 young, SO inexperienced, and 50 alone In the world with moth. Ing but my art and my publicl How could know that which- ever of the Moores 1t was he was not musical? Too late I found out that l welded to the kind Of the harp that went through Taras Halls just once and tho halls collapsed in ruins. Then, urged on by an irresistible iin- pulse, I took on Doug. It was Q week in June and we were ol, Long Island house guests at . friends unpretentious little shack of seventy.iive master bedrooms, c duck pond, fourteen hothouses, two washbowls and pitchers, and . music conservatory with Q pipe organ. Along about three o'clock one morning I was awakened from . troubled sleep by the sounds os Rimsky-K Korsikoifs End Of . Perfect Day" escaping from the conservatory. Throwing . cape of thoroughbred Belgian hare over my erinine nightgown I stole down the stairs to listen nearer. Never had I been 50 thrilled to my innermost being. At last, ! said to myself, here b my man, my mate, my oil. It was Doug walking up and down the keys board In his barefeetlll # ne could mako such celestial music with his naked tootSies what could he not do with his shoes and socks oni So we were wed and life moved on for . time like Q deep, sweet song. Oh tho bit- tor dlsillusionfnent which came laterl ! discovered l was linked in the handcuffs of matrimoay to one whose passion in life was not music but walking on the ceiling, aiding down the rain pipes, doing back .fiips on the baby grand plano, playing leap frog over the parior furniture, and making presents of Arabian horses to the Mikado of Japan who never wrote Q line acknowledging the gift. Then there yves that English duchess or whatever she was. She was the last straw. As AmerlcA's Sweetheart ! had my position Co consider. What kind Of . patriot would ! Dc to play second fiddle tO Che British Arist0crAcy after what they did to us In l57e? So l aired Doug, good and proper. Again I was free but alone. 30, 90 alone. It seemed ct times as # I would 70 mad from loneliness -.-and music hunger. Then Buddy blew himself and his sax into my empty, aching heart. We are going to De happy. Our souls are beating in tune with the movement of the celestial spheres and ! have just signed up for . correspondence course in oompah playing 50 Buddy and l can play duets together. And will the party Do surprised when ! got my oosns pah diploma and can perform iss public"
 Muddy ROwers