row." But Mario in his childhood cared more for the piano than for singing. And it was not until the age of nineteen that he discovered that the power of his voice made it possible to sing a note higher than Caruso himself had sung.

He began to train his voice. But young Mario was only a handsome, lazy student. After eighteen months his grandfather stood up, stamping his foot on the ground and shouting, "A joke in its proper time — but the hour has come for this young man to find himself work!" He said it in a voice that allowed no argument.

He worked as a porter on his grandfather's truck, and once, at the beginning of his labors, he carried a piano into the Academy of Music in Philadelphia while singing — as was his habit, singing out of joy in life... and the conductor Koussevitzky heard him and was taken with him. He took him along to the Berkshire hills in the eastern United States, where every year he leads a famous music festival that has no peer save the British Glyndebourne festival. That was in the year 1942, when he called himself Mario Lanza for the first time; and the name was new to the vast, critical, music-loving throng that hastens to hear Koussevitzky.

Although Lanza's name was printed along with many other singers' on the program of the concert, that seemed a great thing to the boy who used to join his voice to Caruso's on the records. In any case, this was Mario's first trial of singing upon the stage.

You can imagine the measure of his excitement as he read in the newspapers what the music critics wrote about him: "This young singer lacks poise, and he wants training and vocal cultivation for his throat." But the critics one and all blessed his voice and nominated him to be the greatest new voice

of this century. Thus Freddie's first singing trials were accomplished, and thus his world fame began.

After that he entered upon long study, and nothing cut the thread of his study except his duty in the army, where Mario served first as a military policeman — though he confesses, "I was not a good policeman." When the war ended, Lanza came back to build up his musical personality anew, and he went on training until he met, by chance, Sam Weiler, the business-man who saw in him a lofty art and lavished money on him to revive his artistic spirit and nourish it. He arranged singing concerts and radio programs for him. Then came the time of his appearance on Hollywood's famous open-air stage, that enormous theater where a man feels awe if he stands alone. But Lanza was not alone that evening, even if he felt so several times over. He sang brilliantly — and in Hollywood that means a golden contract waiting behind the door. And indeed Leo the Lion stepped forward to him, and made him a mighty influence upon the millions of the girls of America, when he began to work for the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer company.

He did not escape obstacles and difficulties; but after taking part in numerous films he showed an excellent result, and in Hollywood the actor is judged by the result of his work. His first two films, "That Midnight Kiss" and "The Toast of New Orleans," had turned all eyes toward him. But his third film, "The Great Caruso," made a still greater impression on the public. Mario says modestly: "There are those who believe I sing better than Caruso, but I do not believe them — though I do believe that no man could imitate him better than I have done."

People may call this expression vanity, because it comes from

Lanza himself; but I do not think so, for he knows his capacities in singing, and he has given proof enough of his great power, which has poured abundant profit upon the post offices in all parts of the world, especially when he appeared as Caruso.

After the film "The Great Caruso," Lanza again met with difficulties. Work on his latest film, "Because You're Mine," was postponed because Mario had gained weight — for he is a lover of eating. He is truly sorry that people look at him instead of listening to his voice; and how should he not eat of the spaghetti that his mother and his wife cook with all that skill?

Mario feels that the world has turned against him when the studio directors set about crushing his pride. And here he turns toward his Irish-American wife, the dark-haired Betty. They were married in April of the year 1945, and have two little girls: Colleen, in her third year, and Ellisa, in her fifteenth month. Betty is one of the few who understand that ardent, emotional young man; she can lead him with complete success where others would fail, because she understands his mentality and his ways. She knows that her strong-bodied husband means what he says when, pointing to his heart, he declares: "I sing from here... I sing because I am happy and want to make others happy... because making them happy adds to my own delight." He is always cheerful and cannot bear gloomy faces around him. "I have loved fun all my life," he confesses, and his wife agrees with this saying of his. Indeed you find their life, in their beautiful house on the Beverly hills, founded on happiness and on the gaiety they find among the rest of their Italian friends. And the current of Hollywood's amusements has not swept them away.