The Atlanta Constitution from Atlanta, Georgia • 67

7 SCREEN RADIO WEEKLY fr. rib fi j9m if a i I Fpji BacJt fo tie airhncs come Sherlock Holmes, Watson and murder mysteries over NBC late Thursday nights. ot a 4 Spend a Gay Week-End with Radio's Ace Detective and Learn about Hospitality By Al Lewis UICK Watson, 1 have no aversion to the four-legged A mJ Ps. I'm not exactly an Albert Payson I 'V. UICK Watson, the portable! I have no aversion to the four-legged pets, I'm not exactly an Albert Payson Richard Gordon: His suburban home is a far cry from Sherlock's dank and murderous London fogs.

large cups of coffee vanished rapidly. Then we visited the workshop. A circular saw, press-drill, scrool-saw, lathe and planer, of the latest design were displayed. Various sized nuts, bolts and screws reposed In cigaret tins, painted uniformly gray. They were neatly labeled and rested in slots alphabetically arranged by the actor-carpenter.

A radio occupied a prominent spot in the room, and I learned that it was always turned on when Gordon was working. "I like to listen to my friends' programs," he told me. "When they're good I take my time working. But when they're bad, I saw like mad." Terhune when it comes to strange dogs. My uneasiness passed the minute I saw Peanuts.

He's a fox terrier with tha kind of eyes that poets usually attribute to their light o' love, and you don't have to ask him for his paw. He sticks it right out, and practically asks you for yours. We entered the house and Mrs. Gordon bade me welcome. She introduced us to the house guests, and knocked my pre-introduction theorizing in the w.

k. hat. Mrs. G. was blond, youngish and was attractively dressed in a brightly flowered gown.

She led the way down to the game room. This room is located next to the Gordon workshop. There is a regulation sized pool table in the center of the room, with overhead reflectors. These, Mrs. Gordon proudly explained, were made by her handy husband out of five and ten-cent store dish oasins.

"You know," she said, "Dick is a swell carpenter, and he's made everything in this house outside of the heavier furniture." "Oh, it's nothing," said Dick modestly, "I like to fool around in the shop and knock together some little knick-knacks once in a while." "Come on over here," she said. "Here's one of those knick-knacks Dick knocked together." We inspected a six-foot bar, complete with rail, shelves and old-fashioned cuspidor. This latter receptacle, by tha way, once reposed backstage at the Metropolitan Opera House, and was given to them by a friend, an opera oflicial. We all had a drink, then our gracious hostess toh i i about the tournament rules. We to play a half-dozen games, with points scored in each one.

The winner would receive a prize on the following day. Dick led us to the pool table, and while I was wondering if I could still hold a cue after five years' absence from my youthful haunts, my host set up 10 little pins on white chalk dots at one end of the table. I've just covered an assignment at the Stamford (Conn.) home of Richard Gordon, who plays Sherlock Holmes on the air, and I've got to tell a lot of readers all about it. There we are; thank you, Watson. We're off.

1 received the assignment in the middle of the week to spend Saturday night and Sunday with Richard Gordon. "Al," the boss said, "I'm going to send you to Stamford Saturday night to get a story on Richard Gordon. Meet him in town and go up together. He expects you, and you'll probably have a very lovely week-end." "Swell," I said, -fine." To myself I murmured, "Too bad, kid, so-long week-end." I met Sherlock at Grand Central about 8:45 Saturday night. We got on the State of Maine Express at 9, a conductor hollered 'Board," and I offered, "Well, we're off," with a cheeriness that was a little depressing.

My next sally was, "How long doe3 it take to get there, Mr. Gordon?" He said, "Forty minutes, and call me Dick, will you?" On the way up we chatted about the usual cabbages and kings. Un-actor-like, Gordon didn't talk about himself at all, except in reference to shows he had played in with stars of a decade ago, and those still starring. He spoke mostly about them, and about his wife. "Emily Ann, you know, was a grand actress, and a fine writer.

