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Cineminx Terry Moore, 28, married last February to well-to-do Insurance Man Eugene McGrath, 34, was traipsing between South America and California last week, after confiding to Hollywood Gossipist Sheilah Graham that a going marriage is based on the little things that count. Said Terry: "For our first-month anniversary, Gene gave me diamond earrings. The next month, a gold bracelet and a solid gold carryall. Third month, a race horse. Fourth, a five-carat diamond ring. Next, a diamond bracelet from Tiffany's. The sixth-month anniversary, there was a blue Cadillac Eldorado waiting outside the door." Later "anniversary" loot: fancy apartments in Manhattan and Venezuela, mink, more diamonds. Sighed Terry: "Gene made me give all my own jewelry to my mother because he wants everything I have to come from him! I'm so happy—that's why I'm so thin."
Pope Pius XII, 82, gravely ill two years ago, underwent a periodic physical, was pronounced to be in "more than satisfactory" shape.
In spectacular proof that them as has gits, full-busted Cinemactress Jayne (The Girl Can't Help It) Mansfield, 24, added to her natural endowments estates totaling some $90,000, the larger part of it a bequest from her late grandpa, who also left $1,000 to maintain the chimes of his Pennsylvania (Methodist) church.
The remains of Cinema Tough Guy Humphrey Bogart, dead of cancer at 58, were cremated while some 3,000 of his friends and fans showed up at a Beverly Hills church 20 miles away, where a memorial service was held for one of the few who ever beat Hollywood at its own game of all-cards-wild. Winning affection with a snarl, ever brushing off moviedom's hordes of phonies with the back of one hand, in the other eternally clutching a tumbler of Scotch, Bogart had won wide respect by managing, on screen or off, to be perversely ingratiating Humphrey Bogart. With Bogie's ashes in an urn was placed a tiny gold whistle, a memento of his first meeting 13 years ago with his widow, Cinemactress Lauren Bacall. The whistle bore an inscription borrowed from the dialogue of their first film together, To Have and Have Not: "If you need anything, just whistle."
In a recently published volume of euphoria titled The Happy Life of a Doctor, Boston's Dr. Roger I. Lee, 75, past president of the A.M.A., propounded the happy thought that a fat man loves all the world. Wrote the portly doctor, whose own weight is "top secret" (estimate: over 275 Ibs.): "I do not mind being jumped upon by some hideous . . . painted Jezebel who shrilly proclaims that her weight is perfect and who looks upon my rotund figure with abhorrence . . . What one can see of her under the .mask of chemical cosmetics seems muddy . . . Her skin is wrinkled . . . neck is unsightly and flabby . . . hips big in contrast to skinny toothpick legs . . . She has to take Epsom salts for her bowels . . . barbiturates to counteract the effect of coffee and to allow her to sleep." Dr. Lee, a onetime stammerer, states: "People have asked me who psychoanalyzed me out of stammering, and [they] find it hard to accept my answer. I was not psychoanalyzed. I just got fat."