We played together 15 years ago in a sketch that she wrote for vaudeville. But now she keeps herself pretty busy taking care of the house." Although 1 had warmed considerably to Gordon, I couldn't help picturing his wife as an ex-actress gone housewife. And as you know, picturing an ex-actress gone housewife isn't very happy picturing. How wrong I was will soon be shown. which I managed to garner a snappy fifth), the men were left alone to play a little pool.

No more winding up fifth for this boy. No, sir. In the pool game with the two gentlemen, I jumped two notches in my contest rating, and finished third. Then we adjourned to the kitchen for a "snack." In a bright, large dining alcove, we found platters of cold cuts, six varieties of cheese, several jams, apple pie, baked by the "ex-actress gone housewife," and coffee. At the command, "Dig in, folks" (in fact a little before the command, "Dig in, we went to work on the victuals.

Then Dick left the kitchen, slamming the door behind him, and from the back porch called Peanuts. This worthy creature trotted the door, and through a panel constructed by his master left the premises, closing the little door behind him. What is more, Pandora, a cross between an Angora cat and a raccoon, did the same thing. "They get along grand," said Mrs. Gordon, in reply to my query.

"They just leave each other strictly alone when one of them is cross. It's a great example for humans." A FT Ell a couple A FTER the snack, HEN we arrived of hours of sun, we returned to the game room and a ping-pong table was set atop the pool table. A few fast games, and the increasingly amazing Emily Ann, who hasn't any maul, came down to the bar with a buffet lunch. Then we all went out for a spin in the car, which lasted for about two hours, returning home at 7 o'clock. In 10 minutes steaming dinner was on the dining room table.

"How do you do it?" I burst out. "Oh," smiled the supreme hostess, "I've been up since 6 o'clock this morning. It was all ready." Let It be said here and now, that Mrs. Gordon was never absent from our games and fun longer than 15 minutes at a time. After the dinner, I remembered reluctantly that I had to return to the city.

1 thought of my feelings before I had made the trip, tiled to convey my thanks, and then confessed the trepidation with which I had started out on the job. "I'm fclad it was nicer than you expected," said "Sherlock Holmes." "You didn't get much of a story, I guess, But if you really like our little place you'll come up again, soon." If I didn't get a story about Richard Gordon, I hope my boss makes me do it al) over again. Only this time, I'll try and stretch the assignment to a week. T. HE first game Emily Ann placed the dishes in an electric washing machine, refusing' any help whatsoever, and in 10 minutes had joined the rest of us in the living room.

I was led upstairs by my host, and given a room and bath adjoining his. "This used to be a sleeping porch," he explained, "but I figured it'd get kind of coll in winter, so I built this little wing, and made a closet." The way he said it made you feel that it took him about five minutes. In reality, it was impossible to detect where the architect had left off and lie had begun. The tinkling of a small bell and the odor of frying bacon woke me up. "Come and get it," shouted Gordon.

And we did. A variety of preserves, bacon and 'gg-si home baked buns, and very, very at Stamford, we walked to the front end of the platform, where the Gordon Packard was parked. "1 very rarely use the car for my New York trips," he said. "Too many people driving that oupht to be in homes for the mentally deficient." Your correspondent heartily concurred and we hopped into the car, and after a lovely fifteen-minute drive pulled into the driveway of the name of their home arrived at by abbreviating Emily Ann and Dick. Another car was parked alongside the driveway and Dick said, "I see we've got some other guests.

Fine. Now we can have a tournament." We heard a dog barking, and while we played was miniature bowling. The idea was to shoot ball with your cue up to the end of the table and make it bounce back and hit the pins. The scoring was the same as regular bowling, and 1 was pretty punk at first, but closed in a burst of glory, and wound up fourth out of the live contestants. "Now, we'll throw some darts," said Dick.

Your correspondent did nobly at thi3 pursuit. He hit the window shade above the target, and chucked two darts into the Metropolitan cuspidor. After the dart-throwing game (in.